Work Text:
hide out
17.
They were waiting for Minghao to arrive when Wonwoo waved Soonyoung away, told him to stand at the opposite side of the walkway.
"Why?" Soonyoung shouted from where he stood, some twenty feet across Wonwoo. A passerby yelled for him to shut up. Wonwoo took out his pack of stale Marlboros and tapped at its ripping corner with a pointed grin. Sorry, he mouthed. Soonyoung seemed to get it, huffing as he plopped down on the ledge.
Soonyoung flipped him off and stared on; Wonwoo caught it, for a while, but averted his gaze in the end to the fire licking at paper, leaving a trail of white ash in its wake. It got too heavy, eventually, and the ash hit Wonwoo's hand. He didn't wince, but Soonyoung did a pathetic little shiver seeing the black on Wonwoo's skin.
A fleeting double rainbow stretched above them, one that Wonwoo was so sure that Soonyoung wanted to take a picture of, but his legs took him to the tiny toxic cloud Wonwoo managed to envelop himself in.
"You can't stand the smoke, right?" Wonwoo asked when it wasn't quite a question, some weird tone to his voice like it wasn't his own. He folded himself away from Soonyoung, cigarette kept close to the side of his hip, like the rasp of tobacco on his tongue didn't exist. "Get away from me. I'll stop when Minghao texts back."
"Not to be that friend, but it's not good for you." And Wonwoo knew it wasn't, but quitting didn't present as an option in his head. Soonyoung was hovering so close, though; Wonwoo wanted to laugh at how his nose scrunched up all ugly from the fumes.
"Horrible friend, you are," Wonwoo chuckled, stubbing out the cigarette with the heel of his shoe. "Guilting me for my vices." Soonyoung shot him a grin, the one Wonwoo particularly liked because it showed him teeth, two gleaming rows of white he once knew to be crooked but even then, it was beatific. Under the double rainbow were things that Wonwoo considered to be far more important, far prettier and worthy of taking up space in his camera roll, like how Soonyoung ran his fingers through hair, pushing back his fringe to show a sweaty forehead.
"You really stopped, though."
20.
Japan in February was a hellishly cold place, and Soonyoung thought himself too great for anything beyond one denim jacket over a sweater. Wonwoo's snort got muffled by the thick bundle of his scarf, but Soonyoung was close enough to hear.
"Absolutely fuck off, Jeon," Soonyoung snapped, or at least meant to, because it ended up choppy from his teeth's chattering. The pink rain of cherry blossoms blended seamlessly with Soonyoung's rosy cheeks, the reddened tip of his nose.
When looking at Soonyoung, Wonwoo believed he could be an artist of sorts. He could wax poetic about how Soonyoung's shoulders slumped funny sometimes, how he felt sad sometimes that he couldn't remember what Soonyoung's smile looked like before braces. He could remember with vivid clarity the exact shade of pink that often marred Soonyoung's cheeks, but like most things, he'd blank out if you told him to pick out the color from a chart, if you told him to mix red and white until he gets the hue right.
"C'mere," Wonwoo said, holding his arms out with zeal. "I'm a toasty child, unlike you. And I'm the bestest friend ever, so I'll share the warmth."
Soonyoung's lips quivered; his arms were frail in the way they tried to stretch farther, fingers seeking out Wonwoo's to pull them into his slightly pudgier palms. Flesh. His skin was dry, Wonwoo noted, but Soonyoung had his lashes covering his eyes, making it look like he had them closed. What was he looking at? His lips stopped quivering to part instead, a dumbly blissed out expression on his face as he folded his fingers against and into the flesh of his palms. Small hands, little hands, tiny hands. Wonwoo wanted to pry them open. He settled for the feeling of Soonyoung's knuckles jabbing his palms as he covered Soonyoung's fists.
"Sweaty hands in this winter?" Soonyoung whined. Wonwoo let Soonyoung's voice grip around the exterior of his still-beating heart, clutching and clawing, like talons.
"Mm," he hummed, because saying anything would make him cry, and Wonwoo wondered if one too many petals made their way into his throat, choking him with the certainty of an imminent death.
"Damn, you really have nice hands."
Wonwoo knew he did, but Soonyoung's were nicer, and they were in his large hands. There was no reason to feel miserable, but the petals broke under their boots and Wonwoo couldn't swallow his own spit. He wanted to say, thank you your hands are nice too but he couldn't, so he opted for a hum; but even then, he fucked it up, squeaking badly somewhere along the road because his throat hurt so much, like someone had two strong thumbs pressing into the front of his neck.
It wasn't until later in the evening that Soonyoung called him out for being too quiet on their first trip together as best friends. Wonwoo apologized, drowning the odd melancholy in pints of sake until all that's left was the nauseating weight of his arms in the early hours of dawn, fingers dripping alcohol as he retched into the toilet bowl.
Happiness was Soonyoung staying in with him, going out only to buy him medicine.
love is hell
26.
"Do you think people can count down proposals?" Joohyun mused, plundering Wonwoo's immaculate closet for his old hoodies. "Like, can they feel when someone would propose to them?"
"If they know each other well enough, maybe," Wonwoo drawled, sparing Joohyun a glance from his novel. "Won't couples ask each other that though?"
"That ruins the surprise," Joohyun laughed. In her bony hands were two hoodies, one green and one red. She tossed the red one to Wonwoo before pushing her arms through the overly large sleeves. Wonwoo couldn't see her fingers anymore, the hoodie coming all the way down her thighs. Veiny feet tiptoed across the room to his bed, wisps of hair tickling him when he laid his cheek on the crown of Joohyun's head.
"New shampoo?"
"Mm," she hummed, turning over the page of Wonwoo's novel. "I missed this one. Last time I used it, I was in high school. Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we knew each other then?"
Wonwoo snorted at that, reminiscing days of being entitled to his self-proclaimed status as Kwon Soonyoung's Best Friend. Seokmin didn't say anything about it, but Minghao wasn't a happy camper. "I wasn't a good person in high school," he chuckled, turning over to yet another new page, but he'd lost his focus a couple minutes ago, the words blurring into something almost postmodern before his eyes.
As Joohyun huddled closer to his side, Wonwoo felt the paper house he had built crumble, sweat collecting on his palms and he needed to go wash his hands, dry them before he ends up curling the pages of his novel. What was he reading, again?
"Is it too soon to ask for marriage?" Joohyun whispered, the vibration of her voice carried through to knock at Wonwoo's skull, a dusty thing that just woke up as his eyes flit up to peek at the painting she graduated her master's with, impeccably framed between her vanity and the closet. It was a girl in the painting; outlandish dress to pair with a steely gaze which could only be accusing, staring straight through Wonwoo and his guilt caught up to strangle him in a chokehold. "Wonwoo?"
He closed his book without marking the page. "I'm sorry."
22.
Wonwoo went through the people with a practiced motion, something subconscious when Soonyoung started smelling different at random time intervals; floral one month, icy cologne the next three, oddly aloe for two weeks. The faint pink dotting his neck mocked Wonwoo, ugly sneering as some of them faded back to skin while one or two remained as a muddy brown.
Wonwoo personally imagined marriage with the person across him while waiting for his train. Separated by the tracks, he saw just enough to make out a face, but too little to see their faults. He'd fantasize of a simple silver band, of holding some woman's soft waist to bed or a sturdy back with lines etched on tanned skin. It'd be a few stops down the trip before he started feeling nauseous with a side of heartburn that led to his stomach seizing up and then dropping, a stupid tremble to his knees because it was all wrong, there was no marriage or proposal or ring for him, no one for him to hold in bed, not even Soonyoung because Soonyoung would never—
—never what exactly, Wonwoo didn't know. By this point in time, the train would reach his stop, and Wonwoo would spend the walk home in a frightening limbo teetering between passing out on the streets and risk crying in public.
"Yuna brought a couple girlfriends down," Soonyoung called one evening, "why don't you come with? First round of drinks on me."
"Okay," Wonwoo answered, and with every occasion of his with Soonyoung, he'd dress up. He'd dress up and realize somewhere in the middle of lacing up his shoes that they were never his; the people all the way across the opposite platform were Soonyoung's, how he liked short girls barely the height of his shoulder, liked men who looked older, a few lines on the face.
Yuna was a beautiful girl, just an inch or so taller than Soonyoung's shoulders that slumped funny, and she smelled like roses, cheeks a powdered pink with glossy lips that looked kissable when she delicately tucks a few strands of soft hair behind her ear. Wonwoo let the thought die as his headache threatened to knock his frail self back to bed; no sadness, however. He'd grown desensitized to the ghost that was his own melancholy after living with the tinge of blue for the past two years or so.
Wonwoo waited for the train; three more minutes. Directly opposite of where he stood on the first platform was a man, seemingly in his late twenties or maybe early thirties, hair tastefully brushed back without excess gel making it look waxy. Wonwoo imagined being in the ceremony, Soonyoung with the man, the exchange of rings and how they'd look expectantly at Wonwoo while he delivered his speech as Soonyoung's best man.
"Speak now, or forever hold your peace," the priest would say, probably. Wonwoo knew Soonyoung liked wedding vows because they sounded extravagantly funny. Wonwoo knew Soonyoung entertained the thought of traditional wedding ceremonies, the fairytale-like ones in tiny chapels, all white with flowers scattered about, with the strict formalities and obligatory tears.
The train arrived, a deafening siren wailing into his ears as the ground beneath him shook. Stepping into the train's bright warmth, Wonwoo thought the phrase funny too, because how lovely would it be to find peace in saying nothing at all.
30.
You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of:
Bae Joohyun & Kang Seulgi
hell is love
20.
The vodka on his skin was sticky but cold, and Wonwoo briefly fantasized how at this point, he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between rubbing alcohol and the Stolichnaya Seungcheol so kindly bought for Seungkwan's party. If only he were as bold in courting, Wonwoo thought. Thing is, he'd take the rubbing alcohol and risk dying or at least go completely blind before he could ever buy Soonyoung quality liquor.
Speaking of which, it was Soonyoung who told him about alcohol turning you blind, right?
"Wonwoo," Soonyoung slurred, voice muffled like he was underwater. "How many fingers am I holdin' up?"
"Zero," Wonwoo sniffed.
Soonyoung giggled dumbly, off-register and it wasn't his usual tinkling giggle that eventually sounded a little too fake in the end. It was almost rumbly, and Wonwoo took another swig of his vodka before his excuse of a brain could conjure another third-rate poem regarding the existence of Kwon Soonyoung overlapping with his in a manner that was painfully half-hearted on his part.
"You have been crying 'the orbits do not align!' for the past five hours," Soonyoung drawled, pushing the mouth of his bottle to Wonwoo's lips to shush him. The glass hurt, knocking Wonwoo's lips against his teeth and he tasted copper on his tongue.
"Five minutes," he retorted, voice warbling and Wonwoo realized too late that he was indeed crying.
A beat passed in between them. Soonyoung removed the bottle from Wonwoo's lips, a string of saliva stretched until it broke and the heavier end was a faint orange drop from Wonwoo's blood.
"Do you like me?" Soonyoung asked without looking at Wonwoo, keeping his tone light and bubbly like the cheap champagne Seungkwan offered Seungcheol in exchange for the Stolichnaya. Soonyoung's thumb rubbed circles around the mouth of the bottle, the pad shiny from spit that was probably Wonwoo's, probably his, or theirs. Probably. Soonyoung had been jumping from clique to clique the entire evening.
"Define which 'like' do you mean, exactly," Wonwoo muttered, tongue lapping at the tiny cut on his lip that had stopped bleeding by then.
"Like as in... would you kiss me if given the chance sorta 'like'." Wonwoo would.
"I like you as a friend," Wonwoo lied. There was a faint line cutting his field of vision horizontally, and he had categorized the couches to be beneath sea level which was what the faint line should mean, because that would in turn mean he was beneath sea level, but Wonwoo knew the line was from his lashes and wow, those edibles were frighteningly potent.
"Oh, good," Soonyoung sighed, like the breath he just exhaled didn't stab somewhere non-vital in Wonwoo's torso. Non-vital because it really hurt but not enough that Wonwoo could blissfully pass out. "Heard from Jeonghan, y'know, that you love me or somethin'." I do love you, or something. "And I told him, 'Wonwoo is my good dude, my lad,' and he told me to put a ring on it before, like, Binnie does—it was fuckin' funny, I'm tellin' you!" Oh, so it's funny to you? "Because I told him that it wouldn't work because you're such a good friend of mine and this isn't some stupid romcom we live in, right?" Right. "Like it just wouldn't work, and what a waste of this it would be."
A waste. Wonwoo couldn't argue with that. Soonyoung presented a compelling case despite being drunk out of his mind, and Wonwoo thought he should congratulate himself for not screaming out of agony by downing the last couple of shots of vodka he had left in his bottle. That was to say, he failed, spectacularly so, and proceeded to smash the bottle to some desolate corner across the room.
"What the fuck, Wonwoo," Soonyoung hollered, eyes alight with excitement but Wonwoo saw the glimpse of fear in them. An angry Seungkwan was a force to be reckoned with because ultimately, there would be an angry Seungcheol too, but at this point in time, there was little to fear other than Wonwoo's overwhelming desire to know whether Soonyoung had enough guilt in him to lie down in the mess of vodka-drenched glass shards when he found out from motherfucking Jeonghan that hey, hey I think Wonwoo likes you?
"I'm not afraid of no fucking Choi Seungcheol," Wonwoo slurred, and tugged at Soonyoung's sleeve. "C'mon, edibles are in the next room."
"God," Soonyoung laughed breathlessly, sticky hands carding through hair, pushing his fringe back. "I fuckin' love you, man."
Wonwoo wheezed, something between a sob and a laugh, "Fuck off. Love you too."
26.
"Funny how we broke up at the same time, huh?"
Soonyoung was slumped against the wall, hands pressed together until his palms turned white, the lines of his nails invisible. He didn't say anything about Wonwoo smoking just a foot away from him.
"Exaggeration," Wonwoo said, "I broke up two weeks prior."
"Shut up," Soonyoung sobbed, palms reddening again when he separated them from each other, the red reaching his face which was a similar color under the yellow lamp of the apartment building's lobby. His mouth was distorted and ugly between his wrists, and Wonwoo knew that six years ago, he wouldn't be able to resist the temptation of kissing that very ugly away from Soonyoung's teary face, snot and all. But this was six years later, and Wonwoo felt nothing but the dull thud of his heart sinking somewhere in his stomach. "Changkyun still deals, right?"
"Last I saw, yeah. I can give him a call, if you want."
"Thanks," Soonyoung sniffled, pinching his nose only to suck in a lungful of the frigid air after. He stared long and hard at the ashes falling off Wonwoo's cigarette, the orange-red that glowed full force after it shed the grey away. "I thought you stopped."
Wonwoo blew smoke away from Soonyoung, gently, in a steady stream of milky white cast against the yellow light. "You thought wrong."
"You should."
"This coming from a guy who just asked for weed?" Wonwoo chuckled. "It's harder than it sounds, y'know?"
Soonyoung frowned, snot running down his philtrum and highlighting his cupid's bow in a comical manner. Wonwoo didn't know what to call the feeling of wanting to wipe it away. There were the tears too, but no tracks. Soonyoung's rubbing with his palms had made the shine of tears run all around his eyes, glimmering in a ring, water on his cheeks like he wasn't crying. Like it was just sweat and they weren't sad, like they weren't going to call Wonwoo's junior from college for the sake of purchasing weed which they promised to swear off post-graduation because Yuna disliked the smell. "It's bad for you. Like, really bad."
"Mmhmm." Wonwoo shrugged before taking another drag of his cigarette; quiet, careful, and always blowing the smoke away from Soonyoung, as if the universe would pay attention to his supposed consideration and bless him in return. Unfortunately, the universe knew of this and so there was no blessing for Wonwoo to speak of.
"Why are you so self-destructive?"
"Well." Wonwoo had a lot of ways to answer that, and in many different formats too. He'd ask Soonyoung if he'd like a playlist for that, or an essay, or maybe Wonwoo's body contorted beyond belief in a small box until all his bones compressed themselves against the flesh and his brain would cease all mental capability so that in the end, he wouldn't have to answer anything. "I'm not sure myself."
"Y'know. You're my bestest friend in the whole wide world? You're my favorite person ever? Yeah. It would be great if you don't... die early."
The seriousness in which Soonyoung uttered those words made Wonwoo throw his head back, skull colliding painfully with the wall but he couldn't care less, peals of laughter gurgling out of his mouth while the flame of his cigarette threatened to burn his fingers.
"Dying is not—" Wonwoo wheezed, "—on my to-do list."
"Then what is?" Soonyoung smiled, the question dry and almost sardonic. Wonwoo dropped the cigarette and stomped the flame out with the heel of his shoe.
"Fuck if I know, Soonyoung. C'mon, Changkyun doesn't live far from here."
18.
"You have the worst jealous streak anyone can have," Minghao commented while chomping away on his sandwich.
Wonwoo flipped him off, eyes weary from the fine print of the novel he was reading. He regrettably forgot his earpieces at home, and that meant no music to drown out Soonyoung and Seokmin's laughter in the distance. He could hear every word, every giggle about how pretty Nayoung is from the neighboring class and how they needed to be each other's wingmen during prom. Soonyoung socked Seokmin's shoulder, playfully, and Seokmin returned it with exaggerated glee, toppling over the desk and guffawing the whole while.
"Look at you!" Minghao screeched, but it was quiet enough that only Wonwoo could hear him. "It's pissing me off! When are you ever gonna admit that you're jealous."
"Never," Wonwoo retorted, "because I'm not."
"You are. Stop lying to yourself." The cucumbers crunched between his braces, and Wonwoo wanted to rip them off Minghao's already perfect teeth before remembering that he's in heavy denial and looking away from his book would just worsen things.
"So what if I am," he succumbed.
"You're pitiful," Minghao said. "It's hard to watch, y'know? You, moping around here, like you have absolutely no friends whatsoever."
"I'm Soonyoung's best friend," Wonwoo proclaimed.
"Then start acting like it," was all Minghao left him with before unceremoniously stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, mayonnaise and ketchup gathered at the corners to accentuate the red of his puffed-out cheeks.
hell is asking to be loved
28.
High school reunions were the bane of his existence, Wonwoo thought. Partially because he honest-to-god couldn't remember some of these faces or names anymore, partially because he was horrendously late and everyone had already been trashed, partially because Soonyoung would be there, and Soonyoung was indeed there, conversing with one Xu Minghao who knew far more than he let on even back then as a sloppy schoolkid who ate nothing but sandwiches for lunch.
Soonyoung caught his glance, and made a beeline towards Wonwoo, which induced nothing but gross sweating from his palms and temporary paralysis in his legs—such was the glance.
Wonwoo's feet couldn't keep up with the knot in his throat or the stones in his stomach, and before he could will them to move, Soonyoung had grabbed hold of his shoulder.
"We need to talk," he had said, with the exact same tone he took whenever he scolded Wonwoo for smoking. Wonwoo let Soonyoung tug at his sleeve, lead him to a desolate corner of the room and the bodies slumped against the sofa reminded Wonwoo too much of some decade ago, give or take a couple of years, a similar room with similar bodies strewn about; the same drinks, the sticky-sharp scent of alcohol that was almost hospital-like except this one cloyed. Soonyoung, himself, a corner. If memory served Wonwoo right, there should be glass shards where they were standing.
"No reunion greeting?" Wonwoo laughed, but it was honestly just a light exhale to go with his stiff smile.
"Minghao told me you liked me, like liked me," Soonyoung whispered. Wonwoo appreciated how he felt like he needed to keep the fact secret when it was that—a fact. Everyone on god's good earth seemed to know except for Soonyoung, and Wonwoo needed to remind himself that he wasn't stuck in a romcom. Romcoms are funny. This wasn't.
"Emphasis on the past tense," Wonwoo countered, "I liked you."
"Are you saying you don't, now?" Soonyoung let go of Wonwoo's shoulder, brushed his hair back the way he usually did when frustrated. "Look, don't even answer that. You're gonna lie anyway. I knew it, you lied to me back then when I asked you."
"You remembered?" Wonwoo asked, genuinely surprised because they were both drunk, and this was nearly a decade ago.
"I remember everything there is to remember about you."
Wonwoo swallowed thickly, an old pain that he had grown used to thudding along his throat in tandem with his heartbeat. It didn't change. It was still the same slow ba-thump ba-thump that was nearly a lullaby. He had years to grow over it, grow over himself, grow over Soonyoung. It would be tragic if Soonyoung were to be the one with a chainsaw to cut Wonwoo down, and he wasn't even trying to be funny in regards to their height difference. How Soonyoung's head would feel tucked into the crook right between Wonwoo's thin neck and bony shoulders. No, the last time he thought of that was at twenty-two. No more.
"You got back together with Yuna?" he started anew, as with the rest of everything that had to do with Soonyoung.
"That's not the point here, Wonwoo," Soonyoung begged.
"I'm really over it. Look, I was twenty, you were the best friend I really liked, it's normal. Everything's alright now. I dated Joohyun for four years, didn't I?"
Who was he fooling.
"The point, Wonwoo, is that you left Joohyun because you couldn't go through with the fucking engagement you were supposed to fucking have."
Wonwoo absolutely wanted nothing more than to grab the empty bottle on the coffee table just a few feet away from him and smash it somewhere; the opposite wall, the front porch, his own head. "Even then, that was two years ago," he offered weakly.
"Do the fucking math, you dolt!" Soonyoung shoved his fingers into Wonwoo's face, all ten of them before folding his right fingers except for the thumb. "Six years! The party was during sophomore year, we were twenty. Then you broke up with Joohyun at twenty-six. Six years. If you held out for that long, what difference does two years make? Nothing!"
"I'm so fucking sorry my little crush is giving you this crisis then," Wonwoo snapped back. He was so close to Soonyoung's face, so close after the fingers get drawn back that he felt it, felt their breaths and how their noses were just an inch apart and twenty-year-old him would piss from the proximity, would not be able to hold back from kissing Soonyoung. But all that was left in twenty-eight-year-old him was the overwhelming desire to deck the man in his perfect face. "I'm so sorry! That my feelings are giving you all this unnecessary misery!"
"I just found out that my best friend has liked me for the past eight years! What do you expect! Yuna and I are engaged, Wonwoo, engaged!"
"What does that have to do with me, Soonyoung?" Wonwoo asked, plainly, tiredly, because he was exhausted. The trains were delayed and he had been seeing blue for eight years. "I've dealt with it. I'll continue dealing. Yuna is great. She's lovely and I'm okay. So if you would just forget about this and let things fall back to the way they are."
Wonwoo still had his coat on, backpack heavy and making his shoulders ache. Soonyoung tugged at his sleeve again, and Wonwoo had no drive in him to swat Soonyoung's hand away or step back. He felt eyes on them, and while bothered, he couldn't do anything about it. They weren't kids anymore, no one would take pictures or record videos to upload on Facebook later. It was alright. They could stare. Let the new fact that was Jeon Wonwoo no longer having feelings for Kwon Soonyoung be seared into their minds, let the feelings remain true only in his stupid, rotten heart. Then they'd have a chance to lie down and rest, for good. It'd take time but Wonwoo knew they would, that one day he could call Soonyoung his best friend without wanting to smash something onto the floor.
The problem was that Soonyoung would never let him do that, and that was why two, six, ten years were nothing for him, because Soonyoung would do things like this: he'd tug on Wonwoo's sleeve, in front of their old high school classmates, in front of the privy eyes, tug on Wonwoo's sleeve and pull him into the most hesitant hug, far from Wonwoo's ideals of Soonyoung tucked into the crook of his neck. He could smell the cologne and hair gel, however, the faint detergent from his sweater. It was everything Wonwoo had ever wanted but it wasn't, and he wanted to pull away before the knot in his throat unraveled itself to release tears.
Leading someone on was the layman term for such a situation. Wonwoo knew it ran deeper than that when Soonyoung started apologizing. He wasn't crying, for which Wonwoo was thankful for because dealing with a crying Soonyoung was a different level of hell, but Soonyoung had the most unreadable look on his face that spoke volumes of regret, and Wonwoo let himself get washed away by scenarios of eighteen-year-old him getting into Soonyoung and Seokmin's little circle, of twenty-year-old him confessing in the party, of twenty-two-year-old him being with Soonyoung in parties while Yuna stayed away from their reek of weed. There were more, but Wonwoo realized that he really wasn't that old, that they had an entire lifetime before them and Wonwoo couldn't believe how low he had stooped to hope that not all marriages last until death.
"My wedding is in three months," Soonyoung whispered.
"I know," Wonwoo told him. He got the invitation. He didn't throw it away or burn it. "I'm your best man."
Soonyoung had his arms around Wonwoo, suffocating. "You're the worst, you know that?"
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to attend. I'm so sorry. Take back your apologies, you fuck."
"I'm still your best friend, am I not? So fuck you too."
28.
The wedding went by like a mediocre action movie. Slight suspense, predictability, no emotions. Wonwoo delivered his speech, and Soonyoung looked so happy with his hand around Yuna's waist, all covered in breathtaking silk as she walked down the aisle. It was truly Soonyoung's dream wedding; the tiny chapel, his nieces as flower girls, the pretentious priest who knew his father. At least Wonwoo was a small part to this grandeur, the obligatory best man with his tear-inducing speech. It was. He spotted at least five handkerchiefs pulled up.
"Speak now," the priest said with fanfare, "or forever hold your peace!"
Wonwoo thought it was okay. It was alright. It would never be peace per se, but he had come to terms with it, and it was perfectly fine with him.
If the average life expectancy worldwide was seventy-one years old for males, what was another forty-three years of blue for Wonwoo?
30.
"Did you know," Soonyoung says, alerting Wonwoo who's eyeing the wedding banquet because it has fried chicken. A rarity for these occasions. "You ruined my once beautiful marriage?"
"Shit, oh," Wonwoo laughs in sheer relief, "it's you."
"Yeah, it's me." Soonyoung has a different angle to his shoulder now, a peculiar slump that is foreign to Wonwoo. "Wow. I'm truly amazing."
"I'm sorry I can't keep up with your words. It's been two years. How've you been?"
To say looking at Soonyoung isn't awkward would be a lie. Wonwoo no longer knows how to feel around Soonyoung after the wedding two years ago. He'd caught wind of the divorce following seven months later, but didn't bother checking up on Soonyoung about that. He didn't think he had the right to. Soonyoung moves on fast anyway.
"Well. Amazing because I didn't think I can talk to you without beating you into a pulp, but I guess I can." There are more lines under Soonyoung's eyes, Wonwoo notes. "Two years make a lot of difference. You're a special case."
Ten years unfortunately didn't make much of a difference for me, but whatever. "Right?"
"Are you not gonna ask why?" Soonyoung asks after a beat. "Dating for four years, break up for one, get back together for another two years before marriage. Doesn't it sound ideal?"
Wonwoo really wants a fried chicken to pick at, but he's thirty, and there are things one should stop doing at thirty. "I guess so."
"You wanna grab a drink after this? I haven't wished Joohyun congratulations yet."
"Isn't it a little mean to do that? To me and to yourself. If your reasons for the divorce are what I think they are." Wonwoo knows this is a highly egotistical way of thinking, but Soonyoung said it himself, that Wonwoo ruined his once beautiful marriage, and for what reason other than their fallout three months prior to his wedding?
"Maybe, but are you not my best friend?"
Soonyoung pushes his hair back, but it looks funny because it's already gelled back to begin with. He realizes this too late, fingers already messing up his once impeccable coif. He chuckles, but the smile he flashes Wonwoo is a small one, unreadable. Wonwoo wonders how much of Soonyoung he has forgotten in the two years they had of not seeing each other.
Wonwoo catches Joohyun cheering with her girlfriends, the white of her teeth as she danced about with Seulgi, red lips kissing a similar pair and their veils make Wonwoo feel intrusive.
"First round is on you," Wonwoo beams back at Soonyoung, genuine for once, teeth on full display and he can feel his cheeks aching in the best way possible.
Soonyoung's small smile grows wider, almost familiar and Wonwoo has missed it. He entertains the fleeting thought of whether Soonyoung has missed his smile, the one currently on his face, if Soonyoung misses him at all.
"I've missed you, Wonwoo," Soonyoung says.
At this current point in time, amidst the various shades of blue Wonwoo sees in the white of the wedding, it's everything he's ever wanted. "Missed you too, Soon-ah."