Chapter Text
A springtime, sun-drenched landscape that is childhood.
Annie Ernaux, from I Remain in Darkness.
There are memories he has grown to adjust to with time, such as those muffled voices inside the lecture hall, someone’s pen being repeatedly clicked, or even Sungho’s laughter when he invites his friends home. These are all normal occurrences; Dongmin should let them sink, but something about them sits rotten in his skin. It’s a life he hasn’t chosen, and although his brother Sungho seems to have found a place in Berlin, Dongmin’s mind spaces between his flute partitures and his hometown, a lost village in South Korea.
He had spent all his childhood there, running around the biggest trees he had ever seen, greener than emerald stones or Berlin’s gardens. A place where Sanghyuk, his best friend, had accompanied him everywhere, leading them to secret lakes and night campfires where both ended up full after eating rusted marshmallows nonstop.
It was perfect, or that’s how Dongmin remembers his first 8 years alive. He misses it a lot, how every season had a different meaning, a different channel to watch, and comics to read. Now, he would describe his life as bland, boring, and absolutely devoid of any meaning that could describe spring and childhood altogether.
What’s left is a nineteen-year-old human body with the biggest dark circles this country has ever seen, and poorly spoken German when he struggles to find the right words, especially now, with his fingers pressing into the paper.
What are your motivations? Why did you choose this path? Where did you find our company?
Great. He’s the one clicking his pen repeatedly now. A long sigh comes out, trying to write a coherent sentence that will lead him to work for a company his father had told him to apply to. Not because he’s forced to do so; he said it would be nice to have a plan B if he doesn’t get a spot in the orchestra, but neither of these plans is amusing to him.
If you asked Dongmin what his real motivations are, his answer would be playing in Vienna’s orchestra, but if you really observe him after his response, look through him, you would see how having his own rock band is written in big letters on his forehead.
That’s how he is, a son who wants to fulfill his parents’ wants despite leaving his own ambitions behind.
“Are you okay?” The woman asks, making Dongmin lift his head. She’s staring at him with worry, and in that moment, he feels the sweat fall from his forehead and notices how sweaty his palms are. “Oh,” That’s the only word that comes from his mouth. The woman titles it in question, and he looks at the document, then at her, and finally at his sweaty palms again.
“I—” He hasn’t written anything in the past 30 minutes, and he knows the woman has more important things to do than wait for him to write anything, so he does what he does best: leave. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He bows, although it’s not usual to do so here; he does it to ease the shame.
The woman stays there, speechless. She must be astonished by the boy’s attitude, but Dongmin leaves before she gets to argue about it, and suddenly, the company feels narrower and his tie tighter than it should. He sighs again, loosening the tie.
“Fuck.” How is he supposed to explain this to his father? Dongmin wonders as he leaves the building, grabbing a cigarette in the company’s entry. He lights it up there, letting the thought burn on his tongue.
It’s mediocre; everything he has done until now is the result of pursuing a seat in his own destruction, and what’s worse, instead of fighting it, he’s trying to make it hurt less by smoking.
Then, at the third exhale, he ends up calling Sanghyuk in case he dies today.
At the second ring, Sanghyuk picks up. “You’re lucky I’m on break.” Right, he forgot Sanghyuk works in a cafeteria. “Hey,” Dongmin says, exhaling another puff of the cigarette. “Taesan-ah, you’re smoking again.”And it should be convincing, but a similar sound echoes in the other line, and Dongmin can’t do anything but giggle. “Says you.” Sanghyuk laughs as well, a laugh that reminds him of home.
“Sorry, I miss you too much.” Sanghyuk has always been so open about missing him that it shouldn’t make him feel worse, but this time, the way he says it lingers on his chest. They were supposed to meet last summer, but Dongmin’s parents decided to postpone it, and this year, he’s not sure if it was sincere.
“We will see each other next month, I promise.” He means it, but both of them know it’s uncertain. “I hope so.” Sanghyuk answers, and all that’s left is their breath towards the end of winter.
The beginning of spring is humid, sticking and rotting into Dongmin’s spine, covering half of his body with a blanket as if it were an armor, one he should move on from but telling his parents that he failed the interview (although he technically didn’t because he didn’t even make it to that round) and that he needed a rest from the orchestra had been the hardest war he has even gone through, so sleeping almost 24 hours isn’t that much of a deal.
Or that’s what he tells himself to soften the guilt.
“Dongmin-ah.” It’s his mother’s voice, stepping closer. The tone is tender even when holding disappointment. “Pack your things, we’re leaving tomorrow.” Leaving? The sun flickers, as if it were waking him up.“Where?” He asks. “You know where.” Then, Dongmin opens his eyes— really opens— and the sun is winking at him. “We will stay until September so you can get rid of this seasonal depression you’re going through, okay?”
They’re asking him to come back to his senses, but Dongmin decides to let it slide. He’s fulfilling his promise; he will visit Sanghyuk tomorrow.
The ride home is exhausting. He has run out of cigarettes, and Sungho didn’t even text him goodbye, which was expected but still hurts. The 17-hour flight doesn’t help either, but he must admit the food was quite decent.
The train is lighter, with its brakes screeching as it mixes with the elder woman’s gossip, and half of the train cars are empty since the village is one of the smallest in the country. He recalls a similar track as a kid, with his hand full of candy, not knowing if he’d ever return, and now, peering out the window at the lush green landscape, it’s a quiet realization of everything he’d never wanted to leave behind.
riu hyung:
wru? im waiting
Not long after messaging Sanghyuk, he hears the train’s arrival through the speakers, meaning they are about to arrive at their stop. The elder seems to catch it before him, grabbing their stuff beforehand; however, Dongmin feels dizzy, waiting for the doors to open as if they were the only way this could be real, but it is, and he can’t figure out how meeting Sanghyuk after so long will affect him.
“Son?” His mother asks, waiting for Dongmin to acknowledge her, and when he does, only his suitcase remains in the train’s shelves. “Oh—sorry.” He’s been saying sorry a lot recently; maybe saying it out loud isn’t so terrible anymore.
Thereafter, one of the attendants assists with placing the suitcase on the floor. “Thank you,” and it feels odd to finally speak his mother tongue. The worker smiles at it, bowing his leave, and suddenly, he hears a woman say, “We’ve arrived,” as the doors finally open.
The wind welcomes him then, a gentle breeze blowing his bangs to the side with care. It feels fresh, something he used to miss in Germany. This is different, more vibrant. Although when he finally steps on the ground, he can’t seem to find Sanghyuk anywhere.
He thinks of calling him; he probably will if there isn’t any sign of the other in 5 minutes.
“Taesan!” That’s his nickname, one that Sungho and Sanghyuk made for him when they were kids. The yell is clear, coming from the other train track. Sanghyuk must have gotten the train wrong. It’s hilarious, heart-wrenching even, it’s all the emotions he kept hidden coming right back to him. He turns back, meeting a red-haired nineteen-year-old who’s also looking at him with amusement.
“Sanghyuk-ah!”
The sight is familiar—slightly more vivid—but uncertain altogether. He recalls a quote that got stuck in his head after taking a poetry class back in Berlin: “ You never meet the same person twice”, and that quote is unfolding on his skin as Sanghyuk approaches them. However, it’s not like Sanghyuk no longer looks like himself; he totally does with his distinctive moles and vampire-like teeth. He’s just older.
Dongmin was aware of how Sanghyuk looked, but now that Sanghyuk is standing in front of him, a bittersweet feeling sits on his tongue. They will never be those kids again, will they?
“You’re grown up,” Dongmin says, and Sanghyuk simply laughs; he acquired the ability to make him laugh effortlessly when they were six. “You too.” The boy’s gaze is soft and steady, lingering on the sun’s breath all over Dongmin’s face. “Mmh,” He hums, waiting for the other to speak, but Sanghyuk never does; instead, an awkward breeze sits between them, and for a moment, he has to remind himself of both being introverts.
“So—” Sanghyuk hesitates, lips pressing together. He’s expecting a hug, fingers fidgeting close to Dongmin’s wrist, but he knows Sanghyuk isn’t actually fond of physical contact. “So?” Dongmin’s head tilts to the side, curious. “Nothing—let me hold this for you.” He grabs Dongmin’s suitcase, waiting for them to follow his parents’ steps towards the exit.
“We’re done now.” Dongmin lets out after successfully cleaning his old room. It feels strange. His vinyl collection is organized the same way he left it back then, and the stripped-out posters of British bands are still hanging on his walls. This is the Dongmin he left behind, the child who saw the different shapes of the birds around him, and didn’t stop himself from playing the music he wanted. Nevertheless, it’s a Dongmin with an averted stare, aiming to keep him in place.
“We should get you new posters, though.” Sanghyuk points out the poster’s broken ends. He seems to recall Dongmin’s lack of skill with cutting paper. “Yeah.” He murmurs as they both glance at the window’s frame, noticing their names written in black marker pen. “Can’t believe this hasn’t faded yet.” The red-haired laughs. He can’t believe it hasn’t either.
Sanghyuk looks at him. “Want to come over? There are things I want to show you.” The tone matches the warmth of a blanket, whose inner softness is drawn by its cloth, the same as the fluffy pink blanket they tended to use to cover themselves from growing. “Sure.” Dongmin nods, following Sanghyuk’s steps as they leave the house.
The walk is quiet, with the wind sweeping through the wild grass as they approach Sanghyuk's house at the end of the same street. He wonders how, despite his haughtiness as a kid, fate brought them together like a plant’s seedling, the stem growing nodes and internodes at the beginning of his house and at the end of Sanghyuk’s garden like a lifeline. The red-haired was the end of his childhood, as was the takeoff of every step he took to arrive home.
He then catches a glimpse of that same boy, who’s already staring at him. It’s silly, really, how awkward it is to be finally home with a sense of self you can’t morph into anymore.“You’re staring.” Dongmin chuckles. He had forgotten how Sanghyuk’s stare made him feel this seen.
“It’s just weird, you know? We haven’t forgotten anything, but—” There’s a pause. “My brain still thinks I’m imagining all of this.” He runs his hand through his hair as the spring clouds shape shadows in his fingers. Dongmin notices the hesitation in his stance. “Maybe we’re dreaming together, who knows?” Although he wishes all of this weren’t a dream, the joke seems to light up their steps, a small grin forming on the red-haired’s lips.
“It took you guys long enough!” It’s a voice Sungho knows. He recalls the owner as well. However, he didn’t purge the sound of it as his brother did back then. “Jaehyun-ah!” Sanghyuk greets him brightly, and he waves back at both as enthusiastically.
“Look at you, so good-looking.” Jaehyun teases, eyes lighting up. His bubbly personality hasn’t changed, Dongmin thinks. He’s glad it hasn’t. He still remembers a Jaehyun whose heart mirrored the beating of a bright orange sun. One that Sungho selfishly divided in half so he could keep one for himself.
“Says the village heartbreaker, Sanghyuk told me everything,” he says, words meant to be heard by the empty half of Jaehyun’s pulse.
Shortly after, Jaehyun places his arm around Dongmin’s shoulder.“You are just jealous of my game.” He leans closer, hot breath whispering in his ear. “I’ll give you my best tips later.” Right, right, right, Dongmin mutters as he tries not to laugh at Jaehyun’s expression, who’s now making weird faces. They haven’t changed that much, right?
Sanghyuk, instead, looks rather apologetic, his ears slightly red as he tries to move Jaehyun’s arm from him. “Jaehyun-ah, relax, let’s not scare him.” Jaehyun just smiles, following the older boy inside.
♡
“You look so dumb!” Jaehyun lets out, his face turning into a tomato after laughing nonstop. They’ve been looking at Sanghyuk’s photo album for an hour, sharing their memories and lame stories through Sanghyuk’s father’s lenses. “Dumb? You look stupid!” Dongmin attempts to speak, but the laughing swallows all of his air as he points to a small Jaehyun, ugly crying with his ice cream on the floor.
“This one is worse. You and Sanghyuk look like newlyweds.” The photo was taken in the village’s church, both wearing suits for Dongmin’s aunt’s wedding. They’re standing side by side with one of the biggest smiles Dongmin had forgotten he ever had. “We look like trot singers.” Dongmin jokes, but Sanghyuk quietens while holding another picture. He glances at it; it’s one of the four of them at the beach.
None of them has asked him why Sungho didn’t come along; the question had been answered the moment they left the village back then, his silence becoming a silent confrontation. Yet, the feeling lingers in Jaehyun’s eyes, which are staring at Sungho’s cheerful expression.
“Is he doing well?” He asks, and Dongmin wonders, Is he doing well? They never ask each other such questions, just vague ones like, Did you wash the dishes? Not, why are you acting like this?
“I guess.” Dongmin sighs. “We rarely talk.” The truth sits weirdly on his stomach. He thinks it might have been due to his lack of moving on, seeking any way to come back, and Sungho is just someone who decided to forget, rebuilding himself in Berlin. Perhaps he feels disgusted with Dongmin’s childish thoughts.
He hasn’t asked Sungho directly. He never will. Jaehyun may be the only person capable of pulling the truth out of him. Despite this, Jaehyun never told anyone what happened between them.
Dongmin just wishes it were easier.
Long after Jaehyun’s left, the afternoon is long forgotten, slowly fading into colder shades that paint each spring midnights. He finds the solitude of the last breath of heat comforting as he’s about to wave goodbye to Sanghyuk’s mother, but suddenly, a sight of a wrapped gift meets him at the door’s entrance.
“You didn’t have to.” Dongmin hesitates, overwhelmed by Mrs. Lee’s warmth.
“You’re like my son, Dongmin. This is the least I could do to welcome you.” The woman answers, encouraging him to open the gift. When he does, Dongmin realises he’s now holding a My Chemical Romance special edition vinyl. His eyes go wide, and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t a dream.
“Thank you, I really appreciate it.” He smiles — truthfully this time — with a smile that reaches his eyes as he stares at his new vinyl. He had forgotten that happiness suited his face, a child-like tooth, and glimmering eyes that Sanghyuk seems to catch instantly, staring at him as if he had hung up the moon. Maybe he has, but only because the red-haired has given him the chance to.
Then, Sanghyuk seems to catch his breath; his voice shifting to a more playful manner. “I’m still the best with gifts, aren’t I?” he asks. “Who knows me better than you?” Dongmin rhetorically asks back, and the boy seems satisfied. However, he had never felt this distant from Sanghyuk’s emotions.
Perhaps it’s the bittersweet contrast between Sanghyuk’s cheerful self towards Jaehyun and the shield he hesitantly holds when they’re alone. Has he done something wrong?
The night continues to rest as he finally waves goodbye to Sanghyuk’s family, walking around the flickering streetlights and the sound of crickets rubbing their wings together. It all feels safe, even if the thought of not understanding Sanghyuk’s feelings sits weirdly on his skin.
Their dynamic has changed, and their love has moved beyond their summer bellies and childish pranks. The problem is that Dongmin doesn’t know which direction he is supposed to take. Is Sanghyuk’s tenderness waiting to be acknowledged as something more, or is it just a phase where both are under an uncomfortable layer that doesn’t let them grow from their past?
These are the words that cling to his tongue, afraid he might say them wrong. Therefore, as soon as he gets home, he hurries to his bedroom drawer, puts on his swimsuit beneath the clothing, and runs towards the lake, the direction almost carved on his brain.
The waves lapping the shore welcome him, and he immediately throws himself in.
He feels the moon’s kiss as he floats, and the stars stare at him even with his eyes closed. It’s great, it quietens the rotten thoughts in his brain. He feels a presence then, but he doesn’t mind enough to look. It’s not so uncommon to swim in his lake; it might be one of his neighbors.
The stranger steps are cautious, pressing into the grass with a hesitant stance as it approaches the lake. However, when Dongmin opens his eyes, the silhouette hides behind the trees, trying to not get caught. He finds it alluring, the taller figure which seems to be a boy walks away shortly after, as nothing had happened.
He wonders what made the boy want to step up as well as to run. It reminds him of himself, afraid to show his burned wings.