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Jihoon knows everyone on this island.
Lee Jihoon has never left the island, not once. It’s small, closed off, and excessively resistant to outside influences, but for the most part, none of the three hundred or so residents who remain here day after day are unhappy.
He was born here. There is no hospital that can be reached without taking a boat out to the mainland, but labour isn’t like a complicated disease, even if his mother had yelled that his father was a monster for inflicting the condition of pregnancy on her. Thus, he opened his eyes to the world from within a secluded room at the family home, the birth attended by two midwives, the resident doctor on standby, and his father’s hand numb from his mother’s tight grip. The doctor, an experienced village elder, had declared Jihoon healthy and lingered for tea because he was a family friend, and Jihoon’s father had insisted he stay to stave off returning to the blustery winds along the coast, not uncommon during the month of November. Since retiring nearly a decade ago, he had been replaced by a young woman. He knew her too; Mrs. Cho, the doctor’s mother, walked her dog down the street where Jihoon lived every day.
Jihoon knows everyone.
It’s why, when he sees the boy sitting alone on the cliffs facing the water at the northernmost tip of the uninhabited trails, he immediately mouths the word, “tourist”.
The rain is heavy, diminishes visibility, and makes the rocks underfoot slippery. Jihoon’s boots have thick rubber soles that help grip the ground and he frequents this place daily, but bad weather normally deters tourists. This one seems comfortable with having his clothes soaked through, no umbrella in sight, just like Jihoon who enjoys the feeling of raindrops splashing on his skin and beading at the hair near the base of his neck.
The boy is carrying a bag on his back, but it’s not a familiar style. It’s smooth and silky, one large flap hanging over the top, fastened down by a single buckle. The colour is one shade of grey when he sees it from a distance, but shimmers light and dark with varying angles of light from what passes through the storm clouds. There are no sewed hems around the edges, not even along the straps of the handle. Amazingly, water drips right off the material as if it repels water somehow, leaving behind no traces of wetness. Though it’s like nothing he’s ever seen before, or maybe because of that, Jihoon’s eyes remain transfixed for a long while.
When he finally breaks his gaze away, it’s raining even harder, and Jihoon has to hold out his hands to feel for a good spot to squat down, chest to his knees while he waits.
Less than a year ago, while on an attempt to walk the perimeter of the island just to be able to say he had done it, Jihoon had stumbled across this area of the coast and heard the most beautiful sound to ever grace his ears. It sounded like singing, but not like any human voice, minimalistic pitches full and clear even as the volume waxed and waned. For months he’s sat here, listening to the changing songs of whatever creature it was that lived in these waters, drinking in the haunting melodies, a mixture of mournful tenor calls and coloratura expressions of joy. Something about that timbre and range stayed with him, unique as it was, compelled him to make the hike over after school no matter what. At home his walls are now covered with page after page of transcribed music, filled with motifs inspired by the songs at these shores, enough material that his parents are firmly convinced he wants to be a composer.
Jihoon isn’t as sure. He’s not copying the singing – nothing could possibly recreate the beauty in the songs – but it still feels private somehow, not something to be shared.
Today there’s no singing. He waits for an hour, and there’s no sound but the fall of rain. It’s strange. Rain has never stopped the music before, and he’s never been greeted by silence. At the first flash of lighting he rises, turns, and is surprised to find that the tourist is still sitting nearby, not having moved from his spot.
The boy notices Jihoon staring and smiles, showing off a row of neat white teeth. “Hi,” the boy says, bright and warm. Jihoon’s never had experience talking to strangers before, since he knows everyone on the island after all, but this one is so unguarded that it doesn’t seem right to be closed off against him.
Jihoon considers what to say for a moment, and when he opens his mouth to reply, he’s drowned out by a rumble of thunder. “Hello,” he tries again.
The stranger’s eyes crinkle pleasantly as he beckons Jihoon over before standing himself, scrambling up to plant both feet against smooth stone. He holds his arms loosely at his sides, uncrossed, shoulders broad and pushed back. Everything about him is open, from the way he smiles to the way he stands and carries himself, as readable as a book, if not more so.
“Visiting?” Jihoon asks. He inspects the boy’s feet and notices he’s wearing soft shoes, slipper like, maybe out of leather. Jihoon cocks his head to the side.
“I guess you can call it that that.” says the boy, “It’s very nice here. I much like the rain, as do you, I think.” He speaks formally, a beat or two slower than Jihoon is used to hearing, each syllable leaving his mouth with weight and care. The way he curls his tongue around each of the sounds so precisely, lips moving so emphatically, it makes Jihoon wonder just how much of a tourist this boy is.
No one stays outside when it’s raining, so Jihoon likes rainy days best because it’s quiet and no one’s around to bother him. He shrugs one shoulder and holds out his hands, letting the rainwater pool in his palms. Jihoon looks up, and another flash of lightning decorates the sky, bright and thin branches splaying outward before disappearing quickly, leaving only an impression behind Jihoon’s eyelids.
“Do you think we might be struck?”
“By the lightning? No.” Jihoon quickly shakes his head. “We’re below the treeline, so the forest is more likely to be struck than us. Besides, there’s a long stretch of time between the lightning and thunder, so it must be far away.”
“Oh.” The tourist looks out over the water again, squinting at the horizon for the source of the lightning.
Jihoon is distracted by the reflection of something as the next bolt strikes, something small and shiny sitting snuggly between two boulders. His foot reaches out for it instinctively, and once he’s kicked at it enough to know it’s not some poisonous animals, he bends down to pluck the object up between two fingers, surveys it quickly, and pockets it moments before the boy turns back around.
Distracted as he is, the renewed smile the stranger gives him takes Jihoon off guard. “Since it’s getting dark and the weather isn’t great for sightseeing, do you want me to show you the way back into town?”
“Alright.” The boy nods once before scanning the area by his feet. Satisfied that he hasn’t left anything, he nods again and follows Jihoon down the flooded and muddy footpaths, over grass and rock and dirt, until they reach a fork in the road.
“My home is this way,” Jihoon says, pointing left. “If you’re staying at the guesthouse, it’ll be over there.” He turns to show the boy the other direction, but he’s already gone.
≈≈
≈≈
“We have a new student today!” The teacher announces, calling out over the heads of twenty students ranging from ages thirteen to twenty. There are fewer than forty students in the school, as small as the island is, and only two teachers. That wouldn’t be a problem if the students were in the same grades, but normally there were only three or four per year, and they were split into two large groups of younger and older kids, each student getting only a limited amount of instruction per day.
It was a wonder that any of them made it out to college, much less medical school.
“His name is Wen Junhui and he’s from overseas. He’ll be joining our senior students this year as they prepare to graduate.”
Kwon Soonyoung sits up in his chair, leaning over to elbow Wonwoo in the ribs. “Hey, stop reading, I think she means the transfer student is joining us.”
Wonwoo glances up and together they watch as the boy with the grey backpack walks toward them at the back of the classroom, flashing the entire row a smile before dropping into the empty seat between Jihoon and Soonyoung.
“Hi! I'm Soonyoung,” he greets brightly, as soon as the teacher sends them off to work on their problem sets for the day. It's trigonometry and Soonyoung hates math. “This is Wonwoo and that's Jihoon,” he introduces, jabbing his fingers aggressively in the direction of each person. “We're the oldest ones! We've been friends for ages, so it'll be nice to have someone new join us.”
“I'm pleased to meet you too,” says Junhui, looking each of Soonyoung and Wonwoo in the eye carefully, before turning his torso in the other direction to smile at Jihoon. His eyes fall to Jihoon's hands, where Jihoon's long, thin fingers are passing a dark grey ring from hand to hand. The band is thin and smooth, and when he deigns to slip it onto his index finger, it sits snuggly just above his second knuckle. Junhui watches carefully, head tilted to one side, while Jihoon removes it from that finger and places it on the index finger of his other hand, gliding easily over the skin.
“Hey where'd you get that?” Soonyoung asks curiously, peering around Junhui's broad shoulders.
Wonwoo clamours up over Soonyoung's head, craning his neck to look down at Jihoon's hands with wide eyes. “Yeah, I've never seen you wear that before either. Is it new?”
Jihoon scowls, yanks the ring off, and quickly stows it in one pocket. “I found it,” he says grudgingly, “Yesterday. Mind your own business.”
Junhui's eyes trail along Jihoon's arm, away from his pocket and up to his shoulder, gaze continuing along that path until he meets Jihoon's eyes. Jihoon looks away quickly but gives a quick jerk of his head, agreeing with Junhui's unasked question, and shifts his body until his hips face toward the wall and he can stare out the window.
“Don't mind him,” Soonyoung says, drawing Junhui's attention away from Jihoon. “He can be a bit of an ass.”
“Oh.” Junhui frowns, retrieving a smooth stick of graphite from his backpack. The pencil sitting in his fingers has a grey body the same shade as his backpack, as well as his leather shoes. “I thought you said you were friends?” He's distracted, eyes remaining downcast, frown on his lips turning into a moue that's drawn tighter and tighter as he ponders.
“We are,” Wonwoo declares.
“Jihoon doesn't talk much though. He's the silent brooding type,” supplies Soonyoung. “Friends can still be asses.”
Wonwoo nods. “We're better friends anyway. Way funnier, for one thing.”
“Super funny,” Soonyoung agrees, before they share a high five.
Junhui looks up from where he's completed half a page of questions, neat calculations of angles and side lengths printed in a square hand, without any sign of numbers crossed out, nor stray eraser markings. The space on the paper for rough work is pristine, with no mistakes between transferring the unknown qualities into computed whole numbers. He smiles, pencil still gripped tightly in one hand, although it's not as tight as the smile on his face.
“Wow, you're really good at math,” Soonyoung remarks, startled. “Hey, Wonwoo, look.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Let me read in peace. How's math going to help me become an island famous author?”
“Everyone on this island already knows you,” Soonyoung points out.
“Exactly.” Wonwoo lifts a corner of his mouth and returns to his novel.
“Speaking of, Junhui, have you met anyone else? Should we introduce you to everyone? Where are you staying, do you at least know your neighbours?”
“Oh. At the outskirts of town. The northern part,” Junhui answers quickly. He looks down at his paper again, pencil tapping rhythmically and leaving a trail of grey dots in the corner beside his name. He sneaks a glance to his left, and Jihoon is still staring out the window, but there's a page of markings on his desk. It's not math, and Junhui can't read any of it. Junhui squints further, vision blurring around the edges, but it remains an indecipherable mass of scribbles and sticks, swoops and swirls. Junhui's never seen anything like it.
“The abandoned house? Did your parents buy that?”
Junhui tilts his head without looking up.
“Cool. After school do you want to come to my house? My dad owns the general store and a lot of people eat at the restaurant next door so it'll be the best place for you to get to know everyone.” Soonyoung peaks over while Junhui remains distracted, and surreptitiously copies down Junhui's answers onto his own sheet of paper. He's never finished a complete set of math problems in class before.
“Alright,” Junhui agrees, and he flinches when he senses Jihoon moving in the seat beside his.
“Awesome. Wonwoo will be there too, we always hang out together after class.”
“What about Jihoon?” Junhui asks Soonyoung, but he's looking left again, eyes boring holes into Jihoon's hands. His hands are slim and well cared for, no calluses, no rough patches of skin. His nails are trimmed at the ends, but the nail plates are long and rounded, sitting at the tops of his fingers like ovals, instead of the squares on Junhui's own hands. The dark grey ring had reappeared again, sitting elegantly on the fourth finger of his right hand, its darkness contrasting the paleness of Jihoon's skin. Junhui memorized the way the ring looked, the way it looked on Jihoon's finger.
“Nah, Jihoon always goes hiking or something like that. Every day after classes, up to the crags up north. He's weird.”
“I think he's very clever,” Junhui says quietly.
Wonwoo balks. “How would you even know?”
Junhui lifts his right shoulder in a shrug that mirrors Jihoon’s from the the day prior. He remains silent for the rest of the morning, as well as the afternoon.
≈≈
≈≈
“Can I come with you on your hike?” Junhui accosts Jihoon on his way out the door from the schoolhouse after class the next day. He wears the same grey shoes, carries the same grey backpack, and today he's wearing a thick grey sweater. Jihoon hasn't touched it, but it looks soft and warm, and a little like the material his backpack and shoes are made of. Maybe it was a specialty fabric from where he lived before.
“Wonwoo and Soonyoung too loud for you?” Jihoon snorts, pulling two fruit snacks out from his pocket and offers one to Junhui. Eating something usually made it easier to scale the taller parts of the cliffs, although with Junhui's mile-long legs, he might not have as much trouble with the taller steps as Jihoon normally does.
Junhui shrugs that one armed shrug he seems to have picked up rather quickly from Jihoon, and plucks the proffered food item from Jihoon's hands, letting their fingers brush gently.
Junhui's fingers are cool, but where they touch Jihoon's, Jihoon feels warm. Those hands have calluses and tough patches of skin, and accompanying the roughness is a feeling that they'd have a certain strength to them. All of Junhui looks like he contains a certain amount of strength to him. He thinks he imagines Junhui lingering, but when he looks at him, Junhui's staring down at their hands and when Junhui notices Jihoon looking at him, he pulls away too quickly. There's a hint of redness in his ears, a shy look spreading quickly across Junhui's face, and Jihoon is satisfied that he hasn't been making that up.
“Let's get going.”
They say precisely two things to each other along the way. Junhui asks, “Do you really walk this way every day?” and Jihoon replies, “Yes”. Jihoon asks, “Are you fine keeping up?”, and Junhui replies, “Yes.”
It's cloudy again today, but they're not rain clouds, and the patches of sunlight forces Jihoon to squint through the light as it reflects off the water, the movement of the waves creating a sparkling effect. They sit side by side, facing northeast, shoulders nearly touching. Their pinky fingers do touch, but being in close proximity to Junhui doesn't make Jihoon feel like puking as it does with Wonwoo, or itchy as he does with Soonyoung, so he doesn't withdraw his hand. He almost doesn't notice Junhui lifting his pinky and curling it over top of Jihoon's, tangling their fingers together.
“This is nice, but surely you don't come here every single day for a pretty view,” Junhui ventures.
“I like you better when you're quiet,” mutters Jihoon.
Junhui turns his head to get a good look at him, expression neutral. His eyes are unblinking, but they don't ask anything of Jihoon. So Jihoon relents.
“I found this place by accident. I think there's something magical about this place.” He looks at Junhui for confusion, disbelief, a smile, a laugh. Anything. Junhui doesn't even crinkle his eyes, doesn't say anything at all. “I'm serious.”
“I believe you,” Junhui says sincerely, “but what exactly makes you think that?”
“It's the music.” It's silent again today. That eats at Jihoon, the fact that there were three days in a row of quiet. What had happened to the singer?
“The music?” Junhui looks up over Jihoon's head, turns his neck to the right and then to the left, and tilts one ear upward, trying to hear anything. “I don't hear music?”
“I know,” Jihoon says, huffing with frustration. He brings his hands to his head, fingers combing through his hair until it's all pulled back to the base of his head. When he releases, some of the strands fly back up, sticking out every which way. Junhui reaches over, using the hand that's not connected to Jihoon to smooth down the ends. Jihoon flinches once, leaning sideways, and Junhui pauses quickly. Before he can say anything more, Jihoon reverts to his original sitting position, tilting his head back into Junhui's hand so he can fix the way Jihoon's bangs sit over his forehead. “I haven't heard it in a few days. I don't know what's wrong. I can't figure out what happened. But it was beautiful. I wanted to hear the songs every day, they were that beautiful. Even if it was the same song, I would have been content to just sit here and listen. I heard it for months, but then it just stopped. That voice...”
“Do you think you can sing what the music sounds like?”
Jihoon tries, closing his eyes and humming out the notes he's scrawled onto staff paper in his room, mimicking the piercingly rich tones that have come to be felt as home for his ears, but he stops after only a few bars, shaking his head. “It doesn't sound right when I sing it. Wherever the music was coming from, it was really special.”
When Jihoon opens his eyes again, it's to see a frowning Junhui with his eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed. Jihoon instinctively reaches out his hand to press his thumb above Junhui's nose bridge, rubbing gently to ease away the tension in the muscles under the skin. Junhui's mouth remains turned downward, even after Jihoon's hand returns to Junhui's, linking two fingers together this time.
“Sorry...I'm just upset I couldn't listen to the music with you. It seems like you enjoyed it very much, so I would have liked to hear it too.” Junhui's voice is small, and he tears his eyes away from Jihoon's face, staring back out at the water. The crease in his forehead returns, and Jihoon sighs.
“Me too. I would have liked you to hear it too.”
They wait until the bottom of the circumference of the sun meets the line where water touches sky before Jihoon gives up. He stands first, and then grasps Junhui by the hand to help him stand as well.
“Hey, about that ring, you found it here on the day it was raining right?” Junhui asks, as they walk shoulder the shoulder down the steep cliff face.
“Isn't that what I told you yesterday?”
“You kind of implied it, but didn't really say so.”
“That's true,” Jihoon admits. “I found it here, while it was thunderstorming and you got scared you were going to be struck by lightning,” he teases, looking out of the corner of his eye at Junhui's face to check for his reaction.
“Oh,” is all Junhui says.
“Okay, I know I said I like you better when you're quiet, but that was such a non-reaction,” Jihoon begins.
“Sorry,” Junhui says quickly, giving Jihoon a wry smile. “Just thinking about something.”
Jihoon shrugs one shoulder, and Junhui laughs, a high, clear, tinkering sound, full and rich and melodic, decorated alternately with high and low pitches. Jihoon blinks as Junhui shrugs one shoulder in return, mirroring the movement almost perfectly.
“You know, yesterday Soonyoung said you don't talk much, but you actually have quite a lot to say.”
“Just because you've seen me around for three days and know one thing about me doesn’t mean you know all my secrets,” Jihoon grumbles. They're nearing his house and he turns to wave goodbye, but Junhui is already gone again.
≈≈
≈≈
“Where'd you run off to after school yesterday?” Soonyoung asks, nearly toppling over a desk in his haste to badger Junhui first thing in the morning.
“I had something to do,” Junhui says, pointedly not meeting Jihoon or Soonyoung's eyes.
“Oh, were you helping your parents out? Wonwoo has to do that a lot too, it's super annoying.”
“What about Wonwoo now?” He looks up from the book he's reading and Soonyoung shoves his head downward with one hand.
“Go back to being a bookworm, Wonworm.”
Junhui laughs lightly, not the full sound he had produced in front of Jihoon, but still a fluttering sound, and Soonyoung looks pleased at the outcome.
“See? I told you we were funnier.”
“Alright,” Junhui says agreeably.
Soonyoung slings an arm around Wonwoo's thin shoulders and leans his head against Wonwoo's. He overshoots by a little, knocking their heads together painfully and Wonwoo glares at Soonyoung with thinly veiled fondness. “So do you have to do things today too or can you come with us down to the ponds? We're going to see if we can collect snails!”
“Snails?”
Wonwoo puts his book down, and sticks his index fingers up in the air, hands at the top of his heads. He wiggles his fingers.
Soonyoung laughs and mimics Wonwoo's hands. “Yeah, snails are really cool. Plus their shells are pretty and they leave behind slime trails.”
“That's gross,” Wonwoo says.
Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “So will you come?”
“Um,” Junhui pauses, looks down at the pinky finger of his right hand. “I guess I can come today...but not tomorrow.”
“Alright alright!! How about you Jihoon, interested in snail goo?” Soonyoung taps Jihoon’s shoulder.
Jihoon shrugs Soonyoung’s hand away, eyes on Junhui. “No, and please don’t touch me.”
≈≈
≈≈
“The ponds are really just pools of water collecting from the ocean, so they’re sea snails and not freshwater snails, because of the salt,” Wonwoo explains.
“Nerd!” Soonyoung yells from behind them, running up to jab Wonwoo in the cheek.
“At least I’m not stupid!”
The ponds are referred to in plural because it’s a series of pools, somewhat connected together, rather than one large water source. Soonyoung enjoys scaring Wonwoo with globs of the mucus left behind by the snails, lifting some onto his finger and chasing Wonwoo around in an attempt to get it onto his skin. Their run takes them farther and farther away from the town, until they can hear running water.
“What’s the source of that sound?” Junhui asks, forcing Wonwoo to pause halfway from biting Soonyoung’s arm.
“The tributaries that created these ponds in the first place,” he says, drawing a line from the standing water westward to where a trickle was flowing inward from the edge of the island.
“Just say stream like a normal person,” Soonyoung says, flicking Wonwoo’s forehead.
“Just read a book like a not-stupid person,” Wonwoo parrots back.
“I’m going to go follow this back the other way,” Junhui says.
“Should we wait?”
Junhui’s gone before they receive an answer.
≈≈
≈≈
“Junhui, I heard it yesterday!” Jihoon’s hand around Junhui’s wrist is unyielding. “Hurry up, I want to know if it’s there again today.” He pulls Junhui forward hard enough that he stumbles, and runs away before Junhui can right himself and retaliate.
“How did you know I was waiting for you?” Junhui jogs behind Jihoon, elbows bent at his sides, grey bag bouncing on his back. He’s wearing the grey sweater again, even though the sun is out in full force today, and there was no breeze to speak of. It’s slightly too warm for thick knits, but even with their quick pace, Junhui doesn’t break into a sweat.
“You said I was clever, but you don’t think I understood what you were implying? I guess you’re not so clever, huh?” Jihoon jokes, the sting of his words bouncing off of Junhui like the water droplets on his one-of-a-kind grey backpack.
Junhui smiles. “I just can’t compare to how clever you are.”
They half-walk half-jog in companionable silence, Junhui already familiar with the route after only two visits. It’s a pleasant day and Jihoon rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing pale forearms and blue-green veins.
“Why’d you say you think I’m clever anyway?” Jihoon asks, not really expecting an answer. He grimaces and fights down a blush.
“You knew all that stuff about the lightning! That was really cool,” Junhui says, head bobbing out of sync with the straps over his shoulders.
“Anyone with any life experience can tell you something like that.” Jihoon rolls his eyes, and carefully grips Junhui’s bicep for the sake of stability. Junhui moves quickly, from one rock face to the next in deft movements. His steps are buoyant, springing up and down in fluid motions without taking time to check his footing. That’s how people lose their balance and fall, the idiot. “You must be really un-clever not to know things like that.”
Junhui laughs again, an airy trilling sound, and something in Jihoon twinges. “I must be. It’s a good thing you’re clever enough for the both of us then, isn’t it?”
The hand wrapped around Junhui’s bicep shoves out of Jihoon’s embarrassment at being complimented, sending Junhui toppling over midway through his foot striking the ground. One of Junhui’s arms flails out and his hand catches onto the hem of Jihoon’s shirt, yanking Jihoon over as well until they’re in a heap on the edge of the crags, pointy vertices digging into Junhui’s back, and Jihoon sprawled on top of him.
“Ow,” comments Junhui, “I think I scraped my arm.” He peels back the fabric of his grey sweater, and while the underlying soft flesh of his inner forearms are tender, they are unmarred by scratches. Jihoon breathes a sigh of relief, his body sinking into Junhui’s, his breath ticking Junhui’s chin. “Also the stones underneath my back kind of hurt.”
Jihoon scrambles to get off of him, but Junhui sits up easily, and loosely holds Jihoon in his arms, one on either side of his torso.
Junhui chuckles. “Just because I’m hurt doesn’t mean you should hurt yourself too.”
“I’m not going to hurt myself.” Jihoon protests. After a moment, he frowns. “Are you really hurt?” He reaches an arm around to gingerly prod at Junhui’s back, cheek slightly skimming Junhui’s chest. His skin brushes against something soft and smooth, the material of Junhui’s sweater. It feels like both fur and leather, cool and warm, and he can’t place what it’s made out of. Junhui winces when Jihoon pokes too hard into an area on his lower back, just to the right of his spine, and Jihoon pulls away quickly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I’m superhuman!” Junhui says with a dry laugh. He spins Jihoon around until they’re both facing the water, his back leaning lightly against Junhui’s chest. “Will we be hearing your super magical music today?”
The only sound calling to them in the present moment is the croaking voices of gulls, lapping the perimeter of the island and swooping back into the sky, the dark outlines of their bodies becoming mere specks on the horizon. Occasionally, the wind filtering through the trees will leave an open hum in the air, and the ocean hitting the rocks below lands repeated heavy crashes.
“I sat here for a while before I heard it yesterday.” Jihoon patiently, painstakingly sorts the pebbles at his knee by size, smallest to largest. “We might have to wait.”
They wait. They wait until the sun is halfway obscured by the sea, dark shadows replacing the bright sparkles of the ocean water, a cool breeze that chills Jihoon but not Junhui, who always looks to be perfectly content with the temperature no matter how cold or how hot, always wearing his clean cut grey sweater. At Jihoon’s shivering, Junhui tucks his chin over one of Jihoon’s shoulder, face just beside his ear, and tightly wraps his arms around Jihoon’s body. He receives an elbow to the stomach for his trouble, but Jihoon stops struggling as soon as he loosens his grip a little.
“I think there’s something wrong,” Jihoon says, a waver in his voice. “Even yesterday, when I heard the song, it sounded emptier, like they were struggling with changing notes. I think, whatever’s out there singing, I think they might be sick.”
“Sickness is something you can recover from, if they’re singing again maybe they’re getting better,” Junhui suggests diplomatically.
“Maybe…I’m worried. I mean, that’s stupid, I’ve never even seen the source of the songs and I’m worried about them? Why should I be upset about something like that? I’m stupid for having gotten so invested in something like this.” Jihoon angrily pushes his knuckles down into the hard surface of the rocks underneath them, grinding the skin of his hand without noticing the pain.
Junhui bites his lower lip and lifts Jihoon’s arm by the elbow. “You’re not stupid. Not ever, and certainly not for having feelings. Emotions don’t make you dumb.”
“Tch.” Jihoon glares down at his feet, and takes one last look at the water for the day. “Let’s go, before it gets too dark to see the footpaths back into town.”
Junhui nods, lip still caught between teeth, and doesn’t try to say words of comfort on the way back.
Near the end of the trail, where dirt gives way to gravel, Junhui stops walking. “Hey Jihoon, what would you do if you never heard the singing again?”
“What? I don’t know, feel sad I guess. Wait, why are you asking?”
Junhui shrugs one shoulder. “Just curious.”
≈≈
≈≈
“They don’t have this where you come from?”
Junhui shakes his head in the negative, eyes never leaving the television screen, where Soonyoung’s dinosaur avatar is gaining ground on the first place cartoon monkey. “I’ve never played a video game before.” The controller that Soonyoung is using to navigate his cart is unlike any of the controls in the cars he’s seen around town, and he’s not sure he can describe what Soonyoung’s doing as ‘driving’ anyway, considering the number of crashes. The cart in the game sure must be sturdy.
“Wait, where did you say you came from anyway?” Wonwoo asks, before drawing his lips backward, head tilted to one side, one eyebrow raised.
“I don’t think he actually told us,” says Soonyoung, eyes dry and unblinking on the last lap of the race. “I thought you were from the mainland, Junhui, but they have this over there.”
“Not the mainland. The other side of the ocean,” Junhui tells them, “not that far from here.”
“Huh. I didn’t know any boats came from that direction.”
“You don’t know a lot of things,” Wonwoo admonishes, hitting the spine of his novel against the back of Soonyoung’s head.
Soonyoung loses focus, but when he looks up, somehow the jerk of his hand on the controller has helped him end up in first place. “I know how to win video games! What’s the use of being good in school if you can’t do anything useful in every day life, huh, Wonwoo?” Soonyoung retorts loudly. He rewards himself by stuffing half a sausage bun into his mouth, before handing the controller over to Junhui. “Don’t worry if you’re not that good at it in the beginning. Wonwoo was awful when he first started out, but you get the hang of it eventually.” The book makes a loud thunk when it meets Soonyoung’s head again, and Wonwoo looks sideways, like he’s not really sure how it flew out of his hands.
It doesn’t take very long for Junhui to pick up how to use the joystick, which is intuitive, and the immediate feedback from changes in movements on the screen make for a pretty steep learning curve. As soon as he gets the hang on multitasking and performing different actions with each hand, he’s pretty comfortable collecting items and throwing them at his opponents.
“You’re really never played this before?” Soonyoung asks while chewing, a piece of bread stuck to the edge of his lips.
Wonwoo reaches out to pick the food remnants off of Soonyoung’s mouth, clucking his tongue until it’s all between forefinger and thumb. He sticks it into his own mouth and swallows before speaking. “Junhui didn’t even know how to hold the controller when we first pulled out the console, no one can fake something like that.”
“But he’s really good!” Soonyoung protests, leaning away from Wonwoo’s thumb when he tries to wipe the corners of his mouth a second time.
“Quick learner?” The two of them stare at Junhui, whose full attention is on avoiding the obstacles being thrown at his character’s cart from behind.
“I’m good at adapting,” Junhui says, raising one shoulder in a shrug.
≈≈
≈≈
The arm thrown over his head to keep sun out of his eyes obscures Junhui’s face from sight, but Jihoon knows it’s him immediately. He walks up to the prone body on the rocks and nudges Junhui’s shoulder with his foot.
“What are you doing here? And doesn’t that hurt?”
Junhui shifts his elbow to peek up and out at Jihoon, his eyes squinting because of the rays of light. His face is illuminated from the side, and the shadow his nose bridge casts on his face is all sharp lines and sharp angles, straight enough that Jihoon could measure the lengths with a ruler and use a sine function to calculate the precise number of radians. The light also lightens sections of Junhui’s hair, giving the impression of someone going through individual strands with highlighter. A shift in the wind and the way Junhui’s hair frames his forehead makes him look ethereal, not human.
“It’s fine, I found a smooth rock today. No one pushed me over, so I didn’t fall and that helped.”
For his cheekiness, Jihoon deliberately makes sure to trod on Junhui’s fingers before taking a seat beside him, lying down and placing his head on one hand as a pillow. “Still, what are you doing here in the first place?”
Junhui turns his head, shields his eyes from the sun with one large hand, and looks Jihoon in the eye. He opens and closes his mouth several times. The question isn’t a hard one, but it seems loaded to both parties. It’s not a hard question, but it’s probably unfair, not that Jihoon is particularly bothered. Junhui was right in saying that Jihoon did talk a lot, when he wanted to, but Soonyoung was right in saying that Jihoon could be bit of an ass.
“Does it matter what I’m doing here?” Junhui responds eventually. “I’m here, period, can that be all that matters?”
“Why?” Jihoon licks his lips slowly, eyes following the movement of Junhui’s throat. “But why are you here, Junhui? It’s the weekend, you could be doing anything, why are you—”
Junhui cuts him off. “You’re clever, Jihoon, I think you know why.”
Jihoon stabs his index finger into Junhui’s sternum.
Junhui catches Jihoon’s hand, pushes down the single lifted finger, and brings Jihoon’s closed fist up to his chin. His eyes are honest and face relaxed when he leans down to brush his lips gently over Jihoon’s knuckles. Junhui’s lips are soft and strangely dry, sending tingles up Jihoon’s arm and down his spine, coaxing out Jihoon’s trust.
They’ve only known each other a few days but Jihoon trusts Junhui with the music, and with his excess of words. The look in Junhui’s eyes is trustworthy, although there’s something else there too, something that makes Jihoon’s toes curl.
“I said I wanted to hear the music with you, right? I like spending time with you. I like you, Jihoon.” Junhui squeezes Jihoon’s hand once and then lets go.
Jihoon’s too stunned to squeeze back quickly enough, and his fingers are left grasping around air, heel of his hand uncannily cold from the loss of contact. His fingers unfurl, and the lick of sea breeze tickling his skin makes him feel cooler from where it blows against the sweat rising at the surface of his palm, also from where it touches his pink tipped ears. He stares down at his hand, fingers splayed outward, and turns it over and over, palm up and palm down. Junhui’s staring at Jihoon’s hands too, he can tell from the way his head is angled, but he doesn’t quite expect the intensity of Junhui’s expression when he looks up into Junhui’s eyes. They remain trained on Jihoon’s fingers, as if enchanted, until Jihoon shoves them into his pocket.
Junhui clears his throat. “I like you a lot, so, I’m here.”
“Who wouldn’t like me,” Jihoon asks rhetorically. Most people, is the answer. He keeps to himself nearly all of the time time, even when he’s at home with his family. Being alone makes him feel balanced, so that he doesn’t have to calculate what someone else will do or say. It gets lonely sometimes, but the singing has been accompanying him for all these months, so he’s never felt like he needed anyone else to like him before, not Soonyoung nor Wonwoo and their casual joking nature, not Mrs. Cho whose dog Jihoon pets whenever he sees, not any of the three hundred people who live on this tiny island. And they tolerate him sure, but just as much as Jihoon didn’t need anyone to like him, no one’s really thought to themselves, that Lee Jihoon boy, bring him around for tea because I like him. Isn’t that why he spends so much of his time up here, listening to some magical voice singing?
There’s no singing today.
It’s not so bad. Jihoon’s back aches after lying on the rocks for too long, so they sit up and Junhui loops their pinkies together again. Jihoon impatiently threads all their fingers together after that, and Junhui smiles a little, even if his eyes remain trained on the horizon. They listen for a voice to start singing, but they also listen to each other, trading odd stories about growing up, their families, funny anecdotes. Throughout, Junhui runs his thumb along the expanse of skin between Jihoon’s first and second knuckle on his index finger, skimming over the top of the ring that Jihoon hasn’t taken off since he slipped it on, not even when he bathes. Junhui’s skin is warm and the smooth ring is cool, and the tiny gestures are like tiny lapping of waves at your feet, when your shoes are off and toes exposed to the blue marine waters.
“Just to be clear,” Jihoon doesn’t hold Junhui’s hand on the way back into town, but their arms swing between them, Junhui’s fingertips grazing Jihoon’s wrists every so often. “Just to be clear, I think I probably kind of like you a little bit too,” Jihoon says.
“You have so many words,” Junhui murmurs, leaning down while Jihoon stands up on his tip toes.
Junhui tastes like saltwater taffy, as sweet as can be, but with a little something savoury that makes the flavour even better. Underneath that, there’s another musk as fresh as just-caught fish, and a pinch of something tangy and foreign and distinctly Junhui. Jihoon’s never kissed anyone before, but kissing Junhui only makes him want to kiss Junhui more, and that’s probably a good sign.
“Will you wait with me tomorrow?” Jihoon asks when they break apart, Junhui’s hands at the small of Jihoon’s back, Jihoon’s fingers clinging into the soft fabric of Junhui’s grey sweater.
“Rain or shine.”
≈≈
≈≈
There’s a slight drizzle when Jihoon leaves the house, pushing away the raincoat and umbrella his mother offers him on the front step. All he needs is his rubber-soled shoes and the knowledge that Junhui will meet him on the crags to put a skip in his step. He hums as he walks, a makeshift attempt at recreating the familiar melodies he’s rarely heard in the past weak. They stay in his mind, beautiful and haunting as they are, but it’s hard to reproduce the fast lyrical passages with his voice, so he has to tone down the upbeat rhythms and dancing pitches.
Maybe if the music doesn’t come back today, he can try humming it a little to Junhui, or showing him on a keyboard. He has hundreds of pages of sheet music trying to emulate those songs. Even if it seems too private to share with others, Junhui could listen to Jihoon’s approximations. Jihoon would like him to be able to hear what they sound like, whether it’s the real McCoy or just his own whimsical fabrication.
Junhui waves at Jihoon from where the cliffs end, and runs toward Jihoon without a care for the puddles he splashes through. The water doesn’t soak through his thin grey shoes, but it does run in rivulets from the tips of his hair, especially as the rain picks up.
“I really like the rain,” Junhui tells him once they’re face to face, his eyes wide and filled with marvel, at what Jihoon’s not entirely sure.
“Me too,” Jihoon says shyly, mind unable to resist thinking back to the kiss they had shared the day before, not when Junhui’s mouth his so close. Junhui’s entire body is very close, Jihoon can feel heat radiating out from his chest, but the fabric of his sweater is cool and dry when he places his palm over Junhui’s chest.
“Do you trust me?” Junhui asks him.
“Yes.” Enough that Jihoon was unafraid of telling Junhui his secret about the singing voice, enough that Jihoon was unafraid to speak his mind, enough that Jihoon was unafraid to gift Junhui his heart, packaged neatly with a ribbon bow.
“I have a…surprise.” Junhui says that word like it’s the first time his mouth has formed the shape. “It requires you to close your eyes first, is that okay?”
Instead of saying yes or nodding, Jihoon simply shuts his eyes, and waits for whatever Junhui has prepared. Junhui’s footfalls as he steps away are quiet, and then undetectable, and Jihoon stands hearing nothing but the pitter patter of rain for a moment, and then two, and then what feels like minutes.
“Junhui?” He calls out hesitantly, and then it starts.
It’s the singing, but not as he heard it in the months and months before Junhui’s arrival to the island, rather, it’s the singing he heard just days ago. It’s melodic and pretty, if not as full and clear, if not as elaborate. But those melodies are the same, and not like any other songs played on the radio. There’s no mistaking it for anything but the music that’s captured Jihoon’s attention all this time, not when he’s spent the last quarter of an hour hike humming the same ornamented tunes. Jihoon’s heart is in his throat, and he thinks he might be tearing up, but his eyes are closed so it might just be the raindrops on his face.
The singing is coming from Junhui.
Jihoon opens his eyes and tackles him to the ground, stopping Junhui mid-song. He sits straddling Junhui’s hips, and grips Junhui’s shoulders with his hands. “I wondered if it was you.”
“You are very clever,” Junhui agrees, and reaches one hand up to cup Jihoon’s jaw. His thumb rubs over Jihoon’s cheekbone.
“Are you sick? Why does your voice sound different?” Jihoon places one hand over Junhui’s throat and the other over his forehead, feeling for a fever, swelling, something to explain the change in the song. “How can you sing like that? Where did you learn those songs?”
“I’m not sick.” Junhui’s laugh is a lovely tinkling sound and he places the other hand on Jihoon’s cheek as well. “I’m just…not usually human.”
“Not human?”
“You said magic, right? Well, I’m from the sea.”
That makes sense to Jihoon, who sees the movement of ocean waves in Junhui’s eyes, and tastes salt on Junhui’s lips and tongue. The sea is rhythmic, melodic, if Jihoon had to imagine a voice for it, it would sound a lot like Junhui’s. “But you look human?”
“I’m in a human form now,” Junhui explains. “It happened the day of the thunderstorm, there was a flash of lightning and the next thing I knew I had washed ashore and lost my normal skin. I haven’t been able to sing properly since, the human vocal cords don’t vibrate the same way, and I’m limited in range of sounds I can make.”
“If you find your normal skin, can you sing again?” Jihoon asks, blinking quickly.
“Yes.” Junhui grimaces, looks away from Jihoon’s face.
Jihoon retracts his hand from Junhui’s forehead and rests his fingers lightly against his chin. The hand at Junhui’s throat moves down to squeeze Junhui’s thigh behind him. “I’ll help you look for it. Don’t worry, we’ll find it together. What does it look like?”
Junhui swallows. “Dark. A solid colour. It would have washed up with me so it can’t have gotten far away from this point of the island. Probably in the shape of a small object.”
“A small object?” Jihoon repeats slowly, eyes widening. “A small object like a…?”
“Like a ring,” Junhui agrees. He takes Jihoon’s hands in his, curls their fingers together, and strokes the ring on Jihoon’s index finger with one thumb.
“Take it!” Jihoon says quickly, pulling his hands away so he can wriggle the ring off of his own finger, and holds it out toward Junhui, who doesn’t respond. Jihoon takes Junhui by the wrist, forces him to hold his hand outstretched, and deposits the ring in Junhui’s palm. “If you put this back on you’ll be able to sing again, right?”
“Yes.” Junhui looks pained, staring down at the small loop in his hand. It will probably fit on his pinky, snuggly curling around his finger the way Jihoon’s had for several days. “I’ll be able to sing again.” He looks up at Jihoon, who stares back at him with eagerness and fondness. “Jihoon, I would spend the rest of my life in these waters singing for you, and I wouldn’t mind. I can sing every day, even learn new songs when you’re gone. I’m glad you like my voice. But if I put this ring back on, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to take it off again. I’ve never been human before this.”
“What?” Jihoon asks, “You mean you can’t transform back and forth?”
Junhui shakes his head. “No, I don’t think my ocean form works like that.”
Jihoon bolts forward, scooting closer until his chest is pressed flush against Junhui’s, and the mystery of his special grey sweater, grey shoes, grey bag, seem a little less mysterious. “You knew,” he accuses. “You knew the ring was your skin from the first day, but you never asked for it. You could have gone back to the water and to singing a long time ago, but you didn’t. Why?”
Junhui gently presses his lips against Jihoon’s forehead, and holds him tightly. He doesn’t get elbowed, nor poked or pinched. Jihoon doesn’t struggle against him at all, no, he buries his face in Junhui’s sweater. Junhui whispers, “You’re clever, Jihoon, I think you know why. I like you. I like you a lot. I didn’t want to return to the water because I wanted to spend time with you instead.”
“Oh,” Jihoon says, mouth pressed against the soft material. He holds onto Junhui, even tighter than he’s being held.
“But then you told me that you’d be sad if you never got to hear the singing again, so I figured I had better tell you where it was coming from. I didn’t think it was right for you not to know. I like you, and I want you to be happy. If I can make you happy by putting on my skin and singing, then I’m happy too.”
“I don’t think it would make me happy,” Jihoon confesses.
“It wouldn’t?”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t be sad that I couldn’t hear the original music anymore,” says Jihoon, “I think I would still miss that a little. But I would be even sadder if I could never see you again. I can go without the singing if you stay here.”
“Really?” Junhui searches Jihoon’s eyes for any hint of falsehood.
“I think I probably kind of like you a lot too,” Jihoon says, taking back the ring and replacing it on his finger. “Besides, don’t you think the ring looks better on my hand?”
Junhui laughs delightedly and captures Jihoon’s chatty mouth in a kiss.
≈≈
≈≈
Jihoon knows everyone on this island.
Even the ones that come from the sea.
