Chapter Text
• 4:34 am •
When Jeno opens his eyes, the darkness lays thick and dense around him, as if he hasn’t opened them at all. He blinks a few times just to make sure he has. Then he lays there, still and silent, an attempt to merge with the darkness. Gradually, his eyes do adjust and can make out the dim outline of a ceiling fan above his head. Jeno’s bedroom doesn’t have a ceiling fan.
He blinks again and sits up, rolling his shoulders back to achieve the satisfying crack of his joints. He gropes around and finds the back of a couch to his left. To his right is a low coffee table, currently blanketed by the duvet which had fallen off while he had been rolling around in his sleep. He knew he had slept restless, it had been the whole reason why he couldn’t sleep.
Faintly, the sweet chiming noise of a ringtone catches his ears from somewhere behind him. He’s too disoriented to be surprised and bewilderment is the best he can manage as he turns around. There’s movement from the long couch perpendicular to the one Jeno is on. A groan, more shuffling, then an arm thrusting out and fumbling for the phone on the coffee table. Jeno watches the arm struggle to flip the phone over and switch it on, eventually successful in snoozing the alarm. The arm retracts back into the mass of blanket and goes still once more.
A little envious, Jeno is tempted to retreat back to sleep too but the rational part of him (only just switching on now) tells him to stand up. He does. He tiptoes over the fallen duvet, making his way to the other couch. The blanket mass breaths slowly, expanding and contracting, very much alive. Gently, as if it truly were some foreign entity, he pulls back the blanket to reveal Chenle’s sleeping face, so peaceful and undisturbed.
There’s a sort of innocence present which is typically non-existent in Chenle. It’s the way the stress lines of his forehead, carved deep from frowning in concentration, smoothes out as he sleeps. The best way Jeno can describe it is unbothered. Chenle can come across as sort of whimsical but the gears of his complex mind are anything but. Jeno prefers him this way, without burdens or a care in the world. He hopes Chenle’s having nice dreams but he hates to be the one to disrupt them.
“Chenle,” Jeno says, his voice a little louder than a whisper. He shakes his friend by the shoulders and Chenle hums croakily. “Wake up.”
Chenle’s eyes fly open but his gaze doesn’t focus on Jeno immediately. He squints, met with the same intensity of darkness as when Jeno had awoken, and sits up. As he rubs the corner of his eye with his knuckle, he asks, “what time is it?” His voice is octaves lower than Jeno is used to hearing.
“Four-thirty.”
Four thirty-ish , really. Who knows how many times Chenle had actually snoozed the alarm before Jeno woke up.
Chenle yawns, stretching his arms high above his head. “When do we need to leave?”
“Before five.” Jeno steps over the coffee table and around the chip packets, empty beer cans, and the half jar of salsa still unscrewed. With his wits gathered, he takes on the challenge of searching for his bag.
Chenle attempts to follow his lead, clearly still half asleep. Jeno hears an “ouch” followed by a “fuck” when Chenle presumably stubs his toe against something. The clumsiness in Chenle’s maneuver through the room is hilariously ironic because this is Chenle’s apartment after all. Chenle grumbles about how early it is as he trudges to his room.
It’s mostly a breeze from thereon. Jeno gets changed, finds a goddamn light switch after realising it’s still too dark outside to open the shutters, folds the duvets, clears the trash, and realigns the couches. He feels that he owes Chenle that much for letting him stay the night. It saves him having to drive an extra hour to Seoul Station from Incheon since Chenle lives in the heart of the city. Jeno hadn’t been too keen on waking up at 3 am anyway.
“Snacks?” Chenle asks him from the kitchen as they’re about to leave.
“Check.”
“First-aid kit? Toiletries?”
“Check, check.”
“ID, wallet, phone?”
“All here, think we’re good to go.”
They arrange for a cab to take them to the station. As they wait outside the building, Jeno takes in the orange hue of the scene before them, with lamp-lit streets and a thin coat of white frost over every surface. It strikes him how eerily quiet it is at 5 am. Without the rumbling of a car engine or the distant chatter of people to pierce the empty pocket of silence sewn around his ears, his breathing becomes loud and audible to himself.
Chenle paces back and forth to keep the cold at bay, his hands stuffed deep in the pocket of his puffer jacket. “Do you think everyone’s changed since the last time we saw them?” He asks quietly – unsurely.
Jeno nibbles at the dry skin of his bottom lip. It’s a question he had been asking himself but was too afraid to confront. Trust Chenle to be the braver one out of the two of them. Jeno shakes his head. “People don’t change that much in three years. Maybe physically but they’ll still be the same friends you grew up with.”
Chenle lets out a small laugh, not out of humour but more of contentment. His breath escapes him in clouds. “Park Jisung’s gonna be a whole head taller than us, I bet you.”
“I’ll be disappointed if he isn’t. He was tiny as a kid,” Jeno remarks, smiling at the thought of it. It helps mask the anxiety from wondering what everyone has grown up to become.
• 11 Years Ago •
Jeno is 10 when he first meets him.
A two and a half hour trip later, Jeno is unsteady on his feet as he tries to shake out the numbness and return the life back into his legs. His mother’s soft hand grasps his and she leads him to the entrance of a tall, yellow apartment complex. The elevator is a rusted box that creaks and shakes as it climbs and takes them to the second floor.
Jeno takes in the unfamiliarity of the building with the curiosity one feels on an adventure, where the destination matters less than the journey. Jeno loves adventures with his mother, they made up for all the night shifts and daytime naps she took, when her schedule was a perfect opposite to Jeno’s. They had left his father, who still had work, back at home and taken Jeno’s first train trip to Busan to meet his mother’s best friend.
The door to apartment 21A opens to reveal a middle-aged woman, her eyes kind and her smile warm. Jeno knows instantly this is the type of woman his mother loves. Jeno does the noble (though slightly awkward) thing of standing patiently behind his mother as she hugs her friend and they exchange greetings, taking it in turns to say how long it’s been and how much they missed each other.
“Oh, this is my son, Jeno,” his mother exclaims suddenly, a hand at his back, ushering him inside the apartment. “You remember Jeno, right?”
“Of course I do,” the woman says, looking at him. “You were only a few weeks old back then,” she tells Jeno. “You probably wouldn’t remember me.”
Jeno smiles politely, nodding his head. He stays close to his mother’s side, unsure how far he’s allowed to wander off before it becomes intrusive. He’s never been inside an apartment, all his friends in Seoul lived in big, two-story houses. His slight discomfort must be obvious in his face because the woman redirects her attention to Jeno once more.
“Jeno, would you like to meet my son?” She asks. Jeno looks up at his mother for an answer. “He’s out on the balcony.”
His mother nods at him encouragingly. “He’s a nice boy, you’ll like him.” She guides him in the direction of the glass sliding door, slightly ajar, a section of tape seeming to hide a crack beneath it. “Go on,” she urges when Jeno doesn’t move.
The two women are watching him expectantly and Jeno knows he has no other choice. As reluctant as he is to leave his mother, he lets go of her hand and makes his way to the balcony without looking back. Only then do they go back to talking.
Jeno pushes open the door and steps out into the summer sunshine which beats down on his face more harshly than the sun in Seoul. The balcony isn’t very big, a rectangle of cracked tile the size of a double bed, with a plush egg chair in the corner. On that chair is a boy, surely no older than himself.
“Hey,” the boy says brightly.
Jeno nods back. “Hi.”
“You’re from Seoul, aren’t you?” He says matter-of-factly, kicking his legs up and down. “I’ve always wanted to go to Seoul. It’s where all the idols live. You guys have the Seoul Tower and the Han River too.” The boy speaks with excitement, his words painted by his various hand gestures. It almost looks like some sort of performance.
“What’s your name?” Jeno asks him, shuffling a little closer.
“Na Jaemin. You?”
“Lee Jeno.”
“Do you wanna sit down? We can share?” Jaemin scoots to the left, creating enough room for Jeno to squeeze into. The hanging egg chair sways as Jeno gets in, creating patterned shadows across Jaemin’s face. The cushion beneath them has been flattened with use and worn threadbare in the corners.
“Why do you know so much about Seoul?” Jeno brings up, settling into the cushions. It’s a little too warm in the chair but he finds himself oddly comfortable, shoulder to shoulder with Jaemin.
“My mum used to live there. I think that’s how she met your mum. She’s always telling me about it.”
Jeno shrugs. “It’s not that great. At least you have the beach here.”
“There’s no beach in Seoul?”
Jeno shakes his head dejectedly.
“Well, you have the city. There are heaps more fun things to do in a city.”
Images of identical grey, concrete buildings crammed into the side of a street like matches in a matchbox make Jeno frown in distaste. He doesn’t really see the appeal in Seoul; the city is a lot like looking at a photograph of your face for too long, reaching a point where ‘decent’ becomes ‘ugly’. You begin to notice blemishes, structural asymmetry, the exhaustion beneath the overly colourful surface. Seoul is a place of crowded subways, dirty sidewalks, faces glowing with the blue light of their phones, the tired office worker fighting to keep their eyes open as they make the routine journey to work. There’s no glamour in that.
“I bet you have fun things to do here too,” Jeno says. “People always come to Busan on the holidays, there’s got to be something around here that attracts all the tourists.”
Jaemin snorts. “You tell me, you’re the tourist.”
“And you’re basically the tour guide,” Jeno shoots back. He’s a little smug when Jaemin rolls his eyes at him.
“True, but don’t come complaining to me later that there’s nothing to do. We can’t play any games right now, all my toys are still in the boxes. I haven’t unpacked anything yet.”
“We could go for a swim?”
Jaemin shakes his head. “Don’t tell anyone but I actually don’t like swimming.” He smiles meekly at Jeno, embarrassed. “My mum says I’m picky because we live so close to the beach and I’m taking that for granted. It’s seriously not my fault that I don’t like to swim.”
Jeno raises a brow, curious. “What do you like to do?”
Jaemin thinks for a while. He leans back in the chair so his elbow lays over Jeno’s arm and his hair tickles Jeno’s cheek. “I like visiting my grandparents in Ulsan. I wish I could show you their place. There’s this special spot I always go to – it’s a huge cherry blossom tree in the middle of an empty field. My mum says it’s probably magical or something because it shouldn’t be able to survive out there.”
Jeno finds himself hooked, somewhat anticipating more. He can’t tell if it’s the magical tree that piques his curiosity or the way Jaemin speaks of it – enamoured with a dream. “Should we go visit it?” He asks.
“We’d have to get the bus. It’s kinda far.”
“You can take me there when we’re older then.” He says it as a joke, really, but Jaemin’s eyes light up.
“I’d like that. You have to pinky swear on it, Jeno.”
And just like that, Jeno is tied down by one small promise. The way their pinkies intertwined feels binding – a secret agreement only the two of them know about. “Alright, I promise.”
• 5:53 am •
Nausea is rising steadily in his throat. He swallows.
The scene out the window passes by as nothing more than noiseless colour. The greenery of the landscape merge and mix until they become a vision of browns and blacks; a barren earth, an unattainable horizon. Only the sun, its fingers reaching up and chasing the moon out, remains constant and paradoxically motionless amidst the rush.
Music blasts lowly in his ears and resurface an oddly specific, yet nostalgic memory, one which Jeno associates with nausea.
It’s the memory of Thursday mornings in the second semester of his first year at university, when Jeno would wake up before dawn like it was a race to beat the sun in establishing the daytime. He relives the moments of hauling his body out of bed, so disassociated from it, forcing his heavy feet to carry him to the bus stop down the street. He relives the coldness of the bus – the leather of the sticky chairs, the frosted glass against his cheek as he rests his eyes, the metal poles which bite into his palm when the bus jerks left. He relives the walk to campus, the way he would check his phone for the time – 5:53 on the dot – and how he would scan his surroundings.
The bus stop, adjacent to the old intersection behind the university, would be void of life. The buildings were held together by rotting wood and crumbling whitewash, the rusted traffic lights flickered orange. There was an intense silence of being alone there. It was the loneliness that made Jeno sick, the complete solitude of knowing that you could disappear and no one would notice. The knowledge that the world has forgotten you exists because an insignificant soul such as your own holds no worth to the magnitude of this place.
It was those moments he would crave Jaemin the most. A deep longing for his smile and touch, to hear his breath and feel it against his own. It was enough to remind Jeno his life was valuable, if only to be graced by Jaemin’s.
But Jaemin hadn’t gone to his university. Jaemin didn’t live in this dead city with the other corpses driven by ambition and pride. Jaemin lived in a place of sand and salt and sunshine – but no sea because Jaemin couldn’t stand the ocean. In that place, Jaemin had a choice to disclude the sea. Jeno was envious of his liberty.
Beside him, Chenle is playing Wild Rift (the less superior League game in Jeno’s opinion). Jeno can’t keep up as his eyes blur and the screen becomes too bright. He goes back to the window where the abstract scene has become more structured and defined. Lines mark the lengths of utility poles and electrical wiring, shadows are boxed by windows in houses still asleep, the sun inches a little higher to offer more light.
“We’re here,” he says.
Chenle looks up from his phone. “Already? That was quick.”
The train lets them out onto the concrete of platform 3, marked by various yellow and white lines. Jeno shrugs his bag over one shoulder and Chenle lugs his small suitcase behind him. They follow the crowd of passengers who race up the stairs to the main lobby.
• 10 Years Ago •
The second time Jeno takes the train he is with his mother again. This time they’re not going to Busan but Daegu, a little more north of Busan. On their first trip, Jeno had slept throughout both the train ride there and back. He resolves to stay awake this time, wanting to experience the ride fully and observe what happens inside this vehicle which runs 300 km/h.
When the train guard disappears from their carriage, Jeno swivels around in his seat, getting on his knees so he can peer out the window. The passenger behind him had shut the curtains so Jeno slips his head underneath, face nearly pressed against the dusty glass. He watches as the train pulls into an unfamiliar station, so similar yet completely different to the ones in Seoul. As they reach a complete stop, Jeno comes face to face with Na Jaemin who stands on the other side of the glass, offering a smile so bright Jeno has to duck a little.
“I think I just saw Jaemin?” He tells his mother as she pulls down their bags from the overhead compartments.
“Didn’t I tell you they were meeting us here?”
Jeno shakes his head.
“We’re meeting some old friends from my university days. They all have kids, you’ll like them.”
That seems to be Jeno’s only purpose in accompanying his mother on these trips – to befriend the children of her own friends. He wonders if this is her way of preserving her own friendships by continuing them into the next generation.
“Long time no see,” Jeno says to Jaemin. They fall in step behind their mothers, following them to the lobby.
Jaemin hums, adjusting the straps of his own bag. “You haven’t changed much.”
“Neither have you.”
“Damn, I thought I had grown a noticeable amount,” Jaemin says jokingly, bringing a hand to his head and measuring it against Jeno’s. “Or maybe we’ve both grown the same amount.”
Jeno scoffs. “You really think you could get ahead of me?”
Jeno likes that conversations with Jaemin come easily. He likes their friendship, one which doesn’t need constant interactions to keep it alive. He likes that a year apart may as well have been a mere week apart, it made no difference to them. He likes that when he’s with Jaemin, he feels like a new person, like someone who’s also carefree and fun.
A “summer alter ego” Jaemin had described to Jeno on his last visit. “When we meet up every year, you can be the Lee Jeno you can’t be in Seoul and I can pretend to be the Na Jaemin I wish I was. An alter ego. We wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, we only ever meet in the summer.” At the time, Jeno hadn’t questioned it, even a little excited to indulge in Jaemin’s proposition. He hadn’t stopped to think for a second whether the Jaemin he had become so close with is the true Na Jaemin. He hadn’t wondered why there is a different version Jaemin wishes to be.
In the taxi ride (to God knows where their mother’s are taking them), Jeno listens to Jaemin complain about the leaky taps of his apartment, and the neighbour’s footsteps above the ceiling he hears at night. He complains about the hot water which runs out if he doesn’t shower before they wash the dishes, and the crappy signal which always leads to Jaemin standing in awkward angles with the TV antennae just to get some sort of cohesive channel. Jaemin has a funny way of telling stories, like a true narrator of a film – a little exaggerated and overly emotive but highly entertaining.
“You’ve never met the others before, have you?” Jaemin asks him as the taxi pulls into a residential area and the multi-laned roads become two-way streets and cul-de-sacs. Jeno knows they’re close to their destination.
“Have you?”
“Last year, my mother and I visited Jisung and Mark because they live closer to us than you do. I’ve never met with all of them at once though.”
Jeno’s a little anxious after that. He hopes for his mother’s sake that he gets along well with the other kids. He’d hate for Jaemin to find him a burden for clinging on to him.
The taxi pulls up at a large, two-story house. The cream paint is chipped in patches and there are panels missing in the wooden fence but the place presents itself with an air of warmth. It’s rundown in the way a home should be – loved and well-lived in. Jaemin can’t take his eyes off the trampoline in the front yard as if it’s the first time he’s come across one. “Imagine living in a two-story house,” Jaemin whispers to him. Jeno can only nod and look away guiltily. He lives in a two-story house.
When he rings the bell, it’s a young boy who opens the door and greets them. His wavy hair is pulled back under a baseball cap from which his wide eyes peek under.
“Hello, Mark. Gosh, you were only a child the last time I saw you,” his mother gushes. “Where’s your mum?”
“She’s in the kitchen, do you want me to show you?”
Jaemin’s mother waves him off. “You can take care of these two boys instead. I will leave them in your care.”
Their mothers walk off, leaving Jaemin and Jeno with the boy called Mark.
“Hey Jaem,” Mark says.
Jaemin grins. “It’s been a while. This is Jeno.”
Jeno takes it as his cue to smile too. “Is this your house?” He asks.
Mark nods. “I can show you guys around. You should come meet the others first though, they’re upstairs.”
Albeit the slight awkwardness, Jeno decides he likes Mark. There’s a boyishness to him, both innocent and playful, laid back but never sarcastic.
They follow Mark down the hallway and up a flight of wooden stairs. Every wall they pass is decorated in picture frames and photographs. One wall has a collection of world flags and another with shelves of various snowglobes. Mark briefly points out a few and tells them of the countries they visited to collect them. One particular snowglobe holds the miniature city of Toronto, Mark’s birthplace. Knowing Jaemin, he’s bound to test his English skills on Mark later. Jeno finds it hard to process that someone as young as Mark has already explored half the globe. He himself has barely left Seoul, let alone the country.
To Jeno and Jaemin’s surprise, Mark walks right past the door labelled ‘Mark’s Room’ in blue crayon and stops at the other end of the hallway: a dead end.
“Guys!” Mark yells, face turned towards the ceiling. Jaemin shares a look of confusion with Jeno. “Let us up.”
There’s the unmistakable sound of shuffling footsteps from above them and Jaemin makes a face, traumatised by his own experience with footsteps in the ceiling. Suddenly, a square hatch is pulled open and a wooden ladder unfolds and drops down from the roof. When Mark grins at them, Jeno knows he’s failed to conceal his amazement.
“The attic,” Mark says simply before climbing up the ladder. The two boys follow him wordlessly, coughing from the dust which had fallen with the ladder. It’s something right out of a spy film; a secret attic, a room without adults, a seamless entryway.
He offers Jaemin a hand as he hauls himself up the last rung.
“This is Jeno and Jaemin,” Mark says, closing the hatch behind them, the hinges squeaking painfully.
Jeno squints through the dim light coming from the small square window in the back wall. There are four other boys in the room, he realises.
He later comes to know the quiet, gentle one as Renjun; the enigmatic yet mischievous Donghyuck; Chenle with the brightly pitched laugh; and Jisung, the youngest and Jaemin’s acclaimed ‘son’ since they both lived in Busan.
Jeno stretches out on a bean bag, watching Jisung, Chenle and Donghyuck play a round of Rainbow Road. Despite sitting down on a train for two hours, Jeno properly feels the ache in his muscles as he lies down. He’s both physically exhausted and mentally drained. The sliver of sunlight through the shutters encloses him into a warm, tempting slumber.
“What school do you go to?” Chenle asks him above the shrill Mario Kart music. “I live in Seoul too.”
“Hyunsan,” Jeno says. “Incheon.”
Chenle hums. “I guess we don’t live that close then.”
The rest of the boys live in separate cities – Renjun from Daejeon, Donghyuck from Gwangju, Jaemin and Jisung from Busan, and of course Mark here in Daegu. It’s almost as if his mother’s friends chose to live as far apart from each other as they could. Never in his life had he been surrounded by so many different dialects and accents. Suddenly, the way his consonants are so much sharper than Jaemin’s, and the curve of his vowels less so than Mark’s, made all the difference.
Renjun settles at his side, a drawing pad in his lap and a vibrant green pencil at hand. He observes quietly as Renjun starts to draw, his linework sketchy and light but the outline of Yoshi (Donghyuck’s avatar) becomes distinctly clear.
“I’ve had a weird feeling that none of this is real,” Renjun says, not looking up from his drawing. His voice is so soft, Jeno almost doesn’t reply, unsure if Renjun had been talking to him (or talking at all).
“What do you mean?” Jeno asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve been staying at Mark’s place since Tuesday and the past few days seem like some sort of fever dream to me,” Renjun replies, placing down the green pencil and exchanging it for a blunt orange. “It’s not every day you get dragged halfway across the country and meet a group of people you feel like you’ve known forever, even though we’ve literally all just met. Seems too good to be true.”
“Summer vacations are always like that,” Jeno says simply. “Things happen. Unordinary things that the normal Renjun would never experience.” He looks up and his eyes find Jaemin instinctively as he says it. Jaemin’s next to Mark, watching over his shoulder at the tiny GameBoy screen in Mark’s hands. He understands now what Jaemin means.
Renjun laughs. “So what, I go back to being ‘normal Renjun’ when I wake up from this dream?” He asks rhetorically. “I guess I wouldn’t mind that.”
They pin up Renjun’s Yoshi drawing alongside the one of Raichu he had done yesterday. It decorates the spider-webbed walls.
Later, because Chenle had complained about the thickness of the hot air accumulating in the attic, they go to the garage and grab whatever bikes and scooters are available. He ends up racing Donghyuck to the bodega a few streets away. Though sticky with sweat and face flushed, he feels like he’s on top of the world when he beats him. Donghyuck whines about it and reasons that his back wheel is flat. The other boys arrive a few minutes later, not under any competitive pressure. Mark buys them those cheap lemonade ice blocks and a packet of Pokemon cards from the counter and they wheel their bikes and scooters to the nearest park. Jeno’s ice block is already melting when he peels off the wrapper and he has to lick the juice off his palm.
“A Pikachu. Get a Pikachu!” Jisung prays and watches Mark like a hawk as he flicks through the new packet of cards.
“Pikachu isn’t even that good! You want a Charizard or a Shiny Mew!” Chenle argues, so caught up with the cards that his ice block is melting down his arm, dripping off his elbow.
Jisung cheers when Mark does end up getting the standard Pickachu, along with a few Energy cards and a Charmander (“close enough,” Chenle grumbles).
Somehow, Jeno and Jaemin fit into one swing, swinging at a tilt. Jaemin confesses he only ever watched the show and doesn’t actually know how to play with Pokemon cards.
“No one knows,” Jeno reassures him. “We all just pretend we do but all anyone really wants is to collect and trade them.”
“Thank God, at least I’m normal.”
The way Jaemin grins makes Jeno happy. If this is all a fever dream, like Renjun had said, Jeno hopes he doesn’t wake up anytime soon. He likes the odd bunch of kids he’s become a part of. Though they live in opposite corners of the country at least they have these memories to share.
Summer never lasts as long as the other seasons.
• 6:52 am •
Jeno downs the last of his coffee, face scrunching at the bitterness of the watery black drink. He trashes the cup.
“Did you text them already?” Chenle asks, glancing at his watch.
“They haven’t replied yet.” Jeno breathes into his cupped hands and rubs them together, trying to get some warmth back into them. The temperature seems to have dropped since they left Seoul. Chenle hops from one foot to the other, either because he’s cold or just impatient.
“I mean, doesn’t Renjun literally live ten minutes away?” He complains.
The train platform is a lot more crowded now, with men and women heading off to work and young children in uniform going to school. Jeno remembers his own days as a student and pities the kids for having to get up so early.
“Always the ungrateful little brat, aren’t you?” A familiar voice catches his ear.
Jeno turns around to find Renjun standing there, a thermos in his hand and his suitcase in the other. He’s buried under layers of coats and a scarf has been wrapped twice around his neck. He’s blond now and it makes his face seem brighter, slimmer. Maybe he’s lost weight too.
“He just misses you,” Jeno says, breaking into a grin.
Chenle looks at him sourly and says, “as if,” but he easily lets Renjun pull them both in for a hug anyway, unable to hide his smile. There’s relief written across his face and Jeno knows it’s written across his own too.
Firm and sharp, witty but comforting, Renjun hasn’t changed at all.
“Should we go wait in the cafe?” Renjun asks, already heading for the square, brick building by the platform. “I’ll buy you guys breakfast. You haven’t eaten yet, right?”
It’s so much warmer inside, or maybe Jeno’s sensations have just been so numbed to the point that his standards of warmth have lowered. They sit at the high table which runs along the length of the windows. They can watch the trains roll through the station from here. It’s a small cafe, clearly made for busy commuters with barely a minute to spare.
As they wait for their food, Chenle tells Renjun the same university stories he had told Jeno the day before. In his third and last year of his undergraduate Economics degree, Chenle’s mind is occupied with two things: the uncertainty of the future and the loss of his youth. Two topics Jeno is quite familiar with, and he guesses Renjun is too.
“Like, do I suddenly become unfunny and boring once I graduate? Do I have to start being all serious like a true adult? I don’t think I could stand that.”
“Are you calling us unfunny?”
“Yeah but mostly just Jeno.”
Jeno wants to argue that he’s heaps funny but he’s interrupted when someone places a bowl of ramen in front of him.
“Oh, thank you,” he tells the waiter, a little surprised since he had been expecting to just pick up his food from the counter.
“Delivery fee is five bucks.”
Startled, Jeno turns around completely and he’s struck speechless.
“Hyuck, you’re here!” Renjun exclaims.
Indeed, there Donghyuck is, in all his glory. His chestnut locks are skewed and fluffy on his head like he had just woken up. The sweater underneath his jacket is inside out (Jeno points this out but Donghyuck had waved it off, not bothered to fix it. “A fashion statement if you like.”). Despite his minor state of disorganisation, Donghyuck appears to be the most awake and enthusiastic out of the four boys.
“Ah yes, my adoring fans. I’m so sorry for making you all wait, I know you were excited to see me.”
Chenle gags. “ Haechan has fans. You’re just plain Donghyuck with us.”
Donghyuck runs a hand through the tangles in his hair and grins. “You have a point.” He darts in with an attempted kiss on their cheeks and they all play their old game of dodging him until Hyuck traps them in his arms and escape becomes futile.
Jeno groans and wipes his cheek with the back of his hand but he’s not annoyed. Hyuck’s presence has always been the life of a crowd, his smile a virus that infects them all. He had missed it.
“Look at us, getting the old gang back together,” Hyuck says. He had taken a train up to Daejeon from Gwangju, meeting Jeno, Chenle and Renjun in the middle. “How’s life been without me in it?”
“You’re all over the goddamn internet these days, there’s not a day in my life without you!” Renjun complains, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you think I enjoy watching your ‘League Champion tier lists’ or your ‘daily vlogs and coffee runs’?”
Hyuck, or rather Haechan, is a cover artist on YouTube. He has been since the beginning of university and had only gained popularity in the last year. At first, he had done it out of irony and mostly boredom, uploading covers of Jeremy Passion or Mac Ayres songs for his friends to watch (as one typically does when they first start off). He signed with a label mid last year and so, after graduating from marketing, became a full-time YouTuber with a few songs in the making.
Jeno still struggles to connect Haechan – an internet personality with a following base of millions – to Donghyuck, his childish and silly childhood friend. He remembers the first time he caught a friend watching one of Hyuck’s streams during a lecture and he physically had to stop himself from bragging about his friend. Jeno’s proud of him either way. Though it’s an unbelievable achievement to this day, it suits Hyuck. If anyone from their friend group were to gain fame and popularity, it was bound to be him. His personality calls for attention and thrives off it.
“What I’m hearing is that Renjun watches my videos?” Hyuck smirks, raising a brow in teasing disbelief. “I knew you missed me but even this is crazy for you, Jun.”
Renjun reaches around Jeno, aiming a fist for Hyuck’s shoulder and Jeno ducks out of the way. He keeps eating and pretends that Renjun doesn’t have a hand around Hyuck’s throat. He’s learnt to ignore them over the years; Renjun will never kill Hyuck (he’s not that kind) but will inflict pain excruciatingly slowly. They part ways when the woman at the counter calls out Hyuck’s order number.
“Well, you’re not all over the internet. What have you been up to?” Jeno asks Renjun.
“Yeah,” Chenle says, “how’s the 9-5 work life?”
“Couldn’t tell you, I don’t work 9-5. You’ll have to ask Jeno that.” Renjun says he’s joking right after and Jeno scowls at him but he’s defenceless, really. There’s no use arguing against the truth.
“I went into marketing. The team I’m working with is insane, there are people from all different kinds of fields. Like, I had no idea psychologists had a big position in advertising.” When Renjun talks, it’s mesmerising to listen to. Half the time, Jeno has no idea what he’s saying but the sheer love for his job as he speaks demands your attention. Renjun had gone into Viscom, following his passion for drawing, and majored in marketing. An artist who actually makes money , Renjun told them, laughing.
Jeno comes to understand, as he listens to his friends talk about their separately unique and dynamic lives, that there is nothing wrong with reminiscing about the past, so long as you don’t get stuck there. Chenle will always be playful, Renjun will always be intelligible, Hyuck will always be mischievous – they will always be Jeno’s friends and that’s really all that is needed to stay the same.
• 9 Years Ago •
The summer when Jeno is 12 is the hottest one he’s ever experienced. He wakes up groggily as they arrive in Gwangju-Seongjeon. He feels sleep-deprived after tossing and turning the night before the trip, his chances of slumber driven away by the heat. The minute Jeno steps out of the train, he is reminded of those same sweltering temperatures, no longer under the protection of the train’s air conditioning system. His mother fans her face with a magazine and reminds Jeno every five seconds to drink water. Jaemin doesn’t meet them at the station this time. His mother says Jaemin is already at Hyuck’s place; it had been too hot for them to wait at the station.
Donghyuck’s house is on the outskirts of the city, boardering between Gwangju and Naju. Out the window of the bus, Jeno observes how the dense cluster of buildings thin out into suburban strips of houses, and the wide, straight roads branch off into streets. The bus climbs up a steep hillside and at this point, Jeno can see the tops of those tall buildings grow smaller in the distance. Donghyuck’s place is halfway up the slope of the hill and the sun seems to beat down harder the higher up they walk.
“I think the last of my brain cells have melted,” Hyuck tells Jeno when he finally arrives, leading him through the single-story house to his bedroom.
“That’s not a lot of brain cells then,” Jeno jokes back.
Hyuck glares. “Watch it, Lee, or I’ll let you fry outside in the sun.”
Mark and Jaemin are on the bed, watching an episode of Yu-Gi-Oh on an overheated laptop, its fan whirring loudly.
“Yo, did you get taller?” Mark asks him as he walks in. When Mark smiles, Jeno can see the silver wiring of braces on his teeth which hadn’t been there last year.
Jeno shrugs. “I haven't grown that much since the last time you saw me.” He glances at Donghyuck who stands next to him. “Maybe I look tall because I’m standing next to Hyuck.”
Their laughter is drowned out by Donghyuck’s inhuman shrieks. Jeno dodges and finds himself running around the room in circles to avoid getting tackled. Donghyuck threatens to lock Jeno out of the house so he can burn to a crisp. Eventually, they realise that their pettiness isn’t worth the effort and call a truce, joining the others on the bed.
“Hey,” he says to Jaemin, taking a seat next to him.
“Hi,” Jaemin says back, not looking up from the laptop. If Jeno’s skin is sticky with sweat where their arms touch, Jaemin doesn’t seem to care.
“When did you get here?”
“Maybe an hour before you.”
Jaemin’s voice is flat, each word so monotonous that there’s a finality in his tone aching to end the conversation. Jeno finds it so uncharacteristic of Jaemin whose voice is unique in the way stars are – bright and scintillating. He shrugs it off and lets Jaemin continue watching in peace. He doesn’t blame him for not wanting to talk, even speaking feels like an effort in this heat.
The rest of their friends arrive just after lunch, bringing with them more sweaty bodies into Donghyuck’s small and already crowded room.
“Why can’t we turn on the a/c?” Chenle groans, lying flat on the wooden floor, the rug rolled off to one side.
“My mum won’t let us until nighttime to save electricity.”
The laptop had finally overheated to the point of shutting down, leaving the seven boys to melt into puddles on the floor. Jeno figures out why it’s so hot: there’s no wind. A lack of airflow means that the heat remains stagnant around them and the sweat builds up against their foreheads. The humidity makes the air thick and suffocating, Jeno feels like his body has to physically cut through it to move.
“Should we go for a swim then?” Jaemin speaks up suddenly.
Renjun jerks up, eyes going wide. “We can go swimming?”
Jaemin’s hesitant at first but he nods. “My mum said there’s a creek down the hill.” He looks at Donghyuck for confirmation.
“There is but it’s a fifteen-minute walk from here. I didn’t know if you guys were up for that.”
They decide out of majority rule to subject their bodies for a walk through hell just to get to the creek. “It’s called democracy,” Renjun had said when Donghyuck protested. It had shut him up, not because he agreed with Renjun but because he, and the rest of them for that matter, have no idea what democracy is.
“Alright, but I’m warning you, it’s one hell of a walk.”
Their mothers are more than happy to provide them with snacks and sunblock but seem even happier to just “sit this one out”, and “follow them when it’s a bit cooler outside”.
As they all get changed into swimming trunks and rashies, lathering sunblock on each other’s backs, Jaemin takes up the responsibility of carrying the picnic basket and mat. Jeno already knew, even as Jaemin had suggested it, that he wasn’t planning on swimming. In fact, it had surprised Jeno that Jaemin had brought up the creek in the first place. Jaemin could have kept that information to himself and banish any possibility of being made to swim. Yet, it was so typical of Jaemin to put his friends first and offer a way out of their pain.
Their walk begins up the rest of the steep hill. Beneath his cap, Jeno’s forehead already feels damp with sweat and sunscreen. He tugs at his shirt to air it out but of course, there’s still no wind. It’s truly torturous and they’re all huffing not five minutes since they left the house.
Chenle tries to entertain them with fun facts he had learnt in school. “Did you know lobsters and frogs are cooked alive? You place them in a pot of cold water and slowly heat it until they’re boiling and dead.”
But Donghyuck had quickly put an end to it. “That’s probably gonna be us in the creek, slowly cooking under the sun.” They had all gone morbidly quiet again after that, suffering through the heat in silence.
At first, Jeno walks alongside Donghyuck who’s leading them all from the front. They like to challenge each other, finding enjoyment in the way their competitiveness is on par with one another. In his peripheral vision, he catches sight of Jaemin at the back of the group and gradually, subtly, slows down his pace.
“Do you want some help?” He asks Jaemin, nodding towards the basket. The latter is lugging it with his frail arms, face flushed with the effort. However, Jaemin shakes his head.
“Are you sure? We can carry a handle each?”
“I’m fine, Jeno,” Jaemin cuts in abruptly, somewhat frustrated. The annoyance in his voice stings Jeno and he flinches slightly in recoil. Jaemin breaks their eye contact and sighs. “Just go, I’m fine walking on my own.” Really, what Jaemin means is ‘leave me alone’ but his kind heart will never tell Jeno that directly.
Reluctantly, he grants Jaemin’s unsaid wish and walks quicker, catching up to Mark. Something about the iciness in Jaemin’s voice had cooled his head and made him forget the heat for the rest of the walk. He wonders if Jaemin is okay and if there’s something bothering him. Seconds later, when he catches a glimpse of Jisung chatting with Jaemin, Jeno wonders if it’s just him who upset Jaemin.
He lets himself forget about it as they reach the creek. It’s shallow and barely reaches past his waist, the floor soft with mud and large rocks. The water is a different story; it’s clear and refreshing. When Jeno ducks his head beneath it he ironically feels like he can finally breathe again. There’s a sense of clarity the water brings his senses, reborn beneath the coolness of the creek’s surface. If he could, he would let the water fill his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his throat, his chest.
He stands up and the rest of his friends resurface too, exchanging toothy grins and bright eyes with lashes that glint with droplets. No longer hot-headed, Jeno finds himself greeting the playful boys he’s more used to having around.
In the shade of a tree, Jaemin lays out the mat and starts arranging the food. He pops open lids and places containers of watermelon, carrot sticks, a packet of corn chips and a tub of salsa. He’s also made a tower of folded towels, ready to hand to each one of them when they’re finished.
Jeno floats on his back, drifting in a sort of equilibrium between the weight of his body and the buoyancy of the flowing water. He can’t bring a hand to shield his face in fear of disrupting this balance so he closes his eyes instead. Here, the sun rays don’t feel so harsh against his skin.
His ears are half-submerged in the water when Mark calls his name in a muffled voice. He opens an eye but it’s too late, a tower of water envelopes his face. For a second, Jeno’s world is dark and he can’t tell which way is up or down. Then his feet anchor on the ground and he emerges with a roar, eyes predatorily scanning the perimeter for Mark. He latches on to the sight of his friend and dives down deep where he grabs Mark’s ankles and pulls him under.
When he realises after that it was Jisung he had grabbed instead, a domino effect unravels into a full-blown water fight. The tranquillity of the creek is uprooted and the water becomes frothy and violent. They laugh and scream in his ears, tripping over rocks and legs, flinging sharp waves at each other’s faces, bodies crashing into one another. When Jeno starts coughing up water, he knows it’s time to stop.
They haul their heavy bodies up onto the creek bank, water dripping from their hair into their eyes. Jaemin comes around to wrap them all in towelled hugs, maneuvering their tired selves to sit on the mat and eat. The redness along Chenle’s pale cheeks and nose bridge indicate sunburn and Jeno feels his own face for signs of it. The roughness of his skin will come peeling off later, he knows it.
“I brought a ball,” Donghyuck says, pulling out a blowup beach ball from the basket and tossing it to Jeno.
“Wanna play volleyball?” He asks. He’s glad they all agree enthusiastically because it means they can include Jaemin too this time.
Renjun draws a line in the dirt to mark the invisible net and stands to the side as a referee of sorts. He splits them into groups; three against three – Hyuck, Mark, Jisung against Chenle, Jaemin, Jeno.
With this setup, conflict is inevitable. Ultimately, they spend half the time fighting for points instead of actually scoring them. Among them, Hyuck and Chenle argue like they’re on debating teams whilst Jisung gets roped in to dissipate the fight and calm them down. Mark and Renjun only join in to point out how loud they are and how pointless the arguing is. Jaemin smiles through it all, hands on his hips, watching the chaos unfold. When Jaemin looks over at Jeno and laughs at them, Jeno realises he doesn’t mind how little they’re actually playing volleyball. He had finally seen Jaemin happy for the first time since he arrived and it came to him like an unlocked achievement.
The rest of their summer plays out in a manner similar to the first day. It’s their hottest summer but it’s safe to say it has been one of the more memorable ones too. He naively lets the good moments outshine the discomfort between him and Jaemin from earlier. And who is to blame him for only wanting to relive the happiness?
• 7:40 am •
“When’s the train coming?” Renjun asks, peering down the tracks which lay before them but is careful not to lean too far forward. Renjun had always been a safe person, keeping well within his own limits and staying far from the danger zone which Chenle and Hyuck were usually found tightrope-walking along. Of course, Renjun would always make an exception for his friends (no matter how reluctant or stubborn the decision to). If either one of them were to fall from that tightrope and plunge into the danger zone, Renjun would look past the flashing warning signals and dive right in after them.
Jeno looks at his watch. “Five minutes – if it comes on time.” Chenle groans at that and decides to start another round of Clash Royale, coaxing Renjun to play with him.
“So, Jen, how’s life?” Hyuck sidles up to him, eyes bright with curiosity. “What was it you’re studying again? Stats?”
“Data science,” Jeno corrects, licking his chapped lips. “It’s what I was studying.”
“Oh, right. Too bad we couldn’t celebrate our graduations together. It’s always a blast throwing parties with you guys,” he chuckles.
Jeno smiles in agreement. “You remember the summer we threw that surprise birthday party?”
“The failed one?”
“The one and only.”
They share a laugh, the nostalgic kind, the secretive kind when an inside joke is being brought up from the depths of their childhood. Jeno likes the sound of this type of laugh, it’s the sound of memory that serves as an unbreakable bond between them.
“So what’ve you been doing since graduating? Working like Renjun and Mark?”
Jeno shrugs. “Kind of. I’m taking a gap year, if you could call it one at this point?”
“Oh?” Donghyuck’s eyes go wide as something clicks in his head. “You’re planning on going to grad school?”
“Yeah, I deferred my masters in data science and statistical analysis by a year. They don’t need me straight away.”
Hyuck’s eyes widen, impressed. “Always knew you were smart – maybe not Renjun smart or Mark-level genius – but an achiever, you know?”
Jeno likes that. An achiever. It recognises effort over talent, hard work and practice over natural skill. “Thanks, I guess?”
They fall silent and the chatter of other passengers fill in their gaps in conversation. Jeno doesn’t immediately try to speak because he knows Hyuck has more to say. He sees it in the way his jaw tightens and his eyes watch him, scrutinising his every move.
“Why the gap year?” Donghyuck finally brings himself to ask. Jeno had been anticipating the question too.
“To think, recuperate – whatever you wanna call it,” comes his practised reply, the one he had used on Chenle yesterday.
Yet, after three years of not seeing Hyuck, Jeno had already forgotten that Chenle is not Donghyuck. Chenle isn’t nosy, he takes answers for what they are and is satisfied with that, unbothered by the gritty details. Donghyuck is not Chenle at all.
“Recuperate from what?”
This is a question Jeno hadn’t prepared for.
“You know.”
“Not really.”
Now Jeno clenches his jaw shut, closing his eyes for a second to just focus on breathing. He knows the answer Donghyuck wants but Jeno doesn’t think he’s ready to say it.
“It’s alright,” Donghyuck says as if he had read Jeno’s mind. “I’ll try again later.” He loops an arm over Jeno’s shoulder. The nonchalance of the act, albeit small, restores the easiness between them. Jeno has to admire Hyuck for being able to do that.
He wonders if this is how Hyuck gained his fame – not for his jokes and laughs, more than just his angelic voice – his ability to manipulate the tone of a room and maintain the atmosphere under his deliberate control. When you laugh at Hyuck’s jokes, it’s not always because you find them particularly funny, but because it’s your natural instinct to do so in the situation Donghyuck builds around you – a situation which calls for your amusement. Donghyuck may not think himself smart but Jeno isn’t easily deceived. He sees the craftiness in Donghyuck’s work and will always be in awe of it.
“Later,” he agrees.
“Hey, the train is coming!” Chenle cheers, appearing beside Hyuck. “Be quick, okay? I wanna get a good seat,” he hisses at them under his breath as the train pulls to a stop right in front of him.
They verify their tickets one by one with the train guard and enter the second last carriage. The interior of the trains always reminds Jeno of getting into an aeroplane, with its two columns of double seats divided by a skinny aisle. He takes the seat beside Renjun whilst Hyuck and Chenle sit in the seats in front of theirs, wanting to play Battleground together.
He helps load all their bags into the overhead compartment. When he finally takes his seat and the train starts rolling, he realises how exhausted he is. He had forgotten how mentally draining Hyuck could be sometimes. Renjun notices him sigh and smiles.
“Nearly there, just an hour to go,” he reminds Jeno. “Next stop: Busan.”
• 8 Years Ago •
For the first time in three years, Jeno doesn’t need to leave Seoul for the summer. Instead, at the beginning of August, he and his mother drive up to Chenle’s place in Seocho District, Seoul’s second-wealthiest neighbourhood. It’s early August which is unusually late for their get-togethers that happen mid-July, but there’s a good reason for that: Mark and Jaemin’s birthdays. Mark had just turned 14 and Jaemin would be turning 13 in a few days. It was the perfect time to celebrate.
Jisung, Renjun and Donghyuck are already at Chenle’s when Jeno arrives. The four guests take their time exploring every corner and crevice of Chenle’s mansion, though Chenle insists it’s merely a large house. With a theatre room and a refrigerator that offers water, ice and crushed ice, Jeno is certain that ‘mansion’ doesn’t even begin to describe the place. For god's sake, how many people can say that they actually have a front and back yard bigger than a strip of sidewalk?
Their mothers stay in the kitchen to prepare food and leave the boys in charge of decorating the living room. Chenle pulls out an assortment of balloons to be blown up, coloured streamers and banners, confetti and fairy lights.
“We need a game plan,” Renjun says immediately, staring at the heap of decorations with his hands on his hips.
“Aren’t we just gonna stick all this up and hope for the best?” Jeno says, half-joking but also hadn’t thought of going about this in an organised way.
Horrified by Jeno’s suggestion, Renjun starts drawing the outline of the room and assigning decorations to walls and walls to people. Jeno has to admit that Renjun’s vision of the place looks a whole lot better than his own.
Chenle and Hyuck bet on who can blow the most balloons (which Jisung joins in on before becoming too light-headed to continue). Jeno uses the ladder to hang things up, mostly because he’s the only one trusted to climb it and not fall, whilst Jisung hands him pins and tape and streamers. Renjun sticks up the ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ banner (although the H keeps falling off) and arranges the table for the food. The place becomes an explosion of various shades of green, the neo champagne colour, against the stark white walls of the room. It amuses Jeno to know that this is the most coordinated they’ve ever been together.
Hyuck is hanging lights along the windowsill when he lets out a strangled yelp, ducking beneath the window. Instantly, Jeno thinks he’s seen a spider or something and rushes to help. “What?”
“I thought they were coming later?” Hyuck hisses, pointing out the window.
Jeno peers through the glass but he isn’t wearing his glasses and struggles to see what Hyuck is pointing at. “What?” He repeats.
“The taxi.”
Sure enough, a silver car is parked in front of Chenle’s driveway which hadn’t been there that morning. A man is hauling bags out the back of the car to two women. In the backseat, two boys are getting out.
He hears Chenle curse behind him. “Jisung, hold them off for a second. We’re nearly done here.”
Jeno scans the room and winces because the room is really only half-finished. Jisung drops his things and heads out to greet the new arrivals anyway, though no one is sure how he’s gonna buy them time, if any at all.
“They were supposed to get here at five,” Jeno groans. “That’s what my mum said.”
“Well, they’re a whole hour early. Can’t do anything now but hurry the hell up.”
So they do speed up, double time. Jeno feels jittery from the pressure and tries to calm down by telling himself that if he can just get one more wall done, he can stop.
“Chocolate or strawberry?” Renjun asks them, popping his head through the door.
“What?” Chenle asks, confused.
“My mum is asking what flavour to make the icing. Chocolate or strawberry?”
Jeno is about to choose the first flavour because he knows Jaemin’s picky taste but someone else beats him to it.
“Chocolate, obviously. Are you trying to kill me, Renjun-ah?”
Renjun shrieks and they all whip their heads around to the new voice. Jaemin stands in the doorway with his arms crossed, waiting for an answer with raised eyebrows, not at all fazed by the flood of balloons and streamers. From behind Jaemin, Mark whistles and walks in, stepping over the plastic packaging from the decorations. “This is neat,” he says.
Hyucks laughs slowly. “Surprise?”
“You guys aren’t supposed to be here yet. You’ve ruined the surprise,” Chenle huffs. “Where the heck is Park Jisung? What was he doing?”
“Telling us not to go inside the living room because the ‘surprise’ isn’t ready,” Jaemin sighs, kicking aside balloons.
“Yeah, if you’re gonna send someone to distract us, at least send Jeno next time. He can actually give a convincing act,” Mark snickers. Jeno hides his face in his hands, always hating whenever they bring up his CF commercials.
Chenle leaves the room, supposedly to pummel Park Jisung and Renjun returns to the kitchen with direct orders of abolishing any plan to use strawberry flavouring. Jeno jumps down from the ladder, unsure of whether he had to continue decorating.
“Happy late birthday, I guess?” He says nervously, clapping a hand to Mark’s back.
“Thanks, man,” Mark laughs anyway. “Don’t feel too bad, I was still surprised by all this.”
“You would have been even more surprised if you had just waited an hour. Who the hell comes early to their own party, you should be making an entrance!” Hyuck complains.
“The whole point of a surprise party is that I didn’t know there was one to attend in the first place.”
Jeno shuffles out of what feels like the beginning of an argument, over to where Jaemin stands, offering a quiet, “happy birthday, Jaem.” By instinct, he wants to hug Jaemin, but the way Jaemin stiffens at Jeno’s voice and his eyes refuse to meet Jeno’s stop him. It’s a minuscule reaction, barely noticeable, but Jeno notices everything about Jaemin. There’s a sort of hostility in the air around them, whether it’s intended or not, but it only lasts for a split second.
“Thanks, Jeno.” Jaemin’s smile is empty and he turns away, heading for the kitchen.
Jeno’s left speechless and kind of hurt. “Hey, uh– is it just me or is Jaemin acting strange?” Jeno says, turning to Hyuck and Mark who had been bantering over why they had arrived early.
“No? Why?” Hyuck says.
“He was pretty normal on the ride here.”
Jeno bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know, he just seems different, like he doesn’t want to be around me. He won’t even look at me.”
Mark and Hyuck share a look of helpless concern and Jeno knows they’re thinking the same thing: nonsense. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Jen.”
“Yeah, you’re closer to Jaemin than any of us. Maybe he’s just a bit out of it from the trip?”
“Maybe…”
He lets the pain and confusion process in his head but it never quite seems to settle in completely, it just dulls over time and accumulates on top of the memories from last summer. Jaemin had been pretty cold to him last year too, now that he thinks about it. He finds that the most efficient way to let these worries subside is to push them into the furthest part of his mind and pretend they don’t exist. It makes it easier that way to keep smiling and not let these thoughts ruin everyone's fun.
But as the party continues Jeno can’t help but turn his head in the direction of Jaemin’s laugh every time Hyuck tells him a joke, or the way Jaemin cuddles right up to Jisung on the couch, and how Jaemin is completely comfortable with Mark slinging an arm over his shoulder for a picture with the cakes. Not once does Jaemin look or talk to him directly but this goes unnoticed by the rest of their group.
Rather than envious, Jeno just feels a sense of abandonment, like he’s been cut off from Jaemin’s world. Jeno just wants to be seen and acknowledged, reassured he exists to Na Jaemin.
After dinner Hyuck suggests that they play hide and seek, which they all agree to with the ulterior motive of wanting to unlock more hidden areas of the massive house. Jisung whispers to him that there’s probably a network of underground tunnels under the floor somewhere and he’s going to be the first to find them.
Five rounds of scissors, paper, rock, and a lot of yelling later, Jeno is chosen to be the seeker first. With his face pressed against the front door, he starts counting to twenty in a clear voice. The scramble of feet becomes more and more distant until they disappear completely. Jeno hears the hollow footsteps of people going upstairs, the sharper footsteps of someone running across the tiles of the kitchen, the softer footsteps absorbed by the carpet of the living room.
“... eighteen, nineteen, twenty!” He yells. He’s answered by an unfamiliar silence but he knows they can hear him.
Without their voices filling the space around him, the mansion seems a lot more spacious than Jeno had initially thought. As he stands there, still and listening for movement, he wonders vaguely if they’ve all just disappeared into thin air. He starts with the living room, still littered with balloons and the banner now reading ‘APPY BIRTHDAY’. It’s easier to mask your presence in the carpet if you tiptoe.
Jeno is pulling back the curtains when he hears a noise at the entrance of the living room. He snaps his head around but there’s no one there. Cautiously, he walks closer and finds an unopened party popper on the floor next to the door. Jeno knows it wasn’t there when he walked inside, meaning someone had thrown it. He’s about to leave the living room to catch the person who had done it but then freezes. It could have also been thrown by someone inside the room to make him leave. A smile creeps onto Jeno’s face and he walks up to the centre table and peers beneath the tablecloth. Sure enough, Mark is there crouching under it.
“Found you,” Jeno chuckles.
“Dammit,” Mark sighs, crawling out. “I nearly had you there for a second.”
“It was smart, I’ll admit.”
They decide that Mark will check the kitchen and Jeno will go upstairs where he had heard the most footsteps go.
The staircase curls up into a long hallway that extends to the left and right of him. Without giving himself a chance to be indecisive, he goes left and opens the first door he passes. It’s a closet of towels and blankets packed neatly inside. However, the bottom shelf is a mess and when Jeno pulls back the unfolded sheets, he finds Jisung tucked further back than he had anticipated.
“What happened to the underground tunnels?” He asks, giving Jisung a hand out.
“Well they’re not in the closet, I can tell you that.”
Jisung goes right and Jeno continues left. He finds Hyuck inside the wardrobe of one of the spare bedrooms. Jeno has to help him unhook his shirt from where it had gotten caught on something (but not without laughing his ass off first) and Hyuck sulks the walk of shame downstairs. Jisung meets them with Renjun who he had almost missed hiding in the shower of Chenle’s room because the curtain had been drawn.
“Who’s left?” Renjun asks.
“Just Chenle and Jaemin. Mark is looking for them in the kitchen.”
They split up again. Finding Chenle will probably take all the help they can get; Chenle knows the place inside-out after all. Jeno goes out the front door because, although it had been his starting place, Chenle and Jaemin could have moved while he had been upstairs.
The front yard is mostly bare and flat with grass so green it looks fake. Jeno is slipping on his shoes when he catches something shuffling behind the bushes. He only has one shoe on but starts running towards the movement. Whoever it is had definitely noticed him and made a run for it, darting out the bushes and along the left side of the house. Jeno follows the person through the narrow gap between the house and the fence. He feels giddy with a sort of thrill from the chase. There’s a gate at the end, leading to the backyard and before the boy can escape through it, Jeno slams a hand against the gate, stopping the person from pulling it open.
Slowly, Jaemin turns around, hands up in surrender. “Alright, you got me,” he says.
They stand there for a moment, catching their breaths. Jaemin looks as if he’s waiting for Jeno to move or say something; waiting for Jeno to bring down the arm which cages Jaemin against the gate. Jeno does neither and watches the way Jaemin squirms beneath his gaze. It dawns on him that he had just caught Jaemin and for the first time that day, he had Jaemin alone.
“Jen, move,” Jaemin whispers but not in the cold voice he had used earlier. This voice is small and unsure. Jaemin looks at his feet timidly.
“Do you hate me?” The question leaves Jeno’s lips before he hears it himself. He watches as Jaemin looks up again, eyes wide.
“No, of course not,” Jaemin says.
“Then why–” Jeno gulps. Why do you avoid me? He can’t bring himself to ask this one, too scared to find out the real reason. If Jaemin had said he hated Jeno because he did something to offend him, that would have been easier to fix and apologise for. Instead, Jaemin is avoiding Jeno, not because of what he’s done, but who he is. That’s the conclusion he comes to and convinces himself it’s the only other reasonable explanation.
“Are we still friends?” Jeno asks.
Jaemin licks his lips and nods silently.
“You don’t talk to me as much anymore. I guess we’re not as close as we used to be.” At some point, Jeno has to accept that he won't be Jaemin's ‘closest friend’ forever but if that means he can still be in Jaemin’s company, he can learn to live with that.
Jeno smiles sadly and finally brings his arm down, letting Jaemin free. To his surprise, Jaemin doesn’t leave but sits down against the gate, a tired look on his face. He pats the space beside him and Jeno sits down too.
“I’m sorry,” Jaemin starts. “Mark told me that you think I don’t want to be around you.”
“Oh.” Jeno didn’t think they would tell Jaemin. “Is it true?”
Jaemin shakes his head. Their words hang in the air for an uncomfortably long silence. It’s the awkward kind of silence that Jeno would usually break with another question but he doesn’t. He waits for Jaemin to say something.
“Do you think I’m disgusting?” Jaemin asks.
Shocked, Jeno looks at his friend, brows furrowed in concern. “Why would you ask that?”
Jaemin shrugs.
“No one thinks you are, Jaem. I’ve never thought that about you.”
“Really?” Jaemin says. “Even after visiting Mark and Hyuck and Chenle’s houses? Even though you’ve seen how rundown my place is, how gross and crappy my life is compared to everyone else's?”
Jeno sucks in a breath. “Is that what this is about?” He says. “You think I see you as inferior to everyone else?”
Hesitantly, Jaemin nods. “You’re the only one who’s ever visited me and my mum's apartment. You’re the only one who knows what my life is like outside these summer vacations.”
“Jaemin…”
“I just– I thought that if I distanced myself a bit, you wouldn’t feel like you had to put up with me. I thought–” Jaemin cuts off and bites his lip, stopping it from trembling. “I didn’t want to remind you of who I am. I was scared, okay? That when you eventually do remember, you wouldn’t want me around anymore.”
“You know that doesn’t change how I see you, right?” Jeno says but Jaemin doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he can’t look at Jeno at all. “You could be living in a goddamn castle for all I care but it wouldn’t make me like you more. You’re my best friend, Jaem, and I don’t mean your alter ego. I mean you, just you.”
Jeno isn’t sure if what he’s saying is helping but he is sure that it’s the truth. There’s never been a moment Jeno hadn’t wanted to be around Jaemin. By distancing himself, Jaemin only made Jeno miss him more.
“My father left us in a lot of debt when I was 9,” Jaemin says quietly. “At first I didn’t mind… or I just didn’t fully understand the severity of our situation. My mum never showed it either but we were always under a lot of financial stress. I was always re-screwing the bolts on the taps that leaked, and doing my homework under the bathroom lights because the ones in the kitchen kept flickering, and helping carry the groceries up the emergency stairs because no one ever fixed the elevator.”
Jaemin pauses and glances over at Jeno apprehensively. Jaemin holds in a breath like he’s waiting for Jeno to get up and leave – like he’s giving Jeno the chance to walk away now before he hears any more of Jaemin’s real life. Jeno stays silent but takes Jaemin’s hand into his lap which had been yanking out grass restlessly. He isn’t sure why he does it but Jaemin takes it as a sign to keep talking.
“We were happy though, you know, with my dad out of our lives. When things got really bad, when my mum knew we couldn’t get through the week, she called your mother.”
“That’s why we met that day?”
Jaemin nods. “I guess I didn’t realise how poor we were until that summer when we went to Mark’s house. You guys would share stories about school trips and one-up each other on how many Gundam figurines you all owned. You all found it absurd when I hadn’t watched the latest Marvel movie in the cinema or had never played Mario Kart. I didn’t know how much I had been missing out on and I thought you’d find me weird and dumb because I couldn’t relate to any of it. But I liked that I could at least pretend I knew what you were all talking about; that I had a chance to be my happiest self around you guys.”
Jeno thought back to the time when he was 10, visiting Jaemin in Busan. The memory is blurry and selective. He finds the random details the most vivid, like the frayed fabric of the cushion on the egg chair, the crack in the glass of the sliding door, the shadows which danced across Jaemin’s tanned skin. He hadn’t been able to recall much about the state of the small apartment, or the narrow and dusty streets of their neighbourhood, or the small, cleared out storage room Jaemin used as a bedroom. These things just didn’t contribute to how Jeno defined Jaemin and they never will.
“You don’t need to watch every episode of Pokemon, or play an instrument in a massive performance hall, or own every game on the DS for us to like you. You’re far more interesting than that. We’re all friends with you because you’re funny and caring and have the most interesting opinions, Jaem.”
The sun had shifted lower and reached Jeno’s eyes, forcing him to lean closer to Jaemin, who was mostly hidden under the shade of the fence. Jaemin finally looks at Jeno the way he always had. No terror, no annoyance, no harshness. His eyes are soft, smiling, catching rays of light and brightening his face. The tension had eased and restored into the comfortable warmth that always had Jeno gravitating towards Jaemin.
“Let’s go back,” Jeno says, standing up and offering Jaemin a hand that he takes without flinching.
“Don’t tell the others. Not yet. Please?” Jaemin asks as they walk back into the house. Jeno takes off his single shoe.
“Wasn’t planning on it. It’s not for me to tell,” Jeno reassures him.
They find everyone in the theatre room, already settled into the plush recliner chairs and passing around bags of popcorn and Maltesers. Chenle is there too, crouched by the DVD player in the far wall.
“There you guys are. What took you so long? Mark found me, like, ages ago,” Chenle says, flicking through a plastic sleeve folder.
“He was in the wine cellar under the staircase. Who the heck owns a wine cellar!” Mark exclaims.
“Jaemin made me chase him around the garden,” Jeno replies casually, getting into the last empty space on the couch beside Jaemin.
“I guess that means Jaemin won then,” Jisung says.
Jaemin grins. “What do I win?”
“You can choose the first song?” Chenle throws Jaemin a microphone and the TV screen lights up. Chenle had turned on the karaoke machine. The way Jaemin stares at the microphone in his hand, like some foreign object, tells Jeno that Jaemin has never sung karaoke before. He wonders if this will upset Jaemin but the boy smiles, acting as if he goes to karaoke on a regular basis.
As they flick through the songbook together, Jaemin cues a few he recognises from the radio or from hearing his mother sing it. There’s a childish innocence in the way Jaemin gains so much joy from just pressing numbers on the remote and entering in songs. Jeno is reminded that songs are universal and transcendent of class, race, gender and language. The privileged cannot gatekeep songs for they break down boundaries and communicate themes and messages for everyone to enjoy.
They sing songs like ‘Tears’ by So Chan Whee (Renjun went all out on this one) and ‘A Dandelion’s Promise’ by Jay Chou (because Chenle had to flex his bilingual-ness). They had some classic pop songs like ‘Billionaire’ by Travie McCoy and Bruno Mars, and ‘Reflection’ from Mulan. Jeno and Jaemin share the mic for ‘Baby Don't Cry’ by EXO, but in the end, it’s Hyuck who scores 100 by singing Michael Jackson’s ‘Billie Jean’.
• 8:17 am •
One reason Jeno had avoided trains for so long is the loneliness. Jeno had long ago established that there are different types of loneliness. There’s the loneliness you feel when you crave a sense of belonging; this is the loneliness Jeno doesn’t feel. With Renjun right at his side, and Chenle and Hyuck in front, he’s essentially with the people who taught him what it means to belong.
The second type of loneliness, the one Jeno dreads, is the kind that plagues you internally. The kind that gives you too much space, too much time, too much emptiness. The brain's natural response to this is to fill in the empty space with thoughts and memories.
He had fought against it by forcing conversation upon Renjun, or rather forcing Renjun to listen to him talk mindlessly.
He talks to Renjun about his temporary, low-paying job for a small production company in the finance department. He does work from 9 till 5 on weekdays but it’s just the rigorous and meticulous work of data cleansing and wrangling. Most days, when he gets it done early he’s free to leave. He doesn’t do any actual data analysis but he supposes that it’s fair, considering he’s fresh out of his bachelor degree without any real experience.
He tells Renjun about his deferred master’s degree and when Renjun asks him why he did it, Jeno gives him the same answer he gave Hyuck and Chenle.
That’s not to say that it’s a complete lie. In his early twenties, the real world has finally caught up with Jeno and snatched him by the collar, forcing him to confront it. It makes Jeno realise how painfully aimless he is, without ambition or dream. So he’s taking a break to hopefully have some life-changing epiphany that’ll guide him down the path of success. It’s not a lie at all but it’s also not the only reason. Hyuck had known it isn’t and from the way Renjun looks at him with anticipation, he probably knows this too.
Eventually, Renjun starts watching a drama he had downloaded on Netflix and Jeno has to find other things to keep him busy.
He looks across the aisle where an older woman is seated by the window, reading a paperback copy of Han Kang’s ‘The Vegetarian’. She appears so immersed in the novel that the young boy next to her (Jeno guesses 10 or 11 years old) has to call for her three times. When she finally looks up from her book, they talk with hushed voices before the woman pulls out her phone and hands it to the boy. He smiles, turns the phone horizontal, and leaves the woman alone. The woman smiles at him endearingly before returning to the book. Jeno wants to say that they’re mother and son. Maybe they’re going on an adventure somewhere, just the two of them, for the winter holidays.
The man in the row in front of the woman is slouched in his seat, his head falling forward and swaying with the motion of the carriage. He doesn't seem much older than Jeno, wearing a suit that clearly isn’t new or branded. Jeno feels pity for the man whose phone is slipping out of his hands, the screen opened on a text conversation with ‘eomma’. Maybe this man is heading for work. Maybe he’s also 9 till 5, earning the bare minimum wage, telling his mother he’s fine every week she asks. Maybe he’s also a little indecisive and taking a break from studying. The hypotheticals only make Jeno pity him more.
In the seat behind the woman with the son sits a girl Jeno guesses is 18. She stares out the window of the train, her chin perched on the palm of her hand. Her jacket is zipped up her neck and her beanie is slipping off her head. She doesn’t notice this, or she ignores it, continuing to watch the scenery pass. There’s no amusement, no sorrow, no expression on her face indicative of any emotion. The backpack in the seat beside her is no bigger than a school bag but seems packed with items. Jeno wonders if she’s on a trip somewhere, all by herself. Maybe she’s going to Busan to meet her lover. Maybe she’s running away from home, throwing caution to the wind by ignoring all her friends who tell her it's a bad idea. Jeno itches to tell her to turn back, to go home where it’s safe. To tell her to just wait for the summer to go on this trip because winters are vicious and unpredictable. Winters are dangerous.
• 7 Years Ago •
Jeno’s mother had fallen sick in the springtime – her favourite season, she told him, because Jeno’s birthday is in spring. He thought he had been old enough to be told straight what was wrong with her; old enough to get explanations as to why she’s so much thinner, duller, and distant. Instead, all he gets are vague (and really obvious) statements like, “she’s just a bit tired recently,” or, “she’s overworked herself, give her some time to rest and she’ll be back to normal soon.” He hates being treated like he’s fragile, like he’s still that same 5-year-old kid who cried when his mother dropped him off at preschool every morning.
Jeno spends the rest of spring watching petals fall and flowers bloom through the glass of his mother’s bedroom window, dividing them from the life of the outside world. He doesn’t mind too much though. In fact, he finds himself glad (and a little guilty) that he gets to see his mother more. Taking time off work in the office, she’s in bed most days now. On the rare occasion that she is awake, Jeno brings her food and eats with her, sitting at the end of her bed with his back against the wall. When she’s awake, they play chess or scrabble. More times than not, she is asleep, and that’s fine too. When she’s asleep, Jeno does his homework on the floor by the window or reads a book in silence. He feels compelled to keep her company, to prove to her that being at home with him is better than going to work. A small part of him also feels the need to keep an eye on her as if listening to her slow breathing reminds him that she’ll eventually heal and get better. He both waits impatiently and dreads for that day to come.
Late in May, just as spring comes to an end and summer starts to take over, Jeno is ushered out of his mother’s room and a doctor walks in. His mother smiles at him apologetically and waves him out, reassuring him that it’s just a check-up. When they close the door in his face, Jeno puts his ear up against the wood. If they’re planning on keeping him in the dark, he’ll just have to shine his own light on things.
Through the door, voices are muffled but he can differentiate his parents’ voices from the doctor's unfamiliar one. He picks up snatches of conversation about weak immune systems, deficiencies of some sort, inadequate treatment, and risks of developing something worse. Hearing these things makes Jeno wonder if he really is too young to understand; he barely knew half of the things mentioned. As he’s about to walk away and hide in his room, pretending he hadn’t been eavesdropping, his mother speaks up.
“Do you think I’d be healthy enough to leave the house?” She asks hopefully.
There’s an indecisive pause before the doctor answers, “Not for now, no.”
Jeno’s shoulders drop. He knows it means that they won’t be able to go on their usual summer adventure out of Seoul this year.
And so summer vacation rolls around in July. Where Jeno would usually be packing his bag and smuggling in snacks to share with the boys later, Jeno finds himself on his bed doing absolutely nothing. He eyes the seashell on his desk which Jaemin had given him years ago. It only reminds Jeno of how lonely he is and all the fun he’s probably missing out on right now. Winter vacations are usually spent in Incheon with family and his close friends from school. Summer holidays are for his mismatched group.
Up until now, it hadn’t dawned on Jeno how dependent he is on these trips out of Seoul to fill and colour his summers. He hasn’t made any plans or been invited to hang out by his classmates who had grown used to having Jeno out of the city during the summer holidays. The result of this is a sort of hazy loneliness which he wallows in. His days are unoccupied but his head is.
He discovers that he’s capable of just sitting around for hours doing nothing but thinking. He thinks about his mother and how even she can’t conceal her disappointment of being confined indoors. He thinks about high school which he will be starting next semester and all his middle school classmates he’ll be parting ways with. Mostly he reminisces about his days with Mark and Renjun and Hyuck and Chenle and Jisung. He finds himself thinking a lot more about Jaemin and the things he had revealed to Jeno last summer. He isn’t sure why but if Jeno closes his eyes and manages to empty his mind, it’s always Jaemin’s face that comes back to him first.
One day, he wakes up and hears his mother talking to someone in the kitchen. For once, there’s curiosity bubbling inside him. It’s enough to motivate him to get out of bed and tiptoe downstairs and see who’s visiting. Instead, he discovers his mother on the phone. He’s disappointed but doesn’t want her to see him and begins heading back to his room.
“Jeno, is that you?” His mother catches him before he can disappear. Jeno freezes on the stairs.
“What?” He calls back.
His mother goes back to the caller quickly, saying, “Yes, he’s right here. Should I put him on? Okay, I’ll tell him.” This is quickly followed by, “Jeno, come here! There’s someone on the phone for you!”
Jeno knows he can’t dodge this one and reluctantly drags himself back to the kitchen. “Who?” He asks but his mother doesn’t reply and simply hands him the landline. He eyes her suspiciously but she just smiles and goes back to the stove where she had been cooking. She turns the stove fan on and it whirs so loudly that Jeno has to leave the kitchen.
“Hello?” He calls into the receiver, sitting down on the bottom step of the staircase.
“Jeno?”
Jeno’s heart lurches in his chest at the familiar voice. “Jaemin?”
“Jen, where are you?” Jaemin cries, his voice like static in his ear. “It’s been days, we were waiting for you to turn up and you never did.”
It physically pains Jeno to build up a brief answer when all he wants to do is tell Jaemin everything – his mother’s unknown sickness, his loneliness, his longing to be with them all. “My mum isn’t feeling very well so we skipped this one out,” he says quietly, forcing the words out of his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, is she okay? Why are you apologising! Everyone just misses you here.”
Jeno smiles. “Even Hyuck? He’s probably winning all the games now that I’m gone.”
This gets Jaemin to laugh and the mood lightens. “Even Hyuck.”
Jeno glances at the kitchen but it doesn't seem like his mother is expecting the phone back anytime soon. “Where are you guys this time?”
“Renjun’s place in Daejeon. It’s massive, Jeno, I wish you could see it. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house with three floors. Three . But Renjun says the second floor is just a half-floor but I think that’s bullshit.”
Jeno adjusts his position so he can lean against the handrails, head falling against the poles. He lets Jaemin’s voice drift through him, replenishing the emptiness eating him from the inside like a decaying hole. Jaemin’s stories and jokes ignite a strong craving for more – to be able to see the expressions on Jaemin’s face as he tells them and the abstraction of his words through hand motions. He listens to Jaemin tell him about Renjun’s room with a wall covered in drawings, the way that everything feels too expensive for Jaemin to touch, the unnatural cleanliness of every surface in the house and the two cars in the garage (“Not one but two in a single garage!”). Jaemin tells him that they’re just chilling in Renjun’s room, playing video games, singing songs, watching movies – just chilling and that Jeno isn’t missing out on much.
“God, I really wish you were here,” Jaemin finishes quietly in a hollow laugh.
“Next year, I promise.”
“That’s a long time, Jeno.”
“We do this every year.”
“By then it would have been two years since the last time we saw you.”
Jeno isn’t sure how to argue with Jaemin, or why Jaemin is being insistent like this. He can’t say it doesn’t make him slightly glad to know that they’re thinking of him.
“People don’t change that much in two years,” he tells Jaemin.
Jeno thinks a lot about this phone call with Jaemin, days and even years after it happened. It’s the first time he had talked to Jaemin that wasn’t in person.
Something which makes their summer visits so special is the fact that they don’t keep in contact with each other outside of it. They are all essentially strangers to Jeno – the musician Donghyuck is in his school band, the player Chenle is in his basketball team, the kid Jisung is when he isn’t the youngest in a group. None of them knows what Jeno is like outside of these vacations either and there’s a sort of relief that comes with it. He doesn’t have to try hard to be accepted or liked, he doesn’t have to hide his embarrassing moments, he isn't defined by his failures. There’s nothing forcing him to expose them to this part of his life. When Jeno is with his friends he can be the happiest version of himself.
Being at home away from them leaves Jeno confused, stranded, lost in an undefined limbo where he isn’t his happiest self but also he isn’t his worst. He’s just existing, waiting passively for time to run its course.
That one phone call with Jaemin made him realise how much these summers had interwoven into his life, held by a chain that would never unravel unless physically snapped.
• 9:23 am •
The Gyeongbu HSR line finally terminates at Busan. The young man from earlier had gotten off at an earlier station. However, Jeno helps the woman and the boy carry down their suitcases and they smile at him as they get off the train. The girl behind them had basically dashed out onto the platform as soon as the train stopped and Jeno just hopes she’ll be okay by herself.
Something about the Busan station reminds Jeno of being in a school hallway. It’s something in the way he has to crane his neck up and get on his tiptoes to scan over the heads of busy passengers. The crowd is thick like a sort of liquid, flowing and in constant motion. It’s something in the way Jeno feels instant relief when he locks eyes with Mark and Jisung on the other side; the way their friends, broken apart by the crowd, gravitate towards them. As they pull each other into a group hug the crowd splits to accommodate for this reunion. When the joy and nostalgia passes, embarrassment sets in and Jeno has to urge his friends forward towards the exit before they start talking to each other. It’s no secret they all talk too much, and when they do, they get nothing done.
“What the fuck? Why the fuck are you so tall?” Chenle says, reaching a hand to pat Jisung on the head.
Jisung had teared up slightly and his eyes are still red so he turns his face away to hide it. “We’re basically the same height,” he says but he also towers over the rest of them by a clear few centimetres. Jeno already misses the boy who only reached up to his shoulders and had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Shit, it’s been forever, you guys. How was the trip?” Mark throws his arms over Jeno and Renjun’s shoulders. They all seem to settle back into a casualness they had always had between them. Being from Daegu, it had been easier for Mark to take a train straight to Busan and meet up with Jisung first.
“Long,” Hyuck groans. “And so lonely. I had to take the train to Daejeon by myself.”
“That’s what you get for living so far from all of us. You’re an influencer for god's sake, just move to Seoul like the rest of them,” Jeno laughs. Hyuck argues that he’s different and his content doesn’t require him to be in Seoul either. They all know the real reason is to take care of his parents back in Gwangju – Hyuck doesn’t have the heart to leave them.
In this moment, surrounded by the people he hadn’t seen in three years, Jeno feels safe – secure. Relief comes back to him in a way that puts his mind and heart to ease. Somewhere in there is guilt too, the guilt of doubting the strength of this friendship, the guilt of doubting his friends. He had been so choked with the fear that they had changed; that they no longer had that same level of understanding of one another as before; that he would find himself among strangers.
Yet, Jeno hadn’t considered whether change would be a good thing – a necessary thing.
Though Jisung’s hair is a faded shade of purple and he had become a 6ft monster, he had also grown to become more confident and self-aware. His passivity, a trait Jisung used to see as a weakness, had been left in his childhood but he still brought kindness and care with him as an adult. It’s the same way Jisung had grown into his structure and firmness but hadn’t lost the softness in his cheeks and the light in his eyes.
Mark had been the first of them to gain height and muscle, losing the baby fat which gave way to sharper bone structure. Physically, Mark hadn’t aged a day since Jeno had last seen him but there was definitely something different about him. Jeno pondered this for a while, observing his friend and attempting to pinpoint the changes which had been so obvious in Jisung. Later, Jeno understands why it had been so hard – you can’t exactly observe emotional maturity. Mark somehow gained a sense of control, a stability in himself. Only a year older than Jeno, Mark still appeared more experienced and aged in a way one with wisdom does. Jeno admires how sure of himself Mark is and hopes he can be like that too someday.
His friends are the same in the familiar parts and different in the best ways. Change may induce differences but so does growth and development. As something inherently biological, a fundamental aspect to moving on from adolescence, Jeno finds it easier to accept this now after realising that everyone, including himself, has grown up into truly happy people with newfound independence in life. Childhood had brought them together but it’s in adulthood in which they prove their friendship by sticking with one another.
• 6 Years Ago •
A month passes, then a season, then a year, and yet his mother stays bedridden and ill. In the summer Jeno is 15, he braces himself when his mother calls for him one day in June.
“You okay?” He asks, bringing her a glass of water and replacing it for the empty one on her bedside table. He reaches for the empty packet of panadol to dump in the trash on his way out and makes a mental note to give her a new one later.
“I just got off the phone with Jaemin’s mother,” she tells him. Jeno sits tentatively on the edge of the mattress, waiting for her to go on, waiting to hear the words he had been dreading. We can’t go on the trip this year .
“They’ll be arriving next week,” comes his mother’s next words.
Jeno looks up at her, eyes wide. “Who?”
“Jaemin. Everyone. Your friends.”
“How?” Jeno knows it’s Jisung’s turn for his family to host their summer vacation this year and it’s too soon for them to hold it in Seoul again, right?
“I’m not very well, Jeno, I don’t think I can leave the house this year. They offered to come up to Incheon instead.”
Jeno wonders if it’s appropriate to smile at this. He wonders if happiness or remorse should be the prominent emotion he feels. Eventually, he decides to display a mix of both but it’s unnatural the way it arranges on his face so he just looks away.
“That’s great, mum. You’ll get to see your friends too.” He throws the panadol packet in the bin and closes the door softly before she can continue the conversation. He tells himself she needs to rest.
At 15, Jeno likes to believe he isn’t as stupid as he had been last year. He’s a high schooler now, surely he’s reached the age where the adults no longer see him as a naive child. Surely he can stop being told he’s too young, to wait till he’s older, that he simply will not understand.
The thing is, Jeno does understand. When the nurses and physicians visit every few months, Jeno understands what ‘partial paralysis’, ‘chronic inflammation’ and ‘severe joint pain’ is. He had googled it, read it up in books with his limited vocabulary, and even asked his science teacher once about the available treatments “out of curiosity”.
“I don’t think you can cure it, Jeno. It’s just something you live with for the rest of your life,” his teacher had answered with a sad smile. It had haunted Jeno for the following days.
He quickly came to realise that understanding his mother’s situation didn’t help it. He was once again put back in his place as useless to his mother and helpless to himself. The gratification he felt from disproving his label as an ignorant child was short-lived. He may as well have remained ignorant, it hurt less that way to be blind to the true extent of the suffering his mother endured every day.
On the first day of July, Jeno wakes up feeling groggy and still half-asleep. The light peaking through his curtains is dim but he can’t be sure if it’s early morning or late afternoon. As he reaches for his glasses and puts them on, the silhouette of a person on his computer chair comes into focus. The intruder has their back to Jeno, one foot anchored on the ground as the chair swivels left and right, and the other foot pulled up to their chest. As the chair spins a full 180, Jaemin’s face turns towards him, smiling.
“You’re awake,” he says, closing the book in his hand – a manga volume from Jeno’s shelf.
“Jaem,” Jeno breathes, more relieved than surprised. In the dimness of his room, the dying light outside illuminates half of Jaemin’s face in a golden glow. It highlights his delicate cheekbones and the angle of his jaw. It makes his eyes seem bigger and more alive in the orange light.
Instantly, Jeno thinks, was he always this pretty?
“I didn’t know you read One Piece?” Jaemin says, hopping off the chair and returning the book to the empty gap on the shelf.
When Jaemin opens his arms for a hug, Jeno feels like he’s under a spell. He pulls Jaemin to him and holds him close. Everything about Jaemin in that moment – his scent, the softness of his hair, the firmness in his hug – is hypnotic. Jeno closes his eyes, still so tired after sleeping for so long, and stays there in Jaemin’s arms for longer than a hug should be.
“Two years was a long time,” Jaemin murmurs.
They lay side by side on Jeno’s bed, watching the golden shapes in the ceiling fade with the sun.
“When did you arrive?”
“After lunch.”
“And you didn’t wake me up?”
“You looked exhausted.”
Hearing Jaemin say it only confirms it. He’s too tired to move as Jaemin heaves himself off the bed. Jeno rests his eyes but his ears follow the sound of Jaemin’s footsteps circle the perimeter of his room.
“What’s this?” Jaemin asks.
Jeno glances toward the end of his room where Jaemin is back at his bookshelf. “Medals from soccer,” he says. Jaemin makes a sound of delight but Jeno shrugs. All the kids on the soccer team received those fake medals.
“And this?” Jaemin points to a poster on his wall.
“Lost Planet concert last year,” Jeno says. “I went with some friends.”
“What about this?”
Jeno’s eyes shift as Jaemin shuffles further along the wall. “I won that at a carnival.”
“This?”
“A music box. You can open it, my aunt gave it to me when I was young.”
“How about this?”
“My guitar.”
Jaemin demands to hear him play it later.
It’s strangely intimate having Jaemin in his room for the first time, exploring every shelf and turning over every object, curiously picking around items Jeno never thinks twice about. He loves the genuine interest in every question Jaemin asks. It makes Jeno feel like he actually has something valuable to say. The stories of Jeno’s life which had been sitting there, collecting dust, are rediscovered.
At the same time, there’s tension between them, and Jeno fears that telling stories about his belongings will come across as bragging so he keeps it brief. He knows Jaemin has never tried music lessons, or read any manga he owned himself, and certainly has never experienced a concert. Jeno hates that there will always be a class divide between them. He hates that something as simple as material possessions is not a privilege they can agree on like any other one of Jeno’s friends.
“Oh, I know what this is.”
Jeno has to sit up to see what Jaemin has picked up from his desk. It’s a seashell; Jaemin’s shell. “I gave this to you when we were 10, Jeno. When I took you down to the beach.”
“I kept it,” Jeno says quietly. “Was a gift from you.”
Jaemin turns the seashell over in his palm, tracing down the intricate pink lines webbed over its creamy surface. “This is barely a gift,” Jaemin laughs humorlessly, shaking his head. “One day, I’ll get you a proper gift.”
Something stops Jeno from declining, even though it’s the polite thing to do – the truthful thing to do because he’s never thought of it as any less of a gift than the music box. Yet, the look in Jaemin’s eyes is determined. By telling Jaemin no, Jeno is damaging his pride and insinuating that buying a proper gift isn’t within Jaemin’s capability.
“I’ll get you something too,” Jeno says instead and grins. “Because I haven’t given you one yet.” Jeno knows he has said the right thing when Jaemin returns his smile gratefully.
Chenle’s mother comes to pick up Jeno and Jaemin. They decide that it’s best for them to sleepover at Chenle’s which has more room to accommodate 7 boys, and to give his mum some peace and quiet. Jaemin’s mother stays to keep his mum company.
Chenle had rearranged the theatre room by pushing the recliner chairs to the far wall and laying out 7 futons in the centre of the room (though they connect them so it becomes one long futon). They order KFC and have dinner whilst watching Frozen, huddled beneath the blankets where they all fought to sit in the middle.
Renjun likes to point out plot holes and ruin movie scenes by explaining the absurdity behind them, and no amount of popcorn Hyuck throws in his direction can shut him up. Mark seems to ask questions every few seconds and Jaemin, who just wants to watch in peace, eventually gets frustrated and tells him to just keep watching to get answers. And then there’s Chenle who has watched the movie twice already and gives out spoilers like he’s giving out candy.
Halfway through the movie, no one is watching anymore, either talking too loudly over the audio or too distracted by the people talking. When Jisung leans against Jeno’s shoulder and says, “we’re too dysfunctional to watch movies together,” Jeno can’t agree more.
“Wanna go to the Han river?” Chenle asks them suddenly, lying back on the futon boredly.
Jeno glances at the large antique clock above the doorway where it reads 8:28. “At this hour?” He asks.
“It’s not like it’s far,” Chenle shrugs. “And it’s Seoul for god’s sake, the city is probably still busy with people.”
In the end, Jeno’s glad Chenle had suggested it. Nightlife in Seoul is incomparable to anywhere else in South Korea. In previous summers, they had taken night walks around Hyuck and Mark’s houses which lead them through residential areas and neighbourhood playgrounds. Out here in the city, however, the nighttime seems to have taken on a completely new form.
Renjun had told them about light pollution from large cities but being inside one makes Jeno forget the stars. From afar, billboards pixelate the buildings in a glitchy array of colours. They walk down a street on the outskirts of the city but even from there they can see the towering skyscrapers and feel the magnitude of these glass structures. Jeno especially likes stopping by the stalls and markets along the streets, admiring the assortment of handmade pieces and letting the familiar smell of street food drift him along.
Chenle was right, there are people everywhere. A few times, Jeno thought he had walked too far or fallen behind, only to find his friends lost among the crowd too.
“Can we go there?” Jisung asks them, tugging on Chenle’s sleeve. They all look at the arcade Jisung is pointing at.
“We totally should. I want to play,” Mark says, already pushing past people to get to the other side of the street.
The arcade stands at the corner of a building, neighboured by an ice cream store. As they walk in, Jeno finds himself squinting his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness of the place. It seems like the only source of light is coming from the arcade games themselves, flashing neon colours in various patterns.
Chenle buys a bag of tokens and they distribute them evenly among themselves (although Mark warns them not to get into any weird gambling games, glaring conspicuously at the casino machines in the back). Jeno looks at the two tokens in his hand and then up at the rows of arcade machines he could choose from. The lights disorient him and he isn’t sure where to start.
“If I win, buy me an ice cream,” Hyuck challenges Chenle who is seated in one of the Daytona racing arcades.
“Deal.”
Jeno leans against the back of Hyuck’s chair and watches the pair spend just as much time choosing their cars as they do racing them. He can’t help but grip the back of the seat with anticipation as the two drivers continuously crash and fall off the track.
“It’s so hard to steer, seriously!” Chenle complains when he catches Jeno laughing at them.
“Don’t be such a sore loser,” Hyuck says mockingly, just finish the second lap. He seems to swallow those words back when Chenle actually does win in the end.
“Sore loser, who?”
“Still you,” Hyuck laughs. He gets up, looking around for Pacman which definitely had to be around here somewhere. “What arcade doesn’t have Pacman?” He argues.
They all watch as Renjun takes a stab at the claw machine despite complaining earlier how they’re designed to be impossible to win. The stuffed animal slips out of the claw on both attempts and Renjun gives up despairingly.
Jisung versus Chenle at arcade basketball, and then plays again but against Jaemin after he loses.
Mark and Jeno decide to play a round of pool which costs two tokens per player but it’s not like Jeno had been dying to play anything else anyway. He likes pool, it’s a chill game with the right people and a competitive one if you’re good enough. His classmates liked to play sometimes after school and although Jeno thinks he’s pretty good, the precision in Mark’s shots make Jeno’s lack of practice obvious.
“How are you so good?” Jeno asks.
Mark smiles sheepishly. “I play a lot. There’s a pool place near the cinema I work at.” The deftness in Mark’s swing and the stability of his arm is a testament to his skill. Towards the end, when Mark only needs to sink the 8-ball, Jeno can already tell he’s lost.
“Give up man, there’s no way you can beat me now.”
“Shh, let me think,” Jeno says, studying the table. Mark laughs and says he’ll be watching Hyuck play Pacman if he needs him. They both know Jeno is just stalling.
“What are you two playing?” Jaemin asks, resting his chin on Jeno’s shoulder.
“8-ball,” Jeno says. “Have you played before?”
Jaemin shakes his head.
“Do you want to try?”
Jaemin is sceptical at first, worried he’ll ruin the game, but Jeno reassures him that Mark’s basically won already and could end it any time now.
“I don’t know how to use this, though,” Jaemin reasons as Jeno hands him his pool cue.
“I’ll teach you.”
Jeno shows Jaemin how to grip the cue and guides it so it’s positioned between his fingers correctly. When Jaemin asks how to swing, Jeno’s body seems to move on its own and he stands behind Jaemin
“Just like this,” he whispers, holding Jaemin’s hand which grips the cue. He leans down close enough that his chest is pressed up against Jaemin’s back, and lines his aim up with the pool ball. “Don’t bend your wrist. Keep your forearm steady and use your elbow to swing.”
Despite giving instructions, Jeno realises he’s taken over and Jaemin has given in to his lead. When they finally shoot, Jaemin pockets one of the striped balls.
“Holy crap!” Jaemin yelps, jumping up with excitement. “Did you see that? Did I do that?”
Even Jeno is a little shocked, grinning at Jaemin speechlessly. “Well, now I’m tying with Mark. Thank you?”
Jaemin shakes his head at him in mock disbelief. “What would you do without me, Lee Jeno?” He winks and goes to find someone else he can brag to.
Mark complains that Jeno had help and how unfair it is but he still ends up winning. Suddenly, Jeno’s ‘unfairness’ becomes proof of Mark’s pool supremacy. Though he’s lost, Jeno still feels tingly with excitement, like he’s gained something else out of it.
With the tickets they accumulate (which isn’t a lot), Chenle gets a handball from the prizes section so they can play with it later. They stop by a convenience store to grab drinks and snacks before walking down to the Han river. By then, it’s nearly 10:30 and they had promised Chenle’s parents they’d be back by 11.
“Are we allowed to just sit here?” Jisung asks, slowing down as they start climbing over the mesh fencing which runs between the street and the river.
“I come here all the time,” Chenle shrugs but it does little to reassure Jisung. “It’s safe, I promise.”
“As long as no one jumps in the water,” Hyuck says.
“What if I push you in instead?”
“I’ll pull you in with me.”
They sit along the grassy bank of the Han river, heads nestled in the overgrown clovers and sipping their drinks. Here, under the black sky, the stars return to them and the world of artificial lighting becomes a distant place in the past.
Jaemin traces patterns in the sky and names the constellations. From Jeno’s angle, he can’t tell where Jaemin is pointing but pretends he understands anyway.
Jeno’s favourite part of the whole experience is the few seconds when everything goes silent. No one is talking, no cars drift past, the city noise muted in the background. It’s just them, shoulder to shoulder in the grass, the stars sheltering their heads, the river singing them sweet lullabies in the waves. The summer breeze is always cooler and sweeter at night time. This, Jeno realises, is how summer should be; not kilometres away from his friends and holed up in his bedroom like a loner.
“You know, it’s funny,” Mark says into the darkness. Though no one turns to look at him, they’re all listening. “You guys are like my best friends but I don’t even know anything about you all.”
“What does that mean?” Chenle asks.
“I don’t know, like– like, I’ve never met any of your other friends or the people you’ve dated, I don’t know what type of people you hang out with, I don’t know what you guys do outside these summer holidays,” Mark answers quietly, pausing to find the right words they would understand. “But I’d like to know. I wanna know what you guys want to be when you’re older, I want to know all your hopes and dreams, and all your ambitions.”
They all go quiet again, thinking. Mark’s voice echoes in their heads as they repeat his every word, trying to make sense of it. Jeno finds that he agrees with Mark, he had also been wondering about this too. He’d also like to know more about his friends, not just their hobbies and pet peeves, but what they strive for, what makes them sad and angry and thankful. But to his left is Jaemin who had gone very still and statue-like as Mark had talked, and Jeno feels guilty for wanting to expose things Jaemin clearly isn’t ready to share.
“I’ll tell you a secret then. Something I’ll never tell anyone else but you guys.” Renjun says, breaking the silence. He sits up and watches the river but it’s too dark for Jeno to see his face. “I got suspended for two weeks last year.”
“What!” Jisung gasps, frowning. “Why?”
“Did you know,” Renjun continues as if Jisung hasn’t spoken. “That the gas heaters in school are propane-LPG fueled? They’re a pretty old model that was discontinued due to safety hazards, but guess what? They’re installed in every science lab. When one leaks and you ignite a flame near it, it’s pretty easy to start a fire.”
Chenle sits up now, turned towards Renjun. “You set your school on fire?” He asks, incredulous.
Renjun nods. “No one knows, they all think I was suspended for not following the fire drill.”
“Okay, but why?” Jisung tries again.
“I’m not sure. Thinking back, it was really dangerous and I probably could have died or something, but I don’t regret it.” Renjun pulls his knees to his chest and it makes him look smaller against the infinite backdrop of blackness. “I was tired of always being the ‘pure boy’, you know? I was tired of being the smart kid that followed instructions and set good examples for others. It was exhausting. I’m still trying to teach myself that failure doesn’t equate to who I am as a person.”
Rather than the story, it’s the complete casualness of Renjun’s voice that sends goosebumps down Jeno’s spine. Mark had been right, there is so much of Renjun that Jeno doesn't know about and would never have guessed.
“I have a secret,” Hyuck says just before the silence can settle back in. “It sounds silly compared to Renjun’s though.”
“Don’t worry, this isn’t a competition,” Jeno says jokingly. “What happens here stays here between the seven of us, right?”
“Right.” Hyuck nods, the smile evident in his voice. “So, um, I’m actually pretty good at using makeup. I gave myself a makeover once. My mum was out and I was looking for my phone because she confiscated it. I found all her makeup in the drawer and was just curious.” Hyuck stops talking as if waiting for someone to laugh or mock him.
“Dude, makeup is hard. My ex would wear it every day and I just couldn’t understand how they had the time or effort,” Mark laughs.
“It’s just fun, honestly. The worst part is that I used to catfish people whenever I gave myself a makeover.”
There’s a beat of silence, where the world just freezes, and then they’re all cracking up in laughter. They’re all laughing so hard that Renjun falls back to the ground and Jeno can feel tears forming in his eyes.
“What was your success rate?” Jaemin wheezes, slapping Chenle on the shoulder like he usually does when he laughs.
“Let’s just say that Dongsookie could have had a different sugar daddy every month,” Hyuck shrugs and the contagious laughter comes back. They talk about how Hyuck wouldn’t need to go to school anymore if he did it and how tempting the offer was now.
“Your turn.” Hyuck nudges Jeno with his elbow.
“Me?” He asks. “I don’t know… Jisung can go first.”
Jisung thinks for a second, then says, “I have a really dumb fear.”
“Of cockroaches?” Chenle asks.
“That’s not dumb! Those things are terrifying, they live through nuclear explosions,” Jaemin says defensively and Jeno smiles, wondering if he’s just doing it to defend Jisung.
“No, not that. I, uh– I’m scared to grow old,” Jisung finally admits. “It just scares me that everyone’s getting older and my body keeps changing and I can’t really stop it. I can’t stand the thought that one day, my parents are gonna leave me. Eventually, I’ll get old too and watch friends leave and people abandon me. I don’t know, I hate it, why can’t I just accept it like everyone else.”
“Jisung, it’s normal to fear that,” Renjun says softly, holding his hand. “The severe version of this is called Gerascophobia. Essentially, you’re just scared of being left alone or left behind.”
“Sometimes it’s just better to appreciate what’s happening right now,” Mark adds. “Don’t worry about what happens years from now. We’ll all be there to look after you in the future.”
In a way, Jeno can understand where Jisung is coming from. Within their group, Jisung is the youngest, so it makes sense why something like this would bother him. He hopes that years from now when they’re all older and out of school, they’ll still continue this tradition. He hopes they’ll never drift apart and uphold Mark’s promise to take care of Jisung when they’re all aged-up and mature.
Chenle tells them about his secret pet which he claims he adopted. “My parents are against pets. They say they’re messy and dirty and expensive to take care of.” One day, Chenle had discovered a stray cat that had been living in the storage room of his school gymnasium. Every day, Chenle saves his allowance to buy cat food from the convenience store on his way to school. To this day, no one knows about the cat or where all of Chenle’s money goes.
“You know, if someone finds it, they’re gonna take it to a cat shelter,” Jeno reasons. “Someone could adopt it.”
“Maybe one day,” is all Chenle replies with.
Mark’s secret – after a lot of coaxing from the rest of them – is his Tumblr blog of random thoughts and poetry he writes. “Don’t laugh!” Mark had threatened. “But sometimes I’m just lying in bed and I get these thoughts which always sound cooler in my head.”
Later, when Hyuck looks up Mark’s Tumblr handle (which he manages to get after swearing his secrecy on his PlayStation), they scream at each other at the sight of Mark’s 15k followers. “What can I say, I have interesting shower thoughts.” Though Mark is joking, Jeno isn’t surprised why he’s so popular. There’s something so raw and truthful in his writing. It’s witty but introspective, even when Mark is just writing about black socks.
“Alright, you’ve had enough time to think.” Chenle knocks his foot against Jeno’s. “Your turn.”
Jeno already knows what he’s going to say, though whether or not it counts as a secret, he can’t be sure. It’s not something he’s actively been hiding but it’s not something he’s ever revealed to anyone either.
“My mother is sick. I don’t think she can walk properly.”
There. He said it. The sharp silence which follows is expected and cushioned by the lapping of the waves.
“And it’s stupid but sometimes my biggest concern is whether or not I’ll be allowed to continue going on these summer vacations without her, if I’ll get to see you guys again.”
The guilt he feels from exposing himself is so painful and intense that he has to close his eyes to stop himself from retching. His mother doesn’t deserve this and Jeno doesn’t deserve her.
“It’s not stupid, Jeno-yah,” Jaemin says. Jeno can feel him shifting on his side to face him. “You’re allowed to think about yourself too, it doesn’t mean you love your mother any less.”
“Yeah man, we were all worried about you last summer. Your mother probably worries for you too. She’d understand, she has her own group of friends like you do.”
“Well,” Hyuck adds thoughtfully – calculating. “How old do you have to be to take a train by yourself?”
“I don’t think there is an age requirement… I guess there isn’t anything stopping him from visiting by himself, right?”
“Exactly.”
Even after saying it aloud, Jeno still isn’t sure what the root of his issue is. Is it the fact that he can no longer travel with his mother or that he won’t be allowed to see his friends without her? Nonetheless, he’s grateful for his friends for trying to help him, it shows how much they truly like his company.
“What about you?” Jeno opens his eyes and looks over at Jaemin. “What’s your secret?”
The smile on Jaemin’s face gradually sinks but not enough to turn into a frown. Slowly, he lays back on his back, an arm tucked beneath his head. “I think I like boys.”
“Like… like like?” Jisung asks.
Jaemin smiles. “ Like like.”
“Since when?”
“Since forever, maybe. Who knows? If you’re asking when I realised, I’d say three years ago.”
This surprises Jeno, he had never wondered too much about sexuality, only assuming it was something you came to test and discover as you grew up. But Jaemin talks like he’s always known. It’s this sureness, this familiarity of yourself which Jeno admires.
“All your little fangirls are gonna be upset when they find out— shut up Na, we all know you’re popular in school.”
“The school called your mother when you made a girl cry because you rejected her.”
Jeno can sense Jaemin is trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing but against Jeno’s arm, he’s tense. Jeno pats around the grass until he feels Jaemin’s hand and holds it lightly.
“You know we all love you, right?” Jeno asks him. Jeno doesn’t say “we still love you” or “we love you even if you like boys” because it’s simply not the whole truth. They all love Jaemin because he’s Jaemin, and as long as he is still himself, that love will never disappear.
Jaemin laughs like he’s letting out a breath of relief. “I love you guys too. You’re the only ones I’ve ever told – the only ones I trust enough to tell.”
Although Jeno hadn’t expected it, it’s also not something as shocking as Renjun’s secret. It’s as if Jeno has just uncovered another piece that had always been a part of Jaemin’s puzzle. His perception of him doesn’t change but expands, giving him the satisfaction of being a step closer to knowing Jaemin better – knowing all of them better.
They all pinky swear to bring each other's secrets to the grave and that it wouldn’t change anything between them.