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Jongin hung the last of his coat and stepped back, admiring his organized closet after an hour of unpacking. A cursory glance around the bedroom; a rush of nostalgia invading. He needed to give credit to his mother for keeping everything clean and neat in his time away; intact, like he’d never left, a humongous piece of himself pervasive in every nook and cranny. Walls decorated with posters of dance recitals he’d participated in during his formative years; framed certificates, trophies, and medals on the shelves proof of his successes.
Although their house had undergone minor renovations in Jongin’s absence, his walls retained its dark color, cool but comforting just the same. The sheets were crisp and starch white; the blanket a cool gray but enveloped him in infinite warmth during the colder winters of his youth. Jongin couldn’t help smiling at his mother’s attentiveness; that she remembered this blanket was his favorite and probably motivated her to bring it out from the closet.
Admiring the bed and the entirety of the room some more, it felt like eight years hadn’t gone by with the way most things hadn’t changed, despite the tiny modifications that seamlessly integrated themselves in the harmony of his room.
After showering and changing into his pajamas, Jongin plopped onto the downy mattress, sighing as he sank into its softness. A moment longer, and then he moved up and grabbed the teddy bear that had been reclining against his pillow since arriving. Lying on his back, Jongin held the teddy bear at arm’s length, staring into its droopy eyes.
“It feels good to be home, right, Gomini?” Jongin pretended he heard it agree. A smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I’m very happy to be back, too.”
Full-grown adults talking to a teddy bear was considered childish by a majority of the population, but he didn’t care. Talking to Gomini had been therapeutic in many ways; helped him cope and survive some of the lower points in his life. Admittedly, Jongin had been weirded out by the prospect of doing it, at first. But loneliness had been a formidable enemy back then, when he was nineteen and uprooted from his life in Seoul to start a new journey in New York. Pouring his heart out to Gomini might not have implemented pivotal changes in his life, but Jongin’s heart felt less weighed down by burdens he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to freely tell just anyone.
Jongin’s monologue was interrupted by the ring of his phone. He replied to messages from friends who greeted him with palpable fervor after finding out he was back in Seoul. Living overseas didn’t completely alienate him from the friends he had here—advanced technology made sure he stayed connected with them, even if he constantly forgot about his phone’s existence when deeply immersed in work, or clumsily misplaced for the umpteenth time. Jongin promised to spend tomorrow with whoever was available; today had been reserved for family, easily one of the best and happiest days of his life in a long time. Nothing beat the rush of coming home to the warmest welcome from his mother and sisters, his niece and nephew smothering him with kisses and marveling at how much they’d grown since he last saw them.
Today’s reunion had been long but fulfilling, filled with laughter and smiles. Jongin had no doubt tomorrow would be similar. The energy boost from friends’ encouragement and company would be highly needed and appreciated, especially since he would start becoming busy soon after. He returned to Seoul primarily for work, after all.
Clearing all of the unread messages, Jongin made himself comfortable under the blanket, clutched Gomini in one arm while he browsed through his assorted social media accounts. He sensed a long night ahead of him, jet lag unshed, but he would try to get some sleep later.
He lost track of time liking pictures on Instagram and watching videos from YouTube channels he subscribed to. He startled at the sudden notification sent by KakaoTalk, which turned out to be an official notice about something or other Jongin could care less about. He should’ve exited the app after, but he lingered on the list of Chats, eyes fixated on a particular name. Below it, a fragment of his message from over twelve hours ago was previewed.
His thumb hovered over the name, ready to press and find out if it had been read. Bit on his lower lip. Hesitated.
Pressed anyway.
A yellow ‘1.’ Unread. Self-explanatory, and told all he wanted to know.
Jongin understood, though a twinge of disappointment pinched him, anyway. Perhaps he was busy. The only plausible explanation. Currently, it was off-season for him, though Jongin knew he wasn’t one who slacked off even during these periods. He himself confessed to doing such; proved by some of his Instagram posts if he was in the mood to share snapshots of what his training looked like.
That was the Oh Sehun he knew.
“Your phone screen is going to melt if you stare at it any harder.”
A few hours of sleep but strangely feeling very much awake, Jongin couldn’t help smiling at his friend’s teasing. “It could be an excuse to buy a new phone; don’t you think so, Moonkyu?”
Moonkyu laughed and shook his head. “Fine. I can never win against your reasoning, huh?”
Among the friends he was excited to meet, Kim Moonkyu was within that list. Moonkyu happened to be the most available out of everybody, so Jongin made arrangements to meet for breakfast, painfully aware his jet lag would not allow him to complete eight hours of sleep. The robust aroma of coffee hanging heavy in this cozy café at Apgujeong that Moonkyu suggested, twined with the appetizing notes of baked pastries, titillated his senses and helped him keep his eyes open at eight in the morning.
Conversation soon ensued, catching up with each other’s lives and talking about everything that came to mind over a big, hearty breakfast. By the time their plates were cleared and bellies full and warm, Jongin snuck a glance at his phone, a bit disappointed by the lack of notifications.
“Has Sehun not replied yet?” Moonkyu glanced at Jongin’s phone before his gaze slid back to him.
Jongin shook his head, pressing his lips together. “It’s odd. He’s always quick to reply, except when he’s training.” And during emotional episodes he’d been privy to but deliberately omitted, honoring the sanctity of those vulnerable moments; that such occasions were to remain secret between them. Making mental calculations of time zone differences when he had sent the message, the only plausible explanation for the Sehun’s silence was being preoccupied with an important matter or exhaustion.
Jongin told himself not to worry too much. This wasn’t the first time Sehun took a while to check his messages. Deeming it useless to agonize over matters he lacked control over, Jongin chose to focus on hanging out with Moonkyu at the moment. If anything was up, Sehun would always let him know one way or another.
Strolling down the familiar but foreign streets of Seoul was a religious experience. So much had changed, but the city’s hustle and bustle hadn’t. New shops in old places, ever-changing trends mirrored in the fashion styles shown off in the streets. Air pollution clouding the skies, something that had worsened in the years Jongin was away, it seemed. Good and bad, the unsightly and the breathtaking, this was the city he grew up in during his teenage years; the city he would grow old in once he neared retirement.
Sometime in the afternoon, they shopped for the dinner Moonkyu promised he would prepare later. Instead of heading to his apartment, Moonkyu announced he would do preparations at his restaurant, which happened to be close today, as per the mandatory rule of employees taking one day off a week. Jongin admired the restaurant interior on their arrival, its squeaky-clean state and impressive menu with reasonable prices. Moonkyu had sent him pictures before on its opening day, but seeing the place for himself was far better.
Jongin helped out with the cooking, earning a skeptical look from Moonkyu. A sense of smug satisfaction bubbled within Jongin at Moonkyu’s flabbergasted face when he showed off his knife-wielding skills, peeling and slicing vegetables without a hitch, expertly marinating the slabs of meat without relying on tools for measurements.
“Who are you and what have you done to the Kim Jongin I know?” Moonkyu asked half in jest, half in shocked awe, as he worked in tandem beside him.
“He’s still here, just acquired himself some cooking know-hows,” Jongin joked back, carefully slicing the tofu block into even squares. “My cooking skills aren’t that bad anymore. Gone are the days that I prefer watching people cook because I was a nightmare in the kitchen. I don’t have master chef skills, but it’s enough to get me by. Lower that eyebrow, now.”
Cooking, Jongin discovered, was one way to bond closer with his body, enabling him to supply what it needed during rehearsals or big productions. Living in New York with relatives might have given him an edge when it came to not worrying about meal expenses, though there were times he arrived to an empty house, takeout wasn’t a desired option, and heated leftovers didn’t appeal to his palate. Jongin didn’t come out of his kitchen misadventures unscathed, but through trial and terror did he master a few dishes even his aunt raved upon tasting; needn’t rely on anybody to prepare something he specifically had to eat in preparation for a role or production.
Hours sailed by as they worked in perfect synchronization, interspersed with talking, laughing, and talking some more. The kitchen was filled with the symphony of clinking utensils, an array of inviting scents wafting through the air: grilled meat, a slow-cooking stew, ripe fruits reserved for dessert. Soon, the table showcased perfect-looking dishes, almost too sublime to disturb, and lifestyle-magazine worthy.
“Wow. New York has really changed you,” Moonkyu commented, deadpan in his delivery, a contrast to his amused expression. “Next thing I know, you’ll be baking cookies shaped like pointe shoes.”
Jongin wagged a teasing forefinger at him. “Be careful what you wish for. I might just study how to bake cookies and grant you with a basket of it.” He snapped pictures of the food to commemorate this day, sent some to his mother and sisters to show off and tease. His thumb hovered over the screen for a split second before scrolling down to check his and Sehun’s chat room.
The ‘1’ next to his message had disappeared. Jongin almost lost his grip from the surprising discovery. Still no response, though, which concerned Jongin just the same; but he didn’t want to push, so he pocketed his phone again.
Moonkyu began the dinner with a question. “So, plans? I take it your audition was accepted if you came back to Seoul?”
Jongin nodded. After finishing his contract as a guest artist at La Scala Ballet Theatre in Italy, he carefully sifted through the ballet companies who positively responded to his audition. After many nights of deliberating, he chose to work with Korea National Ballet for a year. An unprecedented move on his part, if Jongin was honest—he’d been so used to dancing for European and American companies, but in the recent months leading up to his decision, he found himself daydreaming often of what it might be like to perform at home. Despite his status of principal dancer and reputation as a rising star in the global ballet world that could’ve been the deciding factor to hire him, Jongin was confident he could introduce something new and fresh to the local scene while simultaneously showcasing his talent to back the praises showered on him.
“Mom’s health has been poor recently, too,” Jongin added, after pausing to clean the meat off the ribs. “Traveling has been a bit wearying for her—you know how she insists to watch at least one production I headline every year, right? That played a major factor behind my decision to work here. All she has to do is take a cab or the subway if she wants to watch any of my shows now.”
After dinner saw Moonkyu taking out one of his best wines and a charcuterie platter to accompany it. Jongin was never the biggest fan of alcohol, even if he indulged a little during social functions. Tonight, he made an exception with one glass; nibbled on some nuts and cheeses. They lost track of time reminiscing their high school days; the process in which they turned their dreams into realities—Moonkyu with building his own restaurant, Jongin as a renowned ballet dancer worldwide—complete with the bitter regrets and losses sweetening their gains and triumphs.
Moonkyu finished the last of his wine before letting out a sound of amazement. “Speaking of dreams, Sehun’s really gone so far in life. Can’t help but feel proud and patriotic when he’s mentioned on the news. His games are so intense! Can’t keep my eyes off the screen when it’s his turn. I was never keen on watching sports, but I couldn’t help tuning in during the previous two Olympics.”
“I know,” Jongin agreed, a grin coming out full force. Listening to anybody praise Sehun never failed to give him an immeasurable surge of pride. Sleep was for the weak whenever Sehun competed and Jongin had access to a working live stream. He far preferred watching Sehun’s games in real time than relying on highlight reels or a replay telecast uploaded to YouTube (though Jongin might have contributed a bit to his views on the individual clips). He might have shown up to class or a rehearsal lacking sleep on more than one occasion due to the obscene time zone difference, but Jongin held no regrets. He’d do it all over again, too.
“Of course you would. I would expect no less than pure adoration from you, Sehun’s best friend.” Moonkyu threw him a knowing look and an impish smile. The thickly-laid implication embedded in his words was deafeningly loud but didn’t deter Jongin from smiling into his wine glass. “But, man, I was pretty surprised to see Sehun on two Infinite Challenge episodes. He even got to be on the same team as the Yoo Jaesuk!” Moonkyu breathed out an amazed sigh. “You need to have saved an entire nation in your past life to achieve that kind of fame.”
Jongin had watched those episodes an outrageous amount of times since its airing, laughed at the same moments Moonkyu found funny, enjoyed the chemistry Sehun had with Yoo Jaesuk along with two other co-hosts and a fellow team members. He wasn’t too surprised that the hosts took care of Sehun, established a rapport with them during the entire segment. Wasn’t too surprised when Sehun made an appearance in the hosts’ social media accounts—Instagram, mostly—captioned with praise for his Olympic-worthy skills, some sounding starstruck. Nothing was too surprising about these sequences of events. Jongin was more than sure it was Sehun’s charming nature and kind heart that attracted the hosts’ attention, some proceeding to become his friends.
Oh Sehun had truly come a long way from when he first met him, Jongin realized, struck by sentimentality on the bus ride home; sighed in the same fashion. Alighting at his stop, he walked the rest of the block home. It wasn’t until he crossed the main entrance of the apartment complex did he remember he was waiting for a reply. Sure enough, a KakaoTalk notification greeted him upon opening his phone.
He stared at the sender name and message a few times, like he couldn’t believe what he was reading.
Sehun
sorry i couldn’t reply sooner
welcome back
i’ll see you soon
23:35 PM
Sleep still couldn’t come easy for Jongin that night, but the giddiness produced by Sehun’s replies stayed—and might just have pushed back resetting his circadian rhythm.
“Soon” happened two days later, amid the hectic adjusting to a new time zone and workplace. Jongin was close to finalizing his contract with Korea National Ballet, just needed some stipulations clarified and worked out so both parties could get the best benefits from each other. He was given a tour of the company, as well, each step infusing ample excitement into him at this new beginning. Seeing dancers in passing perfecting their poses in front of mirrors and accepting corrections from teachers fueled his anticipation to get back into the swing of rehearsals and exhilaration of performances the soonest.
He checked and saw a couple of new messages from Sehun after leaving the building. Sehun was able to round up their middle school friends so Jongin could see everybody together in one meeting. The second message contained a complete address that could be opened on Naver Map. By the third message, Jongin’s eyebrow twitched.
i chose the shortest and most uncomplicated route for you to follow
don’t get lost
you’re welcome
12:02 PM
Jongin couldn’t help huffing out a laugh, both from disbelief and amusement, even at the rise of heat in his cheeks at the teasing. If he concentrated hard enough, he could hear Sehun cackling all the way from the other side of the screen when he sent the directions. He fired back a reply that he was going to hear it from him later on, though it didn’t stop him from smiling.
An hour before the appointed time, Jongin read and re-read the directions; analyzed the route Sehun suggested. Emerging from the subway after two line switches, he checked the app and kept tabs of his whereabouts as he proceeded. Right on track—he arrived at their friend’s doorstep without serious incident. Jongin smirked in triumph as he rang the bell. Hearing footsteps shuffling from inside, he couldn’t wait to rub his victory in Sehun’s face for not committing a single mistake on his journey.
Sehun’s face was the exact first thing he saw when the door cracked open.
Jongin momentarily forgot about his plans to gloat, breath hitching.
Sehun’s wide-eyed stare reflected the surprise he felt, the impact of the moment hitting him with the force of a crashing freight truck. This wasn’t their first time seeing each other. But pictures and video calls spread out in those eight years could never do justice to an actual face-to-face meeting, evident in the way Jongin’s lungs couldn’t seem to remember their function. For a stretched-out moment, he took in the sight of this Sehun, broad-shouldered with god-carved features and now stood taller than him, even by mere centimeters. The complete opposite of their teenage days.
The surprise from Sehun’s face slowly melted, giving way to a tiny smile; a gaze filled with something fond. “Hey,” he said, breaking the short, loaded silence between them. “You didn’t get lost on the way here?”
The jab snapped Jongin back to his senses, and he quickly put on an act of petulance. “Look, I know my sense of direction is crappy, but I will tell you now that I didn’t take any wrong turns or mistook one alley for another.”
Like an automatic response, like the old times, Sehun’s face scrunched up in mirth as he doubled up laughing, and Jongin couldn’t find it in him to hold up his act as he followed suit. Sehun sobered up first between them, though the smile on his face didn’t slip.
“It’s good to see you again. It’s been a really long time.”
The sincerity overflowed from his voice, and Jongin was instantly warmed all over.
“I—”
“Daddy!”
Whatever response Jongin was about to say never left his mouth, too stunned by the interruption in the form of a toddler waddling toward Sehun. Pink overalls, pigtails held up by flower scrunchies, chubby cheeks and a cherubic face, eyes crinkling in a way that uncannily resembled Sehun’s as she held out her tiny arms.
As if in slow motion, Jongin watched Sehun scoop up the little girl in his arms and was rewarded with a squeal. No other sound registered after that. He saw Sehun’s mouth forming syllables but couldn’t fathom what he was hearing.
Perhaps Jongin didn’t hear right the first time. Perhaps this little girl wasn’t—
“Daddy, play with Narae.”
The shock had probably worn off if Jongin’s hearing had returned—and just in time to catch the little girl plead cutely.
Narae placed her palms on Sehun’s cheeks. “Daddy, play with Narae. Please?” She puckered up her lips for added cute effect.
“We can’t right now,” Sehun told her, gentle in his letdown; gentle in his handling and smile. An absolutely surreal and different side to him that Jongin couldn’t comprehend at the moment.
Among all the times he fervently wished not to get lost, Jongin suddenly found himself wanting to go back ten minutes before his arrival and take a wrong turn if it meant sparing himself from witnessing this heart-wrenching scene.
☆彡
For as long as he could remember, Jongin suspected something different about him compared to other kids his age.
Three days into first grade, a classmate scraped their knee during playtime. The teacher requested him to fetch the nurse and gave clear instructions where to find the clinic. Jongin repeated the directions to himself as he scurried off in his search. The kindergarten building wasn’t big, and the rooms were labeled accordingly. He couldn’t miss it.
He didn’t, but when Jongin returned with the nurse, his teacher set him aside and, with a concerned look and tone, asked him if he had any trouble finding the clinic. Jongin blinked at his teacher, not understanding what they meant. He shook his head, anyway, though on the way home that afternoon, he wondered if the teacher was psychic and sensed his left turn at the second corridor instead of the first. If the teacher sensed why he took a long time returning was because he couldn’t find his way back and asked for help from a kind utility worker.
The family’s move to Seoul from Suncheon meant acquainting himself with the new neighborhood, its maze-like streets and intriguing alleys. A month after settling in their new apartment, summer break seemingly long now that he’d finished reading the last book on his shelf, Jongin decided he would explore on his own. He asked permission from his mother to go to the nearby convenience store for ice cream. Mrs. Kim’s face showed worry but acquiesced; handed him extra money to buy other things he might fancy. He parotted the directions she gave until he could recite them without being prompted; pocketed the slip of paper containing his mother’s contact number just in case. Chanted his mother’s instructions once he was outside, every step of the way.
The longer he walked, the less familiar his surroundings looked. Confused, Jongin asked a granny for the store’s whereabouts. Her answer shocked him—he’d walked too far and crossed at the wrong street. The granny didn’t scold him, assured that new residents easily confused the streets due to their similar color scheme and lack of proper signs. She sketched a map for him at the back of a receipt; this time, Jongin found the store and sighed in relief.
Jongin regretted the minutes lost, but he didn’t blame himself too hard for his mistake. His parents echoed the sentiment when he shared today’s mishap; promised them he’d be more careful next time.
Next time multiplied to a number beyond the combined amount of his fingers and toes, spread out over the years. Growing up and learning from the eye-opening experiences helped him gain more awareness about this peculiarity. Determined and unfazed, Jongin ventured out every day and pretended he was an explorer on an adventure. Armed with a notepad and pencil, he familiarized himself with the neighborhood layout by drawing maps. He drew as he walked, encircled important landmarks for emphasis, labeled them accordingly. He colored the maps at home, visualized the routes while staring at them to help him remember better; behind closed lids, tucked in bed and planning his next adventure.
Bit by bit, the notepad pages slowly filled with different maps of their neighborhood; outside of it, once Jongin started school, using his travel time home to amble and draw his usual routes and discover new ones.
Confidence to travel from one destination to another did not build immediately. One extra turn or misreading “east” for “west” sometimes led him to the wrong supermarket, or walking through a dark, scary alley he shouldn’t have on a trip to the stationery shop. Once gained, however, the chances of getting lost in and out of the neighborhood thinned out as Jongin started sifting less through his notepad and relying more on memory. His confidence was boosted further by his mother’s trust to send him on an errand to a supermarket out of the way for needed condiments, or arriving at the bus stop three blocks away from their building right on time to bring his father an umbrella on rainy days.
He kept the notepad with him at all times, a comforting presence in his shorts pocket or backpack if he carried one. He preferred keeping it in his pocket, developed a habit of patting it twice to double check before leaving in fear he might have lost it out of carelessness.
One afternoon, his fear was realized by the disturbing emptiness of his pocket.
Jongin swore he returned the notepad in his pocket before leaving the convenience store. Panicked but racking his mind for clues of its probable whereabouts, he retraced his footsteps, eyes peeled open and perusing every inch of the sidewalk. He didn’t hold much attachment to objects he’d lost out of clumsiness, but he couldn’t afford the loss of the notepad.
His search ended minutes later, spotting the notepad lying idly on the pavement. Jongin sprinted over and retrieved it from the ground, relief washing over him the second he held it between his palms. He meant to leave, but the eruption of noises from the playground stopped him.
Jongin could’ve ignored it, but the noises grew in volume, a harsh quality to them; unfriendly, alarming. Securing his notepad in his shorts pocket and patting twice for good measure, he strained his ears to hear better and figure out what was happening. Unsuccessful, and so his curiosity grew. Ignoring the voice at the back of his head warning him to not get involved, he ventured inside the playground in search of the source.
By the jungle gym, three kids taller than him surrounded something—someone, Jongin corrected himself, as soon as he saw a figure hunched on the ground. Angry shouting filled the air, harsh words spat at the fourth kid, who was the unfortunate recipient of the trio’s hard kicks and insults. A horrific scene unfolding right before Jongin’s eyes.
“Hey! Stop that!” Jongin dumped the bag he was carrying and dashed forward, shoving away the first kid he could reach with all his might. Repeated the action to the other two until they were stumbling away, attention transferred to him. He didn’t back down from their angry glares; held his ground in spite of their intimidating heights. “Shame on you for hurting someone defenseless!”
The first kid, who happened to be the tallest among the bullies, marched toward Jongin menacingly. He grabbed the front of Jongin’s shirt, forcing him to stand on his tiptoes due to the height difference. “Shut up, punk. Mind your own business.”
Though his heart madly beat against his ribs, Jongin was undeterred, moreso upon catching a glimpse of the poor kid still curled up on the dirt. He might be smaller than the bullies, and weaker in terms of strength, but his determination was stronger. Jongin dug his nails into the bully’s wrist, the other hand trying to pry off the stubborn fingers from his shirt. He had no plans yet of what to do next—all he knew was that he needed to help the beaten kid no matter what.
“What’s going on?” an adult man asked, brows pulling downward as he assessed the situations. His lime green overalls were eye-catching—a uniform Jongin often saw worn by street sweepers. He pointed a finger at the bullies, features giving way to recognition. “You damned brats again!” he bellowed. “I told you to stop picking on the other kids who play here!”
Panicked and busted, two of them hightailed out of the playground, narrowly avoiding the broom the street sweeper waved at them. The one holding onto Jongin’s shirt snarled, pinned him with one last nasty glare, then shoved him to the ground and escaped. The street sweeper continued shouting and gave chase when he saw their heads peeking behind the gates.
Unmindful of the dirt on his palms and clothes, Jongin rose to his feet and rushed to the kid. A boy that looked around his age, eyes squeezed shut, clasped hands held close to his chest, body trembling. He slowly reached out to touch. Perhaps sensing his intention, the kid flinched before Jongin’s fingers could make contact.
“I won’t hurt you,” Jongin said, hoping he sounded honest enough. Letting his hand fall, he was genuinely at a loss of what to do. “The bullies are gone. I’m not one of them. I promise.”
Jongin didn’t know how long he sat there waiting, but the boy’s eyes slowly opened, focusing on him. He pulled himself off the ground upon ascertaining the bullies were truly gone. Jongin took a good look at him, searching for any wounds or bruises. Other than dust-caked cheeks, creased clothes, and messy hair, he didn’t look hurt.
The boy exhaled a huge, relieved-sounding sigh. He lowered his arms, slowly opened his clasped hands. “You’re safe now.”
Jongin peeked. Gasped. Between the boy’s hands was a baby bird, beady eyes blinking rapidly, then chirping in distress. It flapped its fragile wings, calling for its mother and siblings.
“I rescued this baby bird behind the bushes while I was playing,” the boy said, as if knowing Jongin would ask him about it. “I think it fell from its nest by trying to fly. Those bullies saw me before I could find the nest. They ordered me to give them the bird as their new toy. I didn’t because they’re not kind people. Kind people aren’t mean to animals. So they ganged up on me.”
Jongin watched the boy climb the tree to return the baby bird, just in time the mother returned from its quest for food. He caught the smallest smile on the boy’s face before he swung down from the branch and dusted his hands; the rest of the dirt stuck in his clothes he hadn’t noticed.
“Are you hurt anywhere?”
The boy shrugged. “I’m used to it.”
The words struck Jongin as odd. “You should be more careful.”
The boy shrugged again; shoved his hands in his shorts pocket. “You’re so nosy for someone who’s only met me today.”
The words contained no trace of malice, but Jongin felt the rise of heat in his cheeks just the same.
The boy’s next words surprised Jongin. “Thanks for helping.”
More confident now, Jongin found himself smiling back.
His one regret from the incident was not asking the boy’s name. Several times after their meeting, Jongin passed by the playground in hopes of seeing him. Several times, Jongin was let down when he didn’t. Instead of dwelling on his sadness, he checked the nest on the tree branch; smiled, reassured, upon hearing the merry chirping of birds, no bullies to disturb their peace.
On his first day of third grade, Jongin introduced himself to the class as the new transfer student. He was prepared to live a quiet life, sail through the school year in the company of books. Make a few friends, if he was lucky enough, and hopefully forge more solid bonds now that his parents decided they wouldn’t be moving anywhere else.
Jongin silently rejoiced in his appointed window seat. The teacher conducted a roll call, students’ names blending together in the background in the ticking seconds. The last name was called; the student to his right answered. Nothing unusual, except Jongin recognized the voice, prompting him to look.
The boy from the playground blinked once in non-reaction; twice, eyes flashing in recognition, a smile slowly forming on his face.
☆彡
In the year they became friends, Jongin witnessed the many sides of Oh Sehun.
First impressions told Jongin nothing of what to expect after Sehun’s approach on their first day in third grade, grinning as he provided updates of the baby birds’ growth; their inevitable leaving of the nest once they were big enough to fend for themselves. Sehun smiled a lot, laughed and joked freely, possessed a mischievous streak that sometimes earned him a scolding from teachers. He easily loaned pencils if Jongin lost or forgot his, volunteered to be partners during group activities, called him over to join with the rest in the playground during breaks. Sehun wouldn’t think twice helping struggling teachers by carrying some of their belongings, called out unfair play if a classmate cheated on a game, sneakily gave Jongin an extra egg roll during his turn at lunch duty.
Jongin let him do as he pleased. He didn’t like egg rolls and willingly parted with his portion each time Sehun stared longingly at them, claiming he wanted more after finishing the ones on his plate.
Mystified classmates started asking Jongin a common question: why are you friends with Oh Sehun? Jongin found the question funny the first few times—why shouldn’t he, aside from being the first familiar face he found in his new school? What was not to like about Sehun, who treated old faces and transfer students with equal kindness?
“He’s no good,” Classmate One said.
“Trouble follows him wherever he goes,” Classmate Two added.
“It’s like he can’t go a day without getting into some sort of trouble,” Classmate Three supplied.
Jongin couldn’t understand why they were telling him these; their insistence their words were truths. Why did their version of Sehun differ vastly from the Sehun he encountered in the park, protecting a baby bird using his body as a shield; sulked when scolded by teachers but cheered up quick after Jongin consoled him with gummies and chocolates?
The answer didn’t come until spring of fourth grade passed, by accidental discovery. Jongin wandered around in search of the library’s new location after the building renovation, excited about finding new books to read. He asked for directions from their teacher, repeated the instructions to himself: third floor, second door on the right corridor. He thought he found it on the first try; rejoiced at his success, for it wasn’t often he found places by himself in one try. Smiling in sweet victory, Jongin slid open the door.
Sehun roughly pushed up against the wall while being yelled into his face by a kid taller and bigger than him was not what he expected to witness, nor did he intend to steal the attention of everyone present inside.
Jongin instantly processed what this picture painted, especially when he spotted a kid cowering in the corner, belongings strewn across the ground from an open bag.
It could’ve ended disastrously since the bullies’ ringleader had four other lackeys. One could’ve lunged at Jongin to shut him up or bully him to submission if he waited a second too late to gather his guts and yell with all his might for the attention of someone—anyone—on the floor. Fear seized and released Jongin when, like an answered prayer, a bespectacled lady came marching from one of the rooms (the librarian, as Jongin would come to know later) and demanded what was happening.
Cursing and groaning filled the air. The bullies pushed past Jongin and the librarian to escape. The librarian yelled at them to stop, giving chase as fast as she could. Footsteps echoed and faded down the corridor. Relieved, Jongin walked into the room and noticed Sehun’s clenched fist; inside, crumpled ₩10,000 bills, which he returned to the scared kid. A second grade student, who burst into tears in sheer relief and thanked Sehun endlessly.
“Don’t let them take your allowance away no matter what, okay? And if you see them again, run away as fast as you can! If not, go straight to a teacher. Or me,” Sehun told the sobbing kid with a grin.
They walked the second grader to their classroom just in case. On their way back, Jongin glanced Sehun’s way from time to time; noted the frequent massaging of his right shoulder.
Unable to stand just watching in silence, Jongin finally blurted out, “Does it hurt?”
“Huh? Nothing hurts.” Sehun’s face feigned innocence. “I just felt like touching my shoulder. What were you doing there, by the way?” He gasped with widened eyes when Jongin told him. “The library is in the next room. There’s a sign above the door, how could you have missed it?” he asked in genuine fascination.
“I must’ve forgotten the teacher’s instruction,” Jongin lied, guilt prickling him soon after. He wasn’t prepared to tell Sehun of his secret, not yet.
Sehun seemed to have bought it, though. He laughed, but not in an unkind way. “You’re always so forgetful. We have time, so I’ll show you where to go.”
The entire time walking, Sehun hummed a tune, but Jongin knew better than to be distracted. Sehun’s hand kept finding its way to his shoulder, squeezing when he thought Jongin wasn’t looking. Wouldn’t notice. Tired of pretending, Jongin blocked Sehun’s way by standing in front of him. Sehun stopped and stared, eyes widening in surprise.
“Tell me honestly: what were you doing in that room?”
Sehun must’ve picked up on his seriousness, traces of mirth now gone from his face. “The third floor is usually empty during lunchtime. It’s the perfect place for bullies to bring their victims and do as they want. I came from the washroom, and I saw the bullies dragging the second grade student upstairs. Some adults know what’s going on, but they’re not doing anything. It’s horrible.” His hands balled into fists, expression darkening upon remembrance.
Jongin had heard of the rumors. Of big, mean kids ordering others around, if not stealing from them. Of teachers turning a blind eye, for these kids hailed from rich families responsible for generous donations vital to school funding. Sehun’s reaction and his intolerance for injustice of seemingly insignificant details now made more sense. Explained the warnings from classmates; why, in spite of chatting with Sehun during breaks or laughing at his jokes, they seemed to stay away or didn’t hang out with him. Why Sehun sometimes disappeared after lunch, not telling Jongin where he was going, and returning to class disconcertingly withdrawn and dazed.
Retrieving stolen allowance for a sore shoulder when the bully squeezed too hard. Defending younger students from the bullies’ terrorizing and coming out of the scuffle with a cut on his cheek from the jagged edge of a stone thrown at him. A bruised knee from banging it on the washroom cubicle to avoid getting punched. A ripped jacket sleeve when the bully nearly twisted his arm. One good deed in exchange for pain, a physical mark. One good deed in exchange for other people’s wellbeing.
Sehun was a trouble magnet, though not out of his own volition. Sehun was a trouble magnet for involving himself in others’ affairs, particularly those at a disadvantage, often becoming the recipient of the brunt of the bullies’ anger for being thwarted.
“Aren’t you scared of getting into bigger trouble?” Jongin asked, when Sehun acquired a nosebleed from an unfortunate palm-to-nose collision and landed him a bed at the school clinic. He had arrived right on time before the fight could worsen and helped the teacher subdue the bullies. The sight of blood had made Jongin feel faint, but Sehun’s whimper of pain gave him courage to forget it as they left to find the school nurse.
“I am scared.” Sehun’s easy admission surprised Jongin. The red stain on the front of his shirt was distracting. Jongin tore his eyes away at the flaring of his temper; at the thought of how much pain Sehun must’ve felt when it happened. “I’m thinner and smaller than the bullies. They can snap my neck if I annoy them too much. But I think about their victims who are younger and smaller than me, and how sad and helpless they feel. I help them out when I can because if not me, who?”
Since then, Jongin kept a close eye on Sehun. Stuck close to his side at all times; followed him when he disappeared, and convinced a teacher to tag along in case a fight broke out. Luck must frequently side with Jongin when he interrupted without an adult, used a few convincing bluffs, and nothing escalated further aside from the bullies spewing empty threats before retreating. Other times, luck abandoned Jongin, and he’d taste what it was like to be shoved into a wall or wrestled to the ground as payback for the bullies’ failed schemes. Sehun, usually sweet-tempered and never instigated fights, lost his temper if the bullies ganged up on Jongin; defended him by forcibly inserting himself between, acting like a human shield, never mind the other kids were twice their sizes.
One such confrontation erupted unplanned in the corridor, the ruckus attracting enough attention from teachers and brought everyone involved to the principal’s office. Brave witnesses stepped forward and gave their accounts on who instigated first, resulting in the bullies’ suspension. Although Sehun was faultless for helping Jongin and another victim, he was still required to write and submit a reflection paper on why fighting wasn’t good and a promise he would do better next time.
“You shouldn’t be friends with me anymore,” Sehun told him, one late afternoon in the playground. Days after turning in his reflection paper, Jongin noticed Sehun didn’t seem as open to him. Friendly.
Jongin frowned. “Why?”
“Nothing good happens from being friends with me.” Sehun’s confession was ladened with sadness. “It might seem like I’m always carefree, but I know what our classmates say behind my back. I only give headaches to teachers and bring trouble to others. If… if you continue being friends with me—”
“No,” Jongin said, without hesitation; without thinking twice. “You know what I don’t like? Being told what to do just because someone says so. You know what I do like? Being friends with you.”
Sehun looked confused. “But you could get hurt. I don’t like seeing friends hurt because of me.”
“I don’t like seeing you hurt, too. It’s why I follow you around, even if you get annoyed. Friends care for each other. I care for you. If I didn’t want to be friends with you anymore, I would tell you. I haven’t said anything, right? So, don’t say you don’t want to be friends anymore.” Jongin pouted. “I’ll be sad if you do.”
Disbelief crossed Sehun’s face. “You really want to stay friends with me?” At Jongin’s firm nod, his features relaxed and gave way to relief, a smile forming but soon fading with the unexpected falling of tears from his eyes. In no time, he was bawling. “N-no one’s ever said that to me. They were all scared to be my friends. I thought you’d be scared—I thought you’d be like them and wouldn’t want to—”
The rest of Sehun’s words were lost to his blubbering. Jongin rummaged his bag and used tissues to gently dab at Sehun’s face. “Don’t cry anymore. We’ll always be friends.”
“I’m so glad you’re my friend, Jongin.” Snot ran down Sehun’s nose, cheeks damp, eyes rimmed red. His smile, though wobbly, exuded pure happiness. “I’m so glad you won’t stop being friends with me. From now on, you’re my best friend.”
Best friend. The words warmed Jongin like his favorite fluffy blanket on a cold winter’s night. He’d never been anyone’s best friend before. It felt nice, knowing he was someone’s best friend. Someone important enough to be called such.
Wiping away the last of Sehun’s tears with the rest of his tissues, Jongin gently patted him on the head and said, “Don’t cry anymore. I’ll treat you to tteokbokki on the way home if it will cheer you up.”
Sehun’s face brightened, despite his sniffling. “Can I have lots of cheese with my tteokbokki?”
Jongin laughed, then grinned. “Anything for my best friend.”
☆彡
The new school year ushered them into fifth grade. None of the bullies returned. Word spread around about their misdeeds from anonymous sources online, complete with hard, undeniable evidence. The issues were so big and scandalous that it landed on the news. To save face and avoid tarnishing their families’ reputations, they were withdrawn from the school, the issue dying a slow death and never spoken of again.
Jongin disliked the bullies getting off easy. He was relieved Sehun would no longer be involved in dangerous situations, but also anxious at the thought of the bullies creating a new reign of terror elsewhere.
“I hope the students at their new schools will be careful and stay safe.” Sehun’s face creased with worry when Jongin told him about what he heard. “I hope many of them will stand up against the bullies, and no harm comes to them doing that.”
Peaceful school days sailed past, almost routine in their occurrence. Seldom did Jongin stray from the usual house-to-school route and vice versa, except for three days a week when he relied on his notepad. Three days of riding a different bus that took him downtown in fifteen minutes, walked two blocks straight ahead after alighting at his stop, and riding the elevator to the fifth floor of a commercial building nestled between a fried chicken shop and a pharmacy. First door to the left, parents seated outside, muted music flowing out upon entry and exit; inside, high ceilings and bright lights, mirrors surrounding the room, barres installed on the walls, children both younger and older than Jongin dressed in tights and leotards.
Watching a cousin dance for a school production on his ninth winter lured Jongin into the world of ballet. He walked out of the theater with family and relatives babbling nonstop about the dances, the costumes, the music and energy, but most of his praise he unleashed on the dancers. He wondered how the human body could bend with mind-blowing flexibility; if he could dance as good as his cousin one day, too. He begged his parents to take him to the class that could teach him how to move with otherworldly gracefulness. After years of waiting, his parents signed him up for ballet classes conducted thrice a week after school. Jongin never missed a class since.
The beginner’s class was comprised of ten students, nine of them girls. Jongin, in his willingness to learn ballet, didn’t care if he was the only boy among them. None of the girls teased him, even with the odd, curious glances thrown his way on the first day. The girls befriended him, asked basic questions like birth date and school; involved him in their talks about favorite television shows and snacks, used his answers as icebreakers, played with him while waiting for class to start. Their teacher, Ms. Lee, was a former ballerina and owned the dance studio. Everyone liked Ms. Lee, who always smiled, always guided them with patience; spent extra time on students who couldn’t keep up, handed out cookies on Fridays, and never said anything upsetting about them.
Once Ms. Lee entered the room and they finished warm-ups, Jongin was transported to a whole new world where only movement and music existed. Every class, something new was always discovered and learned; a step-by-step approach on improving their flexibility and integrating grace into their limbs. Every class, a new step or position was introduced, carrying foreign names that sounded funny in Jongin’s mind; funnier, on his spoken attempts. So much fun and learning in one hour and thirty minutes, and Jongin would lament how fast time flew by the end.
Summer break meant sleeping in, catching up on reading, playing to his heart’s content, and focusing on ballet. Some nights Jongin couldn’t sleep, too excited about new lessons. At times he’d move his arms in public spaces, too wrapped up in the music still playing in his head; Ms. Lee’s instructions echoing in his ears, despite having already left the studio. He’d earn strange looks, but Jongin carried on like he didn’t notice. He told himself he should be used to the staring if he was going to dance in front of an audience one day.
On the way home one humid afternoon incited a sudden craving for ice cream. Jongin retraced his steps to the nearest convenience store. Peripheral vision caught a familiar figure from across the street. Sehun’s lone figure walking, an obvious spring in his step. Nothing unusual, but past experiences warned Jongin about probable danger. Abandoning his ice cream craving, Jongin crossed and followed Sehun; reached him within seconds and tapped him on the shoulder.
Sehun nearly jumped in fright and turned around, then calmed and smiled. “What are you doing here? Why do you have a bag? Are you going on a trip?”
Jongin tightened his hold on the backpack straps. “No. Where are you going?”
Sehun visibly perked up. “Want me to show you? Follow me.”
The walk led them to a most unusual place. Jongin read the red and white signage a few times but couldn’t think of a reason why Sehun would go to an indoor archery range.
“Are you okay? You look scared.”
Jongin blurted out the questions he’d been dying to ask. “Who is it? Is someone bullying you again? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Sehun blinked twice in confusion, then laughed aloud. “Do I look like a huge troublemaker to you?” His words contained no malice, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No one’s bullying me. Not anymore. It’s true, I swear! I came here for something else.”
Entering an archery range was like being transported to a brand new world so odd and fascinating. Off to one side were people seated in chairs, listening to a man standing at the center and holding up a bow. On the opposite was the reception desk; behind, different kinds of bows, arrows, other sorts of equipment lining the walls that Jongin couldn’t identify or name. Excluding him and Sehun, he didn’t see any other children younger or older around. But an indoor archery range was the last thing Jongin would expect for kids to visit or play at, beaches and malls the more popular choices for summer.
Sehun looked used to coming here, greeting employees with jaunty waves and laughing at comments of his coming daily. He sprinted up to a balding man with a pot belly behind the reception desk. The owner, Mr. Cho, welcomed Sehun with a tight hug and a hearty hair ruffle, asking him about his father’s health nowadays.
“Dad caught a cold, but he’s getting better. He said he’ll ask you to a pool rematch one of these days,” Sehun said.
Mr. Cho grunted in exaggeration; shook his head with a quirk of his lips. “Your old man doesn’t take losing well, huh?” A cluck of tongue. “Old habits from college die hard. Fine, he can call me anytime.”
Sehun introduced Jongin to Mr. Cho; asked if he could watch. “He won’t distract me. He’s not noisy, either. Please, Uncle Changsik, please?”
The range was empty but well-lit. A mighty distance away, the targets drawn with different-colored concentric circles. Jongin watched in fascination as Sehun slipped on an arm guard; chose his own equipment with the kind of surety that came with playing archery often. Sehun held the bow in his hand and hefted its weight; accepted Mr. Cho’s corrections on his stance and listened to instructions on how to nock arrows.
On the polished concrete floor was a red painted line. Sehun stood behind it—the shooting line, Jongin learned from Mr. Cho—and stared straight at the target. All hints of playfulness disappeared once he took a stance. He nocked an arrow, drew back the bowstring. Released.
The arrow sliced through the air and struck the center. Ten points, according to Mr. Cho.
Draw and release, draw and release. Sehun’s arrows landed true on the center, ten points higher than the last. Some awarded him sevens, eights, nines. The longer Jongin watched, the more he was convinced Sehun had been practicing for a long time. Gone was the laidback, smiley boy who cracked jokes and replaced with someone serious; movements flowing with grace and purpose.
At the same instant, a few thoughts wriggled in Jongin’s head, weaving together and finishing the incomplete tapestry behind Sehun’s select actions. How Sehun sorted to dodging and pushing when he was yanked around by the bullies. How Sehun protected his arms and hands if the bullies became aggressive and willingly accepted the blows on other parts of his body if outnumbered. If Sehun hurt his upper limbs, he wouldn’t be able to lift the bow or draw the string.
Jongin wasn’t sure how the scoring worked, lost in the numbers he peeked from the card in Mr. Cho’s hand. After the last arrow was fired, Mr. Cho totaled and announced the score. Sehun nodded in acknowledgment.
“Ah, I could’ve scored better than that.” The old Sehun returned at the crack of a lopsided grin, scratching the back of his head.
“It seemed pretty high to me,” Jongin said, recalling the score breaking the hundreds.
“Thanks. I want to score higher next round. I know I can do it. I’ll take this as a warm-up.”
Mr. Cho went to retrieve the arrows, and Sehun played a few more rounds. Mr. Cho helped Jongin understand better how to score until he was given the opportunity of tallying points. By the time Sehun shot the last arrow in his final round, Jongin happily reported his scores had progressively grown higher since starting.
“I never knew you liked archery so much,” was the first thing Jongin said on their exit from the archery range. The heat had lessened in intensity, and walking out in the streets didn’t feel as torturous.
Sehun laughed good-naturedly. “So many people have told me that. I don’t look like someone who plays archery, right? I didn’t imagine liking it before, but I do, now. It’s one of the few things I’m good at.” Pride and confidence rang in his voice.
The story went like this: Sehun had fallen in love with the sport after watching a rebroadcast of the Olympics’ archery match in Athens last year. The match that brought gold and victory to South Korea’s male archery team. Sehun had admired how cool the male archers looked, the way they shot arrows effortlessly; wanted to be like them. His dad then brought him to Mr. Cho’s indoor archery range so he could try it out for himself; decide if he liked the sport enough to take it as a hobby.
“I thought archers had it easy without too much equipment and just standing around. Boy, was I wrong.” Sehun laughed in sheepish admission, cheeks pink. “I learned so much hanging out with Uncle Changsik. He taught me everything I know. Dad told me Uncle Changsik used to coach for their university archery club when they were younger, so maybe that’s why. He was able to coach for the national team, too. Uncle Changsik is really cool. I think he knows more about archery than the school coach.”
Jongin blinked several times in honest surprise. “We have an archery club at school?”
“Yeah! They formed it at the beginning of the school year. I joined right away after seeing their notice of recruitment for new members. There aren’t a lot of us, but that’s okay. We have tons of fun by ourselves. You’re free to join us—it’s only two hours after school ends. Did you join any clubs this year?”
Jongin shook his head. Joining a club would clash badly with his ballet class schedule, and he preferred dancing above any other interest right now.
“Tell me if you change your mind. I’ll bring you to the club. Everyone is nice. You’ll fit in nicely. The school coach can be strict, but he’s not too scary, unlike our Math teacher.” Sehun shuddered, as if the teacher’s face appeared in his head.
“All teachers look scary to you,” Jongin pointed out, trying to stop a laugh from coming out.
“That’s not true!” Sehun protested. “I think our English teacher this year is handsome, and he knows how to make classes fun. The Math teacher—have you seen his face? He looks like he’s always eating sour candy. His expression gets worse if he calls on a student, and they can’t answer the problem.”
They passed by the very convenience store Jongin intended to enter previously, and so his hunger for ice cream returned. Jongin wanted a melon ice bar. Sehun argued a chocolate cone tasted better. A third voice interrupted their bickering with a call of Jongin’s name. Jongin identified her as one of the girls from ballet class as soon as he turned around.
Smiling, she said, “My mom’s over there”—she pointed to a woman by the counter—“and I saw you come in. I thought I’d say hello.”
“Hello.” His greeting sounded lame, so Jongin wore a smile to make it up. Beside him, Sehun watched them with silent curiosity.
“I couldn’t tell you before we left, but thanks for helping me out with stretching. Thanks for teaching me what I missed last Monday, too. You’re very cool. Oh, and your spins today were very pretty.” A call of her name; a wave to her mother. “I have to go now. See you on Wednesday!”
“Stretching? Spins? What is she talking about?” Sehun broke his silence, once they sat on the stools at the corner of the store. He was peeling the ice cream cone wrapper off but had his eyes on Jongin.
“I do ballet.” Jongin bit a huge chunk of his ice cream, if only to prevent himself from saying anything else.
Sehun made a noise of amazement, eyes rounding in a similar fashion. “That’s so neat! I never knew you danced. You should sign up for the dance club in school. Yeah, we have one—didn’t you check the list they gave us at the beginning of the school year? They’ll be happy to have you.”
Jongin winced, but he couldn’t pinpoint for what reason: front teeth sensitivity from the cold ice cream, its startling sweetness, or the thought of others knowing about his ballet background. “I… I guess…”
Sehun listed his head. “What’s the matter? You sound weird.” He wiped away a dollop of ice cream on his chin.
Jongin bit his ice cream again and smacked his lips. Although his family and relatives were more than welcoming, he was also met with skepticism from others when his parents mentioned their only son’s interest in ballet. Though not outright, Jongin sensed their heavy judgment; from the way they shot him incredulous stares, the sly digs at his choice of hobby. All because they couldn’t wrap around their heads that ballet wasn’t strictly taught to girls. All because they thought he could be doing something “better,” by their definition. Acceptable.
“Huh? Really? Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Sehun’s question cut through Jongin’s thoughts. Affirmed he’d been thinking aloud, to his horror and creeping embarrassment. “Did you think I would laugh at you?” His voice was soft and sounded a little sad.
“You don’t care I do ballet? Even if… even if ballet is said to be for girls only?”
Sehun’s immediate shaking of his head stunned him. “Why shouldn’t boys do ballet? Maybe not a lot of boys like ballet, but it doesn’t mean they can’t. I’m not into ballet, but I won’t stop others from liking and learning it. Doesn’t matter if they’re a boy or a girl. I guess what I’m saying is you should do what you want. If you like ballet, and you’re happy doing it, shouldn’t that be the most important thing?”
Sehun’s overflowing sincerity dissolved the fears shackling Jongin, like a huge burden lifted from his shoulders. A large source of comfort. Unfair snap judgments, the awkward laughs when he spoke highly of ballet, snide whispers behind his back—perhaps the painful effects left behind by these actions wouldn’t disappear right away, but friends like Sehun, together with his positivity and encouragement, was the sort of assurance he needed to help him push on forward.
“Hey, Jongin, don’t you think this is a little… We’re best friends, but I’m only getting to know you better now,” Sehun wondered aloud. Shook his head. “This won’t do, this won’t do. As best friends, we should know a lot of things about each other, right? We shouldn’t keep secrets about our likes and dislikes. I think we should start over.” He slid off the stool to stand in front of Jongin. “Hi, I’m Oh Sehun. I’m eleven years old. I like archery and sweet things. I don’t like Math and scary teachers. I hope we’ll be closer and better best friends from now on. Pleased to meet you!” He bowed and stuck a hand out; wore his signature grin
Jongin slid off his own stool and glanced at the offered hand. Sehun’s other hand was coated with melted ice cream as it dripped down his fingers. Smiling, he parroted Sehun’s speech, with a few differences:
“Hi, I’m Kim Jongin. I’m eleven years old. I like ballet and reading books. My favorite fruit is strawberry. I don’t think any of our teachers are scary, as long as you behave and do your homework.” He chuckled at Sehun’s pout; gave his awaiting hand a firm shake. A seal, a promise. “Pleased to meet you, too!”
☆彡
Summer’s sweltering heat and humid air started fading mid-August. Walking outdoors no longer felt fatiguing, frozen treats and iced drinks lasting longer. Over the slow-moving course of the months, Jongin diligently attended ballet classes, finished the new novels his sisters bought for him, attempted clearing his homework list. One of their teachers required them to do a journal and pen down their everyday activities from the beginning of summer break. Page after page of dated paragraphs were decorated with random, colored doodles. Majority of his entries talked about hanging out with Sehun after finishing ballet classes and rounds of archery.
Neither of them arranged this. On one of the hottest Wednesdays of the season, Jongin sought temporary refuge from the convenience store instead of going home to leech off of its air conditioning. He bought an ice cream sandwich as he waited, watching people walk past from his window seat. Sehun joined him minutes later, faster in consuming his ice cream like he was starved and requested a taste of Jongin’s sandwich.
Come Friday, Jongin saw Sehun from outside the store, already seated and waving at him with both hands. He shared the cookies Ms. Lee handed out to everyone in class, Sehun eating most of them with the biggest smile on his face Jongin had seen yet. On Monday, they broke their ice cream tradition and drank fruit shakes for a change. Three times a week, Jongin looked forward to something else aside from ballet class. Three times a week, Sehun wheedled him into hanging out in other places.
Past mid-August, another boring Monday. Jongin’s mother handed him a list of ingredients for tonight’s dinner. He was to shop at the supermarket holding discounted sales on selected items during Mondays. Jongin had gone to the supermarket a few times, but with his mother. Mother’s intuition must’ve picked up on his concern, for Mrs. Kim sketched him a map and worked through directions together until he could perfectly, confidently recite them back. Still, during commute, Jongin stared at the map he taped on the last page of his notepad. After ballet class, his pocket seemed to weigh heavier with each step.
“What’s that?”
Jongin startled; whipped around so fast. Sehun climbed onto the next stool, eyes fixed on the map. “When did you get here?” he asked, instead, cheeks burning.
“Was I seeing things? I thought I saw a map to the supermarket three blocks from here.” Sehun slightly pointed at the now-closed notepad.
“I’m not too familiar with this part of the city.” Jongin was compelled not to hide the truth, but he wasn’t comfortable enough to share the entirety of it, either. Although he’d been living in Seoul for a few years now, certain locations remained unvisited; thus, his lack of knowledge (and directions).
Sehun hummed, a soft, contemplative sound. “I can show you the way, if you want.”
“Please,” Jongin blurted out before he could stop himself but didn’t take it back. Help was right in front of him, and he’d be a fool to let the chance pass by.
Their walk to the supermarket consisted of Sehun pointing at important signs and towering buildings doubling as landmarks. Jongin crammed as much information through hasty sketches while committing others to memory.
The supermarket loomed before them, and Jongin sighed in sheer relief. Finishing off the sketch to hang a basket on the crook of his arm upon entry, he looked at Sehun and said, “Thanks for helping me.”
“Don’t mention it. Just…”
“Hmm?”
Sehun sounded hesitant in his next reply. “Promise me you won’t get angry? Okay? Okay. Do you… easily get lost? Is that why you draw maps?” No malice, no teasing—just pure, genuine curiosity buried in the question.
Even so, heat scored Jongin’s cheeks, spreading up to his ears. “I… I’m really bad at directions.” The admission might not have come easy, but denying would’ve done nothing.
Sehun’s face took on a thoughtful expression. Again, with unwavering sincerity, and growing curiosity, he asked, “Is that why you couldn’t find the library during fourth grade when others easily could? Why you looked nervous when our Physical Education teacher sent you to fetch new nets from the other building’s storage room? Why…”
Jongin rewarded each question with a nod; simultaneously, Sehun’s brows furrowed, confusion crossing his features. He spoke again after Sehun ran out of questions. “I only get lost in new places. My sense of direction gets better after I’ve been to the place a few times. But just in case, I have something to help me find my way back.”
Honesty warred—was winning—against long-time embarrassment when, after expelling a deep breath, Jongin led them over to the sweets aisle and opened the notepad before Sehun’s fascinated eyes. He smiled a little at Sehun’s awed sounds while praising the maps; his coloring and drawings. The random snippets of him having visited this or that place on Jongin’s maps, by himself or with parents.
Sehun closed and returned the notepad to Jongin. “I’ve lived in Seoul my whole life, so I know how to get to places. If you want to go anywhere, tell me. We’ll go together.”
Jongin clutched the notepad with clammy hands. Sehun’s response had been positive so far, though restlessness and dread came over him that this might not last. “Thanks for not laughing.”
Sehun shot him a confused stare. “Why would I laugh?” His eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion. “Did someone make fun of you for this? Who was it? Was it a classmate?”
“No one,” Jongin answered right away, surprised by Sehun’s reaction; his mood shift. “No one from school knows. You’re the first one I’ve told.”
His reassurance seemed to have reached him, for Sehun calmed down right away. “Getting lost is scary. I wouldn’t want to get lost. I won’t make fun of someone who does, either. That’s something only mean people do.”
“And you’re not mean,” Jongin agreed. “You’re never mean to me, or others.”
Sehun beamed. “C’mon, let me help with the items you need.” He matched his steps with Jongin’s as they checked the list and searched for the condiments. “If you don’t want me to tell anyone, I won’t. It’ll be a secret between us. I promise as your best friend to never tell a single soul for as long as I live.”
On the bus ride home, Jongin leaned his head against the window and stared out at the sceneries sliding past. His mind played a film of Sehun’s promise on loop, his entire body enveloped in a cozy, fuzzy type of warmth.
☆彡
“So if you carry this over here, you get…”
Sehun exclaimed with excitement, the frown on his face transforming into a grin. “I get it now!” He bounced in his seat, pencil scratching across the paper and showed off his complete solution. He threw his hands up in the air after Jongin confirmed the answer with a nod and did a little celebratory dance. “I think I can solve the rest of the problem set now.”
And he did so without help, his grin growing wider every time Jongin checked his solutions and announced every item correct.
“Wow! Algebra had never seemed so simple until you taught me.” Sehun fell back onto the softness of Jongin’s carpeted bedroom floor, stretching out his arms.
“You definitely understand the basic concepts. Be more confident in your problem-solving skills,” Jongin told him, arranging his papers and notebooks.
A short, contemplative silence from Sehun’s end. “I’m not sure if I’m cut out for studying,” he confessed, breaking the quiet of the room. “It’s fun when the lessons are easy to understand, but they get harder and everything becomes too complicated for my mind to absorb.”
“No, you just learn differently,” Jongin said, craning his neck for a glimpse at him. Sehun’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, lips pursed.
Before Sehun’s arrival for their tutoring session, Jongin had prepared flash cards with doodles of cartoon chicks on them. He’d noticed Sehun’s interest in studying tend to peak if the books contained colorful pictures. From there, he experimented by drawing Pororo characters to explain the step-by-step process of finding solutions. Sehun had laughed in childish amusement the first time he saw the cards; answered Jongin’s sample problems with surprising ease, aced the quiz the next day to his complete shock and joy. Since then, Sehun had requested his help with the subject. Jongin would let him keep the cards; drew different things for each lesson, took note of Sehun’s receptiveness to chicks with crinkled eyes like his.
Sehun sat up, fixing Jongin with a serious stare. “Have you ever thought of becoming a teacher? I bet you’d make an awesome teacher. You’d probably be better than the tutors my mom hires for private Algebra tuition. She always says they’re good, but I can’t remember anything they teach me.”
“It’s never crossed my mind to be a teacher,” Jongin admitted. He imagined an adult version of himself in a suit and working with teenagers like themselves, following up on students with abysmal grades and low attendance rates, preparing fun and interactive activities not limited within the classroom. Perhaps he could be a teacher, if he was determined and interested enough—except his ambition lay somewhere else.
“I wonder what I’ll be in the future,” Sehun wondered aloud, the volume of his voice hinting he was saying it more to himself than to Jongin. “Being president of South Korea seems fun but a lot of work. Ah, I know! I want to be a great star!”
“Aren’t you one already?” Jongin teased, though he meant it just the same. “Finding letters in your shoe locker almost every morning doesn’t happen to the average eighth grade student.”
A blush of pink bloomed on Sehun’s cheeks. He rubbed his nape, let out a shy laugh.
Entering middle school invited awareness to Sehun’s existence stemming from joining the archery club. New recruits—freshmen, in particular—often failed to qualify during tryouts for the citywide archery tournament, insufficient exposure to practice and unpolished skills cited as the top reasons. Sehun shocked the club by showing startling mastery and raising the most points among the newbies. The club seniors and coach debated on whether he should participate, freshman status the root of their hesitation. The numbers and promising skills were undeniable, thus earning himself a spot as a participating player. Although their team had been eliminated close to the finals for the middle school division due to a deficit in the players’ combined scores, the fact they advanced that far for the first time in the school club’s history was enough to create buzz among students, regardless of year. No longer was Sehun merely known as a pretty boy or the class clown who extracted laughter with his jokes and mischievous, harmless pranks, but also a promising asset to the archery club with untapped potential.
To Jongin, however, Sehun remained the sweet, laid-back person whose dreams changed according to his moods and interests; cheered up classmates the best he could, whined about the boring classes and mean-looking teachers, and consistently took the egg rolls from his plate when they served it for lunch.
They finished the rest of their homework together. Jongin glanced at the wall clock and announced, “I have to go. Ballet starts in an hour.”
“Thanks for today.” Sehun tidied his belongings. “If I can’t understand anything, I’ll text you.”
Though middle school demanded more time for academics, Jongin continued attending ballet classes. The adrenaline rush and absolute satisfaction of captivating the audience’s attention through dance he had experienced on his first recital solidified his decision of pursuing ballet as a profession. His parents had been nothing but supportive when he told them his dream, as long as he gave equal focus and importance to his studies. Jongin struggled a little in balancing both when school workload became heavier, but he managed and faced little to no problems most days.
Jongin attended the same dance studio, albeit belonging to a new class after moving to higher grades over the years. One less worry about finding the right place to learn had he transferred somewhere else. He still saw Ms. Lee on occasion. His current teacher, Ms. Choi, was another former ballerina who handled the classes for intermediate level. Ms. Choi was far stricter than Ms. Lee, despite her petite frame and gentle appearance. Most of his classmates from beginner level no longer attended classes. Some of them dropped ballet in favor of concentrating for a future unrelated to dance; the others, Jongin had no idea where they went.
New class, new faces. Studying in different schools, varying in family backgrounds and ages. In a class of fifteen, only three were boys, Jongin included. He got along fairly well with everyone, conversation either starting from his end or theirs before and after class.
One of them initiated talk after class concluded. Jongin barely touched the towel atop his bag when his name was called. He stood straight again, wondering what the most praised female student in class would need from him.
By the door, two other girls watched on in unveiled interest. Jongin recalled seeing these three girls regularly leaving together after class, so they must be friends or attended the same school.
“Was there something you needed, Saemi?” Jongin asked politely, sighing in relief to himself for remembering her name at the last moment.
A pink envelope designed with frills and lace served as answer. Jongin understood right away what the envelope contained; its purpose and who should be in possession of it.
“So popular even in other schools now, huh?” Jongin teased the next day while handing Sehun the letter. On mornings with plenty of spare time before homeroom, they often found each other at the school rooftop.
Sehun inspected the envelope and slipped the letter in his blazer’s inner pocket. Jongin answered Sehun’s questions of name and age, school, a description of what she looked like.
“I haven’t interacted with her a lot except if we’re assigned as partners for class.” Jongin paused. “No, come to think of it, Saemi was the first classmate who welcomed me on day one.”
Sehun hummed. A nod almost imperceptible. “I see. How did ballet class go yesterday? Was it fun?”
Jongin shared the interesting parts, though at the back of his mind, he found Sehun’s shift to another topic odd. He concluded he might’ve been looking too much into things since Sehun returned to his usual cheerful self as the day progressed.
He forgot about the letter’s existence and Sehun’s strange reaction until Saemi approached him next meeting, shyly inquiring about Sehun’s response.
“I gave the letter, but he hasn’t mentioned anything about it.” The more Jongin spoke, the duller Saemi’s expression grew. Jongin knew the lack of expected reaction wasn’t his fault, but he still felt partially responsible. He picked his next words wisely and strung them together to use in comforting Saemi. He commiserated with Saemi’s disappointment, though he refused to speak on behalf of Sehun. It wasn’t his place, or his right, in this delicate situation.
The best he could do was give a slight nudge, a reminder. Jongin didn’t want to push too hard. Saemi hadn’t asked him about it again, but the expectant hope in her eyes every time he showed up for ballet class stabbed Jongin with guilt. Sehun’s seemingly lack of cooperation wasn’t helping, even if he listened to Jongin’s request of reconsidering Saemi’s confession.
The new week opened with an uneventful Monday. Jongin spent his time after class doing a bit of homework and reading novels in the library. The dance studio was undergoing minor renovations, so classes would resume on Wednesday. His body yearned for the activity, reading breaks used to summon the feeling of well-stretched limbs and timing between executing steps. On the bright side, he lost himself between the magical pages of light novels translated from Japanese; checked out two more about time travel and artificial intelligence. He left the library hoping to catch Sehun at the archery range and go home together—it had been a while since the last time.
Partway there, a seventh-grade student approached him and asked if he was Kim Jongin; that someone was waiting for him at the school gate.
Saemi stood by herself at the gate, gray uniform sticking out among the sea of blue of Jongin’s school. She attracted stares from passing students, whispers filling the air, neither the scandalous kind. Her face split wide into a smile upon seeing Jongin, which he reciprocated.
“I’m here to see Oh Sehun,” Saemi declared, affirming what Jongin had suspected on the way to see her. Maybe he should’ve acted more surprised, because she followed her statement with a question. “You don’t seem shocked by my appearance?”
“Let’s say I had a feeling this was going to happen when I couldn’t give you a more satisfying answer,” Jongin said, honest but gentle.
Saemi smiled, a bit sheepish. “Did I give that sort of impression? I’m told I look the type who doesn’t take no for an answer.” She chuckled. “Do you know where I might find him?”
Jongin led her to the school’s archery range. “If it’s not too nosy, how did you come to know about Sehun?”
“It’s a cheesy story. It sounds so unbelievably fictional, too. You might laugh if I tell you.” Pink colored Saemi’s face.
“It’s not my place to judge people’s stories.” Jongin wore a smile he hoped looked encouraging.
The story was similar to the others Jongin had heard before Saemi’s; from select parts of confession letters Sehun shared with him. Saemi’s school had participated in the same citywide archery tournament last year. Saemi and her friends had watched one of the matches to support their school team that happened to go against Sehun’s. Even if Sehun wasn’t the star player for their team, he had scored the highest for the boys’ individual competition overall. Saemi should’ve been cheering for their school’s players, but Sehun had seized her entire attention from his first released arrow; couldn’t forget him since. She had asked around for information, liked what she heard about his personality from shared friend circles; couldn’t believe her luck when she found out Jongin went to the same school as Sehun and personally knew him.
“I’ve heard Oh Sehun has never accepted a single confession,” Saemi said. “I don’t know if I can make a difference, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not hoping to be an exception.”
“Jongin? Why are you here?” From the opened doors of the archery range filed out club members and Sehun, who walked over to Jongin right away. Jongin explained why, and he nodded. “You should’ve told me you didn’t have ballet today. Since you’re here, let’s go home together.”
“Oh, actually…” A flicker of recognition flashed across Sehun’s face when Jongin said Saemi’s name; introduced them to each other. Reading the current atmosphere and refusing to third-wheel, Jongin grabbed the opportunity to excuse himself. “I have to go. Mom wants me home early today.”
Sehun gave him a doubtful look but said nothing further. Jongin nodded once to Saemi in goodbye; waved at Sehun and made gestures over his mouth for him to smile.
“You rejected her?” was the first thing Jongin heard the next morning inside the classroom. Sehun was leaning against the open window surrounded by classmates who must’ve heard about what happened yesterday.
“I didn’t want to lead her on,” Sehun argued, a slight furrow between his brows. “That’s hurtful, and I’d be an incredibly big jerk to do it to her.”
Several groans all around. They sounded more dissatisfied than Sehun, never mind they weren’t the recipient of the confession. Jongin hung his bag on the side of his desk and continued listening, though it was hard to understand and pick apart who said what when everyone was complaining and speaking over each other at the same time.
“She could’ve been compatible with you!”
“What goes on in your mind? You really let go of the Na Saemi, a top-ranked student—”
“—Gangnam lady who doesn’t look at just anyone—”
“—must’ve set her sights on you since—”
“I mean, just look at her—”
Sehun let them finish ranting before speaking again. “I know nothing about her except for what she wrote in her letter. I’m flattered and grateful for the attention, but if I feel nothing, why should I force myself?”
More dissatisfied groans. One of them sauntered over to Jongin and slapped a hand down his desk. “Hey, Jongin, can’t you talk some sense into your best friend? A girl of that caliber and he let her go just like that—what a waste!”
Jongin looked up in amusement at their classmate, Sehun, back again. “He can decide what he wants for himself,” he said, smiling slightly.
“He always listens to you. I heard you were there yesterday. You should’ve convinced him not to turn her down.”
“Leave Jongin out of this,” Sehun said, making his way over. He playfully pushed aside the classmate, accepted a push back. He shooed them away so he could sit on his desk, which was situated beside Jongin’s.
“You’re going to build a heartbreaker reputation if you continuously turn down confessions,” Jongin said, once their classmates stopped pestering Sehun and moved on to annoy other people.
“I already feel bad enough turning people down after receiving so much sincerity from their confessions. But it would be lying if I said yes and be miserable throughout the relationship. I’m really sorry for hurting them every time I have to turn down a confession. I pray they can find someone who will return their affection in return. As blunt as it sounds, I don’t want to give anyone false hopes and not follow through. The pain from that would be worse.”
“Feelings can grow after getting to know someone,” Jongin pointed out.
Sehun sighed, a long, thoughtful sound. “None of them made me feel like I wanted to get to know them more. So far, everything has just been so… sparkless.”
“So what would ignite that spark?”
A significant pause. Sehun worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “I don’t know,” came the honest answer. “Maybe the world will be pink and flowers will start cropping up in my vision when I look at the other person? It’s hard to say. I can’t describe what I haven’t experienced. It might not happen anytime soon.” He grinned, and then cocked his head, gaze questioning. “What about you, Jongin? How would you know if have a crush? How would you know if they ignite a spark?”
☆彡
Jongin’s history of crushes was neither long nor impressive.
His first encounter with the word happened in kindergarten. At the time, he wasn’t aware a word for it existed. Jongin thought nothing about the way a classmate would share their snacks with him during recess, lend him the precious crayons they wouldn’t share with anyone else, saved him a pillow for nap time. Jongin thought the classmate was merely kind to quiet kids like him who had trouble fitting in; but when others drew stick figures of them holding hands on the blackboard enclosed in a giant heart, Jongin had never seen someone so upset and burst into tears, whining about their secret being unfairly exposed.
The experience left a deep impression on him. Taught him two things: the word and its definition; and, if you had a crush on someone, it was either no one’s business but your own, or people finding out your secret and announcing it to the world with or without permission.
Moving around a lot didn’t create a lot of opportunities to form concrete impressions, much less deeper bonds, so Jongin’s knowledge about crushes was gained through books, if they contained romance, and watching movies. In school, he might find one or two classmates nice, attractive, smelled good, or shared a favorite food; expected the fluttering butterflies in the stomach to come after, the fast beating of his heart, like how they described it in novels. The absence of these cues fed Jongin’s disappointment, which morphed into understanding once he gained more insight over the years and watched other people’s interactions that what he’d felt then was more of admiration or platonic than romantic.
The closest to what Jongin could call a crush was in first grade. He remembered her as someone older by three years and a regular at his father’s bakery. He remembered her generous compliments of him if he was helping his father. He didn’t know when it happened, but Jongin started waiting for her daily visits. Sought her out in the neighborhood if he was sent on errands, his hangout places like the playground and the arcade. Seeing her filled Jongin with happiness. Not seeing her made him sad and moody; would grumble about the incompleteness of his day to his mother.
“Does my Jongin have a crush on someone?” Mrs. Kim asked, smiling tenderly as she smoothed his hair. Funny how it took a single question to help Jongin realize what was happening to him.
Funnier how the crush faded fast—a contrast to its gradual development—when she stopped showing up at the bakery one day, the next, an entire month. Jongin learned later she and her family escaped to Busan in the middle of the night to run away from loan sharks. Other crushes came and went with varying shelf lives, their common link not inspiring Jongin to learn more about them past the initial but transitory feel-good, fluttery feelings; thus, his inability to provide Sehun with an answer when he posed the question days ago.
“Say, Jongin, does Sehun even like anyone?” Jihan, one of he and Sehun’s mutual friends in class, asked while moving chairs around. Jongin was grouped with him and a few others for cleaning duty while Sehun already left for club activities. “He has people confessing to him, but he’s turned all of them down.”
“He hasn’t mentioned anyone,” Jongin replied, sweeping the mess of dust and paper bits across the floor. “What I can tell you is he doesn’t seem interested enough in anyone to pursue them.”
Jihan made a noise of acknowledgment. “Is he one of those hopeless romantic types? He gave me that impression when the English teacher talked about ‘Romeo and Juliet’ in passing. I noticed how immersed he was with the story. We went to the cafeteria to get a snack together, and he couldn’t stop ranting about the sad ending.”
“Are you sure Sehun was immersed in the story and not with the one who’s telling it?” Wonjae, another friend who belonged to their circle, questioned in honest curiosity. “Sehun isn’t an active participant in class, but he becomes this eager puppy as soon as Mr. Gong enters the room at the start of English period.”
A third friend, Seungjoon, who’d been arranging desks in silence, let out a snort of disbelief. All eyes turned to him. “If you ask me, he likes the incredibly sexy types. I was browsing through this magazine I stole from my brother and, oh, boy, the way he stared at Miranda Kerr’s pictures. If he’s waiting for someone with Miranda Kerr’s body type, he’s gonna grow old before that happens. Have you seen the girls in this country? No match.”
Jongin frowned. “Hey, don’t talk about girls like that.”
Seungjoon had the decency to flinch at the call out and blushed. “Yeah, not a nice thing to say about girls. Sorry,” he mumbled, the red of embarrassment on his cheeks.
“So Oh Sehun is a heartbreaker with a reason, not because he’s doing it for fun?” Jihan wondered aloud.
Wonjae let out a low whistle. “Who would’ve thought Sehun would be like that? How pure. Guys our age would’ve had at least one or two exes already.”
“Sehun would never play with anyone’s feelings,” Jongin said. “He isn’t the type.”
Jongin continued sweeping in peace, the conversation posing a few questions. Everyone’s observations aligned with Jongin’s as far as Mr. Gong was concerned. More than a few times he recalled Sehun praising Mr. Gong’s good looks. About a month into the school year, Sehun expressed interest in learning English seriously; the obvious stars in his eyes whenever Mr. Gong praised his high scores or thanked him for erasing the blackboard on his behalf.
If Jongin followed this narrative, it meant Sehun took a liking to attractive people who spoke English well and generously praised him.
Jongin sighed; shook his head. He had no idea of what Sehun liked or looked for in another person; had never heard of him mention crushes before. Sehun would praise people for being handsome or pretty, maybe kind and understanding if he knew them relatively better, but it never went beyond the polite description. Jongin didn’t bother asking him about crushes, trusting Sehun to volunteer the information himself rather than trying to pry open deliberately-shut doors. No issue, either, if Sehun simply never had a crush in his life. It was normal and not something to be ashamed of.
Like some sort of prophecy fulfilled, Sehun’s heartbreaker reputation soon spread, coming in third to the most popular descriptions attached to his name. Fortunately, the first thing people still associated with him was archery. Second would be his looks and personality. The unfortunate third was his relationship status, a detail of enormous interest in and beyond the school campus, and the rumors surrounding his string of rejections.
“I don’t want to be known as a heartbreaker,” Sehun groused, on the rare time they met up after archery practice and ballet class. Sehun’s unannounced appearance at the ballet studio surprised Jongin, but he couldn’t get a question out once he noticed his sullen expression. Sensing a long talk and venting session ahead, Jongin suggested they move, and Sehun brought them to a nearby tteokbokki restaurant.
“Between a troublemaker and a heartbreaker, the former description scares off a lot of potential friends more.”
“How about I accept neither?” Sehun emphasized each word with force and mild annoyance, scooping rice cakes and fish cakes from the simmering pot. “I want to be known for something, you know, positive? No one wants to be associated with the image of broken bones and breaking hearts.” He chomped on his food with such strength Jongin was a bit concerned he might chew on his tongue.
Sehun broke the ensuing silence with a sigh. His shoulders drooped, dispirited, and sadness lined his features. “I don’t want people to have these kinds of impressions of me. None of them are even true.”
Jongin slowly put his chopsticks down and chose his next words carefully. “Troublemaker? Lies. You don’t stir up trouble at all. If they knew what you went through, they’d be more careful of their accusations. Heartbreaker? Never. Better than changing partners as often as you breathed. People will talk as they please without thinking of the consequences, and they’ll remember the bad things more than the good. But if you continue working hard to be known as Oh Sehun, rising archer of Jamsil Middle School with exceptional character, you can prove you’re not any of the things the rumors claim.”
Sehun said nothing in response. The rest of the meal carried on in silence. Occasional stolen glances told Jongin the tension in Sehun’s shoulder bled away a little more with each moment passed.
Sehun spoke up for the first time after paying at the counter. “You’re right. I can’t do anything if people want to talk. I can only hope the good things about me will overshadow the bad. As long as family, friends, and I know the truth, I shouldn’t let senseless rumors beat me down.” A tiny smile perked the corner of his lips. “Ah, now I’m all fired up to train again. I’ll show them what I’m made of. Thanks so much, Jongin. You always know best what to say to me.”
They joined the thick evening crowd out in the streets, people deliberating on food choices or discussing where to go next. It meant narrower spaces to pass through, and continually splitting up and reuniting to give way for groups who had a penchant for walking without caring for others. Jongin stopped keeping track the fifth time it happened, annoyed at the frequent interruptions in conversation with Sehun.
Round the corner, Jongin picked up where their talk stopped; wondered why Sehun wasn’t responding after he explained his opinion about eels laying eggs instead of giving birth.
A middle-aged man stared right at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who are you talking to, boy?”
Jongin checked his surroundings immediately, craning his neck as he wandered in search of Sehun. The throngs of people impeded his progress, and he suspected he was drifting further away from their original destination. Giving up, Jongin stood in front of the GS25 and nearly sent a text if not for the loud, panicked call of his name stopping him.
“Why the heck were you following that old man?” was Sehun’s first question upon reaching him, face flushed but worried.
“I thought it was you,” was Jongin’s calm, honest answer. “Weren’t we walking beside each other? How did you even lose me?”
“I got held back by some foreigners bumping into me. Next thing I know, you were gone. Then I saw you talking to the old man. I’m offended you mistook me for a crusty old man. What? Don’t raise your eyebrow at me. The good thing is you didn’t walk off too far. If you got lost, or I lost you, that would’ve been trouble.”
“I’m familiar with these parts.” Jongin swept a hand wide, indicating their surroundings.
Sehun’s face creased some more. “That won’t stop me from worrying. Let’s go. Stick close, okay?”
To ease his mind, Jongin made a more conscious effort of following Sehun. Conversation returned, but not for long. A couple pushed past and separated them. Several repetitions after. Jongin instantly resumed his place. Sehun ruffled his hair in frustration, mouth curving downward in a severe frown.
Coming up with a quick solution, Jongin linked his fingers with Sehun’s as they walked. He’d never seen Sehun look down and up so fast, wide-eyed stare filled with wonder and confusion but never shrugging off his hold.
Jongin spotted a suited man looking at his watch rushing toward and through them. He wasn’t sure if he yanked Sehun close to him or the opposite happened on his passing, but when they descended the subway stairs, Jongin noted the missing space between their arms. The newfound proximity was odd but not by any means unpleasant or unwelcome. Warmth flowed from where their fingers were connected; the point where their shoulders touched. Not even passing through the turnstiles could keep them apart.
The journey home was soaked in comfortable silence, neither of them relinquishing their hold.
☆彡
Watching an archery match live set Jongin on edge, albeit exciting by its own right.
The tension doubled while he sat in the bleachers with friends after their school’s archery team advanced to the finals this year, in the most shocking overturn of a three-point difference against the eliminated opponent. Same citywide archery tournament for the junior division from last year. Same reigning champion they needed to defeat. Three against three, an hour-long match; longer, if required. One objective of accumulating the most points in order to taste glorious victory.
From his seat in the bleachers, Jongin watched Sehun and two teammates in deep discussion with the coach, nodded in unison, paid attention to the opposing team once they were given the signal to start. Anticipation hung thick in the air, everybody in the gym incredibly focused on the first player. The crowd would only break the silence to clap after each player’s shot before settling down once more. Rinse, repeat, points totaled. Jongin bit his lower lip. Their team needed to raise higher points, or gain similar scores, if they didn’t want to be left behind.
Beside Jongin, Wonjae nudged him and whispered, “Don’t look so tense. Our team will make it.”
Jongin bit his thumb, refusing to answer for fear of jinxing what was fated.
Sehun’s turn. Jongin’s nerves hummed in mixed excitement and apprehension. Perhaps his imagination was running on overdrive, but when Sehun took his bow and stood behind the shooting line, supporters of the opposing team would give him their attention so different from their players. Jihan’s offhand comment of Sehun’s name making rounds more than usual after snagging the most points in the boys’ individual match justified the observation.
Despite shuffling positions, Sehun almost always shot last in team matches but left the biggest impression, evident in the thunderous applause and loud cheers from both sides. Although the players never reacted to the vocal support, faces collectively impassive from beginning to end, Jongin knew Sehun was touched; discerned it from the way he kept pressing his lips together to smother his smiles to preserve his poker expression if the camera panned to him, never mind he couldn’t see him up close.
The LED scoreboard lit up. Their team was short by one point. Jongin exhaled deep and long; braced himself for this waiting game.
The teams completed all three rounds without incident. The opposing team and defending champion earned a whopping 228 points out of 250.
Jongin fought between screwing his eyes shut and peeking at the board. Wonjae was squeezing his arm and making high-pitched noises. To his right, Jihan and Seungjoon were calculating in haste, hoping to get the sum that would determine their celebration or mourning.
The red “232” flashed below their team’s name, triggering a resounding wave of triumphant shouts.
The winning shot had been Sehun’s, as shown by the individual scoring list on the board. It secured them the victory their coach had longed for the boys’ team since the club’s conception; the gold medals and prestige.
Jongin and the others accosted Sehun in the hallway on his way out. They ruffled his hair, gave him bear hugs, attempted to toss him in the air but escaped from their clutches. Sehun received their affections with hearty laughter, eyes crinkling in mirth. Commemorative pictures were taken in assorted poses, ignoring the weird stares from onlookers. The coach wanted to treat the team to dinner, so they couldn’t keep Sehun for long. They only let him go after extracting a promise of a separate celebration tomorrow, details to follow.
“I’m coming over later. Wait for me,” was what Sehun whispered to Jongin, when the others were distracted by the arrival of the girls’ team.
Jongin wondered if Sehun was serious or he misheard, given the noise of their surroundings.
And then he received a text from Sehun at half past ten later that evening. Dressing quickly and grabbing the essentials, Jongin carried his shoes and carefully closed the apartment door behind him. Though his family was well-acquainted with Sehun, sneaking out at a late hour to meet him wasn’t something they’d take too well, best friend or not.
Sehun stood by the gate of the apartment complex waiting for him. His hands were shoved inside his coat pockets, breath coming out in small, white puffs. Autumn was on the verge of fading, the chilly bite in the air foretelling winter’s impending arrival. Jongin shivered from the draft of cold air wafting across his face as he sprinted the rest of the way.
“So what’s up? What are we doing?”
“Anything. I have no plans,” Sehun confessed. “I just wanted to spend time together.”
“We could’ve done that tomorrow.”
“Sure, but I wanted to hang out with just you for now,” Sehun insisted. “Training for the tournament has taken a lot of my free time. You’ve been busy with rehearsals for the year-end recital, so we can’t arrange a time to meet that works for us. We hang out on lunch breaks, but we’re with friends. I don’t mind, it’s more fun that way—but when was it just the two of us?”
Jongin opened and closed his mouth, unable to refute the presented facts. “You’re right,” he finally conceded.
“I’m always right,” Sehun remarked, fake smugness in his voice. “Winter break is coming soon, too. My parents are planning to holiday overseas. If I let this chance pass, who knows when we’ll see each other again?”
Jongin couldn’t help but laugh. “You make it sound so dramatic. There’s always next year.”
Sehun pouted. “Can’t wait that long. We’re hanging out now, and that’s final.”
They bought a ton of snacks with their combined allowance and sat themselves on the swings in the playground. Jongin soaked up the bunggeopang’s warmth between his hands, blew on it several times, bit on the tail. “I said it already, but I want to tell you again: you did great today.”
“Thanks,” Sehun said around a mouthful of hotteok, eyes crinkling into those familiar crescents. “None of this feels real. Me, doing the winning shot? Never in my wildest dreams! A lot rode on that last arrow—I can’t believe I lived up to expectation.”
Jongin smiled at the animated way Sehun talked, complete with hand gestures (and almost dropped his hotteok); the palpable love and passion he harbored for archery. He might not be as well-versed in archery, even with additional reading from books and guides he read at the library, but it didn’t stop him from expanding his knowledge if only to relate better to Sehun.
Jongin finished the rest of his bunggeopang. “At this rate, you might really become an archer.”
“You know what? That doesn’t sound too bad.” Sehun sounded as determined as he looked when Jongin turned to him. “I had a lot of ambitions when we were kids. Mayor, president, policeman, lawyer—I wanted to be a lot of things. I couldn’t settle on one. But my interest would only last for one week—two?—before I got tired and moved on. I thought the same about archery. Playing it is fun. I like it as a hobby. I wasn’t sure if I’d continue doing it for a long time. When our team was eliminated last year, I thought about quitting.”
Jongin stopped swinging, speechless. His mind returned to the period in time when Sehun was nothing but sulky from their defeat. He had no idea Sehun entertained such thoughts; bottled up all this sorrow in his heart.
Sehun’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “But I couldn’t. I admit the loss affected me a lot. I saw no reason to continue if all our hard work went down the drain. I thought of skipping practice, but my feet always led me to the archery range. That’s when I knew I couldn’t give up archery. Thinking of putting down my bow hurts a lot—you know the pain of a fractured arm? It feels like that for me. For the very first time in my life, I wanted to continue doing something and never give it up.”
A soft chuckle, and then Sehun faced Jongin. “You don’t know this, so I’ll tell you now. I envied you a lot. I envied you because of your passion for ballet. You knew what you wanted from the start. You had a dream to focus on, and you were determined to make it true. Most students our age are still searching for themselves, or can’t imagine their futures at all. When I listen to you talk about ballet, I wondered if I’d feel a similar kind of passion one day. If I would experience the kind of happiness that comes with working hard for a dream I want to be a reality.”
“And you’ve found it in archery, am I right?”
Sehun nodded—confident, sure. Numerous emotions swelled in Jongin’s chest. At the forefront was happiness because Sehun finally found his dream. Pride followed close because Sehun chose to fight for this dream, even though he’d been stung by the bitterness of defeat by past events.
A lapse of comfortable silence passed before Jongin spoke. “Remember when you said you wanted to be a great star? You’re getting there. It’s because of archery, and your hard work.”
“You think so?” Intrigue and hopefulness colored Sehun’s voice. He gently swung back and forth, the squeak of the swings ringing in the air. “I hope it’s the start of good things for me. I want it to last. Ah, now I want to go and shoot arrows. I can’t wait to watch your year-end recital, by the way. You’re going to do great.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.”
Jongin smiled, warmed by the encouragement. Swung himself; gazed skyward. The dark velvet of the sky was decorated by a lacy pattern of stars, sparkling like the tiniest of diamonds. “Let’s slowly reach for our dreams.”
Sehun made a sound of agreement. “Let’s cheer each other on tirelessly.”
Jongin stopped swinging, extended his arm, and held out a pinky. “Let’s stick to one another through thick and thin.”
Sehun curled pinkies with his. “Let’s be friends forever.”
☆彡
Sehun
i’ve arrived
the hall is packed
don’t be too nervous
you’ll do great
6:37 PM
Jongin locked and unlocked his phone several times in the past five minutes just to read Sehun’s message. If he read it a hundred times more, the text might transform into ingestible liquid courage and calm his nerves. His face felt heavy with makeup, hair artfully styled with product. Behind him, makeup artists and wardrobe staff operated with the ease and efficiency of well-oiled machines amid the pressure and chaos, the dressing room their battlefield wherein they strived for perfection with every painted eyeliner or stitching last-minute adjustments on pristine skirts.
Jongin’s role this time was bigger than the previous years, with more dancing parts where he would lead. He’d only been shortlisted for lead roles recently for as long as he started joining recitals, though it didn’t dishearten him in the slightest. He might sulk about the missed chance, but he’d also take it as an opportunity to improve his dancing, aim for the same goal tirelessly, until he was chosen.
For now, he read Sehun’s message one last time. Inhaled and exhaled several times. He already warmed up and stretched, but his body demanded movement. On the way out, not a single dancer initiated conversation, everyone having retreated to their own worlds for increased focus. Jongin shook his hands and wriggled his fingers; came to terms with the fact he’d never lose the nerves before diving right into a performance. He’d face it again in the future, and again, an inescapable fate of an aspiring dancer such as himself.
Said nerves were easy to forget once he was out on the floor, dancing sequences he’d rehearsed a thousand times to a composition he listened to just as many. Amazing how his entrance to the stage banished every single thought, the world fading away and allowing the music to flow through him; dictated the timing of his transitions, wore and discarded expressions to match the emotions he wished to convey. Twirling, leaping, contorting his body in ways unimaginable, taming the melody and melding it into his being as he moved across the stage.
The final note played and faded, the world returning to focus and full color. The crowd exploded into wonderful applause. Under the spotlight, hand in hand with other dancers as they took a bow, Jongin faced the adoration and laudations of hundreds of people who enjoyed the show.
None of them compared to Sehun’s zeal, the genuine happiness shining in his eyes as he bound up to Jongin backstage. Jongin choked on his laughter and whatever he intended to say the second Sehun stood too close and engulfed him in a hug, chanting his congratulations over and over. The sudden weight and impact had Jongin stepping back to support them both, knees thankfully not buckling. He lightly hugged Sehun back, laughing at his babbling; the unintelligible, excited chirping.
“You were amazing! You danced so amazing!” Sehun said between cheers, slightly jumping in place, taking Jongin with him. “My best friend is the most amazing dancer in the world!” His joy was contagious, the praise warming Jongin all over.
Jongin’s family watched the recital, unstoppable with their showers of praise and physical affection. On the way to the parking lot for a late dinner, Sehun talked about his favorite parts of the recital and accidentally bumped his shoulder into—
“Saemi,” Jongin greeted, pasting on a quick smile. “Fancy seeing you here.”
Saemi was gaping, directed at Sehun for obvious reasons. Tension befell them, Jongin on high alert in case something happened.
To their surprise, Saemi’s face broke into a smile, “Hello, Oh Sehun. I didn’t think I’d run into you today. You came to watch Jongin, yes?”
Dumbstruck, Sehun nodded in affirmation. Snapped out of his dazed state, cleared his throat. “I can see why they chose you as the female lead for the recital. You’re a really great dancer, and you stand out among the rest.” His words contained nothing but honesty.
Saemi’s face softened; smiled and bowed. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to know you think highly of my performance.”
“Jongin is still the best dancer to me, of course.”
Jongin barked out a laugh in sheer bafflement, fingers itching to pinch Sehun on the side to stop with the random commentary.
To their surprise, Saemi threw her head back and laughed, not a trace of bitterness or mockery in the sound. “It doesn’t matter to me. I’m not looking for your approval, anyway. There’s nothing wrong thinking you’re the best in the studio, which I do. We can agree on one thing: Jongin is a wonderful dancer. I mean it.” Showed in the honest glimmer of her gaze once it slid Jongin’s way.
“That went better than I expected,” Jongin admitted, as soon as they were alone again. After the rejection, Saemi continued talking to Jongin, treating him no different despite his direct relation to the person who broke her heart. He never imagined the day Saemi and Sehun faced each other again would come so soon; much less a smooth-sailing conclusion that was almost too good to be true, but Jongin wouldn’t trade this outcome for anything.
“Me, too,” Sehun sounded relieved, even in his surprise. “She seems like a good person. Miles better compared to others I’ve rejected who glared at me when I see them by coincidence. I really hope she finds someone who will be a good match with her.”
First day of winter break saw Jongin and Sehun ambling about in the cold, busy streets. Sehun’s family vacation was in three days, so he wheedled Jongin into spending the entire day together before he flew out to a tropical country for the sun and beaches.
“Don’t have too much fun in Bali. Finals are in a month,” was Jongin’s gentle reminder as he chewed, unmindful of the sauce staining his jaw. They stood to the side of a food cart, sharing tteokbokki and dumplings between them. “I’ll help with Math, but you need to do your part and study for the other subjects.”
“Can we talk about other things that aren’t studying?” Sehun complained, taking a dainty sip of the eomuk broth. “In case you forgot, we’re hanging out to have fun.” One egg roll disappeared from his tray; the second was taken from Jongin’s. “We’ll be ninth graders next year, wow. Time flies so fast. After that, we’ll be in high school. The most fun and beautiful time of your life, my parents told me. My cousins tell me it’s a lie—high school is endless suffering for three years. True freedom is in college. Do you think that’s true?”
Jongin dabbed a napkin at the drying sauce on his chin. “I thought we aren’t talking about things related to studying? But, no, I think people go through different experiences. High school is hard anywhere. Teachers will tell us to concentrate on studies and only studies. I can’t do that, but I can learn to tolerate it and enjoy as much as possible.”
Sehun clumsily sliced a fishcake in half. “I’ll be very surprised if no school with ballet programs accepts you. To be honest, I don’t get why you were given a secondary role. You were better than the lead guy by miles.” He spread out his free arm to show a physical representation of his meaning.
Jongin chuckled, a rise of heat in his cheeks. “Stop. Your praise is going to give me an ego. I can’t have that.”
“It’s fine as long as you don’t let it get to your head. But did I lie, though? Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
“I want to play the lead role next time,” Jongin admitted. “Who wouldn’t? That’s any dancer’s wish come true. Even just once, I want to feel what it’s like to be the main star of a production.”
Entering the mall was a welcome reprieve from the winter cold, heaters warming their noses and fingertips. Most places were thronged with people, busy with their last-minute Christmas shopping. Jongin was marveling at the lit fixtures of a clothing storefront; gasped at the sudden linking of fingers through his.
A tinge of red stained Sehun’s cheeks, spluttering in hurried explanation, “There’s no telling if you’ll suddenly stray off somewhere.”
“I know my way around here,” was Jongin’s answer, seeing through the bluff but received the touch just the same.
High-pitched squeals erupted from behind. Jongin didn’t know if he broke the hold first, or Sehun, too shocked to register anything apart from the mass of awestruck guys approaching them and the gaping loss between his fingers.
The group of guys was their age; attended a middle school with an archery club that also competed in the citywide tournament. At the mention of its name, Jongin remembered their team was eliminated during semi-finals this year. The students recognized Sehun, having watched the final match, commented how cool he looked when he released the winning arrow. They requested an autograph; pictures, if he was fine with that. Jongin stood by the sidelines watching everything in amusement, Sehun’s shy but flattered voice adorable as he answered questions.
One guy asked for a picture together; the second, third. The fourth guy, after posing for the camera, engaged Sehun in light talk. Jongin didn’t mind; continued watching. Sehun laughed at something he said. The fourth guy continued joking, but was that lingering hand on Sehun’s shoulder necessary?
Jongin’s smile stiffened on his face. Sehun didn’t seem to notice anything strange, earnest in his interactions. The fourth guy was batting his eyelashes while asking archery questions. Jongin could feel himself gradually frowning the longer he watched this spectacle of someone pulling moves on an unsuspecting Sehun.
“Hey, look at Sehun’s friend.”—Jongin’s ears perked up immediately at the whispers from the other guys standing a safe distance to the side—“What’s he raising his eyebrow for? So scary.”
“Forget the eyebrow—why is he staring so intensely at Sehun?”
(I am not! Jongin thought to himself—a tad petulant, even by his standards.)
“He looks annoyed.”
“Why would he be annoyed?”
Jongin closed his eyes, breathed deeply, counted to ten. He didn’t even finish—Sehun bade goodbye to the guys, and Jongin had never moved so fast in rejoining him, clutching his elbow, and leading them both away to some random direction.
“Where are we going?” Sehun asked. Once Jongin slowed down, Sehun initiated the linking of their fingers this time. “No, really, what’s the rush?”
“I wanted to go somewhere, but I don’t know how to get there.”
Sehun bought the bluff, looking curious in an instant. “What’s the name of the place? I can take us there.”
Except instead of reveling in the tiny win, Jongin was left confused by his recent antics. Why was he in such a hurry to take Sehun away? The eyebrow raising, the intense staring—none of those made sense.
Jongin named the first random place at the top of his mind; diverted the topic before Sehun could suspect. He nudged Sehun’s shoulder and teased, “What you did back there is like a preview to the life of a famed archer. I think it will suit you. You handled it pretty well.”
“I’m not sure why they chose me. There are plenty of better archers on the same skill level. I’m still thankful, though.” And it showed in the gratefulness on Sehun’s face, though shyness took over when he said his next words. “One of them asked for my number, too. Who? Oh, it was the guy in the green sweater.”
Jongin’s first reaction was to laugh. Inside, he devised ways of plotting green sweater guy’s demise—it was the same person shooting what he could only call heart eyes at Sehun. His second reaction was triggered by the first, a more unpleasant sensation of something sinking inside him. How strange. “Already building a fanbase? That’s good. Start early.”
“I didn’t give my number,” Sehun said, looking at him straight in the eye. “I get being admired for a skill, but what does my number have to do with that? He seemed like he wanted something else other than archery tips.” He shook his head. “Ah, whatever. Let’s go have fun.”
Whatever sank within Jongin was mended in a blink. A pang of shame pricked him. He shouldn’t feel relieved. Delighted. For what reason would he even feel like this?
☆彡
Jongin blew warm air into his cupped palms, rubbed them together, repeat. The crisp, spring air caressed his exposed forehead, and he burrowed his face deeper into the scarf. Several students in uniforms like his passed by him, commiserating with their complaints about the frosty morning. Jongin’s slow trudge to school proved his unwillingness to be out and about at twenty past seven in this weather, relying on sheer willpower and the protection of his coat and scarf to push him one step farther.
“Are you feeling too cold?” Sehun’s curious voice reached his ears as he fell into step with him. “Do you want a hot pack?”
“Yes, please. Thanks.” Jongin sighed in content at the heat seeping from the hot pack. “Went on a run today?”
“Yup. I regretted it a little. The streets were too cold at five in the morning.” Sehun shivered upon remembrance. “I thought I wouldn’t complete my usual route. The run and hot shower helped. I don’t feel as cold as I did anymore.”
“Lucky you.” Jongin squeezed the hot pack for more warmth. “I wonder if I should do morning runs, too.”
Sehun had mentioned their archery club coach suggested early morning runs to improve stamina, which he diligently followed through despite a rocky start of sleeping through his alarms on the first week. He’d been better on the second week; maintained steady progress since. Jongin would know Sehun had been out running from text messages he’d receive anytime between six and seven, either complaining about the weather or commenting about the beauty of the sunrise.
“Only if you want. Aren’t you too tired after ballet and cram school? Don’t overexert yourself. It’s not good for your body.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m willing to surrender the hours I could be using for sleep just yet,” Jongin agreed with a laugh.
Balancing studies and ballet proved challenging for Jongin since entering high school. Teachers never failed to remind students everyday that high school was a critical part of their academic lives. Their freshmen status shouldn’t excuse them from slacking off, reiterating the belief that they should dedicate every second to studying and aiming for top ranks and high grades. Every precious second was vital in shaping their future and should not be wasted on frivolous matters.
Today, Mr. Son, their homeroom teacher, called students one by one to the conference room to discuss their career choices. Jongin sat across Mr. Son, watching him sift through the forms he required students to fill out on the first day. Mr. Son’s forehead wrinkled at one section of his form; questioned why “ballet dancer” was listed as number one among his three choices.
“Your past school records showed you excelled in the sciences. If you applied for pre-med, you would have no problems passing. Your answer confuses me. Why would you place pre-med as a second choice? It should be first. Society will always be in need of doctors.”
Mr. Son meant well, but all Jongin could hear was the unspoken question echoing loud and clear between them: why choose a career as fleeting as a ballet dancer?
“I want to do ballet,” Jongin said, with complete conviction. “I’ve been dancing since I was nine years old. It’s always been my dream. I don’t think a ballet dancer should be seen as lesser than a doctor. I also don’t think becoming a ballet dancer can stop me from pursuing medicine in the future should I still be interested then.”
Mr. Son continued wearing his skeptical frown. Jongin refused to convince someone who’d made up his mind from the start.
“Mr. Son obviously wanted you to say you’ll change your answer,” Sehun said, after lunching at the cafeteria and transferring to the rooftop, where they occupied a wooden bench. “Probably one of those narrow-minded adults who think dancing is a less manly or less glorious occupation or whatever. If he saw you dance, he wouldn’t have told you what he did.”
“I’m not going to change my answer. It’s ballet or nothing. Enough about me—I take it your one-on-one went better?”
“Kinda, I guess. Mr. Son looked like he didn’t believe me when I said I’d do archery and aim for the national team. Then he nagged me to pull my grades higher, or else he won’t allow me to participate in club activities.” Sehun snorted. “That was encouraging.”
“I’ll help you study.”
Sehun faked a sob, head dropping to Jongin’s shoulder. “I only have you, Jongin.”
Jongin cooed and chuckled, burrowing his hand in Sehun’s hair to scratch at his scalp. Sehun’s hair, when grown a little longer, was always so soft and carried a sweet, floral scent. “That’s right; you can only rely on me.”
Right after the last bell rang, Jongin stopped by the library to return a novel he checked out three days ago. As per personal tradition, he had searched for the library on his first week of high school. Sehun had tagged along, helping him memorize important places and turns to include in his map sketch. It took nearly a week to get used to the building layout, but Jongin had succeeded finding the library without peeking at his notepad. He continued exploring school corners on his own for a better feel of the building. At least if he got lost, he could always use the freshman card, and no one would suspect a thing.
Jongin scanned the sci-fi section, pouting at the same selections. He browsed the other aisles, unsure of what he was searching for until he came upon a table with a stack of books; above it, a sign that read they were the library’s monthly recommendations. Jongin picked the novel listed as number one out of mild curiosity.
“I recommend that,” a new voice popped up from behind. Jongin couldn’t tell if this male student with a friendly face was in the same grade or not. “It’s a great novel, unlike any of its kind I’ve read before. If it’s your first time with the murder and mystery genre, I think you might enjoy it.”
A novel entitled The Devotion of Suspect X was definitely intriguing, but Jongin admitted to holding no expectations—until he ended up a sobbing mess reading the last page and sought out the student he met the next day, grousing about the innumerable feelings he experienced within a night.
“This book is nothing unlike I’ve read before. I could imagine what was happening clearly; feel the inner turmoil of the characters… I shed a few tears, too!” Jongin laughed, recalling select passages that sent him into emotional chaos. “The writer is a magician. I was spellbound from beginning to end.”
The student looked entertained by his ranting and raving while listening. “Higashino Keigo has other novels not as devastating if you want to try them. The library carries two more titles. One was returned today.”
This was Jongin’s introduction to the world of renowned writer Higashino Keigo, and Kim Moonkyu, a junior student who worked part-time in the library. He took up Moonkyu’s offer of checking out Higashino Keigo’s other books, but not without re-reading The Devotion of Suspect X a few more times. Some books lost their magic after re-reading it more than twice, but Jongin reacted like it was his first all over again; discovered new angles and theories he didn’t pick up right away and discussed with Moonkyu on his return visits.
“When will the two books be returned?” Jongin asked, slightly pouting, after Moonkyu checked and confirmed the other Higashino Keigo titles had been checked out recently. “I’m ready for a new adventure. Oh, but what if I get disappointed if his other books aren’t as great? That happens sometimes.”
“It depends on your personal tastes and expectations. I think it’s good to read through a writer’s body of work to form a better impression. How would you know the book you’ve read is an author’s best if there’s nothing to compare it with, right?”
“Is this a ploy for me to read every Higashino Keigo novel in existence?”
Moonkyu shrugged and smiled. “That would be up to you.”
And Jongin accepted the challenge, reading one novel after another, falling deeper and deeper in his admiration for Higashino Keigo. Moonkyu was an immense help throughout his reading endeavors, enthusiastic in their novel discussions and healthy debates if they disagreed on certain elements. Amid their discussion of Journey Under the Midnight Sun, whether intentionally or not, Moonkyu cracked a joke that sent Jongin into stitches. His loud laughter earned him the librarian’s stink eye, and Moonkyu’s genuine surprise.
“Nobody laughs at my jokes,” Moonkyu said, awed. “Classmates often tell me my jokes are lame.”
“I don’t know about your classmates, but your jokes match my humor code well,” Jongin told him, his laughter tapering off into a chuckle. “I’ll laugh at your jokes from now on.”
“It’s okay. You’re not obligated to laugh if my jokes are unfunny.”
“I’m not, but I shouldn’t make a friend feel bad for trying their best.” Seeing the wonderment on Moonkyu’s face, Jongin asked, “Was I too straightforward? Did I assume wrong?”
“Are you tricking me into being friends so you won’t have to use honorifics and formal speech?”
Jongin heard the laughter bubbling up behind Moonkyu’s words, and that was everything he needed to know about the mutuality of their relationship.
The friendship deepened the moment they exchanged contact details. No longer did Jongin have to wait until the next day to discuss theories and character motives with Moonkyu during and after reading a few chapters before bedtime. Only one text was needed, and whatever they couldn’t cover through messaging would be resumed the next day. Although their relation started from books, Jongin discovered he shared other commonalities with Moonkyu when the topic strayed. Meeting outside of school or on a weekend wasn’t something Jongin expected; but after a fateful Sunday of coincidentally bumping into each other at the mall and spending a few hours at the arcade then a café, he could definitely see himself hanging out more with Moonkyu when the chance arose. Moonkyu voiced a similar opinion, too.
“Hey, Jongin, where are you going?” Seungjoon asked on Monday noon. Among their friend circle in middle school, he was the only one who attended the same high school as him and Sehun. An eyebrow lifted after Jongin raised the book in his hand. “You’re hanging out so much with Moonkyu-sunbaenim lately. Are you and Sehun okay?”
Jongin felt his brows pull downward. “Why would you say that?”
Seungjoon lifted both eyebrows this time, looking near disbelieving. “I’m just used to seeing you and Sehun practically attached to each other since middle school. It’s kinda weird to see when you’re not together. But if there’s nothing wrong, then forget I said anything.”
Jongin furrowed his brows harder but said nothing in response. Seungjoon’s words echoed in his mind during his walk to the library like a stubborn echo but faded once he caught sight of Moonkyu arranging books at his station.
On a particularly slow-moving Thursday, Jongin stifled a yawn while trying to pay attention in class. The moment the lunch bell rang, he hastily finished the last of his notes before tidying up, excitement coursing through him as he grabbed the latest book he finished as per Moonkyu’s suggestion. Unlike other times, it wasn’t a Higashino Keigo novel but still within the mystery genre.
“Where are you going?” Jongin heard Sehun before he could leave his desk. Turning around, he saw Sehun’s gaze flicker to the book in his hand. “Another novel?”
“Moonkyu and I swap books to read then discuss after we’re done. We set deadlines for it, too.”
Sehun frowned a little. “Who’s Moonkyu?”
“Have I not told you?” Jongin traced back to his memories from the past few weeks. Found none that indicated otherwise. Gaped. “I must’ve forgotten to mention him to you.”
“Probably. You’re a grandpa like that.”
“Are you calling me old and forgetful?” Jongin faked annoyance. Gasped at the time. He bade Sehun goodbye and left in a hurry, not waiting for a reply.
“So who’s Moonkyu?” Sehun asked, sidling up to Jongin the next morning. He nudged a hot pack into Jongin’s hands. “Is he the reason you’ve been spending so much time at the library recently?”
Jongin smiled in thanks for the hot pack. Spring was ending, but the morning air still carried a frosty bite that nipped at his exposed cheeks and palms. He recounted to Sehun of his meeting with Moonkyu, what they do at the library during lunchtimes.
Sehun listened to the end without interrupting. “Seems like you’ve grown close in the course of two months. That’s good. Better to make friends with juniors than enemies.”
Jongin nodded. “You’ve grown close with your club members, too. I hope they’re treating you well.”
“They’re fun and chill folks. Some seniors are strict, but they limit it within the training itself.”
On the first day of school, Sehun had already made up his mind to join only one club for the entire school year—and for the rest of his high school days, as he so boldly claimed. As it turned out, the archery club couldn’t wait to recruit him, many of its members already familiar with his name and reputation at the range. Aside from the runs, Sehun had been required to attend early morning trainings as a way to strengthen the group bond among club members. Between periods of waiting for the next teacher, he excitedly shared stories of what he did with the seniors and fellow freshmen.
“Good to know,” Jongin remarked, squeezing the hot pack for more warmth. “As long as those seniors don’t abuse or misuse their power, I’m relieved you’re in good company. The moment they try anything with you, I’m not going to let the matter rest.” Unpleasant flashbacks of a younger Sehun seeking justice for bullied children at the expense of his physical wellbeing nauseated him; moreso at the chilling prospect he might undergo that again.
“I’m so touched by your protectiveness.” Sehun clutched his chest in an exaggerated manner. Jongin gave him a playful eye roll. “I would be more touched if we can start hanging out again. We see each other everyday, walk to school together in the mornings, lunch together even if it’s decreased in frequency, but it feels like we haven’t really hung out in a long time, if you get what I mean.”
Jongin sifted through the events from the past weeks and conceded the truth of Sehun’s words. “Man, it has been a while, huh? School and ballet are beating my ass, but I’ll be free this weekend. We can talk about it more later?”
“Later” did not happen that day, the next, or within that week. Or the following week. Everyone was catapulted to freshman hell, leaving students too busy and stressed from piles of homework, additional work from cram school, as well as mock exams. Polishing dance sequences until no corrections were needed and satisfied his perfectionist side was another contributing factor. The hectic days started blurring together, forcing Jongin to manage his time better but also leaving him exhausted at the end of each day with no energy to spare for anything else aside from sleep.
He didn’t completely forget about hanging out with Sehun. Jongin wanted it to happen but couldn’t find the right moment, frequently interrupted by other people or important matters that couldn’t be delayed. Sehun never missed a chance to remind him about making plans on their morning walks; before stealing the egg roll off his plate if included on the day’s lunch menu; sending a new text each night. During these instances, Jongin was stuck offering only one answer: let’s talk about it later.
“Okay,” was Sehun’s answer the first time—easy, cheerful.
Sehun gave the same answer, in a similar manner of delivery, when Jongin forgot to charge his phone the night before and could only answer his message the next day. When Jongin rushed to the library after wolfing down his lunch, determined to make the best of Moonkyu’s free ten minutes to discuss novel theories before he headed off to his cooking club activities. When Jongin was running late for ballet after getting held up by cleaning duty, interrupting Sehun midway about something or other he couldn’t remember but reminded himself to ask after cram school.
Arriving home, he hurried to plug in his dying phone but saw no new message from Sehun unlike the previous night. Jongin deduced whatever Sehun had tried to tell him earlier wasn’t too important.
“Jongin, do you want to go to the rooftop?” Sehun asked, during lunch the next day, right before Jongin could stand and leave after devouring the last of his food.
“Anything going on?” Jongin nearly choked on his rice.
Sehun offered him a cup of water. “I just wanted to hang out there. We haven’t done that in a long time. We still haven’t made proper plans to hang out, too. It’s been three weeks.”
Jongin remembered Moonkyu’s limited time during lunch break this week since he would be busy with the cooking club soon. “I can’t right now. Can we do it some other day?”
Disappointment showed on Sehun’s face. The taut stretch of his smile was painful to look at. “Okay.”
Guilt speared Jongin for causing the look, but he vowed to make it up to him.
Guilt speared Jongin harder and more violently at the subsequent string of refusals to Sehun’s invitations. The way Sehun’s jaw clenched and tried in vain to mask his dismay whenever he let him go; the way his smile steadily dimmed and started looking forced. The way Sehun ground out “okay” with a curtness that surprisingly stung.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” Jongin asked him sometime around the fourth week, holding onto Sehun’s arm. He must’ve imagined Sehun’s resistance to his touch. He watched Sehun’s face closely as he spoke. “I know I keep blowing you off, and I’m really sorry about that. I’m not doing it on purpose. I do want to hang out and make plans. It’s just… your invites happen to clash with arrangements I’ve already made with Moonkyu.”
“You don’t have to say sorry for anything. You don’t have to explain, either. Go. Lunch break is ending soon.”
And then Sehun broke off from his hold, leaving Jongin’s hand open and empty as he watched him walk away. Jongin’s mind screamed at him that something was definitely wrong; for his feet to move, though they stayed frustratingly rooted.
He never realized how cold and dismissive Sehun could sound.
Perhaps the treatment was justified, as well as the growing guilt eating away at his insides.
Like tides turned, Sehun began heeding his club members’ invites to sit with them for lunch. Sehun wouldn’t show up to class until five minutes before homeroom; by the ring of the last bell, he was out the room before Jongin could stop him. Mornings of walking together to school significantly lessened, and Jongin couldn’t help noticing how empty the space beside him felt. The one time Jongin was fast enough to block Sehun’s path and initiate a talk, an archery club senior called for his attention. Jongin didn’t want to let him go, but it didn’t bode well to disobey an uppperclassman or tell them to wait.
So he devised a plan that ensured no escape, no interruptions, and plenty of time to sort out their issues. Jongin set several alarms before sleeping the night before; pulled himself out of bed by the third blare the next day.
Freezing in the playground at six-thirty in the morning wasn’t how Jongin imagined his Saturday would begin. He sat at the bottom of the slide, leeching warmth off his hot packs. The tranquility enveloping the playground threatened to lull him back to sleep, so he turned up the volume of his MP3 player three bars higher than usual. Ten minutes since his arrival crawled by at an agonizing pace.
Seven on the dot.
Sehun appeared at the playground entrance, eyes widening upon settling on him before his face smoothened out. Jongin stood up slowly, wishing hard he wouldn’t run away. Someone above must’ve heard his desperate plea: after what seemed like an eternity of staying inert where he stood, Sehun began his slow approach. The emergence of curiosity on his closed-off expression grew with each step. Jongin took it as a positive response.
“Why are you here?” Sehun asked, when he was close enough.
“Your morning run route always ends here,” Jongin said. He gave Sehun a bag containing various drinks he bought from the convenience store. “I got one of each kind since you like switching up your drinks except for your obvious favorite. It might be too early for sugar, but I got it for you, anyway.”
Sehun looked inside the bag; pulled out the carton of chocolate milk. A minuscule smile formed and faded. “I can’t drink this. The coach required us to follow a strict diet designed for our training.” Before Jongin could say anything, Sehun removed the attached straw and punctured the carton. He took a long sip, cheeks puffing like a hamster’s, eyes crinkling.
It struck Jongin that he hadn’t seen this sight in a long time. How much he missed it.
“You just said you can’t drink that!” Jongin pointed an accusing finger in bafflement, in amusement; in spreading relief that things might be looking up.
“No one will know if you don’t tell on me.” Although he wasn’t smiling, Sehun’s eyes glimmered with the sort of mischief typical of him. He sat on the swing, and Jongin occupied the one beside his. “So, what’s going on? You’re not an early riser on weekends. You don’t willingly buy me a drink unless I put my dignity on the line and do aegyo.”
“Right. About that. We really haven’t been hanging out a lot recently.” Jongin dared a glimpse at Sehun; wasn’t surprised when he saw him looking right back.
“I wonder why.” Sehun continued looking at him, even as he took another sip of the chocolate milk.
Jongin ignored the sarcasm underlining his words; breathed in and out for courage, prayed this conversation wouldn’t turn bad. “I know, I know. It’s my fault. I got too caught up hanging out with Moonkyu I didn’t realize we were spending less and less time together.”
Sehun stayed quiet for a long time, doing nothing but drink the chocolate milk. Jongin wouldn’t lie—he was nervous of the possible response. He could take hissy fits, sly digs, childish insults. He could handle those, having been on its receiving end when he and Sehun fought in the past, but the disconcerting silence was foreign territory and, quite frankly, a little scary.
“I won’t ask you to choose. Moonkyu-sunbaenim is your friend. It’s normal to spend time with a friend. I’m your friend, too, although I haven’t felt like I am lately.” Sehun spoke in a hushed tone, the sadness buried in the words not hard to miss. He ruffled his hair in apparent frustration. Red colored his cheeks, the tips of his ears.
“It’s so immature to be making a fuss out of something like this. I don’t want to feel this way. I know I can’t be your only friend—that’s just impossible. We can’t have our worlds strictly revolve around each other. Just… I can’t help it, either. I hear about all these things you and Moonkyu-sunbaenim do, and I’m happy for you; but sometimes, I want to ask, ‘What about me? Have you forgotten about me?’ even if I know the answer to that.” Sehun ruffled his hair harder. His face was redder, now; voice ladened with a heart-wrenching insecurity that twisted Jongin’s insides. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m making much sense. I’m kicking up a fuss over something so trivial, but all it boils down to one thing: I miss my best friend.”
“I’ve been a lousy best friend recently, haven’t I? You’ve been feeling this miserable, and yet I was unaware.” Jongin’s cheeks heated up, his chest tightening saying this aloud. But recognizing the problem and acknowledging his faults enabled him to defeat the embarrassment and guilt. He reached out a hand for Sehun to take. “I’m sorry if I made you feel neglected. I would never do that to you on purpose. If you’re not busy today, we can finally hang out. We’ll do whatever you like. I’ll do everything to make it up to you.”
Sehun gazed at him for an intense, suspenseful moment.
“You are required to buy me a box of chocolate milk every day and not rat me out to any archery club member.”
“Okay.”
“If I steal another side dish from your plate aside from the egg rolls, you are not to complain.”
Jongin chuckled. “Works for me.”
“I want more time together. If we can’t hang out, text me how your day went. If you don’t text me, I’ll drag you out of bed and force you to take morning runs with me on the weekend.”
Jongin raised an eyebrow, not bothering to smother his growing smile. “How threatening.”
“I can be threatening if I want. I just choose not to.”
“About as threatening as a hungry kitten, sure.” Sehun scowled, but Jongin merely laughed. He held up his open hand once more, fingers itching for contact. “Are we good?”
“Yeah.” Sehun nodded once, and then a second time, taking Jongin’s hand. His smile warmed Jongin in a way the early morning sun couldn’t. “Yeah, we’re good.”
☆彡
On the last week of spring, over a pot of tteokbokki at their favorite restaurant, Sehun revealed he would join the archery club’s annual summer intensive. Freshmen attendance was mandatory, and training was expected to be more intense. The intensive aimed to establish stronger relations between freshmen and seniors, learning new techniques and improving skills, emphasizing the importance of teamwork and nurturing the competitive spirit in healthy doses.
“But I can’t join if I fail the upcoming exams,” Sehun said, worry lining his features. Unlike middle school, Shinhyeon High School’s archery club required its members to maintain a certain average and pass all exams before they could join the summer intensive, much less allowed to compete in upcoming tournaments. This was to ensure students weren’t neglecting their studies and proved their ability to balance academia and club activities.
“I’ll help you study,” Jongin promised. ”Exams are a few weeks away, but we can always start early. I’ll make you Math notes.”
Sehun visibly perked up. “Yes, please. The lessons are getting more complicated. Good thing Mr. Jin is kind enough to give me hints when he asks me to solve a problem. And handsome, too. You think it’s luck we frequently get the handsome Math teachers?”
Jongin raised an eyebrow. “Do you even listen in class, or do you just stare at Mr. Jin?”
“I can’t learn if the teacher is scary. You know I prefer kind teachers above everything. Mr. Jin is kind. It’s only a bonus that he’s handsome, so Math becomes a thousand times more bearable.” Sehun sprinkled more cheese on the bubbling pot. “Don’t you think Mr. Jin is handsome? The other guys in class do.”
“He’s okay. I’ve seen better.” Jongin stuffed his mouth with rice cakes and chewed on them with an aggression that surprised even himself.
Sehun shot him a slanted look. “Better than who? If you say ‘me,’ I’m going to laugh.”
“Are you choosing Mr. Jin over me? Are you telling me you won’t vouch for your best friend?” Jongin stared at Sehun in mock disbelief and annoyance. The corners of his mouth trembled from the effort of resisting laughter. It proved challenging, considering Sehun saw right through the act and cackled.
Aside from self-study on weekdays, weekend afternoons were spent revising at Jongin’s, sometimes at Sehun’s. Other times, Seungjoon or their other classmates joined them at the public library if they wanted a change of environment. Mostly it was just the two of them regardless of location, which seemed to suit Sehun better in terms of prolonged concentration. Jongin continued doodling cartoon chicks on the customized Math cards he diligently prepared before the next day’s study session. They still worked its magic on Sehun—he solved problem sets faster with accompanying illustrations that helped break down the concepts to simpler terms.
They sat for exams and passed everything. Sehun couldn’t contain his excitement upon receiving his results and flung his arms around Jongin, profusely thanking him for the help.
“Too bad we can’t spend summer together,” Jongin said. They were currently sitting inside a Baskin Robbins, eating their ice creams in celebration of their achievements and the upcoming summer break. Sehun would leave in three days to an archery range located at the foot of the mountains two hours away from Seoul. No new details were shared except that he’d be gone for most of the summer.
“Why? Will you miss me?”
“Miss the way you whine about scary-looking teachers and scarier-looking formulas? Maybe not. I was kidding, don’t look so offended.” Jongin reached across the table to tickle Sehun under his chin to make him smile. Sehun didn’t do a good job of keeping a straight face or holding on to his affront. “I’ll miss you, of course. What kind of question is that? I just can’t believe you’re leaving so soon. And just when we begun hanging out more again…” He couldn’t help pouting at the realization.
“A club senior told us we’re only allowed to hold our phones for an hour at the end of the day before lights out. It’s no longer like the past when gadgets were taken for safekeeping until the intensive finished. Just text if you miss me. My responses will be delayed, but I’ll make sure to answer when I can.” Sehun hummed aloud. “But will I even hear from you? You misplace your phone often. You seem happier if you don’t charge it right away, too. I guess I should lower my expectations.”
“Is that a challenge? I’ll make time for you. I’ll text you every day until you come back to prove I didn’t misplace my phone.” Jongin stared closely at Sehun for a reaction but was distracted by an ice cream trail running down his thumb. “I mean it.”
“Wow, my best friend is really putting in effort,” Sehun teased, even as a huge grin split his face. “Ballet, books, and video games will keep you busy, so you won’t have a super boring summer. Huh, that reminds me, weren’t you aiming to join a ballet competition? What happened to that?”
Since his promotion to more advanced classes, opportunities to a bigger world of ballet opened up for Jongin. Ms. Shim, his current teacher, suggested auditioning for competitions; helped him with his pieces, costumes, and filming, as well. Yet, somehow, fate didn’t seem to side with Jongin, never advancing beyond semi-finals in spite of his painstaking preparations. Ms. Shim and his family reassured him his performances were always wonderful. Jongin, though accepting of their kindness and consolations, secretly couldn’t bring himself to wholeheartedly accept them.
“I’m sorry you’re not gaining the results you want,” Sehun said, voice full of his commiseration. “Maybe the world isn’t ready to be swept away by your incredible talent. You’ll win these competitions, though. I believe in you.”
Time trickled slow like honey, opposite to the rapid rise of humidity in the coming days. Jongin dove right into ballet, the thought of competitions not far from his mind. Ms. Shim was patient as she was unwavering in her support, steady and firm in her kindling of his determination to persevere and land himself a spot in the finals of the competitions he joined.
After coming from ballet class one balmy afternoon, Jongin stopped by the nearest Kyobo and browsed without aim until he spotted a new Higashino Keigo title he hadn’t seen before. He reached for it at the same time another hand shot out, coming face to face with Moonkyu.
“Oh, hey! Nice seeing you here,” Moonkyu said, grinning as he did so. He glanced briefly at the book they were about to take and then back at Jongin. “Were you interested in this?”
“It’s a book I haven’t read yet.” Jongin pulled it out from the safety of the shelf and scanned the synopsis. “Yup. I want this.” He flipped to the back and gasped at the price. “Too expensive. I’ll wait for the library to carry the title.”
Moonkyu laughed. “It takes a while before the library receives copies of newly-released books. I have a better idea.”
In the end, they agreed to split the cost and exited the bookstore with the book clutched tightly against Jongin’s chest. Moonkyu assured him he could read the book first and have his turn later. Jongin thanked him, giddiness coursing through his being at the prospect of having something new to read later tonight. Both had time to spare, so they moved to the nearest café to cool themselves.
“By the way, why aren’t you hanging out with Sehun?” Moonkyu asked. At Jongin’s explanation, he nodded his head in understanding.
“My phone’s been real quiet since he left.” Jongin stirred the ice cubes of his fruit drink with the straw. Keeping true to his word, he sent him a message every day, even if Sehun’s replies had been sparse. Understandable, but it left Jongin pouting if his phone never chimed more than twice at night.
Moonkyu’s eyes rounded. “You know how to check your phone now?”
Jongin caught the joke right away. “You and Sehun accuse me of the same thing. Am I really that bad with phones?”
Moonkyu’s responding laughter had Jongin protesting. He could already foretell what his days would look like if Moonkyu and Sehun teamed up to tease him.
Despite Sehun’s prolonged silence, Jongin continued sending him random messages when the mood arose on top of the usual: what he ate, thoughts on the book he finished, reminders to take care of himself at the first drastic change of the weather, celebrating beating the final boss in the latest game he was playing. Some days Jongin’s patience was tested by seemingly one-sided conversations, though he was easily (hilariously) assuaged upon seeing Sehun’s name on his phone screen on the newly-received message.
On afternoons he didn’t want to go straight home after ballet class, Jongin would stop by Moonkyu’s workplace, a dak galbi restaurant owned by his aunt. Moonkyu was working part-time there for the summer—partly due to his aunt’s coaxing, mostly to practice his cooking skills. Compared to other destinations in the past, Jongin didn’t need to sketch a map to remember directions. The restaurant was two blocks away from the ballet studio, only needing to walk straight until he spotted the eye-catching signage that spelled its name.
Jongin had eaten at the restaurant twice since Moonkyu brought him here. The dak galbi was absolutely to his taste and swore to take Sehun here on his return. Aside from the dish, he dropped by the restaurant to hang out with Moonkyu if he was on break. Today, Jongin visited to hand over the novel they co-owned since he finished it last night. A little coaxing resulted in Jongin staying for dinner; sent a message to inform his mother so she needn’t worry. Light conversation accompanied them during the meal. One of them involved Moonkyu’s upcoming competition with fellow cooking club members.
“The competition is scheduled for autumn. We’ll be competing with other schools. It’s the first time our school club made it to the finals.” Moonkyu wore a proud smile. “All of us are nervous, but we’re working hard for it.”
“Your team is going to win,” Jongin said, injecting full confidence in his voice. “If the judges don’t award your team the first prize, it means their taste buds are whacked.”
Moonkyu laughed; thanked him for the encouragement. “It’s a team competition alright, but we’ll also be scored individually on our assigned dishes, so I can’t mess this up. Do you want to watch the competition? Visitors will be allowed since it falls on a weekend, if I’m remembering the date right.”
Jongin nodded enthusiastically. “Secure me a ticket. I haven’t been to a cooking competition before. Might be a good experience.”
Near end of August, on a snail-paced Friday, Jongin stayed behind an extra hour on his insistence. He wanted to apply the corrections Ms. Shim pointed out during class. Delaying it for next meeting would only bother him; he’d rather do them now than lose sleep over it. He left the studio craving for something icy and fulfilling, so he headed for the convenience store. He rummaged the freezer and decided on a Melona bar; interrupted on the way to the counter by a vibration in his pocket. He took out his phone, nearly dropping it in shock.
a melona bar?
r e a l l y?
i keep telling you chocolate tastes better
chocolate is the best
why won’t you listen to me
6:03 PM
How in the world—
One new message.
wondering how i know?
is that why you’re looking around?
6:04 PM
One new message.
why are you looking outside the window?
i’m not hiding across the street
6:05 PM
One new message.
you think i grew wings in the time i was away?
i’m a chick not a bird
stop looking up at the sky
6:06 PM
Half-annoyed, half-laughing, Jongin composed a reply as fast as he could and pressed send.
If you don’t show yourself, I’m not buying you anything.
“I’m here!” a cheerful voice shouted from behind, beside the aisles where candies were stocked on display. There stood Sehun, grin huge and playful, eyes crinkling in the way that brought out the boyishness of his features. He was tanned from training, and Jongin might be imagining it, but Sehun appeared to have grown a few centimeters during his time away. Jongin was still taller, though, which he took some satisfaction with.
“Just because we haven’t hung out for almost an entire summer doesn’t mean you should revert to your boring tastes in ice cream.” Sehun snatched the Melona bar and switched it with a chocolate cone. Sehun took one for himself, giving Jongin a look that made him unable to say no or protest and, ultimately, led him to paying for their ice creams.
“Hello to you, too.” Jongin chuckled through his words, after they’d eaten and left the convenience store. “It’s nice to have you back.”
“You missed me, huh?” Sehun asked, cheeky in his inquiry, looking immensely pleased when Jongin nodded. “Yeah, I missed you, too. The summer intensive was hard! You’d never believe the things we had to go through during training. It was intense but super fun. Ah, so many restrictions, though. I did read your messages the moment I got my phone. Some nights I couldn’t reply because I was so tired, but they helped me get through the next day.”
Stories burst forth from both of them over a dinner of pork cutlets. Sehun told him about what he experienced in the training camp, the ups and downs, what he learned so far and how much he’d improved; shared, with so much pride, about always consistently placing within the top three when it came to demonstrations. Jongin shared with him his days in detail he couldn’t do through limited characters. Though he didn’t notice it at first, Jongin sensed a minor change in Sehun; the way he carried and composed himself with a maturity he didn’t possess before leaving for summer camp.
A surprisingly huge news was dropped at the end of the meal: due to his consistently good performance, Sehun was chosen as one of the three to represent the archery club’s boys team at the annual National Sports Festival, his first ever. One of the summer camp’s main objectives was not only to train old and new members but to set apart the most qualified for this highly-acclaimed event. Sehun was able to clinch a spot, much to the awe, surprise, and disbelief of the upperclassmen, for the sole reason freshmen didn’t usually make the cut no matter how skilled.
Pride surged through Jongin at this amazing news. “My best friend can finally showcase his abilities to everyone in the country,” he gushed, cheeks hurting from his grin but didn’t care.
Red colored Sehun’s cheeks, smile bashful but proud. “If our team makes it to the finals, I want you to come and watch. Your presence in the audience will give me more confidence.” His face was serious, but being his friend for many years helped Jongin see through it; detected the concealed nervousness.
Jongin grinned wider. “Nothing will stop me from watching you win first place. I can’t wait to tell everyone how far you’ve come with archery.”
Later, as they traversed the less populated parts of the district to aid in digestion, they bumped into Seungjoon, who, coincidentally was hanging out with their middle school friends. The unforeseen reunion generated loud cheers, earning strange looks from passersby as they gave each other bear hugs, hair ruffles, and lots of good-natured teasing.
“Whoa, Sehun, you’re looking different,” Wonjae remarked, giving him an once-over. He proceeded to pinch his biceps and shoulders. Sehun startled, swatting at his fingers. “Is this what sports does to you?”
“Did you grow taller?” It was Jihan’s turn to ask and marvel. “Holy shit, you did grow! How time flies. You used to be the tiniest among us. Where did our cute little Sehunnie go?”
Sehun burst out laughing. “Excuse you, I am still cute. Unfortunately, I am no longer little. I’ll keep growing after this, too. Drink your milk if you want to catch up with me.” His subsequent smile was impish.
“Fuck you, I’m lactose intolerant,” Jihan retorted, though without real heat, tapering off to a laugh of his own.
“Were the both of you headed anywhere?” Seungjoon asked Jongin. “We’re on our way to grab chicken.”
“I still have room for more food,” Sehun piped up. “We haven’t seen each other since entering different schools. Why not make the most of it? A gathering is a perfect way to end the summer.”
“Are your intentions pure, or do you just want free food?” Jihan joked, playfully elbowing Sehun.
“I’m going to spike your drink with milk. Let’s see how you like that,” Sehun joked back.
More moments of friendly banter before segueing to a semi-serious discussion of which chicken restaraurant to patronize. Once decided, they wove through the dinner crowd, Jongin chuckling as he listened to Seungjoon and Jihan’s debate on the superior chicken seasoning. He was about to pitch in his opinion when he felt the interlocking of fingers with his—a light touch, hardly intrusive, with just the right amount of looseness to let him break the contact if he wished.
Jongin didn’t need to look to verify whose fingers were these. The feel of them was like empty spaces he didn’t know existed being filled. The feel of them was more than enough.
“In case you get lost again and chat up old strangers thinking they’re me,” Sehun said, tone teasing. An old joke between them; a shared secret between two.
“God, let that go already.” Jongin pouted before shaping his mouth into a smile. “I haven’t been lost in a long time. Even if I am, you’ll always guide me back if I stray, right?” he asked, sans teasing, giving Sehun a sidelong glance.
Sehun’s expression was indecipherable, gaze softening into a smile as he stared at him. Jongin wanted to question this reaction, but the smile was gone as soon as he blinked, and it left him to wonder if he had imagined things.
He was completely sure the tightening of their linked fingers wasn’t imagined at all, however.
☆彡
Autumn began with a storm of activities upon the resumption of classes, leaving students hardly adjusted to the illegal amount of schoolwork piled on them per subject while simultaneously dealing with the anguish generated by their teachers’ obsession with results. Jongin coped through seeking solace from things deemed tiny and inconsequential by many: the red and gold foliage of the courtyard, satisfying test scores, a plot twist he predicted three chapters into a new mystery novel, the wondrous sight of Sehun’s smile when he gave him his beloved chocolate milk.
Despite the physical and mental exhaustion from day-to-day, on a particular Tuesday morning, Jongin could no longer go back to sleep regardless of how much he tossed, turned, buried himself beneath his covers. Giving up, he dragged his weary body to the shower and texted Sehun he would meet him after his run. They rendezvoused at the GS25 close to their school, Jongin intending to eat breakfast here since his mother wasn’t awake yet when he left the house. Sehun’s response was a cluck of his tongue before half-leading, half-dragging Jongin to a sandwich shop across the street.
“Convenience store food is filling, but a sandwich is better to start off your day,” Sehun told him, once settled in their window seat. The sandwich shop operated round the clock, but most customers opted for takeaway; hence, the relative silence in the establishment.
Jongin took a tentative bite, chewed, and gave an approving hum. The sandwich was Sehun’s recommendation, the knowledge passed onto him by archery club seniors. Jongin agreed it was a tasty sandwich. What made it tastier for him was that he didn’t have to pay for it—a move unpredicted and surprised Jongin. While he didn’t mind a lot of the time because he liked doing it, Sehun seldom bought him food unless they agreed to split the bill before eating. Sehun’s reasoning behind it was Jongin being older (even if it was just by four months); therefore, he should be taking care of people younger than him.
Still, curiosity won out, so Jongin asked what was different today.
“I’m in a good mood,” was Sehun’s cheeky answer, mouth curving into a playful smile. He sipped his chocolate milk, the one Jongin bought for him before coming here. “I was really happy when I saw your message. But I’m not happy about how tired you look, or that you’re skipping meals.” His brows furrowed in mild disapproval.
“It’s just today.” Jongin explained why. “If I skipped meals, I wouldn’t have energy to deal with lessons or come up with theories that can counter Moonkyu’s during our novel discussions. We’re reading this book right now and…” He launched into a full account about the novel from its intriguing characters to the mind-twisting plots.
Sehun nodded his head at the appropriate times to show he was listening. “You bond really well over books,” came his comment, the first yet since Jongin concluded his story.
Jongin nodded in agreement. “I’m so happy there’s someone who shares the same taste as me. Our in-depth discussions are always a blast, too. Ah, but he’s been so busy preparing for the cooking competition aside from schoolwork. I miss our library meet-ups. Lunchtimes aren’t the same without those.” He jutted out his lower lip, recalling how slightly empty his lunch breaks had been since last week.
“Gee, so I’m not even half as entertaining to liven up your lunchtimes anymore?”
Jongin nearly panicked if not for Sehun’s teasing tone. “Are you sulking?” He couldn’t help smiling.
Sehun huffed, turning his head away in act of petulance. “I do not sulk.”
Jongin’s smile grew but didn’t push. “Hey, don’t sulk. My day isn’t complete if I don’t see you”—Sehun looked back at him—“steal the egg rolls off my plate or hear you whine about teachers.” He chortled at Sehun’s unimpressed frown. Gave chase when Sehun made a dramatic exit, still laughing, sidling up to his side and cracking the corniest jokes until he let out an exasperated shout followed by a resigned smile.
Lunchtime meet-ups with Moonkyu resumed two weeks before the cooking competition. The old routine of eating quickly and hurrying off to the library returned. Sehun appeared to be more understanding, now, nodding even before Jongin could tell him where he was headed. The additional “I’ll see you later” made Jongin smile, warmed all over by this positive change. Formal introductions were yet to be made, but Jongin couldn’t wait for Sehun and Moonkyu to finally be acquainted with each other. That would easily solve the dilemma of who he should hang out with, but time and circumstances seemed to work against him whenever the chance arose. It certainly took a backseat when Jongin could barely have a proper chat with Sehun, who grew busier as the sports festival loomed close, most of his free hours now dedicated to training if not trying to keep his eyes open at lunchtime.
After cram school ended on Friday night, Jongin was descending the subway steps when he received a text from Sehun asking if he was free right now; to meet up at the park one block away from their apartment building if he was. Ten minutes later saw Jongin entering the park and immediately spotting Sehun standing next to a lamp post, staring up at the starry sky. Jongin sneaked up on him and couldn’t contain his laughter at successfully spooking Sehun.
“Don’t do that!” Sehun protested, sounding torn between laughing and staying annoyed. “I lost ten years of my intended lifespan!”
“Your intended lifespan is fine. You’re just being dramatic.” The last of Jongin’s laughter tapered off to a snort. “So, what’s up? Couldn’t we have met up tomorrow instead for… whatever this is?”
Sehun shook his head, an uncharacteristic solemnness about him hinting at something serious. “I don’t think I’ll be able to see you on the weekend even if I wanted, so it has to happen tonight.” A deep inhale and exhale. Jongin listed his head. “The National Sports Festival officially begins next week.”
Understanding dawning swift, Jongin stretched his mouth into the most reassuring smile he could show. “You’ll do fantastic. Your hard work and hours of training will be worthwhile. I believe in you.”
Sehun visibly relaxed, closed his eyes for a full moment, reopened them and smiled. “Thank you, Jongin. Not to discount the support of my co-members and family, but hearing supportive words from you is just different—like I can conquer the world if I wanted.” The rise of a blush on Sehun’s face prevented Jongin from grimacing, his usual reaction to such cheesiness. “I can’t believe I said that.” He covered his face with one hand, though it did nothing to hide his reddened countenance; did nothing to muffle his embarrassed laughter.
Jongin laughed aloud on purpose, hoping to quell Sehun’s embarrassment and to distract himself from his own blazing cheeks. He gently held Sehun’s wrist, tugging at it until his face was exposed once more. “I can’t believe you said that, either, but I’m happy. I’m really happy to know I can be your source of strength during an important time in your life.”
Sehun’s gaze flickered back to his after a few moments. “I’ll leave a ticket on your desk in case I can’t give it to you in person. But that’s only going to happen if our team will advance to the finals.”
“You will,” Jongin said in a tone of the most assured conviction. “I’ll be cheering you on when the event starts on Monday, all the way to the final day where the team snags first place.”
On a Thursday morning the following week, Jongin unleashed a grin the moment he found said ticket on his desk. He might not have seen Sehun for nearly the entire week, but updates from Seungjoon and their other classmates kept him posted of the archery club’s progress. Everybody was curious of how the archery team would fare. Turned out their worries were unwarranted: both teams blazed through the preliminaries, made waves among different high schools after defeating formidable opponents at the semi-finals, and would come face to face with the reigning champion for the first time. The finals for both men and women teams were scheduled on a Sunday at two in the afternoon. Jongin was definitely not going to miss his best friend’s iconic moment.
Before that, on Saturday, Jongin went to cheer for Moonkyu and the rest of the cooking club team like he promised months ago. He wasn’t sure what to expect, having no experience with such competitions, but Jongin had fun watching and immersing himself in the various mouthwatering scents permeating the hall. Although the fight was close and the cooking club clinched second place, the members deemed this enough cause for celebration. Jongin left for ballet class after the competition, but he and Moonkyu did their own celebration by the Han River with fried chicken and every fast food they fancied at the moment.
Perhaps it was the heaviness of their dinner, or staying up late discussing books and everything in between after Moonkyu accepted an invitation to stay the night at Jongin’s house, or sleeping through all nine alarms Jongin set before sleeping. Whatever the reason, the fact didn’t change that Jongin woke up obscenely late, had to run back because he forgot to grab the ticket on the way out, and traffic happened to be hell during the commute to the venue with the exception of the subway as his tiny saving grace. He’d done his research on directions, the stadium layout. He hoped against hope he wouldn’t get lost today of all days.
Jongin arrived at the stadium, chanted to himself not to panic as he walked around in search of the appointed hall. A silver lining appeared when he passed by the washroom and an athlete donning Shinhyeon High’s track and field uniform walked out. He hurried over and asked for Sehun. The athlete’s face lit up in recognition, told Jongin which locker room the archery club occupied.
Jongin was awash with relief. Breathed out a huge sigh. “Looks like I’m not too late, thank goodness.”
The athlete’s smile faded as he looked at him funny. Jongin wondered why but didn’t linger on it, off to find the locker room.
The stern downturn of Sehun’s mouth when Jongin entered the empty locker room automatically set off red flags, brighter than the last. A foreboding sense of imminent disaster latched onto Jongin. The coldness in Sehun’s gaze, the slight clench of his jaw, the thickening silence between them the longer they stood in place—signs Jongin immediately took notice, a precaution to tread lightly.
Despite that, Jongin slapped a smile on his face and broke the silence himself. “Oh, good, I made it! I told you I’d come, right? Looks like I’m just in time.”
Sehun snorted, a derisive sound to Jongin’s ears. “You have never been more on time to go home.”
Jongin frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Archery finals ended an hour ago. You missed everything.” Sehun’s emphasis on the last word was coated with so much bitterness it took Jongin aback, thawing him out of his shock but also blanking his mind.
A time check from the wall clock read five minutes past four in the afternoon. Jongin gaped, icy dread filling his veins.
“We won first place, in case you care—but it doesn’t seem like it,” Sehun said, taking him back to the present. “You said you’d be here during finals. You promised.” The redness of his face and the tips of his ears didn’t bode well.
“I did promise you.” Jongin chanted to himself to stay calm. Struggled. “I set alarms so I wouldn’t oversleep. I was excited to come here. You know that. You heard me loud and clear with your own ears. It might sound like an excuse, but believe me when I say none of my nine alarms woke me up. I encountered so many mishaps just to get here, I could hardly think straight. I also had to show Moonkyu the way to the bus stop from the apartment building, so that kinda held me back a little—”
“Moonkyu-sunbaenim?” Sehun said the name with disbelief, with palpable annoyance; reflected on his face. “Why was he at your house?”
A slow-building panic rose steadily in Jongin’s chest. “I invited him to sleep over because it was late, and our house happened to be nearer. He participated in a competition with the cooking club—I told you, remember? I went to watch yesterday, and we celebrated the club’s win the night before.”
“So you could make it to Moonkyuu-sunbaenim’s competition and watch it from beginning to end, but you couldn’t exert the same effort with mine?” Sehun’s voice was gradually rising in volume, loaded with disbelief.
“That’s not true!” Jongin began to shake from the concerted effort of holding back his temper and staving off the panic. “I admit it was an oversight on my part to have slept late, but what could I do if none of my alarms worked? I didn’t come late on purpose, Sehun. I wanted to watch the finals—I told you that a few times before today. I’m really, terribly sorry that I missed it, and I feel awful for not making it in time.”
“This event is important to me. I wanted you to watch. I told you as much. What good can your sorry do now? Some friend you are.” Fierce disappointment gleamed in Sehun’s eyes, resentment staining each uttered word.
Something within Jongin stretched thin and snapped. Heat scored his cheeks, long-held patience fraying at the seams. “That’s unfair,” he accused, disliking the way his voice cracked at the end. “Do you doubt my friendship with you? That’s what it’s sounding like right now.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Fury radiated off Sehun’s frame; extended to his words. “What am I supposed to think about your absence during an important event in my life after your promises of showing up? What am I supposed to think when you clearly favor someone else more than your best friend?”
Jongin bristled, squeezing his hands into tights fists at his sides. “Oh Sehun, do you hear yourself right now? I do not favor one over the other. Both of you are my friends. Haven’t we gone over this in the past? Stop being childish.”
Anger reddened Sehun’s face to the tips of his ears. “So voicing my discontent about your unfairness is being childish? Is that all you got from this?” He barked out a harsh, bitter laugh. His expression smoothened and closed off completely, smile turning flat with cold anger. “I see. Fine. If this is being childish to you, I’ll spare you the future disappointment. Remember what I told you in the past? You can be friends with other people, whoever you choose. But from now on, it will have nothing to do with me.”
Too stunned to retaliate, Jongin barely felt the impact of Sehun’s shoulder bumping hard against his as he stormed out of the room.
An indeterminable amount of time must’ve passed, but Jongin wasn’t counting. Jongin didn’t care. He didn’t know how he managed to walk out of the locker room and stadium, and not get lost on his way to the subway. He didn’t know how he managed to get home drenched and shivering as he walked from the bus stop unprotected from a deluge. Jongin let his mother fuss over him the moment he stepped inside the foyer, but nothing she said registered, distorted sounds to his ears. The only thing he could remember was the coldness of Sehun’s eyes and his cutting words, playing like a film on loop in his mind as his chest heaved and a sob welled up his throat, pushing out tears unbidden from his eyes.
☆彡
Jongin remembered a time he didn’t listen to his mother.
Four years young and willful, he enjoyed playing with his toy ball too much; enjoyed the chase when it rolled away from his grasp, its solid bounce against the wall then back to him. His mother often told him not to play ball indoors and head outside where there was more space.
He didn’t listen. He continued playing ball inside the house. One time, he tossed the ball too hard. Instead of hitting the wall, it struck his mother’s favorite vase. Its crash was deafening to his ears, splinters of broken china scattering across the floor. Shocked by what happened, scared he would be scolded, he tearfully confessed his wrongdoing and pleaded for her to not be angry.
Mrs. Kim didn’t; assured she wouldn’t scold him. She thanked Jongin for being honest and telling her right away. Relieved, too, that he didn’t get hurt. A huge part of the vase survived the fall, and his mother gathered the broken pieces to recreate it.
“Broken things can always be repaired,” Mrs. Kim told Jongin, when asked why she insisted on doing this.
“But the vase won’t look the same,” Jongin remembered replying back then while watching his mother start the painstaking task of gluing the vase shards back in place.
“Yes, you’re right,” Mrs. Kim said. “The lines will be a reminder that it got broken, once. They might look unsightly to some, but I’m piecing this vase back together, anyway. I value this vase too much to discard it completely, much less let it stay broken.”
That vase currently stood among Mrs. Kim’s other precious ornaments in their living room. Regardless of where they moved, his mother would proudly put it on display because, according to her, it added color to their home. The vase looked almost new, though if anybody squinted and took a good, long, proper look, they would see the hairlines where the pieces had been super glued. Visitors who took notice of the vase seldom mentioned anything about the cracks, instead praising its beauty; other times, expressing relief that his mother salvaged it.
Jongin often looked back to this memory nowadays. If shattered vases could be mended, he was positive broken friendships could undergo a similar process.
It wasn’t easy. Jongin expected this. He gave it a week for his hurt from their fight to subside; a few days more to ensure Sehun’s head was relatively cooler, though they hadn’t been talking since. Only then did Jongin try all the methods he could think of in hopes of initiating a talk. He texted Sehun, but there was no way to find out if his messages were being read, or even opened. His calls were left ignored, or he’d be directed to voice mail. Sometimes he left voice messages. Those were never returned, either. Jongin exerted herculean effort in waking up at dawn to haul himself to the playground, shivering from the early morning cold in spite of his thick jacket. Sehun never appeared. Or the subsequent mornings for the entire week. Neither did Sehun show up in the places where they usually hung out together. At one point, Jongin seriously questioned if he had bad timing or Sehun was simply one step ahead of him.
Still, Jongin understood; didn’t put it past Sehun to avoid those places. He asked favors from common friends to let him know if they hung out with Sehun, looking and snatching for windows of opportunity. Responses weren’t positive.
School was tricky. Sehun only showed up before the bell rang for homeroom, and was out the door before Jongin could stand from his desk and get close. Hallway encounters consisted of Jongin staring at Sehun from afar, hoping eye contact would happen, but all in vain. Almost like Sehun had developed a reflex not to look Jongin’s way whenever they crossed paths or in the same vicinity. It didn’t help Sehun began hanging out with the archery club members with increased frequency after taking on more responsibilities from the graduating seniors in preparation for guiding new recruits next school year. Not only did it become more difficult to catch Sehun alone, he also snubbed the chocolate milk drink Jongin would leave on his desk in the mornings, allowing anybody to take it when asked.
Numerous failed attempts at seeking reconciliation would’ve disheartened anybody. Jongin wasn’t just anybody, however. He didn’t shy away from the hurt brought by Sehun’s callousness, but it also fueled him to be bolder in his approach and visited his house. Although Jongin had only visited Sehun’s house three times, he thanked whoever was looking after him out there for not getting lost. Mrs. Oh looked genuinely surprised to see him upon opening the door but broke into a happy smile, nonetheless. Then her expression morphed into one of regret as she informed him Sehun wasn’t at home right now.
“He mentioned hanging out with club members, I believe,” Mrs. Oh said slowly, as if trying to remember exactly what she’d been told. “I’m sorry he isn’t here when you’ve come so far to see him.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Oh. It’s no big deal,” Jongin assured, though he could sense the beginning of a dreadful, sinking feeling within.
“It’s been a while since you dropped by, Jongin. I haven’t seen much of you. In fact, Sehun seldom talks about you recently.” Concern lined Mrs. Oh’s gentle features. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but did you two have a fight?”
Too stumped to give an immediate denial, Jongin stayed quiet, head bowed in growing sadness.
Mrs. Oh gave him an understanding look and smile. “You’ve been such good friends since you were kids, I hardly ever hear about you two having a fight. This is new, but I’m not surprised or disappointed. Even the best of friends fight, and that’s natural. Make up quick, okay? Don’t drag it out or you might regret it.”
Encouraged, Jongin found some strength to show a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Oh. I’m not sure what else I can do, but… I don’t want to give up. I’ll continue doing my best to make up with Sehun.”
“You’ve been doing your best for a year now,” Moonkyu told him, taking the cartons of yogurt milk at the bottom of the vending machine. They came from the cafeteria after lunch and felt like drinking something else. “Anybody in your place would’ve completely given up at this point. A month or two of being ignored by your best friend? Some might have waved the white flag already. A year, though? Only possible if you’re a masochist.”
“We have a lot to sort out.” Jongin took a generous sip of his milk. “Our rift is fixable. I never stopped believing in that. It’s so easy to drop everything and stop making a fool out of myself. There were times I was tempted to do just that. But I can’t. I admit it’s hard and frustrating when the other person is unresponsive and has become elusive, but I… I simply can’t find it in me to surrender and walk away.”
Moonkyu let out an awed whistle. “If only Sehun knew how much he means to you,” he remarked, sighing and shaking his head.
Sudden noises erupted in the distance, audible from where they stood in front of the vending machine. Jongin glimpsed a look and nearly choked while sipping his milk seeing Sehun and two other archery club members passing by. They were immersed in conversation until a female student approached, chin held high, gait and stance confident. Sehun’s companions walked ahead but not without waggling their eyebrows in unison. Sehun and the female student took the opposite route. Whispers rippled through the courtyard among those who stood witness to that moment.
Moonkyu gasped aloud. “Jongin, your milk!”
“What?”
Jongin belatedly register the sticky witness in his fist from squeezing the poor milk carton.
Since becoming high school juniors, Sehun had built a name and reputation that spread farther and wider than imagined thanks to his participation at the National Sports Festival. He participated in other archery competitions after that, garnering him more attention not only within Shinhyeon High School but in other campuses, as well. With attention came admirers, evident in the increased number of love letters found in his shoe locker compared to middle school; sometimes on his desk, if some dared. Confessions were given and rejected, rumors spreading about Sehun’s high standards (or pickiness, depending on the source)—the root cause of growing fascination, and relentless pursuance by some.
Though he didn’t ask for details outright, Jongin would hear fragmented pieces of these confession stories in passing or shared by Seungjoon unprompted. All the stories shared a common outcome. He knew why Sehun turned them down—a fact that was a comfort in itself, for it meant somehow, in some way, there was a side to him that only Jongin knew; that he still recognized, despite the distance and the silence.
What Jongin couldn’t understand was the churning of his gut every time he saw Sehun reading these love letters when he thought nobody was watching. Jongin couldn’t understand why his chest tightened inexplicably whenever he caught wind of another confession story, or the shocking, twisted consolation that flooded him after hearing of its predicted resolution. Guilt was never far away to rain down on Jongin afterward, a chilling reminder of how sick and wretched it was to be reassured by someone else’s rejection.
Utterly sick and wretched when, for the umpteenth time, news of Sehun turning down the nth confession spread around, and Jongin shook with repulsive relief upon hearing the words.
Studies, ballet classes, mock exams, and more career path talks with teachers took Jongin’s mind off those unsettling feelings. Before greeting the new school year as a high school junior, Jongin had completely made up his mind to apply for ballet schools here and overseas. At this point in his life, Jongin could no longer see himself becoming anything else as an adult other than a professional ballet dancer. To his relief, his homeroom teacher showed more understanding this time around; didn’t discount Jongin’s thoughts and feelings on seriously pursuing dance despite his standing eligibility for a medicine-related path. His homeroom teacher even helped him search for potential schools he could apply to next year. This fueled Jongin’s passion for the art, earning himself more recognition from ballet teachers new and old as he advanced to a higher level. Received surprising but most pleasant news.
“Congratulations!” Moonkyu clapped enthusiastically when Jongin shared it with him. They stopped by a café to unwind from the stress of all-day lessons and before Moonkyu headed off to cram school. “Finally, you were given a lead role for the winter recital! Your hard work is paying off! I’m so happy for you, Jongin. You really deserve it.”
“Ah, I still can’t believe it!” Jongin lightly patted his cheeks, as if to wake himself. “I really made it! And it’s The Nutcracker, too!” It was a seasonal production held around Christmas, but one that catapulted their studio to fame within Seoul’s ballet community for its constant reinventions while retaining the story’s core. To play its lead role was certainly a privilege, one that Jongin dreamed of achieving one day—and now did. “I’m so excited. I don’t think I can sleep tonight.”
That night, after showering and preparing for bed, Jongin pondered if he should tell Sehun about the good news via text or wait until they were in good terms. No matter how many messages Jongin had sent last year, it was clear Sehun was firm on not responding. Jongin knew he hadn’t switched numbers; Seungjoon had helpfully tipped him about that, so he was positive his messages were still being received. But, realizing that texting was ineffective, Jongin had stopped sending messages a month after their fight.
Now, as he held his phone, Jongin was conflicted. Long ago, he promised himself that whatever major happening in ballet, he would share with Sehun first because they were best friends. Because it was right. However, nothing felt right since their fight, and Jongin, after fumbling with his phone and saving the message in his drafts, reluctantly decided he would rather tell Sehun face to face once they reconciled.
It gave him a stronger reason to dance better, even during rehearsals. It gave him a stronger reason to make up with Sehun as soon as possible, despite the slimming chances; the people around him advising to go his own way as Sehun obviously had.
“Something is different in the way you’re dancing as of late,” Ms. Moon, his current ballet teacher, said, one time after class. A prickle of worry came over Jongin when she requested for him to stay behind after everybody left. Maybe she sensed his worry, for she immediately added, “Oh, no, don’t look so worried! Your dancing is still very much delightful and expressive, but even more so recently. I don’t know what it is, but I want you to keep up the good work. I have faith in you to play the lead role splendidly come winter.”
Beaming and flattered by the praise, Jongin left the studio and brought the warm, fuzzy feelings with him to cram school. There really was no point for him to attend anymore, seeing as he was devoting his career path to ballet; but his parents had talked him into still sitting for suneung, just for something to fall back on. Jongin couldn’t see it their way, at first, though gradually came to share their views; understood their worries. He accepted that a ballet dancer’s career was limited, based on his teachers’ stories and from watching videos online. Nothing wrong with a backup plan by acquiring a degree. So he willingly attended these supplemental classes in hopes of passing entrance exams in case none of his dance school applications were accepted. Jongin was positive one campus would accept him; still, he had to keep himself grounded. Nothing good came out of excessive confidence or straight-up arrogance.
Jongin’s stomach rumbled upon leaving cram school. He stopped by a snack cart; their serving of tteokbokki, though appetizing and cheap, was meant for sharing. More mystifying was Jongin’s purchase of egg rolls, convinced by the cart owner to buy three pieces. Until their fight, Jongin didn’t realize how much Sehun could eat, and how much he actually consumed in comparison. Until their fight, Jongin had been doing a good job in avoiding egg rolls. Too much associated memories had him longing for the return of his best friend by his side.
Arriving at the subway station, Jongin could only sigh in relief when the carriage he entered wasn’t crowded. He occupied the seat closest to the door, hugging his backpack close to his chest. Warm, full, and the day’s exhaustion finally catching up, Jongin mentally counted the stops and confirmed he could afford to close his eyes for a few minutes.
The occasional stops and surroundings weren’t conducive for a full, deep sleep, so Jongin could still glean what was going on around him. Doors opening and closing with their signature hiss. The chimes and announcements upon nearing and reaching stations. People filing in and out at each stop. Through closed eyes, Jongin sensed a presence in front of him. Perhaps a commuter who ran out of seats at the far right end, or too late in securing one.
A commuter who turned out to be Sehun when Jongin opened his eyes and chanced a look. Sehun seemed unaware of Jongin’s presence, busy with his phone, other hand holding firmly onto the grab handle.
Frozen, flabbergasted, Jongin could do nothing but stare. When he asked for a chance, this was the furthest in mind. Was this some sort of cosmic joke? Sehun couldn’t have been deliberate in his choice to stand here, right? Especially after avoiding Jongin at all costs for a year.
Jongin’s stop was coming soon. Sehun’s was after Jongin’s. He needed to prepare to alight, but getting to the door meant politely excusing himself, no matter if he was to pass through Sehun’s left or right side. That meant ducking his head and moving fast if he wanted to avoid a painfully awkward encounter.
For all his talks of wanting reconciliation, Jongin sure was acting skittish and unprepared right now. Where did his bravado go? He smacked himself mentally for that.
Announcement of his stop. Sehun’s attention remained fixed on his phone. People were beginning to secure their belongings. The commuters to Jongin’s right stood up one by one and approached the doors. He soon followed suit, reminding himself to be as stealthy and quick as possible to avoid attracting Sehun’s attention. The train slowly pulled to a stop, and Jongin chose that moment to stand up.
Bad move, apparently—the motion caused Jongin to lose his balance. If not for the hand that quickly grabbed his arm and steadied him, he would’ve toppled forward or stumbled backward and landed right back on the seat.
Either of those were reasonable outcomes. Far, far better than the heart-stopping discovery it was Sehun who reached out to break the fall, grip on his arm familiar, warm, and strange all at once.
Sehun’s face was an impenetrable mask; a perfected art of nonchalance that disallowed reading through him. But Jongin knew that wasn’t the case. Knew that the storm of emotions swirling in Sehun’s eyes proved a conflict ongoing within, and it was only a matter of time before one won out.
“The doors will close soon.”
The words were spoken with curtness, Sehun’s tone neutral and soft. None of these mattered to Jongin, who, in his shocked state, still couldn’t believe Sehun was actually talking to him after a year. That Sehun was actually touching him, willing to be within close proximity—the complete opposite of their year-long predicament.
Instead of leaving when Sehun let go of his arm, Jongin swiftly held onto his wrist. Sehun jolted upon contact, eyes widening a fraction, poker face cracking. Sehun looked down where Jongin held his wrist, eyes flickering back to his face. Questions were written on his features. For an entire year of no contact whatsoever, Jongin was honestly overwhelmed by the locking and holding of their gazes.
Both sets of doors closed as the last of the passengers filed in. The train pulled away and sped to its next stop.
“You missed your stop,” Sehun said, never breaking the eye contact. The neutrality didn’t leave his voice.
Jongin wanted to thaw that. Would do his best. “I know.”
“You’ll have to get off at the next station and take the train that will bring you back.”
“That’s none of my concern right now.” At the furrowing of Sehun’s brows, Jongin instinctively tightened his hold around his wrist. Not too hard, but also loose enough for him to break away, if he wanted. “Can we talk? Please?”
Sehun’s face softened from the request. Although a positive sign, Jongin still braced himself to be shrugged off; possibly rejected, maybe humiliated. Jongin’s hope rose, then soared, when, after what seemed like an eternity, Sehun slowly nodded his head and motioned for them to get off his stop.
They moved to a café nearest to Sehun’s apartment complex, sitting across of each other and letting the silence reign. Steam wafted from the surface of their hot chocolate, though neither of them was paying great attention to their drinks. Sehun was staring outside the window. Jongin clutched at the fabric of his pants—for timing, for courage.
“I’m sorry.”
Jongin was as shocked as Sehun looked, clearly taken aback by the synchronized apology. Neither of them spoke, a tangible tension in the air, daring each of them to speak first once more.
“You first.”
Quite inappropriate right now, but the ends of Jongin’s mouth trembled from trying and failing to smother a smile. A snort came out, this time from Sehun, his shoulders trembling. Before Jongin could ask, or worry, what this meant, Sehun threw his head back and laughed, a full, hearty sound so unlike what he initially dreaded to hear. Jongin could no longer resist his contagious laughter and followed suit, ignoring the questioning stares from the other customers.
“I haven’t laughed that hard in so long,” was Sehun’s first remark after calming down, wiping away the tears that had formed from the fit. A tiny smile stayed sitting on his lips, further softening his features; the sharpness of his gaze absent as he looked at Jongin. “It’s been a while.” Hesitation filled his voice; stitched in the syllables.
Jongin wanted to expunge that. “It has been. We haven’t talked since that day.” He commended himself for not tripping over his words; for not backing out. For plucking the courage to face Sehun in the subway train rather than letting the chance slip. “And I hope coming here means we’re ready to settle unfinished business.”
To his surprise, Sehun’s smile disappeared, features smoothing into one of utmost seriousness. Yet, for some unexplained reason, Jongin did not feel afraid. Perhaps the lack of hostility and defensiveness about him helped, which Jongin wanted to take as a good sign. “It’s been long overdue, I agree.” The lack of bitterness was surprising but more than welcome.
Jongin nodded. “Our conversation that day never felt finished. Some misunderstandings weren’t clarified. Our tempers broke and clashed badly. But I want us to try and fix this. I want to put an end to this cold war. I want my best friend back.” He allowed himself to smile; savored the words but kept expectations lowered.
Sehun’s eyes widened. Then his gaze skittered away, landing on his untouched cup of hot chocolate and staying there. “Don’t you have a new best friend?” The question was mumbled with an undercurrent of petulance, although the hopelessness was far more audible in spite of his hushed tone.
“Last I checked, the only best friend I have is named Oh Sehun,” Jongin declared, courage growing by the second. “No one can stop me from having other friends. You told me something similar before—encouraged me, even—and I still stand by that. I will admit that Moonkyu”—Sehun’s flinch didn’t go unnoticed—“and I have become especially close due to common interests and viewpoints, but the closeness between you and I is special. What we have is an irreplaceable bond. It’s not something I can find or build with other people who do end up staying in my life as a friend. Not even Moonkyu.” Then, in a softer, gentler voice: “I wish you would believe me when I say this.”
Sehun slowly glanced up at him, cheeks pink. Silence stretched between them first before he responded. “I was that big of a jerk, huh? No, don’t try to change my mind. I knew what I said, then. I knew it would hurt, but I still said it. I shouldn’t have questioned our friendship—you were the last person I should suspect of playing favorites. But at the time, it hurt to be treated like a second choice, even if that was never your intention. It couldn’t be helped that you slept through your alarms. I know you never wanted that to happen. You never lied about wanting to watch the finals. But I was so angry and refused to listen to you because my resentment clouded my judgment.” A long, deep sigh. A rueful smile. “There’s no excuse for my poor behavior. Not only did I behave like a jealous asshole, I clung to my bitterness and convinced myself ignoring you was justified.”
“Jealous? Why would you be jealous?” The answer came to Jongin as fast as he blinked. “Did you think I’d stop hanging out with you because I found a friend in Moonkyu?”
Sehun’s face openly displayed conflict, eyes taking on a similar look. “That’s… that’s not…” He seemed to struggle articulating his thoughts, but Jongin waited until he could say what was on his mind. “It wasn’t hard to assume things, given how close you and Moonkyu-sunbaenim had become.”
The ensuing silence was charged with tangled emotions and unspoken questions. The way Sehun’s face increasingly colored pink as he spoke set off several puzzle pieces to fall in their proper places, forming a comprehensive picture and clearing the fog before Jongin’s eyes.
“Are you… are you saying you thought Moonkyu and I are more than friends?”
The blush on Sehun’s face worsened. Although he found humor in the situation, Jongin didn’t laugh; opted for what he hoped looked like a reassuring smile. The kind of smile where he acknowledged the false assumption but wouldn’t tease or embarrass Sehun for it.
“If we did become a couple, you’d be the first to know. How could I keep something so important like that from my best friend? Don’t worry, I’m not upset. As close as we are that some have misinterpreted our relationship, nothing romantic exists between me and Moonkyu. In fact, Moonkyu is currently talking to someone from another school for half a year, now. He met this person during the cooking competition last year. Things are going really well between them, he told me.”
Sehun’s expression morphed from surprise to something akin to relief. Jongin wondered about this transition, but more important right now was the smooth-sailing pace of their talk so far. If nothing went wrong, they could be on their way to a full reconciliation.
“Are things alright between us now?” Jongin asked, after a considerable amount of time, downing the rest of his now-lukewarm chocolate. Sehun nodded right away, smile forming as he did. After a year, Jongin was finally exonerated from the crushing guilt of a seemingly-lost friendship; chest light, smiling freer. “Does that mean we’re back to being best friends?”
“No returning required. You’ve always been my best friend, even if we fought and didn’t talk for a year. We could’ve made up faster if I didn’t insist on being stubborn and mean.” Sehun sounded reflective and regretful.
“We could’ve,” Jongin agreed, “but that time apart did us good, I think. I’m still so sorry about missing the finals. I really let you down with that one. But I’m going to make it up to you by showing up to your other competitions. I’ll use three phones for alarms if I have to.”
Their shared laugh at the joke tasted oddly sweeter than the hot chocolate Jongin had been sipping.
A comfortable silence passed before Jongin remembered Sehun’s silly assumption once again and chuckled. “Really, though. My closeness with Moonkyu is such a strange thing to be jealous about. Not even Moonkyu is jealous of how incredibly close we are. Such a silly thing to worry about. ”
For a split second, Jongin thought he imagined Sehun’s face showing a mixture of relief and sadness. He blinked, and it transformed into something pensive, prompting some questions in his mind, although he wasn’t sure if he should mention them now or reserve for later.
Sehun consumed the rest of his drink before providing an answer.
“Yeah. How foolish of me to worry about such a silly thing.”
☆彡
With hardly-contained amusement, Jongin watched Sehun formally bow to Moonkyu and introduce himself.
The amusement doubled when Moonkyu told Sehun to drop the formalities; mentioned how he’d always wanted to meet him.
“You’re Jongin’s best friend, and I’ve heard so many nice things about you.” Moonkyu’s tone was cheerful and amicable. “For starters, I hope the three of us will be able to hang out together in the future.”
“Yes, Moonkyu-sunbaenim,” Sehun answered right away, cordial and stiff.
Moonkyu wrinkled his nose. “Please, none of that. It feels weird. Just call me ‘hyung,’ okay?” He laughed at Sehun’s surprised look that soon faded, followed by an enthusiastic nod. “Now, I heard from Jongin you like tteokbokki and egg rolls. I happened to have woken up extra early today, so…”
The way Sehun’s face brightened when Moonkyu brought out a container containing said food items was endearing. The way Sehun’s childlike enthusiasm was drawn out after Moonkyu said he could eat everything, and how easily they fell into amicable conversation, warmed Jongin’s heart. A slight pang of regret came over him for not introducing them to each other sooner. Had he known they would get along this well, he would’ve done it on the first day.
Sehun still spent more time with the archery club members, but he also began reserving lunch breaks for them a few times a week. As soon they sat down, Sehun was quick to join, always sitting beside Jongin. The most comfortable presence, now returned. It felt right this way. Complete.
It felt like old times when Sehun snatched Jongin’s egg rolls without permission. Like he was wont to do. Like always. It was a constant joy to watch Sehun chew his egg rolls with as much delight. In that moment, Jongin saw the young boy he had befriended, nine years young and innocent but with a mature understanding of the ways of the world.
It definitely didn’t feel like old times when Sehun transferred his chicken drumstick to Jongin’s plate. “You, too,” was all he said, like it was an enough explanation, and maybe it was for him. “You need energy to study and dance later. Lead male role for The Nutcracker, right?”
Jongin’s chest bloomed with inexplicable warmth, fondness fueled. On the walk out of the cafeteria, Moonkyu and Sehun were engaged in polite conversation, Jongin following close behind. His steps slowed upon noticing broad shafts of sunlight pouring through the gaps in the clouds, patches of blue sky gradually becoming visible as they parted.
Today was certainly a beautiful day.
☆彡
For one good thing to happen, there must be a consequence, and vice versa.
Jongin’s zeal was, perhaps, what landed him in this predicament. The kind of zeal that sent the world spinning around him uncontrolled as much as his sudden, uncalculated fall. The music screeched to a halt, the studio atmosphere taking on something akin to the solemnity of a wake. Nothing registered except for the shock, at first, which stayed with Jongin through the rush to the clinic, the doctor taking a good look, the dreadful news after. Jongin saw the doctor’s mouth move, but neither his words nor their sounds sank in. Nothing but the dull, throbbing ache on his right ankle. The cause of his absence in the coming days. The cause of his anguish for just as long.
His family did their best to console him to no avail. Tiptoed around the subject; showed nothing but smiles and cheered him in ways they could. Jongin wanted badly to reciprocate with even the barest minimum to let them know their efforts weren’t in vain, but his devastation was far too powerful at the moment; a burdensome weight unwilling to be ignored.
Jongin spent the first few days moping and locked up in his bedroom, only coming out for meals, sometimes not even then. His mother understood; would knock twice, leave the tray without a word, come back regardless if he touched the food or not. She never said anything about his erratic appetite or his gloominess, though he always sought out her gentle head pats, or the running of her fingers through his hair in conveyance of her comfort and assurance.
Jongin couldn’t be bothered by how much school work he was missing, mind obsessed with the ballet lessons he could’ve been taking. Behind closed eyes, Ms. Moon’s somber expression came into view when the doctor announced the assessment, her reluctant agreement with it, further shattering Jongin’s hope. Logically, he understood it was for the best not to further aggravate his sprained ankle. Knew that if he pushed himself, the sprain could worsen—a bigger, irreversible regret he couldn’t afford.
It didn’t stop him from mourning over what could have been, or blaming himself when the sun dipped and everything in the house turned quiet his thoughts became too loud to silence. It didn’t stop him from scrutinizing the event that led to his injury over and over again, scolding himself for things he could’ve done to avoid this outcome. At the peak and depth of his frustration, Jongin smacked his forehead several times for the lack of foresight, picking apart all of his mistakes, even with the difficult knowledge that anything he did now couldn’t lessen or soften his misery.
Reality had set in, and Jongin was powerless to change it.
Moonkyu visited him, once. Told him in advance by text, asked him if he wanted anything he could pick up on the way. Jongin didn’t see these messages until Moonkyu arrived in front of his bedroom door. Although thankful, Jongin confessed he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to entertain visitors. Moonkyu understood; left a brand-new novel by Higashino Keigo for him to read, if he wished. Moonkyu had ordered it online but hadn’t read it yet, allowing Jongin to have first dibs.
Sehun was another story altogether. Despite telling him on the first visit that Jongin didn’t want to see anyone for now, he continued dropping by every day. Sehun would always knock twice on his door, ask if he was awake. Jongin pretended he didn’t hear anything and burrowed deeper under the covers. Sehun never took his silence as rejection but didn’t demand for the door to be opened, too. He would just quietly walk away, footsteps fading down the hall. Five minutes later, Jongin’s phone chimed; a message from Sehun telling him to take care.
Each day, Jongin would receive different messages after Sehun had left:
i hope you’re eating well.
tell me if you want notes, i can make copies for you.
today’s egg rolls don’t taste as good.
training was hard today. some of the freshmen show promise. can’t lose to them, gotta work hard.
i drank chocolate milk after my run this morning. it doesn’t taste as good compared to when you buy it for me.
it’s getting colder. even if you won’t go out, dress warmly at all times.
No matter how unsuccessful his visits, Sehun continued texting him once a day. Like Jongin had never been absent. Like Jongin wasn’t one door away from him. The messages were like tiny windows to the outside world while wallowing in his failure and sadness. The consistency of these messages resuscitated a little of Jongin’s drive, now making conscious effort to keep his phone charged and within reach, not wanting to miss its arrival.
Saturday, entering the first week of December. Jongin had missed nearly a week of school, and though the looming amount of awaiting work was undoubtedly piling, he couldn’t bring himself to care.
This time, however, when Sehun knocked on his door to announce his presence, Jongin granted him entry.
Sehun’s surprise stayed on his face while entering the room but soon faded as worry lined his features. Neither of them spoke, just sat down beside each other. Their backs leaned against Jongin’s bed, shoulders brushing with the slightest movement. Sehun sat with his legs crossed, back straight. Jongin hugged his knees to his chest, chin resting on the space between.
Sehun broke the silence first. “It’s good to see you again.”
Jongin hummed in acknowledgment.
“I was worried when you didn’t show up to school last Monday. It’s not like you to be absent. You weren’t responding to my messages and calls, so…” A soft sigh. Sehun pushing back his hair away from his eyes. “I heard what happened from your mom.”
Jongin slowly looked Sehun’s way, only to be met with his gaze. So many questions in his eyes, curiosity and concern burning bright in them.
Tumultuous emotions from the past few days resurged and invaded Jongin’s chest, the onslaught overwhelming. He was quiet for a long time before speaking up. “I could have avoided the fall that gave me my sprained ankle.”
Sehun continued staring, saying nothing, but nodding just the same.
“There were so many things I wish I could’ve done to prevent this. I wish I landed better. I wish my sense of balance didn’t abandon me at that moment. I wish I didn’t dance too hard during rehearsals. I wish I hadn’t been too complacent, too confident, too enthusiastic. I wish none of this was happening!”
With each word Jongin’s voice grew increasingly hysterical, packed with the anger he thought he’d long exhausted from the initial venting, tapering off into an uncontrolled, unwelcome sob. Another. Endless. Soon, Jongin was full-on bawling, concealing his face and his tears in his folded arms. He cried his heart out for the loss of this opportunity, the piled-on regrets and self-blame. He cried for this sprained ankle taking away the long-awaited opportunity he’d been dreaming of since nine.
Amid Jongin’s sobbing did he sense arms encircle him, a head leaning against his.
“None of this is your fault.” Sehun’s tone was the softest Jongin had heard from him in the years they’d known each other.
Jongin lifted his head, looking at Sehun even as tears continued falling down his cheeks. “But I… I could have…” He stumbled on his words, wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.
Sehun waited a full moment before continuing. “Yeah, sure, you could’ve done things differently. I agree. But you didn’t ask for this to happen. You didn’t ask to be hurt before the recital. So, stop blaming yourself. It’s not your fault.”
Jongin wasn’t sure if he could believe in Sehun’s words just yet. He did appreciate how soothing Sehun’s presence was beside him now that he’d unleashed the residual resentment and anger; that crying like a child on Sehun’s shoulder and wailing about how much he’d been looking forward to playing the lead role in The Nutcracker without the fear of judgment or embarrassment absolutely beat crying himself to sleep and complaining to the walls in the solitary darkness of his room.
“Sorry, I think I got snot on your sweater,” was the first thing Jongin said, after considerably calming down much later. His eyes felt swollen, nose a bit clogged, but the unbearable weight in his chest had diminished marginally after that good cry.
Sehun merely glanced at said shoulder and shrugged. “No one will notice. My sweater’s a deep indigo color, anyway, so it blends well. If you feel really bad about it, tteokbokki would be nice. And some egg rolls. Bunggeoppang sounds great, too.”
“I knew you had a hidden agenda.” Jongin narrowed his eyes and feigned offense, though a laugh escaped his lips.
The afternoon was spent eating home-delivered snacks while watching anime movies in Jongin’s room. Sehun’s commentary added life and hilarity to the watching; his questions, unorthodox but amusing. By the time they demolished every snack, they’d run out of movies, and the sky had turned dark.
“Have to get going,” Sehun announced, cleaning up and gathering the trash in a bag. “I’ve got to wake up early tomorrow for my usual run. I’ll be thinking a lot about the last movie we watched.”
Jongin smiled while watching Sehun move to and fro. He offered to help, but Sehun insisted he just sit down and relax. “Thank you. For today.”
Sehun momentarily glimpsed at him before securing the bag. “Anything for you.”
The words weren’t spoken in any special way, and it was natural for friends to have each other’s back. Jongin’s heart leapt, anyway, and a surge of warmth flooded his chest.
“It was nice seeing you after a long time, too.” Sehun’s additional statement grabbed his attention again. “I know you’re practically a free spirit when it comes to phones, but your silence didn’t sit well with me this time. I was so worried when you stopped coming to school and weren’t talking to me. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here when it happened. Let me share your burdens, too.”
Touched, fond, and his heart erratically beating for reasons he couldn’t comprehend, Jongin merely smiled and nodded in promise.
☆彡
Jongin’s sprained ankle recovered in record time, but not fast enough for him to participate in the recital. The doomed outcome proved a difficult pill to swallow, one he might or might not forget as he inevitably moved on with life. Time was medicine, however, so he’d leave his healing to its more capable hands; rely on its power to aid him in accepting this major setback while keeping hope alive for other dancing opportunities.
“Next year,” Sehun told him, on the last day of classes before winter break. “You’ll get the lead role next year. A lead role for an even bigger show. I just know it.”
Jongin smiled. Wished it with all his might; with all his heart, too.
They left school together along with the other students walking in groups, discussing where to go next or what to eat. Archery training would resume next year while the cram schools they attended would go on a one-week break. The ballet studio was closed for the incoming holidays, as well. Moonkyu would’ve joined them on their after-school excursion if not for the cooking club holding a farewell party for its senior members; thus, leaving early before them. In just a few months, Moonkyu would be graduating from high school, stepping into the new world of college after.
Seoul saw modest snowfall this year, the drastic drops in temperature rendering it impossible to stay long outdoors. Some days were frostier than others; today wasn’t, so Jongin and Sehun gallivanted about the streets. They surrendered when their faces started hurting a bit from the cold, hands desperately squeezing out the last bits of warmth from the languishing hot packs. Seeking shelter from the mall and its heaters, they talked about what to eat when Jongin requested to drop by Kyobo to pick up a sci-fi novel he reserved last month. He bought it as a birthday present for Moonkyu but thought it more suitable as a holiday present. While waiting for the book to be gift wrapped, Jongin noticed Sehun’s uncharacteristic silence, gaze flitting from one display to the next.
“And here I thought you’ve outgrown toys,” Jongin joked, hoping it’d catch Sehun’s attention.
It didn’t, but Sehun’s question implied otherwise. “What do you think about giving each other Christmas presents?”
Jongin blinked but couldn’t help chuckling. “Where’s this coming from? I’m not buying you anything expensive.”
Sehun’s gaze landed on him this time, and he pouted. “It doesn’t have to be! We can stay within a set budget. C’mon, it will be fun. We’ve been best friends for years, but we’ve never given each other presents. It’s never too late to start now. Christmas doesn’t always have to be about couples.”
“I don’t have enough money on me right now.” Jongin paused to smile and thank the cashier upon receiving his purchase. “If you really want to do this, we’ll agree on a price limit then meet in three days to swap gifts. How’s that sound?”
“Call!” Sehun exclaimed in agreement, obviously enthused.
They agreed it was more exciting not to rely on a wish list, this gift-giving occasion a friendship test of sorts. Jongin spent the first day wondering what he could give Sehun, constantly rearranging the items in his mind by importance and omitting those he simply couldn’t afford. He asked for guidance from his sisters; received reasonable suggestions but also teasing he wasn’t sure how to take. They teased him for putting in so much thought behind Sehun’s present. Jongin reasoned it was the right thing to do. Sehun wasn’t just anybody in his life, of course he would do his best to find the right present for him.
“Are you sure it’s only that?” his eldest sister, Jaera, asked with a kind smile.
Jongin furrowed his brows. “What other reason would I have?”
“Ah, unnie, our baby brother is absolutely clueless it’s almost cute as it is pitiable,” Jungah, his elder sister, remarked with an amused whine.
Scratching the back of his head, Jongin thanked his sisters and left them in the living room with more questions than answers on his mind. Regardless, he had a pretty good idea of what to give Sehun. By the second day, he’d made up his mind and spent hours at different stores searching.
The day of their meet-up arrived. Jongin arrived first at the café. Sehun showed up ten minutes later, rosy-cheeked and grinning widely as he slipped into the opposite chair and handed the drawstring bag to Jongin. “Can’t wait to see how you react to this.”
Nothing prepared Jongin for what he saw inside.
A teddy bear in light and dark shades of brown with the softest fur, droopy eyes and sleepy expression most definitely its charm points. Jongin held the toy to eye level with a careful hand, running the other across the circle on its beige tummy.
“I know you’re wondering why I bought this for you. Sometimes you remind me of a bear. I’m not saying you’re furry or anything, not that I would know—wait, that came out wrong”—Sehun looked horrified by his own words, but Jongin chuckled, anyway—“I mean to say, when I saw this, it reminded me of you.” Sehun pointed at the bear’s face. “If I tilt my head a certain way, the bear starts kinda looking like you. The droopy eyes are exactly the same, if you ask me. That’s how you look like staying up late reading.”
Jongin narrowed his eyes in playful annoyance. “Oh Sehun, are you making fun of me?”
They dissolved into laughter after a brief staring contest. Jongin looked at the bear again. Unsure if Sehun’s observation was coloring his opinion, looking closer at the bear’s droopy eyes did resemble his when he lacked proper sleep. “I don’t know if I should feel flattered about being compared to a bear, but I like the toy. It’s cute.”
“I got that bear so you wouldn’t be completely lonely in your room.” Sehun’s joking manner disappeared, capturing Jongin’s full attention. “There might be times you prefer being alone or want to vent but not necessarily need advice. I thought a teddy bear could not only give you company but act as your silent confidante. Toys won’t sell your secrets, so you can tell the bear everything in your heart without being judged.”
“Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Yeah, but don’t you have secrets better kept to yourself? Not everything needs to be shared.”
Jongin’s eyebrows slowly sailed upward. “Impressive. You seem to be maturing.” He chortled at Sehun’s fake affronted glare and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll keep your words in mind. They make your present more meaningful.” He took the tote paper bag from under the table and handed it to Sehun. “Here’s mine. I hope you’ll like it.”
Sehun gleefully accepted the bag. Opening it, he pulled out— “A scarf?” In navy blue, wool, with tasseled ends.
Jongin nodded. “I know you seldom use scarves even if it’s freezing outdoors, but I saw this and couldn’t stop thinking about how good you’d look wearing it.”
The statement was met with the slow widening of Sehun’s eyes, accompanied by a blazing heat suffusing Jongin’s face. Aghast by his own words but more confused by the panic beginning to grow within, Jongin hurried to add, “Coats and jackets are warm and reliable, but you never do anything to protect your neck. The skin of your neck isn’t immune to cold weather, you know. You still have to protect it using something, and not all of your coats and jackets come with high collars. Ah, what am I even saying…” Jongin ruffled his hair, frustrated by the sudden abandonment of his eloquence. “It’s okay if you don’t like it, or if you think it’s going to stay as decoration in your closet. I can give you something else—”
“I love it.” Sehun wrapped the scarf around his neck twice, adjusted it to his liking until both ends were draped over his shoulders. “Do I look good?”
The navy blue color drew out the paleness of Sehun’s skin, a wonderful contrast that many would easily notice and gush over, Jongin was sure. Paired with his dark coat, Sehun not only looked cozy and comfy but emanated the air of an heir, which wasn’t difficult to achieve with the kind of facial features he possessed. The harmless observation accelerated Jongin’s pulse weirdly enough; faster, when he answered Sehun’s question. “You do.”
Sehun smiled in satisfaction. “I believe you.” His face softened, expression gentle. “Thank you for the gift. I’ll treasure it well.”
Jongin nodded in acknowledgment; detested this game of hide and seek with his words. The happiness blooming on Sehun’s face suited him well. Jongin wouldn’t mind giving him a scarf every year if it meant seeing this expression again. Pride swelled in his chest for causing this expression—and was taken aback by the surprising strength of his desire to become its source.
Later, after almost an entire day of hanging out, Sehun asked on the subway ride home, “What are you naming the bear?”
Jongin hadn’t thought that far off yet. He told Sehun as much; received a cluck of a tongue.
“Choose a good name. It’s going to live with you from here on out,” Sehun told him around a mouthful of gummy candies Jongin bought him. “It might not be a pet who responds when called, but it’s a family member now.”
Jongin burst out laughing; quieted down at the stern look a middle-aged couple sent his way. “Am I building a family of bears?” Then, softly: “If you were to name it, what would you choose?”
Sehun waved a hand around vaguely. “Gom? What?”—he pulled an annoyed face at the first burst of a snicker from Jongin—“Some people have cheesier names for their stuffed toys.”
“You’re the bear’s other parent. I’m not so surprised with the cheesy name.” Jongin didn’t give Sehun a chance to protest by immediately adding, “I’d like it just the same, anyway.”
“As the other parent, we should think this through together.”
On the day before Christmas, after bantering, testing strange syllable combinations, and muffling their laughter when the rest of the commuters threw disapproving looks at them for failing to contain their excitement in public transportation, a teddy bear was christened with the name Gomini.
☆彡
Senior year was thrice busier and criminally stressful, the horror stories from graduated seniors seemingly coming to life. Teachers breathed down on their necks for every single moment they spent taking a break from revising. Not a day passed where suneung wasn’t mentioned and the importance of schoolwork and mock exam results were gratingly emphasized. Consultations with teachers about college applications grew in number, some trying to convince students to rethink their choice of courses; others, supportive, and a select few forcing their opinions because teenagers “did not know better.”
Jongin couldn’t remember any standout moments from the first three months of his senior year except for the cyclical life he led consisting of home, school, and ballet. Reprieves came in the form of filming audition videos and rehearsing interviews with Ms. Moon in case those were required. With her help, Jongin was able to narrow down his choices for dream schools; danced for his audition videos with one purpose in mind: clinch a spot and move the judges with his art.
Most days of the week left him undeniably exhausted, studying and dancing depleting him of physical, mental, and social energies by its end. Still, Jongin tried to squeeze some time to dedicate to his other interests and hobbies. Moonkyu, who was a university freshman now, texted occasionally and sent pictures of new recipes he tried or soliciting fashion opinions. Sometimes they’d meet on a weekend to catch up if they were both free. Sometimes Sehun tagged along, if his schedule permitted him—like now, as they sat around a table in a bubble tea shop. The sugary drink was one of Sehun’s recent obsessions, having fallen in love after tasting it the first time, but he never gave up the chocolate milk Jongin continued buying for him.
“How are preparations for the summer intensive?” Moonkyu asked.
“Tough,” Sehun said, laughing. “I knew senior club members need to be on top of arrangements to assist the coaches, but not to this extent. It’s all good, though. Anything for the club’s betterment and comfort. This is my last year with everyone; I want it to be an unforgettable experience.” He sipped his chocolate bubble tea in silence for a full moment. “Other than that, I want to secure my place in the representative team for the National Sports Festival.”
“You will,” Jongin said, without hesitation. “You’ve always been a member of the representative team. That’s not going to change this year, either.”
“No wonder you’ve been training real hard,” Moonkyu remarked, sounding amazed.
Sehun’s mouth curved into a tiny, grateful smile. “Tryouts give different results each year. Competition might be tougher this time—our new recruits are talented and show a lot of promise. That’s why I can’t lose to them as a senior and a fellow archer. We might belong to the same club, but everybody possesses the spirit and pride of an athlete with a strong desire to prove themselves and emerge on top. It makes things more exciting, actually.”
“Wow. I never knew you had a competitive steak,” Moonkyu said, awed. “But you do sound like a mature and responsible upperclassman. It must come with entering senior year, I suppose?”
“I can be mature and responsible when the need arises.” The pink of Sehun’s cheeks starkly contrasted his confident words.
“You’ve always been responsible,” Jongin chimed in. “Mature, though? I don’t know; that’s a bit debatable, considering how childish you can be at times.”
Sehun shot him a slanted, incredulous look. “I’m a developing teenager. Let me figure out things at my own pace.”
Moonkyu laughed. “I bet this cool and mature image is what captivates the attention of your league of secret admirers. Oh, don’t look so surprised, Sehun—I’ve seen the way students sneaked furtive looks at you in the hallways. It’s not impossible to imagine.”
“All I see are love letters when I open my shoe locker in the afternoons,” Sehun joked, with a shy lowering of his eyes; the pink of his cheeks accentuating his features, his bashfulness.
“Has any confession managed to touch your heart?”
A considerable amount of time passed before Sehun finished chewing on the pearls. “I’m aware they poured their hearts into writing those letters. I can feel the sincerity in their words. I can appreciate that.”
Moonkyu hummed, a suspicious sound. “Nice save, but you never answered my question. Will senior year finish without anyone winning Sehun-sunbaenim’s heart?”
Sehun looked twice bashful, now, waving away the obvious teasing with a hand. “Ah, hyung, stop teasing me. If you continue teasing me, you’ll stay single for the rest of your freshman year.” The last sentence was intoned in a foreboding manner akin to fortune tellers predicting someone’s fate.
Moonkyu threw his head back in loud, merry laughter. Sipping the remnants of his drink, he glanced sideways and said, “Hey, Jongin, you’re awfully quiet. Still with us? And, please, stop shredding the poor napkins.”
You can’t be any more obvious was Moonkyu’s first text when they parted ways that afternoon. Jongin only got to read it an hour after remembering he had a phone to check. He frowned at the message, ignored it as he thought of what to reply. What was Moonkyu even talking about? Obvious? In what way? Over what?
“Why are you so quiet?” Sehun’s question startled him back to the present. “You’ve been acting weird since we were at the bubble tea shop.”
“Am I?” Jongin backtracked to the events that took place there, but found no evidence that could be labeled as such. “I’m probably just tired.”
“Do you want to sit somewhere to rest? Do you want to head home?”
Sehun’s concern flowed through his questions; the full attention he showed. Jongin shouldn’t be overjoyed over an expected gesture between friends. Caring for your best friend and their wellbeing was nothing unusual. Jongin cared a lot for Sehun. He’d do the same if Sehun felt off, complained of feeling ill. Sehun fussing over him shouldn’t come with a happiness that flattered him for reasons he couldn’t easily come up with.
“Jongin, are you sure you’re feeling fine? You’re spacing out a lot.” Sehun was frowning, now, and no; Jongin didn’t want to see that on his face.
“I think I need something to wash down the bubble tea. Don’t worry too much.”
Sehun gave him a withering stare, though the sigh he blew out spoke of finality; a promise of not pursuing the topic further. “Okay. But me, not worry about you? You’re asking for the impossible.”
They were distracted by a cute, brown toy poodle while searching for the closest convenience store to grab some ramyun. The poodle instantly took a liking to Sehun, following his commands with some guidance instructed from its owner and enthusiastically ate the treats from his hand. Soon enough, Sehun gathered attention from nearby spectators and, based on what Jongin could hear from their not-so-hushed conversations, archery club members from a neighboring high school.
“Isn’t he Oh Sehun of Shinhyeon High School’s archery club?”
“Whoa, never thought I’d get to see him in person! Didn’t Shinhyeon High win the archery finals last year at the National Sports Festival? But, wow, I thought the rumors about him being a looker were exaggerated. Looks like they’re true this time. What a cutie.”
“You call him a cutie now, but wait until you see him out in the field. He transforms into this archer god as soon as he holds the bow, you won’t even believe.”
Jongin snorted in amusement. Sehun looked to be concentrated playing with the poodle, but the tips of his ears were now a bright red, as well as his nape. In an unforeseen move, Sehun turned around and flashed the gossipers a smile to let them know they were heard, earning himself delighted squeals and gasps.
“I hope to see you on October if you qualify for the sports festival. Good luck. Train hard.”
“I think you left them soulless,” Jongin quipped, stealing glimpses behind him as the archery players shrieked and gushed and texted on their phones with rapid-fire speed. “What a unique way to get them fired up.”
Sehun smiled. “I’ve been in their place before. I know what it’s like to receive encouragement from senior archers I admire. It goes a long way.”
Summer arrived with the force of an imposing hurricane and insufferable humidity. Like the previous intensives, communication would be nonexistent to concentrate on group bonding. Before that, more studying, more stress than imagined but handled in different ways, and the upcoming exams students needed to sit through before the break.
Jongin corrected the last item and totaled the score on the upper right corner of the paper. He held it out with two hands and smiled in awe. “You’ve improved so much on Math over the years. I’m so proud of you! Your efforts in studying have been paying off.”
“Your cards with doodles and explanations help a lot.” Sehun beamed at his score of 84 of 100 marks. “I understand convoluted concepts better with those.”
“Give yourself credit, too.” Jongin patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve become diligent in studying. You can now solve problems without asking for hints. Sometimes, you catch my missed mistakes and correct them for me, too. You’ve progressed so much, and that’s admirable.”
They agreed to call it a day, having started studying since this morning. As they cleared their belongings, Jongin noticed Sehun sending him fleeting looks from his peripheral; an unusual hesitance in his movements.
“Is something wrong?”
Sehun startled but recovered quick, stuffing papers in his bag. “You know, it just occurred to me that we’ve never talked about the schools we applied to or aimed for.” He listed his chosen universities, and it was no surprise to Jongin he picked those, especially with their history of specifically catering to student athletes.
When Jongin listed his, Sehun stared at him in silence.
“One of those schools is overseas.”
“Their programs are good, I’ve heard. Ms. Moon is an alumni, so it was her first recommendation. It’s not the only school I want to enter, of course. I’ll do my best to get into the other schools I applied for here so traveling overseas won’t be necessary. But I did my own research, and I think that school matches me best. If I’m lucky, it would be a nice opportunity to travel, see and experience the world, even if my main objective is to study.”
Sehun’s pensive silence afterward served as a mind teaser of sorts in the following days. Unfortunately, Jongin couldn’t ask Sehun about it since he left for the summer intensive after exam results were released. During the quiet parts of his day, Jongin wondered about the sulky set to Sehun’s mouth during that conversation; the almost-lifeless movements of his body on their ice cream trip, the distant look in his eyes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Moonkyu deadpanned, when Jongin shared what happened. He visited Moonkyu at the bakery where he part-timed; luckily, he was on break when Jongin arrived. They sat on a table at the far back, sharing a plate of mugwort cookies. “You of all people should know the answer to his sudden sullenness.”
“I have a hunch, but I don’t want to be presumptuous,” Jongin admitted. “It feels… too arrogant on my part?”
“I don’t think so. I’m sure Sehun thinks the same,” Moonkyu said. “I’m sure as heck Sehun is supportive of your choice to study abroad, if that is what you have decided. This is the first time you talked about your schools of choice, right? I can see why he might believe you’d stay in the same city forever. The both of you have become constants in each other’s lives. You grew up together, attended the same schools, weathered good and bad days that strengthened your friendship. Give him time to adjust. He could be struggling coming to terms that the reality he’d been so comfortable living in might undergo a sharp change soon. Talk about it when he comes back. The worst that can happen is both of you not talking for a year again.”
“No! Not that!” Jongin protested right away, ice-cold dread invading his chest from the mere thought of it. “I can’t go another year of not talking to him again. I… I don’t think I’ll survive.”
Moonkyu blinked wide, surprised eyes at him. A knowing look upon his features, one Jongin couldn’t decipher. “Why do you say so?”
“Because he’s my best friend,” would’ve been Jongin’s ready answer, without missing a beat. Oddly enough, the words stayed unspoken, as if his lips had been figuratively sewn shut. How strange for him to ache so excruciatingly at the notion of another cold war with Sehun, yet couldn’t give an immediate justification behind it when he usually could. Because he’s my best friend. What was so hard about saying that?
Moonkyu’s long, searching gaze rendered Jongin vulnerable for reasons beyond him at the moment. “I think if you can answer that question, everything will start making more sense. I know you’re smart, Jongin, so this won’t be too hard for you to solve. Just… don’t take long, or it might be too late.”
The conversation haunted Jongin’s mind for nights afterward, when he was in bed and surrounded by comfortable darkness, his phone and Gomini keeping him company. His fingers itched to send Sehun a message but held back, refusing to muddle with his focus by springing up serious, mind-boggling questions. Jongin was willing to wait out the remaining ten days before the summer intensive ended and Sehun returned for this conversation to happen.
“If I study overseas, will that make you sad?”
Sehun’s chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth, the rice cake trapped between slowly slipping and falling back to the plate. A sizable crowd was present at their favorite tteokbokki restaurant, but conversations were conducted at moderate volume, so Jongin knew Sehun heard him clearly. He stared intently and waited for Sehun’s reaction, who noticed his food had escaped his hold and retrieved it.
“What brought this on?” Sehun asked, after he was done chewing. Curiosity shone in his eyes. “I expected questions about the summer intensive, but this is a bit…”
Jongin brought up the conversation about schools they applied for. “I didn’t notice it back then, and I wish I had sooner. If we get into our schools of choice, we’ll be heading separate ways.”
A flash of recognition; Sehun’s confused features smoothing out into a neutral mask. A barrier, if anything. Jongin’s experience aided him in deciphering the look. He didn’t say anything else, waiting for Sehun to speak what was on his mind, which was obvious in the way he seemed to suddenly find an unnatural interest in the whipped cream of the honey toast.
After a considerable pause, Sehun broke it with his reply. “What kind of question is that?” He must’ve meant to sound lighthearted, like he was joking, but there was an undercurrent of sadness—and, heartbreak, somewhat—in his words. “Of course I’ll be sad. We’ve done everything together since we were nine.” His poker face cracked, and a shred of childlike innocence seeped through his next question. “Is it naïve of me to believe we would chase our dreams while staying close by each other’s side?”
How incredibly Sehun to be honest with his feelings; his innocence reminding Jongin that, perhaps, in some ways, they were still too young in a world that urged them to mature in order to meet society’s demanding standards.
To his question, Jongin slowly shook his head; lips curving up in a similar speed. “I’ve thought of that. But while working toward our personal goals, it started becoming apparent that we would go down different paths one way or another. It doesn’t mean we won’t be friends anymore. We might not be with each other physically, but recent inventions for communication are awesome these days.”
“Precisely. So, let’s not talk about unhappy things anymore.” Sehun set down his chopsticks and sliced a piece of toast; swiped a generous amount of cream. “Graduation isn’t until next year. Why not make the most out of our time having fun rather than worrying about things that haven’t happened yet?”
Days sailed past in almost a complete replica of pre-summer break. Slight deviations in routine occurred when they walked to the bus stop together or met at the subway station before heading home after cram school. If they were lucky to find vacant seats, Sehun would end up dozing off on Jongin’s shoulder once the train moved forward. Jongin stayed very still to avoid disrupting his nap, but the proximity made him lightheaded. The softness of Sehun’s hair that tickled Jongin’s chin and the faint scent of orange shampoo were intimate details that embedded themselves in his memory, coming to life once he was in the safety of his bed and pulled sleep further out of his reach.
If there was only one seat available, Sehun would insist he take it. Jongin won sometimes by pinning him a stern look—the kind that won him arguments sometimes. Sehun pretended to put up a fight but would end up seated, tugging at Jongin’s hand to sit beside him once a passenger vacated the seat.
“I nap better when my pillow is your shoulder,” Sehun joked with a mischievous smile.
“Nice to know my shoulder can be of service to you, Your Highness,” Jongin joked back, staring off in the opposite direction right away if only to calm his strangely frenzied heart and suppress the heat spreading on his cheeks, albeit in vain.
Annoyed, baffled, and confused as he was about his odd reactions to Sehun’s odder hankering for physical closeness, Jongin could admit to himself that this felt nice. Comfortable. Warm. Forbidden, in some measure; in ways he had yet to figure out.
☆彡
October, the month of the annual National Sports Festival. Shinhyeon High School’s archery club started strong on the preliminaries; merciless during semi-finals. Their performance was one of the most anticipated in the high school men’s division, generating buzz when they qualified for the finals within related circles that even former opponents, past and present, showed curiosity about the results.
This year’s venue was outside of Seoul, the archery finals scheduled on the weekend. The distance didn’t stop Jongin from using his earned allowance for bus tickets, finding company and solace from other classmates who wanted to watch and cheer for their representatives. Seungjoon happened to have relatives in Daegu, who agreed to set up everyone during their stay.
Finals day. Sehun played well no matter if he started first or placed last among the three. His posture and gracefulness when nocking and releasing the arrow, keeping calm even during the tensest moments in the game, stealing everybody’s attention but unyielding to it once he took his stand on the appointed spot—such details were lauded by coaches and some professionals thanks to online articles waxing poetry about these attributes.
And when Sehun fired the winning shot, Jongin’s side of the stadium erupted in thunderous cheers and applause. The other members of the archery club immediately accosted Sehun and showered him with hugs and hair ruffles, smiles and grins present all around.
Jongin didn’t wait a second longer to dash over the moment the awarding ceremony concluded. Jongin tackled him in a hug, something that Sehun was clearly unprepared for from the way he was almost knocked off balance, the sudden force slightly pushing him back. Sehun somehow adjusted quickly to their combined weight.
“You did it! You won! You brought glory to the school and the archery club again!”
Sehun was quiet and unresponsive for a split second. Then, Jongin felt Sehun’s hands awkwardly, gingerly hold onto his arms and squeezed; like he was hesitating whether to reciprocate the hug or not. “We did,” he whispered in Jongin’s ear. “This was a tough one—tougher than last year, actually—but we made it.”
Jongin pulled back a little so he could take a better look at Sehun’s face. Sehun’s eyes were curved into crescents, face glowing with unveiled happiness. Around his neck hung a medal, another one to be added to his growing collection; hard proof of his hard work and dedication to the sport.
The team coach suddenly approached them. “Sehun, come with me for a moment. There are some people who want to talk to you.”
Only on their return to Seoul did Jongin find out who these people were and what they wanted from Sehun. Scouts from the national archery team had kept Oh Sehun in their radar since his first competition in middle school. However, they had divided opinions about him initially, even as they kept close watch of his progress through the years. This year, Sehun’s performance impressed them and squashed the rest of their doubts. They recruited him to officially join the national team, fully convinced of his potential; what he could bring to arenas domestic and overseas.
“That’s wonderful! You’re really going places!” Jongin gushed, overjoyed, then slightly wincing at how loud his voice was in the hallway. Thank goodness no teachers were around to admonish him. “This is huge, Sehun—the national team!”
Sehun’s face glowed with elation, cheeks tinted pink. “I—I still can’t believe it. I never imagined to come this far. Becoming a part of the national team is every archer’s aim, so for this to happen to me… I’ll work hard and make sure they won’t regret recruiting me.”
“Your dream is slowly coming true. You’re really becoming the huge star you’ve always wanted to be.”
Sehun looked embarrassed at the mention of it. “Why do you still remember that? I was like, what, fourteen at the time?” He adjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder as they made their way to the shoe lockers.
Jongin cooed, nudging his shoulder against Sehun’s in a teasing manner. “You were so adorable back then, declaring something so bold. But look at you now: you’re one step closer to competing in international games. One step closer to getting your name out there. I’m sure—”
Jongin was interrupted by the quiet rustle of falling paper, the source coming from Sehun’s shoe locker. Sehun stared at the pastel mess of envelopes around his feet, mouth shaped in a tiny ‘O’ but recovered and picked up the letters.
“See what I mean?” Jongin couldn’t help teasing, handing Sehun the last fallen envelope. Sehun stacked the letters together in a thick pile before stashing it away in his backpack. “Your fanbase is growing.”
So did the number of admirers, and the confessions. Sehun’s reputation of becoming unreachable further solidifying with each person he turned down. Facts Jongin faced day by day. Facts that, somehow, often pricked at his sides or churned his gut with unlabeled feelings, which unfailingly reared its ugly head when reminded of Sehun’s increasing popularity.
The school athletes were given a break from training, so on this early evening, Jongin and Sehun left school together. Jongin still had ballet before cram school, though the vacant hour between those was spent however they pleased. Today, they spent that hour to grab a quick bite at their usual tteokbokki restaurant. After eating and paying, they hadn’t taken five steps out the door when a group of girls approached Sehun, blushing and bashful, the envelopes in their hands telling a story Jongin had seen one too many times—and, annoyingly enough, roused those unlabeled feelings again that pitched and roiled in his gut.
“What did I say? Your fanbase is growing,” Jongin commented, after the girls had left and they walked down the opposite path. Instead of crossing the bridge, which was their usual route, they agreed to go down the stairs that led them to Cheonggyecheon’s stream and walked along its length to aid their digestion.
Sehun merely smiled. “Their support is always appreciated. Hopefully, I inspire them to run after their dreams, too. It’s what I always tell them when I turn down their confessions.”
“How distant.”
“Better distant than fool them.”
Jongin hummed. “I agree. I’m sure you’re aware, but there have been plenty of rumors surrounding your relationship status. A lot of people are weirdly invested in that. But I can’t help but wonder along with them.” They stopped in front of the stepping stones strategically placed across the water. Jongin hopped on the first three before looking back to meet Sehun’s questioning gaze. “When you consistently turned down people who confess their feelings, I’ve come up with three possible reasons behind that: you’re genuinely not interested, you like someone, or you’re in a relationship. I don’t doubt you if it’s the first—not having a crush isn’t going to signal the end of the world. The third would be something I’ll hear straight from you, and if it’s this, I would commend you for being able to keep such a huge secret from me all this time.”
And there it was: the question that had been burning bright in Jongin’s mind since their cold war a year ago. The one that gnawed at his insides every time he as much as let it graze his mind; constricted his chest for an unfounded reason to this day. Even now, as he stood and waited for Sehun’s answer. One part of him wanted this over and done with, bracing himself to verify if he had just answered his long-standing curiosity; another craved to cover his ears in case it was a truth difficult to swallow.
Sehun gave him a long, meaningful look, prolonging Jongin’s suspense. Then, he hopped onto the first stone, just one step away from Jongin, never breaking their eye contact.
“I’ve only looked at one person almost my entire life. But that person has only been looking straight ahead.”
The entire world fell silent around them, narrowed down to this moment where Sehun’s words reverberated in Jongin’s ears. He didn’t know his chest could clench so tight from a two-sentence affirmation; didn’t know it was possible for an overwhelming ache to bloom behind his ribs.
Regaining composure, Jongin forced a smile; wasn’t sure if he imagined the unwillingness of his facial muscles. “Called it. I knew you had to have someone special if you kept turning down those confessions.” He tacked on laughter at the end, a hollow sound to his ears.
Sehun’s lashes lowered, a soft blush highlighting his cheeks. “I could also just not be interested in relationships right now, you know. Then again, if I was in one, I would make sure to tell you first.” He shook his head. “Anyway, first loves are hardly requited. They don’t even last even if realized. I’d rather it stay a beautiful memory than ruin everything.”
Jongin backtracked to his earlier words. “What’s with the negative outlook? What could you possibly ruin?”
“Many things I’m not willing to risk and lose,” Sehun admitted. “Besides, where I’m currently at in life, I don’t think I’m worthy enough for this person. I have to work harder just to have them look at me.”
Jongin couldn’t imagine the kind of person Sehun liked for him to feel this way about himself. “This person comes off very ambitious.”
“This person inspires me to do and be better.” Sehun’s smile looked so tender when he said this.
Jongin made a long, contemplative hum, paired with a nod of equal length. Ignored the violent churning of his insides; the continuous aching now expanding to his chest. He couldn’t understand his reactions. He wanted to be supportive, as best friends were wont to do, yet a side of him staunchly refused. He caught Sehun’s awaiting gaze, realized he still had to respond. Say something. Do anything that would throw off suspicion and distract Jongin from the soreness of struck nerves.
“Your crush must be a very ambitious but good person, then.”
“More than a good person—he’s so, so wonderful.” Sehun’s face livened and softened complimenting his crush, eyes sparkling with unfiltered happiness. In that moment, Jongin knew this person—whoever they were—meant a whole lot to Sehun, and he looked away under the guise of checking the stream water for fishes.
“What about you?” Sehun asked, breaking the momentary silence between them. “I never heard anything about a crush from you—unless you’ve had more exes than I do.”
Jongin laughed at the obvious joke, easing the aching inside him some. “I found myself paying attention to a few people, but the attraction didn’t last long enough for me to consider them as crushes. It’s why I never spoke about them. Can’t make a fuss over something that’s passed.” He’d also received verbal and written confessions, though those could be counted with one hand and spread out through middle and high school. Still, it was flattering to know someone out there thought of him admirable enough to be worthy of their precious feelings. He could only apologize for his inability to reciprocate.
“But are you interested in anyone right now?”
Sehun skipped to the second step, now standing within arm’s reach. None of his lighthearted teasing could be discerned from his words, the way he stared while waiting for an answer. A seriousness in his demeanor Jongin thought odd but simultaneously magnetic.
“It’s hard to say,” Jongin found himself saying, keeping his expression as neutral as possible, eyes fixed on Sehun. The reaction was instant: Sehun’s eyes shone with interest, resembling a cat’s, full attention focused on him. “I can’t even make sense of what I’m feeling lately.”
Sehun’s gaze softened in understanding. “I’m here if you want to talk about it.”
“I don’t doubt you will,” Jongin agreed.
They traversed the rest of the stepping stones side by side and ambled the rest of the way. Jongin’s time check informed him he had forty minutes to turn up for ballet classes. As they stood waiting for the light to turn green, he cast Sehun a surreptitious glance. Sehun was staring straight ahead, one hand clutching his backpack strap, the other hidden in his slacks pocket. Although the conversation had long ended, Jongin couldn’t help wondering about the person Sehun had been looking at for a long time. The source of his determination. The reason behind his soft smile so unlike what he’d given him in their years of growing up together.
Jongin burned with curiosity, but the sour sting of a hideous emotion he dared not label caught him unaware, providing clarity unlike any other as the heavy, obstructive veil was now pulled over his eyes.
Crushed milk cartons and shredded napkins. The soul-chilling fear at the mere thought of going another year treating each other like strangers. The immediate clenching of his chest every time someone approached Sehun with the intention of confessing, forced to watch it unfold from the sidelines despite knowing the outcome. These and other realizations came with utter relief, for Jongin could now confidently slap a name to his odd reactions; the unsightly feelings. Overwhelming, too, since it took him this long to unearth the truth buried beneath the layers and layers of denial and hesitation.
Red to green. Vehicles stopping; people walking. Sehun tipped his head toward the street so they’d get moving. Jongin couldn’t remember what they talked about as they neared the junction where they would separate. All he knew was that when Sehun bade goodbye and turned left on his way to cram school, Jongin stood by the building entrance watching his back retreat until he disappeared entirely from view, wishing with a fervor he never knew he possessed that he could see him again soon.
☆彡
Seoul was a silvery-white landscape in the middle of December. Although snowfall was intermittent, people bundled up in sweaters and coats, protected themselves further with soft mufflers and wool hats. The spirit of the holidays was palpable in decorated storefronts, jingles playing from inside; the switch to selling hot food and soups by street vendors attracting sizable amounts of customers when temperatures dove to their lowest.
Jongin wasn’t too bothered by the cold or the snow. Not even the abysmal temperatures scared him. Not when the minutes were ticking down to the performance of the night, a dream he hadn’t been able to fulfill last year but could now set to motion in a few hours.
When he was given the lead role for The Nutcracker again this year, Jongin had been ecstatic, but also carried a little fear in his heart. He didn’t want a repeat of last year, of crashing his dream the second time around. Jongin took extra caution during rehearsals, from warm-ups to cool-downs; exerted conscious effort to pay attention where he walked and avoided running. He would never forgive himself if he sprained his ankle a second time. Might not even recover from breaking his heart a second time, too.
The rehearsals helped Jongin forget about his worries. Between perfecting routines and consulting Ms. Moon’s help so he could better portray his character, he also went to costume fittings, waited for acceptance or rejection letters from colleges he’d applied to. Months dwindled to weeks, then days. Now, he stood backstage, awaiting the lights to darken, the familiar swell of music that would serve as cue to his entrance.
And once Jongin took his turn, nothing else mattered. Just him, the stage, and the music. He performed like he’d never done before, the rush of excitement a driving force and guiding his movements. Each calculated step, every perfected spin, expressions worn and discarded in time with the script. Time flowed ceaselessly like water as he danced and danced, and only when he stopped did roaring applause filled the hall. A successful night. A successful performance.
Ms. Moon awarded him with an enormous hug and never-ending praises backstage. Jongin didn’t intend to cry, too drunk on his euphoria due to the smooth-sailing night after constant worrying and countless rehearsals; but at the first sign of tears from Ms. Moon, his own slid down his cheeks, too.
Everything else that followed became a blurry mess of crying faces and comforting arms from his fellow ballet dancers. Some he shared the same age with, graduating high school students who would soon embark on their own paths not ballet related. To them, this performance was a sort-of swan song—one last caprice before facing the fate that awaited them.
Jongin’s family was unendingly warm and generous in their hugs and adulations. More tears, some teasing from his sisters, cooing from his mother, an approving nod and smile from his father. They’d been with him since the first day he picked up interest; knew of his frustrations and triumphs better than anyone else. This wasn’t a competition, but it felt like he’d won a thousand gold medals just from their unfailing support alone.
Moonkyu and Sehun were present, as well. Jongin was unsure how much tears he was going to produce tonight from the profuse happiness, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if his makeup was smudged in some places, or if he looked funny sobbing his eyes out even as he smiled and blubbered through trying to explain how he felt and expressing gratitude for their presence.
Moonkyu dispensed tissues for his usage, an amused expression on his face as Jongin finally calmed down. “You were absolutely fantastic on stage, Jongin! I’m really proud to have witnessed watching you take on your first major ballet role. You nailed it!”
Jongin smiled, sniffling a little. “Thanks, Moonkyu. I’m so happy I was able to start and end this performance well.”
Beside Moonkyu, Sehun stepped forward and handed him a bouquet of roses. Surprised but pleased, Jongin cradled the bouquet in his arms like one would a baby, admiring the vivid redness of the newly-bloomed flowers, the dazzling lights above enhancing their beauty.
“These are really beautiful roses.”
“Sehun spent a lot of time handpicking those roses,” Moonkyu said, glancing Sehun’s way. “The florist almost got annoyed by his fussing because he wouldn’t accept the ready-made bouquets.”
“Hyung, why must you tell him trivial things?” Sehun gave Moonkyu a withering stare, though a blush decorated his cheeks. Moonkyu chuckled in response, slinging a comforting arm around Sehun’s shoulders to ease his sulking.
“Why roses, though?”
“To celebrate this important milestone in your life,” was Sehun’s ready answer, as if he’d been waiting for this moment to tell Jongin. “I think it’s a suitable gift. I think red suits you, too. Not that I think other colors don’t suit you, but… what am I even saying.” He cleared his throat, the blush on his cheeks deepening. “I was told that giving flowers after a dance production is a way to show appreciation. I know you like flowers, and they recommended I give roses, so…”
If only to himself, Jongin could admit how adorable Sehun looked coming up with an explanation; the sincerity that twined with his awkwardness, even at the expense of his pulse accelerating a notch faster than its usual pace. “Thank you, Sehun. I really like them.”
Sehun stared, as if ascertaining whether or not he was telling the truth, before a delighted smile broke out on his lips.
A congratulatory dinner with his family was Jongin’s way of concluding the night, though he asked if Moonkyu and Sehun could tag along. His family members were all too welcoming of the idea. After changing into more comfortable clothes and another round of thanks, congratulations, and goodbyes, Jongin left the dressing room while fixing the collar of his coat with one hand, the other carrying the bouquet. Snow was descending from the darkened skies in slow, tiny flakes when he exited the building. Jongin cradled the bouquet closer to his chest, as if doing so could protect the roses from the cold and snow. To his right, Sehun was rummaging his bag and pulled out a scarf.
The very same scarf Jongin had gifted him, looking good as new; the navy blue as lustrous as ever. Jongin watched, entranced, as Sehun wrapped the scarf around his neck with careful hands.
He must’ve been staring too long if Sehun sensed he was being watched and asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Jongin reached out to touch the tassels hanging off the ends. “You’re wearing it,” he said, and couldn’t help the smile that curved his mouth upward.
Sehun looked where Jongin’s fingers were touching. His stare slid back to Jongin’s face. “It’s been real cold lately. Coats aren’t enough. This”—he raised one end of the scarf—“helps keep me warm. I won’t miss the opportunity to wear something you gave me.”
Sehun said the same thing on a February morning, temperatures staying consistently low, even on a glorious, sunny day such as their graduation. Although the frosty weather made it impossible to enjoy anything, nothing stopped the graduating students from celebrating this momentous occasion. They’d done their rounds congratulating fellow classmates and schoolmates; thanked the teachers who had been part of their academic lives for three years, regardless of previous clashes where career paths were concerned. They posed for the cameras when their families asked for it. Photos from this day would surely be framed or included in albums, serve as mementos to look back on in the future.
Jongin stretched his arms above his head; soaked up the warmth the late winter sun was willing to provide. Though the cold nipped at his face, he felt strangely energized, never mind he had to wake up extra early for the graduation ceremony. His family had left earlier; currently, he was waiting for Sehun by the school gates, who finally appeared breathless but beaming ten minutes later.
They spent the day together and bumped into some classmates who invited them to hang out. Squeezed into a booth at a pizza shop, they all pitched in to buy food and drinks and chatted the time away. Since the flurry of exams, college applications, and graduation preparations, there hadn’t been many opportunities for thorough, heart-to-heart talks with classmates. Everyone had been too busy thinking about their futures; now, they could take their time idling about, talk about anything that wouldn’t earn them a scolding for not dedicating their every second to academia.
Jongin was amazed to learn of his classmates’ chosen paths: science, medicine, literature, engineering. Schools they’d been accepted into, domestic and overseas. He might not have been close to any of them, but he was happy for their determination in running after their life goals.
“So, Sehun, the rumors are true? You’re going to Korea National Sport University?” one classmate asked. At Sehun’s nod, many let out awed sounds. “Recruited for the national team, attending a sports university—you’re going to be a legit archer at this point.”
“I’ve made up my mind a long time ago,” Sehun said, smiling. “There’s no turning back.”
“What about you, Jongin? I don’t think I’ve heard anything about your choices. I remember hearing a rumor our homeroom teacher freshman year insisted you take medicine. Is that what you’re doing?”
Jongin shook his head. “Ballet. I’ve been accepted to most of the schools I applied. I’ve chosen to go overseas for it.” Gasps of admiration all around. A wave of shyness washed over him at the reaction. “Hey, don’t be like this. All of us are amazing.”
“Oh, that means you and Sehun are going to different schools? Never thought I’d see the day the best of friends would separate,” came the innocent observation of another classmate.
The observation reminded Jongin of the sleepless nights wherein his mind would stray to this particular matter. Reminded him that in a few months’ time, he would not only be flying miles away from home but would also be without the company of the one person he’d basically grown up and shared a huge portion of his life with.
Sehun must’ve remembered it, too, if only for the pensive silence that shrouded him, despite his merry responses to light teasing and curious inquiries.
“I’m not the fastest when it comes to texting, but I’ll make an effort to keep in touch,” was the first thing Jongin said after they separated from their classmates and crossed to the other side of the road. The air still had an icy bite, but the sun shining brightly above bestowed enough warmth to counteract it.
Sehun looked confused, then understanding when the meaning sank in. “I think I’d worry more about losing my phone than not hearing from you in months.” He laughed and ducked away from Jongin’s attempt at smacking his shoulder. “Ah, why does New York have to be so far…” he mumbled, probably meant for his ears only, but Jongin caught it, anyway.
“What’s the matter? Are you planning to visit me?”
“Plane tickets are expensive. Are you sponsoring my fare so I can fly over?” Another foiled attempt at hitting Sehun’s shoulder. Another laugh. “I’m serious. I’d have to take a couple of part-time jobs to buy one ticket. Even then, that’d probably be one way only. Would you put me up if I decide to overstay? I can sleep on floors just fine if you don’t have spare beds to offer, but I’m a bit of a picky eater.”
Jongin couldn’t help his laughter at Sehun’s cheekiness. “You really think I would be heartless enough to let you live in the streets?”
“I’d still do it, though. If it means I can see you, I would.”
Jongin pointedly ignored the way his heart skipped several beats. Told himself not to like this too much, apprehensive he might endlessly seek the warmth circling his chest brought about by such sweet words.
“Geez. I haven’t left yet, and you’re already being clingy,” Jongin joked, instead. He didn’t attempt a swipe at Sehun’s shoulder anymore. “Will you miss me that much?”
“I’m worried no one’s going to protect me from scary Math teachers.” Sehun cracked a lopsided grin when Jongin laughed. “But what kind of question is that? Of course I’ll miss you. Why wouldn’t I? I’ve been so used to seeing you every day, spending so much time together. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to not having you close, but… this might actually do us some good.”
The last few words weren’t spoken with contempt, or pettiness, but with a grace and maturity that honestly shocked Jongin.
“That’s a very grownup thing to say.”
Sehun shot him a withering look, cheeks red. “What’s that supposed to mean? I just think that once we find our dreams, we’ll do everything to see them come true. Even if it means partings ways. You’ve helped me so much. Now, I want to see what I can do on my own.”
Jongin’s chest brimmed full with fondness, with pride. “Oh Sehun, you’ve grown up so well.” He didn’t hold back this time from ruffling Sehun’s hair affectionately.
“Stop, you’re ruining my hair! What am I, a puppy?” Sehun protested, though he did nothing to avoid Jongin’s hand. He did, however, catch Jongin by the wrist, a plethora of heat emanating from the fingers wrapped around the sensitive skin.
Time slowed as their gazes met and locked, neither of them doing anything to break the contact. Standing this close, Jongin took note of their near nonexistent height difference, though he remained a few centimeters taller between them. Perfect for eye contact. Perfect to see the multitude of emotions swirling in Sehun’s eyes, and Jongin wanted to take his time and decipher them one by one.
“One day in the future, when I’ve gone somewhere in life and have proven myself worthy, it will be all thanks to that person.” Sehun looked and sounded serious when he said this, his hold on Jongin’s wrist unfaltering. “And when that time comes, I’ll definitely make him look my way.”
Although the mention of that person set off the predicted, vexing ache between Jongin’s ribs, in some strange way, he gained courage upon hearing those words. He felt it on the tip of his tongue, words overflowing and threatening to spill; waiting to be unleashed for the world to hear.
Sehun must’ve picked up on his intention—he blinked twice, peered closer, asked, “Jongin? Are you okay? Is there something you want to say?”
Like he’d been waiting to be prompted, Jongin found himself convinced. Encouraged.
Opened his mouth and said—
☆彡
“Fool. You’re a fool.”
Jongin jutted out his lower lip, glaring at Moonkyu. “Moral support would be nice, not a scolding.”
Moonkyu sighed, looking half-amused and wholly frustrated. “You were almost there! You were so close to telling Sehun how you felt! Your problem would’ve been solved by now; but no, you just had to chicken out the last minute and say something else!”
Jongin watched Moonkyu rant while sipping his drink, not believing the scene he was witnessing. Moonkyu had always come off as a patient person. Watching him lose his cool was not only a rare sight but indicated just how much Jongin might’ve screwed up.
Despite Moonkyu’s tiny outburst, however, Jongin felt nothing but serene calmness. “It’s better this way,” he said, unable to help a smile at Moonkyu’s wide-eyed reaction. “I’m not saying it’s better unrequited. The timing just isn’t convenient.”
Saying it aloud further reinforced Jongin to stand by his decision of changing his mind at the last moment on their graduation day by telling Sehun to let go of his wrist instead of the truth. Truly, it had been a golden opportunity laid out in front of him; though the longer Jongin mulled it over, the more he was convinced he had done the right thing. Both of them were at an important part of their lives, heading toward separate directions. They would be living in different countries for the next four years; longer, if their career prospects required it. Even in the off-chance things worked out, who was to say it would last?
Moonkyu’s frown looked sterner than before—an odd sight, one of many Jongin was discovering for the first time today. Jongin slung an arm around his shoulders, careful not to slip from the stool, hoping to lighten the mood. “C’mon, is your frown going to be the last thing I see before I leave? Seriously?”
Moonkyu’s frown lasted a beat longer before it disappeared, giving way to an exasperated-sounding sigh. He indulged in his caramel latte first before speaking again. “I’ll get over it; I’m just trying to make sense of your actions.” Concern lined his features as he asked, in an equally-concerned voice, “Are you sure it’s not because you’re scared of rejection?”
Jongin considered that angle, too, however belated. Reciprocity wasn’t always guaranteed in scenarios similar to his. Sehun was neither at fault for causing Jongin to harbor feelings nor was he obligated to take responsibility. Jongin refused to impose that heavy a burden on him. Staying silent wasn’t any better, but dropping a big truth bomb knowing he was leaving in a few months’ time wasn’t appealing, either.
Moonkyu’s frown returned when Jongin told him this, albeit less severe than previous. “I’m glad you’ve finally come around to your feelings, no matter how late. I can only imagine how it must suck to know Sehun likes someone right when you did. I might not agree with how you’re handling this, but I get your point. But if you ask me, it would’ve been better to say something. Whether or not you’re rejected, at least you’d get closure before moving away.” He blew out a sigh, looking resigned. “What if you never get that chance again?”
Jongin had contemplated on that, as well. What he felt right now might not possess the same intensity in the future if fate did end up taking his side. Or in the event his feelings remained steady, everything might be too late, having truly lost the one and only chance he had.
“If that chance never comes again, then it was never meant to be.”
“What wasn’t meant to be?”
Sehun stood behind them, a puzzled expression on his face. Jongin told him he was babbling randomly. If Sehun suspected something amiss, especially with the dramatic way Moonkyu shook his head, he stayed quiet and kept his observations to himself.
After graduation, the days passed by in a haze of paperwork, interviews, collecting and submitting other necessary requirements, everything else Jongin had no idea about but acquainted himself with as he tagged along with Ms. Moon and his mother to complete the steps for his enrollment. And now, after a few weeks to settle everything, Jongin was counting down the hours to his departure. Mrs. Kim was flying with him, citing that she’d always wanted to visit her sibling living in New York, the relative who would take in Jongin until he adjusted to his new life. Jongin couldn’t be more relieved his mother was coming—a familiar face and presence in a foreign environment was sure to soothe his nerves.
Within that same time frame, Sehun had started his first semester in university. Jongin had helped him move into his dorm, which was a mandatory requirement for every enrolled student who took the same degree. Sehun had complained a bit childishly then about the lack of freedom, though his excitement in starting a new chapter of his life seemed to have overrode whatever initial dissatisfactions he harbored. Jongin had told him he’d adjust to his new life just fine. Sehun hadn’t answered, but hope sparkled in his eyes.
“Just finished class?” Jongin asked, noting the backpack Sehun brought with him.
“I rushed here the moment class ended,” Sehun said. “Didn’t want to miss sending you off.”
The three of them spent the next hour chatting in the café two blocks away from Jongin’s apartment complex. Moonkyu had class, so he needed to leave earlier. Jongin accepted one last hug and wish for safe travels before bidding goodbye. He pretended not to see Moonkyu’s mischievous smile directed at him before strolling to the door.
“This is so surreal. I can’t believe this day has come,” Sehun said, breaking the comfortable silence between them long after Moonkyu left.
Jongin nodded, for lack of a better response; found himself smiling, some sort of self-reassurance. “I’m excited, though, I won’t lie. I’m curious what life will be like over there.”
Seconds later, he received a call from his mom, telling him to head home since they were leaving for the airport soon.
Ten paces away from the café, Sehun spoke up. “I don’t have high hopes for this one, but text me often.”
Jongin caught the teasing smirk quirking Sehun’s lips. “It’s not my fault I often forget about my phone!” he protested, pouting when Sehun cackled. Indignation rising, he wagged a forefinger at him and said, “You better get ready when I’m in the mood to text. I will bombard your inbox with messages until it’s you who needs to reply.”
Sehun’s cackles faded, a gentle smile taking its place. “Well, I’ll be busy improving my archery skills, so I might not be able to reply right away sometimes. But I’ll hold you to that. If you don’t text or call to me at least once a month—no, make that once a week—don’t bother showing your face to me when you come back.”
Jongin laughed loud and boisterous at the joke. “That’s too much! Don’t be mean to your one and only best friend.”
Sehun’s fake threatening attitude lasted no more than ten seconds, stern expression melting back into his normal, softer one. “Don’t let anyone push you around over there. You’ve always been stronger between us, but if anyone dares try something with you, I’m not letting them get away with it.”
“I should be fine holding my own, but thank you,” Jongin said, and he meant it.
“And don’t get lost.” Sehun turned to face him at the same time Jongin met his gaze. They stopped at the pedestrian lane to wait for the green light to turn red. “If you get lost, I won’t be able to come find you. You’re not a subway or bus ride away anymore, and I can’t just run to where you are. Use maps, I beg you.”
The concern was genuine and audible in Sehun’s voice, in Sehun’s eyes, and an abundance of warmth brimmed Jongin’s chest full that made him nod.
“One last thing.” Sehun’s face was now an expression of utmost seriousness. “If things get too hard, don’t cry alone.”
The implication took Jongin back to that day almost two years ago, when he was seventeen and weeping for an aspiration cruelly snatched away from his fingertips. The memory didn’t seem like his own anymore, having faded entirely from his mind. Even so, the rawness of the pain, the anguish he had undergone, was two things he wouldn’t forget.
Just like how he wouldn’t forget what it felt like to face profound sadness with someone he cherished by his side.
The walk to the apartment complex was shortening. The building was within sight, coming closer as they neared. Jongin felt the weight of Sehun’s expectant gaze on him, the loaded silence awaiting answers.
Although there was no crowd, literally no excuse for them to do this, Jongin reached out and linked their fingers together. Showed Sehun a smile.
“I promise.”
☆彡
“What if you never get that chance again?”
Moonkyu’s question from that important conversation suddenly resurfaced in Jongin’s mind. He was nineteen, then, proud of the answer he had given; maintained to this day it was the right decision at the time. Although he admittedly underwent moments of second-guessing through the years, an optimistic part of himself consoled that there would always be chances available if he sought it in the future. Why wait for chances to drop from the sky when you could make one for yourself?
Eight years later, Jongin stood in front of the very person he would willingly seize that second chance for.
And yet—
“When can Daddy play with me, then?” Narae’s bottom lip started to quiver. Either a prelude to a wail or a tantrum—or both.
“I’ll play with you later, I promise,” Sehun said, in a most tender, placating tone.
A tense moment passed in silence. Narae’s lips formed a pout, but she slowly nodded her head. “Okay.” She dragged out the last syllable. Suddenly, her attention shifted to Jongin and blinked curious eyes at him. “Mister, who are you?”
Sehun took notice of Jongin again and smiled. “Looks like you followed the instructions properly since you didn’t get lost.” He held Narae tighter to him, who started singing a nursery rhyme off-tune, and gestured for Jongin to step inside.
Jongin caught the intentional teasing right away, further bringing him out of his daze. “If you make one more joke about my sense of direction…” He trailed off on purpose, unsure of how to continue with the threat of a laugh bubbling in his throat.
“Oh Sehun, is the delivery man flirting with you again? Is that why you’re taking so long?” a loud voice full of jest asked, followed by heavy footsteps. An unfamiliar figure soon appeared at the foyer—until Jongin took a good, long look and grinned.
“Hey, Seungjoon, nice house you got here.”
“Huh?” Seungjoon’s brows furrowed then gasped aloud. “Kim Jongin! Fucking hell, I haven’t seen you in forever!” He laughed a loud belly laugh and, within two steps, caught Jongin in a strong bear hug. Jongin wheezed but laughed, anyway.
Jongin was half-dragged, half-led to the living room, Seungjoon announcing his arrival. Jihan and Wonjae literally dropped everything and rushed over; soon enough, Jongin was caught in a whirlwind of hugs and hoots, greetings and teasing from and with old friends. Time had certainly changed some of their physical appearances, and sparse communication due to leading busy lives might have affected their relationships in varied degrees; but the warmth and spirit of friendship was surprisingly present as they gathered around the dining table and chatted away with surprisingly carefree ease.
Jongin marveled at the life roads everybody had taken. Seungjae opened a construction company and was happily married with a toddler son. Wonjae was living it up as a model, walking for popular brands and jetting across the globe for work. Jihan had recently finished conscription, but he was ready to take on the teaching position offered to him at a primary school in his neighborhood. Conversation was endless as one topic after another was introduced. Food was demolished; dishes cleared. Amid the festivity, Jongin politely turned down an offered can of beer; the pouring of soju when Jihan asked if that was more to his taste.
“I’m not in the mood to drink tonight. I’ll make it up to everyone next time,” Jongin told them, flashing an apologetic smile. Hums of understanding all around. The shot glass was replaced with a regular one and a bottle of Chilsung Cider, courtesy of Sehun whom he was sitting beside.
“Cider tastes better, anyway,” Sehun said, when Jongin looked at him in question.
“Says the athlete who knocks back liquor like a parched man!” Wonjae quipped, rousing amused laughter from everybody. Glasses were soon filled with the alcohol of their choice.
Jongin tossed ice in his glass and poured the cider into it when he heard a tiny voice ask beside him, “Daddy, are those bubbles?”
Narae stood beside Jongin, peering in fascination at the bubbles fizzling to the top. Jongin stared at her, wondering if he’d heard wrong or differently.
“Daddy, are those bubbles?” Narae asked again, this time pointing at the glass while looking at Jongin. He definitely didn’t hear wrong the first time, then. Definitely didn’t know how to feel about being addressed as such, either.
“She loves bubbles,” Sehun informed him. “She can blow bubbles for hours and never get bored of it.” He easily picked up Narae and sat her on his lap. “Are you not hungry yet? You’ve been playing for a long time since I left you in the living room with Aunt Jina and Taeho.” Scanning the table, Sehun listed out potential food items that could appeal to her. He seemed to have hit the jackpot mentioning the chicken: Narae threw her arms up in the air and echoed the word with plenty of excitement.
Questions that Jongin put off for later contemplation roused from their slumber. He burned with curiosity about Narae’s identity. Her relation to Sehun was clearly obvious from the way she addressed him, but the gaps in his theories were just too large for Jongin to fill by himself. He was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the concept of Sehun being a father, especially at the height of his flourishing career.
Even so, Jongin reluctantly delighted in witnessing this entirely new side of Sehun as he fed Narae with utmost care and patience, slicing the chicken meat in bite-sized pieces so she wouldn’t choke. Sehun made sure Narae remained clean while eating but didn’t scold her for minimal messes. Sehun was also quick to intercept trouble by moving breakables away from Narae’s reach, replacing them with toys or distracting her with a kiss to the cheek that effectively pulled out high-pitched giggles.
The sight of Sehun doting on Narae was undeniably heartwarming. If only the hollow ache blossoming in Jongin’s chest wasn’t hindering him from fully enjoying.
Sehun decided to call it a night ten minutes past nine since Narae was getting fussy, and then ultimately falling asleep after drinking the formula he prepared for her. Jongin was quick to follow, citing the fading jet lag but with the price of tiring him out. Their friends teased them for leaving together—“Are we drunk or did we just get thrown back to middle school when you guys were inseperable?”—but happily sent them off after extracting a promise of another get-together soon.
“Why are you so quiet?” Sehun’s question jolted Jongin from his thoughts. In his arms, he carried a soundly-sleeping Narae, tiny head resting on his shoulder.
“Just thinking.” Jongin wasn’t lying entirely. “I’m really proud of Seungjoon, Jihan, and Wonjae; how successful and happy they are with their lives. Do you meet up with them often?”
“I gather everyone if we have common free days. Most of the time, I meet them one by one. Wonjae is the most difficult to catch since he travels overseas the most.” Sehun secured a hand at the back of Narae’s head so it would stop slipping off his shoulder.
With practiced ease rooting from experience as an uncle, Jongin quickly transferred Narae in his arms. Narae stirred but didn’t wake, hand clutching Jongin’s bicep, then loosened, and eventually fell, body relaxing as she returned to sleep. At Sehun’s inquiring look, Jongin smiled and said, “You’ve been handling her all evening. It must be tiring, so let me help.”
“Thanks.” Sehun stretched out his arms and expelled a long, deep sigh. “Narae is very light, so I don’t mind carrying her for long hours. I treat it as some form of exercise. She’s very picky of who can carry her when we’re outdoors. Sometimes she doesn’t want to be carried by anyone except me, refuses to play with other adults but me, willingly shares her snacks with me even if I don’t ask…” He spoke with evident fondness that reflected in his face, smile impossibly soft at the edges.
“Narae is incredibly lucky to have you as her father.”
The words slipped out before Jongin could stop them, and he was dead sure Sehun heard. The entire neighborhood was cloaked in silence. It was impossible to make excuses or take the words back, so Jongin didn’t and cast an uncertain glance Sehun’s way. He would ask about it sooner or later, anyway. His timing just happened to be tragic.
“About that…” Sehun’s face and voice turned serious.
Jongin felt a heavy weight drop to his stomach. He was awash in dread, heart pounding hard against his ribcage. He could almost predict what Sehun might say; at this point, it might be the knell that would completely dash his hopes at taking a second chance.
Sehun snorting and lightly rapping his knuckles on his forehead was not the reaction Jongin expected. “Lighten up. Why do you look so nervous?”
Jongin blinked, flabbergasted, mind reeling from the whiplash. “What’s so funny?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“Narae’s not my daughter.”
Jongin’s mind worked double time to process this. He heard the words, understood it grammatically, but—
“She looks like you, though? You can’t tell me she’s not your daughter when the resemblance is right there.”
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘relatives?’ Yeah, you have them, too. She’s my cousin’s daughter. From my father’s side. My father and his siblings look similar to my grandfather. Narae takes after us.” Jongin opened his mouth to say something, but Sehun didn’t allow it by pressing a finger to his lips. “She calls me ‘daddy’ because she’s been raised by my cousin in an apartment building that only accepts female tenants. Every man Narae sees she calls ‘daddy.’”
Jongin would’ve been skeptical about the excuse, except Sehun set them aside next to a lamppost to provide evidence. On his phone were several short videos of Narae addressing Mr. Oh and Sehun’s male cousins as such during his mother’s birthday party. Other clips taken on different dates and places backed Sehun’s claims.
The noise from the videos must’ve disrupted Narae’s slumber, for she squirmed in Jongin’s arms, lifted her head, and blinked bleary eyes at him. She didn’t kick up a fuss at not seeing Sehun holding her, just snuggled closer, tiny arms encircling Jongin’s neck tight.
“Daddy, let’s go home,” Narae murmured sleepily.
Jongin ran his hand up and down Narae’s back several times; made sure she was bundled up properly until her breathing evened out once again.
“See? What did I tell you?” Even without looking at Sehun, Jongin could hear the vindication in his words.
“Fine, I believe you,” Jongin said, acquiescing. Guilt lanced him for jumping a hundred-meter’s length of wild assumptions, but the ache it left behind was now gradually being soothed by the balm of relief. Sehun becoming a father without Jongin’s knowledge might’ve shocked him initially, but he honestly wouldn’t have minded. It was the possibility of Sehun committing himself to someone else, with Narae as proof of their bond, that exterminated his optimism for another try until this revelation restored it.
Sehun supplied more of the story during their walk: his cousin had a promising future until she got knocked up, but the ex-boyfriend disappeared and was never seen or heard from since. Sehun’s uncle and aunt were severely disappointed and, unfortunately, disowned her. She tried raising the baby by herself, but single mothers were not looked upon kindly by society. Sehun had heard of her plight, offered to set her up in his apartment for free.
“I started earning a bit after winning competitions and doing brand sponsorships. The apartment I bought from those happened to have a lot of space and extra rooms, so why not take them in? Yulhee and Narae aren’t strangers to me. They’re family.” Sehun blew out a sad sigh. “I’m really disappointed uncle and aunt went this far. My parents love Narae, though. They always pay her a visit and volunteer to babysit when Yulhee goes to work. I do, too, if I happen to have a free day or I’m not training for major competitions.” He smoothed a stray fringe away from Narae’s forehead. “It’s been like this for a year. I had my hands full babysitting yesterday, which explains why I couldn’t reply right away when you sent that Kakao.”
Always perceptive, always empathetic. Jongin was glad that even through the years, Sehun had never discarded these values.
They reached the subway station, Narae remaining asleep throughout in Jongin’s arms. Unlike the past, Sehun would alight two stations away from Jongin’s and make a transfer to reach home. As they waited for the train to arrive, a couple of grannies dressed in hiking gear came over and cooed at Narae.
“It must be tough raising a daughter her age,” a granny commented, smiling in the way that said she understood. She probably did. “Toddlers like her are so active and can run around all day, always wanting to do this and that, running their parents ragged.”
Heat immediately scored Jongin’s cheeks. “Oh, she’s—”
“—a good girl. Sometimes too energetic for her own good, but she’s never given us problems.” Sehun’s interruption was so smooth and natural, face straight. Jongin wondered, awed, how he could say such a boldfaced lie like this. “It can get pretty tiring at times, but we manage.”
“That’s right, married couples should always support each other in life, not just in child rearing,” the other granny said, nodding in approval.
“My second day back in Seoul, and I’ve already been mistaken as a married dad,” Jongin griped, albeit jokingly, hoping to lighten up the situation once they were seated inside the train. He maneuvered Narae so he could better cradle her. Narae clutched onto his sweater with a loose fist, peacefully asleep.
“What’s wrong with that?” Sehun asked, looking far too amused about the grannies’ innocent mistake. “Are you saying you don’t like the idea of looking like a married dad with me? Should it have been somebody else?”
The cheekiness of Sehun’s teasing was palpable in his words; his voice. The mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he waited for an answer.
The subway’s air conditioning worked fine, but Jongin’s cheeks stayed persistently hot. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”
Sehun’s eyes crinkled, the glint of mischief in them sparkling brighter, like a predator who’d found an opening and wouldn’t let go. “You’re not answering my question.” His lips spread into an impish smile.
Jongin scoffed and shook his head in amused disbelief. “Why are you picking on me? Can’t you just laugh and move on?” He shouldn’t have, but he found himself pouting at the way Sehun looked increasingly entertained as the seconds passed. He sounded petulant, even to his own ears. He didn’t care right now.
An elderly man standing in front of them tapped Sehun on the shoulder. “Son, don’t tease your husband too much,” he advised gently, “or else he’ll hold a grudge against you.”
Jongin couldn’t even get to correct the elderly man because he alighted after the stop was announced. Sehun’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, clamping a hand over his mouth to keep the noises down. Had his arms not been preoccupied with Narae, he’d probably have whacked Sehun already.
“That old man was right, I shouldn’t tease you too much,” Sehun said, after the train resumed movement. There was a lack of teasing in his voice, smile losing its playfulness and replaced with something boyish and bright. “It’s late, but welcome back to Seoul. Let’s do a lot of fun things together since you’ll be staying for a year.”
Tried as he did, Jongin’s petulance disappeared bit by bit. Perhaps some things have stayed the same all these years, one of them his incapability of holding onto his annoyance against Sehun for too long.
Sehun’s expectant look compelled Jongin to nod and grin.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
☆彡
Easing back into the Seoul life came relatively effortless. Navigating the city was now more convenient thanks to trusty map apps, save for a few exceptions. One was if Jongin’s destinations had changed locations and the app wasn’t updated; another was if the shop in question had completely rebranded, and he didn’t recognize it at first glance. Such setbacks served as startling reminders that nothing was spared from the hands of time and Jongin should accept the changes even as he lamented them.
During his solo misadventures, Jongin lost his way thrice searching for old favorites: the cake shop his mother patronized, intending to surprise her with her favorite butter cookies; the secondhand bookshop he used to dig up gems from for reasonable prices, and where he bought some books to complete his Higashino Keigo collection; the old convenience store he and Sehun used to buy snacks from when they were kids after ballet class and archery games. Jongin didn’t mind getting lost, unlike before; he only felt sad for these places because they were permanently gone now.
Life at the Korea National Ballet bore little difference to the previous companies he worked for. Jongin was able to assimilate quickly in their system, impressing everyone he interacted with whether by casual talk or dancing together on the floor. Building connections with fellow dancers was one of the things he gave importance to and did his best to cultivate. Nothing was better than genuinely rooting for others to do their best, to get their dream roles, to dance on bigger stages. Better this than breeding discontent and disdain among dancers. Jongin wouldn’t deny that these sort of scenarios happened—thankfully, he was never directly involved—but he would rather channel his energy by lending a hand in fostering a positive environment.
In no time, Jongin was billed for his first production. Cast as the lead male role for Swan Lake slated for early summer, he threw himself into rehearsals from morning until early evening. As soon as he left the company, however, Jongin sought ways to de-stress. Working late hours wouldn’t start until a week before the production started, so he seized chances to relax as much as he could.
“Swan Lake?” Sehun asked, a contemplative look coming over his face. “Didn’t you dance for that during your sophomore year?”
Jongin blinked, mouth slowly opening in an ‘O.’ “You still remember that?”
Sehun nodded, fishing chicken meat from the pot and popped it into his mouth. “You were so happy telling me about it back then,” he said, after chewing. “I still think you should’ve been given the lead role, just saying.”
In many ways, Swan Lake was a production he held close to his heart. Jongin might not have been cast as Siegfried, but he had expended every drop of effort into dancing on the big night. His dancing had managed to capture the attention of an important guest: an esteemed principal dancer who worked for The Paris Ballet. Jongin had been praised for his form and energy; was given a comment that stayed with him at present: “Your potential will take you places. Hone it and conquer the world.”
That aside, a memory sparked in Jongin’s mind. He gasped upon remembrance, snatching Sehun’s attention. “That was also the same day you snagged a spot in the representative team for the Asian Games.”
Incheon had been the host city for the 2014 Asian Games, so the pressure on South Korean athletes was simultaneously inspiring and immense. Prior to joining and winning that, Sehun stayed a consistent presence in the National Sports Festival through his four years in college, as well as the other archery competitions in and out of the country. Contrary to popular assumptions, tryouts were still a big, integral part of selecting archers eligible for the representative team to eliminate suspicions of favoritism and grant equal opportunity to everyone. Jongin knew this kind of details because Sehun wanted him to know that he earned his place through hard work and not from anything else.
Sehun’s eyes widened in surprise then returned to their original state as he smiled. “You still remember that?” he echoed, sounding a tad shy.
“Seems like we tend to remember things about each other well.” An offhand comment, though Jongin meant every word. He didn’t expect friends to remember every single thing about him. Jongin could hardly remember their birthdays, for example, so he wouldn’t be offended if they forgot his. Yet, Sehun never failed to greet him on his birthday every year and could startlingly recall key events, good and bad, that left an impact on Jongin’s life that even he had forgotten. Stayed consistent through the years, too.
“That’s expected. We’ve been best friends for a long time.” Sehun finished the rest of his food and grabbed the water jug. Jongin noticed he hadn’t eaten much and voiced it out. “My appetite has changed in the past five years or so, but it’s nothing to worry about. I eat enough so I can do low intensity training off-season to keep in shape.” A cheeky smile. “I can eat midnight snacks, though. That’s not something I do before and during major competitions.”
Since officially starting work, Sehun became his constant companion during nights of de-stressing by having a meal together or watching a movie if the mood hit. Sehun still went to Taereung to train and do shooting practice; other days, he was booked to film a variety show guesting or a photoshoot for a brand endorsement. Jongin had no idea how popular Sehun had become until he chanced upon his huge poster at the storefront of a well-known unisex sportswear brand just last week. He also noticed fans snapping pictures of said poster, others leaving the store after making purchases of what Sehun advertised.
Jongin experienced the magnitude of Sehun’s popularity once more after leaving the gopchang restaurant. At first, he thought nothing of the five young women staring at them—at Sehun—from a polite distance. They were talking in hushed whispers, pushing each other to go first. Understanding the picture, Jongin nudged Sehun with his shoulder; instructed him to turn around for a surprise. The women squealed and ducked behind their notebooks when Sehun looked their way, taking hesitant steps as he approached.
The women turned out to be fans since Sehun’s college days, religiously following his career, watched all of his games. Sehun signed their notebooks and added personalized messages by request, thanked them for their support. One of them looked close to fainting when Sehun granted a request to shake their hand.
“I had an inkling of how popular you are, but you’ve truly become the star you’ve dreamed of when we were kids,“ Jongin said, amazed, as they resumed walking. “Those women were courageous. Others are content with staring, I’ve noticed.”
Sehun looked a mixture of pleased and shy with the praise. “I’m surprised they recognized me, actually. Archery wasn’t a popular sport until the Olympics or if we get media coverage during the Asian Games.”
“You forget you appeared on Infinite Challenge and got to be teammates with Yoo Jaesuk,” Jongin reminded him. Sehun’s face lit up in remembrance. “See? That helped people become curious about you. You trended on Naver when the episodes came out.”
Not only did Sehun trend for more than twenty-four hours, tons of info about him were suddenly found floating on the internet aside from the basics: accounts from old classmates, fan-taken pictures at Incheon during the Asian Games, candids taken in campus during his college days, or coincidental sightings at major cities during his downtime. Many praised not only his archery skills but also his looks and good manners, aspiring archers citing him as their role model.
Sehun’s smile widened a fraction, a lovely pink dusting his cheeks. “Once upon a time, this all seemed like a far-fetched dream. I’ve always wanted to be a star, you know that; but growing up, I sometimes faced roadblocks and doubted myself and my abilities. If I was suited to this lifestyle at all.”
“You’ve swept the nation off its feet. I’ve heard more people became interested in archery after the Olympics because of you. Your hard work and perseverance are paying off and will continue to do so as long as you don’t lose sight of your original goal.”
“I can’t take all of the credit, though.” Sehun looked twice bashful, now. So many achievements under his belt, and yet he remained humble. “A lot of people have helped me get to where I am right now. Family, friends, coaches, teammates. But there is one person who gets the most credit out of everyone.” His expression turned serious as he gazed skyward. A wistful-sounding sigh, which Jongin did not miss.
Jongin had a hunch; ignored the roiling of his insides. Said it anyway. “Is this someone I know?”
“Yeah.” Sehun’s fast agreement surprised him. “I’ve told you about this person—when we were at Cheonggyecheon Stream all those years ago. Do you remember?”
Of course I remember, was what Jongin wanted to tell him, but he couldn’t guarantee himself from not sounding bitter. So he settled for a nod. That day, at the stream, on those stepping stones, Jongin had finally made sense of all the conflicting emotions residing in his chest; was given a hard slap by reality that realization came a step too late, for someone already occupied Sehun’s heart.
And it seemed after all these years, Sehun steadfastly held that person dear to him; never moved on. Sehun never failed to mention this person as his main source of determination and inspiration every time he picked up the bow during sit-down interviews. Went as far as dedicating his first gold medal from the Asian Games to this person, as well as the other victory he gained from the Olympics in Tokyo. Official news outlets didn’t delve much into his private affairs, but online portals devoted to every kind of gossip tried digging up the identity of Sehun’s muse. No results so far.
A fond smile settled on Sehun’s lips, eyes fixed on Jongin. “It’s only ever been one person. They take a huge amount of credit for where I am today, what I’ve achieved.”
“Are you showing off your undying loyalty to your first love? Does that person even know you’re doing all of this for them?” Jongin feigned annoyance by folding his arms across his chest for full effect. He did this to stave off the monstrous waves of bitterness threatening to drag him under. “Shouldn’t I take more credit than that person because I’m your best friend who’s cheered you on since day one? I’m jealous.”
Sehun stared gaping at him—baffled, amused, huffed out a laugh. “Jealous? You? Are you, now?” There was a teasing lilt to his voice, though an undercurrent of curiosity could also be discerned.
Pointedly ignoring how hot his cheeks became, Jongin continued the act and folded his arms tighter. “And what if I am?” He made sure to coat every syllable with petulance.
Sehun didn’t hold back his laughter this time, a jovial sound that slightly punctured Jongin’s defenses. Calming down, he slung an arm around Jongin’s shoulders and pulled him close. Jongin tried extricating himself but froze when Sehun brought their heads to slightly lean against each other. “Well, that makes me incredibly happy.”
Jongin might not have gained a clear answer—might not ever, if Sehun continued being tight-lipped about the matter—but it was enough that he caused this reaction, even if the greed for it might grow and grow and endlessly grow.
☆彡
Opening nights were always nerve-wracking. Despite years of performing, Jongin wasn’t immune to the apprehension that never failed to creep up on him from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning. It might fade a little when he changed into his costume, did his makeup, but the support and pep talks from co-dancers had always been the most helpful. It always felt like holding his breath underwater the moment the lights went off and the audience quieted down. Once the music played and he took his cue, Jongin would be faced with the choice of either sinking or floating. Every time, he survived.
Tonight was of no exception, applause booming from the audience incredibly rewarding. The weeks of hard work and effort, the extra hours poured into perfecting every angle, every routine, every detail culminating to this performance that earned them admiration and calls for an encore. The atmosphere backstage was significantly more relaxed now that the show was over; swapped hugs and smiles and pats on the back for a job well done, and to continue doing their best until the last day.
Free from makeup and costume, Jongin headed out the dressing room and was surprised to meet Sehun in the corridor, looking a little lost until their gazes met. Sehun’s face split into a huge grin, which Jongin couldn’t help reciprocating as he approached. Jongin stopped short when he noticed the bouquet of roses in his arms.
The bouquet of roses Sehun handed to him without words, like it was the most natural thing for him to do.
And Jongin naturally accepted it, admiring the vibrant red hue, buds not in full bloom but didn’t take away from their breathtaking beauty. He leaned in for a smell, relishing the perfumed scent. A ton of memories rushed to the forefront of his mind from the first whiff.
The first time Jongin had performed in a university production, his relatives came to watch him to show their support. After, meeting backstage, he had been pleasantly surprised to receive a bouquet of newly-bloomed red roses from them. He had thanked his aunt, assuming she came up with the idea, but she denied having bought them for the occasion.
A card that had come with the roses soon answered Jongin’s many questions:
Congratulations. Do well.
S.H.
The message had obviously not been handwritten by Sehun, but the sincerity behind the gesture was deeply felt. He had asked Sehun about the bouquet after the show. Sehun had come clean by asking if he liked it. Turned out that many months back when Sehun had randomly asked for his address during one of their video call sessions, this had been his purpose all along.
And it had never been a one-time thing, the cards, the rose bouquets. From playing very minor characters until Jongin had steadily risen up the ranks, being automatically chosen for the larger and more important his roles, the roses became a constant every performance. The cards’ contents had been different each time, too, customized for the occasion and containing nothing but uplifting messages: I believe in you; you’ll do great; you’re wonderful and you know it; you shine on stage the brightest. So many cards had been collected over the years, pulled out during rainy days for re-reading, or when Jongin’s mood wasn’t the best after a hard day in class and Sehun was currently inaccessible for a rant via video call.
Receiving the bouquet of roses in person was decidedly unmatched, however. Jongin told Sehun as much as they fell in step with each other on their way out the building.
“You like the bouquets to that extent?”
Jongin nodded. “I’ve certainly become more inclined toward roses than any other flower because of you. That and the cards have been a great source of motivation when I feel dissatisfied about my dancing.”
Sehun wore a proud expression. “In that case, I’ll continue giving you roses. I’ll give you cards if you like those, too. At least I can write the messages myself, now. Don’t make fun of my handwriting, okay?”
Jongin smiled and continued enjoying the scent of the roses. “I remember the very first bouquet you gave me.”
“I’ve never forgotten,” Sehun responded. “I feel so honored and lucky to watch you dance again with my own eyes tonight. You were really born to perform on the stage. I wish I could have watched more of your performances when you were still overseas.”
“You can do that now.” Jongin pressed closer to Sehun as they descended the stairs, the gap between the lengths of their bodies nonexistent. August carried a slight humidity in its night air, but drafts of cool wind blew on occasion. “My contract lasts a year. I’ll have plenty of shows.”
“Kim Jongin?”
A bespectacled man with a receding hairline stood five steps away, squinting his eyes at them for a better look. Jongin swapped looks of mild confusion with Sehun; stared properly at the approaching figure that turned more familiar with every taken step. He gasped upon finding and matching a name to this person’s face.
“It’s been so many years, Mr. Son!” Jongin gushed, delighted by this beautiful happenstance he never imagined would happen. “I’m sorry neither of us could recognize you right away.”
Mr. Son waved off the concern with a flippant hand and hearty chuckle. They transferred to a nearby café upon his insistence, which was a more conducive environment for impromptu reunions. “Who would have thought I’d run into my former students tonight?” He looked at Sehun and took in his entire appearance, a proud, fatherly smile on his face. “Oh Sehun, I remember you well. None of my current students would believe that I used to be your homeroom teacher in freshman year. I’m so proud of you! Two-time Olympic gold medalist for archery? Very good, very good. You are the nation’s pride.”
“Ah, my teammates contributed to the cause, too, Mr. Son. I can’t take all the credit.” Sehun’s responding smile was appreciative, nonetheless.
After taking a proof picture together using Mr. Son’s phone and praising Sehun some more, his attention drifted to Jongin and asked what he was up to nowadays. At Jongin’s answer, Mr. Son looked genuinely surprised.
“You really pursued that ballet career?”
Jongin nodded with a smile. “And I have no regrets. I just finished a performance tonight, to be honest.”
“He’s become an in-demand ballet dancer, too,” Sehun added. “He participated in many competitions and won them. So many companies wanted him even before completing his degree.”
Mr. Son’s surprise lasted a few more seconds before his features smoothened into a serious expression. “I know. I watched you tonight.”
Stunned into silence, Jongin could only stare wide-eyed.
Mr. Son seemed to have predicted it and continued. “I have a niece who participated in tonight’s performance. She played Odile. You recognize her, yes? It seems so, you look quite shocked.” He chuckled. “I saw your name on the cast list. At first, I was skeptical; it could’ve been someone else with a similar name. But when you entered the stage, even with the makeup and clothes and the years gone by, I knew you were my student right then and there.
“It might seem odd, but the determination you showed during that consultation left a deep impression. I was taken aback by your passion for ballet and baffled that you would choose it over pursuing medicine. I confess to having had my prejudices on your career choice. I didn’t stop to consider that I was imposing my views on you and the other students.” Mr. Son’s lips formed a tiny, rueful smile. “But the world is constantly changing, and people my age can’t seem to keep up. I’m thankful to have received enlightenment from a personal experience, even if it’s unfortunate that it took me a long time to reform my outdated views.”
Said personal experience involved Mr. Son’s niece, who strayed from her parent’s ambition of becoming a surgeon in exchange for a ballet dream. Years of stubbornness and misunderstandings eventually corroded the familial ties, causing Mr. Son’s niece to run away from home. Mr. Son and his wife secretly helped her until she found out; unfortunately, she had long made up her mind of never returning until her parents came around. Money and prestige from an illustrious medical career didn’t matter to her, she had told Mr. Son; merely wanted an open mind and accepting heart from her parents that choosing something she loved should not automatically equate to failure and family disgrace.
“When I watched her dance for the first time, I understood right away why she persisted with learning ballet,” Mr. Son said. “My niece is talented, and it’d be a shame if she couldn’t hone it to the fullest. There’s only a limited amount of things I can do for her, but I’m ready and willing if it can help her move one step closer to her dream. Your stories have helped me become a better teacher to my students, especially when it comes to advising them on their prospective career choices.”
Before parting ways, Mr. Son invited them to the upcoming school festival, an event that had only been implemented in the last three years as a way for students to enjoy their youth and take a breather from academics. Intrigued, Jongin and Sehun promised to visit.
Walking through the gates of Shinhyeon High School summoned a plethora of memories as Jongin walked around. The entire school was caught in a festive mood, numerous booths set up at the soccer field and inside classrooms, students and visitors milling about and enjoying the different sights and attractions offered. The campus itself had undergone a lot of visible changes. Buildings had been added and painted anew. Some facilities had been renovated and transferred, others retained, a few more removed to make way for something else. The uniforms hadn’t changed from their time as students, and seeing flashes of it fueled Jongin’s nostalgia for his own.
Several students offered free samples of their food as a sales tactic. Jongin couldn’t decide what he wanted to try first, all of them tempting and pleasing to the eyes. But once he caught Sehun looking at the tray of egg rolls, Jongin didn’t even think twice.
“You didn’t have to,” Sehun said, though he looked very happy munching on the snacks. “I haven’t had these in a long time.” He chewed the egg rolls with childlike enthusiasm, a slight puff of his cheeks.
Jongin couldn’t help smiling as he watched Sehun eat. He was taking his time consuming the tacos he bought, the portion he shared with Sehun already gone. It didn’t take long for Sehun’s cups to empty and a longing stare to be directed at the untouched egg rolls next to Jongin’s plate. Jongin slid the cup over to Sehun, who grinned wide and boyish and helped himself. He bought the extra egg rolls on purpose for this very reason. In that split second, Jongin glimpsed a nine-year old Sehun, whose happiness stemmed from tasty food.
“That was the best egg roll I’ve had in years,” Sehun remarked, patting his stomach in satisfaction as they resumed wandering.
Jongin shot him a weird look. “I don’t think egg rolls are cooked differently no matter where you buy them.”
“The egg rolls I bought from different stores and restaurants never tasted as good, so I stopped eating. Today’s egg rolls are my first in a long time.”
Upon entering the building for the freshmen, Jongin searched for the library right away. To his surprise and extreme relief, it was located exactly where he thought it might be; more surprising was he was able to navigate his way around from relying on a dusty memory. One step through the door and he was hit with strong nostalgia of the many lunch breaks and afternoons he spent here, browsing shelves and meeting Moonkyu, discussing books together and discovering writers he’d come to love.
“You made it!” Mr. Son was ecstatic on their arrival, loud, cheerful voice attracting the attention of co-teachers and students inside the faculty room. He hurried and gave Sehun and Jongin a hug each. Whispers soon broke out through the room as they recognized Sehun, the words Olympian, archer, Infinite Challenge, and gold medalist thrown around among them as they gawked openly at him. “See, I told all of you! Oh Sehun was my student!”
Word seemed to have spread around fast. Students started gathering outside the faculty room, hoping to see the popular archer Oh Sehun with their own eyes (and maybe steal a few snaps). Jongin looked on in amusement as members of the archery club asked for autographs and pictures. Sehun was more than happy to oblige, offering them words of advice and encouragement since some of them were participating at the upcoming National Sports Festival.
Jongin was surprised by the approach of dance club members, who were slated to perform in a few hours in front of the entire school. Some of them knew of his accolades and kept track of his career as ballet hopefuls; told him he was their role model since reading up on him in a featured interview last year. Jongin was impressed they could even name the competitions he won, the productions he danced as a lead.
The longer they stayed, the stronger the memories emerged. Going down corridors reminded Jongin of the times Seungjoon talked too loud and a teacher scolded him on the spot. The staircase leading to the library where Jongin whiled the time away reading, if not hanging out with Moonkyu, or just studying. The cafeteria where they ate countless lunches; the rooftop where he and Sehun ranted about difficult lessons and the teachers’ impossible demands, impatiently counting down the hours until they were free from school.
The rooftop was accessible and saw a mini renovation with an added garden and additional benches. Setting foot there felt like going back in time: suddenly they were sixteen and young again, filled with hopes for a bright future.
Sehun easily spotted their old bench. “Remember when we used to hang out here during lunch breaks?”
“I remember you whining about scary teachers.” Jongin sat down beside him. “And how you found that one Math teacher handsome.”
Sehun’s forehead creased then barked out a laugh. “That was freshman year, Jongin. As in so many years ago. Why are you still hung up over that?”
“I just didn’t get his appeal, I guess,” Jongin begrudgingly admitted, though deep inside he knew that was only a fraction of the truth.
Sehun shot him a look that said he didn’t believe him, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes but said nothing more on it. He hummed, a soft, contemplative sound. “I thought him handsome because he indeed had the looks. But that was to my sixteen-year old self. I haven’t been sixteen in a hot minute, so my perspective has changed. If I’m to give my opinion now, our Math teacher is still handsome, but there are more attractive people out there.”
“Like the ones you’ve dated?”
Jongin meant to tease, but the words left an acrid aftertaste on his tongue. One he tasted over and over again when he had to sit and listen to Sehun talk about his string of flings, starry-eyed and smiley, time zone difference be damned. The peak of that acridity struck when Jongin had sacrificed sleep after receiving an emotional message from Sehun about going through a nasty breakup and needing someone right now. He had fought against sleepiness to watch Sehun stare off into space brooding for the first hour of their video call, an unsightly red imprint on his cheek. Random music had been playing in the background that bore no correlation to Sehun’s mood, and only by the second hour did he launch into a frazzled spiel of what had gone wrong. The more he spoke, the wider the chasm had yawned in Jongin’s chest; came with a dispiriting realization that similar scenarios might happen in the foreseeable future.
“Well, yeah,” came Sehun’s candid admission. “I like attractive people. I’m not going to lie about that. And it’s clichéd and cheesy, but a good personality will make them more attractive to me. Sadly, perhaps I am not the best judge of character if the people I’ve dated had personalities vastly different from their attractive outer appearances.” A wistful sigh and smile. “For what it’s worth, it was good when it was good. I learned a lot in the process. I could’ve done without the hurt, but some life lessons come with pain, don’t they?”
“Why did none of your past relationships work out?” This had been one of Jongin’s biggest questions since the beginning of Sehun’s active dating life. Perhaps it was the bias talking if he said there was nothing wrong with Sehun but conceded that was an unfair assumption, given he didn’t really know the other parties well except for information shared with him. He was simply mystified by how fast Sehun’s relationships began and ended and took this chance for clearer insight.
“I didn’t date with honest intentions. I thought seeing other people could help me forget and move on. It’s an asshole move, I get that. An ex had to literally slap the truth to my face so I could understand what I was doing wrong. So I stopped dating because I know I wouldn’t be able to fully commit myself to the other person, and that’s not right.” Sehun let out a hollow laugh, remorse lining his handsome countenance. He ran a hand through his hair. “To be fair, I did try to like the people I dated. I thought I could develop feelings as the relationship progressed, but… my heart is really set on one person.”
Missing key pieces fell into their proper places. Jongin suppressed a resentful laugh. So in the end, it always led to that person. Sehun’s first love. Always that person in the picture, whether or not the actions were made with deliberate thought. How strong was this first love for Sehun to have been stripped of his ability to forget and move on? How strong were Sehun’s feelings for this first love he couldn’t escape from its clutches? Did he even want to?
“If only your first love knew how much affection you have, maybe you wouldn’t be miserable and suffering like this.” Jongin squeezed Sehun’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. In truth, he wanted to tell Sehun to go find that person and confess everything. Years of subdued feelings had to have an outlet or disclosed at the very least.
Sehun placed his hand atop Jongin’s. Heat brimmed from the contact, almost searing, and branded itself on Jongin’s skin. He couldn’t pull away, even if he wanted; even if his pulse raced at a maddening speed.
Sehun squeezed his hand, and it felt like a direct tug at Jongin’s heart. “I wish he knew, too.”
“You can’t let this go on, Sehun. It’s time you overtake your first love and block their path to let them know you’ve been chasing them for so long. Don’t pine over someone who might not even remotely feel the same after all these years. Or worse: they might not even know of your existence. Either you stop and turn back before you reach a dead end, or go full throttle and seek closure.”
A cool breeze blew. Sehun squinted, fringe getting into his eyes. Jongin used his free hand to push back the wayward hair, fingertips lightly grazing Sehun’s forehead, trailing to his temple and down the side of his face. The entire time, Sehun’s gaze was fixed firmly on him. The entire time, Jongin’s heart beat like it wanted to break free from his chest.
Countless times Jongin wondered what it felt like to touch Sehun without being questioned or stared at in puzzlement; without the thousand worries that hounded him for even thinking about crossing forbidden lines. He wondered what it felt like to touch and not have the gesture interpreted as platonic or familial, or fear having his hand slapped away for overstepping boundaries. So, just this one time, Jongin stopped wondering and indulged his curiosities by ever so lightly pressing his hand against Sehun’s cheek.
The first full contact of skin was electrifying as it was breathtaking. It felt like time had come to a slow stop. Sehun’s eyes widened by the slightest fraction. Jongin should’ve taken that as cue to remove his hand, apologize, just stop. So many possibilities of his blunder’s outcome flashed in his mind, all of them leading to something sad and unbearable.
Sudden shrieks of laughter slammed Jongin back to reality. Sehun looked as surprised as he felt by the arrival of three female students dressed in maid costumes chatting loudly among themselves. The interruption caused Jongin’s hand to fall away from Sehun’s cheek, the mad racing of his heart, a burning flush rising to his face.
Sehun didn’t seem to be faring any better, red spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. A look of slow realization crossed his features.
“You know what? It might not be a dead end after all.”
☆彡
Moonkyu’s unimpressed stare was a hundred times more anxiety-inducing than his usual look of exasperation.
Then again, Jongin had only ever been the recipient of said stare a few times in his life. Times he could count on one hand. In their years of friendship, there were very few things that bothered Moonkyu or had him heated. Their current topic was one of them.
“The advice you gave Sehun should be applied to you, too,” Moonkyu spoke, after a long, chilling pause. He’d been incredibly busy running his restaurant, so chances to meet were sparse. Today was his rare day off, and Jongin immediately jumped at his invitation for coffee. It was a blessing in disguise, especially after being plagued by stacks upon stacks of questions regarding what happened at the school festival. “Tell him, or accept you will never be anything more and make peace with that.”
Jongin stirred his caffe latte and leaned back in his chair. “I know you’ve heard this a million times before, but there’s a lot at stake if I dare cross the line.”
“I have. And my answer remains the same,” Moonkyu remarked, blowing on his cup of Americano before taking a sip. “I understand where you’re coming from, your doubts and your fears. Something has to give sooner or later, though.”
Crushing and pining over your best friend was already so many levels of complicated and dangerous. One wrong move and everything could end in a snap; have them estranged from each other. Confessing could either give Jongin what he’d been cautiously dreaming of or lose the person he held closest to his heart. Just the thought of losing Sehun and his friendship, or what would be left of it in the aftermath, gave Jongin unbearable anguish.
“But, seriously speaking, Jongin,” Moonkyu’s voice cut through his thoughts, “I don’t think I can spell it out any better than Sehun has. And if you ask me, I don’t think things are one-sided.”
Appealing as it sounded, entertaining assumptions posed its own dangers, like breeding false hope. And false hope was the last thing Jongin wanted to give himself, refusing to have it take residence in the deepest, most secret corners of his heart and mind.
Jongin sipped his latte first before responding. “Thanks for trying to comfort me.”
Moonkyu’s brows furrowed. “I’m not. I’m just saying there’s a possibility you aren’t alone in the pining department. Work with me here: do you recall the times Sehun became insufferably moodier than usual when you mentioned being set up on blind dates?”
Crushing and pining over his best friend didn’t stop Jongin from entering the dating scene. He had allowed friends to arrange blind dates for him. Most of these dates had concluded either without swapping numbers or agreeing they were more compatible as friends. Some had talked him into joining dating apps to reach a wider scope of eligible individuals. The rare times Jongin thought he’d found someone he could warm up to always fizzled. Apparently, he had been as transparent as glass, all of them asking him permutations of a common question that made him stop and reconsider: who are you trying to forget?
And then Sehun’s face would appear in his mind, complete with the boyish smile and childlike twinkle in his eyes. For years, Jongin had hoped this smile would have a lessened effect on him. The opposite happened, and it had come to a point he purposefully dated people with unique and charming smiles if only to help him hasten the process of forgetting. Failed miserably.
Just like how he had failed miserably in trying to reach Sehun every time he mentioned casually seeing someone, messages unseen and calls unreturned until days later, wishing him luck with dating. Jongin had wondered at times about the sadness in Sehun’s eyes during their video calls and if it had something to do with school or archery; if he should believe exhaustion as reason for his absentmindedness. He had offered to listen if anything was going on numerous times, but Sehun always said no.
Now, as he turned over these events in his mind, a faint voice at the back of Jongin’s mind coaxed him to reconsider everything he thought he knew. Instead, Jongin slowly shook his head. Took a big gulp of his latte and focused on the bitter aftertaste, but mostly trying to drown that voice. “His moodiness can’t be related to my dating misadventures,” was the response he settled for.
Moonkyu’s brows furrowed deeper. “True, but the times it happened seem too far-fetched to be labeled as isolated cases. Sehun has mood swings, and sometimes he can be disheartened fast when criticized strongly about his techniques or anything related to archery. I know that. We’re friends, too, so he’s come to me many times to vent about his archery troubles. At times he cries about it. But I’d never seen Sehun cry like he did when he found out you were seeing someone. That was after the fifth bottle of soju. You’re aware of his inhuman tolerance for alcohol. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”
Sehun’s drinking escapades in college and beyond hadn’t been unknown to Jongin. Most had been shared by Sehun himself, others coming from Moonkyu’s anecdotes. Drunk dialing wasn’t unusual, either, having been on the receiving end of sporadic calls that Jongin indulged if he wasn’t busy. Sehun had often sounded tipsy than uninhibited during these calls and babbled on about several topics in the speed of light.
One phone call did stand out in Jongin’s memory after Moonkyu’s prompting. The phone call Jongin had received after coming home from a pleasant first date. The silence on the other end had confused Jongin, at first, wondering if Sehun hadn’t meant to dial his number at all. He was about to hang up after waiting in vain for five minutes but had stopped upon hearing a sigh and, finally, Sehun uttering a single question in a voice raw and thick with emotion:
“Why can’t it be me?”
Jongin had been stumped; couldn’t tell if the question was directed at him, if the call should’ve gone to someone else. Baffled, mind wiped clean, he had no ready answer to a question that could be interpreted so many ways, so he chose to not say anything. Sehun hadn’t spoken again afterward but didn’t hang up, either. Jongin had stayed with him, listening to the background noise on Sehun’s end filled with distant, raucous voices and muffled club music until his phone battery died. That phone call had been the most intense, most confusing eight minutes of Jongin’s life.
The next day, Jongin had set time aside to call Sehun and ask if he was okay. Sehun had complained of a mild headache but never brought up the memory of last night’s call. Jongin hadn’t, either, until he’d completely forgotten about it.
Until today.
“…Oh.”
Jongin’s mind reeled and stomach knotted as the weight of realization pummeled him. Any other time and he would’ve shrugged off that unearthed memory as nothing; just one of the more peculiar episodes in the life of being Sehun’s best friend. His chest tightened at the signs he dismissed as nothing; tightened more at how blind he’d been for so many years.
Moonkyu was watching him closely the entire time. Then, as if sensing his current inner turmoil: “I thought your abysmal sense of direction would only be limited in the geographical sense.”
In spite of the numerous evidences pointing to the answer Jongin never allowed himself to hope for, a minuscule part of him remained skeptical. It felt too good to be true that things would be this easy. That years of pining and uncertainties, of concealing feelings and reiterating those could fade and not come back would lead up to this.
But if there was one thing Jongin learned from his experiences in life, it was chasing after what he wanted without fear.
There was a high possibility that Jongin might have read too much into those past, unexplainable moments. That it might not even be him. If he was to be heartbroken at the end, then so be it. Jongin could grit his teeth through the inevitable pain, but he would also do everything to fight for the friendship, or salvage its remnants, if any. No matter what, Sehun and their bond weighed infinitely more.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Sehun remarked, stretching his arms over his head. He had come from a photoshoot for the sportswear brand he endorsed, a campaign that was targeted to be released by spring of the following year. Jongin agreed to meet him for a late lunch at Jongno after parting ways with Moonkyu and having made up his mind. Foot traffic wasn’t too bad on the streets, so they ambled about to help their stomachs digest. “Was the yukhoe bad?”
Jongin shook his head. Feigned interest in the establishments lining the block. “I haven’t come here since arriving. I’m trying to spot any marked differences from eight years ago.”
Sehun bit the bait, helpfully supplying what shops were new and which ones had been closed. Crossing the street, they descended the steps and began their leisured walk along the length of Cheonggyecheon’s stream. Today’s weather was overcast after two days of nonstop rain, perfect for promenading under the sun. A myriad of flowers bloomed from their boxes or crept along the walls, coloring the paths with their vibrant colors. An open-air exhibit was currently being held, showcasing framed photographs in varied sizes and beckoning visitors.
Nostalgia rushed through Jongin as soon as he spotted the stepping stones. Tamping down a smile, he traveled along memory lane and saw his eighteen-year old self standing on one of the steps, young and innocent, hurting from feelings he couldn’t understand back then. Now, at twenty-seven, he sprinted over to skip on the first three steps and looked back at Sehun, who stood at the edge unmoving, a hint of confusion on his features.
“Do you remember when we first came here?” Jongin turned around, gaze sweeping over the curling vines on the walls. “It was the time you told me about being recruited to the national team.”
Sehun smiled while nodding. “I remember being so happy I couldn’t describe it in words. That was one of the best days in my life.”
“I could tell.” Jongin heard movement behind him; Sehun already standing on the first stepping stone. “The national team is lucky to have you as one of its members. If you continue bringing home gold, you’ll be relegated to a national treasure.” He reveled in the blush that crept on Sehun’s cheeks, his surprised but flattered laughter. Knowing he had caused these reactions made his chest swell with pride and fondness.
“Winning gold is always the best, I won’t lie. It’s a lot of pressure, too. Some days I think it’s too much, but when I hold my bow, I get fired up all over again. That’s why I work hard so they won’t boot me out. Nothing lasts forever in this sport—there are plenty of promising archers joining us each year, but very few who can join international arenas. So even if you’re highly skilled, if you can’t keep up or meet expectations, you can be easily replaced.”
“I doubt that. You’re irreplaceable.”
Sehun huffed out a baffled laugh, face trying hard not to grimace. “Why are you so cheesy all of a sudden?”
Jongin gave a vague wave of his hand. “Maybe it’s because I remember another thing happening here. This is where you told me about your first love, too.”
The amusement slowly faded from Sehun’s face, giving way to something unreadable. A stark contrast to the depth of emotions swimming in his eyes. Emotions too many to name and parse at the moment.
Jongin held his ground and wrestled with his growing apprehension. “Hypothetically speaking, if you were given a chance to confess to your first love, what would you say? How would you tell them your feelings?”
In the ensuing silence, Jongin’s heartbeat thundered so loud it was the only thing he could hear in his ears. Neither background noises nor other people mattered. His focus zeroed in on Sehun, whose look of contemplation prolonged the suspense, and then heightened when he shortened the distance between them by moving to the second stepping stone. Now, they stood facing each other, just an arm’s reach away.
“I could tell them a lot of things. I could tell them, ‘hey, won’t you look my way?’ or something similar. But let’s face it: I’d probably be uncool if that time comes. I could rehearse so many times but still screw up. Even so, I hope my sincerity will reach them.” Sehun sighed; shook his head. “Enough of me and my tragic first love. What about you? How would you confess, when and if you get a first love?”
“I do have a first love,” Jongin said, Sehun’s eyes widening. “Or, at least that person is close enough to my personal definition of a first love. I would tell him I’m not the person he thinks I am. I’d tell him he’s got me wrong—I’m not really looking straight ahead. I’ve been looking at him, too, but never realized I already was because I took so many detours that got me lost and confused. But not anymore. I’m not lost and confused anymore because I’ve found my way, and it led me back to him. It led me back to you.”
Jongin never once looked away the entire time he poured out the contents of his heart, so he never missed a single detail. He saw the way Sehun went from looking confused, to the snail-slow unfurling of understanding drift across his features, the heightened intensity of the swirling emotions in his eyes.
Sehun’s jaw clenched, a pained expression soon taking over, shoulders trembling.
“Cut it out.”
Jongin sobered quick at Sehun’s snappish tone.
“This isn’t funny. This isn’t funny at all.”
Sehun repeated the instruction, though with weakening resolve at each utterance, apparent in the gradual softening of his voice to something more raw. An obvious battering of long-erected defenses. A display of extreme vulnerability, evoking Jongin’s protectiveness, even with the knowledge that he had caused this.
Sehun shook his head vigorously; ruffled his hair with extra force for good measure. He blew out a long, drawn-out sigh that sounded akin to disbelief. He gazed far off into the stream, eyes blinking rapidly. He wouldn't meet Jongin’s gaze for a long time until he spoke again.
“I swear to god, if this is a joke, I’ll… I’ll…”
Sehun struggled to finish the sentence, evident on his sputtering. Jongin already had a clue of what he might say, and though it killed him to reach out and touch, it didn’t seem like a good move right now.
“I’m not,” Jongin answered, hoping it would allay Sehun’s fears, Sehun’s doubts. “I won’t. I would never joke about this, most especially to you. No one deserves such cruelty. But, I am sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long to look your way. I’m terrible, huh?” His mouth curved into a rueful smile in spite of himself, the unrest within strengthening. Everything was now slowly being laid out, piece by piece, and no matter the outcome, he would accept. He wouldn’t run away anymore; would stop hesitating and face it head on.
Even if it meant that they would be broken, in the end.
“You really are.” A childish petulance invaded Sehun’s voice, but not with the defensiveness Jongin expected; had worried about at first. “You’re terrible. For giving me so many sleepless nights through the years, wondering if I should risk it all. For letting me think there wasn’t the slightest chance for us to be more than friends. Do you know how painful it is to stay confined within the boundaries of friendship when your heart wants more?
“I’ve only looked at you almost my entire life. But you’ve only been looking straight ahead.”
Jongin’s eyes fluttered close; felt the buildup of pressure behind them, the familiar, loaded words setting off an ache in his ribs. The corners of his lips involuntarily curved up into a smile that tasted a mixture of remorse and triumph. In his mind’s eye, they were eighteen, standing on these very same steps, unaware they had been both hiding secrets from each other in a unified assumption that their feelings were hopeless. That they would never move on from where they stood, never given a chance to change it.
“Not anymore I’m not.” Daring himself, Jongin mustered all the courage and energy within to lift his arm and reach. His hand found Sehun’s, afraid of curling his fingers tight for fear of being shrugged off in his current state. “I was only looking straight ahead because there was nothing on the side to catch my attention. But you have. And even then, it took me so long to figure out that I should’ve spared a glance to the side, too. That I shouldn’t have looked too straight ahead, even as I ran toward my dreams.” A wry laugh tumbled out of his mouth, various emotions warring in his chest. “We both know I have a shitty sense of direction, but it takes real talent to get lost in the maze of my own heart. What’s so good about looking straight ahead if I can’t even see what’s in front of me?”
The color of the sky transitioned from a cool blue to a fiery orange. Sehun stayed silent for a long time, hand lax in Jongin’s hold—not reciprocating, not shrugging it off. A frustrating but maddening deadlock.
“Your shitty sense of direction really needs a lot of work.”
Sehun’s words lacked heat, and Jongin didn’t take them to heart. If anything, he only felt relief; reveled in it. Although he was prepared to accept Sehun’s reactions, whatever they were, he much preferred this above anything negative.
“This is why I need you to pull me right back when I get too lost.”
“So what does this mean?” This time, Sehun’s voice was softer, though carried an edge of uncertainty. Brimmed full of hope, tenuous as it was expectant. Jongin ached for him, knowing he had caused this, and was set on making it right. “What does all this mean?”
“It means exactly what you think.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“It means I want to hold your hand, and not have you second-guess the meaning behind the gesture.” Jongin took another leap of faith and held Sehun’s hand with a firmer grip and a more certain heart this time. Sehun’s disbelieving expression spurred him to go on. “I want to continue inspiring you to do your best not just in archery but in everything you wish to achieve, and become your strength when training becomes too hard, or if the world turns its back on you. I want to know what it’s like to sleep next to you knowing it’s not a fever dream that will leave me disappointed and wanting in the morning, and kiss you without holding back in fear of grave consequences. I want to link fingers only with you when we’re in a crowd so I don’t stray or get lost, and receive roses from you just because, even on days I’m not performing.”
“Too soon to be making demands from me.”
Jongin pouted at the interruption. Sehun looked less doubtful and relatively more reassured, now; lips parting in a delightful smile, eyes soft with happiness unmeasured. In an unexpected move, Sehun maneuvered the hold so their fingers slotted together. The clasp of their hands and its weight felt perfect to Jongin, heart singing a song of elation that he could truly have this now and no longer tell himself to search for hidden meanings when there were probably none.
“But I want to do all those, too,” Sehun added, closing in more than he already was by moving to stand on the same stepping stone Jongin occupied. The stone was wide enough to accommodate both of them. This current proximity, together with their recruited feelings, brought Sehun closer to Jongin like never before. “I want to do everything that will make you happy.”
“Knowing it’s mutual makes me more than happy. But I’m not opposed to you adding to that happiness, just saying.”
“All of this feels surreal. I’ve dreamed of this for so long, but nothing of what’s happened in the last five minutes feels real to me. I think I’ll need some time for it to sink in.”
Sehun kept shaking his head and making awed noises, as if doing so could help thaw him out faster in his state of shock. Jongin watched him in amusement. The link of their hands never broke. Neither of them moved away nor suggested they take this elsewhere. Maybe they weren’t being model citizens right now with the amount of affectionate display they were putting on, even unintentional, but outsider opinions didn’t matter. No one and nothing else mattered right now.
“Wait a minute, what if this is some sort of ridiculous plot that involves livestock sacrifice to keep the illusion? What if…”
Jongin’s forehead fell on Sehun’s shoulder, muffling amused laughter into the material of his shirt at the ridiculous what-ifs he was listing to debunk why everything was too good to be real. Sehun only stopped talking when Jongin laid a palm on his chest, right over the heart. If Jongin concentrated hard enough, he could feel its drumming beat through the layers of clothing.
“There are no livestock sacrifices and illusions, Oh Sehun. There is only me, you, and how we spend our lives together from here on out.”
☆彡
Moonkyu pinned Jongin and Sehun with a long, searching look, as if expecting a revelation that he was bamboozled.
Jongin didn’t bother fending off the smile on his face. Sehun’s lips were pressed together in a straight line, suppressed excitement radiating off him.
“No hidden cameras are going to pop out,” Jongin told Moonkyu, who started casting surreptitious glances at the doors and corners of his restaurant.
Moonkyu exhaled a long, deep sigh. Then, in a loud, jubilant voice: “Finally! You fools have finally come around!”
Jongin cackled at Moonkyu’s raving; ignored the attention from curious onlookers. Sehun’s attempts in keeping a straight face failed, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking upon succumbing to laughter.
Jongin composed himself first. “It’s been a long time coming, huh?”
“More than a long time coming!” Moonkyu corrected. He was grinning, now, a genuine happiness gleaming in his eyes. “I was losing hope on receiving compensation for the years I held myself back from completely interfering in your affairs. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not because I didn’t care enough—I admit to giving helpful nudges. But mostly, I wanted you two to work it out on your own.”
“Hyung, that means your nudging wasn’t strong enough if it took us so many years to get here,” Sehun teased.
Moonkyu let out a sound of disbelief. “You punk, what did I do to deserve this slander?” Laughter all around; then, he clapped his hands together. “This calls for a celebration. A celebration, I tell you.” He called one of his staff over and enlisted his help to assist him on the next restaurant closing.
“What’s the occasion?” the staff asked.
“A near-decade of suffering from watching two oblivious fools circling each other finally coming to an end.”
Sehun and Jongin dissolved into helpless laughter together. Moonkyu looked proud of what he said. The staff stared at them from left to right, cocking his head in confusion.
☆彡
When did two people move from platonic to romantic territory?
This question constantly lurked at the back of Jongin’s mind. Some nights he lay in bed, unable to process the shift in his relationship with Sehun. He couldn’t believe Sehun was not his best friend anymore, but someone else. Something more. Someone he called a boyfriend, a lover. His.
The thought itself kindled a possessiveness Jongin didn’t know could exist in him. Or desires he thought would remain unspoken until he acted on them. Like kissing Sehun, for instance. Never did he imagine this would be part of his reality one day, proven by an ice cream incident wherein Sehun kept missing the stain on the corner of his mouth no matter how much he dabbed at it with a napkin.
Lured in by the pink of his lips, Jongin did the job for him with a clean swipe of a finger; lingered long enough to trace his bottom lip. Sehun must’ve caught onto his intent right away, never stepping back and slowly leaning in, but also, surprisingly, precautioned Jongin to turn around and away if he wasn’t prepared for this.
Jongin tasted chocolate in that kiss, and something much, much sweeter than sugar and cream.
Holding hands came natural, already possessing prior experience of linking fingers when caught in crowds during their youth. They still did that now, but Sehun preferred their palms pressed together with interlaced fingers. Cuddling was never taken out of the equation, Sehun needing it more during harder days of training. This time, though, Jongin freely pressed kisses wherever his lips could touch if cuddling wasn’t enough.
Making out didn’t become a thing until their third month of dating, probably fourth. Jongin couldn’t remember. What he did remember was his desire to kiss Sehun again after the first time. His lips tingled at the conjured memories. Tingled more whenever he remembered Sehun. Tingled uncontrollably whenever Sehun was in sight, thoughts of wanting to kiss him senseless and panting for air possessing him like a vengeful ghost.
Sehun was shocked when it finally happened, pressed up against the door of his apartment one night after a movie night out. Jongin was shocked as well, not expecting he would actually act on his desire. But then Sehun smiled in understanding, trailed tender fingers down the side of his face, and returned the favor. Left Jongin breathless and with swollen lips, touching them on his commute back home and reliving the memory of it in dreams.
Hands started wandering around the same period. Sleeping over at Sehun’s apartment became a frequent occurrence. Belongings started staying over, too, and Jongin looked forward to sleeping in one bed at the end of a productive but tiring day. After sleeping over the first time, it didn’t occur to Jongin how disconcertingly large his own bed was at home, and a yearning to press close against a warm body in slumber stubbornly stayed with him until the next opportunity to stay the night at Sehun’s arrived.
Sometimes awkward moments would find its way in the tiny gaps of their transitioning relationship. Sometimes Jongin still couldn’t reconcile that his dreams and reality were now one. But whenever Sehun brightened his days with morning texts and called him in the evenings before sleep, whenever Sehun gave him roses on their dates to see him smile, whenever Sehun leaned forward to kiss him just because, or pulled him close in sleep, or held his hand even if they were just sitting on a park bench, Jongin was confident their bond would only grow stronger while navigating the course of building and maintaining a loving relationship together.
For now, they would allow themselves to stumble, to learn, and slowly get there.
☆彡
Spring arrived with a burst of life from naked cherry blossom trees, coloring Seoul’s previous landscape of sparkling white and silver with pastel pink. Winter’s residual frostiness was still felt, however, sending a chill through Jongin as it nipped at his bare hands. He adjusted the collar of his turtleneck, buttoned up his coat, bade goodbye to his co-dancers after grabbing dinner with them. The friendships he forged with them were expected, having spent plenty of time and productions together. Three would be leaving at the end of spring after the expiry of their contracts. One’s application would send them to New Zealand. The other two heeded better offers in Monaco and Austria.
Jongin’s contract was nearing its end, too. The artistic director hinted at a renewal, citing his work ethic and stellar talent suited the company image well. The praise flattered him, and it was relieving to know he wouldn’t be unemployed should he decide to renew. A tiny caveat, if he could call it that, was his recent musings of dancing with other companies overseas once more. He’d fulfilled his longtime dream of dancing at home; loved every moment of it. The other benefits he reaped were certainly not to be discounted, but there was a call for bigger stages outside of the country.
He bought some snacks at Emart before heading to the subway station, no longer nervous or needing the assistance of a map app for this specific destination. Jongin knew the way by heart now, even if his first attempt had been disastrous after a miscalculated line transfer then getting off at the wrong exit. He remembered that day clearly from a few months back, how worried Sehun sounded over the phone and asked if he should pick him up instead. Jongin refused, assuring him he was fine; that he’d manage, even if it took an additional forty-five minutes to get on the right track.
Twenty minutes and zero disasters later, Jongin stood in front of an oakwood door and rang the bell. He heard two pairs of footsteps inside—one hurried, another trying to outrun the first. A young woman in her early twenties opened the door, a smile on her face and the crinkle of her eyes bearing close resemblance to Sehun’s and Narae’s.
“Jongin-oppa, you’re here!” Yulhee exclaimed, ushering Jongin inside. Behind her, Narae toddled over to where they stood, face lighting up at once upon seeing Jongin. “Sehun-oppa won’t be here until eight or nine—that’s if traffic will be light. Will you be okay waiting?”
“That’s fine, I don’t mind,” Jongin assured her. “I told him I was coming over and needn’t rush. It’s a busy time for him right now.” Narae stretched out her arms toward him in a quiet request. Scooping her up with one arm, Jongin raised the bag he was carrying for Yulhee to see. “I bought snacks for Narae. She liked the milk bun I bought last time, so I got lots of those for her.”
Hearing her name, Narae ogled at the bag with great interest and pointed a tiny finger at it. “Snacks for me?”
“Snacks for you,” Jongin affirmed, nodding his head. “May I please get a kiss for that?” He offered his cheek to Narae, both of them bursting into laughter after she planted a huge smooch on it.
Narae squealed when Jongin fished for a milk bun from the bag and gave it to her. She repeated the name several times while pressing down on the plastic wrap, seeming to enjoy the crinkling sound it produced, staring with stark fascination. Then, she looked at Jongin to say, “Thank you, Dad—Uncle!”
“Wow, Narae, very good!” Yulhee gushed, a proud look on her face. Sehun told Jongin she’d been doing her best to correct Narae’s address of adult males, and her efforts seemed to be paying off. After making sure Jongin and Narae were settled in the living room, she gave him a shy but grateful smile. “Thank you so much for always thinking of and caring about Narae, oppa.”
Three months had passed since they were first introduced to each other, but Yulhee still retained her shyness during their interactions. Jongin didn’t mind; was willing to initiate conversation first if it was just the both of them. He considered himself a shy person, too, but getting along with Sehun’s cousin inspired him to push his limits a little more. Thankfully, it didn’t take long to get along with Yulhee, whom he found to be affable and a hardworking person, wanting nothing but the best for her daughter.
Jongin entertained Narae with games and books after Yulhee left for work a little past eight. Currently, she was working the graveyard shift at a university hospital as a nurse. Sehun’s parents couldn’t make it tonight to pick up Narae, so Jongin took on the task of babysitting. Perhaps it was luck or some god out there was looking out for him, but so far, he hadn’t experienced any of Narae’s infamous tantrums that Sehun mentioned before. In Jongin’s company, Narae was often sweet and lovely, enthusiastically engaged with his ideas for a fun time, and ate the meals Yulhee prepared for her with gusto.
Half past nine, a beep resounded in the apartment. Narae had long been tucked into bed, and Jongin was tidying up the toys scattered on the living room floor when Sehun appeared. The strap of a duffle bag was slung across his torso, expression brightening instantly when their gazes met. Jongin smiled, a response that came naturally more than before; heart swelling with fondness at the blue scarf around Sehun’s neck, tasseled ends swaying with his movement.
“I’m beat,” Sehun complained, removing his bag and crossing the distance of the room. He clung onto Jongin like an overgrown cat; tucked his head against the crook of Jongin’s neck. Although they lacked a huge height difference, it was amusing how Sehun made himself smaller for easier cuddling. Jongin smothered him in hugs, regardless. “Today’s training felt like it dragged on forever. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“You’ve worked hard, then.” Jongin ran a comforting hand along the length of Sehun’s back, the other carding through his hair. “Narae’s asleep. She was quite active today. It must be the milk buns.” Sehun chuckled, his next response too soft and unintelligible to hear. Jongin didn’t mind.
After a quick shower, Sehun joined Jongin on the living room couch. The television across of them was playing an episode of a Yoo Jaesuk variety show. Sehun was eating heated leftovers and some side dishes Yulhee set aside for him. Jongin stole occasional bites or was fed by Sehun. Finishing dinner, Sehun’s head found its way to Jongin’s shoulder as they talked about each other’s days while watching. Later, a chocolate commercial appeared on screen, starring a real-life actor and actress couple, prompting an idea in Jongin’s mind.
“Let’s go on a date when we’re both free,” Jongin said, after the commercial ended.
Sehun made a small noise of realization. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? We definitely need to go one, then.”
Two months prior to today, dates had been plentiful and mostly fell on Jongin’s days off, though they sometimes occurred after getting off work. When Sehun secured a spot for the upcoming Asian Games in Hangzhou recently, training began taking up a lot of his time in spite of the fixed schedules and one free day. They were able to find a workaround and went on a short trip to Gangneung on the first week of March. Beyond that, they saw each other more at Sehun’s apartment rather than outside, and that was if Jongin wasn’t too tired to exert a little more effort in commuting.
Jongin leaned his head against Sehun’s. “Isn’t it funny how we’re dating but doing things out of order? At this point of our relationship, outdoor dates are supposed to surpass the indoor ones by a huge margin.”
“Who cares if we’re acting like a middle-aged couple staying in on a weeknight and living the domestic life? Not me, that’s for sure.” Sehun sighed a little after. “I do want more outdoor dates, take trips outside of Seoul, hike mountains and swim in beaches. I want to do a lot of things and go to different places with you. It’s just a busy time for me right now.” Then, in a softer voice, though not lacking in sincerity, “I’ll make it up to you after Hangzhou, I promise.”
That wasn’t until September this year. Usually, Jongin would give an automatic response; but his contract expiration lingered at the back of his mind, and by then, he wasn’t sure if he’d still be in Seoul after Sehun returned. Or before that.
Still, Jongin thought to put off the discussion for another time. He disliked keeping things from Sehun, of all people, but he wasn’t hiding things on purpose. He’d rather bring up the topic another day, preferably when Sehun wasn’t close to passing out and they could talk about it at length.
The opportunity for an outdoor date arose sooner than expected. Jongin was unwillingly dragged out from slumber one morning thanks to the incessant ringing of his phone. For that split second of full consciousness, he wondered, with mild irritation, who desperately tried to seek him out that they couldn’t wait until a more decent hour. His homicidal intent vanished upon hearing Sehun’s voice, who told him that he was dropping by in an hour.
Sleep weighed Jongin down like dead weight as he moved about and did his best to prepare through half-open eyes. He clutched onto Sehun’s arm as they walked down the sidewalk, trusting him to navigate them both as he was practically useless and still half-asleep at seven in the morning. Jongin could only sigh in relief when they were finally seated in the train, using Sehun’s shoulder as a pillow, a faint, clean scent innately his lulling him back to dreamland.
Halfway through their subway journey, Jongin woke up feeling more awake and discovered Sehun’s reasoning for this impromptu date.
“I’ve been following weather forecasts closely. They predicted the cherry blossoms would be at full bloom today. I swapped my usual free day to coincide with yours.”
So we can spend more time together was left unsaid, but hugely implied in the loaded silence that followed. Jongin felt it with his entire heart; assured Sehun he gleaned his meaning, showing appreciation through a tight squeeze of his hand.
It was a choice well made, the beauty of spring fully showcased by the endless rows of cherry blossom trees planted by the lakeside. Clear skies and cool weather contributed to this perfect morning, and Jongin gradually shed his sleepiness as they ambled down the path before them, mingling with the locals and tourists who admired and took pictures of the trees.
Jongin had seen his fair share of cherry blossoms growing up. Their annual blooming come springtime was so commonplace he didn’t think much of it. Yet the experience of cherry blossom viewing felt brand new with Sehun by his side, fingers linking together as they joined the crowd that eventually evolved into walking hand in hand; marveling at the splendid trees and breathtaking scenery, taking commemorative photos individually and together.
Jongin couldn’t choose which photos he liked best to use as a new lock screen and wallpaper. Amid deliberating, he was alerted of a new Instagram post by Sehun. Heat instantly suffused his cheeks when he opened the app and saw a picture of himself load on the screen. The shot showed Jongin standing beneath a cherry blossom tree, a hand held out when he was trying to catch the falling petals (and didn’t succeed, because they seemed repelled to his touch and danced away, instead).
Pretty flower. was the caption.
The picture itself looked simple, but there was a beauty about it that compelled Jongin to stare, unable to tear his eyes away; sensed an affection in the way it was taken, how perfectly-timed the shot and the care given into taking it.
Was this what he looked like in Sehun’s eyes?
One comment from Sehun’s friend caught Jongin’s eye that sent his heart fluttering wildly:
“Oh Sehun, you sly fucker. Why are you so sappy? You’re so in love ((whipped)) it’s showing.”
They picnicked by the lakeside, fed each other sandwiches, basked in the warmth of the spring sun and each other’s presence. Sehun prepared a lot of food with Yulhee’s help, although it took a few tries for Jongin to coax out the truth that he did more of the wrapping and rationing than the cooking.
“I can take the entire credit for this, though.” Sehun handed him a thermos, and the rich scent of chocolate immediately greeted Jongin’s nose upon opening. Definitely Sehun’s concoction, having tasted this in the past when he complained of not wanting to drink coffee as is without milk.
“This is definitely your doing: rich and sweet, just the way you like your chocolate drink.”
“Of course I’m sweet. You wouldn’t have liked me if I wasn’t,” Sehun joked, a touch of mischief in his words; his lopsided grin. “I’m getting there with the rich part. But I’m sure you still like me even without the money.”
“You’re rich in other things, anyway.”
“Rich in heart and feelings for you.”
Jongin pressed his lips together to smother a laugh. He wasn’t successful. Soon, Sehun joined him as they dissolved into helpless laughter. Jongin wouldn’t deny being cheesier between them, so he was delighted that Sehun was showing this side of him. Wiping the tears that had gathered at the corner of his eyes, Jongin grabbed the first treat his hand touched inside the picnic basket. He peeled off the paper from the chocolate cupcake and took a bite, then vaguely heard the chiming of his phone. Wanting to save time, Jongin secured the cupcake in his mouth so he could use both hands to search faster since his phone wasn’t in any of his jeans pockets.
Sehun looked at the remaining pastries then frowned at the now-taken cupcake. “Hey, I wanted that.”
“Tough luck, I was first,” was what Jongin wanted to say, but the words came out garbled due to the cupcake obstructing the sounds. He spotted his phone behind the picnic basket and answered the text. He tossed the phone aside and was about to resume eating when fingers lightly grazed the side of his jaw, tilting his head to look Sehun’s way.
Jongin’s heartbeat accelerated at the gesture, their sudden proximity. It accelerated twice faster when Sehun slowly, ever-so-slowly leaned in, magnetic gaze rendering Jongin unable to blink. So many thoughts raced through his mind, rivaling the speed of his pulse; the moment seeming to stretch on endlessly. Everything was happening in slow motion, to Sehun leaning closer, and closer still, the parting of his lips, and then taking a generous bite off the cupcake.
Time resumed its normal pace. Jongin forgot he was supposed to exhale, cupcake in his mouth forgotten, staring at Sehun who never broke eye contact as he chewed. Crumbs dusted the corner of his mouth, and a pink tongue darted out to catch them. The sight stirred something in Jongin’s belly. Something he knew the name of but refused to label in an attempt at sanity.
“You can have the rest.” Sehun’s eyes turned half-lidded while chewing, but Jongin could only pay attention to the pink of his mouth, and how it might rival the hue of the cherry blossoms around them if he kissed him. Sehun let out a contemplative hum. “That’s strange. Why is this cupcake sweeter than the last time I had it?”
The question sounded innocent, though the smile Sehun wore was not. Jongin narrowed his eyes at him in feigned annoyance, which quickly dissolved Sehun’s act and reduced him to chuckles.
Hand in hand they strolled through gardens, appreciated the myriad of flowers in bloom. Jongin breathed in the fragrant air, discerned the different scents that came together in perfect harmony. He took pictures of whatever caught his interest but discovered later on his camera reel had plentier shots of Sehun. No complaints. It only meant he’d have more pictures to choose from to use as phone wallpapers.
Sehun looked more refreshed and energetic when they left the park past noon. A smile on his face, a spring in his step—the activities appeared to have reduced his stress. “I’ve always wanted to go on a spring picnic with my someone special. It’s not as demanding in activity, and it helped me relax. Thanks for making one of my wishes come true.”
Jongin smiled back at him, heart melting from Sehun squeezing his hand. “I’m down to fulfill everything on your bucket list.”
Sehun raised an eyebrow; sent him a slanted coy look. “Everything? That’s a dangerous proposition. What if I want to do or try something that’s out of your comfort zone?”
“I won’t know until it happens, right? I could say one thing now but change my mind afterward. It happens. If it’s something I really can’t do, I’ll make sure to tell you.”
“You definitely should. These matters should always be discussed. I wouldn’t want you just mindlessly encouraging me or going along. I need someone to offer another perspective and talk sense into me, too.” Sehun sounded very serious about this.
Jongin grinned and lightly pinched Sehun’s cheek. “Oh, what to do—my boyfriend is so adorable. I want to keep you in my pocket and show you off.” Before Sehun could protest, he pressed a finger to his lips. “Yes, I can do all of those for you, if you trust me that much. We don’t need to rush, though. We’ll get there on our own pace.”
At one of their station stops on the subway ride back, Jongin noticed passengers filing in armed with damp umbrellas. He and Sehun swapped nervous glances, sharing one thought: how could they have forgotten umbrellas?
“I hope there won’t be any rain when we reach our stop,” Sehun wished aloud, though Jongin noticed his increasing nervousness when each station picked up more and more passengers wielding wet umbrellas.
The perfect spring day with its sunny, clear skies was nowhere to be found once they ascended the stairs of their station. Rain fell in buckets, puddles decorating the asphalt. Like some sort of divine prank, none of the shops in this particular station were selling umbrellas, either. Jongin stared despairingly at the gray skies, good mood from this morning considerably plummeting now.
Sehun grabbing his hand and tugging him outside the safety of their shelter startled him. “Let’s live a little.”
Jongin glanced at the rainy skies then met Sehun’s imploring gaze. “Or we can not be reckless and avoid getting sick.”
“We can avoid getting sick as long as we’re careful. The apartment isn’t really that far off from here. Come on. Unleash your inner child every once in a while—aren’t you tired of always being an adult?”
Whatever retort Jongin prepared died on his tongue at Sehun’s insistent tug, words further dissolving at the first drops of rain on his hair, forehead, nose, everywhere. While it was true Sehun’s apartment building was close by, there was still significant distance to be covered, and so they ran as fast as their legs could carry them. Their footsteps pounded over the pavement, water splashing and flying everywhere, not stopping once even to apologize to passersby who got wet because of them. They only stopped to wait for the light to turn green from red before crossing, and he and Sehun chuckled at their random act of silliness as they regained their breath.
It felt like youth once again, abandoning logic and just doing. It felt like freedom from the burdens and responsibilities of adulthood, sprinting down streets and sidewalks without a care. It felt like Jongin could conquer anything, soar high up the clouds and beyond, as long as Sehun was by his side.
“See, now, wasn’t that run an incredibly good idea?” An edge of smugness could be hinted from Sehun’s voice, catching the towel Jongin tossed at him and using it to dry his hair on their arrival. “Didn’t even break a sweat, but it was a refreshing run. Literally, I guess.”
“I bet that was just a short distance to you. No big deal for an athlete,” Jongin said, knowing Sehun’s habit of going out for runs at the crack of dawn six times a week.
“You’re not too bad for a dancer. Your gym trips are doing good. Dancing does you good, too, if you’re not heaving.”
“I haven’t gone to the gym in a while, now. But the dancing helps keep me fit, true.” Jongin dried his hair the best he could, hummed once he was satisfied with its dampness. He was about to ask if Sehun wanted to shower first, but for the second time that day, his words abandoned him upon witnessing Sehun peeling off his wet shirt.
Nothing unusual—it was expected to get rid of your clothes when you’ve been caught under the rain—except the gesture seemed to play out like a slow-motioned film. Nimble fingers clutching onto the hem of the shirt. The gradual reveal of porcelain skin and muscles sculpted from years of athleticism. Distantly, and as if to mock him, Jongin heard the chorus of angels singing. He should be cold from being drenched in the rain, but his face felt magically, undeniably hot.
Sehun pushed back the wet hair from his forehead. Stray drops of water glided down his neck and pooled at the dip of his collarbones. One heinous water drop slid a wet path between his pectorals, over the belly button, and stopped right on top of the band of his boxers peeking beneath his jeans. Jongin wasn’t aware he was ogling and his throat had been drying up until a wrong inhale and started coughing.
When he recovered, there was no escaping the stare Sehun pinned him in place with, unfathomable expression decorating his features. A long stretch of torturous silence followed that he broke just the same with a cheeky, knowing smile.
“If you stare at me like that, we’re going to be in trouble.”
Dangerous territory. Jongin was more than aware they were playing with fire, treading down an inevitable path of no return once it was set to motion. Sehun had started this, giving him a chance to put out the fire before it grew unmanageable, or fuel it further with whatever he decided.
Fingers reaching out to loop around the hoops of Sehun’s jeans, yanking him forward so that they stood close together. Jongin reveled in the shock Sehun displayed, his lips twitching into a smirk at the small victory. The uncomfortable stickiness of his wet clothes was easy to forget when Sehun’s hooded eyes and an emotion he could only label as desire swirled in them.
“It’s only trouble if we’re not honest of what we want and don’t want. I want you. I’m allowed to say that, right?” Sehun nodded, and Jongin felt one of his hesitations quelled. “I want you, but if this is something too much or too soon, tell me now.”
“I’ve had those dreams in the past with you in them. If you had known what those dreams contained all the way back in high school, when we were trying to figure things out, it would have surely scared you off.” Sehun threaded fingers through Jongin’s damp hair. Jongin almost purred at the ministrations. “Those dreams came back recently. For once, I want to stop dreaming and start doing.” His knuckles brushed lightly against Jongin’s cheek. “So, I’m more than ready. I’ve been more than ready for a long time.”
Jongin’s heart was so full it felt like bursting, and brimmed anew with adoration as he leaned in, Sehun meeting him partway. The kiss was too ephemeral in its sweetness; too breathtaking for it to be real. This kiss banished the last of their trepidations, lips parting and meeting all over again in a way their breaths mingled and fed an unstoppable craving for more.
Shedding clothes in front of your best friend was no big deal in the past since it came with comfort, and there were no other feelings influencing the move. Shedding clothes in front of your best friend who became your boyfriend came attached with newfound excitement with the way Jongin’s pulse sped up as he watched Sehun take off one article after another, wet clothes piling up fast on the foyer floor.
Beneath all the clothes was a body even gods would envy, if not crafted from their hands and gifted to select, blessed humans. The broad slope of his shoulders, the tapered waist, miles and miles of smooth skin Jongin wanted to touch; imagined the bloom of red and purple where he’d leave marks.
Sehun kissed him again, fingers dancing along the hem of his shirt, seeking silent permission that Jongin granted by raising his arms to easier facilitate the process. Jongin shivered from the cold air of the apartment caressing his exposed skin after his shirt had been discarded. Shivered again from the intensity of Sehun’s gaze, his eyes darkening with tangible, conspicuous desire as Jongin guided his hands to unbutton and unzip his jeans. The denim stuck uncomfortably to his legs like second skin, and Jongin could only sigh in relief once Sehun helped him out of them.
“You’re staring,” Jongin pointed out, mildly amused.
Sehun rose back to his feet. “Hard not to. Have you seen yourself?” His eyes roamed all over Jongin’s body, drinking in the sight of him. It elicited a strange sense of pride in Jongin that he could evoke admiration and lust all at once from the one person he’d always wanted; hoped this effect he had on Sehun would last a long, long time.
Words ceased to be a part of their intimate moment as they migrated to the bedroom, Jongin wasting no time in pushing a surprised Sehun on the mattress and hovering over him. Mouths gravitated together in a hot kiss tasting of urgency unlike any other experienced in the past. Jongin took his time tasting every inch of Sehun’s mouth; corner to corner, the arch of his top lip to the plush center of the bottom. Sehun changed the slant of his mouth, and on the first swipe of tongue, a sweet shock of bliss shot up Jongin’s spine. He never knew it was this easy to lose himself in a kiss, and by the time they parted, Jongin was breathless with Sehun’s exquisite taste lingering on his damp mouth.
Sehun’s flushed visage scraped a frisson of desire along Jongin’s spine. All those years of fierce jealousy eating him alive learning of Sehun’s intimate encounters with others; all those years of indelicate thoughts lurking at the back of his mind wondering what it would take for Sehun to gasp and moan. Now, he didn’t have to wonder anymore; be jealous of others. Now, he could take his time and learn the workings of Sehun’s body as much as he pleased, as much as Sehun would allow.
Jongin was thrilled by Sehun’s receptiveness to his touch, curious, quivering hands mapping every part of him and committing to memory the lean, strong lines of his body and sturdy chest. Taut, sculpted muscles; rigid abdominals. Long legs, the round, firm ass; the impressive erection he enclosed a hand around and gave a teasing stroke.
Sehun bucked up into his touch, followed by a strangled cry of his name. Jongin wanted to hear more of this sound. Wanted to pull out other sounds. It scared him, how much he wanted when Sehun was involved. There seemed to be no limit to his desires, not until he’d discovered every single secret of Sehun’s body.
“Please,” came Sehun’s choked request as Jongin continued stroking him. Sehun didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands or where to put them. He gripped the sheets, the pillows. Fingers grabbed Jongin’s hair the second he placed a wet kiss on the head of Sehun’s cock; yanked at the strands on the first swirl of tongue around it.
Jongin dragged his tongue up and down and pressed soft kisses along the length to draw out the moment. He sank down on Sehun with deliberate slowness, head rising and falling leisurely once he became comfortable with the size. He laid an arm over Sehun’s hips to still his thrusting so he could pleasure him better; buy time to figure out how to relax and take him in deeper. Above him, Sehun writhed and tugged at his hair; urgent calls of his name, rising in pitch. Jongin’s scalp stung but remained undaunted, only pulling away to finish off Sehun with firm, rapid strokes.
Sehun’s body twisted frantically until he came with a combination of a grunt and a wail. Come wetted Jongin’s fingers, the rest pooling on Sehun’s abdomen. He wiped his hand on the corner of the bed sheet; crawled back up and swept down for a long, languid kiss.
“That was… wow.” Sehun sounded gratifyingly breathless. Satisfied. He swiped a thumb on the wet corner of Jongin’s mouth; pushed it past his parted lips. The come tasted tart, one Jongin couldn’t decide right now if he liked or not. “I don’t know where and how you learned to do that, but that was incredible.”
Jongin warmed with pride at the praise. “If you liked it, I can do it more often for you.” He chuckled at the instant brightening of Sehun’s face.
“I want to learn what pleases you, too.” Hesitation colored Sehun’s next words. “But… I don’t know where to start. There’s so much I want to do, I don’t think one day will be enough.”
“We’ll take our time. There’s no need to rush. I can show you what I like. That’s if you’re feeling up to it.” Jongin conceded a different level of intimacy could take longer to develop between them since they were still adapting. What he wanted came secondary if Sehun’s entire mind and heart wasn’t as invested; was just going along because he thought it would please him at his expense. He wanted them both to be on the same wavelength; be upfront of their limits, what they were willing to give and how much.
“I want to.” Sehun sounded resolute in his answer, a similar glint in his eyes. “I’ve dreamed of this for so long, it would be foolish of me to stop. But thank you for always checking on me. Not a lot of people would consider doing that. You don’t need to frequently second guess yourself, either. If something gets too much, or I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.”
Jongin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips. “Giving me free reign just like that… it’s dangerous.”
“I trust you.”
Although too much power in his hands wasn’t good, Sehun’s unwavering belief in him was empowering.
This wasn’t the first time Jongin had sex. It felt like it, though, in the way his belly tingled with anticipation as he laid on his back, heightened by the lightest caress. Sehun’s touch was clumsy, almost unsure in his explorations, but grew bolder after hearing Jongin assurances and praises; surer. Sehun’s kisses scorched Jongin’s skin as it followed the trail of his hands, wandering low, and lower still, pushing his thighs open.
Sehun’s mouth around him tore an unexpectedly loud moan from his throat. Jongin squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, prickling in petulance upon hearing Sehun’s faint chuckle. Decadent sensations soon replaced these emotions and swept away every coherent thought, ceasing only when Sehun asked for the lube, which Jongin quickly provided by withdrawing the bottle from the bedside drawer.
Jongin squeezed his eyes shut at the first careful press of a slick finger inside him; covered his face with his arms as Sehun worked him open with meticulous care, almost maddening. Desperate want cascaded through his body, rapidly spiraling out of control at the inclusion of a second finger; a third. Blindly, he grabbed Sehun’s shoulders and pulled him up, eloquence abandoned in his struggle to communicate what he wanted. Needed. Sehun seemed to understand and responded with a kiss, swallowing his gasps, his noises.
“Is this okay?” Sehun sounded winded as he felt, his forehead resting against Jongin’s. His fingers never ceased in their purpose, stroking gentle arcs.
Jongin nodded, hips moving against the probing fingers. Sehun intensified his efforts in seeking what could make him lose control. Succeeded in two tries, the insistent touch on a certain place inflaming Jongin’s unfulfilled passion. Jongin’s cock, once limp and resting on his belly, had now swelled again, precome dripping steadily. Mind spinning in dizzying fragments, Jongin squeezed Sehun’s shoulders, letting his demand be known in a single, strained whisper.
“Hurry.”
Soft lips descended on Jongin’s, Sehun’s hardness pressing against his thigh. The slide in was unrushed, and Jongin’s eyes fluttered close as his body adjusted to the intrusion. Each thrust was timed and deliciously slow that Jongin felt every searing centimeter, sending shimmering sparks of fire through his already electrified body. Sehun devoured his mouth with a hunger that matched his own as they found their rhythm.
Jongin hiked his legs around Sehun’s hips and gripped his biceps. Frantic for relief from the raging pressure within, he flashed Sehun a coy smile. “I know this isn’t all you can give.” An urging; a challenge.
Sehun stilled, eyebrows arching. Jongin breathed in and out deeply to calm himself. “Depends. Can you take it?” A challenge of his own.
“You’re holding back. I can feel it.” Jongin cupped his cheek. Sehun nuzzled into his palm. “Show me what you’ve dreamed of. Let’s make all of them real, one by one.”
An intense fluttering settled in Jongin’s belly as soon as Sehun resumed moving. Every time Sehun pulled out, it was torture; the push in, heaven redefined. Sehun abandoned his once artful steadiness in favor of gaining momentum: a change Jongin welcomed, encouraged with sweet words and sweeter praise. Over and over Jongin’s body welcomed Sehun back, each plunge mightier, sweeter than the last.
Staccato breaths, the obscene sound of flesh coming together again and again. Jongin clung to Sehun, urged him on with soft cries of his name; tipped his head in a soundless gasp from the hard, relentless pressure triggered by the altered angle. Sehun answered with a groan and a tight grip, pushing harder and harder, form trembling with his own desire.
The world spun out of control as Jongin’s spine arched, breath locking in his chest, body greedily lapping up every drop of sensation until he was driven to an untamed finish, abdomen wet with his release. Sehun wasn’t done, not close, pace stuttering from the sudden tightness and panting with feverish need. Jongin clenched around him repeatedly to help chase after his own fulfillment; succeeded once Sehun tensed above him, shout turning into an elongated moan that sounded like his name.
They lay entwined, bodies damp and breathing unsteady, the heat between them rippling through Jongin in the aftermath. Outside, the rain hadn’t ceased, its soft patter against the rooftops weaving into the silence. His eyes drifted shut, and when he opened them again, Sehun was carefully cleaning him up using a warm washcloth before slipping beneath the sheets for a cuddle. Like reflex, Jongin’s fingers carded through his hair, and Sehun sighed in contentment once he started massaging his scalp.
“Was… was that okay?” Sehun’s question was mumbled against the crook of his neck. One hand stroked at Jongin’s hip, a nervous anticipation hidden in the gesture.
“More than okay. You were wonderful.” And Jongin meant this, with his entire being and his entire heart. He enclosed Sehun in an embrace full of warmth and reassurance; kissed him and his doubts away to further prove his point.
Sehun kissed him with equal vigor, and when he pulled back, he was smiling. Jongin’s heart stuttered at the sight, the reality finally sinking in that this smile was his, now. That this man wasn’t just his best friend anymore, but someone he could share more with every step of the way from now on. Someone he could bare himself to without walls in their most intimate moments that would grow in number far down the road. Someone he could see himself building a future with.
Once, in a past that seemed like an entirely different life, Jongin often wondered why it never worked out with anybody else. If he was doomed to the kind of life where he only knew how to pine after the one person his heart longed for; the one person who never considered him as anything but a best friend.
But now, as their lips drifted close and apart in an endless cycle of kisses, waiting for either exhaustion to drag them under or passion to reawaken, ensconced in their shared warmth as the rain gently fell outside, Jongin could never see himself with anybody else like this.
Smiled at the notion of happier days ahead, warmer than any summer day, brighter than the sun.
☆彡
“London, Paris, or a contract renewal. Those are my options.”
“Have you decided?”
“I met with the artistic director the other day. They were blatant about their interest in keeping me. I’ve studied my overseas options. Honestly, the London company calls out to me the most.”
“Then you should accept their offer.”
Jongin pushed his glasses up his nose. “You know what that means, right?” His voice was soft, as if raising the volume would shatter the peace of this impending deadlock.
“You’re finally keeping your promise of paying for my airfare so I can visit you.”
Jongin burst out laughing at the inside joke he thought he’d forgotten. Sehun’s grin was cheeky, eyes crinkling and twinkling with mischief. Saturday night found them walking with clasped hands by the Han riverside after coming from a romantic dinner Sehun booked months in advance without Jongin’s knowledge. Spring had settled quite nicely in Seoul in the past few weeks, night breezes cooler now compared to its past chill.
“But, seriously? If you want to work in London this time, I’ll encourage you to go. There are so many stages out there you’ve yet to conquer. So many people to share your love of dance with. You have to show the world your talent. It’d be a shame to stay confined here if other companies can help you shine brighter.”
Jongin’s chest welled with so much love for this man with the most generous heart. He pressed closer into Sehun’s side until the space between them was nonexistent. “God, I want to kiss you.”
“Walk your talk, Kim Jongin.”
All traces of teasing vanished from Sehun’s face after a swift brush of Jongin’s lips against his. Although his shyness in displaying outward affection still had a tiny hold on his actions, Jongin liked to think he’d improved on pretending no one was around them every time the urge came up.
“Thank you for always supporting me,” Jongin said, continuing their conversation. “I feel like I’m not doing enough for you in return, though, and that’s—”
Sehun shushed him with a finger pressed to his lips. “I don’t want to hear any of that. You do a lot for me, even if you think they’re small things. Sacrificing your extra hour of sleep in the mornings to have breakfast dates with me? Recording my games, compiling articles from magazines and broadsheets? Learning massage on the side so you can help ease my aching back and shoulders? That already means a lot for me.” The most wondrous of smiles decorated his features. “But I won’t lie, I do want to compete with the knowledge you’ll be watching from the stadium side.”
“I want that, too,” Jongin said, and it wasn’t a lie. Though for all his wanting to watch Sehun’s games live, work simply made it impossible.
But Sehun understood. Sehun always understood. Even now, Sehun was understanding, and in this moment he knew he would never find another man like him in this world. Which doubled, tripled Jongin’s determination to do things for him.
A thought crossed Jongin’s mind, followed by an idea. “Summer Olympics in 2024 will be held at Paris, right?” At Sehun’s nod, Jongin’s ideas propelled themselves forward. “How does a Parisian summer after the Olympics sound like?”
“Expensive. I have to work triple hard, then.” Sehun laughed, such a delightful sound Jongin could listen to for as long as he lived. The talk of traveling seemed to enliven Sehun, for he started listing the things he wanted to do in Paris. “But let’s not just stay in Paris. Let’s go to other places. Nice, Arles—I want to go to those. I want to see what those places offer.”
Jongin listened to Sehun, losing himself in his voice, in his presence. At the back of his mind, the future direction of his career still lurked, but it wasn’t as hard to make his choice compared to previous.
Come Monday morning, seated on the guest chair in the artistic director’s office, Jongin sat with his back straight and head held high.
“So, Jongin-ssi.” The artistic director leaned forward on the desk, an amicable smile etched on her face. “We’ve offered our contract, amended the stipulations. I assume your presence here heralds good news. What shall it be?”
Jongin wore his own smile—just a mild tilt of his lips, the one he used during contract negotiations—and answered the question.
fin.