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The staircase that leads to the rooftop is made of forty-eight steps.
For Baku, they’re only twenty-four, because he takes them two at a time. Since he’s grown taller, the number can shift slightly on particularly good days. Sometimes he can even clear three steps in a single stride.
Baekjin likes to sum Baku up in numbers. Catalogue him in small pigeonholes where sensations that feel too vast can be enshrined safely. Added, divided, subtracted, multiplied.
For example, it’s been 1,445 days since he first met Baku.
That’s a nice number, always increasing.
And because Baekjin’s normal heart rate is eighty beats per minute, that amounts to 166,464,000 heartbeats basked in Baku’s existence.
Another pigeonhole contains Baku’s phone number, memorized very early in their friendship. In another are stored the digits of his favorite dishes at his favorite cheap restaurant. Four for kimchi, eighteen for tteokbokki. Ten is the number of alarms Baku sets each night to ensure he will actually wake up the next morning, instead of just turning them off in his sleep.
Some other numbers Baekjin doesn’t visit often.
The date of the last time Baku saw his mother.
The years his father would spend in prison, if there were enough proof, and a good lawyer, to convict him of violence against a minor.
Thirty-two is the number of teeth in Baku’s mouth. Which is just the regular number for a human being, but the information still feels special because they belong to Baekjin’s favorite smile.
And Baku smiles often. He’s smiling even now, while Baekjin scolds him for taking the stairs two steps at a time with a loose shoelace.
Baku is loud and bright, and if to some it is reason enough to frown at him, for Na Baekjin it has always been quite the opposite.
They’ve been friends for years now, and even back then, when Baku first approached him with hands too touchy and smiles too big, Baekjin couldn’t maintain his indifferent attitude for long.
Baku’s warmth didn’t come with the usual extortion Baekjin had experienced until then. His kindness wasn’t met with the usual hypocrisy. He was an equation Baekjin had never encountered before. Something his years of careful doubts couldn’t solve.
At the forty-eighth step, the rooftop door is a bit rusty. The knob needs to be forced open. At this time of the year—when it finally unbolts with a creak and a glimpse of sky appears behind it—fresh air spills through and ruffles their hair.
The rooftop is probably the most desired place in the school. It’s wide enough to make classrooms and lessons feel like distant memories. Also, teachers never bother to climb this high.
Baekjin could never imagine claiming it as his daily base camp. Not on his own, at least.
Just as it’s obvious that it would be Baku’s territory. His quiet strength is unchallenged across this school’s walls; something that nobody can, nor frankly wants, to question.
Baekjin is content to stand at his side and to simply share the privileges that come with his presence, even if it means being inevitably overshadowed. Nothing wrong with that: Baekjin has never wanted to shine anyway.
Baku would beg to differ. He would say that Baekjin has his very own ways of shining. First of all, he ranks first in every subject. And he’s in the middle of a growth spurt, making him taller than any of their classmates. He’s smart, pretty and kind. At least, these are the words that Baku uses.
But none of that changes the fact that Baku is the most popular, the most talked about, the most admired, and the most feared. If a fight breaks out, it’s his name that echoes down the hallways, not a teacher’s. He has proven more than once that his punches have no match, though he rarely resorts to them. He’s a peacemaker. Some consider him blunt and dense, but it’s just his way of settling things down. And he never misses. That kind of efficiency leaves very little room for criticism. Baku is like a superhero around here.
There was a time, back in middle school, when Baku started teaching Baekjin how to fight. They would play-wrestle rolling on grass, and laugh a lot, just like puppies testing their teeth. But one day, Baekjin’s fist landed too hard against Baku’s stomach and split open a wound his father had left there. The sight of it horrified Baekjin to the point he never wanted to play again, nor wanted to mention it, even if it was Baku’s favorite hobby.
The wind gently whistles through tangles of electricity wires.
A low wooden table stands near the door. It has survived any severe weather and was probably placed there by some ancient senior whose identity is lost in time, but whose heroic deeds are appreciated still.
Baekjin sits cross-legged on it and starts unpacking his lunchbox.
Baku, instead, walks the whole perimeter of the rooftop with long strides, stretching his arms above his head like an animal freshly released from the cage.
“Hmm,” he emits, squinting eyes and face sunbathing. “Wait, I’ve got it! Wild or domesticated?”
“Wild,” Baekjin replies calmly, opening his metal container to reveal rice, kimchi, and a fried egg on top.
“Okay… woods or savannah?”
“Woods.”
“Big or small?”
“Big.”
“Wolf!”
“Incorrect.” Baekjin smiles. “Three points for you, five points for me.”
“Oh, don’t be so smug about it,” Baku rolls his eyes—and it’s not like Baekjin is exactly smug, but there’s for sure a flicker of satisfaction in the way he states the score.
It’s a simple game. One of them thinks of a word, and the other has ten comparative questions to guess it. If the answer comes before the tenth question, the guesser earns a point. If not, the point goes to the adversary.
“So, what was it?” Baku asks, finally dropping onto the table in a careless sprawl. He claims half the space, spreading out crumpled pieces of annotated paper and flattening them with the weight of his fist. Then comes his own lunch, packed in a crappy plastic container. And, for today, a small tupperware that Baekjin handed him that morning.
“Bear,” Baekjin grants him. “I even picked an easy word, but you can’t think about anything other than the test.”
“I’m not thinking about the test…” Baku sighs dramatically.
“Open it,” Baekjin gestures at the bag containing the tupperware.
“I’m thinking about all the cheesy couples who have zero sense of shame today.” Baku tugs at the knot of the bag, words spilling out in a construct of distaste. “Going around, kissing in public, saying… Oh.”
He stops as soon as the lid of the tupperware comes off, revealing a toast. It’s evident there was put a lot of care in it, but now the marmalade is smeared everywhere.
“I knew it,” Baekjin says flatly, leaning forward to peek at the damage.
“Jinnie, I’m literally so sorry. I’m…” Baku tries to fix the mess, fingers on the marmalade to push it back into place.
“Well, of course it’d be reduced like that, if you shake it all around. It was supposed to be a—” The sentence stops midway, as Baekjin notices Baku’s eyes turning dangerously glossy. “Hey.” His voice tone slightly changes, even if crossed by traces of embarrassment. “It’s fine, Huminie. It’s just a toast, hm?”
Baku’s chin trembles, one arm already wiping at his eyes as a precaution. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize I was shaking it.”
Yes, that’s true. Eunjang’s top dog is a crybaby.
It’s no secret. But not widely advertised, either.
But Baekjin is used to this—he has dried a lot of those tears, and at times even encouraged some to spill. He knows that under each of them there is a deep reason, even when the trigger would be considered trivial by anyone else.
He rests his chopstick down and gets up to close the distance. Baku is already waiting with hands grabbing air when Baekjin offers his stomach as a harbor for Baku’s heavy head.
The comfort of Baekjin’s body makes him feel instantly better. He sighs in relief and completes the hug by looping arms around the boy’s waist.
“You made it for me and I ruined it, I’m sorry.” He repeats again, whispering against him.
Baekjin lets him be for some moments, then lifts Baku’s chin gently.
“Enough salt on these cheeks,” he says with a smile, poking them lightly. “Or I’ll add dipping sauce and eat them up. Okay?” Last thing he pokes is Baku’s nose. “I’ll make you another tomorrow.”
And here it is: Baku’s laugh, while he scrunches his nose. It’s embarrassing to cry like this and at things like that, but Baekjin never makes it feel wrong.
“I’m still eating it,” Baku declares, a small pout forming. “It’s still perfectly fine.”
“Hm.” Baekjin huffs, easing out of the hug and taking the tupperware in his hands. “Look. It was supposed to be a bear,” he shows Baku, pointing at the tiny ears shaped from the edges of the bread.
“I couldn’t even guess ‘bear’ during the game,” Baku grumbles. “And you made me a bear toast. And I ruined it. I need to be put down.”
Baekjin laughs at Baku’s exaggerated expression and sits back down, dragging his food closer so he can stay next to the boy. “All this drama and you didn’t even say thank you.”
“What?! Of course I did. I did, didn’t I?” Baku’s entire body jerks in agitation, before he slumps down on the table like a dead weight. “Thank you, Jinnie. It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Hm, that’s better.” Baekjin nods, taking a mouthful of his rice, as if nothing happened. “So, back to what you were saying.”
“What was I saying?” Baku straightens, not without effort.
“About Valentine’s Day. You were complaining.”
“Huh, was I? Doesn’t matter anymore, I’m all happy now.” Baku begins to dig into his lunch - a collection of leftovers from his father’s restaurant. And, amid all this chewing, his words are not fully comprehensible.
Baekjin understands anyway. “Right. What about the test, do you feel ready?”
“I did study, but… I always black out once I’m there, you know. What about you, are you ready to kick the teacher’s ass?”
“All good. Want me to read your notes out loud?”
“That’d be nice.”
Usually, they would lie back and watch the sky, waiting for the airplane that passes over their heads at 12:34. Or they would debate whether to go to the karaoke or to the park later.
Today, they study.
It sticks better when Baku hears the notes from Baekjin’s voice.
Sometimes Baekjin huffs or laughs at the phrasing of a sentence, or things like that, and later, during the test, Baku will be like, ‘Wait, that’s the part where Baekjin laughed!’ and the answer will surface.
But it’s also hard to focus on not letting Baekjin’s familiar voice lull him into a state of trance. Most of the time he ends up almost sleepy, listening to the words as if they do not form any meaning; as if they were invented just to make Baekjin’s tongue roll in more different ways.
When it’s time to leave, Baku has the toast hanging from his mouth, half-bitten, and is scraping the inside of the tupperware with his finger to gather every drop of marmalade he can.
Baekjin reaches the door first and pushes it open. He starts down the stairs ahead of Baku.
On the last few steps of the first flight, though, he seems to hesitate, one foot dangling back and forth before touching the ground.
“Anyway,” he says at last, even if there is no conversation to attach it to. “You know Do Seongmok from class 2-A?”
“The one who never talks?”
“Hm.”
“The one glued to crazy-eyes?”
“Hm.”
“The one that—”
“You know which one,” Baekjin cuts in, turning to look at Baku with an expression that, if aggravated, might result in anger.
“Huh,” Baku nods, thrown off. “Yeah. I know Do Seongmok from 2-A.”
“Right,” Baekjin speaks again, fingers now lingering on the handrail longer than necessary. “Of course you know him.” He bits his lips. “So, basically, he asked me out.”
“That’s cool,” Baku says easily. “Where are you going?”
Baekjin stops and turns fully toward him.
He searches Baku’s face. Looking for something; something he expected to be there; something he wished would be there, maybe.
But Baku’s expression is neat and untroubled. There’s nothing to grasp there that’s worth a second thought.
Nor worth a heartbreak, for what it matters, except that Baekjin feels his insides twist—much tighter than he did when Seongmok had pulled him aside earlier, wearing a shy determination and speaking a confession.
“The arcade, probably. Or the movies. Or for a walk,” he finally replies, like it takes him an effort. “Wasn’t clear, maybe all three. Don’t know in which order.”
“Hope you have fun, then.” Baku finishes his toast, and simply smiles.
That could mean nothing at all, because Baku always smiles.
Looking at him, Baekjin can’t imagine anything in the curve of Baku’s lips, even now that his fantasy is fishing so clearly for a sign—a tiny crack, maybe a falter; whatever opening he could find to peek through.
There’s nothing.
Baekjin’s mouth reshapes into a sentiment of defeat, two bittersweet eyes that flutter delusion before forcing themselves to harden.
He just has to swallow it.
Baku doesn’t care if Baekjin has a date with Do Seongmok from 2-A.
That’s it.
‘I’ll forget about this on the last step’, Baekjin thinks. He often sets deadlines for his feelings.
And when he sets foot on that last step, he wills his heart to shrink, until the ache disappears.
Except Baku catches his wrist.
“You good?” He asks. “You made a face.”
Just like that, Baekjin’s heart regrows twice its size, threatening to puncture his lungs. The warmth of Baku’s calloused hand is not subject he’s not accustomed to—but still manages to give wings to the butterflies in his stomach.
Baekjin looks at him and thinks that, after all, he can live his whole life licking just these crumbs from the ground. They’re worth it.
“I’m good,” he says, delivering the impression of softness. “Just thought you’d say something different.”
“Hm?” Baku tilts his head, but freezes soon after—because Baekjin’s hand reach up to his cheek, and there’s really not much he’s able to do or process in such circumstances. He holds his breath; he blinks; and it takes him some moments too long to realize that Baekjin is simply wiping away a smudge of marmalade just next to his mouth.
And when one finger accidentally brushes over his lips in pulling away, it feels like Baku’s chest has run out of heartbeats.
“Hm?” He buffers again—and only then Baekjin’s words reappear into his frame of consciousness.
Just thought you’d say something different.
What does that even mean? Something different from what? How? And about what?
“What—Hm?!”
“Did you lose the ability to speak?” Baekjin says, already turning away. “Let’s go, the test begins in like…” He checks his watch. “…five minutes. You remember what I said about the variables, right? You have to substitute the x with…”
Baku is certain more words follow, but nothing else reaches his ears, if not a muffled sound of interior buzzing.
They’re back in class before he can realize it.
He sits at his desk—right in front of the blackboard. When he turns around the get a glimpse of him, Baekjin is already bent over his paper in the back row, eyes moving in reading the questions, a pen already clicked ready.
Baku loves the way Baekjin looks when he’s focused. His mouth becomes a flat line, folded inward when he encounters a particularly difficult problem—which is rare, because he navigates school like someone running in a sandy river, stumbling only occasionally over a pebble.
His eyebrows, though, work a lot. They twitch a certain way when he thinks a question is too easy, and another when he feels challenged but confident in the answer he’s building. And when he gets so absorbed that his thoughts outrun his hand and he can’t write fast enough, it almost looks like a tic.
But, right now, Baekjin’s expression is empty of worries. The sight floods Baku with an affection so thick it makes his stomach churn.
Seeing Baekjin calm and relaxed, in the safety catch of his studies, already envisioning a perfect score, makes Baku happy and proud. Like watching a precious artwork being successfully protected from dangers.
Sometimes, sitting on that chair, Baku still sees the wounded child he first met years ago: bleeding and shielding his head from kicks. And he would give that kid the entire world, if he could. If he could, he would give him the entire galaxy. If he were big enough, he’d curve and crouch and offer every vertebra in his spine as a staircase for Baekjin to aim at the stars. For him to blossom, Baku would steal the sun and all the rain, and change the law of physics to make his petals immortal.
But he can’t, can he? He just can thank the universe for smoothing the road beneath Baekjin’s feet.
A book suddenly smacks against the back of Baku’s neck. He jolts violently, much more from surprise than pain.
It’s the teacher.
He mumbles some apology and faces his papers again.
The next hour passes slowly. It’s always like that: time suddenly dilates when Baku finds himself in front of the familiar sensation of not knowing what the questions are trying to ask him. He scribbles down some patched-up numbers, turning the pages every other second as if they could reveal something more merciful.
At some point he makes the mistake of resting his face on his hand in a discouraged sigh, and, just like that, he remembers Baekjin’s hand on his cheek.
He flushes and readjusts his posture, now straighter than ever, as a guilty man caught red-handed.
But with that memory, another one resurfaces.
Just thought you’d say something different.
Baku’s mind catalogues that as much more worthy of consideration than math, and spends a bunch of minutes in trying to not succumb to the tentation of giving it his full attention.
Eventually, he drifts in there without realizing it.
What was Baekjin referring to?
They were talking about… about… Hm. About… Oh, yeah.
Do Seongmok from 2-A.
Them going out.
Today.
The arcade. Or was it the movies?
It was both, wasn’t it?
Woah, what a fucking lineup for the first time you go out with someone.
The best Baku can do is drag new potential friends to the basketball court and then to the vending machine.
Now that he thinks about it, why didn’t Seongmok invite him too?
Is that what Baekjin expected him to say?
‘Why am I not invited?’
Speaking of, will Dongha be there too?
Oh my God, are they trying to steal Baekjin from him?
The sudden urge to turn around is huge, but he fights it when he accidentally meets the teacher’s stare.
No, come on, that’s impossible.
Stealing Baekjin from him.
Nobody is bold enough. Nobody is suicidal enough.
Baku would start a whole war just to win Baekjin back.
And does Baekjin want to be stolen?
Nah.
He wouldn’t bring Baku bear-shaped toasts otherwise.
Right?
Fucking Do Seongmok from 2-A.
Planning an entire romantic date.
Planning… an… entire… romantic… date…
An… entire…
And that’s when it hits him.
The test is over. He’s held back by the teacher, who demands to know why half his answer sheets are blank. But from the corner of his eyes, Baku sees Baekjin leaving the classroom. He grows uncontrollably impatient.
“What, I just didn’t know the answers,” he blurts out, subtly stamping his feet like a dog chewing on its own leash.
The teacher lectures him about his grades being insufficient, about him needing to do better, much better, etcetera, etcetera. Does she think this is the right moment for all that bullshit?
The torture ends not much later, even if it feels like an eternity.
Baku bolts down the hallway.
He’s confident Baekjin went to the bathroom, because where else would he be?
Throwing himself into Do Seongmok’s arms?
Damn, the mere thought of someone else holding Baekjin sends a gloomy shiver through him.
He slams the bathroom door open, and here he is.
Baekjin, turning at the noise, eyes widened.
Baku crosses the distance in seconds and pushes him into a stall.
“What—Are you okay?” Baekjin asks, disoriented, searching Baku’s wild eyes.
“Is it a date? With Do Seongmok.” Baku cuts him off. He doesn’t even realize he’s gripping a fistful of Baekjin’s uniform, knuckles white around it.
“Is it a—” Baekjin frowns, trying to process the question. “Well, yes, it is.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me? Your best friend?”
“I quite literally told you.”
“Well, it wasn’t clear at all!”
“I wasn’t—” A sharp exhale. “I wasn’t clear?”
“What else are you hiding from me, hm?”
Baekjin scoffs.
“Baku. I told you he asked me out. The arcade, the movies, a walk. What else was I supposed to mention? The part where I make out with him on his porch?”
Baku releases his shirt with a rough tug and steps forward until Baekjin’s back hits the wall.
“Do you like him?”
Baekjin’s gaze darkens.
“So what if I do?”
That seems to awaken something in Baku. A fury, yes; someone would dare address it as jealousy. But something entirely different, too. Like he just slammed into the edge of a fence he didn’t know was there.
What is he even doing? Why is he reacting like this?
A tight knot forms in his throat.
The mere possibility of it being real, of Baekjin liking Do Seongmok from 2-A. Or, for what it’s worth, Baekjin liking anyone, from any class, from any school, from any planet…
The possibility of Baekjin going out with someone. Being gifted a plushie at the arcade, awkwardly brushing knees at the movies, bumping on his date until he finds the courage of intertwining fingers with them on their walk home.
Or maybe not—maybe it wouldn’t be like that at all. Maybe it would be shameless. Sitting on Seongmok’s lap and making him guide his hands while playing with a light-gun shooter. Bending over the billiards table. Making Seongmok pay for his cinema ticket, circling scratches on the boy’s skin when darkness forms and the movie begins. Giggling as the main characters kiss on screen, and whispering onto his ear, ‘Can we do that later too?’ And then that damn porch, Baekjin looping his arms around Seongmok’s neck and diving in, tongue and all. Oh, Baku can perfectly imagine the expression Baekjin would make.
And it drives him crazy.
But he can’t locate the origin of this sensation. It’s a sensation with sharp edges, that takes him by the scruff of the neck and shakes him—like someone grabbing a bag, turning it over and violently emptying it to see what falls out. Like this sensation is searching for something inside him to point it out but can’t find it amongst the chaos.
And yet, love doesn’t discriminate between who’s aware of it and who isn’t.
Even if Baku can’t find the meaning for it, even if he can’t name it, he feels it burning inside his ribcage. Like a little death, a little betrayal, a little heartbreak.
“You don’t like him,” he snarls, trying to make a sense out of it. But it’s difficult, too difficult; he can’t chase the tail of his own thoughts because they run in every direction. “You don’t. Because you never told me about him. Not a word. So, it’s impossible.”
The attempt to recollect composure, and with it proofs, fades into the hammering image of Baekjin kissing Do Seongmok. Do Seongmok doesn’t even possess clear features in that vision. That could be any boy. Baku just knows that the boy Baekjin is kissing… isn’t him.
Baekjin shifts uncomfortably against the wall.
“How would you know? Sometimes you don’t listen to me at all.” He retorts, even if there’s a faint tremor beneath it. As if that’s something that he’s been thinking for a long time, but he kept to himself; and now he doesn’t like it slipping out.
“When do I ever not listen to you?” Baku’s voice rises. He pushes Baekjin back to the wall.
“Did I not tell you to focus on the test? And you zoned out the whole hour, I could see it.” Baekjin replies, eyes glittering in a steady irritation. “Didn’t I tell you to not play around with that toast, today? I’m pretty sure I did.”
Baku is taken aback for a moment. “I said I was sorry. You know I was sorry! Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because you can be fucking stupid sometimes,” Baekjin snaps—and the regret is immediate on his face.
Baku’s eyes widen, and he retreats a bit.
“Not stupid,” Baekjin corrects quickly. “Just dense. Sometimes. I…”
“If I don’t understand something, why don’t you just explain it?” Baku says, voice low. “Do you think I have fun not understanding things?”
“I can’t explain,” Baekjin’s voice becomes small in return. “Because I’m not sure I understood correctly either.”
And it’s like they’re talking in two different languages.
Baku looks for a meaning to Baekjin’s words inside his pupils. “Are you saying you told me you like Do Seongmok?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
Baekjin wishes he could say the right things now, but everything feels suddenly overwhelming.
“I have to go,” he says instead, taking advantage of Baku’s limpness to slip out of the stall.
He pauses at the door.
“Anyway, so just yoy know.” He adds quietly. “I didn’t accept. I’m not going to that date.”
Then he leaves.
Baku feels, indeed, stupid.
The rest of the lessons pass in a whirlwind of thoughts that get him nowhere. Baku mostly stares out the window, watching a gentle drizzle fall obliquely on the glass, like pencil dust from a sharpener.
He’s not used to arguing with Baekjin, so when classes are finally over and he sees him rushing out without even saying goodbye, his chest tightens a little.
He gathers his things from the desk and heads to his locker to grab his backpack. And that’s when something weird happens, because a colored card slips down the locker and lands at his feet.
Baku picks it up, turns it over and—there it is, Baekjin’s unmistakable handwriting.
The sentence reads as, ‘Will you bear my Valentine?’
Baku wouldn’t believe his eyes or would think the card is destined to someone else, if only there wasn’t a tiny doodle of he himself, with bear ears, munching a bear-shaped toast.
He stares at the paper for the longest time, his brain working and then falling quiet at every other blink.
When he finally comes back to earth, he immediately sprints out of the classroom, runs down the stairs, stumbles on his feet a couple of times, even losing items from his half-open backpack along the way.
Baekjin left minutes ago, so all this running could be pointless, but—
No, actually.
Baekjin is crouched like a cat at the school entrance.
Baku slows.
His feet bring him next to him before he can muster up the courage to talk. He catches his breath.
Baekjin glances up, then looks away, tightening the cross of his arms over his knees. It’s like the entire blood flow of his body assembled on his cheeks, making them flush red.
It’s adorable, Baku would think—if only he wasn’t busy calming down the feeling of having every and each of his organs upside down.
He finally takes one last step closer and opens his mouth to speak, when Baekjin beats him to it.
“I don’t have an umbrella,” he mutters, as an explanation, and even his tone is so deeply colored by embarrassment, aware that Baku must have seen the card.
Baku shifts slightly, then pokes Baekjin’s arm with his own umbrella. “Uhm,” he manages, clearing his throat. “You can take mine.”
Baekjin seems to consider the offer for a whole moment, then buries his face in his arms. “It’s not raining that much.”
Baku swallows a big breath. He hesitates, then crouches next to him, settling the umbrella and the backpack apart.
Baekjin turns his face the opposite way; not that Baku could see it before anyway, all buried in his arms.
There’s a pause of silence between them.
Then, finally, Baku talks.
“You were right. I am stupid.”
And upon hearing those words, Baekjin immediately lifts his head, mouth opening to reply, but when he meets Baku’s eyes—closer than he expected—he finds them smiling, and realizes he fell into his trap. Baku had used bait he knew Baekjin couldn’t resist.
And now Baekjin can’t hide away again. He can do nothing but hold Baku’s gaze; and it costs him another long wave of heat in his cheeks.
“It’s… It’s very cute,” Baku begins, tentatively, as if he’s unsure which direction to take.
Baekjin’s eyes reflect a sudden doom. “But you don’t feel the same way, it’s okay.” He finishes in Baku’s place.
Another explosion occurs in Baku’s chest, making him feel the urge to reassure him. “I didn’t say that. It’s just… Uhm, I’m…” Words fail him, leaving him to fumble in the dark. He should’ve recollected his thoughts before approaching Baekjin. But no—which kind of logic is this? He never comes prepared in front of him; he never had to polish himself to be accepted by Baekjin.
“I really wanted to smack his face.” He concludes, thoughtfully. That’s the most tangible thing he can identify amongst his feelings.
Baekjin looks confused. “Hm?”
“I mean, Do Seongmok’s face… It really made me mad, how can he—how dare he… You know.”
A newborn spark ignites Baekjin’s eyes again. “That’s not very romantic.”
Baku mirrors him, crossing his arms over his knees, resting his cheek on them. He looks into his eyes, now at the same level. “Isn’t it?”
“I mean, Do Seongmok is not that bad. He seems nice.”
“Hm…” Baku hums thoughtful. “Sure. But I bet he’d pick the wrong movie at the cinema, and you’d be bored the whole time. It would be such an awful first date.”
Baekjin loosens, the tiniest smile breaking through to banter, “You made me watch Cars 3 last time.”
“Hey, it was fucking dope!” Baku protests, but even his chuckle is quiet. Then, he exhales. “He is nice. Maybe, if he were in my place, he wouldn’t have ruined the toast, and so your… uhm…”
“My confession?” Baekjin finishes the sentence. “Well, I wouldn’t have given him the toast. And that was a—very bad idea, I mean, not the…—just—the whole bear thing, I know it’s… very dumb, and embarrassing. The marmalade on the toast was in the shape of a heart, and I was supposed to give you the card after that… I really don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it’s good,” Baku hurries, and, just out of habit and instincts, he lifts a hand to Baekjin’s face, in order to soothe him.
It’s just what he does; it’s just what they do.
But it’s different now, and they both blush.
Baku clears his throat. He doesn’t remove the hand. “It’s… uhm, so very cute. Really. I just—I didn’t expect it.”
Under his palm, now that he has established physical contact, he can feel the slight tremor of Baekjin’s body.
It startles Baku, realizing that this whole conversation must feel like torture; because he’s not giving Baekjin a proper response. His eyes suddenly sting a little. “But I really like it, the drawing and all, and…” He tries, but he fumbles.
“It’s okay,” Baekjin interrupts. “You don’t have to give me an answer today. I know it must have felt very sudden.”
It did feel sudden. But if Baku looks back at it, back at them, he can see all the crumbs that paved the road to this moment.
“Jin-ah, I really like you,” he says. “I like you so much that sometimes I’m afraid my heart won’t contain it all and it’ll explode. But I don’t know if—if I like you in that way. I just… never really thought about it.”
“Don’t worry,” Baekjin whispers, even if his tone is firm. “I can take it, you know. I just wanted to give it a try.”
Baku’s heart flutters uncontrollably, realizing faster than his mind that he doesn’t want it to end this way.
“I want to give it a try as well,” he blurts out. “I, uhm, I don’t know. Maybe we could… You know. Try—kissing.”
He watches as Baekjin’s expression turns into something complex, a mix of hope and fear and shyness. Baku gently strokes his cheeks with a thumb, feeling his own cheeks burn in response.
“It’s… It’s fine by me.” Baekjin says.
“Okay.”
So now they should do something, he thinks. Instead, they just stare at each other for a long moment.
Finally, Baku moves a little bit closer, and then a little more, until there’s barely room for a sigh between them.
It’s not the first time they’ve been this close. Not at all. But this is the first time that such an implication hangs in there.
Baku can distinguishably feel Baekjin’s breath coming unsteady from his nose. He lowers his gaze to his lips.
They are such pretty lips. And the most wonderful things he’s ever heard in his life have come from there. From those exact pair of lips. The most beautiful laughter he has ever heard has come from there.
They don’t straighten up. They just stay like that, faces laid down. It’s cute. Baku takes one last glimpse of Baekjin’s eyes before he closes off their final distance and places his mouth on Baekjin’s.
It’s nothing more than that.
Baekjin jolts a little at first impact, but he completely relaxes after a moment.
They stay like that for a long while, neither moving nor breathing too hard. Baku can hear the distant sound of rain hitting the ground, and more clearly the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.
He can’t really taste Baekjin’s flavor or anything like that. It’s very chaste. But just the slight twitch of Baekjin’s lips, and rediscovering their shape, finding out their plump softness, make Baku dizzy. He pulls back slowly, in a sticky string of saliva.
And the only thing he can think of is that he never wants to put Baekjin in the position of telling him ‘I thought you’d say something different’ ever again. He wants to say the right thing. The perfect thing.
But then—then Baekjin opens his eyes slightly, half-lidded, and then Baekjin slightly opens his mouth. Baku can see the shimmer of his teeth, and the tempting flesh of his inner lips, and he loses it—every bit of rational thought gets climbed over by the sudden desire of taking again, of taking more.
He doesn’t break their positions, but he drags Baekjin impossibly closer; now their legs are bumping.
He tentatively licks Baekjin’s mouth with his tongue.
And when he’s welcomed, he deepens the kiss.
It’s imperfect, but so warm.
It feels almost questioning on Baekjin’s side—as if he’s seeking a safe landing for his leap into the void. And it seems like he finds it, because he allows himself to ease in Baku’s care. Which means he soon returns it, too.
He detangles his hands from their posture and grabs Baku’s face, wandering to tuck locks of his hair behind his ears; looks like a natural way to reach his neck and caress it.
Baku lets him take his liberty. Baku in fact pursues it, pulling Baekjin by the collar of his uniform.
A low vibration comes from Baekjin’s throat. The sound of it fills Baku with overwhelm. A positive one, like upon hearing a heavenly call.
He parts from the boy, breathless and stunned.
Baekjin opens his eyes in a slight delay again, as if he doesn’t want to break an achieved perfect moment with a potentially harsh reality. But he doesn’t retreat, nor look shy. He rather curls his finger at Baku’s hair on his nape.
“Did you like it?” he asks; his voice only betrays a distant feeling of anxiety.
Baku simply nods. He looks like a dog waiting for the stick to be thrown again so he can go fetch it.
“Really?” Baekjin reiterates.
And Baku nods again.
“Enough to—”
Baku finally talks over him. “Yes,” he says, at short of breath. “Yes, yes, I will bear your Valentine.”
Baekjin flushes red. “Please don’t repeat that phrase.” He hides with delighted embarrassment in Baku’s collarbones, but remerges seconds later with a slow movement. He peeks into Baku’s eyes, as to detect a lie. When he doesn’t find any trace of it, the furrow of his brows unties, replaced by happiness. It overflows him. He suppresses a giggle against Baku’s mouth, peppers it with some pecks, with quick pauses between these dilutions of love, like he’s making sure that Baku’s mouth really is a territory he can venture in, like he’s making sure it’s not too much.
Baku ends up laughing too, loud and lively. “I’m sorry, I’ve actually wanted to kiss you for so long,” he says, one word at a time when his lips are free from kisses. Baekjin stops only because he wants Baku to continue. Baku places his hands on Baekjin’s to intertwine their fingers.
“It’s just… I don’t know. I didn’t know if—uhm, you know.”
Baekjin is not sure what Baku is trying to say, but he waits patiently, despite the flame in his pupils.
“And then you suddenly mention Do Seongmok, I couldn’t take it.” Baku keeps talking. “Really, don’t you think about my poor heart? I thought I was going crazy. And he—he—he probably thinks about kissing you, too!” He erupts in a sudden realization. “Imagines it and everything. God, I have to beat the shit out of him, I really have to. There’s no other solution. No way he gets to fantasize about this. No way. No way.”
Baekjin chuckles, and Baku can tell he finds his rant adorable.
“Don’t laugh!” Baku shushes him. “It’s serious matter. I can’t stand it. And he’s probably not the only one! Just the only one brave enough to let you know and ask you out. The—the cinema?” He stammers in disbelief, like it’s all sinking in just now. “Is he out of his mind? What was he planning to do, huh?”
The chuckles from Baekjin simply keep coming, like honey to Baku’s ears. He finds himself being kissed by Baekjin countless times—now on the cheeks, now on the temples—as he keeps rambling. “I perfectly know what he was planning to do. Oh, he wishes. Over my dead body! Seriously, that’s fucked up. Can’t he see I’m always glued to you? Is he blind? Is he stupid?”
“Don’t be mean,” Baekjin interjects, a trace of smugness in his voice. “He probably thinks you’re just a very good friend.”
“I’ll make very sure he knows I’m more than that,” Baku mutters grumpily, capturing Baekjin’s face to plant a new kiss on it.
Baekjin pulls back slightly. “We shouldn’t do this here, anyway.”
“I don’t care,” Baku’s answer comes unapologetic. He even leans down and starts kissing Baekjin’s neck, as if to prove he’s willing to do much more… right there.
“Yah, drop it…” But even if Baekjin’s gestures suggest a weak resistance, there is no real push in his palms. “What if someone sees us?”
“Even better. Let them see how much of a good friend I am.”
Baekjin tries to stifle a moan as Baku nibbles at his neck. “And to think you were the uncertain one until five minutes ago,” he teases.
“I wasn’t uncertain… It’s not the right word. Oi, let me be.”
“Then—to think you haven’t even asked me back.”
Baku straightens. “Ask what?”
“You know what.”
“Hm.”
“Well, are you going to ask me or not?”
Baku clears his throat.
And he says, “Will you marry me?”
“What—are you crazy?!” Baekjin laughs. Baku feels drunk just because of that beautiful sound. The not so gentle punches Baekjin is landing on Baku’s chest aren’t as beautiful, but he’s clearly blinded by love.
“Am I?” Baku says, a playful glint in his eyes.
“I was thinking more… Will you be my Valentine? You know. Just to make it clear.” Baekjin lowers his tone, almost seductive, while he plays with Baku’s hair.
“Of course you’re my Valentine.”
“Ask me properly.”
“Na Baekjin, will you be my Valentine?”
Baekjin is so satisfied that his mouth curves in a triumphant way, as if a long-planned scheme has just finally succeeded. “Yes,” he says in one firm nod.
“Hang in there,” Baku stops him. “I always wanted to do this,” and he leans over to kiss Baekjin’s dimples.
Baekjin is left utterly flustered, and he lowers his head in a sensation similar to having his whole body tickled.
“Will you be my boyfriend?” Baku is a little bolder now, casting other kisses here and there.
Baekjin takes them all, and plays along, “Shouldn’t we go on a date first?”
“Hm… Maybe. But—you know I don’t have a scooter, right? And I don’t have nice clothes for an elegant date. And I don’t—”
“Shut up, who says I need those things.” Baekjin interrupts, grabbing the skin of Baku’s cheeks and pulling them into a goofy, squished expression. “Did you see Do Seongmok with his new scooter, didn’t you, huh?”
“Well, of course I saw him,” Baku says, words muffled by the deformed shape of his face in Baekjin’s hands. “He brags about it here and there, who wouldn’t notice.”
“He was so quiet about it, actually.”
“Stop defending him!”
“You’re so…” Baekjin starts, but he can’t even finish the sentence; he just lets out the softest sigh. “I don’t need a scooter or anything fancy. I just need you. Uhm, you and your arms. Hug me,” he demands, already maneuvering him into a hug.
“I do have my arms,” Baku hums, wrapping Baekjin so so thight, pulling him so close they almost topple over.
Baekjin squeaks like a little mouse.
“Stop being so cute,” Baku whispers, biting lightly his cheek. “I’m gonna eat you.”
Baekjin can add another number to his collection: today marks day one since they got together.
But he should rethink those 166,464,000 heartbeats. With Baku making his heart race like this, the count could easily reach ten billion by tomorrow.
“And just so you know,” Baku murmurs—his boyfriend murmurs, “Someday I’m going to marry you for real.”