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i.
Hansol doesn’t remember the first time he pulls; he just remembers the first time he cries. He’s eleven, fingers in his hair, and he doesn’t even realise what he’s done until his parents see the mess of hair on the floor and the balding patch on the back of his head. He doesn’t tell anyone else. Hansol walks into school the next morning, hair styled to hide the spot, his fingers trembling and eyes shifting. He feels like they know. They do.
ii.
Divorce is imminent. He knows that. Boarding school, therefore, is also imminent. He knows that too. He hates it. The headmistress shows him where he’ll sleep for the next seven years, and Hansol walks into the room with one small suitcase, a baseball cap, and his heart on his sleeve. He’s twelve years old, and a little bit lost. There’s someone else there, he notices. He’s different, Hansol thinks; quiet. The boy sits on the edge of his bed, legs swinging, thick book in his lap and toes curled. He waves.
Hansol smiles first, lips tight and hands clutching at the handle of his bag. He feels unsure and nervous, heart beating hard in his chest, but the boy sitting on the bed looks calm; happy almost. The boy grins back, teeth and all. Hansol moves to greet him with a handshake, just like his dad had taught him to do. It’s Junhui. His name is Junhui, and he’s nice. He’s really nice. Hansol likes nice people, and Junhui says he does too. He thinks Hansol is nice, and that makes Hansol smile. Teeth and all.
iii.
He’s thirteen, Junhui's fourteen. They’re out past curfew, too early in the morning, and rummaging out the back near the kitchen. They’re alone, they think, grabbing packets of food and snacks. Cookies, juice boxes, muffins, crisps, anything they can find. Junhui asks him what drink he’d like. It’s either apple juice or orange juice, and Hansol picks apple juice because he knows Junhui likes that one the best. Junhui smiles and takes an orange one for Hansol anyway.
Both of them scuttle out of the pantry, soft giggles and nervous butterflies in their stomachs as they head back, their socked feet sliding along the wooden paneled floor. They’re cold, and it’s the middle of winter. Nobody catches them this time, and Hansol tells Junhui that in wonder, voice hushed and lips quirked up in a sly smile. Junhui smiles back once they’re under their covers in the darkness, and presses a juice box into Hansol’s palm.
In the morning, the headmistress calls a room inspection. Someone’s stolen food again, and they want to know who. Junhui grins at Hansol. Hansol grins back. It’s a silent look across the room, and when she leaves them without a consequence, Junhui raises his hand. Hansol gives him a high five without hesitation, toes tingling with nerves and adrenaline. That night, they go again. That night, they don’t make it back. That night, they get caught. That night, they’re still smiling.
iv.
Hansol doesn’t like too many questions. He tells Junhui that when he’s fourteen, fingers trembling and deftly playing with a loose thread on his shirt. Junhui’s seen it; how his hair is styled in a particular way, how he cuts his own instead of getting someone else to do it, and how he lets it grow long. He’s seen how some areas are thinner than others too, and Hansol is sure he’s seen the strands of hair on the floors and under the bed when it’s cleaning day. Hansol’s stomach twists itself into an impossible knot. He feels sick.
Junhui presses on later that night, after Hansol had told him not to ask. He’s sitting next to him and resting his hand on Hansol’s shoulder, frown on his lips and brows furrowed. Hansol hates that look on him. He wants to know what’s going on, but Hansol doesn’t want to tell him. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He tells Junhui he doesn’t, but Junhui says he’s worried. Hansol knows he is. He can see it in his eyes. He can see a lot of things in Junhui’s eyes. He doesn’t like it.
There’s a ache in his chest when Junhui touches his arm gently, telling him it’s okay to talk about it. It’s okay to say something. He’s there for Hansol, no matter what. Junhui wants to know what’s going on because he cares about Hansol. Hansol knows that. Hansol knows that probably more than Junhui does, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He’s embarrassed. He doesn’t know how to tell him he pulls his hair out. He doesn’t know how to tell him he can’t help it. He doesn’t want Junhui to leave him. It hurts.
Junhui comes to him the next night too, and the night after that, and the one after that. Junhui won’t stop; he’s worried and it shows. He doesn’t sleep as soundly as he used to, the skin under his eyes is dark, and he glances at Hansol when they’re alone in their room. Hansol can’t take it. It hurts. He hurts. Hansol yells at him to stop. Hansol says he needs space. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Junhui doesn’t ask too many questions after that.
v.
Junhui finds out when Hansol is fifteen. He’s more surprised at himself that it took him that long to tell Junhui. After all, Junhui is his best friend. His only friend. He sits him down at his desk one night and lets him know. Shows him. Junhui doesn’t seem shocked; he just tilts his head to the side with worry in his eyes and asks if it’s because of stress. Hansol shrugs and tells him he doesn’t know, but Junhui tells him to be honest, so he nods, scratching the back of his neck nervously. It’s like he already knows. He does know. Did know.
He still asks too many questions, but Hansol doesn’t mind this time. Junhui gets up from behind his desk to sit him down on his own bed. He slips his arm around Hansol’s shoulders; asks him what he’s doing to try and stop it. Asks him if he needs help. He doesn’t need help, he says, and Junhui nods. He knows Junhui doesn’t believe him. He tells Junhui he needs him. Junhui is all he needs right now. The boy smiles, pulls Hansol into his arms, and holds him there until they both fall asleep.
Junhui catches him with his fingers in his hair one night in the dark, and Hansol can’t play it off like he used to anymore. He can see the look on Junhui’s face. He’s worried again. Disappointed, almost. Junhui strides over and gently pries Hansol’s hands away from his head and holds them in his own. It feels nice, he thinks. He wants Junhui to hold his hands all the time. His heart swells, and a tear falls. Junhui doesn’t see it.
The older boy asks him if he’ll stop when he walks in one day. If he can, he says. Hansol tells him it’s not that easy, he’s tried. He’s tried again, and again. He’d failed. He tells Junhui it won’t work. He tells him it won't go away so soon. Junhui doesn’t get it, he doesn’t understand, but he’s willing to learn. So Hansol teaches him, tells him what it’s like to live in shame. How he can’t just give it up. It’s a compulsion, a reflex almost. Junhui asks him if he can try. Hansol doesn’t want Junhui to leave him. He agrees.
He swears he’ll stop. He tells Junhui he’ll stop. He tells himself. Hansol tries, he tries so hard not to, but it doesn’t work. Not yet. Junhui starts to encourage him, remind him how he can do it — he can do anything, and it works. It finally works, and Junhui’s proud of him. It gets better, he can see it. It gets so much better. He hugs Junhui one night and tells him thank you with tears in his eyes. He can do it. He can feel it.
vi.
Tears are streaming down his face. It’s impossibly early in the morning, almost too early to be considered anything other than late. It’s the middle of the night, and Junhui wakes to the sounds of a sixteen year old sobbing on the floor. The lights come on, and Hansol nearly screams at him to turn them back off again. He doesn’t want to see what he’s done. It’s everywhere. It’s embarrassing. It’s devastating. It hurts.
Junhui obliges, turns off the lights, and slips on to the floor next to Hansol. He wants to push him away. It’s everywhere, but Junhui moves forward, reaching out for him, holding him in his arms like he’s done before. It feels nice. Junhui’s fingers slip between his own, and he can feel the gentle brush of fingers on his callouses. They’re sore now, broken. It hurts.
They stay like that for hours, days, weeks, years, centuries until Hansol breathes evenly. He feels safe now. Junhui gives his hand a squeeze. It’s tender, gentle. It makes Hansol feel light headed, like his whole body aches. He want to hug him back. So he does. Arms wrapping around Junhui’s waist, face buried into his chest. Like this, he feels okay. Everything is okay now. He won’t break again.
Junhui holds him again the next night, arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him in place. It’s only because Hansol asks him to, but he feels safer that way, feels like he won’t do anything stupid. He doesn’t that night, and Junhui tells him he’s amazing. Junhui tells him he’s great, that he’s doing good. He’s proud. Hansol cries. Hansol cries and tells him, that he’s proud of himself too.
Every night after that, Hansol feels greedy. Junhui tells him not to be. Junhui tells him he’s amazing. Junhui tells him he’s great, that he’s doing good. He’s proud. Hansol cries. Hansol cries and tells him, that he doesn’t believe him anymore. His fingers are still sore, calloused, split and broken. He feels like he’s let Junhui down. He feels scared. Junhui tells him not to be.
When Junhui holds him, Hansol’s heart starts to thrum in his chest louder than before. He doesn’t tell Junhui, but he thinks he knows. He becomes nervous, hesitant, distant. Hansol stops asking Junhui to hold him at night. Junhui nods. Hansol thinks he understands, but he knows he’ll miss it. He doesn’t want Junhui to stop. He doesn’t miss it, however, because Hansol doesn’t have to ask him again after that. His arms are already there.
vii.
It’s his last day, Hansol knows that. He wishes it wouldn’t come. He sits in the back, fingers fumbling with the loose threads on his shirt. A nervous habit. He watches him walk up, walk into freedom, walk away. He doesn’t want him to go, but Junhui must, and he knows he can’t help it. Bittersweet. It’s his time, after all. He deserves this more than anyone else. Junhui smiles on stage, happy. Hansol is sad, but he’s proud .
Junhui pulls him aside and hugs him after the ceremony. There’s people everywhere, but Hansol wishes they were alone. He’s flushed, smiling. Happy. Hansol says he’s proud. He means it. He wants to mean it. Hansol congratulates him, and he does it over and over again until Junhui tells him to stop, with a laugh. Junhui tells Hansol to visit him during break. He’ll miss him. Hansol promises he will. He’ll miss him too.
They drive the next day. It’s late afternoon, and Junhui takes Hansol in his new car. It’s rusted, worn out, but it works. Hansol likes it. He thinks it suits Junhui a lot. Hansol sits in the car, grinning, smiling as Junhui reminisces with him. He tells Hansol not to get caught stealing food out the kitchen again. Hansol promises he won’t. He’ll miss him too.
The lake is beautiful, Hansol thinks. The water glistens in the afternoon sun and the wind rustles the reeds gently. It’s nice. They sit in the car together. It’s silent, but far from uncomfortable. They’re okay, just like that. Hansol wonders if he’ll miss Junhui more. He knows he will. He feels a hand resting on his, and looks over. Junhui’s smiling, and Hansol can’t help but grin back. Teeth and all.
It’s when Junhui nervously reaches up, hands gently threading themselves though his hair, when he blanches. His heart sputters, his stomach aches, and the only thing he can think of is what Junhui must think when his fingers brush over the bare patches of skin on his scalp. How he must think when he realises his hair is so thin. Hansol feels nervous. He feels sick.
He moves away, breath catching in his throat as he stumbles out of the car. He sees Junhui’s expression. He’s hurt, nervous, scared. He probably feels sick too. It hurts. Hansol stumbles down to the lakeside, breathing in the cold air. His heart is beating heavily in his chest, shaking arms and trembling lip. He feels guilty. So guilty.
Junhui comes up behind him, breath hitching when he tries to say sorry. Hansol breaks, he cries, and Junhui holds him. Hansol apologises. He can’t, he’s not ready, he’s embarrassed. He doesn’t want Junhui to leave him, but he will. He has . Hansol can feel the hair on his head tingle. There’s not enough. Junhui can’t see. Junhui’s crying, arms around Hansol’s waist and nose buried into the nape of his neck. Hansol cries too. He’s seventeen years old, and a little bit lost. His whole being aches. It hurts .
viii.
It’s his last day, Hansol knows that. He wishes it would go faster. He sits in the front, fingers fumbling with the loose threads on his shirt. A nervous habit. He trembles as he walks up, walks into freedom, walks away. He doesn’t want to go, but he must, and he knows he can’t help it. Bittersweet. It’s his time, after all. He deserves this more than anyone else. Hansol smiles on stage, happy. Hansol is sad, but he’s proud .
He’s up there, looking down at everyone. He’s sees them. His parents are there, smiling, proud . He sees Junhui, smiling. Proud . Hansol’s heart aches, but he knows. He knows why it aches. He finds Junhui after the ceremony, and he hugs him. There’s people everywhere, but they feel like they’re alone. He’s flushed, smiling. Happy. Junhui says he’s proud. Hansol believes him.
Junhui tells Hansol he’s missed him. Hansol grins a little too widely. He’s missed Junhui too. A couple of days over break isn’t enough. He knows this. Junhui tells Hansol to move in with him instead of going home. Junhui doesn’t want Hansol to go back to where he was before. Junhui wants him to stay, and Hansol tells him; he is home. Junhui laughs, and asks again. He’d miss him if he didn’t. Hansol promises he will. He’d miss him too.
They drive the next day. It’s late afternoon, and Junhui takes Hansol in his new car. It’s not rusted anymore, the windows aren’t slightly cracked and it runs smoother. It’s different. Hansol likes it, but he doesn’t think it suits Junhui that much anymore. He doesn’t mind it. Hansol sits in the car, grinning, smiling as Junhui reminisces with him. He asks Hansol if he got caught stealing food out the kitchen again. Hansol promises he he didn’t. He’ll only get caught with Junhui. It’s the way he walks, he says.
The lake is probably still just as beautiful, Hansol thinks. The water glistens in the afternoon sun and the wind rustles the reeds gently. Hansol isn’t paying attention though. He watches as Junhui reaches over to the radio, turning the knobs to get a station. There’s nothing, just white noise, but Hansol watches his expressions, the concentration in his eyes, and he feels overwhelmed. Junhui looks up and catches his eye. They both laugh, and Hansol knows they’re okay, just like that.
It’s when Junhui carefully moves his hand up, fingers gently threading themselves though his hair, when he blushes. His heart sputters, his stomach aches, and the only thing he can think of is what Junhui must think when he inches a little closer. How he must think when he realises Hansol wants to press his lips against his too. Hansol feels nervous. He feels happy.
Junhui’s fingers skitter over sparse hair and new strands, but Hansol doesn’t worry about that anymore. Junhui knows he’s okay now. Junhui knows he’s happy. Hansol smiles, impossibly small, and takes in a breath. He doesn’t want Junhui to leave him, even if he knows he won’t. Hansol can feel the hair on his head tingle. Everything is okay now. He won’t break again.
Hansol’s hand trails up to run his fingers over Junhui’s jaw. His callouses are softer now, healed. He feels the butterflies spread into his heart, leans in, and kisses him. He’s eighteen, with one small suitcase, a graduation cap, and his heart on his sleeve. He thinks, that it doesn’t have to hurt so much anymore. It doesn’t.