Chapter Text
YEONJUN
It’s the same argument every time.
Usually, Yeonjun tries to tune it out. He’s heard it enough times to be able to predict how every conversation will go. It should upset him more—listening to his parents fight with an intensity that would have terrified him as a child—but it’s normal now.
It would be an annoyance if it didn’t make him feel like he was suffocating. Most of the time he shoves his face in a pillow until it’s over, or puts earbuds in and plays music almost loud enough to drown it out. Enough so that he can’t make out the words, but not all the way.
Today, he doesn’t have it in him. He lies on his back in bed and stares at a random spot on his ceiling. Endless, empty white space. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the edge of an old poster peeling from the wall opposite him. It’s illuminated by the midday sun, streaming in through a crack in his curtains. His room is always dark, even with the lights on.
“—since when? That’s not what we had worked out.” His mother’s voice, tense and brittle. “And Yeonjun’s here with me.”
“Yeonjun’s an adult who can pay for his own things. You’re making it seem so much worse than it is.” His father. Bitter, annoyed, bordering on yelling.
“Of course you waited until he was an adult.” That’s not a new revelation. The classic maybe we loved each other a long time ago, but we only tolerate each other now for the kid. Also, we’ve never considered that it would be better for everyone if we just broke up. “That’s been your plan all along.”
“I wouldn’t have needed to wait if you had pulled your weight.” More honest than usual. He’ll regret that later. “If you were worried about him, you should have focused on providing for him, like I was.”
“You’re not providing for anyone right now. Especially not him.”
“You mean I’m not providing for you. You say that after everything I’ve sacrificed.”
“You’ve only ever sacrificed relationships. You’re selfish.” Maybe Yeonjun has had enough.
He drags himself out of bed and slips into the kitchen, past his parents, and fills himself a cup of water. He tries to tune out the argument, but it’s not exactly easy to ignore. Something about you’re lucky I’ve been so generous and you’ve been fooling yourself if you thought this would turn out any different.
He doesn’t look up, so he’s not sure if they noticed him coming in, but his father storms outside and slams the door shut a minute later. The sound of his car starting and pulling away follows.
It’s funny that they always stop when he walks in, as if being in a different room means he doesn’t hear every word. Yeonjun assumes it’s out of habit more than anything, one that started when he wasn’t old enough to understand. They know that he knows how deep their problems run. Yeonjun pretends to drink, looking out the window, everything to avoid acknowledging his mother, who approaches his side. The sudden silence is jarring and uncomfortable.
He can’t avoid her forever, though he’s usually able to these days. Whenever they interact, they spend most of the time pretending like they understand each other at all when that hasn’t been the case since before Yeonjun graduated middle school. “You should tell me if there’s anything I can do,” he says, but he’s not the one with a good job and an expensive lawyer.
His mother says nothing for a while. There isn’t a need. Yeonjun’s parents have their routine of arguing, then Yeonjun and his mother have their routine of awkward consolation after.
“If you went with him, you could transfer to another college. There are nicer schools in the city,” she says casually. It’s anything but, with such unspoken weight to it.
This isn’t about Yeonjun, after all. A fancier title is what his father—rather, his father’s money—could offer him. Not that he doesn’t influence Yeonjun’s education now, but things were different back when Yeonjun had just graduated high school. The fighting hadn’t seemed so urgent then. That must be why he can’t seem to grasp it now: the possibility that his parents’ marriage might finally be over, after years of threats to make a point.
There’s a chance Yeonjun could have a better life if he packed everything up and followed his father across the country, but he’s seen enough to know that it wouldn’t be as simple as that. He’s not exactly fond of his father, anyway. He doesn’t forget anything.
“I’m not doing that,” Yeonjun says firmly. He dumps the rest of his water into the pot of a hopeless, wilted plant. His mother will surely mention college again, no matter what he says, but he’s not going to budge on this. The last thing he wants is more change. “Why would I want to?”
“You should consider all of your options,” she says. Like flipping a switch, it fills Yeonjun with a revulsion so powerful it scares him.
His mother begins to speak again, but he doesn’t register what she says. It’s stiflingly hot even indoors with the air conditioners running and the fans on, but he feels cold all over, as if he’s been thrown underwater.
He’s standing in his childhood home, the place he should feel most comfortable, but his skin is crawling. I can’t do this. I don’t know what to do.
Without responding, he makes a beeline for the front door. “Yeonjun, you have to—”
It’s so much brighter outside than in his home, with the lights off and the curtains drawn, and it hurts his eyes. He breaks into a jog until the end of the street. From there, he walks mindlessly, keeping his head down, until his legs start to burn and he realizes what he’s done.
It’s unlikely that his father drove in the same direction, and if he did he would be long gone, but Yeonjun turns onto a side street before stopping to catch his breath. He hasn’t actually made it that far from home. It’s only been a few minutes.
When he checks his phone, he has no notifications, so his mother isn’t bothering to reason with him this time. His phone is the only thing he has on him—not his keys, or his wallet, or anything else that would have been useful, but he doesn’t want to take the walk of shame home to retrieve his belongings. He has only his own impatience to blame for that.
Yeonjun sinks to his knees. Why had he run? He has no idea. It was the only thing that had made sense—and he’s ashamed of it. There have been so many times where he’s wanted to run away, but he knows better than that.
His heart’s still beating a little too fast. It’s not like this is anything new. It’s not like I didn’t know it was coming. He breathes in deeply, in through his nose, out through his mouth, more of a sigh. It doesn’t make him feel any better.
Now that he’s out of the house, he may as well do something. With the heat, Yeonjun can’t imagine being active for very long. His usual escape is dancing, but it’s not easy to book last-minute studio time so late in the day. He’s not in the mood to be very social, but he doesn’t want to be alone, either. Out of his closest friends, Kai’s at work, and Taehyun’s supposedly starting a new job today, which leaves Soobin and Beomgyu.
Yeonjun tucks his phone back into his pocket and stands up. He hadn’t been expecting either of them to agree so readily, even though it’s rare that they deny each other anything.
I’m so relieved. He begins walking again, this time with a sense of purpose. He was heading in the opposite direction of Soobin’s house earlier, but that doesn’t matter now. He lives closest to Soobin out of all of his friends, and all of them are within walking distance depending on how ambitious he is. He’s lucky.
Yeonjun has had the route to Soobin’s house memorized for years. He’s taken it countless times, enough so that he could walk it in his sleep. These days, when he’s not at home or work, he’s usually with Soobin. More often than not, Soobin’s parents are away for work, and his siblings are older, so it’s easy for him to have friends over without interrupting anything. His parents wouldn’t care, anyway—Soobin’s a quiet guy, the last person anyone would expect to cause trouble, even with an empty house and pack of college student friends.
Like Yeonjun’s, Soobin’s street isn’t busy, the sound of traffic always muted. Everything is a little too neat in this part of town: the houses are exactly the same distance apart, the trees are never too tall or unruly, everything is divided by rows of picket fence. Soobin’s house sticks out because his fence is a little worn, and the bushes are slightly overgrown, which the neighbors surely must gossip about.
Yeonjun climbs the front steps, prepared to knock at the door, but it swings open before he has the chance. “Yeonjun,” Soobin says brightly. He steps back to let Yeonjun inside. “It’s good to see you. Beomgyu just got here.”
“Beomgyu? Already? He’s twice as far away from here as I am,” Yeonjun says. Soobin closes the door behind Yeonjun, then turns to pull him into a hug. Yeonjun automatically relaxes, the familiarity of Soobin’s arms around him a welcome comfort. Soobin’s a little taller than him, which Yeonjun has come to appreciate lately. His height makes it easier for Yeonjun to press his face into his shoulder, close his eyes, and forget about everything else around him.
“He said he was already in the area,” Soobin says, letting go of Yeonjun. He walks in the direction of his room, hesitating for a moment so that Yeonjun can catch up to him. “Surprised me too. So, how are you?”
“I’m okay,” Yeonjun says automatically. “It feels like we haven’t spent time together in a while.”
“It’s only been a week,” Soobin says. He gives a small, charming smile. “I get it, though.”
The inside of Soobin’s house is as polished as the outside, with a stiff cleanliness that reminds Yeonjun of a hotel. Most of the space lacks the usual signs of being lived in, devoid of any clutter. Old family photos collect dust on bookshelves. Mail is stacked in a perfect little pile on the kitchen table. Soobin’s room, at least, is a kind of organized chaos, but still less disastrous than Yeonjun would have expected from him.
Beomgyu has made himself at home on Soobin’s bed, sprawled across the honeycomb-patterned blankets and hugging a pillow to his chest. He sits up quickly and tosses the pillow aside when he sees Yeonjun, which makes Soobin wrinkle his nose. “Hyung, you’re late!”
“I took exactly as long as I said I would,” Yeonjun protests.
Soobin sits at the chair by his desk, positioning himself so that he can still see Yeonjun and Beomgyu. “You can stay until tonight, as long as you don’t get sick of me,” he says. “But I have to kick you out at ten. I have plans with Kai tonight.”
“He’s working today, isn’t he? He’ll be so tired,” Beomgyu says. “Tell him I said hi. For now, you’re stuck entertaining me.”
“I didn’t offer entertainment,” Soobin says. “But my existence is entertaining enough.”
“Yes, very,” Yeonjun says drily. He sits next to Beomgyu, who grins at him. “Don’t worry, we won’t bother you.”
“I have been bored lately, but I wouldn’t turn you away if you needed somewhere to go,” Soobin says. He tilts his head at Yeonjun. “You don’t have anything on you. Looks like you don’t need me to give you suggestions for being impulsive.”
Yeonjun laughs nervously. He’s not ready to explain that yet. Soobin probably won’t ask, but he avoids eye contact anyway.
As expected, Soobin doesn’t push it. “Are you feeling alright, Beomgyu?” he asks softly. Yeonjun looks at Beomgyu, who startles at the question.
Beomgyu does look tired. His eyes are glossy, a little unfocused, and he’s slouching as though he’s having trouble holding himself up. He hasn’t bothered to style his hair, so it’s messy, falling in front of his face and obscuring his delicate features. He’s wearing long sleeves despite the weather. His clothes look too big for him—if Yeonjun had to guess, he’d say they’ve been borrowed from Soobin.
“I’m fine,” Beomgyu says. The proper response to how are you, are you okay. He swats Soobin’s hand away when he tries to check his temperature. “I just haven’t been sleeping well.”
“You can tell me if something’s wrong,” Soobin says. His voice is so gentle that Beomgyu stops for a moment, considering him, but shakes his head.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Beomgyu says. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Soobin frowns. “I’m not accusing you of lying.” He looks away, and Beomgyu relaxes when he’s removed from the center of attention. “You know that I’m always around if you need me.”
“I know,” Beomgyu says. He lies back down, pillowing his head on Yeonjun’s thigh. “I should’ve thought to ask to come over earlier. It’s quieter here.”
All of them have off days, but it’s most obvious when something is bothering Beomgyu because he’s usually the type to feed off of his friends’ energies. It’s such a sharp contrast to the Beomgyu that Yeonjun knows best. If there is a problem, Beomgyu will tell them eventually. It’s a good sign that he wanted to see Yeonjun and Soobin, so it’s most likely that he just needs to rest for a while.
“We can be quiet,” Soobin says, promptly returning to whatever game he was playing on his phone before Yeonjun interrupted.
“I don’t mind if you talk,” Beomgyu says. “I like to listen. Tell me about your day.”
Soobin shrugs. “I really wasn’t doing anything until Yeonjun texted. It’s been a slow week.”
“My mom’s trying to convince me to go live with my father in the city,” Yeonjun says. His friends are well aware of the situation, but it feels weird to say aloud. He hasn’t decided how much he wants to say about how he’d stormed out of the house earlier—he has such a hard time explaining how it upsets him. “She thinks I’d be happier if I went to college there.”
“You can’t leave us now that Taehyun and Kai are finally out of high school,” Beomgyu says with wide eyes. “Maybe it’ll actually be fun now that we can meet up between classes.”
“I don’t plan on it,” Yeonjun says. “And if I did go away for college, I wouldn’t live with him.”
“I hate to ask,” Soobin says carefully, “but do you know… what’s going to happen next? With the separation?”
“I have no idea,” Yeonjun says. He weaves his fingers through Beomgyu’s hair, untangling the ends as he speaks. “Mom doesn’t think it’s any of my business, so I only know what I’ve overheard. She’s worried about the money. Dad’s never home, so it feels like an actual separation now. I don’t think a divorce would change much, at this point.”
It’s always been hard to watch his parents fight, but he’s come to terms with that. But just because things aren't going to change for his parents doesn’t mean they won’t change for him. Things have never been so uncertain, and yet there’s nothing he can do to delay the arrival of an inevitable future.
“We have more in common now,” Soobin says. “Dad’s never home.”
“I wish my dad was never home,” Beomgyu mumbles. “And that I could live at college. But it wouldn’t matter because I’d be home for summer, anyway.”
Yeonjun traces Beomgyu’s cheekbone with his thumb. Beomgyu leans into it. He’s the one who initiated the touch, but Yeonjun is suddenly caught off-guard by how Beomgyu is so content with it. “We’ll be here during the summers, too,” he says, full of warmth.
“You can come here whenever,” Soobin says. “Even if my parents were home, they probably wouldn’t notice if you replaced me.”
“I think they would. I’m prettier than you,” Beomgyu says without missing a beat. “Don’t you agree, Yeonjun-hyung?”
“I’m not saying anything that would go to your heads,” Yeonjun says, deflecting. You’re both so pretty, is what he wants to say instead. Soobin’s a classic kind of tall, dark, and handsome, with a unique sort of tenderness and somehow effortless beauty about him that’s impossible to ignore. Beomgyu’s alluring in a different way, demanding attention without giving too much. Like a work of art. Yeonjun knows them both too well to take them too seriously, but he won’t deny what he sees.
Soobin, always impressive at multitasking, shoots them a glare before turning back to his game. Yeonjun is continuously amazed by his ability to continue a conversation when most people wouldn’t be able to focus, but Soobin’s had more than enough practice. “Have you visited your dad’s new apartment yet?”
Yeonjun has adamantly refused to visit it. His father had started moving out gradually, but he spends most of his time there now, and for Yeonjun to visit would mean accepting that that’s how things are now. Or it would give his parents another chance to convince him that he’s better off moving to the city, too.
Still, it isn’t as though Yeonjun isn’t curious. He had guiltily looked up photos once, and even from what little information he could find online, it’s clear that the apartment is nicer than anywhere he’s ever lived—and that it isn’t meant for a family. There’s enough room for Yeonjun, sure, but it’s not the kind of apartment his parents would have chosen to live together in as a family even though his father could have afforded it.
For the briefest of moments, Yeonjun had tried to picture what it would be like to live there. With his father’s busy work schedule and Yeonjun’s classes, they wouldn’t see each other often. But it’s already stifling living at home with his father halfway moved out, so moving in with just his father for the purpose of transferring to a more elite—and more expensive—university is quite possibly the absolute last option Yeonjun would consider.
Yeonjun shakes his head. “No. I don’t think it would be worth it.”
“If it didn’t mean living with your father, I’d say it might be nice to go to college in the city,” Soobin muses. “It’s probably a lot more interesting than what’s around here.”
Monotonous suburbs and a small town bordered by nothing of interest. Not quite a serene, nature-filled country, not quite the excitement of a bustling city. The three of them were going to the same college because there weren’t really other options—that’s how they’d met in the first place. Yeonjun is grateful for that, but not much else.
“I don’t know. I’ve never considered it,” Yeonjun says.
“Why?” Beomgyu asks.
It just never occurred to me, is Yeonjun’s first thought, and it’s the truth. He hadn’t wondered what it would be like until other people had started asking him. If he were to make such a drastic change, it wouldn’t be in that direction. “Well… I’d like to see more things. I wouldn’t have time during school, though. Dad’s made working part-time a requirement and I can’t give him a reason to think that I’ve skipped classes.”
It’s a sensitive topic to bring up around Soobin and Beomgyu, but Yeonjun’s father has always made it clear that he’s willing to cover his university expenses as long as he abides by certain rules. As much as Yeonjun resents him, he would be a fool not to take advantage of this.
The rules aren’t that bad, anyway. Work a part-time job between classes and pick up more hours in the summer. Demonstrate a sense of responsibility. Maintain a high GPA. Craft the image of a perfect son: well-liked, well-dressed, attractive, but not in a way that shows he cares. Not in the way Yeonjun would on his own.
“During summer, then,” Beomgyu says. “…I want to do that. I wouldn’t even have to go far, but I can’t stay here forever.”
“If you could live anywhere,” Soobin says. “Where would it be?”
“I don’t know,” Beomgyu says. “I’d have to see it to know for sure, I think. But I can’t be happy knowing that there could be somewhere better for me.”
“It’s hard to commit to something until you’ve had the chance to see what it would be like,” Soobin says. He sets his phone down. “Especially if it’s far away.”
“Maybe we could all get a place together,” Yeonjun says. It’s much more convenient for all of them to live at home right now, but he’s thought about it many times. Soobin and Beomgyu would respect his space, and Yeonjun knows how much Beomgyu hates being home. Getting him out of there would be worth every penny, but that’s not a decision Yeonjun can make alone. “If we split the rent, I bet it would be less than living in the student dorms.”
“We could squeeze into one of those studio apartments off campus,” Soobin says. Beomgyu’s already nodding along.
“I think I’d get sick of you after a while,” Yeonjun says, teasing. It would be difficult to share a small space with even the best roommates. He’d do it if he had to, no questions asked. “I’ll be able to find something a little bigger. I’ll even cover the extra cost.”
“Look at you taking care of us,” Soobin says lightly. “Yeah, let’s graduate and get our fancy jobs and then move somewhere else, somewhere fun. See the world for once.”
“Sooner if we get lucky,” Yeonjun agrees. He thinks again about the way he’d taken off earlier, about how it had brought relief and fear at the same time. “We’ll run away together.”
All of this is wishful thinking and theoretical discussion, but the longer they spend talking about it as though it could actually happen, the more Yeonjun aches for it. His whole life is here, but he doesn’t want this little town to be his whole life. There has to be more to him than this. Beomgyu and Soobin need it just as badly as he does.
It’s not entirely in his control, but he hopes that he can be brave enough to really make it happen someday.
“Beomgyu,” Yeonjun says, changing the subject. There’s nothing he can do to soothe that itch right now. “You said you’re working on a new cover, right? Tell us about it. Is this the one that’s going to make you go viral?”
“I’m not gonna go viral,” Beomgyu says, immediately bashful. Even so, he sits up and takes out his phone, scrolling past all of his unread notifications, to show Yeonjun the sheet music.
TAEHYUN
Taehyun had decided he would need a summer job months ago, long before his graduation. The problem is that, in his small town, there are only so many options for those with no prior work experience, no driver’s license, and limited education. And it definitely doesn’t help that, despite his preparations, he isn’t able to finish his applications until much later than intended.
To be entirely fair, there wasn’t much more he could have done, especially with the emotional burdens of the last few months. He’s never had time to work during school, but having a nice GPA isn’t going to cut it, so he doesn’t have much to work with when he sits down and tries to make his résumé into something more appealing than a blank sheet of paper. He can’t afford to be picky about the work environment or pay while he’s looking for something close to home, but he desperately hopes that whatever he does end up with will be tolerable for the next few weeks.
The ice cream shop is a last minute decision. It was a little farther away than Taehyun would have liked, but apparently they were in dire need of employees, so being hired was almost a guarantee. This particular shop isn’t very popular, so Taehyun doubted it would be very stressful. When he received a job offer, he accepted without thinking much of it.
An easy way to distract himself until college, with the bonus of getting paid. What could possibly go wrong?
Taehyun wakes up early that morning, then plans how long it’ll take him to talk from his apartment to the ice cream shop. He was asked to arrive earlier than his actual start time so he could start his training, but he leaves even earlier than that, just in case. The sun has yet to reach its peak, but the heat is oppressive. He’d packed water, but by the time he reaches his destination, he’s already drunk half the bottle.
It’s a tiny place, easy to miss . Taehyun hasn’t been to this ice cream shop in a long time, but he remembers it clearly. The sign on the door is flipped to closed , and he feels like he’s doing something wrong when he opens it.
Then he stops right in his tracks.
It’s Kai. Taehyun would recognize him anywhere, but he doesn’t want to believe it. Kai doesn’t notice him right away, fully engrossed in wiping down counters to prepare for their first customers, but he looks totally at peace. There’s absolutely no mistaking him.
Taehyun would give anything to walk back out the door, pretending he’d made a mistake, but now Kai’s turning to face him. “Oh, you must be the new—”
“It’s you,” Taehyun blurts. You, my ex-boyfriend, who I thought loved me. And now you’re—my coworker?
What are the odds? Taehyun hadn’t known that Kai was job hunting—or that he had a job. They live close together, so it makes sense that they would apply to the same places, but why had Kai applied to this place? That’s what’s happening, right? Kai even has the same hours as Taehyun, so he’ll be training him. Taehyun hadn’t had high expectations for this job, but this is worse than anything he could have imagined.
Why me? It’s as though Kai is specifically trying to make Taehyun’s life difficult. He couldn't have known that Taehyun applied here, but Taehyun blames him anyway. Why you?
“Taehyun,” Kai says softly. His entire body freezes, almost comically. His eyes are very wide as he looks Taehyun up and down, but he quickly composes himself, standing up straight and guarding his expression. “I didn’t know you worked here, too.”
“I didn’t,” Taehyun says stiffly. He wonders if there was ever a chance of them avoiding each other, or if they always would’ve ended up like this, working side by side. “Until now. It’s my first day.”
“Right. I knew that,” Kai says, obviously flustered, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He gestures vaguely at the equipment around him. “I’m supposed to train you.”
“So I’ve heard,” Taehyun says. There must be a work group chat, right? He’d have seen Kai’s number there, if they hadn’t met today. He could’ve prepared. “And you did mention someone new. Unless you have to train two new people.”
Please let there be someone else. I don’t think three people can fit behind that counter but please, please let there be someone else so I’m not stuck there all day with just him—
“It’s just you,” Kai says. “Usually there’s two of us. We’re not very busy, so….”
There’s a beat of silence. Neither of them move. Tension is thick in the air. Taehyun’s not really sure what to say. Should he fake sick? He would laugh at how miserable the situation was if he didn’t actually feel sick.
But Kai cracks a fleeting smile, so brief that Taehyun soon realizes he must have imagined it, and that jolts him back to reality.
“We don’t have a lot of time before we open, so I’ll show you the basics for now,” Kai says briskly. He pointedly looks away as Taehyun steps beside him. “Just keep a close eye on me for the next few days. You’ll get the hang of it soon.”
Taehyun’s mouth is impossibly dry. He doesn’t have another answer, so he simply nods. He follows Kai around like a lost puppy until doors open, and listens as Kai rattles off instructions. “You’ll figure out where everything is as you go, but you should probably familiarize yourself with it before things get busy. We try to organize the flavors by popularity. Cones here, cups there, and we have diagrams for the sizes, but you can ask me until you get a feel for it.” I will suffer with the diagram. “We have some extra supplies in the back, but they won’t last long on weekends. You’ll go through a lot of gloves. Uh… you should probably eat before you come, or else you’ll get sick of ice cream really fast….”
The work shouldn’t be hard—either very dull or frustrating and fast-paced, but nothing Taehyun can’t handle. It’s not the ice cream he’s worried about.
There are a few customers lingering around the shop by the time Kai finishes opening. He’s careful to avoid eye contact with Taehyun and doesn’t say more than necessary, but keeps glancing back at Taehyun to make sure he’s following along with the instructions. When the customers give their orders, Taehyun awkwardly watches over Kai’s shoulder, uneasy with the minimal distance between them.
He tries to focus on following Kai’s practiced movements—the content of his demonstration rather than the instructor. Kai’s sporting that bright, shiny customer service smile as he speaks, but Taehyun picks up on the tense edge to it.
Kai has never been a good liar. He’s not going to tell Taehyun what he actually thinks about his new job, but Taehyun understands the clipped edge to his words, the way he turns his face away from Taehyun whenever he can.
When the customers leave, the atmosphere in the shop becomes even more stifling. Taehyun leans against the counter, and Kai stands by the opposite wall. Neither of them say anything. Taehyun tries not to make it obvious when he looks outside again and again, waiting for more people to come. It’s too early in the day for such impatience.
Kai’s typing away at something on his phone, and doesn’t notice when Taehyun sneaks a glance at him. Part of Taehyun had expected Kai to look different, but he’s just about the same as the last time they met. That wasn’t even very long ago—they have the same friends, so they’re invited to all of the same gatherings. Taehyun’s gotten used to seeing Kai again, so this shouldn’t be any different.
He tries to look anywhere other than at Kai, but curiosity gets the better of him. Kai’s hair is still dyed a light, caramel brown, but his roots are starting to show. It’s not nearly as long as Beomgyu’s, but Taehyun has a hard time making out his expression when it covers his eyes, and it’s starting to curl at the back of his neck, which must be unbearable in the summer heat. The top button of his shirt is undone and he stands awkwardly, as though he feels too tall for the space. When he tucks his phone back in his pocket, Taehyun quickly turns away.
What surprises Taehyun the most is that, when he’d first walked in, Kai had looked so happy. Healthier, too. When they last saw each other, his face was thin and pale, and he’d spent more time clinging to Soobin than talking to anyone. All traces of that are gone now.
Taehyun’s heart twists. He knows exactly why, and he’s ashamed to admit it. He can’t put it out of his mind when his pulse is racing like this, leaving him jittery.
The next ten or so minutes seem to last forever. The only sound is the clunky whirring of a rickety old fan. Taehyun tries not to make it obvious when he positions himself by one of the freezers, where it’s slightly cooler. Somehow, it feels hotter here than outside.
Kai lets Taehyun help when the next customers arrive, but seems comfortable doing most of the work himself, which Taehyun assumes will be the case until the shop becomes busy. The order is easy enough—Kai mutters something about children always being the ones to order complicated things while their parents complain—and Taehyun has no trouble following him.
But he never forgets who he’s working with. His hand brushes Kai’s as he shuts the cash register, and Taehyun nearly drops the customer’s change. Kai shoots him a look, but Taehyun ignores it.
He’s seen Kai so many times since they broke up. It was impossible to avoid him, even in those first few weeks after when they’d avoided each other like the plague, trying to give each other space. They’d been in the same classes at the time, which made it worse. Recently, though, Taehyun had started to think he was used to having Kai around again. The discomfort hasn’t gone away, but he can live with it.
This is totally different. So far, he’s only met with Kai in neutral spaces, with other people to stand as buffers between them when they’re not in the mood to talk to each other. What happens when they inevitably clash? Taehyun really doesn’t know if he can stand this.
It doesn’t take him long to snap. He drags Kai into a corner so they can talk, even though the building is empty aside from them. “What days do you work?” he asks. It comes out harsher than intended, but Kai doesn’t react.
“Um… it’s not always the same every week. But I’ll be here for the rest of summer. Basically,” Kai says. When Taehyun shoots him a glare, he lists off the days. “Usually Tuesday through Saturday, but only afternoons on Thursdays.”
And right now, Taehyun is scheduled to work Wednesday through Sunday, with a few days swapped here and there. That’s one, two, three… and a half days with Huening Kai, just Huening Kai, in this nightmare of a customer service working experience. He’s not even being paid that much.
At least Taehyun will have Sundays to himself.
He wants to scream. He can feel it building, a kind of frustration deep within him. But he doesn’t want to mess things up. He’s supposed to be professional and have a good first day at work, so he forces himself to take a deep breath and consider his options.
He and Kai agreed to remain friends when they broke up. They’ve known each other for so long that neither of them can remember a time when they weren’t in each other’s lives. They had been afraid to admit it, but leaving each other would leave a huge hole—years and years of memories as childhood friends, an unbreakable trust that few people could say they had with anyone. It’s not the same anymore, but that’s not an easy thing to forget.
And then there’s the issue of their mutual friends, who had all offered to make things work even if they decided they never wanted to see each other again. They’d been so concerned that something unforgivable had happened between them. His friends are well aware of how difficult it can be sometimes, but truthfully, Taehyun doesn’t mind seeing Kai every so often.
Spending the majority of his waking moments with Kai for half the week isn’t exactly what he was planning on for his summer. It’s something he’d have liked to avoid, actually—he’ll be seeing Kai at college soon enough. Before, though, he would have loved it. Maybe he and Kai would have applied together, intentionally lining up their work hours and free time. They would have had fun together.
But that’s not how things are anymore, and Taehyun is fairly certain very few people enjoy working with their exes in close quarters.
“I-I’ll switch my hours,” Taehyun says, and immediately realizes that that’s stupid. Kai’s working most days, just like him, so they’d run into each other eventually. Kai probably has way better reasons to have this job than Taehyun does, so he won’t be quitting anytime soon. “I can find a new job.”
“What? Taehyun, that’s—” Kai shakes his head. “You can’t do that. I mean, I guess you can, but you shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Taehyun asks petulantly, without thinking.
“You need this job. And so do I,” Kai says. “I’m not going to bother you. I’ll stay out of your way, I promise. If… you don’t mind that.”
That makes Taehyun pause. Working with Kai can’t be that bad. Not if that’s what he has to say when Taehyun pushes him. And when was the last time Kai had asked him for something? He feels like a complete fool.
“Remember how we’re supposed to still be friends, no matter what?” Kai continues, and that hurts a lot more. “We can work together.”
“Yes. It’s fine,” Taehyun bites out. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling at this point, but it’s awful. He shouldn’t be guilty—he doesn’t want to feel guilty, but it lingers in the back of his mind. He adds, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Kai says, very quietly, as though he’s entirely aware that this is definitely not okay, and is only saying it because he has no choice.
But that’s the thing—it’s so easy to pretend nothing happened, and that’s what scares Taehyun the most. Pretending doesn’t mean it’s not real.
It’s nothing like this when they’re with their friends. Interacting with Kai comes so naturally when they’re in a group. They laugh over the same jokes, sometimes even bantering with each other. They compete against each other when they play games the exact same way they did when they were children. When he’s out somewhere, it’s difficult for Taehyun to turn off the part of his brain that goes oh, Kai would like to try this and he would be happy if I brought him here. He has to make a conscious effort to maintain a certain image in front of Kai. He can vividly remember every time he’s slipped up, and he regrets it.
Coexisting is effortless. It shouldn’t be. The sight of Kai fills Taehyun with discomfort for two reasons: first, it’s difficult to think of him without thinking of the night they broke up. It’s impossible to disconnect them. Betrayal is woven into his perception of Kai, and so is the lingering sadness.
The second reason is that he can’t think of Kai without thinking of all the time they’d spent together as a couple—the way they’d made each other happy. Taehyun doesn’t put a lot of weight on firsts, but Kai was his first everything. So many of his good memories involve Kai, and he still treasures those memories.
This would be so much easier if it were one or the other.
For the next few hours, Kai only speaks when he has to. They leave ample space between each other, and take turns with customers. Taehyun busies himself with memorizing where everything is so that he doesn’t have to ask Kai more questions than necessary. He’ll have to learn it all to work efficiently, anyway, and they have a lot of downtime.
More customers start coming halfway through the afternoon, and suddenly Taehyun doesn’t have time to worry about Kai anymore. He’d been under the impression that an obscure shop wouldn’t see an unmanageable number of customers, but is proven very wrong. He falls behind occasionally, but Kai is always there to cover for him, finishing orders when they pile up and handing Taehyun extra paper towels when he drops ice cream on himself for the third time.
Kai handles everything so effortlessly. He doesn’t blink when customers refuse to tip or give incomprehensible directions. He’s organized and has a solution for everything. And if he’s upset about Taehyun being there, he doesn’t show it.
Out of everything Taehyun has felt today, jealousy troubles him most of all.
It’s been dark for hours by the time they begin cleaning up for the day, a little after the official closing time. “Saturdays are always like this, unless it’s raining. And even then people come,” Kai mutters to Taehyun when there’s still a long line of customers ten minutes before the end of the day.
By that point, Taehyun’s too defeated to care. When there’s an opening, Kai begins locking the door and shutting the lights off. He runs through the closing process with Taehyun, letting Taehyun take over occasionally. That part is self-explanatory, at least.
“You can go now. There’s not much left to do,” Kai says. Either he’s hiding how tired he is, or he’s actually adjusted to the work. Taehyun stubbornly grabs the mop from him. If he has to listen to his shoes sticking to the floor for much longer, he actually might go through with quitting.
Between the two of them, it doesn’t take long to finish. It’s not until they leave the shop that Taehyun realizes that they’ll spend part of their respective routes home walking together—Kai lives closer to the shop than him, but the first few streets are the same. He’s surprised that he still has the capacity for disappointment, but walks slower than he normally would to keep a few feet between them, uncomfortable with the silence but unwilling to break it. Taehyun pauses as Kai takes a sudden turn, earlier than he would have expected.
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of Taehyun’s stomach when he puts it together. I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to get away from me. That’s what I wanted all day. How can I expect something different from him?
He stews over it the rest of his walk home, even though he’s mostly relieved to be by himself. He’s able to let go of so much tension now that he doesn’t have to worry about putting up a front for Kai. He hopes that it’ll start to come more naturally if they really are going to be working together for the foreseeable future.
It’s not like he doesn’t already know everything about you, Taehyun admits to himself as he fishes out his keys to the apartment. He can’t hide around Kai, no matter how hard he tries.
It’s late, but there’s one member of Taehyun’s household that he can always count on. “Hobak, kitty,” he coos, crouching so that he can scratch behind his cat’s ears. Hobak purrs, a soft rumbling that instantly sets Taehyun at ease. “I missed you.”
Hobak follows Taehyun to his room, demanding attention the entire way. There’s nothing Taehyun would like more than to collapse in bed and forget about everything, but his hands still feel sticky despite washing them countless times at the shop.
“I’ll be right back,” he promises Hobak, who has taken to winding around his legs, nearly tripping him with each step. Clearly, Taehyun’s not allowed to get anything done.
His goal is to take a fast shower, but on impulse he turns the water on hot. He stands there, letting it wash over him, and allows his mind to wander.
He’s been on the verge of crying all day, and he doesn’t understand why. He was so tense through his shift, trying not to crumble in front of Kai, overwhelmed while learning everything for his job with dozens of people waiting for him. It’s grown into a real, physical ache.
He won’t cry now, though. He’s too drained to cry. He doesn’t want this to get the better of him. He was ready for this job, and Kai isn’t going to stop him from trying to make it an experience he can be proud of. Things have been difficult since they broke up, but he can’t let it ruin everything he has planned for himself. There will be more than enough challenges in his future.
He doesn’t like to admit it—but seeing Kai isn’t easy. Sometimes the sadness is crushing, a reminder of what he’s lost. Other times he’s too angry with the way things have turned out to feel anything else. Usually, he hates that he still cares this much.
So much for having a distraction for the summer. I wish I could have avoided it longer.
All at once, Taehyun notices the water’s starting to hurt, and it’s hard to breathe. He switches the water to cool and washes his hair vigorously, wanting it done more than anything. Stupid. This is why all the dye washes out too fast.
When he’s finished, he dresses quickly, even though the humidity makes him sluggish and irritated. Nothing helps him shake that feeling. Sleep will make me feel better, right?
Taehyun fully intends on making a beeline for his room, but it’s inevitable that he runs into his mother on his way back. She smiles at him so fondly, in a way that makes him feel guilty that he’s torn up inside. “How was work?” she asks.
Taehyun has no idea what to say, even though he’s been agonizing over how to describe the experience to his parents. They were proud of him when he’d gotten the job, even though it wasn’t a particularly important one. He’s supposed to be the clever, composed, responsible son. It’s a simple expectation to fulfill.
“It… wasn’t anything special,” he says. If he doesn’t give more detail, she’ll ask questions, so he adds, “I have a lot to learn. It got really busy at night, but apparently Saturday’s the worst day, so….”
“That’s good to hear,” she says. “It’ll be nice to have a little extra money to start your classes.”
“Ha ha. Yeah.” I’d much rather find another way to pay for textbooks than try to figure out what to do about Kai.
“How were your coworkers? Anyone nice?” his mother asks. Taehyun’s heart nearly stops.
He can’t tell her about Kai. He’s hardly mentioned him since they broke up, and has zero intention of bringing him up now. He doesn’t like to talk about Kai with his friends, never mind his mother, who will surely worry and ask questions Taehyun doesn’t have answers to. At least not ones with answers he’s comfortable sharing.
“T-They’re fine,” Taehyun says. “Mostly high schoolers.” Kai had added him to the work group chat, and he’d figured out that much. He just doesn’t need to mention that he hasn’t actually worked with them yet.
His mother nods along. Taehyun averts his gaze. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Hobak—and breathes a sigh of relief. The perfect excuse.
“Oh, there you are,” he says, lifting Hobak up and cradling him like a baby. Lucky for Taehyun, Hobak is a very tolerant cat, content to be held without resisting. “I should sleep now. It’ll be a long day tomorrow too.”
He feels wide awake now, so that’s mostly an excuse, too. But his mother suspects nothing, and wishes him good night.
Back in his room, Taehyun deposits Hobak on his bed and closes the door behind him. When he lies down, Hobak curls up against his side, and purrs again when Taehyun strokes his short fur. Taehyun nearly tears up. He’s not sure what he’s going to do when he’s living at college, where there’s always a chance he’ll run into Kai between classes, and can’t come home to his cat after.
There have been so many changes to his life in the last few months. He still hasn’t shaken his old habits—the way when something happens, good or bad, his first reaction is to always talk to Kai first. Whenever he’s worried about something, or has a question, his instinct is to ask Kai for his opinion.
He can text his other friends—and he does, because he loves them and trusts them immeasurably, but it’s not the same. Losing any of them would leave a hole that can’t be filled, and that’s what happened with Kai. He could text Kai, but their conversations are all superficial.
He wonders how long it’ll take before that feeling goes away.
Reluctantly, he takes out his phone. He hates the way his relationship with Kai has come between his other friendships, but he doesn’t know who else to turn to, and he can’t avoid the reality of his situation.
Taehyun squints at the message. Kai and Soobin have always been close, even back in elementary school. Kai must have had plans for after work—he hadn’t been walking to his own home, he’d been walking to Soobin’s.
Taehyun stares at Soobin’s contact name. He’s busy. I probably shouldn’t bother him. It’s an obvious decision, but he still hesitates before adding Beomgyu and Yeonjun to a separate chat. He can talk to Soobin later.
He isn’t sure what to say about the way Soobin comforts Kai. Obviously Kai would want someone to talk to. Taehyun is like that with Yeonjun lately. Somehow, though, it feels different with Soobin and Kai, like Soobin has more time for Kai than anyone else.
Or maybe Taehyun’s imagining it. It’s none of his business, anyway.
Taehyun breaks into a smile. He knows they don’t mean it—all of them love Soobin, and Beomgyu and Yeonjun don’t have a problem with Kai—but they’re able to sympathize with him regardless.
Taehyun sighs and drops his phone. Hobak stares at him blankly, the tip of his tail flicking. I’m going to be okay. It’s not always going to be like this.
All he can do is try to believe that, but for tonight, he will let himself hurt.
BEOMGYU
It’s nine-thirty when Yeonjun untangles himself from Soobin and announces that it’s time for him to leave.
“I have work tomorrow, and my mom will worry. We were talking, but I kind of walked out on her without saying where I was going,” he says with a sigh. Soobin, who had been watching a video on his phone, grumbles as he loses his balance. “Thank you for letting me stay, Soobin-ah.”
Soobin sits up against his pillows, and Yeonjun leans in for a hug. They were essentially hugging earlier, but they’re more content in each other’s arms than anywhere else. “Anytime,” Soobin says. “Let’s plan something fun soon.”
“Of course. You know my schedule,” Yeonjun says. After he pulls away from Soobin, he looks at Beomgyu, who shrinks under his gaze. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
“I can walk myself home,” Beomgyu whines, as though the anticipation hasn’t already left him nauseous. He’d stubbornly avoided the topic for hours, pushing it to the back of his mind, and now he’s been cornered. He doesn’t have any essential belongings on him, but if Kai weren’t already coming over, he’d ask Soobin if he could stay. Kai will surely want someone to talk with tonight.
Not to mention, Beomgyu feels awful about it—about taking advantage of Soobin’s kindness, distracting him when he should be working, and invading his space when he might actually want time alone. It was Yeonjun’s idea to meet up today, not Beomgyu’s, so Beomgyu can’t expect them to accommodate him now.
“I know that,” Yeonjun says. “But you’re a lot farther from here than me. Can’t have you getting lonely.”
Beomgyu looks down at his hands, somewhat flustered. His fingers ache from biting his nails, despite Soobin chiding him for it earlier. He always has a hard time turning Yeonjun down, but he’s worried about what Yeonjun will find if he sticks around too long and notices something is wrong. “I’m in the opposite direction. You’ll get home so late.”
“Just the first ten minutes, then,” Yeonjun says. He wraps a hand around Beomgyu’s wrist and pulls him to his feet. “I really don’t mind.”
“Five,” Beomgyu says.
“Ten,” Yeonjun repeats, not exactly the compromise Beomgyu had tried to organize.
“Wow, such a gentleman,” Soobin drones.
Yeonjun scowls at him. “We’ll be on our way now. Have a good night, Soobin.”
“You too,” Soobin says to Yeonjun. His expression is soft, but without missing a beat he adds, “Beomgyu, text me when you get home. I’d never forgive myself if Yeonjun got you lost.”
“You have no faith in me,” Yeonjun says, feigning distress. He lets go of Beomgyu’s wrist as he steps toward the door, and Beomgyu immediately misses the warmth.
That makes him feel silly. Yeonjun has given him plenty of attention today. He shouldn’t be upset by a gesture Yeonjun had clearly thought nothing of, something that came naturally to him.
“See you soon,” Beomgyu says to Soobin before he follows Yeonjun down the stairs. Soobin reaches up to hug Beomgyu like he did Yeonjun. It takes all of Beomgyu’s strength to let go of him after.
Outside, it’s cooler than it was during the day, but still far warmer than usual. Beomgyu lets Yeonjun lead the way, lingering a step behind him. They don’t talk for a while, and Beomgyu is grateful for that. Yeonjun is good at picking up on when Beomgyu is in one of those moods. Part of him desperately wants to be alone so he can sort through his feelings without Yeonjun worrying about him, but he knows how lonely he’ll be when Yeonjun leaves for real.
He doesn’t really want to be alone. When he’s alone, all he’ll have left is the memory of earlier, of sharing earbuds with Yeonjun to choose the next songs he should learn, of bickering with Soobin over rhetorical questions. Knowing what will come, he already misses it.
“Thank you for today,” Yeonjun says, halfway through their walk. “I didn’t think anyone would be around, but I’m so happy you were.”
“I didn’t really do anything. It was mostly Soobin,” Beomgyu says. Yeonjun shakes his head.
“I appreciated you being there. So much,” Yeonjun says. He pauses for a second, waiting for Beomgyu to catch up to him. “It means a lot to me.”
Beomgyu tries to meet his eyes, but it’s difficult. His sincerity and enthusiasm are overwhelming. Beomgyu still feels as though he’s done nothing to earn Yeonjun’s praise, but he melts under it. Yeonjun can be generous with compliments when he wants to be, and Beomgyu is helpless every time.
“And I didn’t want to burden you with the things going on in my life. I felt like I was losing control of it, for a minute,” Yeonjun continues, more subdued now. “I mean to say… if there’s anything I can do for you in return, I’m here for you, too. It’s the least I can do.”
“You’re not a burden,” Beomgyu says, catching on to what he’s implying. Sometimes Yeonjun acts like he is, taking on extra responsibility or blaming himself for things out of his control. It doesn’t help that he’s so protective.
“Thank you,” Yeonjun says. Beomgyu wonders if he actually believes it. It can be hard for someone so focused on self-improvement.
That’s the one thing Beomgyu doesn’t understand about Yeonjun. It’s been bothering him all day, since they started catching up. He’s watched all of Yeonjun’s struggles over the years, and understands each decision he’s made. In some ways, he understands Yeonjun as much as he understands himself. But there’s something unreachable about Yeonjun, something Beomgyu has never known what to do with.
Beomgyu knows he’ll feel guilty mentioning it now, but they’re running out of time. Yeonjun will make more excuses and offer to walk Beomgyu the rest of the way home, but Beomgyu’s not going to encourage him to be irresponsible. Not tonight.
“You should go with your dad,” Beomgyu says, slowing down again.
“What?” Yeonjun stops and turns to look at him. His pretty face is highlighted by moonlight, even though they’ve reached a dark point in the street. His eyes are still in shadow, so it’s hard for Beomgyu to decipher his expression.
“You should go to the city, and transfer to one of the colleges there,” Beomgyu says. He swallows nervously. “You’d have more opportunities, and you deserve that.”
It’s a simple fact: Yeonjun’s the only one of them who could leave if he wanted to. Or, Taehyun could also try—he’s smart enough, for sure, and motivated—but he wouldn’t. Kai has his family to worry about, so he’s not in a position where he can be selfish. Soobin doesn’t have the kind of support that would allow him to do anything so bold.
And Beomgyu’s barely scraping by. Going to college is so difficult he sometimes feels as though it’s crushing him, even though it’s his one shot at getting a good job so that someday he might be able to move far away. That hope is what keeps him going.
It would be easy for Yeonjun to leave, and he’s doing himself no favors by staying here. Yeonjun has his reservations, but isn’t it more important that he secures his future?
“No. No, I was serious about what I said earlier. I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Yeonjun says. He places a hand on Beomgyu’s shoulder and offers him a small smile. He’s so casual about it, but that only makes Beomgyu more desperate. “I could never go if it meant leaving you, and the others.”
“But we—we can’t all live on the same path forever,” Beomgyu says. “Someday we’ll be separated, and… you shouldn’t sacrifice something that will help you just to stay with us for a little longer.”
It’s inevitable that a divide will form between them. They’re fortunate to have met when they did, when they were so young that the differences in their lives hadn’t mattered. They’re able to cling to each other for now—but how can someone like Beomgyu, who struggles to make ends meet, who can hardly bring himself to return home, keep up with someone like Yeonjun?
“It’s not like that,” Yeonjun says, with such assurance that Beomgyu is compelled to believe him. “I promise this is what I truly want. We don’t have to live a certain way—we don’t have to follow other people’s standards. Fuck, Beomgyu, you didn’t really mean that, did you? Soobin and I aren’t going to leave you.”
Beomgyu hesitates, then shakes his head. He doesn’t really believe that their friendship will fall apart if it’s up to them; he’d let his insecurities get the best of him. These are thoughts meant to be kept to himself, to the late nights when he can’t sleep. Not shared with Yeonjun, no matter how good he is at parsing Beomgyu’s insecurities from his true emotions. He hadn’t meant to put the burden of that pain on Yeonjun for even a moment.
He should have anticipated that reaction from Yeonjun. Beomgyu has only known Soobin for slightly longer, and as they’ve grown up, they’ve only gotten closer. He knows Yeonjun as the cool upperclassman who would help him (albeit unsuccessfully) with his homework in middle school, the rational friend who tried to keep him out of trouble in high school. It’s reasonable for Yeonjun to take offense to something that undermines years and years of building a bond.
“But you did mean that, right? You always believe you can live like that, even if it would never be easier?” Beomgyu asks timidly. “Even though it might be better if you didn’t?”
“It’s only better if it makes you happy,” Yeonjun says. He moves his hand up to hold Beomgyu’s face, exactly the way he had earlier in the day, encouraging Beomgyu to look at him. “Otherwise, what would you be doing it for?”
If Beomgyu were offered the same opportunity—leave this town, go to college somewhere else, give himself an advantage—he would’ve taken it in a heartbeat. But maybe that’s only true because he’s Beomgyu, and Yeonjun is nothing like him. If they’d lived each other’s lives they would have different answers. That doesn’t make either of them wrong, but there is a difference.
Yeonjun matters to Beomgyu so much that it scares him sometimes. If Yeonjun were to act selfishly, it would set Beomgyu at ease knowing that at least he would be better off. At the end of the day, what matters is that they both want the same thing. They crave change the way others crave oxygen.
“Okay,” Beomgyu says. Yeonjun’s a very proud person, willing to suffer rather than let go of what he believes in. Beomgyu knows how hard it is for him to live by his words, no matter how passionately he fights for them. It’s something that weighs on him heavily, a burden Beomgyu knows takes its toll. “But… you have to do what’s best for you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Yeonjun says. “Get home safe tonight. We can’t let Soobin down.”
He removes his hand, only to pull Beomgyu into a hug. Beomgyu stiffens, but it’s Yeonjun. The same Yeonjun who has always looked after him. “I will, hyung.”
“Let’s do this again soon,” Yeonjun says. He gives Beomgyu a little wave before turning around. Somehow, Beomgyu feels even worse than before.
He’d promised both Soobin and Yeonjun that he would go straight home, but that had never been his plan. He waits until he can’t see Yeonjun anymore to continue, first in the right direction, then taking a purposeful wrong turn. He lives only a few streets away, so why does it matter if he takes a brief detour? He needs time to clear his head, and to take care of one last thing.
There’s a park nearby that he knows will be empty at this hour, except for people like him—teenagers dodging curfews, people walking their dogs after work, and so on. It’s a public place, but it feels private to him. He sits on one of the benches and, after taking a deep breath, finally checks his messages.
Beomgyu has absolutely no plan to. He can’t remember the last time he even saw his brother—the end of June? The start of July? On the rare occasions that his brother has been home, their schedules haven’t lined up. And Beomgyu’s not going to go out of his way to meet up with him, especially when he doesn’t make an effort to be there for Beomgyu.
He’s only saying those things so he doesn’t feel guilty. Beomgyu’s being a little stubborn, but how can he think anything else? It hasn’t always been like that. They were close when they were kids. Beomgyu hasn’t changed at all. It’s like we don’t even live together. If he really cared, he wouldn’t leave me alone. He knows it’s worse for me when he’s not there.
Ignoring his brother is the easiest way to cope with it. He may as well not be there, anyway, and Beomgyu’s learned to live with it. I can take care of myself. Maybe I’m better off like this.
If only that were true. It’s easier to tell himself that than to acknowledge the opposite. His brother doesn’t know how hard he’s been trying lately, keeping track of his job applications and his music and other responsibilities.
Beomgyu turns his phone off and continues his walk home. His anxiety hasn’t really gone away, even though he’s accepted this. He stands in front of the apartment building for a solid minute, hyping himself up to go inside.
Inside, the stairs creak despite Beomgyu’s efforts to skip the squeaky ones and press himself as close to the wall as possible. It’s an old building, so the noise is inevitable, but it still makes him cringe. The sound of his key in the doorknob seems to stand out just as much in the silence.
Beomgyu braces himself as he opens the door, but all the lights are off. He’d assumed that his brother wouldn’t be here, but there’s no predicting when his father will be home. He’s probably out drinking. Alcohol doesn’t last long in their home.
Either way, Beomgyu doesn’t care. He’s exhausted, but it’ll be a peaceful night for him. He’ll send his text to Soobin, and then he can rest.