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The 25th of December is a special day for some. For Kim Sion, it is just another public holiday, one where he gets to go out with his friends and have fun, although he does not neglect to post a festive story for his followers on his Instagram the day before. He goes to bed early to make sure he is well-rested, but it does not seem to work, because he wakes up with the chorus of a melody buzzing in his head. Brushing his teeth, shoveling down brunch, and grabbing his bag, he rushes out of the door in a matter of minutes, making a beeline for the station.
The bus arrives quickly, and the traffic is as usual. Sion stares out of the window, blowing condensation onto the glass, tracing it with his finger. A kind of ache sits in his stomach, not quite hurting, more like the feeling of milk gone slightly sour.
His pocket buzzes, directing his attention to his phone.
I’m almost there, says a text from his KakaoTalk.
I’m halfway, Sion types back.
Cool! See you soon.
Sion scrolls through his chat history, past when they had planned their meeting, past snippets of conversation and invitations to go out and practice. The ache in his stomach grows. He exits the app with a swipe of the thumb and goes to his camera roll instead. There are many familiar faces here: videos of a challenge with Hyungseok, selfies from that live with Hyeongjun, a few pictures from Hangyeol. December turns into November turns into August turns into July. Sion hovers over a particular photo, then uploads it onto his Instagram story, covering the right faces and inserting appropriate festive slogans. This is the least he can do.
The bus lurches to a stop, which is Sion’s cue to get off.
“Merry Christmas,” says Minjae, by way of greeting. Weak sunlight douses him in a pale halo. Had this been a drama or horror story, he might have been a spirit haunting the bus station, but spirits do not smile with all the warmth of the world and a single dimple. He had not bothered to perm his hair again, but otherwise, he is the same as always: black puffer jacket, washed-out jeans, beaten trainers, perhaps a little shorter than Sion last remembers him. All they are missing is a guitar case and a practice room.
“Merry Christmas.” Sion draws out each syllable like a petulant child. He tries for a smile to go with it, all teeth. Minjae seems to accept it, if the crinkle of his eyes are any indication.
“Shall we go in?” Minjae points to a building a few blocks away, a shopping mall they had picked out beforehand in lieu of anything better to do. “It’s warmer inside.”
“Let’s not freeze,” Sion agrees. He balls his hands into fists inside his pockets and starts walking.
The mall is packed. Red and green baubles loom over the crowd, with colours so vivid they sear into Sion’s eyes. Hard plastic presents sprawl all over the floors, competing with plush velvet chairs for the attention of phone cameras. Seasonal songs dominate the speakers on full blast. Sion bumps into a fake Christmas tree and nearly gets tangled in its branches. Minjae laughs from his throat when he sees it, but he helps unsnag the bristling leaves from Sion’s bag.
They fall into an easy rhythm of conversation—what are you doing lately? How is your break, how are classes? Minjae had gone to a family dinner yesterday, in the sometime tradition of the Jo clan, and it had been nice to see relatives from far-flung corners of the world again. Otherwise, he is practicing regularly. And how is your friend, Sionnie? Hyungseok is fine, he went on a trip to Busan recently. He is going with friends he made from a survival show, Sion does not add, friends he will never get to know, even though he could have if he had tried harder.
As they walk, they pass rows upon rows of clothing stores, all doing some Christmas sale or the other. What is initially a window shopping expedition turns into a fashion runway as Sion gets carried away with trying on clothes and taking photos of them. Whenever they leave a store, it appears as if a tornado has rummaged through each rack.
“The staff won’t be happy with this,” says Minjae, though fondness seeps into his tone.
“Stop me, then,” Sion retorts, hands on his hips.
“Shall we go eat instead?”
They end up at a restaurant out of the way on one of the higher floors. Minjae orders two pizzas to split, because it is the holidays and they should let loose, he says. Sion gets a soft drink and persuades Minjae to order a different one, so he can mix them up later and have both.
“Have you heard from Hyeonuk?” says Minjae, casual.
Sion blinks. He has not heard that name in a while. “No, why?”
“He asked if I still had a public social media account,” says Minjae. The drinks arrive, and he takes a gulp out of his. “It’s just a feeling, but I think he was let go.”
“By his company?”
“Yeah.”
Sion lets the news sink in with a sip of his soda, the cold flooding his mouth. It would have been crazy for anyone to let go of a talent like Hyeonuk, but it might have been the wrong place and the wrong time. You can never rely on a company too much for these things, or so he has learned.
“Jaeyongie as well,” Minjae continues, keeping his voice low. “I think the same thing happened to him.”
“That’s a shame,” says Sion. He grips his soda more tightly, the condensation on the glass sticky as sweat under his palms. He tries to lift up the corners of his mouth. His hyungdeul are moving on—or, well, have been forced to move on. Not that there is a difference. So what? It is not the end of the world. “At least they can find a new place now.”
Food arrives, fries and pizza, junk and indulgence at its finest. Minjae hands a slice to Sion and smiles at him when he eats, like Sion is still the center of his universe.
They stay in their seats long after they finish their food. Minjae has booked a vocal practice room for later, he says. He offers to let Sion stay until he needs to go. Sion has also booked a practice room, one for dance. It will be alright. They will see each other again.
“Hey,” says Sion, as Minjae pushes his plate away, “take a selfie with me?”
Minjae shakes his head. “I don’t think I can.”
“It’s only your face that you’re not allowed to show, right? Just show your hand. I want your hand in the frame.”
Minjae’s lips purse together. For a moment, his brows crease in an action Sion has long learned as calculating risk, before he leans over and tugs at Sion’s cheek. “So like this?”
The angles are crooked on the camera. “Come over here, hyung,” says Sion.
Minjae obliges, getting out of his chair. He is careful to keep his face at arm’s length. The pads of his fingers are thick and calloused. Those same fingers had claimed its share of Sion’s cheeks just days after they had met him, and they had never quite let go, at least up until July, when maintaining this closeness was no longer feasible. “How’s that?”
“Looks good.” Sion snaps a photo. “Here, see for yourself.” He pulls it up, comparing himself to the himself of moments ago. With a little pout fixed on his face, Sion is the epitome of cuteness, as usual. He hopes that somewhere, out there, someone recognises the shape of Minjae’s thumb, the bony knuckles, the long digits and the way they twist.
Minjae hooks his chin over Sion’s shoulder as he inspects it, its weight a grounding comfort. “That’s nice.” He pokes Sion’s cheek again, just for good measure.
“Can I upload it to my story?”
“Go ahead.”
Sion nearly sighs in relief as satisfaction blooms in him. They fall into a companionable silence as he uploads the photo to Instagram. Minjae takes out his cracked phone, swiping through contacts and chat groups, and Sion catches a glimpse of an email and sees something about a music gig. He takes a deep breath.
Well? It is now or never.
“I got an offer,” Sion says, ignoring the quiver in his words. The ache in his stomach returns in the form of a knot, clenching tight. Maybe the mixed sodas do not agree with him. Maybe they are fighting for dominance inside his guts.
“For what?” Minjae’s face opens in curiosity as he turns to face him, all good humour.
“You know.” They both know it is impossible to make it sound less grandiose, less of a boast. “Another show.”
Minjae’s mouth drops open. “Wow, congrats, Sionnie.”
Sion shrugs his shoulders and ducks his head.
“Will you go?”
“I’m thinking about it,” Sion says. He hesitates, then adds: “I’ll go if you go.”
It is as good as saying: please, come with me.
Making a promise to enter a show with a friend is never so simple as submitting an application and hoping you both debut. No, there are audition rounds to pass, additional qualifiers on live television, and maybe even a filmed prequel to withstand before getting to the meat of the deal. Making empty promises without a background is asking for certain, crushing defeat, but Minjae’s grin stretches from end to end as to leave too little room for his dimples. His eyes are soft with kindness, and maybe Sion can see a little spark, a hearth of hope.
“Well, thank you.”
Maybe those eyes can be something to believe in.
Minjae reaches over, wrapping Sion in a cocoon of warmth. Just like that, the knot in Sion’s stomach dissolves, flooding the rest of his body from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. Sion lets himself sink into the hug, his arms encircling Minjae too. The time spent before a parting is always the most precious, after all.
Minjae offers to treat Sion, and Sion lets him. They leave the mall when the sky is dark, the early night steeping the city in multicoloured lights.
“I’ll pay you back,” Sion says. “That’s a promise.”
“We should meet again, then,” says Minjae, zipping up his puffer jacket against the buffeting wind. “Sometime next year.”
A niggling fact floats to the surface of Sion’s brain, and he banks on a chance. “It’s your birthday in twelve days, right?”
“Thirteen days. What, do you want to see me so soon?”
Sion plays it cool. “I’d feel bad if I just texted you, so I’m gracing you with my presence.”
“I’d be honoured.” Minjae laughs, and it is music to Sion’s ears. “Here’s to a new year with you, then?”
Sion can see a new year of auditions, a new year of companies, a new year of living together and training together. He can hear songs of grace, filling the room in a sweet cascade that will leave Sion wanting more when it ends. They can do a challenge on an official account. Take a selfie with their faces in full view. It is an impossibly far dream not so far away, a possibility for sleepwalkers in limbo. If Sion wanders just enough on its precipice, perhaps it will become reality.
So Sion gathers his brightest smile, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and says, “I’ll see you next year, hyung.”
It is a small victory that Sion has managed to keep Minjae in his orbit for longer. It is a victory he will take.