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Jinhyuk had only been alone for a few minutes before the door to the classroom slid open. He didn’t even flinch, or even less, look over to know who was there. He didn’t need to. The footsteps approaching from behind were quiet yet steady; Jinhyuk was so familiarized with the sound of their rubber soles that he even felt strangely comforted. The sound stopped once they reached the windowsill of the classroom, opposite to Jinhyuk.
Jinhyuk kept his eyes lowered to the courtyard beneath them and added yet another tally to the running counter in his head. He did eventually spare a glance towards the visitor when he realized something special about the count: it had been exactly one month since Siyun started joining Jinhyuk in his secret hiding place.
While the last classroom on the fifth floor wasn’t truly a ‘secret’ – not with Siyun around, at least – nor was it ever really ‘hidden’ – just unused, a fine layer of dust coating every surface – Jinhyuk was content with still considering it as such as long as he never found out about it.
Jinhyuk wasn’t sure what he would do with himself if he ever found out what he got up to during his lunch breaks. Die from mortification, certainly. It was one of the few times that they were apart during the school day, and yet, Jinhyuk still chose to dedicate his free time to his best friend.
Said best friend was only standing several feet below Jinhyuk, hanging out on the courtyard with some of his other friends. To Jinhyuk, they were merely classmates that he was only vaguely acquainted with. His best friend looked happy, though, laughing as he swung his arms around their shoulders, blissfully unaware of the weight of Jinhyuk’s eyes on him.
It was honestly a miracle that he hadn’t noticed anything so far. Jinhyuk would take his seat next to him and steal glances in the mornings, when everyone was still groggy and lethargic and their senses a little too slow. He had memorized his best friend’s profile down to the finest detail: the way his eyelashes looked as they fanned across his cheeks, the curve of his nose and the fine arch of his lips. Not to mention the way his curls fell in front of his eyes and he would be so deep in thought that he didn’t even think to brush them away. Sometimes Jinhyuk wanted to be the one to do that, but he knew he couldn’t, not even in a million years.
Jinhyuk had to will his beating heart still every time they were together in recent days, repeating to himself like a mantra that none of it meant anything. Like when he greeted Jinhyuk every morning with a brilliant smile that reached his eyes, laughed at all of his silly jokes, and pounced on him when he wanted to sneak up on him from behind after school. That Jinhyuk wasn’t special even when his best friend would go easy on him when they’d play rock paper scissors, the finger flick of punishment feeling more like the caress of a feather every time Jinhyuk lost. And he was just being nice when he always made sure to stop by Jinhyuk’s classroom during the half-hour cleaning period at the end of the day just so he wouldn’t suffer alone.
He did all of those things because they were friends.
Just friends.
Best friends, and that was all they’d ever be.
Jinhyuk’s eyes started to sting all of a sudden, so he blinked rapidly until his eyelashes flicked away the tears, uncovering the image of Siyun who was still standing beside him all this time. His posture was significantly more relaxed than Jinhyuk’s, legs crossed at the ankle and leaning on his arms where they perched on the windowsill. Even his expression looked at ease, blinking slowly as he looked out the window and his lips curled into a gentle, satisfied smile.
Meanwhile, Jinhyuk remained standing upright, gripping his own side of the windowsill with two tight fists. He clenched them even harder once he became aware of just how different he and Siyun seemed to each other. He really should put in the effort to loosen up, but he always found it difficult to do so, especially in the presence of other people. The only person who had really successfully dragged him out of his shell was his best friend, but Jinhyuk had been finding himself bringing up his guard again even with him.
But if Siyun had been coming back for a month now out of his own volition, and never seemed deterred by Jinhyuk’s reticence, then maybe Jinhyuk didn’t need to suddenly start putting on a better face just for the sake of doing so.
It was just Siyun, after all.
Although Siyun wore the same uniform as Jinhyuk and shared a homeroom together, they weren’t friends. In fact, Jinhyuk even struggled to call themselves acquaintances.
He was certain that although a month had passed since they started sharing this hiding place, they had yet to exchange any words with each other. That didn’t mean Jinhyuk didn’t know who Siyun was, or what his voice sounded like, but everyone was a little different when they were by themselves; Jinhyuk just had yet to see that side of Siyun.
But Jinhyuk sort of liked the fact that they didn’t need to have a conversation in order to have mutual respect for each other. There was already a silent understanding on what they were both there for, same yet different.
Jinhyuk had already figured it out since the first day Siyun came. He recognized the melancholic look in Siyun’s downcast gaze, wanting something he could never have.
It was the same look Jinhyuk had to keep himself in check from exhibiting, knowing fully well he would never be looked at the same way in turn.
But Jinhyuk hadn’t known who was the recipient of Siyun’s pining until now. He couldn’t say he was surprised, though, when he followed Siyun’s line of sight: a girl – who Jinhyuk recognized from the homeroom class next door – sitting under the shade of a willow tree a few steps away from the center of the courtyard, subtly nodding her head to the music playing on her headphones.
Outside classes, Jinhyuk had also seen her in the halls before, shoulder to shoulder with Siyun; she had seemed to welcome Siyun’s arm wrapped around her waist, leaning into him and covering her growing smile and blush with her hand. Siyun had gazed at her like she hung the moon and stars and hand painted the whole night sky.
They also hung out after school on the courtyard, under that very willow tree, sharing little conversations and moments with each other which Jinhyuk had always adverted his eyes from. It wasn’t his business, after all, but Jinhyuk was still able to remember the sound of their soft laughter, bright and melodic like wind chimes, that would manage to reach his ears even after he’d briskly walked past them.
If Jinhyuk was honest, they were the kind of couple which he tried to avoid at all costs, not wanting to be reminded of his own heartache. It was a surprise to himself when he realized these memories were all from the beginning of the school year, which had been many months ago at this point.
Now, they were approaching the end of their last year of high school. Jinhyuk struggled to recall if he ever noticed them interacting with each other – touching, talking, or even looking – in recent times like he had once remembered, and found himself coming up empty.
Even so, he also couldn’t remember hearing any gossip among his classmates that they had stopped seeing each other.
There was a reason why Siyun was here. In the abandoned classroom on the fifth floor, next to Jinhyuk, watching her. He was willingly joining Jinhyuk in planting themselves in the sand and pretending that they weren’t inching closer to the endless tide with each passing turn.
It seemed that Siyun was also aware of the fact, or maybe it was about something else entirely, when he sniffled.
Jinhyuk’s head snapped towards him at breakneck speed. When he looked over, Siyun was hastily wiping his eyes, which were already rapidly turning shiny with tears.
Jinhyuk was taken aback by the sight, slightly amazed by the display of vulnerability. It seemed like it came naturally to Siyun.
Meanwhile, Jinhyuk was silently glad that Siyun couldn’t see him reach out to touch his shoulder. He hesitated to make contact, leaving his hand hovering midair. Siyun was too distracted by the sight outside the window to notice him, and his peripheral vision was blocked every time he rubbed his eyes.
Jinhyuk wondered if Siyun even remembered he wasn’t alone. He drew his arm back before Siyun could notice him, deciding to use his voice instead.
“Hey,” Jinhyuk said softly, the first words he’d ever directly say to Siyun. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh,” Siyun inhaled sharply. In a matter of seconds, he stood upright and straightened himself out, clearing his throat and running a hand down the front of his uniform. He also wiped his wet cheeks with his fingertips, but there were still tears falling uncontrollably from his eyes with no sign of stopping.
Eventually, Siyun grunted out of frustration with his involuntary bodily functions and settled with digging his knuckles into the corners of his eyes. He held the position as if doing so was effective enough to plug the dam. To Jinhyuk, it looked a little painful.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s stupid,” Siyun shook his head.
“It’s probably not stupid if it’s making you feel like this,” Jinhyuk pointed out.
Siyun remained still for a few moments as if contemplating Jinhyuk’s words. Jinhyuk turned back towards the windowsill, using his finger to draw in the dust that coated the surface. He looked back up when Siyun seemed to shift.
“You’re probably right,” Siyun relented, sucking in a deep breath before dropping his hands. His eyelids, cheeks, and his nose were all pink. Siyun sniffled again, already seeming to calm down. “You know how she’s really smart, right?”
Jinhyuk should be more than a little concerned that he knew exactly who Siyun was referring to even without mentioning her name, but the thought breezed past his mind. He wondered if Siyun would understand, too, if he ever mentioned him in a sentence without referring to him at all.
“Yeah, a bit,” Jinhyuk nodded along. He had overheard some chatter from his own homeroom about who else in their year was in the higher ranks.
“She’s never let her grades dip. Even turned down a few dates with me so she could keep studying,” Siyun chuckled to himself. Jinhyuk frowned, skeptical; he didn’t think that was the only reason. Siyun didn’t notice his change in expression, continuing, “It paid off, though, because yesterday she told me she’d made her decision. Full ride scholarship abroad.”
“Oh,” Jinhyuk said. “And you’re...?”
“Staying here. Probably going to the one in the city. I did apply over there, just in case, but...” Siyun smiled weakly. “My grades weren’t high enough.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah. It’ll be a twelve-hour plane ride for her,” Siyun added.
“That’s not too bad,” Jinhyuk said, optimistic.
Siyun nodded slowly, his lower lip wobbling. His eyes turned glossy again. “Then we’ll stay sixteen hours apart, on opposite sides of the world, for at least four years.”
“That’s... pretty bad.” Jinhyuk winced.
“Yeah, you think so?” Jinhyuk’s bluntness got a weak little laugh out of Siyun. “I looked it up. We would have a maximum of seven hours together for when we’re both awake. But she’ll have classes and work and probably just so much other stuff in her new life that...” Siyun paused, chewing his lip. “She’ll end up not having enough time for me.”
She already doesn’t have time for you.
Jinhyuk swallowed down the words. “Oh,” he said again.
“Sounds stupid and selfish, right?” Siyun laughed, shaking his head.
“I don’t think it’s selfish,” Jinhyuk said. “A relationship goes both ways. If that’s not happening, then it’s not a relationship. And it’s not stupid either, that’s just how you’re feeling. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want; they’re just feelings. It’s not like you’re going to visit her at the airport and beg for her to stay.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” Siyun chuckled. “I guess I’m also just kind of scared of being by myself. I don’t mind making new friends, really, but it feels so much better to start off with a familiar face to talk to.”
“I’m going to the school in the city, too,” Jinhyuk blurted out.
His commitment was partially because he genuinely liked the school, but it all started because of a pact he’d made with his best friend that they’d stick together no matter what. Even college.
Probably not the wisest decision Jinhyuk had ever made, signing off years of his life to some institution just to follow in someone else’s footsteps, but in this moment he was grateful that he did, so he could use the fact to cheer Siyun up.
It seemed to be working based on the way Siyun lit up. “You are?”
“Yeah. Maybe we can see each other... or something,” Jinhyuk spoke with hesitation. He hoped the offer didn’t sound strange, given that they had just started speaking to each other merely moments ago. He did sincerely mean it, though, because Siyun looked like he needed some sort of support in his life.
“Or something,” Siyun repeated and hummed in thought. “I like the sound of that.”
The room grew silent as Siyun considered Jinhyuk for a moment, eyes roaming as if he was scanning his face. What he was looking for, Jinhyuk didn’t know, but he felt like he was being read like an open book with how long and intensely Siyun peered at him.
Eventually, the bell rang, signaling the students to return to their classrooms. Jinhyuk pried his fingers away from the windowsill and walked towards the closed entrance of the classroom. Siyun trailed behind him, still silent.
“Hey,” Siyun said once Jinhyuk’s fingers wrapped around the doorknob.
Jinhyuk let go and turned around. “Hm?”
“Thank you for listening to me. Really. You can talk to me about anything, too, you know,” Siyun told him, his eyes clear and shining with sincerity. His face had also since dried from any lingering tear tracks. “I might not be able to help, but... I’ll always be around to listen,” he smiled sheepishly.
Jinhyuk returned the small smile, his chest blooming with a warmth he couldn’t quite name. “Thank you.”