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“Before you go, leave a lingering feeling that’ll last for me
Love, show me love
If I can, if I only can
I will shine a bright light on you”
⸻ Jannabi
from, ‘for lovers who hesitate’
Two days before disbanding, Ricky asks Gyuvin something. It’s a question similar to a conversation they’d had years before, in the silent fear of the Boys Planet dorms, in the uncertainty of everything to come.
(“What do we do if we don’t make it?”)
“What’s your biggest fear?”
There’s a lot of answers. Gyuvin knows Ricky knows all the obvious ones already.
So Gyuvin takes a deep breath, lets it settle in his chest. He looks at Ricky as they sit on the carpet of Ricky’s room, their backs leaned against Ricky’s bed, and then he glances around at the walls, the desk, the clothes scattered around. The picture next to the laptop, nine smiling faces shining.
“That we won’t stay friends afterwards,” Gyuvin says, as earnest as he’s ever been. The dim lamp light turns Ricky’s newly-blond hair into a shade of amber, of dalgona, his shampoo just as sweet as any candy: Gyuvin is close enough to smell it, but regardless, he has the scent memorized from all the times he’s shoved his face into Ricky’s pillow and blankets.
Two days, and he won’t get to do that anymore.
Two.
Ricky is silent as he processes Gyuvin’s words, his eyes fluttering as he does something that’s not quite blinking, not quite tearing up. Ricky is silent as he wonders when going back home meant leaving another.
Gyuvin takes Ricky’s hand and doesn’t squeeze, waiting for Ricky to do it instead. He does. This is another familiar thing, the feeling of Ricky’s warm and slightly sweaty palm in his, of Ricky’s body pressed against his own, their pajamas forming one line, their breaths in sync, of reaching out to Ricky and patiently waiting for him to reach back.
“It’s not going to be the same as it is when we’re together,” Ricky says after a few minutes, voice low in the way that tells Gyuvin he’s close to crying. “But no matter what, we have the internet, our phones. We will text. We will call.”
“...Even when we get busy?”
Ricky looks at Gyuvin with a watery smile. He has a knot of worry between his brows, a pimple on his chin, a cracked lip from how much he’s been gnawing on it all day. He’s as beautiful as he always is and Gyuvin nearly stutters on his own breath. “Even when we get busy. We still keep in touch with our old friends, don’t we? Not nearly as much as we’d like, but…”
“It’s possible,” Gyuvin finishes.
“It’s possible,” Ricky nods.
And they look at each other, defeated but smiling, and Gyuvin rests his head against Ricky’s shoulder and tries to keep in his own tears once he feels Ricky’s chin rest on the crown of his head. Their Yuehuaz group isn’t happening, not any time soon. Ricky and Zhang Hao are being whisked away to China, and the Korean ex-ZEROBASEONE Yuehua members are expected to do something alone.
No matter what, their Yuehua family is broken. Has been since they entered Boys Planet together and came out split. It will never be like it used to back then, or now, and Gyuvin feels both his and Ricky’s hands tremble the tighter they squeeze their fingers together. Contracts and controversies and continents between them all. Gyuvin wishes he spent more time with Ollie when he still could. With Zhang Hao and Ricky. With Hanbin and Jiwoong and Taerae and Matthew and Gunwook and Yujin.
Where did the time go?
“Just don’t forget me,” Ricky whispers, half joking, half serious.
Gyuvin feels a tear plop right onto his forehead. Ricky isn’t the type of person to cry a whole lot. Tear up, yes, but cry? Full on cry? It’s been a while since a Full Ricky Cry has happened. Gyuvin doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to witness it.
“I should be the one saying that,” Gyuvin says, his voice quivering. Not strong enough, definitely not. “You’re going to be all famous and a big deal or whatever. Hao-hyung, too.”
Ricky laughs, the movement of his shoulders shaking both of them. “Uh huh, totally.”
Gyuvin sits up straight, unfolding their heads from each other. “I mean it, though. You’ll be doing great things.”
“I know. You too.” Ricky smiles, small. “Let’s just promise that we won’t forget each other, okay?”
“Yeah. Of course.” Gyuvin doesn’t say that no matter what, Ricky isn’t getting rid of him. They’re stuck together in this life, and if there exists another one, in that one, too — and the next, and the next. All he could ever hope to pray for is more time with Ricky by his side, and he wishes that eventually, those prayers will be answered.
“At the very least, you have to wish me a happy birthday every year,” Ricky says with a laugh-sob, his cheeks wet and shimmering in the light.
But maybe Gyuvin doesn’t have to say anything. At the end of the day, he knows Ricky knows they’re stuck. “I will, you idiot.”
“Yeah.” Ricky nods, ruffling Gyuvin’s hair. “You will.”
They spend the rest of the night whispering things to each other, showing each other pictures from throughout the last few years, and then getting up to go meet the rest of their beloved members for one of their last meals as an entire group. Nobody is dry-eyed when they see each other in the living room. As expected.
Gyuvin and Ricky hold hands beneath the table during dinner.
As expected.
How is it, grieving someone who isn’t even dead?
Ricky stares at his phone. His thumb hovers over Gyuvin’s contact, but it’s late. Gyuvin can’t still be awake at this time, as he’s been busy preparing for a music video. Ricky stares at their last conversation from two months ago: Ricky had sent a video to Gyuvin, Gyuvin had responded, and they’d chatted for around an hour or so before Ricky had to leave for an event. A deep ache cracks square in his chest. He hits the off button and turns his phone face down on the bedside table.
A year and a half, since January 2026.
A year and a half, since ZEROBASEONE ended.
A year and a half, since Ricky last heard Gyuvin’s voice in person.
It’s worse than grieving someone gone.
Ripe mangoes at the market and energetic puppies with their tongues out. Early, too-quiet mornings in a too-spacious room and old K-Dramas playing on his iPad at night. Jokes with a specific brand of humor and cheese in rice.
There is Gyuvin everywhere, in everything, as long as Ricky sees it. He doesn’t even need to try, the associations of Gyuvin he has with so many things so innate. Automatic, even. It’s a curse. Ricky can’t go anywhere without an image of Gyuvin popping up in his head.
He understands why yearning and loving someone are regarded as diseases. This kind of feeling can only be an affliction. Sickness is why the thought of Kim Gyuvin makes his chest tighten, his lungs threaten to burst, his heart gallop with the kind of soreness and energy only a wild horse, feral and exhausted, could have. Grief is why Ricky hesitates to call, to send yet another video that reminds him of a bright smile and crinkled brown eyes, to let go. And yet.
The longest they go without contact is three months, two weeks, five days. It’s entirely Ricky’s fault.
Gyuvin yells in Ricky’s ear, close to tears, and Ricky yells back. He’s glad they’re not video calling, or else Gyuvin would be able to see just how upset he is, and he knows that he wouldn’t want to see Gyuvin’s face right now either.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
Ricky sniffles. “I’m not!”
“You are. You promised, Rick. You promised.”
“...”
“I’m sorry for yelling. I’m sorry. I miss you.”
“...I miss you, too. I’m sorry, too.”
“Then why don’t you call? Why haven’t you been replying?”
“I’m scared, okay?’
“Of what?”
“I don’t know,” Ricky says. You, he thinks.
“Don’t be scared, Kim Rick. You silly idiot. It’s just me.”
“Okay. Okay, I know.” It’s always you.
“Okay.” Gyuvin coughs. “So, please, tell me how you’ve been.”
“Alright.” And Ricky does. But only after blowing his nose and sharing a laugh with the other stupid idiot on the other end.
He doesn’t let them hit the one month mark of quiet ever again.
Ricky finds himself, checking his phone, again and again, rereading.
No matter how busy he is, he’s not busy enough to forget to send a funny meme before he sleeps, before he steps into a van, before he gets his makeup done.
He’s not busy enough to forget what Gyuvin’s laugh sounds like, to send audio messages of himself laughing back.
He texts his mom more, too.
His other friends, who he hasn’t been replying to.
His sister.
“You seem happier these days,” Zhang Hao comments one afternoon.
Ricky smiles as he looks out the car window. “I am.”
> Happy Birthday Kim Rick!!!!
> [calico-cat-smiling.gif]
> I’m free to call when you are!!!
And yet.
“I can’t be there in person,” Gyuvin says through the phone, his overly wide frown just a bit pixelated. “But that doesn’t mean I didn't get you anything!”
And yet.
“I hope your fingers haven’t gotten any skinnier or fatter,” Gyuvin jokes with a bright laugh. He pulls out a black velvet box the size of his palm. He opens it.
And yet.
The next time Ricky sees Gyuvin, it is two years, seven months, four weeks, and six days after disbandment.
Ricky barely gets through the door to Gyuvin’s apartment before he’s faced with long, long limbs crushing his ribs as they hug. As expected. It gives Ricky such intense deja vu he almost thinks they’re being announced for fourth and seventh place again, that they debuted again, that they won the Rookie Grand Slam again, that they were about to say goodbye again-again-again.
“I knew the ring would fit,” Gyuvin announces proudly, staring at Ricky’s hand before looking right into Ricky’s eyes. His smile lines got deeper. His height, luckily, hasn’t changed.
“Of course it fits,” Ricky says, and he laughs when Gyuvin leans back just to place a kiss on the corner of Ricky’s smile. And something else slots right into place. Something big and terrifying and equally soft.
“What is it?” Gyuvin asks as Ricky pulls away.
“I…”
Gyuvin tilts his head.
“It’s nothing,” Ricky says, looking towards the kitchen. Does he smell smoke?
“Ahh, Rick. You scared me for a second.”
Ricky looks back at Gyuvin. Stupid, stupid Gyuvin. “What? You’re the one who scares me.”
Gyuvin blinks. “What do you mean?”
Oh, fuck it, Ricky thinks. He takes Gyuvin by the shoulders and gives him a shake. “You’re the first person I’ve seen since coming back to Seoul, and I’m staying here with you instead of a hotel, and you’re one of the only people who I make an effort to call once a month — other than my mom. Do you get it?”
Gyuvin grins. “I think I do. Your mom invited me to hotpot next time we go to Shanghai, by the way.” And he leans in, and he kisses more than just a corner of Ricky’s smile.
Ricky wonders if he has airport breath, but Gyuvin doesn’t seem to mind.
The fire alarm goes off.
(The nice dinner Gyuvin spent hours making turns into charcoal. They eat takeout instead, and Ricky thinks he hasn’t had such a good meal in two years, seven months, four weeks, and six days.)