Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Yeonjun wants to be an astronaut.

Their friends laugh at him when he tells the class. Soobin feels the tear-stained mark on his shirt as Yeonjun leans on his shoulder on the way home.

They wait for the bus together. Because that’s what they do. They do things together and wait for things with each other. Filling in spaces that were never meant for them. At the bus stop, it’s just them. Yeonjun’s hair on his like a constellation.

“Sorry,” Yeonjun mumbles, pressing his eyes on Soobin’s shoulder hard enough to hurt.

“Your poor eyeballs,” Soobin holds him still, a hand on his arm. He feels unusually cold. “Don’t wipe them off like that.”

Yeonjun pouts, but retreats back. He’s squinting at Soobin. The edges of his eyes are red and bruised.

“What are you sorry for?” Soobin asks softly, even though he knows why he feels bad. Still remembers the look on his face when no one took him seriously. The falling smile on his lips as it sunk in.

“They think I’m stupid.”

Soobin snorts. “That’s because they’re stupid.”

“You don’t think I’m stupid?”

Soobin stares at the tears that linger on Yeonjun’s cheeks. Reaches out to touch them, one by one, until the wetness linger on his fingertips instead.

“No,” Soobin says.

“It is a little stupid.”

Soobin shakes his head. “But you’ve always wanted to be an astronaut.”

Yeonjun leans on him again. “It wasn’t stupid when I was four, probably.”

“Then you’re consistent,” Soobin says, feeling each of Yeonjun’s breaths. “That’s fine.”

Yeonjun rests his head on Soobin’s shoulder. Soobin stares at him quietly, the mess of black hair and the white of his school uniform. The soft sniffles stuck in his chest.

“I’ll watch over you,” Yeonjun says, low enough that Soobin almost didn’t hear it. “From space, I’ll watch over you.”

Soobin laughs as he imagines Yeonjun with an astronaut suit on. Looking at earth to find the smallest dot of Soobin - but maybe Yeonjun would find him still.

“I’ll watch over you too,” Soobin says.

“Would you?”

Soobin nods. That’s an easy question. Yeonjun is his best friend in the entire world. “Of course,” he says, and looks at the space between them - barely there, nonexistent. Soobin always wants them to be this close. If Yeonjun ever decided to really go become an astronaut and leave him on earth, Soobin would miss him more than anyone else.

“Promise?”

Yeonjun turns his head to look at him with pleading eyes, but Soobin already has the answer. “Yeah, I promise,” he whispers. “I’ll find you.”

Yeonjun hugs him. Soobin waits for the bus.

They’re twelve now, and that’s when it starts.

*

“Will you be there when I get married?”

It’s a crisp, hot afternoon and Soobin wipes the sweat off his forehead. He squints at the sun. Always too bright, distracting, never enough.

He imagines it in his head: Yeonjun in a suit with pretty flowers in his pretty hair, and nods eagerly. He doesn’t have to think about it. “Yeah.”

Yeonjun links his arm with his. Something he does a lot, especially when they’re walking home to the bus stop. Just the two of them; as always, and Soobin lets him drag him along however he wants.

“Really?” Yeonjun chirps, a happy voice. It makes Soobin turn his head, and Yeonjun smiles right at him like a punch in the gut. He’s infectious, glorious. Entirely too blinding in a place like this.

“Of course,” Soobin nods again. “I’ll be your best man.”

Yeonjun holds his hand tighter, a wordless dread. Soobin’s still looking at him, just because.

“Do you like anyone?” Yeonjun asks suddenly, then the air shifts.

Soobin has never thought about that. “I don’t know,” he says, mulling it over. “I don’t think so.”

There’s a finger on Soobin’s wrist, a beat of silence before: “I can’t wait to like someone,” and Yeonjun hums. He tugs Soobin along with him, an invisible string. “It seems like a lot of fun.”

Soobin scrunches his nose and counts the pebbles underneath his shoes. “It doesn’t seem like fun.”

“How do you know? You’ve never liked anyone.”

“I like you,” Soobin says easily. He likes Yeonjun’s fluffy hair and his unfunny jokes, the way his eyes shut when he laughs. It’s an easy to thing say, light in his mouth.

But that’s only because Yeonjun’s his best friend.

Yeonjun giggles; a soft thing that settles warm. Even warmer than the sun, he thinks. “I like you too, Binnie,” Yeonjun says it back, just as light.

“You’re going to fall,” Soobin warns as Yeonjun tugs at him again and now they’re running on the sidewalk. He doesn’t listen to him. Slowly, there’s a hand on his. Sweaty palm against his own.

“At least you’re falling with me,” Yeonjun laughs and starts running again.

Soobin lets him take him away, and thinks he already trips but doesn’t notice.

*

“He’s, like, the moon.”

Soobin turns his head to look at Yeonjun.

The evening light on his cheekbones, wet hair on his eyelashes. Yeonjun’s smiling fondly at the sky - somewhere far and celestial he always wishes to see.

“Who?”

“Kai.”

The new school year is starting in a few weeks. The beach is beautiful.

It’s an annual trip for them - they go here every New Year’s Eve. It started a long time ago when Yeonjun’s family prepared a trip here for the holiday, but he didn’t want to let go of Soobin’s hand. He threw a tantrum and made a ruckus when everyone was already in the car, but Yeonjun refused to go without Soobin. He ended up joining them.

Then the trips become exclusive for the two of them. At first, their families come with them, a joint trip. Then they got their licenses, and Yeonjun drives them here with the music blaring loud.

It’s not New Year, but it’s a special occasion. They’re on their last year of high school.

Soobin sees the horizon far ahead. The waves on sand. Hushed ripples of water that seems muted, because Yeonjun’s beside him.

He looks at Yeonjun, even when he’s not looking back at him. He has his hand folded underneath his head.

“Kai?” Soobin knows the name. Seems like the whole school knows that name. The question is more to himself than anything else - a curiosity and an eager confirmation. “You mean Huening Kai? The popular kid from the other class?”

He’s popular, like Yeonjun, and Yeonjun’s talked to him before but they’re not close close. They’re - Soobin thinks they’re friends. Nothing more. The lingering yet scares him more than anything else.

“Yeah, that Kai. Who else, Binnie.”

“Just making sure.”

Making sure. Yeah. Soobin gulps it down, like he always has. Stares at the line of Yeonjun’s nose, even when the beach is loud and stunning, and there’s so much else to see.

“He’s the moon,” Yeonjun repeats, as if Soobin didn’t hear it clear the first time. Soobin knows it’s nonsense - that whatever he’s talking about right now is just him being sappy and blinded. They’re seventen, they’re supposed to sound stupid and first loves are never meant to last anyway, “He’s, so, bright,” he goes on dreamily, and Soobin wonders if that’s how he talks about Yeonjun too. Blissfully ignorant and yet still bare.

Soobin knows what he means. Kai smiles at everyone, even to him. He laughs like everything brings him joy, and a trail of magic fairy dust seems to follow him around. It helps that he’s smart and talented, too. He sings and plays the guitar, scores perfect grades, and an overall good student.

Soobin knows what he means. He hates that he understands.

“Then you’re the sun,” Soobin says, lighter than the sand. A breeze to the air, an unknowing confession out of his mouth.

Yeonjun laughs. The sun sinks lower, and Yeonjun follows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Soobin shrugs, an uneasy feeling in his chest. “You said he’s bright. I think you’re brighter.”

Yeonjun looks back at him. A tender smile in his lips; overwhelmingly familiar. He’d know that smile in a dark room. He’d know it anywhere.

“You’re cheesy sometimes, you know that?”

“I’m just saying,” Soobin says in defense, even when there’s nothing to defend.

“Binnie,” he calls, and Soobin’s always there to answer.

“Yeah,” his answer, and he dreads it. The silence crawls on him, and then it grips.

“I like him a lot,” Yeonjun says, inevitable.

He saw it coming. It shouldn’t feel heavy.

Soobin gets up and reaches out for the sand. Holds it on his fingertips, feels it melt on his skin. This is what Yeonjun’s been waiting for, right? Soobin should be happy for him. And he is. He is. He is happy for him, but nothing has ever ached like this.

“I know,” he says. “I can tell.”

“Don’t you like someone too?”

“Not really,” Soobin shakes his head, but it doesn’t feel right.

“Beomgyu’s cute,” Yeonjun considers it. “Kai’s best friend. They’re always together.”

Soobin’s never seen Kai without Beomgyu. Beomgyu - Choi Beomgyu. Yeah, he knows him. He’s shorter than Kai and has a baby face. Pink lips with doe eyes.

“Sure,” Soobin says, uninterested.

“We could double date,” Yeonjun suggests enthusiastically, eyes gleaming. He gets up from his lying position and tugs Soobin’s arm. “That would be so cute.”

Soobin smiles at him. He doesn’t know why it makes him nauseous instead, imagining it.

“You know, if Kai and I,” Yeonjun says, hesitating a little, like he’s doubting it. “Ever got together.”

Soobin thinks Yeonjun could be with anyone he wants. Yeonjun is pretty. He’s pretty and he’s handsome too. He looks like everyone’s type. He shouldn’t worry about Kai.

“Don’t worry about it, Junie,” he mutters sincerely. “You have no competition.”

“What are you talking about? I’m competing with the whole school.”

“They’ve got nothing on you.”

Yeonjun laughs again. He puts his head on Soobin’s shoulder. “I’m so lucky you’re my best friend.”

Soobin stares at Yeonjun’s hair and feels those words cold on his skin. The beach is beautiful, but it doesn’t quite have the view.

It shouldn’t feel heavy.

*

Yeonjun wants to be an astronaut, so his room is always pitch black.

Soobin trips on something on the floor. Yeonjun’s been doing this since he was a toddler (he said this is some sort of training for him, an idea he conjured when he was too young and didn’t really understand much about space, but the habit stuck and here he is), and Soobin still can’t figure out where everything is even though it’s been years - because Yeonjun is messy, and there’s always something on the floor as an obstacle. Through his struggle, Yeonjun’s laugh echoes and Soobin makes grabby hands at the air as he makes his way. When his knees finally bump the side of the bed, Soobin falls on it with a huff.

“At least keep a lamp on or something,” Soobin suggests hushedly, and winces when Yeonjun elbows his ribs. “Do you want me to die because I accidentally trip on your dirty clothes?”

“You’re so dramatic,” Yeonjun snorts as he snuggles in - cheek on his arm, feet tangled warmly with his. His bed is too small, obviously not for two. But they never let that bother them, now intertwined together like a promise. This is how they’ve always been - Soobin can’t even remember when they first met. He was too young to remember. But Yeonjun has always been stuck to his side, a persistent force like gravity.

“Is my pain funny to you,” Soobin says dryly, but knocks his head on Yeonjun’s, shutting his eyes as the darkness closes in. It’s always like this in Yeonjun’s room - no such difference in opening or closing his eyes, because he’s greeted with the same thing anyway.

In Yeonjun’s room, Soobin only feels him. He doesn’t see him, but his skin meets his, and Soobin settles.

“Binnie.”

“Junie.”

“Did you see Kai today?”

Soobin moves uneasily, suddenly hyper aware of Yeonjun’s warmth. A pit grows on his stomach. Just a little spark, a little burn, and he gulps it down.

“Yeah,” Soobin answers, quiet enough that maybe Yeonjun wouldn’t hear it. “I passed him during lunch.”

“What did he do?”

“He was eating.”

Yeonjun scoffs at him. “Yeah, except that.”

Soobin sees him in his head. Kai with his perfect hair and perfect smile and perfect laugh.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” he lies. He did nothing but stare, still eager to see what he’s about. The perfect Huening Kai - loved by everyone and by Yeonjun too, apparently.

“Do you think he likes me back?”

“Who wouldn’t like you?”

Yeonjun laughs, the sound bright in the darkness. “I hope he likes me,” he says.

Soobin doesn’t understand why Yeonjun would doubt that. Everyone already likes him - Kai probably would too. Or maybe Soobin spends too much time with Yeonjun and can’t simply see it going the other way.

“You just need to talk to him,” Soobin says, feels Yeonjun moving again and his knee bumps his.

“Then who would talk to you?”

Soobin elbows him back. “I can manage by myself, thank you very much.”

“I know,” Yeonjun says seriously, even though Soobin didn’t mean it like that. He stills for a moment, like he’s thinking it over. “It’s just a crush. I’ll get over it anyway.”

Soobin nods and sinks further into Yeonjun’s body. “Okay.”

Yeonjun smells like Soobin’s favorite soap. It lingers in the air and on his skin.

“Thank you for coming here,” Yeonjun says.

Yeonjun is only three houses away.

That’s how Soobin learned how to count. Mom used to say, that’s one, that’s two, that’s three, and that’s Yeonjun. Soobin counted his steps until he knew how to count to the hundreds, and Yeonjun held his hand when he reached his first.

“You’re lucky we’re neighbours.”

Yeonjun never liked sleeping alone. He likes latching himself to him until they feel like one heat under the blanket. Soobin remembers their planned sleepovers when they were younger. The forts they used to build. Yeonjun playing pretend as an astronaut and they looked over the makeshift spaceship to the whole expanse of the galaxy together. Soobin was always his right hand man. The one who follows him around as he seeks for adventure.

As they get older, the sleepovers are spontaneous more than anything. Yeonjun calls him up at midnight - a pouty lips, soft voice, and Soobin would always come running.

“Can’t sleep again?” Soobin asks softly, sighs when Yeonjun hums. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I’m just worried a lot these days,” Yeonjun admits, his voice small.

“About?”

“A lot.”

Soobin nods. Opens his eyes even when he can’t see anything, just for the sake of it. “I know what you mean,” he says, and he does. They’re graduating next year. It’s a scary thing - like they’re finally going to the real world, and everything else has just been a training ground. Exactly like this Yeonjun’s dark room. A preparation for something so much bigger.

“Thank you,” Yeonjun repeats, softer.

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Just - thank you.”

Soobin feels Yeonjun’s soft breaths on his shoulder. It’s light and lulling, and Soobin knows what he means.

*

Yeonjun kisses him on his eighteenth birthday party, and Soobin thinks that’s when the night ends.

It’s a big party. The music is loud and obnoxious - something fun and pop and in English. Soobin watches the scene quietly, like he usually does, impassive and observant through muted chatter and foreign laughs. He’s drinking a little beer because everyone else is, but he’s sipping absentmindedly and lets his mind rests into a soothing haze. Not too much, but enough.

Yeonjun’s greeting everyone, but he makes sure to glance back at Soobin every now and then, a brief lock of eyes that makes Soobin shiver. He’s at the couch, his ribs meeting the end of it, shoulders uncomfortable resting on the back. He’s not really good at social settings, Yeonjun is, but as always he complies on every Yeonjun’s wish because he can’t ever say no to him.

If this was any other person, Soobin wouldn’t come. He wouldn’t come because this many people stresses him out and the music pounds hard in his eardrums like alarm. In his head, he’s counting down - the slow drag of the pointy clock finger until it finally strikes twelve, and it’s officially a full day since Yeonjun’s an eighteen year old boy.

He thinks about Yeonjun, here, in the couch, as he stares at the lights on everyone’s skin. He thinks about Yeonjun and a bus stop, and there’s an ache where it shouldn’t be.

Yeonjun’s eighteen, Soobin’s still seventeen for a few months left, and it feels like a turning point.

The beer’s empty in his glass. He doesn’t like the smell.

Yeonjun towers over him. A blurry figure in front of him, dark messy bangs on Yeonjun’s forehead. He looks cute. He’s dressed because it’s his birthday, and Soobin helps him with the make up before everyone comes.

Yeonjun always looks cute, but right now he looks unbearably perfect.

He’s wearing black jeans and a simple white shirt with a leather jacket that makes him look rough. But Yeonjun’s not rough - he’s soft and pretty, and Soobin would know, because he’s his best friend.

From here, the lights play on Yeonjun’s shadow like hide and seek, but Soobin easily finds his smile, and as blinding as it is, Soobin warms.

“Binnie, get up,” Yeonjun tugs his arm hurriedly. “I need your help.”

Soobin stands up and squints. The world spins for a moment, before it finally tilts back and he stares. “What? Why? Something’s wrong?”

“Yes,” Yeonjun says, but then he shakes his head. “Wait, no - everything’s fine, but Kai’s here. Help me talk to him, come on.”

Soobin rolls his eyes. Why would Yeonjun ever need him to talk to a boy. It doesn’t make sense. Yeonjun’s effortlessly beautiful and charming, why would he need his help?

“Junie,” Soobin pats his arm, harsher than intended. “Talk to him yourself. Don’t be a wimp.”

“I’m not a wimp,” Yeonjun says offendedly, and links his arm with Soobin’s, and suddenly they’re walking to the living room. “But I need you.”

“No you don’t,” Soobin says, but follows him anyway.

Kai is here, as Yeonjun previously said. He looks bright, even under the dim lights, and Soobin seethes. He’s with Beomgyu, matching smiles on their lips.

“Hi, welcome!” Yeonjun greets them both and lets go of Soobin. He’s smiling, like the sun, and maybe Soobin’s been burned before, but he didn’t know. “I’m so glad you could come.”

Kai laughs politely, ducking his head, and in his hand there’s a box wrapped in pretty bow. “Of course. Happy birthday, Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun beams at the box and embraces it softly. “Oh my god, you shouldn’t have. Thank you.”

Kai shakes his head dismissively, “No problem,” he says, and when he turns to look at Soobin, his eyes widen for a second, as though he was just made aware of his existence. “Oh, hi to you too, Soobin!”

Soobin acknowledges him and nods. Kai fumbles a little, but flashes him a tight smile anyway.

“Happy birthday, Yeonjun,” Beomgyu says, shoving his own present to Yeonjun’s arm. He shyly waves his hand in Soobin’s direction as their eyes meet. “Hi, Soobin.” He only nods it back.

They all know each other, but they’re not friends. Soobin doesn’t know how to break the ice, but luckily Yeonjun does. He starts talking animatedly, and Soobin quietly listens.

After that awkward encounter and they disappear into the crowd, Soobin sighs and slaps Yeonjun’s shoulder. “What was that?”

“Ow,” he winces and slaps him back. “I thought that was smooth.”

“No, it wasn’t?” Soobin retorts, bitter and petty for reasons he can’t comprehend.

“Shut up, you’re just jealous I got to talk to someone I like,” Yeonjun shoots him daggers with his eyes. “By the way, did you see how Beomgyu looked at you?”

Soobin falters. “What.”

“He was blushing,” Yeonjun says, and drags him to the balcony. The sound is less echoey here, a lot less heavy, and Soobin feels the wind on his face. “I think he has a crush on you.”

Soobin brushes it off and eyes Kai’s present still on Yeonjun’s hold. “What do you think’s inside?”

Yeonjun looks at it in fascination, as if it wasn’t just a simple box. “I don’t know.”

Soobin takes it from him and puts it on a nearby table almost in annoyance, but he doesn’t think about it. He wordlessly grabs another plastic cups and hands one to Yeonjun. “Cheers?”

Yeonjun laughs, and his eyes are half closed when he looks at him. They look like crescents, and Soobin thinks he belongs in space, like he always wants to be.

“Cheers,” Yeonjun gulps it all down.

They drink. They drink, and drink, and drink, until the songs change ten times and Soobin feels lightheaded. It’s hazy, but Yeonjun’s with him, and Soobin sees crystal clear.

It’s probably the beer or the heady rush of the party, but Soobin bravely takes his hand. “Junie, dance with me?”

Yeonjun looks surprised - his mouth agape, eyebrows shooting up questioningly, because Soobin doesn’t do this often. He doesn’t like attention and keeps quiet, but Yeonjun looks perfect - here, under the soft moonlight glow that Soobin can’t help it anymore.

The music is still loud, and in the balcony it’s only the two of them. Yeonjun smiles, and moves closer to him.

Like this, Yeonjun smells strongly of beer. He’s already gone, he can tell - his eyes dilating and open wide. Soobin doesn’t mind. This is a sober feeling.

Yeonjun holds on to his shoulders and dances like he has no control. Just flailing limbs rocking on his body, a raspy voice singing along to the singer’s upbeat note. Soobin laughs as he feels Yeonjun’s warmth seeping in.

Yeonjun throws his head back in ignorance - tight eyes, blissful, and his nails sharp on Soobin’s bones.

“Hey, it’s your birthday,” Soobin whispers quietly, just to the two of them, and stares at Yeonjun’s smeared lipstick on the edge of his mouth.

Yeonjun opens his eyes, a tiny peek, a glazed look only for him. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you still here?”

He stops. So sudden, Soobin would fall if Yeonjun didn’t have his grip on his shoulders.

“Everyone’s here for you,” Soobin says, takes a short gaze inside where everyone’s dancing. They’re all here, for Yeonjun, and yet he’s here, dancing with Soobin in a balcony no one sees. “Why are you still dancing with me? You’re missing out on the party,” he says, feeling guilty all of a sudden. “You can go if you want.”

You can dance with Kai if you want.

Yeonjun laughs, a sharp noise against the night. He wraps himself closer to Soobin, elbows on his shoulders, hands dragging on Soobin’s scalp, dainty fingers pulling softly on his hair.

“Oh, Binnie,” he slurs, so close. “I’m not missing out on anything.”

“Okay,” Soobin says, even when his heart skips a beat.

Yeonjun’s face is flushed. But he doesn’t let go and step away. He lets the new closeness lingers - the sharp jut of his ribs on his, and Soobin holds his breath.

Soobin doesn’t know where to put his hands. Slowly, he puts them on Yeonjun’s waist, and it feels like another sip of cold beer on his tongue.

The music’s loud. It’s loud, and it stings, and Soobin’s head is swimming everywhere. Yeonjun’s not dancing anymore - his head resting comfortably on Soobin’s chest, hands floating loosely on the back of his neck.

The song changes again, a start of a playful and happy beat, and Yeonjun’s head snaps up.

“Binnie,” he says. Beer and constellations, in his mouth and in his eyes, and Soobin falls again. If he thinks about it right now, he thinks he already fell a long time ago. At a bus stop with a promise.

Right now, he can’t deny the burning taste of Yeonjun’s half-lidded, drunken gaze. Not here. Not anymore.

“Yeah?” Soobin asks quietly, starstruck. Yeonjun’s always been beautiful. This is how he always looks like to him. The purest form of beauty. Such a bare thing; against his body. Something he craves - underneath years of staring at him, but seeing nothing. Years of Yeonjun’s face, but Soobin has never found the right words to name what he feels.

The lights are faint and subdued. Moonlight on his fingertips, the nameless ache now stuck between his teeth.

“I’m not missing out,” Yeonjun says again, and kisses him.

Soobin breathes on his mouth as relief washes over him - impatience worn thin, but now his hands are home and not caged anymore. A gasp swallowed down by Yeonjun’s open lips, and Soobin closes his eyes until they crash. Closer, closer, until there’s nothing else that he feels except the flutter of Yeonjun’s hair and the smooth slope of his nose.

Yeonjun’s teeth knocks his, and it’s awkward and slippery, just a tad too eager, but Soobin lets himself be drowned by the thrill of it all - the eased daze of beer still in his skull, the soft jitter of his hands, how his ailing heartbeat thrums like it’s been to war.

Soobin doesn’t kiss him back, because he doesn’t know how to bear it through the shake of his body. He doesn’t kiss him back, but he lets Yeonjun’s lips plump against his, lets Yeonjun’s hands snake through his hair, a hard press of fingertips on his neck. He doesn’t kiss him back, but he lets Yeonjun takes it all.

He doesn’t kiss him back, because time runs out and Yeonjun pulls away before he got the chance.

Soobin doesn’t breathe. Yeonjun’s rests his forehead on his. He tastes and smells like beer, and Soobin thinks it’s sweet.

Yeonjun eyes are closed tight. “Junie?” he calls, thumbs poking his tummy.

Yeonjun slumps on his shoulder then, a complete surrender of his weight to Soobin’s body. Soobin shakes him worriedly, but Yeonjun only snores.

“You fell asleep right now?” Soobin whispers incredulously against his ear, taking hold of Yeonjun’s torso as he drags him inside. The party’s still in full swing, but Soobin ignores it and heads upstairs.

Yeonjun’s not usually heavy, but it’s still a feat when he’s unconsciousness and reliant to Soobin completely. He tries his best though, and when he arrives at Yeonjun’s darkly lit room, he puts him carefully on his bed.

He snuggles on his pillow, cheeks squished with heavy eyelids.

“Good night,” Soobin says softly, and realizes once and for all that he’s not drunk anymore. He stares at Yeonjun - sleeping, innocent, his lips red and tender. Soobin’s not drunk anymore.

He takes off his jacket and pulls the blanket up until it meets Yeonjun’s chin.

“Good night,” he says again, because there’s an ache that’s always been there, but Soobin’s been too oblivious to recognize it. He sees it now - even when Yeonjun smells like beer, and this room feels like space.

Yeonjun sleeps, but the night doesn’t end.

*

Soobin cleans up the house. It’s not too much of a chaos, just empty plastic cups with snacks scattered everywhere. Soobin stayed the night on Yeonjun’s bed like he always does, but he didn’t sleep a lot (he couldn’t), so he wakes up feeling groggy. He’s nervous, but he tries not to think about it. He focuses himself on tidying up the trash and making sure that Yeonjun’s parents won’t get mad after they see the mess. After a full hour, the living room looks fine, and there’s not much mess to see anymore.

Yeonjun woke up five times last night, feeling sick and throwing up in the bathroom. Soobin stays with him all those times, massaging his neck and bringing him water from the kitchen. Yeonjun holds his hand whenever they get back to his room, and Soobin’s heart somersaults deep inside of his skin.

He doesn’t know what to tell him. Maybe he wants to tell him that the kiss was nice. Maybe he has to apologize for not kissing him back. Maybe, maybe, Soobin wants to ask him to do it again, and that will be the start of something new.

Soobin doesn’t know what to expect when Yeonjun finally wakes up. He’s nervous, sure, but also excited. For years, they’ve been dancing around it. Soobin thinks he always feels it. Whatever it is - but that longing, suspenseful desire, everything about it - he’s felt all his life. The soft way Yeonjun pulled him in, the hitched breath in his throat when their mouths meet in the middle - Soobin’s dreamed about it. He’s known it since he was young, but never quite knew what the feeling was.

Yeonjun kissed him first. He kissed him first, that means Yeonjun had always felt it, too.

Soobin’s heart leaps again, but it’s out of anticipation. He cleans the kitchen twice, and brings a glass of water with toast to the bedroom.

When he opens the door, Yeonjun’s smiling. The curtains are open, so sunlight streaks in and makes a home on Yeonjun’s skin.

He looks puffy and his eyes are sleepy.

“Hey,” Yeonjun says faintly.

“Hey,” Soobin comes closer and sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed. He puts breakfast on the bedside table. “Made you something to eat.”

Yeonjun chuckles and nuzzles the covers. “Thanks, Binnie,” he says gratefully.

“Drink up,” Soobin points at the glass of water. “You were sick all night.”

“Ah, I know,” Yeonjun groans against his pillow, closing his eyes again. “My head hurts so bad.”

“You still smell like beer,” Soobin points out, and his stomach flips at the reminder.

“Sorry,” Yeonjun winces, but straightens up until his back meets the headboard. The cover pools around his lap, and he puts his head on his hands. “I feel like shit.”

“You look like shit too,” Soobin retorts and laughs, even though it’s a lie.

Yeonjun’s bare faced, his hair askew and sticks out everywhere, tiredness in his gaze that should be unattractive, but Soobin still wants to kiss him again.

“Thanks,” Yeonjun says bitterly, but gives him a small smile. “How are you fine?”

“I didn’t drink as much as you.”

“Unfair.”

“Drink the water,” Soobin takes the glass despite it being closer to Yeonjun and he can take it by himself, and shoves it on his hand. “Come on.”

Yeonjun stares at it sourly, but complies anyway and gulps it down in one go. He makes a disgruntled noise after it’s empty.

“Ew,” he shakes head. “As a best friend, you should never let me drink again.”

Soobin laughs. “Okay.”

The morning light rests on Yeonjun’s eyelashes, dripping sun on his skin like a painting. Soobin purses his lips and thinks about how to begin, but decides to just go for it.

“Hey,” he starts.

Yeonjun raises a brow. “Yeah?”

“About last night - ”

Yeonjun unexpectedly cuts him off with a grimace. “No, no, please don’t talk about that,” he snaps. “God, I’m so stupid.”

Soobin blinks at him, his stomach dropping. “What?”

“Yeah, last night never happened, okay?” Yeonjun demands and leans forward until their eyes meet. “Just pretend it never happened.”

It’s plain in Yeonjun’s face, bare, the emotionless tight of his lips. His eyes are blank, as though nothing about last night was worth talking about. Even worth addressing. Soobin involuntarily scoots back until the harsh silence is a distance away.

Yeonjun’s his best friend, what was he thinking? Of course that kiss didn’t mean anything.

“Okay,” Soobin says through the disappointment of his gritted teeth. If that’s what Yeonjun meant by the kiss , then okay. “Whatever you want.”

Yeonjun nods and brushes past it easily. Soobin doesn’t want to think about it anymore. A kiss in a balcony. A bus stop and a promise.

It’s fine. He spent seventeen years not in love with his best friend. He’ll do it again. That was just one night of too much beer and Soobin was a fool.

Yeonjun props his chin on his hand, acting like he didn’t just reject Soobin to his face. “Can you believe I’m eighteen now?”

Soobin shakes his head half-heartedly. “No,” he says.

There’s nothing else in his eyes. Not a hint of regret or guilt. This is Soobin’s first heartbreak: the kiss doesn’t mean anything.

Yeonjun kisses him on his eighteenth birthday party, and the night stretches.

*

Yeonjun wants to be an astronaut. Soobin wants to study abroad.

So they study together. Hours spent in Yeonjun’s room, on the porch of Soobin’s backyard - the shift of the sun and the moon, and Yeonjun talks about them as Soobin scribbles quietly on his book.

Right now, they’re at the library. Silent except for the drag of pencils on paper, or the occasional typing of keyboard. Yeonjun’s sitting beside him with a book on the table, eyebrows furrowing hard as his eyes drag over the text.

It’s cute. Soobin realizes that a lot these days.

Yeonjun’s cute. He’s cute when he tries and he’s still cute when he’s not. Effortless in all the ways that he is - an inherent attractiveness in the way he moves and talks and smiles, and maybe Soobin’s always been alight.

He closes his book. He hasn’t been paying attention anyway. Instead, it’s heavy eyes on Yeonjun’s hands. Curious gaze on the way the collar of his uniform flips a little on the inside.

He wants to reach out and fix it.

The door opens, and Kai comes in with Beomgyu on his tail. They’re laughing at something, a soft sound against the stillness of the air, and suddenly Soobin feels sick to his stomach.

They stop by a shelf and stay there for some time. Soobin doesn’t realize how long he’s watching until he sees a blur of movement in the corner of his eyes, and Yeonjun’s looking at them too.

“Lovesick fool,” Soobin hisses quietly, bitter almost. Yeonjun thwacks the palm of his hand.

“Shut up, you dumbass. They’re going to hear.”

Soobin rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else. Yeonjun’s gaze is soft. Exspectant - the kind you see when you’re waiting for the rain.

“Just talk to him,” Soobin says, despite himself. Yeonjun told him it’s just a crush, he’ll get over it. It’s high school. He’ll get over it.

He tells himself the same thing. It’s just a crush. Soobin will get over it.

Yeonjun squints at him, then sighs. “I don’t want to bother.”

“You’re not going to bother him, Jun,” Soobin says. “He’ll like you back if you stop being a wimp.”

Yeonjun smacks him again, now on the arm. “At this point you’re just plainly insulting me.”

Soobin looks at him. Just a brief stare; as if he didn’t know every lines of Yeonjun’s face even with his eyes closed. He shakes his head, doesn’t know how else to say it. Frustrates him to no end.

“Yeonjun,” he breathes. “Who wouldn’t like you?”

Yeonjun doesn’t miss a beat, and tilts his head. “Kai.”

“Ugh,” Soobin groans, and shoves him out of his seat. “Just go, you dumbass.”

Yeonjun glares at him but goes anyway. Soobin looks as they finally meet. As if the sun and the moon align, and Soobin’s a sad astray star watching it happen. Hopelessly defenseless.

He’s too busy staring at them - two pair of eyes in the middle, and his gets stuck in the collision. He stares a beat too long, until he realizes a body sliding next to him. The sound of a chair grazing the floor, filling in the gaping space left by Yeonjun.

“Hey,” Beomgyu whispers.

Soobin blinks and turns his head to the soft voice. Beomgyu’s looking at him. Still with that doe eyes, brown curls resting above his eyebrows.

“Hey,” Soobin says, suddenly tongue-tied.

Beomgyu laughs, then opens his book calmly on the table. He shakes his head, mischief and mirth in his eyes that were never there before. Or Soobin just never paid enough attention.

But he is now, and Beomgyu always has that shine in his gaze. Like he’s holding a secret, and you have the right to dig it out of him.

“It’s annoying, isn’t it,” he says and leans forward, propping his chin on his open hands.

Soobin follows his trail of gaze. Yeonjun and Huening Kai leaning on the shelf - muffled laughs between them that Soobin don’t understand.

He nods, surprised that Beomgyu finds it annoying too. “Oh my god, yeah,” he affirms eagerly, unaware that he’s scooting closer - their chairs now inches apart. “Yeonjun can’t stop talking about Kai.”

Beomgyu winces and absentmindedly flips the page over. “Kai can’t stop talking about him too.”

Soobin gulps it down, like he always has. He’ll get over it. That kiss doesn’t mean anything.

Yeonjun’s his best friend. He’s happy for him.

“Wow,” he says, and Beomgyu nods.

“Yeah.”

Pink lips and doe eyes. Soobin leans back on his chair, and opens his book again.

“So,” he begins. Ignores the scene unfolding in front of him as he stares at the soft lines of Beomgyu’s fingers. “What are you reading?”

Beomgyu actually lights up at that. And they talk. The rest is history, but Soobin’s half listening and half burning. How bright it is. Two shining beings meet, and the rest is history.

Beomgyu is softer. He talks a lot, and Soobin knows Beomgyu would laugh louder if they weren’t in a library. He talks with his face and with his hands, and in his eyes there’s always something else dancing other than what he sees. Beomgyu is softer. Instead of the sun, he’s the rain. Spots of water on a tinted window that drip on dry sheets. Unassuming, but stark. Forces you to really look.

He doesn’t remember how long he stays in that little bubble of silence. Doesn’t remember when he moves to sit closer to him, can’t figure out when Beomgyu closes his book and they’re eye to eye and everything stops. All he knows is, at one point, Yeonjun taps his shoulder and Soobin blinks.

“Let’s go home,” Yeonjun says, then his eyes fall on Beomgyu. He raises a brow at that.

“Where’s Kai?”

“They’re going to do study together,” he points as Kai comes in sight. He takes the chair next to Beomgyu. Still blinding and distracting, but Soobin stops wondering.

“Okay,” Soobin says, then bids his goodbye to Beomgyu. He doesn’t say anything else.

*

They’ve been through this road before. Countless times than Soobin can even remember. If he really took his time, he could memorize the amount of pebbles his shoes graze.

Yeonjun is beside him, their arms touching even though it’s hot out. They’re sweating through their uniforms, but Yeonjun doesn’t give them space to be apart.

“So,” Soobin says. “How was the date?”

Yeonjun snorts and knocks his shoulder on his until Soobin loses his balance and sways aside. “Shut up,” he snaps, but Soobin only laughs. “We just talked.”

“Looked pretty serious.”

“It wasn’t. He’s just easy to talk to.”

“Sure.”

“You were real cozy too,” Yeonjun’s voice lilts higher, teasing. “Had an excuse to snuggle in close like that, did you? I was afraid you guys were gonna eat each other’s face off, or something.”

Soobin kicks a pebble with the edge of his shoe and watchs it flings and lands somewhere in front of him. He didn’t know Yeonjun was watching them too.

“We just talked,” Soobin echoes it back, and Yeonjun gives him a look.

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t going to have my first kiss in a library,” Soobin says quietly. Tries to ignore the loudness in his mind that reminds him he already had his. In a balcony where no one’s watching.

In a hopeful moment, Soobin wishes Yeonjun would say something. Tells him that it’s wrong. This is his chance, he thinks, for Yeonjun to speak about it if he wants to. Maybe he didn’t mean what he said.

Yeonjun doesn’t take the chance. He brushes past it like he did in his room.

Just pretend it never happened.

“Why not?” Yeonjun bumps against him again, until the sleeves of their shirts bunch up and it’s skin on skin, and Soobin remembers it more than anything in his life. Remembers Yeonjun’s long fingers on his hair. His beer breath on his mouth. And then it’s his lips everywhere, stuck in Soobin’s brain like it’s meant to be there. “Sounds like it’d be a fun first kiss.”

Yeonjun had his, a year ago with a girl Soobin already forgets. He kissed her in a silly game of truth of dare, and Soobin fixed his gaze on Yeonjun’s face as he pulled away. He didn’t really understand why his stomach coiled hot like fire, but he does now. He knows why. The answer lies somewhere between the parted way of Yeonjun’s lips when he turned eighteen, but Soobin doesn’t know what to do with it anymore.

Soobin stares at Yeonjun’s shoelaces. He thinks he bought them with Soobin. Maybe he picked them out, too.

“Want it to be special, you know,” Soobin says, even though it was. He had his first kiss in a balcony, but it never happened. “A library doesn’t sound special.”

“It’ll be special,” Yeonjun mutters softly. “It has to be special, because it’s you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Choi Soobin deserves nothing else but a special first kiss,” Yeonjun says, impossibly tender and honest. He looks at him then, and Soobin can’t figure out why there’s an underlying sadness there. Like the smile is a front. “It’ll be special. Don’t worry about it.”

Soobin doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to tell him that it was. But he doesn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Okay,” he says. Skin on skin, and Soobin erases the balcony from his mind piece by piece. Stripping his memory of its bare picture. “Thanks, Junie.”

The walk to the bus stop never felt this long. The sun’s out, but it’s hot because Yeonjun still hasn’t let him go. Skin on skin, a lingering second before their lips meet.

It never happened.

So it didn’t.

It’s just Yeonjun. It’s Yeonjun, his best friend in the entire world. It’s Yeonjun, the boy who cried at the bus stop when everyone laughed at his silly dream.

Soobin never thought it was silly.

It was never silly for him. He’d be his right hand man thirty years from now. Eighty years even, when he’s nothing else but brittle bones and an disillusioned kiss still burned to the back of his mind.

“Where to today, pilot?”

Yeonjun falters like he’s surprised, but a light laugh frees out of his mouth like that same air when he cried at the bus stop almost six years ago. “Earth,” he says determinedly. “I want to be with my best friend today.”

The fort they used to build. The galaxy in front of them as they stare outside of their safe spaceship, and Yeonjun’s speaking inside of his suit. Soobin’s watching quietly by the sideline, and at some point the galaxy shifted and he saw it in the flicker of Yeonjun’s open gaze instead.

Soobin doesn’t remember how they met. He was too young. Yeonjun tells people they’ve just always known each other. He tells them he simply met Soobin in his heart, back before they were even born. A simple familiarity and inherent recognition.

We kinda just already know each other, that’s what Yeonjun says.

He asked mom one day, but she doesn’t remember either. It’s like they’ve always been stuck together and maybe they were. They still are.

“Earth it is,” Soobin says, and there’s the smell of beer on the back of his neck. Lisptick-smudged lips on his cheek.

“Earth it is,” Yeonjun says. A ghostly whisper against skin, and Soobin lets it go.

It never happened.

The sun’s out and hot, but Soobin’s never been burned.

*

Yeonjun said it’s just a crush and he’ll get over it.

But it’s been a month now, and his feelings are tenfold.

He talks about Kai when they study. He talks about Kai when Soobin’s quiet and the night is silent. He talks about Kai during first period and the second, and when they walk home, Yeonjun tells him about a boy and the moon, and how he thinks he’s falling in love.

Soobin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything because there’s nothing to say. But also because he has more to say, and nothing’s right.

He gets it, is the thing. He probably gets it more than anyone.

Kai is still perfect as ever. Loud eyes. Bright laugh. Blinding smile. He laughs smooth like alcohol, and he can’t blame Yeonjun for being intoxicated.

No wonder Yeonjun likes him. They both look like they exist in the same orbit. Soobin knows he doesn’t shine like that.

So he doesn’t say anything. He listens to Yeonjun gush about him, and Soobin thinks about how the moon stared at them back as Yeonjun leaned a little too close.

It’s been a month. But he smells beer wherever he goes.

It’s Friday evening when Yeonjun skips around the hallway excitedly. He’s bouncing on his feet with his hands on the straps of his backpack. A smile on his lips as he waits for Soobin to gather his things.

“Come on, why are you slow,” Yeonjun whines, then pouts. Smacks Soobin’s arm with the sweater paws of his hoodie, and Soobin smacks him back with his book.

“This isn’t fair, you’re bigger than me,” Yeonjun whines again, but then wraps himself tightly on Soobin’s back like a koala. A cheek squished on his shoulder blade.

“You’re literally making it harder for me to go any faster, you jackass,” Soobin tries to disentangle himself from Yeonjun, but he’s sticky like glue, and he’s always been stronger than him anyway.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Yeonjun cries petulantly, but doesn’t let him go. It even seems like he’s making himself comfortable, so Soobin just lets him. He zips his bag when he finishes and carries it on his hand because his back’s a little preoccupied.

Then Yeonjun steps away. So abruptly, that Soobin stumbles a little and knocks the locker.

Yeonjun’s suddenly smiling bright and waving his hand. Soobin follows his line of sight.

There’s Kai. Kai’s walking to the other side of the hall, and he’s smiling too. But he’s not looking at Soobin. Of course not.

But Beomgyu is. Beomgyu’s beaming at him. There’s a newfound recognition and friendliness in his gaze. Whenever they study in the library and Yeonjun goes to talk to Kai, Beomgyu silently slides into the chair next to him and they talk. He’d say that they’re friends now. Between hushed whispers and muffled laughs in the air, he’d say that they’re friends.

Soobin thinks Beomgyu’s nice. Yeah. He’s nice. That’s a word.

They finally pass by, their shadows disappearing, and Yeonjun’s blushing. Rosy cheeks that look familiar, somehow. Soobin finally slips his backpack on his shoulders as they walk.

“Lovesick fool,” Soobin bumps him. He starts counting pebbles again. He doesn’t know at what count did he start feeling this way about his best friend. He wonders if it started at zero or the thousand and would it matter in the end.

“You too. Look at you, all friendly with someone else,” Yeonjun coos, but Soobin only shrugs. “I think you guys look good together.”

Soobin shrugs again. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take long. The walk from school to the bus stop. It takes more time from the bus stop to Yeonjun’s house, but they share an earphone as the scenery rolls in. Yeonjun always picks the songs. Lately, he’s been listening to a lot of love songs.

Soobin doesn’t ask him. He listens to the love songs, and finds himself relating to them too.

Yeonjun doesn’t like sleeping alone. So at night, when they’ve studied and eaten until their bellies are full and warm, Yeonjun cuddles close to him.

“Let’s watch Interstellar,” Soobin suggests as he types on Yeonjun’s laptop with difficulty. It’s a little hard, always has been, because Yeonjun’s bed is actually for one but they’ve never really cared. “What do you think?”

Yeonjun smiles, even when Soobin doesn’t see it. “A man after my own heart.”

Soobin clicks play. “Of course,” he says, but means it a little more.

The room is already dark, the way Yeonjun likes it. As the movie starts, Yeonjun snuggles closer and Soobin slumps against the pillow.

They’ve watched this movie a lot before. It’s one of Yeonjun’s favorites because it’s about space, and it’s Soobin’s favorite simply because Yeonjun loves it so much. The length stretches to almost three hours and it’s predictable because they’ve seen it too many times, but Yeonjun still watches like it’s his first time. He gasps when anything thrilling happens, and holds Soobin’s hand when the music reaches its crescendo.

Soobin still cries when Cooper watches the videos, and Yeonjun sobs into his shirt when they see Murph again. When the credits roll and the screen turns pitch black, the room becomes space once again and Soobin becomes twelve all over.

Yeonjun takes the laptop from his lap and puts it back to the table. When he comes back to the bed, Soobin gets shoved to the edge and into the wall.

“That never gets old,” Yeonjun whispers.

They don’t play pretend anymore because Yeonjun’s eighteen and he’s seventeen, and eighteen and seventeen years old boys don’t do that.

Except, Soobin stares at where the ceiling would be and finds himself floating. They’re back in their spaceship, safe and sound, and Soobin wasn’t confused about anything.

He’s twelve and Yeonjun’s just his best friend.

He’s twelve and he’s not in love with his best friend.

He’s twelve, and Yeonjun puts his forehead on Soobin’s shoulder, and he says, “Would you watch over me?”

Soobin never hesitated, so he doesn’t. An easy nod, with an easy sigh. “I’ll watch over you.”

There are stars when he looks out. There are stars; thousand stirring lights that never blinded him. He turns his head to look at Yeonjun, and even when it’s pitch dark, he’s hued.

“Junie,” Soobin says. They’re twelve, and Yeonjun’s always wanted to be an astronaut. He thinks it’s because Yeonjun wants to see more. It’s not enough here. It’s never enough here.

“Yeah?”

“Come with me,” Soobin breathes. “Apply abroad too.”

He wants to study abroad because his mom did. He loves the idea of spreading his horizon and sees more people and more scenery and more skies. It’s been his dream since he was a kid when his mom told him about her college life in America and how it was so much fun. He remembers being six with his little hands tightly clutching mom’s pretty polaroid photos. He remembers telling himself that he wants it more than anything.

Yeonjun moves, and now there’s a hand on his skin. They can’t see each other, but Soobin feels him like he always did.

“What?”

“Let’s see the world together,” Soobin says. They’ve been here all their life. He wants to bring him everywhere, he thinks. Even the space wouldn’t be enough.

Yeonjun doesn’t say anything for a moment that the silence echoes.

“Okay,” Yeonjun says then.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Yeonjun flops back on the bed, but doesn’t stray too far. Their shoulders still touch. The bed’s too small for two, but Yeonjun’s hand finds his in the dark and that’s how it’s always been.

Soobin’s twelve, except he’s not.

He wasn’t in love with his best friend. He wasn’t. And here he is in six years time at a moonlit balcony with a night that never ends.

He’s seventeen, he’s supposed to be irrationally head over heels in love with a boy, and he’ll get over it. That’s what first love is, isn’t it? You’re supposed to get over it.

Soobin holds his hand back, and one day, when someone asks Soobin about his first kiss, Yeonjun would say that it’s him. The smell of beer wouldn’t nauseate him anymore, and it would just be alcohol.

“Earth kinda sucks,” Soobin mumbles.

Yeonjun laughs, and they’re back in their spaceship. He’s seventeen but its always dark out.

*

School is school.

School is boring and pressuring, and sometimes Soobin fantasizes about finally getting out of this hellhole. The only thing driving him is his faraway dream.

Yeonjun said yes to it. He said yes to Soobin’s dream and now it’s theirs. He’s always been persistent, but now that he has another dream to catch up, he’s relentless. He scolds Soobin when he’s slacking off, and reads to him when Soobin’s too tired. Yeonjun’s calming voice lulling through his bedroom, and Soobin imagines it in his head.

What a life it would be. To have Yeonjun around with him in each dusk. To have Yeonjun like that; in such an anchored way. That no matter where they are, they’ll be together. That’s how it’s always been anyway.

Soobin is going to study abroad one day - in a sky more blue, in an air more cool, and Yeonjun would be there with him. So he lives everyday with that in mind.

He’ll live that dream. One day, they’ll be in a world where Soobin wants him most, and nothing would be play pretend. It would be real, and it would ache, but it wouldn’t hurt.

All dreams are attainable. Everyone tells him that since he was young. All dreams are attainable. This is Soobin’s dream: Yeonjun in an open field, their hands tied and warm, and he stops being seventeen. He’ll stop being seventeen, and it’s not night anymore. It’s a bright morning, and he sees the sun. 

So when exams start coming around, Soobin spends most of the weeks leading up to it studying earnestly with Yeonjun. Hours in library, hours in his front porch, hours in Yeonjun’s too small bed. Soobin doesn’t even have the chance to be stressed about it, because his brain is fried and his hands are tired.

It’s a lot easier when Yeonjun’s with him. He studies quietly, just the easy sound of the flipping pages, his silent presence grounding. Sometimes, Soobin puts down his book for an overbearing second, and simply drinks him in.

Yeonjun pouts when he concentrates. A small pucker of his lips as his finger tap the edge of the book’s cover absentmindedly. Soobin thinks he’d watch him like that for a few hours more. A lifetime more, just Yeonjun with his stripped sound.

They text each other a reminder to study every night. Yeonjun calls him when he’s finished, and they talk until the night becomes heavy, and Soobin falls asleep with Yeonjun’s voice lulling him to sleep.

“Night, Binnie,” something delicate, but it gets swallowed by the moon.

Beomgyu sits beside him when school’s done and the library is filled with whispers and chairs grazing the floor. He doesn’t talk to him, but their eyes always meet, and Soobin ducks his head to stare at the floating words in his book instead because that’s the easier thing to do.

It’s hard to avoid. The pressure and expectation, but Soobin listens to Yeonjun’s soft breathing when they study against the wall that meets his bed, their feet dangling by the side. He listens to it, and focuses on what lies ahead.

By the time the exams come, Soobin isn’t ready because he will never be. He looks at Yeonjun the morning of the first day, but Yeonjun silently tangles their fingers together and the ride to school isn’t too frightening. Yeonjun brings him to his favorite palour and treats him ice cream, so he won’t stress too much about the next day.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yeonjun soothes at night, and pats his head. “You’ll do great.”

Soobin looks at him through his eyelashes. Nods through the thickness in his throat, and believes him.

The next few days are better. Yeonjun holds his hand even tighter, smiles warmer, and Soobin does his best, because that’s the only thing he can do. One day, before it starts, Beomgyu approaches him.

“Good luck, Soobin,” he says with a smile. Sweet and unexpected.

“You too,” he replies sincerely, and watches Beomgyu go. Yeonjun presses closer to him, everything’s fine for the shortest second, and it’s back to reality.

The last second before the last day ends, Yeonjun hugs him. Everyone gathers around them; the crowd sizzling, loud steps, hushed screaming. But Yeonjun crashes into him easily, until their bodies are something light and his love is voiceless amidst everything else.

“Home?” Yeonjun whispers against his ear, and the pent up stress finally bleeds out.

Soobin counts pebbles again. He counts the first one by Yeonjun’s foot, and he is on his thirtieth count when Yeonjun brushes his palm against him, like he always has.

Their fingers are something similar. Similar in the way that they find solace in each other’s hold, and it’s empty and cold when they aren’t together.

Yeonjun’s thumb on top of his, and Soobin’s is already home. “Binnie, you’ll see the world with me, right?” he asks quietly, like there was ever a choice.

Soobin’s open field, Soobin’s one desire. Soobin’s gentle sunlight, and Yeonjun’s the center of it all.

“If you’ll have me,” he answers, just as quiet.

Yeonjun stares at him; unblinking, heartfelt, with it an unsaid weight. Then he smiles; simple, safe, with it a bus stop and a promise from six years ago.

He doesn’t have to say anything else. Soobin knows it too well. They don’t drift too far, and Soobin tallies the pebbles under Yeonjun’s shoes.

He never remembers how many pebbles it takes to go home, because it always ends at zero.

*

When Soobin turns eighteen, Yeonjun holds his hand through their neighbourhood.

It’s such a comforting thing. To feel Yeonjun’s palm on his. Soobin remembers the first time he felt him like this, and Yeonjun’s hand was still as warm.

The night is silent. Almost like everyone’s asleep, and they’re the only people awake. As if it’s theirs. The starkness cold of it; the silence. Muted buzzing of the city like it shimmers quietly for them. So they can have it all without disruption.

Yeonjun’s thumb prodes his skin. Sharp drag of his nail that feels serene more than anything else.

There’s a smile on Yeonjun’s lips. His hair is messy again. Strands of black hair on his forehead that covers his eyebrows. If he thinks about it, he wants to tuck them behind his ears. Maybe that’s all he wants. Just another chance, another touch, another thrill in his heart to have Yeonjun’s eyes on him again. Maybe that’s all Soobin needs. Just another, and another, and another, because nothing’s enough when it comes to Yeonjun.

“Where are we going?” Soobin finally asks halfway, and Yeonjun holds his hand tighter. A free laugh escapes him and his chest shakes. Soobin laughs with him.

“I don’t know,” Yeonjun giggles with a shake of his head. Then presses close. Arms touching, elbows knocking, and Soobin loses control.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Soobin asks incredulously. It’s almost midnight, they’re strolling mindlessly, and Yeonjun’s laughing like there’s nothing else that brings him joy than this. A simple happiness in existing. Just them against the night. Just them, the expanse of the galaxy in their hearts, and Yeonjun’s still laughing.

“I mean I don’t know,” Yeonjun repeats, then crashes into him. A colliding star into his unblinking light. “We’re going nowhere, Soobin.”

Soobin’s heart is full. The night is theirs. His best friend is here, with him, a warm hand wrapped around his knuckles.

“We’re going to get lost,” Soobin says, but doesn’t mind it. He’d get lost anywhere with him.

“Aren’t we all, fundamentally, already lost?”

Soobin bumps into him until Yeonjun stumbles back, but holds onto his hand before he could fall. Warmth in it he’d struggle to get over.

Yeonjun stops in the middle of street. And then smiles at him. That sickly, sugar smile. The one that lingers more. The one that sticks and hovers long after it’s gone.

“What?” Soobin raises his brow at him, tugging him in until Yeonjun moves closer.

If there were stars tonight, Soobin wouldn’t know. The night’s pretty but it doesn’t matter.

Yeonjun breathes him in. So close, it feels like a mirror to a silhoutte four months ago. “It’s your birthday,” he says softly. “Happy birthday, Binnie.”

Soobin’s heart splits. Quietly, because it’s a secret. No one has to know. No one has to know that he’s in love with his best friend, and there’s nothing else that he wants except for another, and another, and another second more to birthday party that still stretches.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close your eyes.”

Soobin does. Feels the world shut as his eyelids sink. Yeonjun lets go of his hand, but Soobin stays still.

“We made a promise to watch over each other,” Yeonjun says and resonates to the night. “So I got you something.”

Yeonjun presses something small to the palm of his hand. He opens his eyes.

It’s a keychain. A keychain of a telescope. Soobin drags his finger carefully through the shiny surface. There are engraved initials on it. SB & YJ, theirs. The telescope is light and doesn’t weigh like anything, but he holds his breath.

“Oh,” and he finally lets it go.

Yeonjun looks at him expectantly, a faint smile on his familiar lips. “What do you think? I got it made special for you.”

Soobin looks at him back. Awed and teary-eyed. He closes his hand around the keychain. “It’s perfect,” and feels those concave of their names deep inside of his heart.

“I got a set, one for me too,” Yeonjun fishes his pocket and puts out another keychain. It’s earth. Blue and circular, reflective under the lamp post light. “So you can watch over me. And I’ll watch over you.”

Soobin laughs and holds his hand again. Yeonjun easily wraps himself around his skin, and puts his keychain next to Soobin’s. They both stare silently. Two keychains held by two hands of two best friends.

“I love it,” Soobin says, but there’s always more to say. He doesn’t say it.

“I’m the best best friend ever,” Yeonjun chuckles, a delicate sound, and knocks his earth to Soobin’s telescope.

“What does that make me?”

“You’re the best friend of the best best friend ever.”

Soobin drags him away again. The night looms, the streets never-ending, and Yeonjun’s hand is something achingly dear.

“You have an hour until your birthday ends,” Yeonjun says. “What else do you want?”

He thinks about a birthday party and how it hasn’t ended yet. He still hears it in his head. The bumps of the music and the soft breaths out of Yeonjun’s mouth. Still feels the balcony closing in with the moon peeking. How Yeonjun’s fingers drag on his scalp and nothing else has ever felt real.

Am I allowed to want this, Soobin craves. He looks at Yeonjun now, and suddenly it’s hard to think about. The blush on his cheeks against the wind, and Soobin’s back to counting pebbles.

“This is enough,” he says. They’re walking again but the world opens its eyes. He stares at the tender light of the city but they’re not the only people awake. They never were. “We’ve eaten cake. You’ve given me your present. It’s enough, Junie.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun says, and doesn’t let go.

Yeonjun takes him forward. Until the streets become foreign and the air turns stale. Maybe they’re lost.

“Where are we, pilot?”

Yeonjun twirls and laughs. In his hand is the earth still dangling softly on his wrist. Soobin feels it. Feels himself drawn to space, and Yeonjun’s body is on him again.

“I don’t know,” Yeonjun hums. Soobin’s the right hand man, and he’d follow him anywhere. Even to the edge of the world. Even further than that.

Yeonjun doesn’t know, but that’s okay. No one really knows anyway.

“Let’s see the stars,” Soobin suggests. Yeonjun drags him away again, and Soobin still lets him.

And suddenly Soobin’s eighteen too. They’re both now eighteen, but he’s stuck being seventeen in a birthday party that’s still loud and alive.

*

Soobin gifted Yeonjun an oversized pastel sweater for his birthday four months ago.

Inside Huening Kai’s box with the pretty bow atop it was a watch. It’s a simple watch. Small, brownish, the clock’s fingers thin and slender.

It’s quite a juxtaposition to see Yeonjun wear both today. Yeonjun strides to his house with that sweater hugging his frame, and when he raises his hand, Soobin sees it. Kai’s watch wrapped tightly around his wrist like it belongs.

Like salt to a healing wound. A reminder that there is something else that nags.

“You’re wearing his watch,” Soobin points out.

“Yeah.”

Soobin doesn’t mention it again. Yeonjun doesn’t take the sweater off on the way to school. Walking side by side, the watch keeps knocking harshly on Soobin’s hand.

It’s a little dark out when school is finished, and he’s counting pebbles again. The metallic taste of Yeonjun’s watch still stings on his skin, but Soobin gulps it down like he always has.

“Soobin! Wait up!”

He turns around to see Beomgyu running to him with small skips of his feet. He heaves a breath and Soobin looks at him curiously.

“Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to hold you off, but - ” Beomgyu stops to unzip his bag. He takes out a velvety box and puts it in Soobin’s hold. His cheeks turn a rosy color. “It’s, uh, for your birthday. I know it was last week, but I didn’t have time to get you anything but, uh, so, here you go. For you.”

Soobin dazedly stares at it in his hands. There’s a pretty bow too, like Huening Kai’s box. No one has ever gifted him anything for his birthday aside from Yeonjun.

“Oh,” Soobin croaks.

Beomgyu looks at him expectantly. Once again Soobin’s waiting for the rain, and there’s a sweet smile on his pink lips.

“Beomgyu, I,” he starts, but he’s too touched to say anything else.

“Yes?” Beomgyu tilts his head, and smiles brighter.

“Thank you,” Soobin manages to say, and looks between the box to Beomgyu’s doe eyes. “I didn’t expect you to give me anything. You really shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” Beomgyu says softly. “I really hope you like it, Soobin.”

Soobin nods sincerely. “I will,” even though he doesn’t know what’s inside.

Beomgyu gives him a playful thumbs up and brown curls bounce happily on his forehead. “Happy birthday once again,” he says. “Bye! See you tomorrow.”

He greets Yeonjun once before going out of his way and disappears.

“Oh my god,” Yeonjun gasps and tugs his arm, the watch meeting Soobin’s skin again, but for the first time that day it doesn’t sting. “Oh my god, Soobin! He totally likes you! He was! Blushing! And he got you a present! Your birthday was last week! Soobin, you can’t deny it anymore. He likes you!”

Soobin listens to Yeonjun’s incessant excitement, and Soobin doesn’t brush it off. He listens to Yeonjun gush about how Beomgyu always lights up when Soobin’s there and how he always knew from the start.

He wonders how Yeonjun picked up the signs but can’t see that Soobin’s here. How he saw Beomgyu’s blush but never noticed that Soobin has always been here.

“Yeah,” he agrees in the end. When Yeonjun stops, Soobin looks him in the eyes. “I think I like him too.”

It’s easy to say when he wants it to be true. He thinks about pink lips with doe eyes and finds himself content with that.

*

Time flies. Time flies when you’re eighteen and life is around the corner.

Beomgyu’s gift is a notebook. Soobin uses it for everything. Inside the box was a little paper attached. I know you like to take notes so I hope this helps :D Happy birthday, Soobin.

And it does help. It actually helps a lot. The notebook is cute; cartoon bears on the edges of the paper and on the cover. It reminds him a lot of Beomgyu, and whenever his pencil drags across the paper, he subconsciously thinks about him. One day, when he’s talking notes on the library, Beomgyu slides next to him like he always does. He notices the notebook, and smiles.

Beomgyu has a nice voice. It’s deep and low, but when he laughs it’s buttery and melts against Soobin’s better judgement. He whispers in the library, but Soobin’s been hearing his voice a lot outside of it. Yeonjun excuses himself during lunch to eat with Kai, and Beomgyu slides next to him again. Soobin stares as Yeonjun laughs at something that Kai says, burning and bitter all over; but Beomgyu talks like it’s raining, and Soobin makes do.

Beomgyu has pretty hands. They’re bony and slender, purples veins popping, and Soobin looks at them when he doesn’t have anything else to do. When Beomgyu talks, Soobin follows the lines of his knuckles and thinks about another pair of hands on the back of his neck when the moon was out, and the smell of beer was rough.

Time flies. Time flies, and suddenly it’s New Year’s Eve and they’re back at the beach.

Yeonjun’s wearing his pastel sweater but he’s not wearing Kai’s watch. He left it at home. Soobin doesn’t know if he has the right to feel lightheaded because of it.

He has his feet on the sand. Trickles of the ocean on his skin. Soobin watches quietly. The horizon ahead and the salt on his lungs. He’s eighteen, he’s only eighteen, but it’s heavy. It’s heavy because he’s eighteen. It’s heavy but he’s eighteen, and life is nowhere near the end.

“What are your resolutions?” Yeonjun asks from beside him. He’s squinting, wet hair on golden skin, and Soobin thinks about it.

“You go first,” Soobin walks closer, until sea water pierces his ankles, and that familiar ache comes rushing in.

“Okay,” Yeonjun hums. Arms touching, skin on skin, back in a hidden balcony where no one’s watching. The moon’s not out yet but he feels its presence cold. “Resolution number one: graduate with flying colors.”

Soobin nods and agrees. That’s what he wants too. So he tells him. “Yeah. Same.”

Yeonjun bumps into him. Chuckles into his heart like the impending sunset. “Cheater. Go make your own.”

He laughs, and nods again. Listens and waits for Yeonjun’s number two.

“Get accepted abroad,” Yeonjun lists another. Soobin’s heart clenches as he thinks about his dream. It’s by the horizon; that field with the sun. He just needs to reach out. One hand out to it, the other on Yeonjun’s. They’ll reach it together.

Yeonjun told him he wants to study Linguistics. Soobin wants to be a teacher. An open field with the sun; in his head, they’re already there. Albeit blurry, still painfully present.

“Okay, what’s the third?” Soobin asks as he turns his head to look at him. Yeonjun shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he says fondly, like it’s already etched somewhere in his mind, but he’s thinking about how to say it. The waves break on the shore. Another sprinkle of salt, another reminder. “To be with you, I guess.”

“What do you mean?”

“My third wish: to have you here with me.”

Soobin squints as the light slowly fades. The sky becoming less of a painting; just an evidence of something bigger. “But I am already here with you.”

Yeonjun laughs. Freeing against the caged night. It’s still an evening picture, but the night has no choice but to come. It will come. Just a little more time.

“I know,” Yeonjun says tenderly. Then a hand against him. Fingers hovering lightly on his. There, but not touching. “I just mean: always. I want you here with me always.”

Soobin fists his hand. Gulps it down, and stares as the sun finds a home somewhere else. “That’s your third wish?”

“Yeah,” he nods and stares at him. Nothing else but a happy smile. Soobin sees the wish there. “That okay with you?”

Soobin shakes his head. That’s his wish too. That’s his wish a thousand times over. “Of course. I’ll be here, Junie.”

The ocean’s loud. It’s loud and grounding, so Soobin takes the time to breathe.

“Your turn.”

“Okay.”

I want to forget how your mouth felt against mine.

“Graduate,” Soobin echoes him. “with flying colors, too. I want good grades but I want good memories more. I want to spend my last year happy.”

Yeonjun giggles. “Okay, fair. What else?”

Your sweater. I want you to always wear it.

This. this. I want: this. I want sunsets with you. I want ocean water on my feet.

I want your smile on me. I want you. I want you, I think. yeah, that’s it. That’s what I want, Yeonjun.

“Study abroad with you,” Soobin stares as another wave breaks. Just a few months after they went here the last time, but it sounds different. Everything is different. Even his heart.

“We’ll do it,” Yeonjun says quietly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, because it’s us. What can’t we do together, Soobin?”

Soobin toes at the sand and nods. A pilot and his right hand man. They’ll do great things together. Of course they will.

“What’s next?”

“Mm?”

“What’s your third wish?”

“Oh,” Soobin says.

There’s something left. Something left, but he doesn’t quite know how to make it sound okay. Something insistent that contradicts everything else.

I want to get over you.

“No,” Soobin mumbles. “That’s it.”

And that’s it. Yeonjun doesn’t ask more, and Soobin doesn’t say it out loud. The sun sinks lower and lower until the sky becomes bare.

Yeonjun holds his hand then. Palms against each other as they walk back to their spot. Far up the ocean that it looks grander that it really is.

It’s New Year’s Eve. Another year is ending from his life, and Soobin is scared he’ll never know how to catch up with it. If he really thinks about it, he’s still in that bus stop six years ago and his uniform was lighter and whiter and innocent. If he really thinks about it, Yeonjun was still an astronaut and their spaceship was theirs alone.

They spend the rest of the night together. Yeonjun tells him stories to make Soobin laugh. He talks with his hands and Soobin watches the muscles on his hands move. It’s always mesmerizing, a privilege to simply watch him. Even wordlessly. A silent observation until Soobin is stunned all over again. Yeonjun is something divine; he’s a planet of his own. Soobin would like to trace his hand on each of his tendons and marks which is the sun, the moon, which spot of his knees are the asteroids. He thinks Yeonjun’s eyes would be gravity, and his cheekbones are the landing spot.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says quietly. It’s loud. Everyone’s partying, laughter everywhere, the beach full and the shore merriful. It’s a celebration. Fireworks are starting to go off; multicolors light on dark sleeves.

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

Soobin unlocks his phone. It’s eleven.

“One hour left,” he says.

“Okay.”

So they wait. Yeonjun leans on his shoulder. They stare silently as everyone else celebrates. A tiny spot on the sand of two best friends; waiting. For more fireworks to set off. For another year to set in.

“I can’t remember how I met you,” Yeonjun says against him. His voice is muffled but brighter than anything else.

“I can’t either,” Soobin stares at Yeonjun’s bare feet. There’s a faint scar on his ankle when he fell from his bike a decade ago. He wonders if he still feels the impact. Soobin wasn’t there but he feels it now.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun begins with a shudder. “Promise me something.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s be like this forever?”

Forever. Forever is a long time. Forever is a long time, but Soobin doesn’t feel its weight. Soobin nods easily and offers him his pinky. Yeonjun smiles at it and hooks his.

“I promise,” he says, because he’s eighteen and it’s easy to hope. All he knows is he’d go back to this beach every year and celebrate New Year with Yeonjun over and over again if that’s what he wants.

“I promise too,” Yeonjun says it back. Soobin holds on to it.

“We’ll be like this until we’re too old to remember anything else,” Soobin chuckles and imagines Yeonjun in a rocking chair with his cute wrinkles and a youthful laugh that will remind him of the old days. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry, though,” Yeonjun says in a small voice and knocks his forehead on Soobin’s shoulder, like he always has. “I worry a lot.”

Soobin knows. Yeonjun told him once in his bedroom one night, and Soobin never forgets. He knows Yeonjun worries about their last year. The gaping future that seems dark and alone.

“I’ll be here with you,” Soobin promises again.

Yeonjun nods, assured. Nothing doubtful about it. “Okay.”

Soobin holds Yeonjun’s hand. It has always been smaller than his. Yeonjun absentmindedly traces his finger on each bump. Long nails on his skin, sharp like salt water.

“I’m so lucky you’re my best friend,” Yeonjun says easily as if it would never change.

Soobin smiles, and warms. Not kindly though. “You are.”

They wait for another hour until the fireworks are the loudest. Yeonjun brings him up, and they’re standing side by side under the sky. It’s crowded, too many people, too many voices - but Yeonjun’s beside him, and the explosions don’t quite bother him like they should. Yeonjun stays close to him, his laugh an axis even through the deafening rumble of the fireworks. He points excitedly to the sky, at one particular firework exploding midair, but Soobin isn’t looking.

Soobin’s looking, but it’s the fireworks inside of him that he thinks about. It’s brown hair on golden skin, starry eyes that don’t look at him back but Soobin adores anyway. It’s skin on skin, red lips, a moonlit balcony with nothing more but Soobin’s aching bones.

This is what he wants, he thinks. A full, electrifying night. But Yeonjun’s here, serenity in his quietness, and Soobin trips on pebbles.

“Happy new year, Junie,” he says. It’s loud, everything’s alight, but Yeonjun hears him anyway. He finally stops to look at him back.

His eyes are explosive. Still bright and tender. Yeonjun spares him more than a second, even though Soobin knows he wants to see the fireworks more. He looks at him long enough that Soobin feels the sparks above on his throat too, like everything he never got to say. “Happy new year, Binnie,” and it’s softer than he ever sounded.

Soobin stares. He stares at the smile on Yeonjun’s lips and the cherry of his cheeks. He stares as the fireworks drip on their skin, and wonders if this is how it will always be.

This is what he wants, but something else always nags.

I want to get over you.

*

So, he tries.

When Yeonjun walks away from him and Soobin only sees his back, he diverts his gaze somewhere else. He scoots closer to Beomgyu and lets his smooth voice captivates him more than he ever wanted. The library is always quiet, but he pays more attention to the lilt and drag of Beomgyu’s voice than he was used to. Beomgyu smiles a lot, he realizes, and it’s so much more toothy than Yeonjun’s, but Soobin stops there, and starts over. Beomgyu smiles a lot, and it’s pretty. Beomgyu’s nice - a word, and then another word. Pretty. Beomgyu’s pretty too.

Soobin tries. He tries his damn best. Yeonjun talks to him on the way home and sometimes Kai’s watch still drags on his skin, but Soobin doesn’t think about it. Tight lips, and a step further to the left, and he feels the watch less frequently. It doesn’t burn because Soobin makes sure there’s always space between them now and he convinces himself that a little distance doesn’t hurt.

Day by day, Soobin sees more of Beomgyu’s smile, hears more of Beomgyu’s laughs, and feels more of his skin than he ever did. Beomgyu peeks a little when Soobin’s hunched down writing on his notebook and he always lets him. He lets him until Beomgyu’s closer than he ever was, arms touching, breaths warm and slow.

Beomgyu sits close to him now. He sits close until their elbows meet, and whenever Soobin flips to the next page, their bare skin shift and kiss. It doesn’t burn, not because it doesn’t hurt, but because it doesn’t feel like anything. Bare skin on skin, but it doesn’t feel unholy.

“What are you reading?” Soobin always asks, and Beomgyu always lights up.

He always answers, and Soobin always listens. He listens to Beomgyu talk until it’s the only voice that he could memorize. He listens to Beomgyu talk until he remembers pouty pink lips and not beer breath. He stares at pretty doe eyes that are kinder than he deserves, and Soobin forgets a lot more.

When school’s over, eager students rush out with the bells ringing loud. Soobin’s not an exception. His uniform’s sweaty and gross, he just wants to go home. Either that, or another movie marathon on Yeonjun’s bed until the exhaustion dissipates and he’d doze off peacefully into the night.

But Yeonjun’s not here. He’s not here. He doesn’t know when Yeonjun slipped out of his grasp like that, but Soobin plays with the strap of his backpack as he looks around.

It’s always full and crowded when school’s over. Everyone runs to the exit as it would disappear if no one pass through quicker. Soobin prefers to wait until it’s calmed down a little, and Yeonjun always waits with him.

So, why isn’t he here?

He watches as more students run out of the gates. It’s so loud. Deafening in its fleeting moment. It always shimmers, just a little, when he waits it out with Yeonjun. They would wait until the sound drowns out. Until it stops feeling violent and lonely even in its loudness.

But Yeonjun isn’t here.

Soobin bites his lips, nervous even when it’s irrational. They always walk home together. They always wait it out together. Together, right?

He waits for five minutes. He waits for sixty more seconds, until a familiar perfume wafts next to him.

“Hey,” Beomgyu says.

Soobin blinks at him. “Hey,” he replies confusedly.

“Yeonjun’s at the library with Kai,” Beomgyu explains slowly, displeased lines on his forehead. “It’s so annoying. Kai dragged him off the second Yeonjun got out of class. Kai only waved me goodbye and just ran.”

Oh. Okay.

“He didn’t tell me,” Soobin hasn’t felt his phone buzzed for the last five minutes.

“He’s probably distracted or something,” Beomgyu winces, like he’s annoyed. Makes sense, though. “Well. I got abandoned too, so, you know. At least you’re not alone.”

Alone.

It’s still crowded, thought not as stuffy as before. But still buzzing, still too much noise and heart.

“Are you going home?” Beomgyu asks, eyes shining.

Soobin nods, because he doesn’t have anywhere else to go. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to walk with me?”

They usually wait it out. Yeonjun waits with him until the crowd gradually becomes thinner and breathable, and then they walk.

Yeonjun always waits with him, but Beomgyu isn’t him.

Yeonjun always waits with him, but he isn’t here.

“Yeah,” Soobin nods again. Resolution blooms, and suddenly he’s determined. Determined more than anything else, to see this through. “I’ll walk with you.”

Beomgyu smiles sweetly at him. It’s toothy, bunching his cheeks up, and Soobin stares at the sight for what it is.

Soobin walks through the crowd with Beomgyu next to him. It’s hard to pass through, and it’s the exact reason why he dreads it. It’s too many people he doesn’t know, crowding into his space, unknown skin accidentally brushing his, and Soobin puts his hand in a fist as he makes his way.

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything, but Soobin feels nimble fingers next to his. Barely there, but quite.

Out of the gates, it’s the rocky street again. Sun’s out, bright, and Soobin squints.

They’ve never been alone like this before. It’s always Beomgyu next to him in a hushed library, or Beomgyu at lunch, and there has always been an excuse for Soobin to talk to him.

Right now there’s no excuse. They’re walking together because Beomgyu asked him and Soobin said yes.

“What’s your plan?” Soobin starts the conversation, a brief glance at Beomgyu’s face.

“I’m just going home.”

“No,” Soobin laughs and shakes his head. “I meant after graduating.”

“Oh,” Beomgyu laughs too, and reaches up to brush his bangs. “Uh, I don’t know, actually. Not yet.”

“Well, what do you love to do?”

Beomgyu scrunches his nose, his pink lips pursing. Then a grip around his backpack strap, “That’s a loaded question,” he says. “I love to do a lot of things, is the problem. I can’t figure out what I want to do most.”

“That’s cool.”

“Yeah. I play the guitar. I play the piano. I play the drum too. I sing sometimes,” Beomgyu mumbles, and when Soobin thinks he’s finished, he goes on. “I write a lot of poetry. I’ve written songs before, so maybe...? But yeah. I don’t - I dont’ actually know.”

“Wow,” Soobin breathes, genuinely amazed. No wonder has has such nice hands. “That’s... wow.”

Beomgyu blushes. A deeper shade of pink than his lips. “Yeah.”

“You’re a prodigy,” Soobin says.

Beomgyu shrugs playfully, grinning. “You could say that.”

“Let me see you play,” Soobin says, more determined than ever. “I want to see you play.”

Beomgyu stops walking for a second that Soobin has to stop too. He waits until he takes another step, and Beomgyu’s face turns beet red.

“You want to see me play?” Beomgyu repeats, his eyes wide and surprised.

Soobin nods eagerly. “Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Beomgyu says breathless, like he didn’t see it coming. “Dude, I’d play for you ten times in a row.”

Soobin raises a brow at him, but Beomgyu only shrugs.

“Why?” Soobin still asks, because he can’t help it.

Beomgyu chuckles, but it’s confident. Airy. A lot different than how he laughs in the library, but it still melts and pours.

“Do you want me to spell it out for you?” Beomgyu asks back with a challenge in his eyes.

Soobin doesn’t know how to approach the situation. Beomgyu’s the first boy who ever talks to him like this. The first boy with obvious interest in him.

He doesn’t think about it. Because when he did think about it, he was rejected. A sunlight streak through the curtains in a familiar bedroom, and he was brushed aside like he didn’t matter. He doesn’t want to feel that again.

“No,” Soobin shakes his head, but it’s a confirmation. A yes. “You don’t have to. Not right now. You can do it whenever you want.”

Beomgyu looks at him, unblinking. Like he’s making sure that he heard him right. As if Soobin’s face would rearrange when he looks away.

But then he smiles. Sweet and earnest, and Soobin would feel guilty if he had any other choice.

He can make this work. He needs to.

“Okay, that’s great,” Beomgyu mutters happily, more to himself than to Soobin it seems like. “That’s really great. Cool. Very cool.”

Soobin doesn’t think about it. Even when the sun’s out and it’s hot. Even when Beomgyu laughs and it’s open.

At the bus stop, Soobin mulls it over first. Stares at Beomgyu’s hands but they’re different than the pair he usually sees.

“Do you need to go home right away?”

Beomgyu looks him right in the eyes, then shakes his head. “No, why?”

“Let’s get something to eat? Do you like ice cream?”

“I love ice cream.”

*

Soobin goes home right before the sky darkens completely.

He greets his parents fleetingly before going to his bedroom. It’s a long day. A weird one too. He doesn’t know how to explain it and he’s avoiding the one person he wants to tell it to. His phone has been buzzing the entire of his way home, but he doesn’t want to look at it.

Soobin spends an hour in the bathroom. He scrubs soap on his skin like he’s been sinning, and lets water on his skin until it burns hot and wild. He drags his fingers on his scalp until his mind stops thrumming and whirling.

It’s weird.

It wasn’t a bad day. Not at all, actually. Beomgyu was... nice. It’s such a simple, almost condescending word to describe someone he’s known for awhile, but it’s just the truth. Beomgyu was nice. He talks when the silence needs it, and he lets Soobin have his moment when it’s due.

Beomgyu hates mint chocolate too, and they laugh about it at the parlour. His laugh is crisp against evening air, and Soobin watches his rough and calloused fingers under the light. It’s the first time Soobin thinks they’re attractive. How the jaggedness of it is a contrast to Beomgyu’s otherwise soft features. Thunder to his rain.

It’s weird, because Soobin thinks maybe he wants to feel those fingers on his skin.

Feels safe, being watched under Beomgyu’s attention, because he knows it to be true. Beomgyu doesn’t hide it. He doesn’t let Soobin dwell in uncertainty, because Beomgyu tells him as it is.

Another stream of hot water, and Soobin thinks back about what Beomgyu said.

“I’m a little pissed off,” Beomgyu confides, mouth full of ice cream.

“Why?”

“Kai told me he’s thinking of asking Yeonjun out,” he goes on, and Soobin’s stomach curls uncomfortably. “To the graduation party.”

“Oh,” Soobin says, and his heart drops.

“We agreed on going without dates. You know, I’ll bring him and he’ll bring me, totally platonic,” Beomgyu rants, then bites his lip. “but yeah, I guess he wants to bring Yeonjun now. So I’ll be the loser without a date.”

Yeonjun said he’d go with him. It’s what they’ve agreed on since the start. Even before the beginning of the school year. Far before all of this, Yeonjun promised that they would go together to the graduation party.

We’re a team, he had always said. I want to end the school year with you.

Things have changed, apparently.

Soobin finishes off with something heavy in his heart. He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about it, or he will think about a balcony with Yeonjun’s burning hands on the back of his neck, and he’d be back to square one.

Just pretend it never happened.

So it didn’t.

He buries himself in assignments, and studies more until his eyes feel heavy and the night hangs amply on his chest. He stares at his notebook with the cute bears on the edges, and focuses himself on an open field with bright sun where it doesn’t rain.

He closes it when his muscles strained and his vision blurs. It’s almost ten when his phone buzzes again, and a call from Yeonjun appears on the screen. Soobin hesitates for half a second before answering.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says almost immediately, urgency in his voice. “Please open the door.”

“What?”

“I’m outside of your house.”

“What,” Soobin says, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m outside of your house,” Yeonjun repeats, then whispers. “Can you open the door, please?”

Soobin stares at nothing for a moment.

“Binnie, you’re not mad, are you?” Yeonjun asks quietly when he doesn’t answer. “And even if you are, which I totally understand, please let me make it up for you.”

He ends the call and skips downstairs. The lights to his parents room are already dark, so he jiggles the door key carefully, and lets it open.

Yeonjun is still in his uniform, backpack slung around his back. He looks relieved when he sees Soobin, and a sigh escapes his mouth.

“Oh my god,” Yeonjun leans on him as he goes inside. “I really thought you were going to let me rot on your front porch when you ended the call.”

Soobin laughs, “I would never,” and closes the door. Quietly, they stride to his room. The air is thick here, because this is the first time someone left unannounced.

But Yeonjun doesn’t go around the bush. He sits himself on the edge of Soobin’s bed, and looks him right in the eyes. Pleading and familiar.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Soobin sighs and wipes his face slowly. He paces around a little, because it’s been heavy since school ended without Yeonjun, and now he needs the right words to say.

His bed is slightly bigger than Yeonjun’s, but not by a lot. It’s certainly not for two as well, but it’s enough when you have adamant best friends who never let a single bed bother them.

He sits in front of him. Folds his legs underneath him, and looks at him.

Yeonjun lets him. His gaze doesn’t waver either; it’s steady, calm. Guilty, more than anything else.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says again.

Soobin looks at him still. There’s a washed out tiredness in the lines of his face. Exhaustion clings deep in the way he’s looking at him back.

“Junie.”

Yeonjun reaches out to poke his dimple. “Binnie,” he whines. “I’m sorry.”

Soobin doesn’t give in. He simply raises an eyebrow, like he’s amused.

“Fuck off,” Yeonjun laughs, the ring to it aching. “Please, I’m trying to say sorry.”

Soobin cracks a smile. A small one, he’ll give him that. “I know,” he relents.

“I’m sorry, Binnie. I really am,” Yeonjun says again. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that. Kai dragged me out of class so suddenly that I didn’t have a chance to react. I couldn’t let you know where I am because they consficate our phones in the library, you know that.”

Soobin nods. He knows there was nothing violent about it, but it was abruptly jarring. He didn’t have a chance to react too. “It’s okay,” Soobin soothes. “I was just confused.”

“Kai took me to the mall after that,” Yeonjun says, a glow in his eyes Soobin’s never seen before. “We ate dinner, went to a bookstore, and...”

“And?”

“He held my hand on the way home. Told me to go home safe. And here I am,” Yeonjun finishes with a smile. “I’m home and safe.”

“This is my house.”

Yeonjun rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Soobin nods again. It’s not like he was ever really mad. “Yeah, okay.”

It doesn’t hurt, because Yeonjun looks genuinely happy. He looks tired, but he’s beaming. A waves of joy hitting him right in his chest.

As long as he’s happy, then. Soobin doesn’t mind. He shouldn’t mind. This is what he wants; above all else. To see Yeonjun like this again. To see that rare shine gleams under the light, even when it’s not for him.

“You really like him,” Soobin says. It was never a question.

Yeonjun looks at him. It’s not hesitation, but he seems to think about it first. Brown eyes hovering on his face, and then they’re on his.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun nods, and Soobin mirrors it. Okay.

Soobin sleeps with a bedside lamp on, so it’s never pitch black where he is. Not like Yeonjun’s room. It’s almost like an instinct when Yeonjun turns the light off and brings the lamp on, and then like gravity, he presses his body next to Soobin’s until he’s shoved to the wall.

Yeonjun opens his palm up, and waits. Soobin holds it quietly.

Safe, where their fingers meet. Safe, when their knuckles are wrapped around each other.

They used to be just hands. Yeonjun’s. The smooth lines where the bumpy bones meet his palms. The delicate bareness to his skin, how it’s always golden on light, and divine against Soobin’s eyes.

“I missed you, though,” Yeonjun admits.

Soobin shakes his head, and gulps it down. “You didn’t,” he whispers.

“Of course I did,” Yeonjun says. “Who else am I going to miss?”

Soobin stares at them. It used to be little hands in each other’s hold, but Soobin’s hands have grown bigger, and Yeonjun’s fingers are longer than they have ever been.

Such a heavy evidence to see; how much they’ve grown up. Yeonjun’s thumb on his, and it still feels like elementary school when school wasn’t heavy, and his feelings weren’t confusing.

Kai wants to take Yeonjun as a date to the graduation party. Soobin knows Yeonjun would reject Kai when it comes, because Yeonjun gave Soobin a promise first, and he never breaks his word. Soobin doesn’t want him to choose. It would be a lot worse if Yeonjun still went with him out of pity.

Yeonjun has always been beautiful, but it’s blinding when he’s happy. The soft wrinkles on the edge of his eyes. The roof of his mouth when he laughs, and there’s nothing heavier than the glee that he lets free. Soobin wants to see that again. Again, always. Same thing.

Soobin is Yeonjun’s best friend. That’s what he is. That’s what he’s always been.

“Hey,” Soobin starts, but doesn’t actually know how to say it. It should be easy. He’s making this easier for Yeonjun anyway.

“Yeah?”

“I’m thinking of asking Beomgyu to the graduation party,” he lies.

It’s better this way for the both of them. Yeonjun gets to go with Kai, and Soobin would have a chance to get over him. A win-win situation, really.

A beat of silence, and Yeonjun nudges his nails on Soobin’s palm. A silent wonder, but then he voices it out: “Are you?”

“Yeah,” he lies again, sickly smooth on his tongue. “Is that okay?”

Yeonjun squeezes his hand. “Of course,” he says softly. “Is that what you want?”

Another drag of sharp nails on his, and it’s always easier to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He nods.

“Look at you,” Yeonjun coos. “All grown up.”

Soobin doesn’t let the fire ignite. He thinks about pink lips and doe eyes, and braces himself. “I went out with him,” he confesses slowly and looks at the ceiling instead. Doesn’t want to see Yeonjun’s reaction. Can’t handle seeing the excitement in Yeonjun’s eyes to hear about Soobin with another boy. “After school. At that parlour you really like.”

“What. You went out on a date?”

“It was hardly a date. Just ice cream.”

“Still,” Yeonjun gasps. “Oh my god, you really are grown up.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t go on a date too, Mr. he-held-my-hand-on-the-way-home.”

“Oh, so you admit you and Beomgyu went on a date?”

“Please shut up,” Soobin burrows his head deeper into the pillow and tugs Yeonjun with him. They’re side by side, skin on skin, a half-hearted confession and barely there regret.

“Never,” Yeonjun laughs, and then there’s hair on Soobin’s cheek. Warm breath on his face. “Soobinnie is in love, how could I ever shut up?”

Soobin doesn’t deny it. There’s nothing to deny.

“Wait, this means I’m going dateless to graduation,” Yeonjun mutters quietly, like an afterthought. He shifts until they’re now facing each other, barefeet tangling with his, wrists pressing. Knuckles on knuckles again.

“You’re not going dateless.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going with Kai,” Soobin says, his voice steady. “Either he asks you, or you ask him first.”

“I don’t even know if he wants to go with me.”

“Yeonjun,” a name, tender. It’s immovable as it becomes permanent in the air, and Soobin lets go of it because it was never his. “Who wouldn’t want you?”

Yeonjun laughs it off like it’s a joke. “Not everyone though.”

Quietly, he brushes a stranded hair on Yeonjun’s forehead and tucks it safely to the back of his ear. “I promise Kai would be happy to go with you.”

Yeonjun stares at him. His eyes don’t look brown in the lamp’s light. They look saccharine, and yellow, and everything else that doesn’t make sense.

“I guess you’re right,” he says then. Light but strangely distant.

“Of course I am. I’m always right.”

Yeonjun smiles at him. It’s bittersweet. That smile, the sweetness to it comforting and homey. But it’s sour as he remembers how they’ve met his, the ephemeralness of it blunt.

Soobin thinks this is how he deals with it:

To get over Choi Yeonjun, he needs to forget about his smile.

The first ever step. It should be the first easy step.

Yeonjun smiles at him, but Soobin turns a blind eye. It’s just a smile. It’s just a smile, move along, carry on. Forget about a moonlit balcony, and nothing would hurt him anymore.

Soobin stares at it; woundedly, heart-wrenchingly. Earth shattering, as his eyes catches the chapness of Yeonjun’s bottom lip, and he can’t figure out if that particular crack was always there. If that unimportant split of his lip was there when he kissed him, and if Soobin had ever tasted it once.

Soobin would never have it brushed against his mouth again, and once it healed, Soobin would lost that one in a lifetime chance of feeling that particular bumpness of his lips, that precise feeling of how it would feel on Soobin’s skin in a moment in time when they’re both still eighteen.

He grazes his hand softly on the sleeve of Yeonjun’s uniform. “This must be uncomfortable,” he says, voice laced in concern. “Do you want to change?”

“All your clothes are too big on me,” Yeonjun’s laugh echoes. “Besides, I’m too sleepy to get up.”

“You had one date and suddenly you’re too tired to do anything else.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s - it’s just. It’s you.”

Soobin blinks at him. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Yeonjun’s forehead creases, and then he pouts. “I don’t know. It’s my thing, a weird thing. You just - you make me feel - ” but he stops. Like he can’t find the words.

Soobin urges him to go on, because he isn’t the best at words either, but Yeonjun always waits patiently until he’d get his point across. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “Say it in your own words.”

“Okay,” Yeonjun takes his time to look at Soobin. “It’s, like, the world shuts down.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your voice soothes me,” he explains gently, like it’s a secret only for Soobin to know. “It makes me feel - ” he stops again, stuck in the same place, but then something like a newfound realization comes. A full stop to it now. “It makes me feel.”

Soobin waits for more, but that’s the end of it. “Okay,” he says, heart clenching in his chest.

Silence sets in as Yeonjun doesn’t say anything else. He only holds his hand tighter. Until it becomes a lot less scary, a lot less ungraspable, and Soobin seeks shelter in the way words float between them, but they understand each other seamlessly anyway.

He understands. More than anything else. He understands the weight of it all. It goes without saying. The bond that they have, the bone-deep understanding and serenity that they’ve kept.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says after. “Talk to me.”

Soobin just does that. He tells him about America, about the little stories Mom used to tell him when he was too young to remember but remembers regardless. He tells him about a dream, miles away from home, to see the world far from what he already knows. It’s a future that he wants and Yeonjun’s apart of everything. He always is.

He talks until his voice gets a little rough, and Yeonjun’s eyes are heavy. He’s barely holding onto Soobin’s hand anymore.

“You’re still wearing your uniform,” Soobin whispers quietly.

Yeonjun chuckles and thwacks his wrist. “I told you it’s fine,” he opens his left eye a little. “Thanks, Binnie.”

Soobin nods numbly. “Of course,” he says, because he’d talk an hour more if Yeonjun wanted him to. “Whatever you want.”

Yeonjun smiles at him again. It’s faint and delicate, like it wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. Aching in the hushed way it is, because there’s no one else to see it except Soobin. Painful, because it feels like it’s meant for him, the way it’s shown. But it’s not.

“Don’t drool in your sleep,” Soobin says, breathless.

“No promises,” Yeonjun’s smile stays. It stays, but Soobin doesn’t look away. Instead; he’s frozen, tight-lipped, and he tastes beer in the ridge of his teeth.

*

It doesn’t matter that Soobin bores holes to the side of Yeonjun’s face as he leaves to eat lunch with Kai again, because Beomgyu is here with him. Elbow on elbow again, bare skin that feels open and looming.

Beomgyu nudges his lunchbox to him, nodding as he chews the food in his mouth, “Do you want some?” he offers. “I made it myself.”

“You can cook?”

“I try.”

“Okay,” Soobin says, then spoons Beomgyu’s meal. “Mm, it’s good.”

“Right?”

So they talk. They do a lot of talking. Beomgyu talks a lot, and Soobin listens to him. He asks him questions too, like what’s your childhood dream, what’s your favorite color, what do you do on your free time. Soobin answers all of those and asks Beomgyu back, because he wants to know.

The cafetaria is always loud at lunch, and it’s always a scary place to be in the middle of. Yeonjun has been the lifeline in these kind of situations, because he’s always louder than the noises, and Soobin has a focal point, a warmth to hold on to, a sound to seek. No matter what crowd Soobin’s in, he finds Yeonjun, and it becomes less frightening.

Right now, it’s Beomgyu’s eyes. His doe, round eyes. Soobin stares at them as Beomgyu tells him about white being his favorite color because his mother painted their whole house white, and also pink because it’s soft and calming. Soobin stares at the speck of gold in his left eye shedded from sunlight, and Beomgyu says he wanted to be a car designer because it’s cool.

Then, slowly, he inches even closer and Soobin feels his laughter in his chest. The gold is more metallic up close; indefinable and rare. Soobin doesn’t want to look, but he does. He does, because Yeonjun’s somewhere in front of him, but it hurts to look at him.

“Do you want to come over?” Beomgyu asks between his bite, and Soobin looks at him dumbfoundedly.

“Come over?”

“Yeah,” Beomgyu nods, playing with his spoon absentmindedly. The tips of his ears are amber, hidden. “If you want. I can play the guitar for you.”

Soobin stares at Yeonjun. He’s wearing the same uniform he stayed in a few nights ago, white, innocent, stark. He’s wearing the same smile too, all dew and vivid, and Soobin can’t help but remember.

He forces himself to look away, and finds Beomgyu’s smile instead. It’s faint and unassuming, a lot less real. Beomgyu’s doesn’t look threatening. It doesn’t look like heartbreak. Beomgyu’s smile looks like wet gravel, safe, warm.

“Okay,” Soobin nods, and gulps it down. “I’ll come over.”

Beomgyu lights up, like he always does. “Great,” he says, and smiles more, but Soobin ignores it.

School ends before he knows it, and Yeonjun looks at him expectantly as the class fills out. He holds on to his arm, fingers on skin, white uniforms against one another.

“I have a secret,” Yeonjun whispers conspiratorially, then leans in. Soobin eyes him down. “Kai asked me to be his date,” he goes on, and that dreaded smile comes.

“Did you say yes?”

“Hell yeah,” Yeonjun skips on his feet excitedly, tugging him until they’re collided and his laugh becomes too much. It’s another reminder, another heat, and Soobin can’t do anything but take them all.

It’s puffy cheeks, sunlit room, an easy rejection out of his mouth. It’s moonlit balcony, tender fingers, a heavy sigh against the night. It’s everything, but it’s nothing, because Yeonjun wants him to pretend it never happened.

So it didn’t.

“Wish me luck then,” Soobin breathes, and laughs so the silence isn’t hollow. He laughs, because Yeonjun’s happy, and Soobin’s always been his best friend. “You can go with Kai. I’m coming over to Beomgyu’s.”

“Oh?” Yeonjun gasps in susprise, dramatic as he presses close to him, round and wide eyes on him. “You’re finally going to ask him?”

Soobin nods through gritted teeth. “I hope he says yes,” he mumbles. He reminds himself that it’s just high school. It’s high school; Soobin will get over it, Beomgyu will get over it, no one will get hurt. They’ll move on from it, and Soobin would just be the boy Beomgyu went to the graduation party with. He will just be a boy. It will just be a party.

“He will say yes,” Yeonjun claims happily, clapping his hands as they walk down the stairs. “He’s crazy about you, I hope you know that.”

Soobin knows. Soobin knows, and maybe that’s why he’s reluctant. But Yeonjun’s warmth is on his again, like a bus stop and a promise, and he wills himself to go through it.

“Yeah,” Soobin nods again, like clockwork.

Yeonjun tells him that Kai wants to hang out again. He continues on, about Kai and his whispered sweet nothings, about Kai and his cute handwriting. Soobin watches his steps, and there are Beomgyu and Kai on the bottom of the stairs, waiting for them.

They break apart then. Yeonjun lets go of his arm and Kai drags Yeonjun away, loud laughs in the hallways. Soobin looks at Beomgyu properly, as if it was his first time.

“Hey,” Soobin greets, and for once he doesn’t want to force it. He shouldn’t have to.

“Hey,” Beomgyu smiles. Soobin looks at it now, the curved pink lips. “Ready to go?”

The sky is dark. It’s darker than it’s ever been. Black clouds, windy, and he involuntarily scoots closer to Beomgyu. They walk for a few minutes until a thunder breaks somewhere far, and Soobin squints.

“I think it’s going to rain,” Beomgyu holds out his palms. Upward, and drops of water come trickling down on his skin. “Welp, now it’s drizzling.”

Soobin feels cold water on his arms. Then through his uniform, past his hair to his scalp. “Ugh,” he groans. “Let’s hurry then, or we’re going to get soaked.”

But Beomgyu only laughs. He laughs and stands still. He laughs, closes his eyes, and cranes his neck up to the sky. Slowly, rain starts to drop on his face. One dot lands on his eyebrow. Then on the tip of his nose. Two drops at the same time on his cheek. Soobin watches as raindrops splash quietly on the concave of Beomgyu’s eyelids, sticking to his eyelashes, then melts completely on his skin.

“It finally rains!” Beomgyu yells excitedly through the rumble of the sky, through the crowd running for safety, but it still rings louder than everything else. Soobin doesn’t hear the rest; just Beomgyu’s smooth honey voice, and the rain on his cupid bow, calling out to him.

Soobin looks up. Rain flows down his face eagerly, cold water on his neck, under his uniform, and he feels the laughter first before he heard it; a shake of his chest as it goes out of his mouth freely. He laughs as more rain soaks him completely, and the socks inside of his shoes are shivering too.

Beomgyu laughs with him, and suddenly they’re holding hands, Beomgyu’s thumb on the inside of his wrist, and Soobin’s fingertips on the wetness of his jutting bones. They run, smacking wet sounds of their shoes brushing with pebbles, and Soobin laughs again as they reach the bus stop.

“Oh god,” Soobin groans, but he’s smiling. He drags his hand on his drenched clothes, feeling cold all over. “That was - ”

“Fun, right?” Beomgyu finishes it for him, raising his eyebrows.

Soobin dazedly nods. “Yeah,” he agrees, and agrees, and feels the water on his skin again.

People look at them weirdly when they step inside the bus, but Beomgyu only shrugs, so Soobin doesn’t mind it. They share a vacant seat all the way back, and Beomgyu stares outside the window as the bus moves. Soobin offers him the other pair of his earphone, and Beomgyu takes it quietly with a smile. They listen to music throughout the way home, and Soobin hears Beomgyu hum at the songs.

They drop off on the next bus stop, and Beomgyu finds his hand easily and twines their fingers together again. Soobin doesn’t say anything; just lets him do what he wants, and tails him closely behind as they walk to Beomgyu’s house.

It has stopped raining but a light drizzle, and Beomgyu brushes his wet hair up. He looks different like this, when there’s little to no sun, and it’s quiet in the streets. It’s different, because Beomgyu’s hand is wet and slippery, but it’s the only hand that holds his.

“I’m home,” Beomgyu announces as he opens the front door. There’s a woman’s voice calling back which Soobin assumes is his mom.

Mrs. Choi is in the kitchen, hunching on something on the stove. She smiles when she sees Beomgyu, then her eyes grow wider as she catches sight of their held hands. Soobin blushes a little at that, but Beomgyu doesn’t let go.

“Mom, hello, I’m home,” Beomgyu repeats his greeting, and tugs him closer.

“Oh,” she raises a brow at her son, which Beomgyu only answers with a shrug. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Soobin,” Beomgyu says eventually, and Soobin bows politely.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Choi,” he says, a smile on his lips. “I’m Beomgyu’s friend.”

“Did you get stuck in the rain?” she asks worriedly, and Soobin winces guiltily as they drip rain on the floor.

Beomgyu nods, even though it was his idea to stay under the rain and gets drowned in it. “Yeah,” he purses his lips. “Sorry, I’ll clean it up later. Can we go dry off now?”

“As long as you promise you’ll clean it up,” She says, pointing her spatula at him.

“Yes, yes, yes, I promise, Mom,” Beomgyu disentangles himself from Soobin to kiss her on the cheek. “Bye!”

Beomgyu was right. His house is white; big, clean, and pretty. It looks well organized too. Soobin quietly strides upstairs, following Beomgyu’s light footsteps.

He takes him to the bathroom. The walls are white too. Beomgyu silently takes Soobin’s backpack and hangs it on the hanger, as if it would help drying it off.

“We’re leaving trails everywhere,” Beomgyu laughs, and Soobin smiles at it. It’s raspy, low, a little like he’s just lost his voice. Maybe that’s why Soobin likes it, the attractiveness of it seemingly effortless.

“I hope your mom won’t ban me from coming over again,” Soobin says, chuckling, and Beomgyu gives him a dry towel. They lock gaze then; something heavy that feels like a promise.

“She won’t,” Beomgyu assures softly. A quiet tingle in his eyes.

Soobin quickly dries off his hair and his skin, the wetness in his neck and in his collarbones, and tries his best to pat the water out of his uniform and pants. It’s a lot better, but his clothes are a lost cause. They’re not drenched anymore, but still uncomfortably damp. It’s fine, Soobin can deal with it.

“Sorry,” Beomgyu winces when Soobin puts the towel back to the rack. “You got wet because of me.”

Soobin laughs it off. He doesn’t really mind. “I like it,” he says. “Really. That was... unpredictable, but fun.”

“I can lend you my hoodie,” Beomgyu offers, thinking it over. “They’re all over-sized, I’m sure one of them will fit you.”

Soobin nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Beomgyu spends more time drying off, a hard drag of the towel on his scalp. When he’s finished, he takes Soobin to his room, right at the opposite end of the bathroom.

“Wait here, I’m going to change first,” Beomgyu takes a stack of clothes from his dresser and holds them tightly on his chest. He looks over at Soobin for a moment before taking a black hoodie hanging behind his door and throws it over to Soobin. “Try it out.”

Beomgyu leaves Soobin to the stillness of his room. He drags his eyes quietly to his surrounding, stunned when he finds out how different it is from the room he usually knows.

His room is loud. Yeah, that’s how he would describe it. It’s decorated with posters (of musicians, movies, also the cartoon bear from Soobin’s notebook), and spacious. There’s a double bed in the middle of the room. White sheets, white pillowcase, soft pink covers. His guitar is on the corner of his room, perched on a stand.

Soobin strips out of his uniform and wears the hoodie over his head. It’s warm, and miracously fits perfectly around his frame. He pulls the hood on top of his head, letting it take over all of him.

When Beomgyu comes back, he’s dressed in a simple shirt and checkered pajama pants. Soobin has never seen him like this before, so casual and him. It’s always Beomgyu, his friend from school; Beomgyu with his uniform, Beomgyu with his whisper voice. This is Beomgyu outside all of that, breaking through his caged mold.

“Hi again,” Beomgyu giggles.

Soobin sits himself on the edge of the bed. His hands are warm inside of the hoodie’s pocket. “Hi, too,” he says.

Beomgyu takes a full and long look at him. It’s fond, overwhelmingly so. Soobin doesn’t know what he sees in him.

“Hi,” Beomgyu says again, quietly, and inches closer to him. He takes the spot next to him, cross-legged, brown hair flopping on his forehead.

Doe eyes, looking at him back. Soobin gulps it down, and whispers, “Are you still cold?”

Beomgyu shakes his head slowly, like he’s contemplating it. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, shrugging nonchalantly. “Will you warm me up?”

There’s something in the air. Similar to a moonlit balcony that shines close, but right now it’s not heady or aflame. Beomgyu moves until their knees are touching, and Soobin lets himself feel it.

Just pretend it never happened.

Soobin doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think about it when Beomgyu leans in a little to his space, and there’s a cold hand splayed on his thigh.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

Beomgyu knocks their knees together. It surprises him so much that his hood falls over, and there’s nowhere to hide anymore.

Pink lips. Pink lips, now red on his cheeks too. Beomgyu stares at him quietly. A question in his gaze, an awaited urge that invites and lures.

It’s not Soobin who makes the first move. Beomgyu leans into him, fumbling, a little shy, and Soobin catches him closing his eyes before the distance finally disappears.

The kiss is chaste. Brief and innocent. His lips on his for a second before he finally pulls away. Soobin doesn’t kiss him back.

“Sorry,” Beomgyu’s breath is hot on him. Too close, burns more. “I haven’t kisssed anyone before.”

Soobin stares at him, and his heart breaks a little inside. “It’s okay,” he says softly. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Have you?”

“Mm?”

“Have you kissed anyone?”

He doesn’t have to pretend. Right here, he doesn’t have to lie about his first kiss. His promise isn’t bound here, inside Beomgyu’s four walls, in the new warmth of Beomgyu’s hoodie.

Soobin nods, heavy, trembling with the weight of it. It feels good to recognize that it happened. This is the first time the world knows. A single soul except him that acknowledges its existence.

“Am I your second kiss?” Beomgyu whispers, hands on Soobin’s neck. Calloused fingers dragging across bare skin.

“Yeah,” Soobin reaches to hold Beomgyu’s cheeks. He feels oddly brave, here, against Beomgyu’s unwavering hands and steady everything. “Can I be your second too?”

His pink lips. Lips, pink, parted for him. Soobin doesn’t think about it as he leans in again, this time properly, catching his mouth with his as he breathes.

Soobin can like him. He can like him, as Beomgyu presses close to him until he shivers. He can like him, as Beomgyu sighs into him like he’s alight. He can like him, because Beomgyu kisses him wholeheartedly and doesn’t smell strongly like beer.

They break apart, and Beomgyu smiles at him, once more and always. Soobin doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Mm,” Beomgyu hums. It’s soft, heartbreakingly open. “Soobin, I really like you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He tries to breathe, his hands on Beomgyu’s sleeve. He skims the skin of his arm, slowly, trying to find the courage to say it, because he doesn’t know how else to ease it.

“Be my date to the graduation party?” That’s how Soobin answers Beomgyu’s confession, and he hopes that it’s enough. He hopes that it’s enough, because he can’t say it back, no matter how much he wants to.

Beomgyu kisses him again; another answer, and Soobin closes his eyes the second time. It’s cold, the rain lingers on his cheeks, and on his palms, and on the way Beomgyu shakes against his body. Soobin holds him still, even when his eyes are burning.

“Yes, I’ll be your date,” Beomgyu whispers then, and Soobin sighs into his mouth.

Beomgyu doesn’t feel like rejection. He feels like open arms, and tender skin, soft voice that melts and soothes. Beomgyu feels like first love, the one that you keep in your heart long after it’s gone. He feels like a long trip to memory lane when you’re fourty, and he’s there, the feeling of being eighteen still alive and bright in your mind.

His hands are rough, bumpy, the tip of his fingers rugged on Soobin’s neck, but he takes it all because it’s enough. It should be enough, as Beomgyu knocks their noses together, and his laugh breaks free. Soobin holds him, because he can, his cold palms brushing softly on Beomgyu’s cold cheeks, and it doesn’t matter that he isn’t the boy Soobin wants.

Soobin wants him now. In Beomgyu’s room after the rain, soft platter of tiny drops on the window, and Beomgyu is closer than he’s ever been. Soobin wants him now, when he’s eighteen, and first love isn’t supposed to last.

You’re supposed to get over it.

At the end of the day, Beomgyu doesn’t play the guitar. They spend the rest of it in bed, Beomgyu twining their fingers together, and they talk like they’ve known each other forever. Soobin tells him about his favorite color again, because in this moment he doesn’t want to say anything else.

Beomgyu doesn’t play the guitar. Soobin regretfully wishes he did that instead.

*

Yeonjun wants to be an astronaut, so Soobin gives in. He gives in, because the universe is vast and indescribable, and that’s how he feels about him too.

They’re on Yeonjun’s too small bed again, cramming against the wall, the headboard, and the edge, but they make it work because that’s what they do. There’s a pretentious English book on Yeonjun’s left knee, and Soobin has his cheek squished on his right. Yeonjun’s sweatpants is soft, a familiar smell from a familiar detergent.

“Ugh,” Yeonjun groans, flipping the page aggressively that Soobin’s afraid it’ll tore. “Can we stop reading this.”

Soobin smiles against his knee. A hand gripping on his ankle. “No one’s forcing you to read it, though. We were just reading for fun.”

“Yeah, but I want to feel cool,” Yeonjun huffs. “I don’t want to be the loser who is stuck here while you get to be in America with your new cool American friends.”

Soobin peers up at him, then grins. “Yeah, who are you again?”

“Oh, really,” Yeonjun glares at him, a challenging raise of his eyebrow. “You find new friends once, who are still hypothetical, may I add, and start abandoning me, your saviour, your best friend in the entire world - ”

“Please shut up,” Soobin pinches the inside of his thigh, but Yeonjun doesn’t budge. He looks more determined instead.

“Me, Choi Yeonjun, the one who was there when you still peed your pants, me, who took the blame when your mom asked you who ate sand at the beach that one time!”

“Oh my god, shut up - ”

“Me, Choi Yeonjun, your best best friend, the apple to your eye, the cherry to your pie, the love of your life - ”

Soobin smooths his palm against his leg, abruptly like he’s been burned, but Yeonjun doesn’t notice and goes on, “Don’t you dare forget about me when you find new friends or I will rip all of your hair with my bare hands.”

The threat is nothing. Empty, because Soobin never plans too. “What are you talking about, Junie,” Soobin says, softer than intended. He can’t help it.

“I just don’t want to be the loser that you left behind.”

Soobin shakes his head against the sharp jut of his bone. “You won’t be,” he says, and it’s easy to believe when Soobin would take him anywhere. “If I go, you go.”

Yeonjun plays with his hair, fingers between strands, a calming press on his scalp. “If you go, I go,” he repeats it back with the same sentiment, and Soobin thinks of a bus stop six years ago.

“I have my telescope to look over you,” Soobin reminds him, and warms when Yeonjun smiles brighter than the sun. It’s only for him. That smile is only for him; there’s only so much space in his room. So much soul. So much secrets to unravel when they know each other to the bare of it all.

“I have my earth too.”

Soobin nods, then takes the book still balanced on Yeonjun’s knee. He skims the cover slowly with his finger, and wonders if it lies there, their future. If this book decides how their skies will look like one day.

All dreams are attainable. It’s still the same for Soobin, eighteen years into his life. An open field, Yeonjun’s smile on his, warm palms against one another. An open field where it doesn’t rain, and the sun doesn’t mock him.

“I have a name prepared,” Yeonjun says playfully and chuckles when Soobin looks back at him. “For when we’re there.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Daniel,” he tells him.

“Mm,” Soobin peers up at him again, his heart splitting in two at Yeonjun’s commitment to all of this, even when nothing’s fixed. “I like it. Suits you.”

“How about you?”

Soobin shakes his head, his temple pressing on Yeonjun’s thigh. “Nah, I don’t have one right now,” he mumbles. “I’ll think about it later.”

Yeonjun takes the book from his hand and starts flipping it open again. There’s an annoyed gruff after that, but Soobin only laughs fondly.

“We’ve been reading for the last hour,” Soobin holds the open book with his hand. “Let’s take a break.”

The book is set aside for now, and there’s no reason for Soobin to still rest on Yeonjun’s knee, but he doesn’t move. It’s uncomfortable, but Yeonjun’s hands are between his hair still, soft, present, grounding, so Soobin doesn’t let go. He doesn’t need to. He doesn’t want to.

“I can’t believe we’re graduating soon,” Yeonjun says fleetingly, but Soobin thinks about it.

Soobin’s eighteen, Yeonjun’s eighteen, yet they’re the same twelve years old boys sticking close on the way home. It’s bright red around Yeonjun’s eyes, tear-stained uniform, a bound promise all over again.

“I just can’t believe I’m still friends with you,” Soobin says jokingly.

“Yah, what’s that supposed to mean!”

Soobin laughs, curling in on himself as Yeonjun attacks him with the book. “I’m kidding. Please calm down! You’re going to give me a bruise.”

“That you deserve.”

“Why are you still friends with me?”

Yeonjun’s attack halts midair, fingers stiffening against hard cover. He looks confused, eyebrows furrowing with a pout on his lips. “What do you mean?”

Soobin moves so he can sit properly. His back on the wall, their feet tangling on the small bed. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, appearing nonchalant even when he’s not. “You’re just so... you. And I’m... well, me.”

His pout grows deeper, confusion still etched deep. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re...” Soobin stares at him, despite knowing Yeonjun’s face like the back of his hand. The scar below his eyebrow, pretty lines of his lips, how his cheeks move when he smiles. “You’re,” bright. beautiful. radiant. Everything I’m not. “you.” He gestures with his hands, something explosive and loud. “And I’m...” not Kai. Someone who shines like you, too. “me.” A shrug, because that’s now he feels about himself. Barely there, decent enough, but never one of a kind.

Yeonjun slaps the book on his arm again, but it’s softer. “Binnie,” he says, his gaze safe. “How could you say that about yourself.”

“I didn’t really say anything.”

Yeonjun tilts his head. “You actually did. You said a lot.”

Soobin stares at his hands. He didn’t mean to say that at all. But he did anyway, and now Yeonjun’s looking at him heavy. Yeonjun quietly shifts until they’re side by side against the wall, then he opens his palm up, and waits.

They wait for things together. Filling in spaces that were never meant for them.

But the gaps between his fingers are for Yeonjun. They’re there for Yeonjun to fill. They’re there for Yeonjun’s hand to meet, and then it’s skin on skin, knuckles on knuckles, an evidence of a story made eighteen years ago.

“Yeah, I’m me,” Yeonjun begins slowly, his voice a home. “You’re also you.”

“You’re kind of agreeing with everything I just said.”

“Stop cutting me off, you jackass.”

Soobin chuckles, ducks his head, and looks at Yeonjun’s sharp nails. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Go on.”

“You’re you,” Yeonjun says again, tender. Almost unbearable in the way he utters it, like it’s a confession. “But that’s why I love you.”

Soobin’s heart breaks inside. It breaks, silently, as their hands tangle in its temporary warmth.

“You’re you, but that’s why you’re my best friend in the entire world,” Yeonjun peeks at him, smiling bright as his eyes grow small. “Binnie, you’re so stupid,” he says fondly.

“That says more about you than me,” Soobin’s voice breaks too.

“That’s fine,” Yeonjun replies easily. “You will always be my best friend.”

Soobin squeezes his hand. An open field, somewhere in front him. He’ll reach it. They’ll reach it together, because that’s what they do.

“Forever,” Soobin says, because that’s what they’ve always been.

“Best friend forever, right?” Yeonjun nudges him quietly.

Soobin nods, even as it leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. “Yeah.”

One day, Yeonjun’s smile won’t hurt. It won’t hurt when their silence feels more tangible than most and their skin glides uncomfortably than it usually does.

Forever is a long time. Forever is a long time to be someone’s best friend when you’re in love with them.

“Let’s read this again,” Yeonjun says decidedly, and lets go of his hand. “I’ll be as cool as your new friends.”

“They’re not even real.”

“Yet,” Yeonjun grits his teeth, and shoves the book to Soobin’s chest. “Come on, it’s your turn to read to me.”

“Okay,” Soobin opens the book. He wonders if this will be the matter of falling and failing. If the secrets of growing up is stuck somewhere between these hollow lines. Maybe if he tried hard enough, Soobin could see America in the flying letters on these dry pages.

His dream is an open field, but Yeonjun’s smiling again, and it feels closer than it’s ever been.

*

Soobin spends the day before the graduation party in Yeonjun’s room. It’s nice. The sun’s out, everything’s quiet, and the light on Yeonjun’s face doesn’t burn.

“Do you remember the first day of school?”

Soobin stares at Yeonjun’s hands, how they reach to the ceiling, slender fingers coated by the afternoon glow. It’s been the same since; fatal in the way they move. Soobin’s always been helpless.

“Yeah,” Soobin nods, and feels the pillow below his head. Yeonjun’s breathing is slow and patient. It’s hard to swallow that they’re graduating tomorrow. In his head, everything’s the same and nothing’s changed. Somewhere in his heart, he never grew up. Still the same boy in a bus stop who wiped the tears of another boy. “Can’t believe it’s over now.”

“We used to complain all the time,” Yeonjun chuckles, then one of his hand goes down. Soobin doesn’t let go of the still hovering hand in the air; eyes transfixed and a fool. “Remember? We dreamed of this. Graduating, that’s what we’ve been waiting for.”

“And it’s here.”

“It’s finally here,” Yeonjun sighs high. Drops his other hand, and now they’re back on the bed. Soobin doesn’t stare at anything anymore. “It’s here. Oh my god, Soobin. We’re adults.”

“No we’re not,” Soobin lets himself laugh. Thinks about yesterday, and the day before, and then a year, and years ago. He remembers ticking clock, and heavy days, but he forgets how it feels when it used to be harder than this. Nothing can’t be harder than this. “And, you, are absolutely not.”

“Rude. Is that how you talk to your best friend?”

Soobin closes his eyes and drinks everything in. He’s on Yeonjun’s too small bed, and their forearms are touching, in the familiar way that they do. Shirts bunching up slightly, until it’s nothing but skin.

It’s been eighteen years of knowing Yeonjun. Eighteen years in this neighborhood. Eighteen years with the same ceiling, the same streak of sunlight from the same window.

“I wish, months from now, we’re not here anymore,” Yeonjun whispers quietly. “I hope we’re living your dream then.”

“Your dream too.”

“Listen,” Yeonjun shakes his head, the pilllow shifting. “I want to study abroad, I do, I want it bad, but I just want to be where you are.”

Soobin thinks it’s a nice world to live in. If they always align; if their stars collide without breaking apart. “I want that too,” he says, and his ribs tighten. “But life is funny sometimes.”

“What do you mean?”

“We won’t always want the same things,” Soobin says, meeting his eyes.

It’s true, but it’s harsh when he says it like this, in the same place Yeonjun broke his heart. The same air when Yeonjun told him to forget.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Yeonjun mutters, then turns to him. His hand finds his again. Like a thousand times before; like a lifetime ago when Soobin wasn’t in love with him. “But I still want to be where you are.”

“Okay,” Soobin promises, tangling their fingers. It’s easy to believe when he’s eighteen and he hasn’t felt anything else.

Yeonjun smiles, sickly sweet. The split on his bottom lip isn’t there anymore.

*

Yeonjun’s suit matches Soobin’s. The colors compliment each other.

What an irony, he thinks. He stares at the veins on Yeonjun’s neck, as he leans in on the mirror close. Yeonjun smells good, like baby powder. It’s that sugary sense; stuck on Soobin’s tongue.

He doesn’t think about it. Even as Yeonjun looks at him back through the mirror, something glassy and unreadable in his gaze. He doesn’t think about Yeonjun’s hands fixing the collar of his suit, sharp nails against white.

“You okay there, Binnie?”

No.

Soobin sighs a heavy breath. Yeonjun looks breathtaking like this. When everything’s mundane, easy, but he’s unaware of it. The slight tick of his forefinger as he brushes a strand of hair on his forehead, the dangling earring on Yeonjun’s left ear, how it moves and stops.

“Yeah, just nervous,” Soobin says in a half truth.

“Ugh, same,” he takes one last look on the mirror before turning around. He steps closer, and closer, until he’s in front of Soobin, just inches away. “How do I look?”

What a cruel thing to ask. What a cruel thing to ask when Yeonjun looks like this.

Soobin takes his time because he has the chance. He stares because he’s allowed, and skims his eyes slowly through his frame. His broad shoulders. The tie on his neck. Golden skin, lips red and tender.

“You know you look good,” Soobin says.

Yeonjun looks satisfied with that. He moves even closer until there are hands on Soobin’s shoulders, smoothing out his collar. He looks different like this, eternal, the room’s light an injustice to it.

“Yeah,” he nods, smug, then grins. “You can always tell me though.”

His hands don’t move, still pressed hot on his chest, waiting. Soobin stares at him once more, and caves in. “You look good, Junie,” he says again. It comes out faint. Unbearable.

“Thanks,” Yeonjun replies, grins wider. “You look good too.”

Yeonjun borrows and drives the family’s car. He taps his finger on the steering wheel, focused eyes on the road, and each second that passes by is a reminder that they’ll be apart. It’s not those fingers under the party’s lights, not those smiles on him when they dance.

When they arrive, the venue is already full. Everyone’s dressed up, clinking of heels on the parking lot, colors on colors on colors, and Soobin’s palm retract as a reflex, finding another to hold to ease it better.

But Yeonjun’s already running. He’s running to the top of the stairs, where Kai is shining, and they meet in the middle, like they have, a million times over. Maybe Soobin’s meant to be here, just inches away like a witness; stuck, motionless, because it was never his sight to see.

Soobin finds Beomgyu by the side. He’s wearing the same shade of suit as Soobin; just as dark, just as slick. His hair is fluffier than usual, curly locks on his forehead, and he looks stunning.

Beomgyu beams. The smile is full-blown, happy, and it doesn’t hurt. He reaches out for his hand, and Soobin twines them together. Rough fingers on his, but Soobin finds them warm. There’s nothing soft about it, but he holds him tenderly still. Like it’s a once in a lifetime chance, and Beomgyu wants it more.

“Hey,” he says.

Soobin smiles, and takes him in. “Hey. I like the suit.”

Beomgyu looks him over; down to the glint of his shoes. “I like yours too.”

He lost Yeonjun to Kai. During the moment he was talking to Beomgyu, they’ve slipped inside unknowingly. He lost him in a blink of an eye, just under his fingertips. He wonders if it’ll always be like this; he looks away once, and he’s gone.

The party is nice. The lights are fun, the music is loud, almost like a party he knows too well. There are balloons and decorations on the walls, tables with snacks and drinks, and everything screams high school is ending. High school is ending, and life is around the corner.

Soobin can’t help but feel upset about it. He’s wanted to graduate for a long time, but now that it’s here, he desperately reaches out to it, begging time to slow down.

He just wants more time, he thinks. Time to accept that life goes on even when he’s not ready. Time to realize that the clock ticks, even when Soobin stands still, trying not to grow. The lights are flailing, the music is straining, and Soobin is stuck in the middle of it all. How did he get here?

Beomgyu slides close to him, until their hands are hot and tied, until his eyes are bright dots in the muted room. He smells stronger than Yeonjun. He smells like first love. He smells like what Soobin is supposed to feel.

Soobin holds him back. Hands on his waist, and Beomgyu’s hands move to cup his neck. There’s no room to breathe. There’s no room to breathe when Beomgyu is here and everywhere at once.

It’s just a party.

Beomgyu doesn’t say anything. He presses close, but stays quiet. His eyes are brighter than they’ve ever been. Expectant, looming, open. Overwhelming, when Soobin catches it and Beomgyu is the boy at the bus stop too.

Wet uniforms. Raining sky, new skin, new smile.

Soobin looks at him, once, and more. It should ache. Here, in the arms of the boy who looks at him like he means everything. It should ache, but Soobin’s eyes are fleeting. Never lands.

Then, somewhere; through the fog of the lights, Soobin finds him.

Yeonjun isn’t looking at him. He’s laughing, head thrown back in bliss. There are hands on his arms, hair on his shoulder, another body on his planet. Kai sticks close to him, and Soobin dreads it when he leans in. Soobin looks away.

Doe eyes at him. Doe eyes that want him back. He looks at them instead.

He’s just a boy.

“Thank you,” Soobin whispers to the air between them. He focuses on Beomgyu’s warmth, wiping the picture off his mind. Breathy, the way he said it. Unbearable.

“What for?”

“For coming with me,” he says, and leans in too. Their temples meet. “For saying yes.”

Beomgyu smiles; lights up, but doesn’t stop. “I wanted to go with you.”

“I know,” Soobin says sadly, because he does. “Still. Thank you.”

Beomgyu answers it by tiptoeing, nose on his cheek, whispers softly. “Do you want to get out?”

Soobin nods without thinking. Their hands are twined again, but now it’s more familiar, dear. The night air carresses him when they go out of the venue, and Beomgyu laughs as he runs. It’s a repeat of what happened that day; invisible rain on his suit, coldness on his hand he didn’t actually feel. Beomgyu brings him to a space between two cars, deep inside the parking lot, dark and barely seen.

“Hi,” Beomgyu greets him again, as if they were meeting for the first time. His smile is hidden by the shadow, moon on his teeth.

Soobin doesn’t think about it, hand on Beomgyu’s side until his back hits the car. “Hey,” he says, then there are rough fingertips on his neck, and a second-time mouth on his.

The kiss is unsettling. Beomgyu nips at his bottom lip like he's itching, his hands fold around him like stars. Soobin kisses him back because he can, under the moonlight, but it doesn’t feel like jealousy. It doesn’t feel like a mistake; not a sentence he didn’t even get to say. Not in the way Beomgyu pins his palms close to his skin like he can’t get enough of it. Him, everything else.

If Soobin closes his eyes hard enough, he wants this too. He wants Beomgyu’s heady smell, the edge of his nails, how his body fits and locks against his. If he tries, there’s nothing wrong with how he feels. He’s not in love with his best friend, and he likes Beomgyu just as much.

“You’re,” Beomgyu rushes out, “good at this. Who’s your first kiss?”

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s just as inexperienced, but Beomgyu accepts his fumbling lips, his tumbling kiss, eagerly, excitedly, and gives it back. His lips slide on his clumsily, yet Beomgyu thinks it’s good. It hurts in a revealing kind of way.

Soobin brushes the hair on Beomgyu’s forehead, and wishes he could answer it honestly. He leans in just enough, until their breaths collide. “You don’t know him,” he lies. “Who’s yours?”

Beomgyu laughs easily against his chest. “Shut up,” and shuts him up.

He’s just a boy. He will get over it.

They stay like that; against the car; against the night, and Soobin forgets just a little. Forgets about another boy whose mouth isn’t his to miss.

Beomgyu is kissing a line on his jaw when Soobin’s phone rings.

“Wait,” Soobin reaches for it, but Beomgyu holds his hand back.

“No,” he whines, then a drag of his coarse thumb on the skin below his ear that makes him shiver. “Don’t answer it.”

Soobin indulges in it for a moment, but his phone keeps ringing. He winces, disentangles just a little bit from Beomgyu’s hold, and answers the call without looking at the caller ID.

“Hello,” he says.

“Binnie, where are you?” It’s Yeonjun’s voice, muffled, slightly panicky. Sounds like he’s been running, frantic, and Soobin is immediately alert.

“I’m here,” Soobin says, and lets go completely. Beomgyu sighs; a look of disappointment, even though it’s faint. He tries not to look at it. “Why, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, no, I’m fine. I’m just - I don’t really feel well, so, I’m going to the car. Just letting you know, if you still want to head back together, I’ll be waiting, but if you have somewhere else to be, that’s fine - I’ll go home alone. Just - just a heads up.”

Yeonjun’s rambling, words slurring together, and Soobin’s heart drops in his stomach. He scrambles for something to say as he meets Beomgyu’s curious gaze.

“I’ll meet you there,” Soobin says, final.

“Are you not in the middle of something? If you’re with Beomgyu, go ahead. I’ll be fine. I was just letting you know.”

“No, no,” Soobin shakes his head. “I’m not. I’ll be there.”

“Okay. Bye, Binnie.”

“Bye, Junie,” he ends the call.

Beomgyu looks at him. There’s question in his eyes, but Soobin doesn’t know what to answer it with.

“Sorry,” Soobin sighs. He should just make it simple. “I need to go.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” he reassures. Beomgyu is still looking at him. “I just need to go.”

Beomgyu’s face morphs to something like an understanding. Then, he tilts his head, a quiet shake to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Is Yeonjun okay?”

Soobin grips his phone tighter. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

A nod. It’s a short nod, but tells him everything he needs to know. Beomgyu nods for the third time. “Okay, bye then?”

Soobin reaches for his hand, and Beomgyu still twines them together. More loose and slack than usual. “Hey, tonight was fun,” he says earnestly. “Truly. I had a blast. Thank you.”

Beomgyu smiles at him. Soobin doesn’t know what to do with it; doesn’t deserve it. Never did.

“Yeah, me too,” he says softly, despite it. “See you when I see you, Soobin.”

It only dawns on him then. He doesn’t know when he’ll see Beomgyu again. If it’s two months to the future, ten years from now, or never. Beomgyu doesn’t tell him to stay in touch, so he closes his mouth.

“Goodbye, Beomgyu,” he whispers, one last thing to break. He doesn’t say it back.

*

Yeonjun’s room is pitch black.

Soobin doesn’t stumble around because Yeonjun presses close to him and he knows where to go. As usual, his knee bumps the edge of the bed, and he fearlessly falls. It’s a familiar dive; he knows where he’d be.

There is the wall on his side, and Yeonjun’s warmth on his other. They make do of the too small bed. Filling in spaces that were never meant for them.

“You really need to get a new bed,” Soobin says.

Yeonjun elbows him, and laughs quietly. “We’re not even going to be here soon,” he whispers.

Soobin breathes, thinks about his open field. Yeonjun sounds sure that they’ll be there soon, like a promise.

“I hope not,” he whispers back, because the future is never fixed. He wants it though, wants it more than anything. “We’ll get you a bigger bed then.”

Yeonjun shifts until their bare feet are tangled, and there’s a cheek on his collarbone. He’s so close like this, where Soobin can’t see but feel where he is. The lines of his hands, the smooth fabric of his suit, how his breath still smells like punch. It’s how he’s always been bared to Soobin. Simply his movements in the dark, yet Soobin knows it all too well.

He holds him, a delicate caress on the inside of his wrist. Soobin can’t see anything, but Yeonjun is here. He knows, because there is warmth and there is nothing, and then there is Yeonjun; sunny still despite the night.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun nods against his bone.

“Are you sure?”

Yeonjun hesitates, then breaks. “Not really.”

Soobin moves until they’re facing each other. He easily finds Yeonjun’s hand between them, and Yeonjun easily wraps it around his. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, nudging him encouragingly.

His breaths are slow. Deliberate. He thinks about it for a moment; sharp nails on knuckles. Soobin lets the silence be a friend. “I just can’t believe it’s over,” he admits. It being their graduation party. Being eighteen. Things that aren’t graspable anymore. “It was weird without you.”

It was weird dancing with someone else. Kissing a different mouth. Staying under the night sky in another hand’s hold. It was unnerving, out of place, and the whole night felt like a missing piece.

Even when it was never his to take. Not his to crave.

“You looked happy with Kai,” Soobin points out.

Yeonjun chuckles, sharp against the air. “Of course. Still weird without you.”

“We need to find a way to be without each other,” Soobin says, and holds Yeonjun’s hand tighter, closer, until there’s no more gap to break. “You’re way too clingy to be healthy.”

“And you’re not?” Yeonjun scoffs, kicking his shin.

“I don’t know where I’d be a year from now. Hell, even six months from now.”

“You’ll be in LA,” he answers quickly, like it was always ready on the tip of his tongue. “You’ll be in LA with me and we’ll be living our dream.”

Soobin knows it’s right there. Right in the corner, everything that he’s ever wanted. All that he needs to do left is wait. But that’s the hardest part out of anything else.

“You’ll have so many new friends,” Soobin says. That’s always the case. “I won’t be your first person to cling to anymore.”

Yeonjun answers by pressing closer, as if there was any space left. His nose brushes against the line of his neck. “No,” he denies. “You’re always my number one, Binnie.”

Soobin ignores it. Ignores the way his breath is warm on his skin, reminding him of a birthday party that never strayed too far. “What are you going to do with Kai?”

“What do you mean?”

“After this, are you still going to talk?”

“Probably not,” Yeonjun says, but he doesn’t sound too upset. “But we promised to stay in touch.”

“Okay.”

“You? How about Beomgyu?”

“He,” Soobin stops as the image of Beomgyu appears back in his mind. The look of disappointment on his face when the call ended. “He didn’t say anything.”

It’s probably for the best. He can’t keep hurting him like that.

“Ah, that sucks, Binnie,” Yeonjun squeezes his hand soothingly. Soobin feels sick to his stomach. “You’ll find someone else. Someone even better.”

Soobin wants to tell him there’s no one better for him. It’s still the same boy, the same heart, the same pitch black room. There’s no one else. He fumbles for Yeonjun’s hair and tucks a strand behind his ear.

“There’s no one better for me,” he breathes. It’s dark, but Yeonjun could probably see him enough.

Yeonjun doesn’t say anything for a moment, then a shaky laugh escapes his mouth. “Binnie, you’re only eighteen,” he says quietly. “There will be so much more Beomgyu for you in college. Trust me. They’d be crazy about you like he is.”

They’re not talking about the same thing anymore. Soobin doesn’t know how to break it to him, so he only nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“They’ll be so in love with you, you’re going to be sick of it,” Yeonjun goes on. “They will treat you well. They will look at you with so much love in their eyes. They will buy you ice cream when you’re sad. They will hold your hand in the dark.”

Yeonjun does just that and holds his hand again until there’s nothing else to miss. “They will love you, Binnie, because they can’t help it,” he says in a shuddering breath. “You deserve that, you know. You deserve the best.”

Soobin’s heart breaks silently. I already have the best, he says somewhere inside of his ribs. I have you.

“Don’t be too sad about Beomgyu,” Yeonjun pokes his face, then finds what he’s looking for and thumbs at where his dimple would be. “You’ll find someone, I promise.”

Just pretend it never happened.

Soobin knows those hands. Those fingertips at the back of his neck. That nonexistent mouth, disillusioned and false.

“Thanks, Junie,” he says through the same hard set of teeth.

“Hey,” Yeonjun calls, and Soobin’s always there to answer.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll watch over you,” he says.

A bus stop and a promise. Soobin is twelve again, except he’s seventeen in a balcony with another promise. Yeonjun seals the deal with a pretty mouth on his, and now he’s paying him in the form of being clueless.

It never happened.

“You won’t see me in space,” Soobin tells him. “I would just be a dot, no, I won’t even be a dot. I’ll be invisible to you.”

Yeonjun laughs, like it’s the silliest joke Soobin has ever said. It resounds in the echo of his room. Soft, gentle, and Soobin holds on to it.

“I’ll find a way,” he says. “I’ll find a way to you.”

“You better.”

“I will,” Yeonjun says again, and they’re on a spaceship away from home. The same one from a lifetime ago.

“Where to today, pilot?”

Yeonjun squeezes his hand like confirmation. “We’re already here,” and the galaxy simply never left.

I’ll watch over you too.

*

The letter comes unexpectedly. It appears unassuming and innocent at his doorstep. He immediately rushes to call Yeonjun, his voice hoarse, and Yeonjun comes running to his house with expectation and anticipation bubbling high.

Yeonjun has the simple letter on his hand too. They sit on Soobin’s bed, heart on their throats.

“Oh my god,” he tries to breathe, but his heart is beating hard under his skin. “It’s here.”

“Let’s open it together?”

Soobin isn’t ready. He isn’t ready to see what the future holds. His open field, just an arm-length away. He looks at Yeonjun, whose eyes are shining and expectant. Curious fingers on the surface of the letter, like he just wants to get it over with.

He rips it open, nervous tingle on his hands. This is it. This is what everything has been leading, what the last years have been boiled down to. “Okay.”

It’s silence for an agonizing minute; sounds of paper, rustling. Soobin moves around on the bed until his back is pressed to the cold of his wall. It’s cold on his heart too when he catches sight of the truth.

Yeonjun’s happy scream pierces him. With his bright eyes, bright smile, the relief rushing out of him, it’s evident what it says on his letter. It shows in how he looks at him; awed, the dream dangling unfairly close to him.

“I got in! Oh my god, Binnie, I got in!”

Soobin throws the letter away until he can’t feel the coarse surface on his skin. Painful tears on the edge of his eyes, but he can’t hold them back.

“I didn’t,” he says quietly. Until it doesn’t mean anything anymore.

“What?”

“I didn’t get in.”

Yeonjun scrambles for the letter. He pauses for a long time that the silence becomes cruel and painful.

“I didn’t get in,” he repeats, unfamilliar in his ears. Disbelieving, because this is what he’s wanted since he was six. He’s imagined it in his head for so long. This exact moment, except it never ends like this. It’s always a step closer to his dream; to somewhere brighter. It’s always happy news, happy heart, a happy dream within reach.

It’s not true. It’s not coming true.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says, too soft. Pitying.

He takes the letter from his hand and stares at it again until the words float and become unreal. He stares at it until his eyelids burn, but it doesn’t change. We regret that we are not able to offer you admission....

The letter falls to the floor silently, and Soobin doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s his dream, crushed in plain paper. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“Binnie, I’m not going,” Yeonjun says, the quickness to it terrifying. It makes Soobin’s head snap up, and through the tears in his eyes, he sees Yeonjun’s hopeful eyes. He knows an apology is there somewhere. It shouldn’t be there. Something hot like shame coiled hot in his stomach. “I’ll stay here with you. I don’t need to go. I’m going to stay with you - ”

“Of course not, what the fuck are you talking about,” Soobin rasps harshly, his voice raising high. It’s disappointment, anger, regret muddled together, and it comes out like this; broken, not intact. “Just fucking go, Yeonjun.”

It was his dream. It was his dream. It was always his open field, them together lying on the grass. It’s always been his horizon.

It was always his to take. Not anymore.

“No, I’m not going to leave you! We promised to go together - ”

“Yes, you are!” Soobin yells, his throat closing up. He knows he’s being unreasonably angry, but he can’t help lashing out, ugly envy burning hot. “Yes, you fucking are! You’re going to leave and I’m going to be here! The loser that you left behind!”

Yeonjun flinches, but doesn’t back down. He meets his gaze in a rue moment.

“I’m sorry, Binnie,” Yeonjun whispers dreadfully.

It’s not his fault. None of this is his fault. It was Soobin’s idea to get Yeonjun apply too. It’s not his fault Soobin’s stupid and Yeonjun’s perfect, like he always has been.

Soobin’s open field. It comes crashing down, starts to rain in its usual dryness. The sun is nowhere to be seen, and he’s alone. Soobin’s open field is gone, dusty, motionless in its truth.

“Just go, Yeonjun,” his voice quivers. It hurts everywhere.

“Let’s just talk about it first, okay? Let’s talk about it - ”

“No, I mean right now,” he cuts him off. “I want you to go.”

It’s hard to look at him when Soobin is all tears and panic. It’s hard to think when the letter is somewhere on the floor and the pitying rejection is fresh in his mind.

Yeonjun stays still for a moment. The silence becomes unbearable the longer he stays, so Soobin stares at his hands instead. He doesn’t watch when the door closes.

*

Here’s how it goes. Here’s how he breaks.

He spends the rest of the night crying to his pillow until mom checks on him and he cries even more. She stays with him though, and drags her soft hand on his hair. He’s back being a little kid, heart on his sleeve. Hopeful, bigger heart.

“Did you kick Yeonjun out?”

Soobin almost shakes his head, but can’t go through lying to her. “Yeah,” he says, just now feeling guilty when the anger has worn down. “Did you see him out?”

“Yeah, he looked pretty upset.”

“I’m sorry,” Soobin says, muffled.

She laughs softly and pats his head, comforting. Soobin slides closer to her until the tears are hoter, and hoter, and they finally melt on his skin.

“I’m not the one who should hear that, Soobin-ah. Why were you mad at him?”

He doesn’t know. Hours after it happened, he can’t really tell why he was so furious. Looking back, maybe it was that excitement that blended into fear the moment he realized what was the letter about.

It wasn’t good news.

“I wanted it so bad,” he says honestly. It hurts again, needles pinching right through his lungs. “I wanted it more than anything.”

“I know you did. You worked hard for it. It doesn’t change that fact.”

“Of course it does,” Soobin retorts. “Yeonjun got in. I didn’t.”

It’s crazy to think about. That he’s waited years for this day. He’s waited, and tried, and dreamed, but in the end he doesn’t get the chance to see it.

She sighs fondly. Soobin cries a little bit more. “What’s wrong with Seoul?” she asks quietly, pondering. “Staying here doesn’t mean you failed. You’re just choosing a different dream.”

There’s nothing wrong with Seoul. There’s nothing wrong with going to university here, Soobin’s home for his whole life. There’s nothing wrong with a new dream. It’s just not the one that he wants.

It’s never Seoul that he thinks about when he thinks about his future. It’s never the same sky, the same air, the same old streets. It’s always something new, something more, a new taste of life he wants to feel.

There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s sure it would still be a happy time, but this wasn’t what he wanted.

All dreams are attainable. That’s what everyone says. Soobin thinks it’s time to realized that it wasn’t true. It’s been eighteen years of believing a lie, and maybe he should’ve seen it from the start.

“I don’t want a different dream,” Soobin whispers quietly.

“Do you want Yeonjun to stay?”

“No,” he says, then flinches. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I want to be where he is,” he admits, and the bareness of the truth makes him almost shy. He curls even further into myself, but Mom doesn’t let go. “But I don’t want him to stay.”

He wishes there was a way for that. A way for them to still be together, even when they have to be apart. A way to still be twelve year old boys in a bus stop, stuck together like gravity.

“You guys will be okay,” she reassures, her voice soothing. Soobin sinks even deeper. “You will figure it out.”

Not all dreams are attainable. The truth was revealed to him in a moonlit balcony with a mouth he needs to forget, and now it comes in a form of a faraway dream he never got to reach. He should’ve known. It was always there.

“Yeah,” Soobin nods, thinks about Yeonjun’s sad eyes and how he silently left without saying anything. That’s how Yeonjun loves him back. “Mom, I need to say sorry to him.”

She smiles softly. “You can do it tomorrow. Sleep now, it’s late.”

“But I feel terrible,” he clutches the bed sheets, his heart clenching. “I want to say sorry now.”

“Let him sleep too, Soobin-ah,” Mom brushes his bangs. His hair is starting to get long. He closes his eyes once, and lets himself breathe.

He’ll do it tomorrow. He’ll do it tomorrow, and he’ll be okay.

Mom doesn’t turn the lights off. He’s not in space, but he’s safe.

*

When it comes down to it, Soobin is rejected twice. Twice, in the presence of the same boy.

He wakes up and feels terrible all over again. The ceiling is too high, his bed too crammed, and his skin feels tight against his shirt. It’s that sinking, dawning realization again that he isn’t going to LA with his best friend.

Soobin goes down the stairs like a zombie, hair askew, mouth dry, his heart beating sadly inside of the restrained lines of his lungs. Mom gives him a look, Dad doesn’t say anything, so Soobin makes breakfast and goes upstairs again, eating it on his bed instead.

When he doesn’t think about it too much, it’s fine. It’s fine, it’s not the end of the world. He’ll go to a nice university here in Seoul, Yeonjun goes to embark on a journey without him, and maybe it’s not going to be a wounded, painful road. Maybe it’ll be clean, and effortless, and Soobin won’t be hurt anymore.

Time heals, they say, except he’s living in it right now. He’s in the middle of the whirling mess of Time, and he needs to feel it today. He can’t flash forward his life five years to the future, where it’s hopefully better, happier, and he’s no longer a confused eighteen year old boy on his eighteen year old bed.

Soobin finishes his breakfast, cleans the dishes, and runs upstairs again. He closes the door until it clicks, then burrows himself deeper into his sheets.

The morning bleeds into afternoon, then shifts into the darker shade of an evening sky, then slowly, it becomes pitch black and lighter than it has ever been. Soobin peeks through his window, sees the stars, and thinks of a time-consuming boy.

It’s easy. It’s always easy with Yeonjun. They used to fight a lot back then. It was always over something silly; six years old fighting over the TV channel, or Yeonjun looking at him with determined eyes over the last piece of cookie. But they always compromised, they always caved in, giving in. They promised to take turns with the channels, and the cookie ended up being split. Both happy; none hurt.

It doesn’t matter now, because they’re not six years old anymore. They’re gambling on a future, and Soobin doesn’t want to stand in his way.

So he runs, like he always has. He runs through the three houses between them, familiar wind, floaty feet that always come running for the same boy. One, two, three, Yeonjun.

He knocks his door, and waits. Waits and waits, because his heart is a beating thing.

Yeonjun opens the door.

His eyes go wide when he sees that it’s Soobin. He looks like he hasn’t had a blink of sleep, tiredness evident in the darkness of his eyebags.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely.

Soobin shuffles uneasily, then shrugs, feigning for nonchalance. “Walk with me?”

Yeonjun looks surprised, mouth hanging open. “Really?”

“Yeah, walk with me,” Soobin nods, full of hope. It breaks his heart a little. Maybe a lot.

“Okay,” then he closes the door.

The night is warm. Yeonjun walks an arm distance away, hands inside his pockets, cheeks rosy. Soobin lets it linger, just for a moment longer, until the silence is theirs alone.

Yeonjun breaks it first. He sighs, then stops walking. Pinches the bridge of his nose, before looking at Soobin with something sad in his eyes.

“If I go,” he says. “You go.”

Soobin laughs softly, uncontrollable fondness bubbling inside of his chest. A nice sentiment to say, but he sees how unrealistic it is now. It’s not scary, he realizes. The distance between them right now, just a few steps away. Yeonjun smiles faintly against the light.

“That’s very sweet, Yeonjun,” Soobin strides to him until they’re a step closer. “But how do you think we could do that?”

“I don’t know. I could put you in my suitcase.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Soobin stands in front of him, and Yeonjun looks up. They’re glinting, his eyes, and the moon’s watching again. He sighs, bracing himself. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, genuinely. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Yeonjun nods, pursing his lips. “It’s okay. I understand.”

Maybe, if Soobin takes one step at a time, it won’t be a gaping wound. Maybe that’s all there is to it. One step, another, and the earth would fold itself and they’d meet in the middle.

There are so many things unsaid. In his throat, in Yeonjun’s visible held breath, in the looming ticking night. He doesn’t know how to say them, but Yeonjun takes the lead and finds his hand.

It’s a comforting weight. Fingers wrapping around his as they walk again.

“Binnie,” he says.

“Junie.”

It’s the elephant in the room that neither wants to address. Yeonjun tells him with the warmth of his hand, and Soobin talks about it with his closed jaw.

There’s really nothing to talk about. There shouldn’t even be a decision to make.

“What do you think I should do?” Yeonjun asks eventually.

“What do you want?”

Yeonjun doesn’t answer. Soobin waits for it.

“You,” he says to the night, eternal. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Soobin huffs lightly, tugging him close. “You can’t really get rid of me. I’m like a leech.”

Hooded from the shadow, Yeonjun looks at him miserably. “Who do I hug when I’m there?”

It’s always the case. It never changes. There’s always someone brighter for him. Someone who Yeonjun would take into a deserted balcony and kiss tenderly. Someone whose mouth isn’t his. Not Soobin’s forgettable, never-there lips.

“You’ll find someone,” he rasps. “You always do.”

Yeonjun holds his elbows, sharp grounding nails on him. It’s desperate, his eyes flailing wildly on his face. “Binnie,” he says again.

Soobin doesn’t want to talk about it. There was an attempt, but it’s hollow now.

“It’s fine, Junie,” he reassures, even when he doesn’t really know. He thought he’d study abroad too, but that doesn’t happen. He doesn’t know anything. The future’s not his to tell. “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

They’ve lived in this neighbourhood for eighteen years. He knows all the steps, recognizes every lights. He’s familiar with everyone around, even those he doesn’t talk to.

Yeonjun’s lived here for eighteen years too, but he’s leaving.

It was supposed to be his goodbye. It was supposed to be Soobin looking longingly at these houses, nostalgic, aiming for a foreign neighbourhood he hasn’t seen.

It’s not his goodbye. He’s staying. He has time to look at the houses. They’re not going anywhere.

“You have nothing to worry about, you know,” Soobin says quietly. “I’ll still be here.”

Yeonjun doesn’t say anything, but his gaze is heavy. It’s unsaid how much it’ll change. How different their lives would be. Soobin dreads the possibility that they would grow apart, the distance cold and open.

“It’s just four years,” Yeonjun whispers-giggles. Odd in the silence, but Soobin laughs too.

“Yeah, it’s just four years,” Soobin says, laughs harder when he says it out loud. Suddenly it’s easier, and it’s a reminder of how easy it has been for them to stay friends. They’ve been stuck together for eighteen years. Four years should be nothing.

“Okay,” Yeonjun says. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Soobin says, and the rest is unsaid.

*

It’s bittersweet.

The months leading up to Yeonjun’s departure feels empty, almost like a dream. Soobin spends all the days with him, in his room, pitch black but never silent. They laugh a lot, like they always do. They laugh, and hold hands, and the sun is always there. When the night comes and the moon peeks, Soobin looks away.

They don’t play pretend anymore, but Soobin is, in his own way. He’s pretending that it doesn’t hurt, seeing Yeonjun slowly packs his life in a suitcase. He pretends it’s a familiar sight to watch Yeonjun go, out of this room, out of this house, out of his life. He pretends there’s nothing wrong with that. He pretends that it doesn’t sting, just a little bit, to see his field opening up for Yeonjun and not him.

They make do of it the best they can. They don’t talk about it either. Yeonjun brushes past it everyday, pretends in his own way too that he’s not leaving, and Soobin lets him ignore it because it’s easier that way. They’re both eighteen and playing pretend, and somehow it’s the most familiar thing.

Yeonjun plays Interstellar for the third time that week. He sniffles on Soobin’s shirt. A routine, a habit, and Soobin is back to the edge of the wall, and reminiscing when they watched it for the first time.

It’s still the same picture. Yeonjun’s dark room, Yeonjun’s too small bed, Yeonjun’s silent cries. Still the same arm pressing on his, the same tears and heart.

Suddenly it’s one month left, then three weeks, and then one day.

One night.

“Let’s build a fort,” Soobin suggests.

Yeonjun raises a brow at him, amused. There is a familiar twinkle in his eyes. He quickly stands up, fixes his crumpled shirt, and chirps. “Oh my god, yes please.”

So they do. They bicker for awhile because Soobin has forgotten where the end of the sheets should end up, and Yeonjun keeps making a mess after it’s successfully stood tall and they have to start over again.

After a few moments of stumbling around, the fort is done.

It’s not the best. The left side is weak and falling apart, the roof is a little wonky, but Yeonjun claps his hands and goes inside anyway. Soobin turns the light off and follows him.

“This is,” Yeonjun says, but stops.

“I know,” Soobin says, because he does.

It’s surreally dark again. His eyes blink at the lack of the light, adjusting. There’s really nothing up there, but Soobin still stares at it, until it grows, and expands, and another milky way blooms just for them.

They don’t talk about it. It’s been months of silence, because neither knows how to say it. A goodbye at the edge of his tongue, but he’s not brave enough to spit it out.

Soobin isn’t brave. He’s a coward.

He’s a wimp.

He’s been pretending for so long. He’s been pretending that the kiss didn’t mean anything. He’s been pretending that Yeonjun wasn’t beautiful under the moon.

He’s pretending that he’s getting over him when he’s not.

Soobin never gets past the first step. Forget about Yeonjun’s smile. As if he could burn the sight, as if it wasn’t already imprinted everywhere on his skin.

It doesn’t matter though, because Yeonjun’s leaving tomorrow.

“Junie,” he calls, scared. “Aren’t you afraid of the dark?”

“Never.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“You told me you wanted to go to Mars.”

“I still do,” Yeonjun chuckles, a soft sound that rings. “You’re going with me.”

“Let’s go to Pluto.”

“Sure. I’m the best pilot alive.”

“Of course you are,” Soobin says fondly. He knows it was never real. He knows it was always just a child’s dream, a fantasy, something that little Yeonjun saw on TV that never really left. Yeonjun was never going to be an astronaut. Soobin was never his right hand man. “Where to today?”

“Mm,” Yeonjun hums. “Where do you want to go?”

Soobin thinks about it, heart breaking a little when Yeonjun finds his hand. It’s an ode to a promise six years ago. “Let’s stay,” he whispers quietly. That’s what he wants, more than anything else. “Let’s just stay here.”

Yeonjun stiffens for a moment, hears him just enough. “Okay, Binnie.”

You’re leaving, he says with a soft nudge. It goes unnoticed. You’re leaving tomorrow.

“Would you watch over me?” Soobin asks for the first time in eighteen years. Suddenly he wants a reassurance, another promise. He holds onto Yeonjun’s hand uneasily.

Yeonjun doesn’t let him go. He holds his hand just as tight. It’s as desperate, as flimsy. Fragile in its frail attempt to holding on to the moment.

Soobin’s open field is broken, echoey, but there’s still Yeonjun. There’s still Yeonjun with him there, their hands still aligned, and even when the sun’s gone, he sees him crystal clear.

“I’ll watch over you,” Yeonjun promises. “Earth isn’t that far, Binnie.”

“LA is, though,” Soobin croaks weakly.

“LA is on Earth, you dummy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know,” Yeonjun says softly. “I still think you could fit in my suitcase.”

“Is it too late?”

“No, we have all night to cram you inside.”

“Let’s do it then.”

Yeonjun laughs, then hugs him. His arm slides across his torso, a warm hand on his waist. “Can’t we just go to Pluto right now? I heard it’s pretty chilly there.”

“That’s just an excuse for you to cuddle me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a giant teddy bear.”

Soobin hugs him back. He feels Yeonjun’s chin on his shoulder. Everything is heavier. Even the air; stuffy, thick, like something’s fogging and no one’s cleaning it up.

They’re still not really talking about it. They’re dancing around it. A waltz in an empty ballroom.

“Binnie,” Yeonjun says. “I love you.”

I love you too, he says it back, like he always have. But he can’t say it like that.

“I love you too,” he replies instead. It’s lighter in his mouth; made-up. It’s not how he wants to say it, but he pretends that it is.

“I hope the weather’s nice there,” Yeonjun says. They still aren’t talking about it.

The elephant in the room is huge, unavoidable. “Yeah, Junie. Me too,” he agrees quietly, avoidable.

The night slowly closes in, but they don’t talk about what tomorrow means. They don’t talk about it, but Yeonjun pretends, and Soobin pretends, and that’s how they know.

*

Soobin drags Yeonjun’s suitcase from the car to the airport.

The sun’s out. Even though it’s a warm afternoon, Yeonjun is wearing his pastel sweater. Soobin thinks about Kai’s watch that Yeonjun left behind in his drawer. There’s no metallic taste today, no more reminder. Just like the beach; one thing of Soobin that he takes with him, one thing of Kai that he didn’t bring. That patient sweater, that forgettable watch. He doesn’t know if it should mean anything.

Stark white halls, clear windows, tall ceilings. Soobin feels like he’s stuck in a dream, trying to escape before it’s too late. He stares quietly at everyone else; people saying goodbyes, people meeting for the first time. It’s a mess of farewell and collision, and Soobin thinks it’s both for them.

It’s a long walk inside. It’s a long, terrible talk, but Soobin puts on a smile for him. Yeonjun looks happy, excited, and his lips are wide and soft. That’s always been the case anyway. It’s the same thing, always; Yeonjun choosing Kai over him, now he’s choosing LA over him.

It was supposed to be the both of them. Soobin was supposed to join him with his own suitcase, and they were going to see a different sky.

You’re leaving, he says to Yeonjun’s back. You’re leaving me.

Yeonjun doesn’t talk much. He lets the silence be another indication that something’s terribly wrong. Something’s different, something’s changing, an orbit shifting.

Maybe Yeonjun’s making it easier for him too. Maybe if they talked about it, Yeonjun would never have the strength to leave. His eyes are fleeting, ephemeral, uneasy. Soobin presses close to him as they walk to Yeonjun’s gate. It’s a never-ending door to a never-ending tomorrow.

“Do you remember to pack everything?” Soobin asks absentmindedly, as the clock starts counting down, and their time is thinning. People are walking through the gates, bustling, hurried. He feels that sinking feeling, panic rushing to his head. He’s running out of time. He’s running out of things to say.

“Yeah, of course,” Yeonjun nods, unhurried and weighed.

“Okay,” Soobin rasps, then stares at him.

Yeonjun stares at him back; and it’s a silent dread between them. His eyes are round, open, frantically searching. Soobin knows that they’re both afraid. Soobin knows that this is unknown water, a terrifying jump, but someone needs to be brave enough to say it.

“You’re leaving,” Soobin lets it out, breathless. “Yeonjun, you’re leaving.”

It feels like a punch to the gut as Yeonjun slowly wraps himself around him and hugs him tightly. The soft fabric of his sweater under Soobin’s palms, and he breathes him in until he can’t remember anything else.

“It’s only four years,” he says, chuckles again, an empty reassurance. He presses into him until their chests meet, his fingers on the back of his neck. He’s only a breath away, nothing else between them except their desperation. Soobin holds him back and feels him for the first time all over again until he’s the only tangible thing he’s ever held.

Soobin closes his eyes. He hears a familiar music, loud and bumpy in his ears. He hears the same pulse point, drumming against his skin. The smell of beer on his mouth. Tender hands on him, tender boy. A moonlit balcony, permanently etched.

“It’s only four years,” he echoes him, and he’s back to a birthday party that never ends.

Yeonjun knocks his forehead on his softly. This close, Soobin could lean in, and that kiss would mean something. Soobin could chase after him, and that night would finally cease. This close, Soobin could pretend that Yeonjun wants him back, and that kiss means something to him too.

He listens delicately to Yeonjun’s patient breaths, like he’s revelling in it, in him. Memorizing the shape of Soobin’s bones, trailing his fingetips to the pillow of his cheeks. Yeonjun’s taking him in, slowly, torturously, that Soobin feels his lungs emptied. His nails are on him, and Soobin wants to kiss him again.

It never happened.

“I need to go, Binnie,” Yeonjun whispers after their warmth starts becoming a burden. It’s another rejection when he disentangles himself from him, and his eyes are glassy and misty and sad. He holds his hand, a silent goodbye, a voiceless love. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better,” Soobin says, broken. There’s a lingering taste between his knuckles when Yeonjun finally lets him go.

He waves his hand when he goes past the gate, a bright smile on his lips. He keeps waving until he’s barely seen, and he’s gone, and Soobin lost him. Once, twice, a thousand times.

Yeonjun wants to be an astronaut, so he leaves him behind.