Chapter Text
The funny thing about vacation friends was that nobody ever questioned how temporary they were.
One day, they simply appeared. A kid around your age sitting two campsites away, someone you accidentally shared a swing with, someone whose parents happened to grill dinner at the exact same time as yours. Before either of you realized it, you were spending every morning chasing dragonflies, every afternoon getting yelled at for coming back soaked from the creek, and every evening insisting that tomorrow would somehow be even more fun.
You never asked for names.
Because why would you?
Tomorrow was already waiting.
And tomorrow always came.
Until the tents came down, folding chairs disappeared into the trunks of cars, and everyone drove home believing they'd somehow run into each other again.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
Baek Junhyuk hated the rule more than he hated mosquitoes.
"No ramyun after seven."
His mom repeated it every camping trip. She claimed eating instant noodles late at night was bad for his stomach, bad for his sleep schedule, bad for basically everything that made life worth living. Junhyuk, at the ripe old age of seven, thought this was an unbelievably unfair way to treat someone who had spent all afternoon climbing rocks and falling into a stream.
His parents had already gone to bed by the time the craving became unbearable.
The campground had settled into its usual nighttime rhythm. Conversations from neighboring tents had faded into murmurs, folding chairs sat abandoned around dying campfires, and somewhere deeper in the trees, cicadas refused to admit the day was over. The air smelled faintly of charcoal smoke and pine needles, with just enough coolness to make him zip his hoodie all the way up before quietly unzipping the tent.
Junhyuk tiptoed toward the camping kitchen like a secret agent whose mission was, unfortunately, instant noodles.
The portable gas stove was exactly where his dad had left it. He dragged everything onto the picnic table with all the strength a seven year old could possibly have, completely unaware that every single movement sounded approximately as subtle as a construction site.
He had just managed to pry open the cup ramyun packet when a voice drifted out of the darkness.
"Need help?"
Junhyuk froze.
Not because he got caught.
Because the voice didn't sound like his mom.
Slowly, he looked up.
A boy stood a few steps away beneath one of the warm campsite lanterns, wearing an oversized blue baseball cap. He couldn't have been much older maybe a year, maybe two, but somehow he carried himself like every campsite belonged to him. One hand was shoved into the pocket of his hoodie, while the other lazily pointed at the unopened seasoning packet in Junhyuk's hands.
"You put the powder in after the water." Which was, objectively, the wrong order but he said it with such unwavering confidence that it sounded believable.
Junhyuk blinked.
"Oh."
A beat passed.
Then, with all the seriousness only a seven year old could muster, he frowned.
"I knew that."
The boy walked over without waiting for permission, as if helping complete strangers commit minor culinary crimes was just part of his nightly routine. He plucked the seasoning packet from Junhyuk's hands with practiced ease, reached for the kettle sitting nearby, and frowned when he realized it was empty.
"You didn't even get water."
Junhyuk looked at the kettle.
Then back at him.
"I was gonna."
"Mhm."
"I was."
"You were gonna boil air?"
Junhyuk decided he didn't like this guy. He was right, but he didn't have to sound so smug about it.
The older boy sighed in a way that felt unnecessarily dramatic for someone who looked about eight years old before grabbing the kettle himself. "C'mon."
Junhyuk followed him without question.
The faucet at the communal washing station sputtered for a second before cold water rushed out, loud enough to fill the silence between them. They stood shoulder to shoulder waiting for the kettle to fill, neither saying anything until Junhyuk suddenly blurted out the first thing that crossed his mind.
"My dad has a really big car."
"Cool."
"It's black."
"Okay."
The older boy nodded slowly, like he was processing highly classified information.
"My mom cuts apples into rabbits."
Junhyuk's eyes widened.
"No way."
"Yeah."
"They actually look like rabbits?"
"Kinda."
"That's sick."
Satisfied that this was a fair exchange of personal information, they walked back to the picnic table together.
The older boy lit the portable stove on the first try.
Junhyuk stared.
"You know how to do that?"
"My dad taught me."
"Oh."
Another pause.
"My dad can whistle really loud."
"Cool."
"I can't."
"Me neither."
The conversation died for approximately four seconds before immediately reviving itself for absolutely no reason.
"I have a cat," Junhyuk announced.
The older boy looked up from the bubbling pot.
"I don't."
"I have a fish, does that count?"
Junhyuk considered it. "I think so."
They carefully poured the steaming hot water from the kettle into the ramyun cup, and both boys instinctively leaned closer to watch, as though they were witnessing a groundbreaking scientific discovery instead of instant ramyun being prepared exactly the way instant ramyun always was.
Neither of them noticed the silence anymore.
It wasn't awkward.
It was simply the kind of silence that happened when two kids had already decided they liked each other.
The older boy poked at the noodles with a pair of chopsticks that definitely belonged to someone's parents. "Think your mom's gonna catch you?"
Junhyuk puffed out his chest with the confidence of someone who had never successfully gotten away with anything.
"No."
"You're smiling."
"So?"
"Kids only smile like that when they're about to get caught."
"I'm not getting caught."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm—"
A zipper ripped through the quiet night.
Both of them snapped toward the row of tents at the exact same time.
"..."
"..."
Without exchanging a single word, the older boy turned the stove off.
And together, they bolted.
The ramyun sloshed dangerously close to the rim as they ducked behind the washing station, crouching between a stack of folded plastic crates and someone's enormous cooler box. Junhyuk clamped both hands over his mouth, trying and failing not to laugh. Beside him, the older boy pressed the brim of his blue cap lower over his face, shoulders already shaking.
Footsteps.
A flashlight beam swept lazily across the empty picnic tables.
"Junhyuk?"
His mom.
Junhyuk stopped breathing.
"Baek Junhyuk?"
The flashlight lingered for one terrifying second on the table they'd abandoned, then drifted away again.
"You better not be sneaking snack."
The footsteps faded.
Silence settled over the campground once more.
For exactly two seconds.
Then—
"Pfft."
Junhyuk lost it first.
The older boy lasted maybe half a second longer before dissolving into laughter too, both of them trying so hard to stay quiet that it only made everything worse. They ended up hunched over each other, wheezing into their sleeves, the untouched cup of ramyun sitting between them like the world's most hard-earned prize.
When they finally calmed down, the older boy wiped at the corner of one eye and nudged the cup toward him.
"Worth it?"
Junhyuk didn't even hesitate.
"The coolest thing I've ever done."
"Seriously?"
"Mhm."
"You've had a boring life."
Junhyuk gasped dramatically.
"I've climbed a really big rock before."
"No way."
"It was huge."
The older boy nodded solemnly.
"My bad."
Junhyuk grinned so hard his cheeks hurt.
He had known this guy for maybe fifteen minutes.
Somehow
He already hoped tomorrow would come faster.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
The rest of the week blurred together the way only childhood summers could.
One morning they built a dam across the shallow creek using rocks that were much too small to stop the water. It collapsed within three minutes. The next day they spent an hour convincing themselves they could communicate with squirrels by clicking their tongues. They couldn't. They raced folding wagons downhill, collected pinecones for reasons neither of them remembered, and somehow managed to come home dirty enough every evening that all four parents gave up asking what had happened.
Some afternoons were loud.
Some were lazy.
They talked about pets, cartoons, favorite snacks, whose dad grilled better meat, and whether fish got lonely if they lived alone. The conversations drifted from one completely unrelated topic to another without ever making much sense.
They never ran out of things to say.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
Tents disappeared one by one. Camping chairs folded shut. Coolers rolled back toward parked cars. Adults talked about traffic while children quietly kicked pebbles around.
Junhyuk hugged the empty cup ramyun they'd shared for breakfast.
The older boy adjusted his blue cap against the summer sun.
"Guess we're going."
"Yeah."
Neither of them looked particularly upset.
Because neither of them thought this was goodbye.
"You'll come back?"
"Mhm."
"Next summer?"
"Probably."
"Cool."
"Cool."
Neither of them realized there was one very obvious question they had forgotten to ask.
What's your name?
🏕️🏕️🏕️
Ten years later, the road to Gapyeong looked smaller than Junhyuk remembered.
He cracked one eye open as the car rolled past a weathered wooden sign welcoming visitors to the valley, sunlight flickering through rows of pine trees that stretched endlessly along the winding road. The scenery felt oddly familiar in the way places from childhood always did, not because he could remember every detail, but because his brain insisted it had seen this exact shade of green before.
"You awake?"
Junhyuk answered with a noise that barely qualified as one.
His father glanced at him through the rearview mirror and clicked his tongue.
"I've been driving for almost two hours."
"Mhm."
"And somehow you're the tired one."
"Mhm."
His father sighed dramatically.
"Your generation has no shame."
Junhyuk didn't bother opening his eyes all the way.
"I got dragged out of bed at six."
"It was six thirty."
"Basically midnight."
From the passenger seat, his mother laughed without looking up from her phone.
"I told you he'd complain the whole drive."
"I am not complaining."
"You've complained since we left Seoul."
"I'm making observations."
"Very loud observations."
Junhyuk finally sat up, stretching until something in his back popped. Summer sunlight spilled through the window, warm enough that he immediately regretted wearing a hoodie, but taking it off now would require effort, and he wasn't quite awake enough for that.
Outside, more cars appeared the closer they got to the campground. SUVs with roof boxes, vans packed with camping gear, bicycles strapped onto the back, children sticking their heads out of open windows before getting pulled back inside by panicked parents.
Every single one looked like they were chasing the exact same thing.
A week away from home.
His dad slowed the car as another vehicle turned into the campground entrance.
"There it is."
Junhyuk looked up.
The wooden entrance sign hadn't changed much. Neither had the little booth beside it where campers checked in. Someone had added flower boxes beneath the windows. That was new.
"We're finally here," his mom said, already gathering the reservation confirmation from her bag. "Junhyuk, don't disappear the second we park."
"I won't."
"You said that last year."
"I got lost once."
"You got lost twice."
"I found my way back."
"After two hours."
His dad snorted. "I still remember the campground manager driving around with a loudspeaker looking for you."
"I was twelve." Junhyuk groaned.
"You were old enough to know left from right."
"I do know left from right."
His dad raised an eyebrow.
"Do you?"
"Most of the time."
His mother shook her head with the kind of fond exasperation that only came from raising him for seventeen years.
"I swear, if you wander off before the tent is up."
"I won't."
"You said it again."
"This time I mean it."
The car rolled deeper into the campground, gravel crunching softly beneath the tires. The first thing Junhyuk noticed wasn't the tents. It wasn't the campers unloading wagons or kids racing scooters down the narrow roads. It was the smell. Pine trees warming beneath the afternoon sun. Charcoal smoke drifting lazily through the air.
And somewhere nearby...
Someone had already started boiling instant ramyun.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the scent made him smile.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
The breeze carried the scent of pine needles, damp soil, and smoke from someone's barbecue a few sites away. Somewhere nearby, a child shrieked with laughter before immediately being scolded by what sounded like three different adults at once.
His dad popped open the trunk.
"Alright."
He clapped once.
"Family meeting."
Junhyuk sighed before one had even begun.
"No one disappears until the tent is up."
His mom pointed at him. "Especially you."
"I literally just got here."
"And we'd like you to stay here."
Junhyuk decided arguing against a united front was a waste of energy.
"...Fine."
Setting up camp was exactly as tedious as he remembered. His father unfolded poles with the confidence of a man who refused to read instruction manuals on principle. His mother spread the groundsheet while giving orders that neither of them admitted were useful until five minutes later.
Junhyuk's job was apparently to "hold this." Which would've been easy if "this" hadn't changed every thirty seconds.
"Hold the pole." He held the pole.
"No, not like that."
"There's another way to hold a pole?"
"Angle it."
"What angle?"
"The angle."
"What does that mean?"
His father stared at him. "You're making me tired."
"I'm literally helping."
"You are emotionally."
"What does that even mean?"
His mom laughed loud enough that the family across the road glanced over for a second before smiling to themselves.
By the time the tent finally stood upright, Junhyuk had contributed approximately twelve percent of the labor and received roughly ninety percent of the criticism.
He dusted his hands off dramatically.
"Good work, everyone."
His father looked at him.
"Good work?"
"I supervised."
"You complained."
"I supervised the complaining."
"Go."
"Huh?"
His father pointed toward the campground road.
"Walk."
"Seriously?"
"Before you invent another way to help."
His mother waved him off with a grin.
"Be back before dinner."
Junhyuk didn't need to be told twice. He shoved his phone into his pocket, adjusted the hood of his hoodie against the sun, and stepped onto the narrow road winding between campsites.
Families had settled in everywhere.
Someone was inflating an enormous dinosaur shaped float for reasons he couldn't begin to understand. A golden retriever trotted proudly through the road carrying a flip-flop that almost certainly didn't belong to its owner. Two little kids were arguing over whether cicadas slept at night.
"They don't."
"Then why are they still screaming?"
"Because they're awake."
Junhyuk snorted as he walked past. Some things never changed.
Camping had its own rhythm. Nobody seemed to mind strangers passing by their sites. Parents greeted each other like neighbors who'd lived on the same street for years instead of people who had arrived an hour apart. Someone offered ice to another family. Someone borrowed scissors. A kid wandered into the wrong campsite, accepted a rice cracker from a confused auntie, then casually wandered back out as if nothing had happened.
It was... nice.
The kind of place where everyone became a little less guarded for a week.
Without realizing it, Junhyuk slowed near the communal washing station.
He frowned.
Something about it felt familiar.
Not enough to remember.
Just enough to make him stop for half a second before shaking the feeling away.
"Weird."
Then he kept walking.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
The campground convenience store looked exactly like every campground convenience store ever. Too small for the number of people inside. Too cold after walking under the afternoon sun. And somehow stocked with everything from mosquito spray to instant tteokbokki.
A tiny bell chimed as Junhyuk stepped inside. Half the refrigerators were already open. A little girl stood on tiptoe, dramatically comparing two flavors of ice cream as though the decision would alter the course of her life. Behind her, an exhausted-looking dad held three bags of charcoal in one hand and silently accepted his fate.
Junhyuk made a beeline for the drinks. His fingers hovered over a can of iced coffee before remembering he didn't actually like coffee. He grabbed a peach iced tea instead. Then a bag of shrimp chips. Then, after a moment's consideration—
A cup of ramyun.
"Habit," he muttered to himself, even though nobody had asked.
By the time he reached the counter, there were already four people in line. Junhyuk waited, absentmindedly tapping the cold can against his thigh. His gaze drifted toward the large front window. Outside, the afternoon sun painted everything gold. Children chased soap bubbles across the open field. Someone struggled to assemble a folding wagon while their spouse watched with folded arms, offering advice that clearly wasn't helping. A boy around Junhyuk's age skateboarded past the store before immediately hopping off because the campground road was too bumpy to be worth it.
Junhyuk paid for his drink, stuffed the receipt into his pocket without checking it, and picked up the small plastic bag from the counter.
"Thank you."
"You too," the cashier replied automatically, despite him not having said anything that warranted the response.
The heat wrapped around him again almost instantly. He cracked open the peach tea, took one long sip,
and immediately sidestepped as a soccer ball came flying toward his face.
"...Whoa."
The ball bounced once before rolling to a stop against his shoe. A little boy, no older than six, froze several meters away.
"...Um."
Junhyuk bent down, picked up the ball with one hand, and tossed it back in an easy arc. The kid caught it against his chest.
"Thanks!"
"No problem."
The boy grinned, turned
and promptly tripped over absolutely nothing.
He popped right back up like it had never happened and sprinted away.
Junhyuk blinked once.
"Kids are weird."
He took another sip of his drink and continued down the path, completely unaware that, inside the convenience store behind him, someone had just walked straight to the ramyun shelf...
and reached for the exact same flavor he'd bought.
🏕️🏕️🏕️
Dinner stretched longer than Junhyuk expected, mostly because his father refused to believe there was such a thing as grilling too much meat. His mother had long since stopped pretending to intervene, content with wrapping lettuce and occasionally stealing the crispiest pieces before either of them noticed. Junhyuk ate enough to satisfy his parents, nodded at all the appropriate moments whenever his dad proudly announced that meat tasted better outdoors, and quietly decided that, while his father was objectively correct, what he really wanted wasn't barbecue. For some reason, the image of a steaming cup of ramyun had lodged itself stubbornly in the back of his mind, refusing to leave no matter how much grilled pork disappeared from his plate.
By the time dinner ended, the campground had settled into that oddly peaceful part of the evening where everyone seemed to move just a little slower. Families wandered toward the communal sinks carrying stacks of dishes, children reluctantly shuffled past in pajamas with damp hair after being forced into showers, and somewhere deeper in the campground, someone had started playing old ballads through a Bluetooth speaker that crackled every few seconds. Junhyuk stood at the washing station beside his father, scrubbing grease off the grill while silently wondering if dish soap had always smelled this aggressively like lemons. Every time he thought he was done, his father tilted the rack toward the light, frowned with theatrical seriousness, and found another invisible spot that supposedly needed cleaning.
"You missed one."
Junhyuk didn't even look up this time. "You're hallucinating."
"I'm not."
"You've been pointing at the same corner for the last five minutes."
"Because it's still dirty."
Back at their campsite, lanterns had already been switched on, casting warm pools of light beneath the tarp while moths repeatedly made terrible life decisions around them. His parents disappeared into the tent almost immediately after putting away the last of the dishes, exhausted from the drive more than anything else. His mother reminded him not to stay out too late. His father reminded him to lock the cooler properly because raccoons apparently had "excellent problem solving skills." Junhyuk wasn't entirely convinced that raccoons spent their nights planning elaborate food heists, but he nodded anyway. Arguing would only lead to another story from one of his father's previous camping trips, and he'd already heard most of them enough times to quote the punchlines.
The campground grew quieter by the minute, though "quiet" during camping season still meant the constant chorus of cicadas, distant conversations drifting between tents, and the occasional burst of laughter from families unwilling to call it a night just yet. Junhyuk lingered outside, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie despite the pleasantly warm air, letting his eyes wander across rows of glowing tents until his stomach interrupted the moment with an embarrassingly audible growl. He stared toward the cooler for a few seconds, sighed like someone about to make a morally questionable decision, then crouched beside it and carefully lifted the lid. Right at the back, half hidden behind bottles of water and neatly packed containers of fruit, sat a single cup of ramyun.
"You're coming with me."
He slipped it under one arm, grabbed the kettle with the other, then glanced toward the tent just in case either of his parents had developed supernatural instincts overnight. Nothing. Only the faint sound of his father's snoring had already begun leaking through the fabric walls. Junhyuk zipped the cooler shut with exaggerated care, as if excessive gentleness somehow made the act less suspicious, then started toward the communal kitchen wearing the expression of someone who definitely wasn't sneaking out to eat a second dinner.
Junhyuk claimed the only empty burner he could find and set his things down with a quiet sigh of relief. He filled the kettle, placed it on the stove, then confidently reached for the ignition. Click. Nothing. He frowned, tried again, and earned another useless click for his efforts. By the third attempt, he was beginning to wonder whether the burner was broken, right until a voice from the station beside him cut through the silence with barely concealed amusement.
"I think you skipped a step."
Junhyuk turned.
A boy around his age looked up from the pot he'd been stirring, one eyebrow raised just enough to make it obvious he'd been watching this unfold for longer than necessary. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about him at first glance just another camper in an oversized T-shirt with sleeves pushed to his elbows and hair that had clearly given up fighting the humidity hours ago. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
Junhyuk looked back at the burner.
Then at the gas knob he hadn't turned.
"No, I was testing the stove."
"Mm."
"Scientific purposes."
"Right."
"Wanted to make sure it was awake."
This time, the stranger actually laughed. It wasn't loud. Just one short breath through his nose before he shook his head and returned to stirring his noodles, still smiling to himself.
Junhyuk turned the gas knob.
The burner ignited instantly.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath. "We don't have to tell anyone about that."
"I already have one witness."
Junhyuk looked over.
The boy didn't even glance up this time.
"I can be bribed."
Junhyuk blinked once.
"With what?"
The stranger shrugged.
"I don't know."
He finally looked over again, completely straight faced.
"Figure it out."
Junhyuk stared at him for another second before letting out a quiet scoff, shaking his head as he poured the hot water into his cup. Steam immediately bloomed upward, carrying that familiar artificial beef aroma that somehow smelled infinitely better at a campsite than it ever did at home. Beside him, the stranger lifted the lid off a small aluminum pot, gave the noodles one final stir, and sprinkled the seasoning with the ease of someone who had clearly done this far too many times.
"So, you just blackmail random people for fun?"
The boy hummed thoughtfully. "Blackmail's a strong word."
"What would you call it?"
"A business opportunity."
Junhyuk looked at him in disbelief. "That's literally worse."
"It sounds more professional."
"You're actually unbelievable."
"So I've been told."
For a brief moment, the only sounds between them were boiling broth, cicadas outside the open pavilion, and the distant laughter of campers somewhere deeper in the woods. It wasn't awkward, surprisingly. They simply occupied the same quiet without feeling the need to fill every second of it, each absentmindedly waiting for noodles to soften while watching steam disappear into the warm summer night.
"You camping with your family?" the stranger asked eventually.
Junhyuk nodded. "Yeah."
"Same."
"First time here?"
"Nah."
The answer came easily enough that Junhyuk didn't think much of it.
"My parents have been dragging me camping since I was a kid."
Junhyuk laughed.
"Same, actually."
"You like it?"
"I complain every year."
"But you still come."
"I don't exactly have voting rights."
The stranger snorted into his ramyun.
"Fair."
Junhyuk pointed his chopsticks at him.
"What about you?"
"I stopped pretending I had a choice years ago."
"So we're both victims."
"Pretty much."
Junhyuk nodded with exaggerated solemnity.
"Damn."
"My condolences."
"Likewise."
They both laughed, and somehow that was enough to dissolve whatever distance had existed between them a minute ago.
Junhyuk took his first bite, immediately hissing as the noodles burned the roof of his mouth.
"Ow."
"You seriously did that?"
"I got impatient."
"It was steaming."
"I underestimated myself."
"No," the stranger corrected. "You overestimated your mouth."
Junhyuk glared at him while fanning his tongue dramatically.
"You know, you're not very supportive."
"I don't even know you."
"That's actually a good point."
Another comfortable silence settled between them, this one shorter than the last. Around them, people gradually trickled out of the communal kitchen carrying clean dishes and empty kettles until the pavilion felt much larger than before. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, attracting moths that repeatedly threw themselves against the plastic covers with unwavering determination.
"I'm Junhyuk, by the way."
The words slipped out naturally, almost as an afterthought.
The boy looked up from his noodles.
"Seonghyeon."
Junhyuk nodded once.
"Cool."
"Cool."
About thirty seconds later, Seonghyeon glanced sideways.
"So."
"Hm?"
"You ever figure out what you're bribing me with?"
Junhyuk blinked.
"You're still on that?"
"You did almost burn the campground down."
"I forgot one gas knob."
"Today."
"..."
"Fair enough."
Junhyuk dug through the plastic bag he'd brought from the convenience store, pulled out the unopened bag of shrimp chips, and held it out with a reluctant sigh.
"This is all you're getting."
Seonghyeon accepted it without even pretending to refuse.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
"Scammer."
"Entrepreneur."
"There's literally no difference."
"There is."
"What?"
"The confidence."
🏕️🏕️🏕️
The convenience store was considerably busier than it had been the night before. The cashier had somehow mastered the art of scanning groceries without looking up once. Junhyuk stood in front of the drinks for an embarrassingly long time, trying to remember whether his mother had asked for peach juice or grape juice. She'd definitely said one of them. He gave up after a full minute and decided she'd simply have to accept peach.
Basket swinging lazily from one hand, he made his way toward the freezer, only to stop when someone else reached for the handle at exactly the same time.
"Oh."
The other person looked up.
A grin spread across his face almost instantly.
"Stove tester."
Junhyuk clicked his tongue.
"I had one bad moment."
"You had three."
"It was one mistake."
"You repeated it three times."
"I was committed."
"To failure."
Junhyuk stared at him for a second before pointing accusingly.
"You're annoying."
"I've heard."
"I believe it."
Neither of them moved to open the freezer.
An elderly woman carrying a basket full of vegetables squeezed right between them with the confidence of someone who had survived enough summers to no longer entertain teenage indecisiveness. She grabbed two packs of frozen dumplings, shut the freezer door herself, and walked away without acknowledging either of them.
"We deserved that," Junhyuk admitted.
"A little."
Seonghyeon finally pulled the door open.
Rows of ice cream immediately greeted them.
Melon bars.
Chocolate cones.
A suspiciously bright blue popsicle that probably wasn't found anywhere in nature.
Junhyuk reached in.
So did Seonghyeon.
Both of them grabbed the exact same melon bar.
"..."
"..."
Junhyuk slowly looked sideways.
"No originality?"
Seonghyeon glanced at the identical wrapper in Junhyuk's hand before shrugging.
"Good taste recognizes good taste."
"Or you copied me."
"I was literally here first."
"Debatable."
"I watched you spend a whole minute choosing juice."
"I was thinking."
"You were buffering."
Junhyuk gasped.
"That's actually disrespectful."
"I can go further."
"Six."
Seonghyeon blinked.
Then, without missing a beat—
"...Seven."
Almost instinctively, they both held up their hands, the stupid little six-seven gesture.
Junhyuk stared at him.
Seonghyeon stared back.
"..."
"..."
Then both of them burst out laughing.
Not because either of them had said anything remotely funny.
Just because, they got it.
"You spend too much time online," Junhyuk said once he'd recovered enough to breathe again.
Seonghyeon pointed at him with his melon bar.
"Says the guy who started it."
"Don't ever say that again."
"I thought it was beautiful."
"It was terrifying."
"I'm keeping it."
"Please don't."
"I'm absolutely keeping it."
Junhyuk sighed dramatically, already walking toward the cashier.
"This is why society is collapsing."
Seonghyeon fell into step beside him as naturally as if they'd arrived together.
"No."
He held up the melon bar.
"This is why society is healing."
Junhyuk looked at him for a long second.
"You're actually so weird."
"And yet..."
Seonghyeon gestured between the two of them.
"...Here you are."
Junhyuk opened his mouth to argue.
Closed it again.
"..."
"Shut up."