Archive of Our Own

Seoul Arts High School, the most reputed arts high school in South Korea, houses three faculties of study; dance, music and visual arts. Though they occupy the same campus and mingle frequently in the shared classrooms and corridors, the three majors function separately in all the ways that matter. Grading curves, rankings and class groupings stay strictly intra-major, meaning academically all three majors are treated like separate entities, all the way till the end; at the end of their final year, at the graduation ceremony commemorating their freedom from three grueling years of high school, only one valedictorian will be elected across the three faculties, to represent the entire student body. 

Historically, most valedictorians have hailed from the blessed faculty of visual arts. Whether it was because the visual arts syllabus was consistently easier, or because visual arts majors just always tended to be smarter, the topic had been wildly debated on by every graduating class, but a consensus had never been reached. Nevertheless, every now and then someone from another major would be valedictorian, and the gossip and speculation would quiet for a while before it inevitably started up again. 

Ricky had ranked first overall in the visual arts faculty for the past two years. It was never even really a close fight between him and anyone else, everyone expected it to be him, and it was always him. And deserve it he did; every classmate, every teacher, every project groupmate he’d had could testify to it. No other visual arts major worked harder than Ricky Shen of Class 3-4. 

He’d known of Sung Hanbin’s existence since their first year; at the annual joint awards ceremony where they crowned the three top ranked students representing each of the three faculties, it was always the same three people. Him, Sung Hanbin from the school of dance, and this guy called Zhang Hao from the school of music. Since classes from different faculties had been conducted separately from the start, his knowing of them never extended to actually knowing them, and to be very fair, he didn’t really care for it. He didn’t have to know them, he only had to outrank them. 

The first semester of third year opened in March, as the last lingering dregs of winter cold melted into the coming spring. By some machination of fate, Ricky and his best friend Gyuvin were in the same class this time; they’d been separated the previous year, much to their chagrin. It wasn’t like he and Gyuvin were codependent on each other or anything, but who didn’t like having their best friend close by five out of seven days a week? Besides, having Gyuvin around meant he’d take some of the attention off of Ricky, which he always appreciated. 

He and Gyuvin had gained a sort of reputation after the first couple of semesters. The same was always said about any decently well-built good-looking guy in any high school in the country, public or private; if he was tall, attractive and didn’t have a girlfriend then he must be a womanizer, if he was tall, attractive and had a girlfriend then he must-

Well, Ricky didn’t know. He’d never had a girlfriend, so the second option was irrelevant to him, unless the girl he’d held hands with once in the kindergarten schoolyard counted, but gossip like that never came to him directly and he never actually had any chances to clear his own name. 

Put quite frankly, he wasn’t too bothered with it as long as it didn’t affect him, but the nonchalant attitude he turned onto most things, the iciness of his looks, combined with how quiet he seemed next to someone as lively as Gyuvin, had ended up weirdly backfiring on him. Over the course of his high school life, hallway gossip had somehow turned him into some living, breathing manifestation of the tortured artist archetype, some quiet, brooding guy who spent his days channeling his inner woes into his art, looking down on everything and anything around him. 

Honestly, he’d been super confused the first time Gyuvin told him about it. Gyuvin was his designated information source; he was friends with a scary amount of people from all three faculties and liked to profess himself to be “plugged in”, whatever that meant, but whenever he relayed gossip about Ricky to Ricky himself, it was always something puzzling and a little nonsensical. Last semester someone had spread the rumor that he had rotated through a roster of three different girls within the span of a two months, and when it got back to him by way of Gyuvin, he’d had to ask for photos of two of the three girls because he, quite literally, had no idea who they were. 

For lack of better words, Ricky did not care what people thought of him. He was in art school for one reason and one reason only, to prove to his parents that he could excel and make a future for himself out of it. Other things were just distractions. His priority, first and foremost, was doing well. 

His after-school hours were split between the library and the art studios in the East Wing. If he was at the art studio he’d be painting, or sketching, or sculpting, if he was at the library he was writing notes for art history, or doing up essays for practice, or squinting at his calculator trying to figure out a math question. Infuriatingly enough, art school students still had to take somewhat the same set of subjects as regular high school students, which meant even he wasn’t spared from the frustration of understanding silly things like vectors and matrices that he had no doubt would do nothing for him the second he graduated. 

“Kim Ricky!”

Ricky winced ever so slightly as he heard Gyuvin’s voice echo down the crowded hallway. He contemplated walking even faster so he could get away, but the split second he took to decide allowed Gyuvin to catch up to him, and that was that. Gyuvin slung his arm over Ricky’s shoulder, throwing him off balance. 

“You’re so noisy,” Ricky remarked, righting himself after a little stumble, straightening the lapels of his school blazer. “And stop adding your surname to everyone’s first names.”

“No, it’s my new thing,” Gyuvin answered, a twinkle in his eye. “Everyone loves nicknames.”

“Everyone does not …”

“They do!”

The bell chimed, echoing through the crowded hallway. First period would be starting in five minutes. Ricky glanced down at the fresh schedule sheet he’d printed just that morning before leaving for school, now tucked safely into the plastic front pocket of his file. Class 3-4 was in Classroom 3-4, of course, but he wanted to see what class was up first. 

Advanced Trigonometry. He sighed. 

Gyuvin shouldered the back door open, hands in the pockets of his slacks. The classroom was about a third full, meaning some of the better seats were still available. Ricky placed his bookbag down at a desk near the back and Gyuvin placed his on the desk to the left, immediately jumping up to sit on the table. 

“Can’t you sit on the chair like a normal person?” Ricky asked lightheartedly, rummaging through his bookbag for his calculator. 

“When class starts, I’m going to have to sit in the chair all day ,” Gyuvin groaned, stretching his legs out far enough his shoes brushed the underside of Ricky’s desk. “Just let me have this, won’t you?”

“Did you remember to bring your calculator like I texted you to yesterday?” Ricky continued, slinging his bag over the back of his chair. “Hey, Kim Gyuvi-”

He turned back around. Gyuvin was absorbed in animated conversation with some girl. Ricky just sighed inwardly and looked away. 

He considered Gyuvin his best friend in a heartbeat, under any circumstances, but that didn’t stop him from acknowledging that his best friend was a little…silly, when it came to things like girls. He’d dated and broken up with four different people within the first two years of high school alone, and the scariest part was that he was still on good terms with all of them. 

Ricky secretly wondered how he was doing it, but since it was Gyuvin, he couldn’t bring himself to be too surprised. Kim Gyuvin was the sort of person that was easy to fall in love with; he did things like holding doors and sharing umbrellas and picking up dropped books like they were second nature, and he didn’t have a single selfish or mean bone in his body. He was hardworking and kind-hearted and spoke for Ricky when Ricky’s social battery was out, and in return he liked to call Ricky his “stabiliser”, whatever that was, so they were altogether a decently compatible pair. He teased Gyuvin about it often, though, in all honesty Gyuvin’s reputation was mostly earned, and Ricky was just collateral damage, always lumped in with him by no fault of his own. 

“Do you want to go eat at this Japanese place that just opened?” Gyuvin whispered, not very softly, as the teacher began flashing slides. “It’s nearby, like two bus stops away, or we can walk.”

Ricky glanced briefly over at the phone Gyuvin was holding out to him, and nodded. “Okay. But I’m coming back to school after lunch to study.”

Gyuvin made a face. “It’s the first day of school. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Ricky gestured to the slides projected at the front of the classroom. “I don’t understand a single thing on those slides right now. I need to start the year on the right foot.”

“The wise words of future valedictorian Kim Ricky…” Gyuvin mused. “You’re going to mention me in your speech, right?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll tell them about the time you were dancing in class and spilled an entire cup of white paint on your work and tried to pass it off as ‘artistic intention’,” Ricky deadpanned, scribbling away at his notes. 

“I still got a B on that one!” Gyuvin protested, indignant. “Anyway, have you heard? About Sung Hanbin and Zhang Hao?”

“What?”

“You know, Sung Hanbin and Zhang Hao. They’re the top ranked in the dance and music faculties. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of them, that’s literally not possible.”

“I know of them,” Ricky answered. “What about them?”

“You know they’ve been dating since the end of first year, right?” 

Ricky thought about it. This was the first he was hearing of it since he’d hardly crossed paths with either of them outside of the end-of-year award ceremonies, so he had nothing of value to add. “Oh. Congratulations to them. They’re both gay?”

Gyuvin fixed him with a look. “Kim Ricky, we’re in art school. I can guarantee you at least half the guys in this class like men.”

“Well, you’re probably right.”

“I usually am, thanks,” Gyuvin preened. “Anyway, don’t say you heard this from me, but I heard their relationship’s on the rocks. My money’s on them breaking up within a month.”

“Oh. My condolences. You actually have money on it?”

“You’re infuriating…” Gyuvin sighed dramatically and draped himself over his desk. “I supply you with the hottest goss in school and you don’t even care!”

“I’d care if I knew either of them personally,” Ricky answered evenly. “But I don’t. Do you?”

“Well, kind of. I know Gunwook who knows Hanbin, and I know Yujin who knows Zhang Hao, so I basically know them too.”

“Okay, good for you,” Ricky said, punching at his calculator. “Hope they mend their relationship or whatever.”

“Anyway,” Gyuvin continued. “On unrelated news, I heard Sung Hanbin is crazy smart. Like, he straight A’d his way through middle school to get here and he straight A’d his first two years of high school too. I mean, I heard the same thing about Zhang Hao, but music majors never end up getting valedictorian, everyone knows their syllabus is too difficult. So my bet is, your biggest problem is Sung Hanbin.”

Ricky furrowed his eyebrows just the slightest. “I know.”

“Not that you’d have a problem at all! I mean, you’re insanely smart and all you do is study so-”

“No, you’re right, I can’t get complacent. If I’m going to be valedictorian, I need to beat them both.”

“You will. I believe in you, Kim Ricky!”

“Kim Gyuvin, is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Gyuvin and Ricky both sat up straight in their chairs as the teacher’s voice cut through their conversation, and that was the end of it. 

Ricky returned to campus after lunch with Gyuvin at the Japanese restaurant they had talked about. He would head to the library today; it was still too early in the semester for any actual visual arts projects to be assigned, so he was stuck doing things like literature and statistics until he had a painting to paint or a drawing to draw. 

He pushed the glass door of the school library open. It was a beautiful place, illuminated by crystal chandeliers that bathed the open atrium in warm yellow light. The walls were paneled in dark wood matching the shelves, the floor a rich maroon carpet. He glanced towards the table he usually sat at. It was, at the moment, occupied by a bunch of what looked to be first years.

He sighed. Glancing down at his watch to check the time, he placed his bag onto another table near the far corner of the library, and as he looked back up he jumped a little, momentarily startled to see someone suddenly in front of him. He was decently tall, his school blazer unbuttoned, browline glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, a lollipop stick between his lips. 

Speak of the devil. Sung Hanbin of Class 3-1. 

He smiled, a little apologetic, cheeks crinkling as he did. “You can have the table, I’ll find another one,” he said, taking his cream bookbag off the table. “See you around!”

So he was here, too?

Hanbin turned and left before Ricky could say anything and Ricky sat down, watching the little plush hamster keychain hanging off Hanbin’s bag swing back and forth as he walked away, feeling the slightest bit disgruntled. Sung Hanbin being here on the first day of school meant he evidently intended to take this year as seriously as Ricky did, which was going to be a problem. 

He huffed, a little childishly, took out his pencilcase, and tried not to think any more of it. 

As the seasons shifted firmly into spring and the cherry blossom trees began to flower along the walkways on campus, the academic year began for real; group projects were assigned, the first set of instructions for end-of-year submissions were circulated, and the to-do lists Ricky had the habit of making in his notebook grew longer and longer by the week. The weather was getting warmer now and Gyuvin pestered him often about going to a national park or up a mountain for a hike together, but Ricky turned him down more often than not, and Gyuvin understood. That had always been the basis that their friendship had been grounded on, that Gyuvin would take Ricky out of his shell, and Ricky would rein him back in. But as much as Gyuvin was persistent, he always understood when Ricky said no. 

“Hey, Ricky…”

“Hm?”

“Why do you take school so seriously? I mean, it’s just the first year of high school. It’s not like it’s university, or something.”

Ricky sat up in his chair, abandoning his pen for a second. They were in Classroom 1-4, sitting side by side with their notes sprawled out over the desks around them. Outside, the late  autumn afternoon was melting into twilight, deep orange and yellow glinting off gilded windowframes. 

“That’s the point of school, Gyuvin,” Ricky answered. “You know, to learn.”

Gyuvin rolled his eyes and threw an eraser at him. “Yeah, I know! But like, I get the sense that you’re really stressed about doing well, like, all the time. Like you can’t let loose and screw up even a little bit.”

“Because I can’t,” Ricky said, his expression unreadable. “I love art, and I love being an art student. But I’m going against my entire family’s wishes to be here. None of them think I have any chance at a career if I pursue visual arts, especially my parents. If I screw up and do badly, I’m just proving them right, aren’t I?”

Gyuvin nodded slowly, processing what Ricky had just said. “So you’re doing all this to prove a point? To prove to them that there’s a future in studying art?”

Ricky’s eyebrows furrowed just the slightest. “I have to,” he answered, a little defensively. “My parents gave me an ultimatum. If I don’t graduate valedictorian, they’re not letting me pursue art any further. I have to do well. I have to prove my worth.”

“I understand,” Gyuvin said, thinking. “I didn’t think parents still thought like that in the twenty-first century. Guess they do.”

Ricky cracked a smile. “I know, right? You won’t believe the fight I had with them over it. I bet my dad still grits his teeth every time he thinks about me being in art school.”

“Valedictorian, huh?” Gyuvin tilted his head, like a curious puppy examining a plant he’d never seen before. “Have some faith in yourself. I’ll be rooting for you, Shen Quanrui.”

“You pronounced it wrong.”

“Sorry, didn’t know you were the valedictorian of pronunciation school too.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Two years had passed since then, and his parents’ stance remained unchanged. If he didn’t graduate top of his class at the end of his final year, he would never be allowed to study visual arts again, or any other form of what they liked to call ‘impractical nonsense’. So as the year dragged on and people began buckling down and studying for real, understandably, Ricky’s resentment for Sung Hanbin grew a little more day by day. 

His biggest gripe was that the art studios and dance studios were on the same floor on opposite sides of the East Wing of campus, and every time he stayed late to work on a project Sung Hanbin would inexplicably be there too, down the corridor, doing whatever he was doing at the dance studios. He wouldn’t have been so bothered just being in the general vicinity of Sung Hanbin, of course, if not for the fact that being in the general vicinity of Sung Hanbin meant bumping into him in the bathroom almost every single day this week and the week previous. 

Ricky set his paintbrush down into his pot of water, stirring it to shake the primer paint off, examining the work he’d done so far. They’d finally been assigned their first actual visual arts project of the year, a submission due after spring break titled ‘Impermanence’. He’d thought for a couple of days about what exactly to make of the theme, but he’d settled on doing a series of realism landscape paintings depicting the global effects of climate change. Currently, he was in the middle of priming the canvas for his first painting, a portrait of polar bears huddling on melting icecaps in the Arctic. 

As he headed to the bathroom, inspecting his hands for paint gone astray, he caught a glimpse of Sung Hanbin coming down the opposite end of the corridor, and he swore in his head. Some kind of sick coincidence, he grumbled to himself. Surely some divine force was laughing down at him from above. But it would look bad if he turned and walked away now, and besides, in all practicality, he really did need to pee. 

He pushed the door open with his elbow and walked over to the sink, scrubbing at the drying residue of white primer under his nails. Sung Hanbin walked in seconds later, whistling. He was dressed in black sweats and a black undershirt, with a grey school sweater half on and half off, in that silly way dancers liked to wear clothes as if they didn’t quite know how to put the other arm of their sweaters on. 

“Oh, hey!” he greeted, smiling. There was a lollipop stick between his teeth again, something that smelled like strawberry. “I’ve seen you around pretty often recently. Ricky, right? I remember you.”

Ricky nodded politely. “Right.”

“My name’s Sung Hanbin,” he said, extending a hand. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, and his eyes creased at the corners when he smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” Ricky shook his hand, smiling as much was needed so as not to be rude. “I’ll get going now, kinda working on something.”

“Oh, right, of course. See you around!”

Hanbin finger-waved to him as he left the bathroom, and Ricky realised, halfway down the corridor, that he’d been so fixated on trying to get away that he’d forgotten to do the thing he’d, you know, actually gone to the bathroom for. Letting out a dramatic sigh, he lingered in the stairwell out of sight of the corridor until he was sure Sung Hanbin would have left, took one glance down the hall just to be extra certain, then tiptoed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 

A few days passed before the next time he saw Sung Hanbin. Ricky was in the library, at the seat he liked to consider his usual seat at this point in the semester, pondering over how to fix the weird grammar in the sentence he was halfway through writing.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by the quiet thump of a cream-colored bookbag on the table in front of him. There Sung Hanbin stood, his hand on the back of the chair, with an rueful smile on his face. 

“All the other tables are occupied, and you’re the only person I know in here,” he whispered, a sheepish smile crossing his face. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Ricky grappled with that as Hanbin sat down and started rummaging in his bookbag. He had no right to mind, in fact, taking up an entire four-seater table on his own was kind of selfish. Anyone and everyone could sit here, who was he to turn people away from empty seats? But something about the idea of being in such close proximity with his Sung Hanbin just made his blood boil, and it didn’t make it any better that Ricky had enough self awareness to know how ridiculous he was being.

And what had he said, something about Ricky being the only person he knew in here? You don’t know me , he thought, a little indignant. They knew of each other. Acquaintances, at best, not even hi-bye friends. The only people Ricky considered himself to ‘know’ were his friends, and Sung Hanbin was not, under any circumstances, his friend. 

But the more time he was wasting ruminating over this, the less time he was spending doing indices, and that realization was enough to put the whole thing out of his mind. He spent the next hour staring severely down at his practice paper, scribbling things that hardly made sense to even him. 

He looked up from his work only when he heard a buzz; Hanbin’s phone, face-up on the table, lighting up with notifications. He watched Hanbin pick up the phone and glance at the screen, then turn it face-down and take his pen back up. 

The buzzing sounded again, and again, and again. Ricky looked up, mildly irritated, and Hanbin shot him an apologetic glance as he took up his phone, getting up and heading towards the door. Good riddance, Ricky thought. Don’t come back. 

Hanbin, unfortunately, did come back a while later, his hands buried in the pockets of his slacks. There was a lollipop stick between his teeth again, seriously, how many lollipops did this guy go through in a week? He sat back down at his seat opposite Ricky, his brow furrowed. His cheeks were dusted with pink, whether it was the cold or something else Ricky had no idea, but something in his usually cheery expression looked different; he looked bothered, upset. Hanbin put his phone back onto the table, face-down, and turned his attention back to his work. For the rest of the time he was there, it didn’t buzz again. 

When Ricky next checked the time, it was close to seven in the evening. He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes momentarily; he’d started doing math after he finished the essay, and math always had that sort of blood-sucking effect on him. He gathered up his notes into a neat pile and slid them into his file, getting up quietly to leave. 

He glanced behind him as he headed for the door. Hanbin sat, still, poring over whatever was in front of him, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose again. Ricky didn’t quite know why, but he felt a certain sense of defeat as he left campus and headed home. 

Spring break came and went. He and Gyuvin met up a couple of times over the break to have lunch, visit a park to see the cherry blossoms and finally go to one of those niche photobooths Gyuvin kept sending him links to, so overall it was not a break wasted, but outside of those hours, Ricky spent the rest of his time holed up in his room at home studying. 

Their ‘Impermanence’ assignment was due on the Friday of the week school reopened after spring break. He had brought his paintings back home from the studio on campus so he could work on them over the holiday, and his room was cluttered with easels and drying canvases balanced precariously against walls and corners everywhere, but such were the sacrifices people made for their art. 

He sat in his wheely chair, his arms wrapped around his knees, and looked around at his room. Five almost-finished paintings for his next assignment, three of them still glinting with wet acrylic. Twelve canvases dotting the four walls, three more simply on the floor propped up; butterflies in acrylic, a study on painting metallic sheens, the one and only piece he’d done in gouache of still-life and subsequently never attempted again, anatomical practice of how shadows fell on the tendons and bones of hands and fingers. If he opened the drawers by his bookshelf he would find sketchbooks upon sketchbooks, arranged by date, from as far back as the later years of elementary school, some of the pages sticking together from back when he wasn’t sensible enough to know not to paint in sketchbooks. Flowers, fruit, windows, scenery, oceans, nature, water, portraits. More flowers, probably. He liked drawing flowers.

He thought about leaving it all behind. He thought about graduating from high school and going to college and forgetting all about how to mix the most precise of blues from acrylics that looked nothing close, how to sharpen his pencil a certain way so they didn’t run weird when he sketched, how to hold a watercolor brush just right so it didn’t flood the paper. He thought about what it would be like to turn his back on the only thing he’d ever wanted so badly to hold on to. 

A knock sounded outside his door. Ricky stood up, stretching his knees out where they were beginning to cramp, sidestepped the wet canvases by the doorway and headed downstairs for dinner. 

His dad made the drive down to school with his canvases in the backseat after school on Tuesday. It would have been hard for Ricky to bring all his things back to campus if not for it, and he shot his dad a grateful smile as he opened the backseat door and maneuvered the pieces into his arms, which was no small feat on its own. 

“Thanks, dad. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. They’re, uh, they’re nice paintings.”

His free hand lingered on the car door before he closed it. His dad didn’t often praise him about anything to do with his art, what with trying not to “encourage him to pursue meaningless things” and all. 

Ricky soon realised, as he walked back into campus, balancing the five canvases of varying sizes carefully in his arms, that there was no way he was going to be able to get them all to the studio in one trip without dropping anything. He placed them down by the staircase at the first floor of the East Wing, taking a second to catch his breath, before grabbing two of the bigger ones and heading up the stairs. He wasn’t worried about people stealing them, art students were fortunately either too egoistic or too smart to try and pass off other students’ work as their own. 

He left the first two at the top of the stairwell on the fourth floor and took a second trip down for the remaining three. As he returned with the remaining, one of the larger canvases obscured his vision as he climbed the stairs, and only when he got to the top did he see someone bent low in front of his paintings, looking intently at them. 

Good lord, Sung Hanbin was like a cold sore, always popping up without warning. 

Hanbin straightened up and smiled, looking a little like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Oh, so these are yours…” he mused. “It’s beautiful. I was just wondering who painted it. I knew you were good, but you’re really better than I could have ever expected.”

Ricky glanced over to see what he was looking at. It was a painting of fire swallowing treetops, orange and amber blooming against dark green and black, the silhouettes of birds in the distance escaping into thick smoke. Impermanence in the form of nature, forest fires as consequences of climate change. 

“Thanks, I try.” He said nothing more, turning left down the corridor to the art studio, encumbered still by the three paintings in his arms. Again, only when he set them down at his designated workstation in the studio did he realise Hanbin had followed him silently, the two remaining canvases balanced carefully in his arms. Hanbin came up next to him and set his armful down next to Ricky’s. 

“Oh. You didn’t have t-”

“I know,” Hanbin said quickly, leaning against one of the pillars along the walls of the studio. “I was just curious what the inside of the art studios looked like. It’s my third year being in this school and I’ve never been inside one till now, can you imagine that?”

Ricky shrugged, opening a drawer to look for a piece of tarp or cloth to lay over the canvases so they didn’t gather dust while he was gone. “Well, no reason for you to be.”

Hanbin frowned, then nodded. “True. It’s a pretty place, though. All the artwork just lying around makes the room look so…alive. I know as an art student it’s probably silly to hear something like that, but, you know.”

Ricky said nothing for a long moment. He thought the same thing often, about all the studios he’d had the privilege to work in over the years. Something about the half-finished art pieces and abandoned sketches and paint-crusted palettes and unsharpened pencils all around made stepping into every studio feel like life and color and vividity. It was part of what had drawn him to visual arts years ago, and what had anchored him steadily to it as time passed. 

But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding cheesy, and in any case he had no interest in saying it to Sung Hanbin, so all he said was “Yeah, it’s a nice place. Smells like old paint all the time, though.”

Hanbin laughed softly. “Once you’ve caught a whiff of the sweat baked into the floors of the dance studios, anywhere else smells like a walk through a flower garden.”

Ricky caught the faintest of smiles crossing his face, and he wiped his expression clean before anyone could see. 

“Hey, Kim Ricky!” 

Gyuvin caught up to him in the corridor outside the classrooms a few days later, before first period. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“You’re supposed to guess, you spoilsport.”

Ricky rolled his eyes and laughed softly. “What, you woke up this morning and grew puppy ears and a tail?”

Gyuvin groaned. “Ugh, shut up. I heard Hanbin and Zhang Hao finally broke up. I didn’t get my money back since I bet on it happening by the end of April, but whatever. So close!”

“Oh, first name basis huh?” Ricky remarked, twisting the lock closed on his locker door. “I told you you shouldn’t have bet actual money on it.”

“Yup, first name basis,” Gyuvin grinned, bouncing on the tips of his toes as he walked, like he often did when he was in a good mood. “I was hanging with Gunwook at the cafeteria last week and he said hi as he walked past and we talked a little bit. He’s really nice.”

“Yeah, m’sure he is.”

“He mentioned you for a sec, you know?” Gyuvin continued, as they turned the corner and entered the back door of the classroom. “He was like, ‘I think I’ve seen you around. You’re Ricky’s friend, right?’”

Ricky made a face. “Why does he know that about me?”

Gyuvin feigned a look of offense and smacked Ricky with the blazer he had over his arm. “What’s wrong with him knowing we’re friends, you octopus?”

“Octupus?”

“I’ve got octopus on my mind. Just saw a video about teppanyaki before I got here.”

Ricky shook his head and laughed, setting his things down at his desk. “Nothing wrong, just, I don’t like that he knows stuff about me. That’s weird.”

“It is not at all weird, you just hate him,” Gyuvin retorted. “Why do you hate him so much?”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die. Lying erodes your soul.”

Ricky turned around and shot him an incredulous look. “How are you coming up with all this?”

Gyuvin did a little shrug and winked. “I’m just quick-witted like that. I see right through you, Kim Ricky.”

“Whatever.”

As the semester went on, the imminent arrival of midterms season began to weigh upon the rest of the campus. The library was full more often than not, and annoyingly enough, the table he considered to be his at the back corner of the library began to see an unwelcome recurrent co-occupant, none other than Sung Hanbin. Even worse, every now and then his classes would run late, and by the time he got to the library Hanbin was already at the table and now Ricky looked like the one intruding. Seriously, for the amount of people in this school Hanbin was purported to be friends with, was there not a single one of them in this library he could share a table with instead?

Ricky sat with his statistics notes piling like snowbanks around him, staring blankly at the practice paper in front of him. Statistics was genuinely the biggest pain in the ass, he thought, as he scribbled over his half-finished, clearly incorrect answer and started again from the beginning. If he ended up getting a B, this chapter in the syllabus would be the sole cause. 

“You should make a scatter plot for that,” Hanbin whispered, leaning over the table so he wasn’t too loud. “Makes it easier to understand.”

Ricky looked up. “How do you know?” he shot back, a little indignant.

“I just did that one earlier,” Hanbin answered, gesturing to the question Ricky was despairing over. “Took me like, ten minutes too.”

He’s ahead of me!?

Ricky barely had it in him to say a disgruntled thank you before he looked back down and reattempted the question with renewed vengeance. But math was his Achilles’ heel and always had been; everyone had to have a weakness, right? And as the days ticked down towards midterms, Ricky’s anxiety began to grow, and grow. 

He began to spend longer and longer days in the library, in the classroom, in the studio, anywhere he could study without being disturbed. The stress ate away at his appetite like it always did, and gradually he began to lose it, eating less and less of his cafeteria lunches, until sometimes he went full days without having more than a few bites. He would realise only when he got home, how lightheaded and ill he felt, and only then would he reach into the fridge and eat some of whatever he could find inside, but some days he was so mentally exhausted that he could not bring himself to eat at all. Gyuvin noticed it, of course, and had quickly picked up the habit of carrying lots of the randomest snacks in his bag and offering it to Ricky throughout the day. 

“Why do you have a…block of pecorino cheese with you?” Ricky had asked, absolutely confused, though he took the snack regardless and ate it. 

“It’s not a block,” Gyuvin had protested, handing him a wholegrain cracker to eat the cheese with. “It’s an appropriate travel-sized portion. It’s my portable cheese.”

“Portable cheese is not a thing.”

“Yes it is, and you’re eating it right now.”

But even so, Gyuvin was busy and could not watch over him all the time, and quite frankly, it wasn’t his job to. As much as he tried to keep an eye on Ricky while they were together, he had things like basketball and student council and other commitments he couldn’t desert at will, and for the remainder of the time when Ricky was alone, he thought only about schoolwork and nothing else, and was free to abandon all other concerns as he so pleased. 

He looked up from his work one of the evenings, massaging his temples with tired fingers, trying to get the migraine that had been pounding inside his head for the past half hour to go away. Maybe he should drink some water, he thought groggily, that might help. He reached for his water bottle. It was empty. 

Ricky sighed, getting up from his chair. The water cooler was a distance away from the art studio, but he wasn’t going to get much done sitting here with a splitting headache anyway. 

God, my head really hurts like a bitch…

He walked down the corridor, feeling more like a zombie than a living human being. Something felt off. His heart was beating faster than it was supposed to be, but at the same time he felt like it was beating way too slow, and his legs felt like they couldn’t decide whether to listen to him or not. 

He didn’t make it many more steps before he lost his footing and stumbled. The last instinct he had was to shield his head as he fell, but before he could feel impact against his bones, he was out like a light. 

When he reawoke, he felt like his limbs had all been detached from his body, then reattached again. There was something soft under his head, but his neck hurt, and even after he opened his eyes, it took a good half a minute before his vision cleared up enough for him to see anything at all. 

“Oh jeez, thank god you woke up,” somebody said next to him. “Drink this, quickly. You were burning up, I was terrified.”

The person handed him something, a plastic bottle of water, and Ricky brought it to his lips. The cold water soothed his dry throat, and he took a few long gulps of it, setting it down beside him when he was done. 

“Eat this first. I got you some food, but I think you might throw up if you eat so soon after waking up.”

Minutes passed before Ricky finally felt coherent enough to register his surroundings. He was in a corner of a large room with mirrors along three out of the four walls. No one else was there except him and the person holding something out in front of him- oh. Sung Hanbin, with an unwrapped strawberry lollipop in hand. 

“Did you eat at all today? You should get some sugar in you fast, before you faint again,” he continued, waving the lollipop closer to Ricky. Ricky reached out to take it, slipping the piece of candy into his mouth. A burst of sugar and artificial strawberry flavoring slid over his tongue, and he realised belatedly that that was the first thing he’d eaten in almost two days. 

He sucked on the lollipop in silence until it was half gone, before he felt well enough to speak. His head still hurt, but the pounding had faded to a dull throbbing. He’d figured out where he was now, this was one of the dance studios in the East Wing, just down the corridor from the art studio he’d been in. He’d probably passed out in the hallway and been found by Hanbin. Heaven only knew how he’d managed to drag Ricky’s dead weight all the way into the dance studio, but evidently he’d managed it somehow. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking up at Hanbin, who’d been pacing nervously ever since he woke up. “Uh, sorry to bother you and all.”

“Is that seriously what you’re worried about?” Hanbin returned incredulously. “How are you feeling? Does your head hurt anywhere? I don’t know how long you were out before I found you. If you hit your head anywhere you need to go to the hosp-”

“I’m fine, I didn’t hit my head,” Ricky interjected. “Just fainted for a while. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Hanbin said, staring at him with his mouth agape. “Hey, people die from things like that, you know? Have you eaten anything today?”

Ricky considered lying. “No.”

“Oh my god…” Hanbin scurried over to his bookbag at the far corner of the dance studio and returned with a brown paper bag. “There’s a sandwich and a cookie in here, eat up, hurry. It’s not good for your body to skip meals like that.”

Ricky hesitated to take the bag from him. “But that’s for you, isn’t it? What are you going to eat?”

Hanbin waved him off dismissively. “I’ll get food on my way back, I had a late lunch anyway.”

“But-”

“You’re still arguing with me? Eat.”

Ricky gave in and took the bag obediently. There was a chicken and vegetable sandwich inside as promised, together with a white chocolate chip cookie. He ate half of the sandwich and a few bites he’d broken off the cookie before he started to feel full, and slowed down. 

“Do you…uh…want some of this? I won’t be able to finish it,” he said quietly, offering the remaining two-thirds of the cookie to Hanbin. “I didn’t bite it, I broke the pieces off.”

“No, you eat it. You can’t possibly be full with just that,” Hanbin answered. “How’s your fever? I put a cold compress on you earlier, but I don’t know if it did anything.”

“Um…” Ricky pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. “I feel fine, I think.”

Hanbin walked over and nudged Ricky’s hand away, pressing his own palm against Ricky’s forehead. Ricky winced instinctively; Hanbin’s hand was cold, uncomfortably cold. 

“Jeez, you’re like on fire or something,” Hanbin exclaimed, taking his hand away. “I’m going to go put more cold water on this towel, I’ll be back in a second.”

The door closed quietly behind him and Ricky sat in the corner of the dance studio in silence. He wondered why Hanbin had gone to all this trouble, why he was going to all this trouble. Ricky fainting had nothing to do with him, he had no responsibility to do anything about it. 

He thought about what would have happened if the situations were reversed. Would he have helped Hanbin, carried him all the way to the art studio, laid him down and propped his head up on a rolled-up sweater, nursed him with a cold towel, offered him food and water when he woke up? 

Shame washed over him, or maybe it was just a fresh wave of fever. The most he would have done was call the school nurse, or slap his face a couple times to wake him up. Maybe he would have been secretly glad about it, for some twisted reason. Good riddance, he might have thought. 

He felt like banging his head against the wall, but that would have made his headache worse. God, he really was a horrible person next to someone like Sung Hanbin. Having it slapped in his face like that just made it that much worse. 

Hanbin returned just then, cold towel in hand, and Ricky let his gaze fall, studying the laces of his shoes as Hanbin pressed the cold compress to his burning forehead. 

He saw Hanbin a few more times over the next couple of weeks. They didn’t speak much to each other outside of occasional greetings, but every time Ricky saw him, he noticed Hanbin’s sharp eye observing him. His knee-jerk reaction was to feel a little disgruntled at being so closely perceived, but something in him, though he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, was grateful for Hanbin’s care. He didn’t have many close friends in school because he hadn’t bothered to make many, but the warmth of knowing someone was looking out for him every now and then was oddly comforting.

The final weeks leading up to midterms passed by uneventfully, and soon summer break was upon them, promising a precious few months of respite from school. He’d gotten an A on everything for the first semester, thankfully just scraping by for his math paper, and his ‘Impermanence’ project had gotten great feedback from the teacher, much to his relief. At the very least, summer meant he could take a breather from being neck-deep in schoolwork all the time, which meant he spent a good amount of the ten weeks rolling around his bed, playing video games with Gyuvin, cafe-hopping and window-shopping, things he refused to dedicate time to during the semester. 

The two of them were in the midst of a conversation on the verge of turning into a playful argument, as they walked through the doors of some cafe in Yeonnam-dong. The air conditioning was a haven from the summer heat outside, and the thick aroma of ground coffee beans and freshly baked cookies was enough to, at least temporarily, distract them from their conversation. 

They headed over to the counter, looking up at the overhead menu board handwritten in white chalk, before Gyuvin spoke up. 

“Hey, Sung Hanbin! You work here?”

The boy standing behind the counter looked up, and his face lit up. “Gyuvin! What are you doing here?”

“Nothing much, just some cafe hopping. Hey Kim Ricky, Hanbin’s here! Come say hi!” 

Gyuvin dragged a reluctant Ricky back to the counter. Whether it was because he hadn’t seen Hanbin for a while or because time had just mellowed him out, Ricky had no idea, but the habitual dislike he’d cultivated for Hanbin seemed to have lessened, at least, enough for him to smile without feeling like he was faking it. 

“Hey, Hanbin. You, uh, work here?”

“Yup! It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” he said, waving the spoon he had in hand around to gesture at the decor. The cafe was beautifully designed; ceiling to floor windows letting the afternoon sunlight in to illuminate the space, pale wooden tables and shelves and paneling all around, fresh flowers in glass vases on every table. 

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Ricky agreed, nodding appreciatively. 

“It’d be even more beautiful with one of your paintings up on the wall, don’t you think?” Hanbin continued, reaching for a pair of tongs to transfer glazed donuts from a tray over to the glass display cabinet. “Well, not the one of the forest fire, but…you know what I mean.”

Ricky laughed out loud, caught off guard for a second. “You still remember that, huh?”

Hanbin smiled. “Of course I do. It’s an honor to lay eyes on one of Kim Ricky’s paintings, you know?”

“My name’s…not actually Kim Ricky. You do know that, right?”

“I know, I just find it funny that Gyuvin calls you that all the time,” Hanbin answered, laughing. “Is it…okay? I won’t do it, if you don’t like it.”

Ricky thought for a second. No one else was ridiculous enough to call him Kim Ricky like Gyuvin did, in fact, he hardly considered himself close enough to most people for them to give him any nicknames at all, but something about hearing that silly name come from Hanbin made him feel, strangely, that they were perhaps closer than he’d thought. He couldn’t decide if he liked it or not. 

“No, I don’t mind it. But you’re just encouraging Gyuvin to keep coming up with more of these,” Ricky shrugged, resigned. “He’s going to start calling you Kim Hanbin next. Everyone else at school better watch out.”

He conveyed both his and Gyuvin’s orders to Hanbin and headed over to sit down at the table Gyuvin had found. Hanbin came over to their table about ten minutes later, bearing a tray with their orders, walking right into a heated conversation about the validity of the Schrodinger’s cat thought experiment. 

“No, listen to me, you goldfish. If you just shook the box, the cat would make a no-”

“That’s not the point! It’s not actually about a cat and a box, it’s about the bigger pictu-”

Hanbin set the tray down on the table between them. “Sorry to interrupt this…intellectual debate,” he began. “I made these macarons myself. It’s only my second try so they’re probably not perfect, but I wanted you guys to try some, on the house.”

“Wow, Sung Hanbin…” Gyuvin exclaimed dramatically. “Macaron chef! What an honor.”

“Let me know how they taste, okay? If they’re good, I might get to start baking more.”

“I’ll say they’re good even if they’re bad,” Gyuvin answered, and Ricky laughed. “Where’s your manager? I’ll tell them these macarons got me pregnant.”

Ricky gave him a questioning look. “I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing…”

The macarons were, in fact, delicious, strawberry flavored with a whipped cream and jam filling. Ricky recalled suddenly, all the strawberry lollipops Hanbin was always walking around school eating. A happy coincidence, he supposed, as he washed them down with a sip of iced caramel latte. 

He and Gyuvin went back to the cafe Hanbin worked at a few more times before summer break ended for good and the fall semester began. Now that the weather was getting colder, students were gradually transitioning back to the winter uniform, meaning blazers and school sweaters were appearing more and more on campus. Classes reopened without much delay, and soon Ricky settled back into the rigor of studying and revising hard, like he always did. 

He went back to spending days holed up in his corner at the library or at the art studio. Though the library was emptier now since it was still early in the semester, Hanbin still appeared often at his table, and for some reason even Ricky himself didn’t understand, he found himself turning away from the other empty tables and going back to his old seat. 

Call it craving familiarity, he thought to himself. That must be the reason. Though the ultimatum his parents had given him still weighed on him constantly at the back of his mind, and with that the determination in him to beat out Sung Hanbin to graduate top of their class, something in the way he saw things had changed. Like stepping out of a pair of old shoes and realising that, for a long time now, they had been much too small. 

In the past Sung Hanbin was nothing more than a nuisance, an obstacle in his way, as if everyone that went against him was automatically out to get him. It irked him even more than Sung Hanbin was just so unequivocally nice, so unfailingly friendly, so unreservedly selfless. That he was the kind of person who would say hi to someone who couldn’t be bothered to give them the time of the day, the kind of person who would help carry things without needing to be asked, the kind of person who would help out someone who was his competitor for no reason at all, felt like insult added to injury. But Ricky was starting to realise that maybe seeing Sung Hanbin through his tinted glasses was abjectly unfair. And now that he had taken them off, he could see that Sung Hanbin was just a hardworking and extremely, extremely kind boy who happened to have the misfortune of shooting at the same target as Ricky, and nothing more. 

That didn’t change the fact that he knew he had to beat Sung Hanbin in the end. But it changed the way he looked at things, and he thought, quietly to himself, that there was something worth appreciating about that. 

“Jeez, it’s cold today…”

Ricky looked up from his literature essay. Hanbin was frowning, blowing warm air into his palms. “Is the heater in here not working, or something?”

“Don’t you have a jacket?” Ricky asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“How are you walking around without one during the fall semester?” he answered, a little disapprovingly. “Just wear mine, here.”

He reached over the table to hand Hanbin his school sweater, and the other boy shot him a grateful glance. “Thanks. I don’t know why I always forget to bring one. I keep thinking it’s not going to be that cold.”

“Well, it’s only going to get colder from here. Bring a jacket with you every day, or you’re going to fall sick.”

“That’s fresh coming from you,” Hanbin retorted, sticking out his tongue. “Okay, kidding, kidding. Thanks for the sweater.”

Soon, gradually, Ricky began to think of ‘his’ table as their table. His and Hanbin’s schedule started matching up, weirdly enough; some days they’d spend hours sitting opposite each other studying in silence, and other days they’d be in their respective studios until late in the evening, catching glimpses of one another in the corridor every now and then. He learned that Hanbin lived pretty close to him, a realisation he’d made completely by accident one of the nights they’d happened to head home at the same time, and from then on they’d slowly cultivated the implicit habit of waiting for each other to catch the bus home together. 

They were walking, one of the nights, out the school gate and down the street towards the bus stop. It had rained during the day, and the sidewalk was still wet, puddles dotting the cement here and there. Hanbin’s phone lit up and he flipped it up to glance at it, then shoved it into his pocket and huffed quietly, looking a little annoyed. 

“What was that?” 

“Nothing, just…” 

“Just?”

Hanbin sighed. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Ricky answered, sidestepping a puddle. “Unless you’d rather not talk about it.”

“I was, uh…I was dating this guy since the end of first year,” Hanbin began, a little hesitantly. “I’m bi, by the way, since you’re probably wondering.”

“Or so I’ve heard,” Ricky replied, bemused. “So am I, since you’re probably wondering too. But go on.”

“What do you mean, or so you’ve heard?”

“Nothing. Go on.”

“There’s nothing much, just that we broke up a while ago and it’s been…I don’t know, messy? Complicated? I don’t know.”

Ricky nodded, listening intently. “Messy how?”

“I wanted to end on good terms,” Hanbin continued. “So we agreed we’d still treat each other like friends and stuff.”

“Okay, and?”

“He still texts me a lot. Asks me to hang out, sends me random stuff, that kind of thing. Gets mad when I don’t respond quickly. This sounds mean, but I feel like he hasn’t really accepted that we’re not together anymore. Like, he’s still acting the way he did when we were dating, telling our friends we’re going to get back together and stuff. It’s…a little bothersome.”

Ricky continued nodding. “Hmm. Can I ask why you guys broke up? I’m assuming you initiated it, considering everything.”

“Yeah, I did,” Hanbin answered. “It was a whole bunch of things, really, and eventually I just didn’t want to deal with all of it anymore. He was pretty immature, for one. He got jealous all the time and didn’t like it when I spent too much time with my friends, and he always expected me to do things for him like it was my job, and he never really said thank you a lot. Stuff like that. I started realising at the end of second year that he really wasn’t a very nice person, and it kind of just went downhill from there.”

“Oh, that’s…”

“Unkind of me to say? I know.”

“No, I was going to say it’s valid,” Ricky said. “I mean, a relationship’s a two way street, there’s gotta be give and take, right? Sounds like all he was doing was taking.”

Hanbin nodded slowly. “Seemed a little like that, after a while. I felt like such a horrible person, like I was the most selfish jerk in the world. I thought, love was supposed to be unconditional, right? So if I loved him, then why was I feeling like that?”

“That may have been a sign that it wasn’t love,” Ricky mused. “But aside from that, love shouldn’t be completely unconditional. If you love someone so much you let them trample all over you, it starts to become more like sacrifice. It’s a thin line.”

“You’re right,” Hanbin agreed. “Trust an art student to have a perspective like that. You’ve got it all figured out. You’re dating someone, though, aren’t you? What’s her name, Bora or something? Sorry, I’m not that good with names.”

Ricky stopped walking and narrowed his eyes at Hanbin. “What? I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t dated anyone since I started high school.”

“Oh, really? Jeez, now there’s a sign not to listen to hallway gossip,” Hanbin said ruefully. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

“It’s okay. I know what people say about me. I’m kind of over it at this point.”

“You really haven’t dated anyone since first year?” Hanbin continued. 

“Nope. Never wanted to. Studying’s more important. Can’t waste my time doing sidequests.”

Hanbin laughed softly, dry leaves crinkling underfoot as they walked. “Yeah? You’re one of those, huh? I should have known.”

“Well, the same can be said about you,” Ricky retorted. “Between the two of us, I can’t tell which of us has clocked more hours at the library this year.”

“Ah, it’ll all be worth it in the end,” Hanbin sighed, smiling faintly. “I really want to graduate valedictorian this year.”

Ricky’s expression froze as the words left Hanbin’s mouth, but he kept walking, looking straight ahead of him. “Is there a reason why? Or do you just want it for the prestige?”

Hanbin looked down at his shoes. “The valedictorian of every graduating class gets the National Arts Scholarship,” he answered finally, after a long moment of silence. “It’ll cover my entire college tuition, including accommodation and living allowance.”

“A scholarship, huh?”

“It’s the only way I’ll be able to go to college,” Hanbin said, shrugging. “My, uh, my family’s never been well-to-do. We get by, but I have a sister still in school, and ever since my grandma started getting sicker last year, money’s been really tight. College is expensive, you know?”

It was the first Ricky had heard about the scholarship. His family had always been wealthy, and he’d never worried a single day about where his tuition money was going to come from, but as he listened to Hanbin talk, he began to feel like his reasons for wanting to be valedictorian were a little silly. 

“Oh. I’m sorry about your grandmother, I hope she recovers soon.”

Hanbin smiled, a little bitterly. “Doesn’t seem like she will for a while, but hey, optimism keeps the world spinning, right?” he said. “Wow, you’re really learning a lot about me tonight. Sorry for dampening the mood.”

Ricky smacked him gently in the arm. “Don’t apologise for that, idiot. You didn’t.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

They sat in silence, side by side on the bus stop bench, waiting for their bus to arrive. The streets were dark now, streetlights casting long streaks of fluorescent onto the wet asphalt. 

“I never really properly said thank you,” Ricky started. “For that time you helped me out. Thanks for that. You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate that you did.”

“You’re welcome,” Hanbin answered, grinning brightly in the dimness of early night. “Anyone would have done it. I was just worried you weren’t okay.”

“Not everyone,” Ricky said, smiling wryly. I might not have, he thought silently. Not back then. “You’re really a good person, you know?”

“I try to be.”

“You don’t need to try, you already are.”

Comfortable silence stretched on between them for a while, before Ricky spoke up again. 

“I have a crazy idea for you,” he said suddenly. “As a return favor, for going to all that trouble to look after me.”

“I don’t need a return favor for that,” Hanbin said, amused. “But I’m curious. What is it?”

“Let’s date,” Ricky said conspiratorially. “Just for pretend, so you can tell people you’re dating someone else and your ex can back off for good and leave you alone. It’ll be believable because of how much time we spend together, anyway, and you won’t have to be bothered about all that stuff anymore.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it sounds like it would work, but you don’t get anything out of it,” Hanbin frowned. 

“Do I have to get something out of it?” Ricky returned. “It’s called a favor for a reason. You’ve got enough on your plate without having to worry about a messy breakup, too.”

Hanbin thought for a few moments, nodding slowly. “I guess you’re right. Are you sure you don’t mind? I don’t want you to feel like you have to help me just because-”

“Look at me, Sung Hanbin,” Ricky said, completely seriously. “Do I seem like the kind of person who would do something I don’t want to do?”

“Well, no.”

“That’s what I thought. So what do you say?”

Hanbin smiled, eyes twinkling. “Alright. Let’s date.”

The plan came into action almost immediately. No one would believe it if they suddenly announced that they were dating out of nowhere, so there had to be some sort of buildup to it, stuff like walking together in the corridors, eating together at the cafeteria, stuff that people could actually see and make their own assumptions on. Rumors spread fast; many nosy eyes had been on Hanbin, watching his every move ever since he ended things with Zhang Hao, and there had always been eyes on Ricky, but now he was finally doing something interesting enough for people to talk about instead of having to resort to making things up like they usually did. 

He noticed Zhang Hao watching them from the far side of the cafeteria, surrounded by a bunch of people Ricky didn’t recognise, probably music majors, as he and Hanbin stood in line to get their lunches. 

Ricky leaned close to Hanbin so he could whisper in his ear. “Don’t look right now, but your ex is watching us.”

Hanbin resisted the urge to turn and look, but he smiled. “Is he? I guess it’s working.”

“Careful,” Ricky said out loud, straightening up, taking Hanbin by the elbow so he could nudge him away. “Someone spilled milk on the floor, don’t slip.”

“Milk? Who’s out here drinking milk just like that?” Hanbin asked, sidestepping the milk puddle in the cafeteria line. 

“No idea. But in any case, no crying over it.”

“Ha ha, hilarious.”

He waited for Hanbin, later, in the corridor outside the dance studio. Ricky had been working on some sketches for a new assignment and Hanbin had been doing whatever he was doing, but he’d texted to say he was hungry and wanted a rice ball from the convenience store down the street, and Ricky had agreed to come with. 

“Give me ten minutes, I want to nail this part before we go,” Hanbin had texted. That had been five minutes ago, but Ricky had already left the art studio, and either way he didn’t mind waiting. 

He leaned against the wall, tapping his shoe against the parquet floors as he watched dead leaves swirl through the fall breeze and disappear from the view of the fourth floor window. Footsteps sounded from the far end of the corridor just then; Ricky squinted through the afternoon sun to see who it was. 

Zhang Hao. Ricky made a cursory glance down the other side of the corridor to see if there was anyone else the other boy could be looking for but him. The hallway was empty save for the two of them. 

Zhang Hao stopped in front of him, regarding him with a look that resembled disdain. 

“What’s going on with you and Hanbin?” 

Ricky was surprised at his bluntness. On first glance, he didn’t seem like the confrontational sort. Begrudgingly, Ricky could see why Hanbin had been attracted to him; he had fluffy brown hair and features that went well together, though his expression now was somewhere between annoyed and vexed. A violin case hung off one shoulder and his school tie was loose around his neck, one of his shoes tapping impatiently against the paneled floor. 

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Ricky answered neutrally. 

“It is my business,” Zhang Hao returned. “I’d like to know what business you have hanging out with my- with Hanbin every day. Don’t you have any other friends?”

“Your what, hm? Your boyfriend?” Ricky scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What does it matter what business I have with him? Nothing he does should concern you.”

“You-!”

“Hey, listen. You and Hanbin are over, you had your shot and you blew it. I’d really appreciate it if you left my boyfriend alone.”

His eyes were steely. He stared Zhang Hao down for a long few moments before the other boy looked away, scoffing incredulously. 

“You’re just his new flavour of the month,” he said dismissively, turning away. “He’ll come back to me, and you know it.”

Ricky stood up straighter, setting his shoulders back. He was taller than Zhang Hao by just a little, but it was enough to make a difference. 

“Funny how you dated him for so long and still don’t know him at all,” he bit out, looking down at the other boy with a withering gaze. “He’s too good for a self-centred jerk like you. Leave. Him. Alone. He doesn’t want anything to do with you, I think he’s made that abundantly clear.”

For a split second, Ricky wondered if Zhang Hao was going to punch him, or at the very least swing at him with his violin case or something. The other boy pressed his lips together like there was something more he wanted to say, but Ricky stood still and watched him, almost as if to say keep talking, I dare you. 

“Whatever. You’re just a bitch.”

Zhang Hao turned away from him and disappeared down the corridor. Ricky turned back towards the dance studio doors, and jumped. 

“Jeez! Don’t scare people like that,” he said, smoothing down invisible creases in his slacks. “Were you watching all that?”

Hanbin pushed the door open fully and walked out, looking thoroughly entertained. “Listening, more like. I knew if I came out or if he saw me that would have just made things worse.”

“You’re probably right,” Ricky said. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Hanbin walked up next to him, their elbows close enough to brush every now and then. “I guess we’re official now. Boyfriend, huh?”

Ricky laughed, elbowing him softly. “You weren’t supposed to hear that, eavesdropper. But yeah, I guess we are. About time, isn’t it?”

Hanbin nodded. It was a cool day, and the crunch of leaves underfoot was oddly invigorating.

“I can’t believe you dated that guy,” Ricky started. “That’s your type?”

“Shut up,” Hanbin retorted, shaking his head. “He wasn’t always like that. There must have been a point in time where he was much more likeable, it’s just…hard to remember now. Still, I’d like to think my taste isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it’s bad .”

“You know what, I’m not taking shit from someone who’s never dated.”

“So close! Actually, it’s about having standards.”

Gyuvin accosted Ricky with lots of gusto the next morning before school started. He’d noticed Ricky hanging out with Hanbin since the beginning, as observant as he was, but Ricky had denied everything up till now. Ricky knew Gyuvin well, and he’d reasoned to himself that Gyuvin being the biggest gossipmonger in the world meant only one thing; that he could not keep his mouth shut about anything under the sun. 

“So…” Gyuvin began, coming up next to him in the corridors. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on.”

“Don’t lie, Kim Ricky, I heard stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I don’t know if it’s true, so I want to hear it from you first.”

Ricky stopped walking and fixed him with a hard look. “We always do this. You always say you want to hear it from me first, I always say okay fine then I won’t tell you, and you end up telling me first anyway. So just tell me.”

“Ugh, you’re right…” Gyuvin grumbled. “Fine, I heard you and Hanbin are, you know, together. Is it true?”

“Yeah.”

Gyuvin’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Would I lie about that?”

“Well, no. Is it a secret?”

Ricky pretended to think for a second. “No.”

“Okay. Just asking.”

By the end of the day, of course, Gyuvin had successfully conveyed the news to pretty much half of the school, and by next morning, as Ricky and Hanbin walked through the school gates together, almost every single pair of eyes was on them. 

“News got out, huh?” Hanbin said, burying his hands in the pockets of his school blazer. 

“Mhm. Gyuvin.”

“Right. Should have expected it.”

They staunchly ignored the curious gazes sent their way and continued going about their usual activities, having lunch together every now and then, studying together at the library after school, taking the bus home together when it got late, and slowly the buzz began to die down. After all, people couldn’t gossip about the same thing forever, and they were not the sort that roused much attention in the usual course of things. There were a few offhand jokes made about Sung Hanbin having a type, what with jumping from dating the top ranked music major to the top ranked visual arts major, but they laughed along and took those with good humor, after all, it was sort of true. 

Zhang Hao still texted Hanbin every now and then, though much less often, much to his relief. Whenever he tried to talk to Hanbin in the cafeteria or after school or in the hallways, Ricky would be there, and he would thread his arm through Hanbin’s or take his hand and eventually Zhang Hao gave up trying to worm his way back into Hanbin’s good graces, and that was that.

“Kim Ricky, where’s Hanbin?” Gyuvin asked one of the afternoons, bending down to grab a carton of chocolate milk in the lunch line. “You usually eat lunch with him on Tuesdays.”

“I don’t know,” Ricky answered, frowning. “I’ve texted and called him, but he hasn’t responded since last night.”

“Oh. Is he okay?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I hope everything’s okay. I’m sure he’ll answer soon.”

Hanbin didn’t answer for the rest of the day. Ricky spent the entire day in a daze; he didn’t know why, but he couldn’t focus on anything in front of him. Whether it was math or literature or even art history, everything was ghosting through him like he wasn’t even there. The worst part was that multiple people had come up to him in the hallways between classes or during lunch to ask him if he knew where Hanbin was, and he had to give the same negative answer to all of them. 

He sat at their table in the library after school, his notes open in front of him but nothing making sense. He’d had to resort to burying his phone all the way at the bottom of his bookbag to resist the urge to check it every few minutes, but when he wasn’t checking his phone he was preoccupied thinking about checking his phone, and he quickly gave up on the idea of getting anything done at all. 

What had happened to Hanbin? It was completely out of character for him not to answer texts, in fact, he was one of the most responsive people Ricky knew. At least much more so than Gyuvin, who was in the terrible habit of leaving texts unanswered for weeks. And as far as Ricky could remember, Hanbin hadn’t missed a day of school since the start of the year. 

He was probably sick, Ricky reasoned to himself as he gathered up his notes and left the library. But unless he’d been taken violently ill overnight, it was unlikely he would be so sick he wasn’t even checking his phone. What if it was something worse? What if there’d been an accident, or a kidnapping, or he’d fallen down a manhole somewhere?

Come on, Ricky Shen, be for real. 

Okay, so maybe he was being a bit dramatic. But that didn’t stop him from brooding over it further as he boarded the bus home in the middle of the afternoon, disconcerted by the unfamiliar emptiness of having no one in the seat next to him. 

“You’re home early,” his mother called from the kitchen, as he closed the front door behind him. 

“Yeah, wasn’t feeling too well.” 

His mother poked her head around the corner. “Medicine’s in the second drawer in the pantry. Do you need to see a doctor?” 

Ricky shook his head. “I’ll just head upstairs and rest for a while.”

“Okay. Call if you need anything.”

He dropped his bag on the floor next to his desk and showered quickly before getting into bed, checking his phone for any new notifications as he rubbed a towel over his wet hair. There were a few, but none from Hanbin, and a quick look at their chat said Hanbin hadn’t even opened any of his messages since they were sent. 

Someone knocked on his door to call him for dinner, a couple of hours later, but he turned them down and lay back in bed. His stomach was churning too much, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to swallow anything even if he tried. 

He thought about calling Hanbin again. He decided, after some consideration, against it. 

Reaching over to the cupboards by his bookshelf, he grabbed the first sketchbook at the top of the pile and flipped until he found an empty page. It had been a while since he‘d sketched for fun, since most of the stuff he drew was for school, but he spent the next hour drawing what he could see of his room from his current perspective, with his legs tucked up under him on the bed. 

Ricky got bored of drawing at some point and closed the sketchbook, sliding it back into the cupboard. He figured he’d taken long enough of a break from studying, and sat back down at his desk, taking up a pen. Thankfully, drawing seemed to have cleared his mind a little, and as the night dragged on he managed to get at least some work done.

His phone rang suddenly, muffled where he’d abandoned it under his comforter. He was shocked for a second; his phone was always silenced, but then he remembered he’d turned his ringer on earlier so he’d know when Hanbin finally replied. 

He picked up the call immediately, fingers fumbling with the buttons for a second.

“Hanbin?”

“Hey, Ricky, I’m so sorry I wasn’t responsive all day, I was dealing with something.”

He let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

Ricky pretended to scoff. “M’not worried.”

“You sound worried.”

“Whatever. What happened? It’s not like you to miss school. Are you sick, or something?”

“No, I’m fine. Uh, there was some kind of scare this morning, with my grandma. She’s in the hospital now, and everything’s fine, but it was touch and go for a while. We were worried we were gonna lose her today, so I stayed with her at the hospital.”

Ricky was silent for a moment. “Jeez, I’m so sorry. That must have been scary. How are you feeling?”

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty nervewracking. I was getting ready to go to school when my parents told me she’d passed out during the night and we sat around her hospital room waiting but she didn’t wake up till the afternoon.”

“What happened to her? She’s okay, right?”

A soft laugh came down the line. “Yeah, she’s fine, she was talking and joking and all earlier. I’m glad it was just a scare and nothing more.”

“Okay, that’s good. I was wondering the whole day what happened to you because you weren’t answering any texts or calls,” Ricky said. “So many people asked me where you were, it’s kinda funny.”

“They did? I try not to miss school, but this was pretty important, I guess. I’m on my way home from the hospital, my parents are still there.”

“Have you had dinner, at least?”

“Nope, I got some takeout on the way and I’m going to eat as soon as I get back. Have you? Eaten, I mean?”

“No, I wasn’t really hungry.”

He could hear Hanbin’s disapproval through the phone. “Are you sick? You’re not feeling well?”

“No, I’m not sick, I was just actually not hungry.”

“I’ve got some food with me. Do you want me to come over?”

“No, that’s your food, you need to eat.”

“If I don’t come over, are you going to eat anything?”

“…” Probably not. Ricky didn’t see a point in saying it.

“Can you send me your address? I’m on the bus coming back from the hospital right now, but I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay, fine.”

“Good. See you later, Ricky.”

“See you.”

Ricky paced back and forth from the living room to the kitchen as he waited downstairs for Hanbin to get here. When a knock finally sounded at the door he turned into the entryway immediately, glancing through the peephole to make sure it was Hanbin outside before opening the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Hanbin smiled, his eyes bright, laden down by a big takeout bag in one hand. “Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”

It was only then he noticed Hanbin was in nothing more than a short-sleeved shirt and sweats. His hands were cold as Ricky reached out to take the bag from him. “Why don’t you have a jacket?” Ricky chided softly. 

“I was in a rush to leave this morning and I forgot to bring one,” Hanbin answered ruefully. “It was warmer at the hospital so I didn’t realise how cold it was outside.”

“You’re going to fall sick at this rate,” Ricky continued. “Walking around in short sleeves this time of the year…”

“Are you my mom?” Hanbin retorted. 

Ricky made a face. “Just shut up and eat.”

“ You shut up and eat. I thought I told you to stop skipping meals,” Hanbin said, opening the takeout box of fried rice. 

“Well I guess we’re both disappointed, aren’t we?”

They both caught each others’ eye and laughed out loud in unison. Whatever had been making Ricky’s stomach churn earlier seemed to have left him; as he took small bites of the fragrant rice, Ricky realised he was indeed pretty hungry.

“I’m sorry for not answering your texts all day,” Hanbin said, in the midst of washing the cutlery they’d used, upon his own staunch insistence. 

“It’s okay. Just…wasn’t like you to be silent like that.”

“I know, I know. I just…I couldn’t think of anything else, I was so stressed, and there was no point making you worry along with me.”

“That makes no sense and you know it,” Ricky answered. “You could have talked to me. If there’s anything I could have done to help, I would have done it.”

“I know,” Hanbin said again, flashing him a grateful smile. “But I feel bad making other people deal with my problems. Besides, I’m a grown man, you know. I can handle things on my own.”

“I can’t take any of that seriously after you showed up at my house in the middle of the night dressed in basically nothing and shivering like a leaf.”

Hanbin rolled his eyes playfully. “Fine, whatever. Touche.”

Ricky handed him one of his hoodies, later before he left. “You’d better not fall sick,” he warned. “Get home safe.”

“Aww, you big softie…” Hanbin took the hoodie with gratitude, shrugging it on. On second thought, he pulled the collar up to his nose and took a deep breath. “Smells like you.”

Ricky looked away so Hanbin wouldn’t see the flush that colored his cheeks. “No shit, it’s my hoodie.”

“Yeah, didn’t say it smelled good now did I?”

“Shut up and get out before I take it back.”

After Hanbin left, Ricky headed back up to his room and lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d usually be tired or already asleep by this time of the night, but owing to how much lazing around he’d done today, he couldn’t find it in him to sleep just yet. 

He thought about Hanbin, walking home with his hand buried in the pockets of Ricky’s hoodie. He thought about Hanbin’s grandmother in the hospital. 

He rolled over onto his side, draping his hand over his face. He thought about Hanbin, spending his days flipping through textbooks and sweating through his clothes in dance studios just so he could get a scholarship and keep going to school. In hindsight, that was probably the reason he’d spent the entire off  summer break working, too. 

Ricky looked around at his room. His family had always been comfortable. They weren’t billionaires by far but they had enough, enough to have been sending him for art classes since kindergarten, enough to pay for the expensive markers and paints and materials he’d asked for, enough to get him as far in life as he wanted to go. And yet, sitting on a mountain of all this privilege, he had once been brazen enough to hate Hanbin for nothing more than the crime of being hardworking, to hold resentment in his heart, to wish the worst for him when Hanbin had never in his life done anything to deserve it. 

Ricky wouldn’t die if he had to study something else at college, even if it had nothing to do with art. And Hanbin wouldn’t die if he couldn’t go to college; surely, with how talented he was at dance, the career opportunities out there for him would be boundless. 

But the first seeds of doubt had already taken root inside him, and now that he knew why Hanbin wanted so badly to be valedictorian, there was a small part of Ricky that said Hanbin deserved it more than he did. 

Jeez, I must be losing my mind. 

Grades did not care about who had a sick grandmother or who had expectations to live up to, he reminded himself. Grades were nothing but numbers, an objective measure of who was the best and who fell short. And he, certainly, was not going to let all his efforts go to waste, not now. 

Ricky closed his eyes, lay still, and tried not to think about anything at all.

Things went back to normal, after that day. Hanbin did not miss any more school, and as days turned into weeks he cheered up more and more, and became more and more like his usual self again. They still studied together after school and ate lunch together and went home together, and as the fall semester stretched on, final exam dates drew closer and closer. 

“Ricky, can I ask you something?”

Hanbin looked back from where he was walking ahead of Ricky. They’d stayed in school so late that they’d missed the last bus; their only option now was to walk home, but they didn’t live too far anyway. 

“Hm?”

“What do you think your life would be like if you never started doing art?” 

Ricky cracked a small smile. “What’s with the sudden question?”

Hanbin shrugged. “I was just thinking about where I’d be now if I’d never started dancing. It’s scary to imagine. I might’ve become a very different person.”

Ricky nodded, pondering the question. “I don’t know where I’d be either. It’s all I know.”

“You’re probably going to continue studying visual arts in university, aren’t you?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

Hanbin gave him a curious look. “What’s the dilemma?”

 “There’s no dilemma,” Ricky answered, sighing. “Just the way things are.”

“Are you going to tell me more?” Hanbin probed lightheartedly. “Or are you going to make me keep asking?”

“Nosy,” Ricky retorted. “It’s not as big a deal as it sounds, I guess. But my parents aren’t supportive of me studying art, never have been. They always said there was no future in it or whatever. I’ve spent my entire life up till now trying to prove them wrong but…”

“But?”

“Not everything always works out the way people want them to.” He kept his eyes trained on his shoes, putting one foot in front of the other, listening to the dry leaves crunch under the soles of his feet. 

Hanbin nodded slowly. “Is that why you work so hard? Because you know this might be the end?”

Ricky was silent for a long few seconds. Hanbin did not press him. “Kind of, but not really.”

“Not really how?”

“My parents cut me a deal,” he continued. “Told me the only way they’re going to let me pursue visual arts is if I graduate valedictorian at the end of third year.”

“And if you don’t, you’re done for good?” Hanbin said softly.

“Mhm.”

Neither of them spoke for a while. As they turned the corner at the street Ricky lived on, Hanbin broke the silence. 

“I hope you get everything you’ve been working for, Ricky.”

Ricky stopped walking and looked at him. The moonlight falling through the interlocking tree branches above them turned Hanbin’s black hair to warm chocolate brown. He’d always had a beautiful smile; Ricky had always thought it, even if he hadn’t said it aloud. 

“Do you really?” he returned. The night wind rustled the leaves in the canopies high above. “You don’t have to. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Hanbin said. He let his gaze fall, looking away into the distance.

Ricky turned away, and kept walking. They stopped when they were in front of his house. The lights in the driveway were still on, spilling bright yellow onto the sidewalk where they stood. 

“I won’t go easy on you, Sung Hanbin,”  Ricky said, his gaze steely. “I’ll try my hardest to beat you. I owe myself that.”

Hanbin tilted his head to the side. In the dimness, his dark eyes glowed hazel. “Alright. Then, I won’t hold back either, I’ll give it my all. I won’t lose to you, Ricky Shen. I owe myself that, too.”

Ricky nodded, keys jingling in his hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Same time as always,” Hanbin grinned, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Ricky.”

“Goodnight.”

He lay awake in bed for a long time that night. The night sky was clear enough he could see the stars through his bedroom window. 

They never talked about the conversation they had that night on the sidewalk again. The very first of their finals was exactly a month away. If things weren’t serious before, they were now; Ricky lived and breathed schoolwork, burning through practice papers like wildfire through dry grass, reading and rereading the same lines in his literature syllabus books over and over again to wring every last bit of double meaning out of them, scribbling until every pen in his pencilcase was completely dry of ink and he had to borrow one from the librarian at the front desk. 

On the morning of their first paper, Ricky met Hanbin in the corridor as per usual. There were people milling around everywhere, their noses buried in their notes, trying to stuff every last bit of information they could into brains that could not hold any more. He smoothed out microscopic wrinkles in the front of his uniform shirt, and flashed Hanbin a smile. 

“All the best, Sung Hanbin,” he said softly, holding up his hand. As the words left him, he knew in his heart of hearts that he meant them. 

Hanbin threaded his fingers through Ricky’s for a long moment, before he pulled his hand away. His fingers were cold. The lollipop stick between his teeth danced as he smiled. “All the best, Ricky.”

Final papers were over within a week. For some, the week felt endless, for Ricky, it barely felt like ten seconds. Now all that was left was their practical exams, visual art for him, dance for Hanbin. For their visual art final they’d be given a theme on the spot and free reign of any materials that they’d brought or were available in the studio, and at the end of three hours whatever they had completed would be taken as their final submission. Ricky spent the last three days before his art final making sure he didn’t touch a single paintbrush or pencil; any scrap of inspiration that came to him, no matter how small, had to be saved for the exam itself.

He and Gyuvin paced the corridor on the fourth floor of the East Wing minutes before their final, waiting to be let into the studio. It had still yet to sink in that this was the last exam of his high school life. The next time he stepped out of that art studio, he’d never have to step back in again, and with that came the reminder that there was a chance he might never get to be an art student ever again. 

Come on, focus up. Don’t think about that now. 

“This examination will last three hours. Students are not allowed to leave the room for the duration of the examination.”

Ricky sat in the familiar chair at the familiar workstation he’d sat at every day for the past three years. His grip on his pencil was tight. 

“The theme of your final examination will be displayed on the screen after this announcement. You may begin now.”

The projector lit up, and Ricky’s heart skipped a beat as he took in the word emblazoned on the screen. 

Sacrifice. 

Ricky closed his eyes, and strokes bloomed across the canvas like it was all he’d been born to do. 

He and Gyuvin went out to some expensive Italian restaurant downtown to celebrate the end of finals, after. Neither of them spoke about what they’d drawn or painted or made for the final, though Ricky supposed he could have looked over at Gyuvin’s workstation two seats away and seen it easily enough. There was a shared sort of relief, the knowledge that the tide they’d been desperately swimming against for the past three years had now finally subsided, and in its wake left behind a calm ocean. High school was over. Soon, they would move on to greater things. 

Hanbin had called that night, as Ricky emerged from the shower, the mirrors still foggy with steam. He held the phone with one hand as the other ran a comb through his drying hair. 

“Hey.”

“Hey. How was it?”

“It went well,” Ricky said. “At least, I think I did. The theme was ‘sacrifice’. I painted a boy in broken shackles standing amongst the ruins of a beautiful city.”

“Omelas?”

“Mhm. The implication that every inhabitant of the city sacrificed their utopia so he could be free. What was your theme?”

“That sounds beautiful. The theme they gave us was ‘metamorphosis’.”

The final exam for dance students was similar, but not exactly the same. They, too, had a theme given to them on the spot, and three hours to choose their music piece and choreograph a routine to represent the theme, no less than two minutes and no more than three. The studio would be cleared out at the end of the three hours and students would be let back in one by one to show their choreography in front of a panel of teachers, and that would be their final assessment. 

“Sounds interesting. What music did you choose?”

“Strangely enough, Le Cygne by Saint-Saens. I don’t really know that many classical pieces, but it just made sense to me.”

“I know that one.”

“You do? Seriously?”

“Yeah, heard it in a movie. What genre did you end up doing? I assume there wasn’t much waacking going on,” Ricky said, laughing softly. 

A laugh came down the line. “No, there wasn’t. It was mostly ballet, I guess? Contemporary? Modern? I have no idea. I don’t even remember half of the choreography I made now. My mind blanked out the second I walked out of the studio.”

“Well, I’m just glad it’s over. Good job, Hanbin.”

“You too, Ricky.”

“What are you going to do now that we’re done with school?”

“For now? I’m going back to work at the cafe. Come and see me with Gyuvin every now and then, won’t you?”

“Only if you promise to make more strawberry macarons.”

“Did I forget to tell you? I got promoted, I’m allowed to do actual baking in the kitchen now. The manager made my macarons a permanent menu item.”

“Seriously? I thought they were just for me. Guess I’m not that special.”

He imagined Hanbin rolling his eyes and sighing dramatically. “Shut up. You were the first person to taste them other than me, so be grateful.”

“Okay, fine, fine.”

Time passed quickly after school closed for the year. The graduation ceremony was to be held in February, but grades were to be released almost a month earlier, by the end of January. Ricky sat nervously at his desk in his room on the morning of the day, on the phone with Gyuvin, refreshing the school portal again and again, waiting for the clock to hit ten AM. 

“Kim Ricky, it’s out!”

Ricky held his breath and clicked ‘refresh’ one final time. 

Korean Language: A

Korean Literature: A

Combined Mathematics: A

Art History: A

Visual Arts (Practical): A

Cumulative Grade Point Average: 4.0/4.0

He scrolled further down the page. There was a second notification in his inbox, timestamped just after the results release. 

Dear RICKY SHEN,

We are delighted to inform you that you have been selected as the valedictorian of the 22nd graduating class of Seoul Arts High School. This recognition reflects your outstanding academic achievements, dedication, and exemplary contributions to our school community.

This year, in light of extraordinary circumstances, the valedictory position will be shared by two students instead of the usual one. Please note that this change does not diminish your achievements and our recognition of them. Your joint valedictorian will be Sung Hanbin of the School of Practical Dance. As joint valedictorian, you will have the honor of delivering the valedictory address during our graduation ceremony, scheduled for…

Ricky closed his laptop and stared into space for a long moment as everything sank in, and then all he could feel was sweet relief and overwhelming, overwhelming joy. 

The day of the graduation ceremony was uncharacteristically warm for mid-February in Seoul. Ricky and Hanbin were at school bright and early; the principal had wanted to talk to them before the ceremony to congratulate them both, and to go over their speaking parts in the ceremony before it began. 

They had an hour or so of free time before the rest of the students and their parents were supposed to arrive. The two of them ended up sitting in the stairwell of the fourth floor of the East Wing, watching dust motes spin through the morning light. 

The silence between them felt like peace. This was indisputably the end of something; after today, they would leave high school behind them forever, and nothing would be the same ever again.

“Sometimes I still catch myself wondering if this is real,” Ricky said softly. The still air carried the sound of his voice along the empty hallway. 

“I know,” Hanbin answered. He flipped his graduation cap back and forth in his hand, over and over. “Sometimes I think I’m going to wake up and realise someone’s pulled a sick joke on me.”

Ricky traced mindless circles on Hanbin’s thigh. “So, I guess I’ll see you in college.”

“I guess you will.” Hanbin had a way of smiling that made Ricky want to smile along with him every single time. “You know, I just thought about this last night, but we never orchestrated a breakup. I think the entire school still thinks we’re actually dating.”

Ricky laughed, caught off guard. “Jeez, it’s been months since that whole thing began. Looking back now, it all feels so short.”

“I know. Time passes so fast without us noticing, huh?”

Ricky thought his next words through a billion and one times in his head before he could even think about saying them. He took a deep breath, and willed himself to be brave. 

For the first time, perhaps ever, Hanbin’s hands were warmer than his. 

“I have a crazy idea for you.”

Hanbin’s eyes twinkled as he glanced over at him. “Can’t be crazier than the year we’ve had, can it?”

Ricky smiled. “Honestly? I don’t think anything can.”

Hanbin leaned over and pressed his lips softly to Ricky’s, and everything around them fell away like stars disappearing with the coming dawn.