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Gyuvin does not want to be there.
The skate park is just a disaster waiting to happen. He could trip, or be run into by a unassuming skater or whacked in the ankles by a runaway board. It would be his fault, and his half-brother would have to come in and be his words. Gyuvin would rather stay him, but his mother insisted and his brother had been pulling him out the door by his wrist before he could refuse.
So here he is, sitting at a bench just outside of the park. Watching his brother. People around him clap for him when he does something cool, must be cheering for him but Gyuvin doesn’t.
His attention sticks elsewhere. There’s someone in the park he’s never seen before. He’s wearing a fitting, too-short baby pink t-shirt and a pair of wide-legged light blue jeans that hang on his slim waist. There’s a plastic chain dangling off his belt loop, vibrant colors reflecting sunlight and when Gyuvin looks a little harder he can see the faint embroidery on the cuff of his jeans. Flowers dotted in pink and yellow threads, so clearly done by the hands of a childish imagination.
He has a board tucked under one arm, a subtle, chubby cheeked face and hair that shines almost red under the summer sun above them. He’s paired with someone else, a familiar face that Gyuvin can’t remember the name of but he supposes it doesn’t matter.
His brother escapes his mind completely. The stranger walks over once he catches onto Gyuvin’s staring. He’s nervous suddenly, heart hammering against his ribcage. The closer he gets the more he shines, a subtle shimmer to his face that looks like glass. His board is pink, too, with stickers on the underside that are peeling from the wear and tear. The wheels are red, a deep maroon shade that could almost read black.
Gyuvin stares at him wide eyed as he says hello. His lips move clearly, precisely. He must know something.
He’s used to saying his own name even when he can’t hear it, the rumbling under his feet catching him off guard. The stranger drops his board, and it must be loud because even he rattles in his own skin. He offers out his hand.
Zhang Hao.
Gyuvin takes it reluctantly, admiring how soft it is. How few callouses there are on his fingertips, how sturdy he places his feet on his board and tugs Gyuvin on with him. It feels foreign to him.
How he’s trusting a stranger, how he holds onto Hao’s waist for dear life as he tips them downward. It’s a gust of wind that forces his eyes shut, hiding his face into Hao’s shoulder.
He realizes it’s fun. He realizes he doesn’t know why Hao dragged him along, expertly pulling them to a stop and stepping off. Gyuvin had no idea skateboarding could feel like that, could sound like that. He’s breathless from the adrenaline running through his body, blushing when Hao introduces him to a few tricks.
The first one goes about how anyone would expect it to. Gyuvin’s a complete idiot on the board, wobbling on his legs like he’s never walked before but Hao only guides him. With hands on his waist, with movements in his arms that Gyuvin can only describe as fluid directions.
He gets the hang of it surprisingly well. Gyuvin’s doing well, he manages his first dip into the bowl with only mild fear in his stomach. He comes back up and nearly falls back in without the board, but Hao grabs him by his wrist.
He hangs there for a minute, blushing as his heart beats faster. Hao is surprisingly strong, pulling him back on his feet and hopping down to grab the now abandoned board.
Gyuvin’s confused.
Hao must say something when he comes back up, because his mouth moves but he moves faster. His board rests against Gyuvin’s leg, his hand reaching down to keep it from drifting off again as he watches the other walk across the park. He disappears out of his vision entirely, Gyuvin left to wonder where he went just long enough to get nervous.
He should come back, right? He left his board with Gyuvin. He’ll be back.
And it’s not more than a few minutes before Hao is in his vision again, holding two cups in his hand. As he comes closer, Gyuvin realizes it’s ice cream. He hands him one, a vanilla with some kind of chocolate topping. It’ll have to do.
His brother is watching, Gyuvin realizes. From a distance, a small smile on his face and a warm feeling in Gyuvin’s chest. It’s been a minute since Gyuvin’s made a friend on his own, watching Hao as he sits beside him, eating his ice cream.
It must be near silence for the both of them, because Hao is relaxed and watching the half-pipe on the other side of the park. Gyuvin faintly hears laughter, deep underwater. Hao must be laughing at someone that Gyuvin doesn’t see. Gyuvin doesn’t need the world of hearing to hear it, though, because when he looks back at Hao he can hear it.
His face is flushed pink, the skin around his eyes wrinkled as he smiles. His chest rises and lowers with his efforts to catch is breath. A stray tear falls from his eye and Gyuvin catches himself smiling along.
And over the months of summer haze Gyuvin learns a bit more about Hao. His love for music, for kids, for skateboarding. Gyuvin learns new tricks, new words and that he loves Hao’s company.
One of these days he’ll hear the other play his violin. For now Gyuvin is content in feeling his love. In feeling the way Hao says I love you through his kisses, tender to Gyuvin’s own lips, skateboard forgotten in the bowl as he pulls Hao a little closer and says I love you back a little deeper.