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Chan drops his body on the towel he just laid out under him and stares at the vast night sky with its infinite constellations. He tunes out his friends’ raucous laughter in the distance in favor of listening to the sound of the waves threatening to wet his feet.
His head swims with the few shots of soju and maybe a couple more beers he’s had so far in the evening, but the feeling doesn’t make him nauseous. It makes him feel like he’s floating in the air, just a little bit, just enough to remind him that he is a person. Chan folds his arms backwards, resting his head on top of them, and sighs quietly into the humid summer air.
The sticky sweat on his skin doesn’t bother him as much as it normally would, but he figures that’s because of where he is, who his company is, and what is the whole purpose of being here. A trip down to the beach with his friends where they are allowed to kick the sand and swim in the ocean at any time of the day is bound to give him this nonsensical feeling that life begins and ends here.
This, he thinks quietly, is what life is all about.
He can imagine a couple of his friends calling him a bit sentimental for going as far as saying this. Chan loves them, what can he say? He loves hearing their voices in the distance as the blurry stars dance back and forth in his tipsy vision, and he loves knowing he can go back to them at any moment and be welcomed with open arms, maybe another shot of soju, or maybe even a freshly-grilled skewer that whoever is in charge of cooking will say has been waiting for him.
It’s the safety and the assurance that he can have this that also makes him choose a couple minutes of quiet by the ocean. He loves his friends, and he wishes there was no such thing as a real life outside these days away from the big city, but there is something else he loves about these moments that isn’t easy to see anywhere else.
The sky, in its enormous existence.
Sure, he can see the sky in Seoul, but it never quite looks like this. Majestic, shiny and so seemingly infinite it almost gives Chan the illusion that it’s the sea up there, staring down at him, beckoning him closer to take a dive and float for hours on end. He could fall asleep like this, imagining that there is a hand extended in his direction inviting him to swim in this glimmering ocean. His eyelids feel heavy at the thought, but before he can close them, he hears footsteps approaching him.
Chan doesn’t turn around to check who his company is. He could, because there are technically several options to work with here, but he knows there is only one person who would bother to leave the others behind to keep him company. So he waits, because it’s only a matter of time until—
“What are you doing here, Chanie?”
There is a childish giggle that doesn’t match the age of the person who came all the way here to bother him. There is sand being kicked over Chan’s feet, breathless hiccups echoing in the air, and laughter bubbling up his stomach.
“Kwan-ah, come on. I’m going to get everything covered in sand later…”
Seungkwan stops, finally, but doesn’t say anything. Chan doesn’t have to look at him to know there is a childish grin on his lips too. Chan also knows he doesn’t have to bother to move a centimeter to check for Seungkwan’s reaction, because much like the certainty that Seungkwan would be the one to follow him all the way here, he knows that—
“Fine. Scoot over.”
Seungkwan drops his weight unceremoniously on the towel right next to Chan, uncomfortably close. He smells of smoke from the working grill, a bit like liquor, too much like sunscreen he hasn’t washed off yet after spending the whole day playing at the beach. He’s a little out of breath too, and when Chan turns his attention away from the sky to look at him, Seungkwan’s round eyes are big, mischievous and almost as shiny as the stars.
They look at each other in silence. A smirk pulls one corner of Chan’s lip up.
“What?” Seungkwan asks, smiling.
“You tell me,” Chan says with a giggle. “You came all the way here.”
“I missed you,” Seungkwan admits easily, but frowns with a pout immediately after. “Don’t get used to it. I won’t say it again.”
“I’ve been gone for five minutes,” Chan mumbles, biting down on his lip when Seungkwan drops a leg on top of his, then an arm across his stomach. “Maybe less.”
“Five minutes too long,” Seungkwan murmurs, coming close to drop a kiss on the corner of Chan’s lips. He’s definitely drunk. He smells like it, and he’s acting like it too. “Did you get tired of us already, Chanie?”
“Just wanted to look at the sky.” Chan shakes his head lightly. “I don’t get to see this very often in Seoul.”
Seungkwan seems to remember there is a world outside of Chan and drops his weight back on the towel with a grunt, staring up at the sky much like Chan did earlier. They stay like this for a couple of minutes — just them, the waves and the stars, silently appreciating each other. It doesn’t take long, however, for Chan to feel fingers reaching for his, a toe nudging his foot. He laughs because Seungkwan is too predictable, even more so now that he surely had one too many drinks. Seungkwan giggles too, but he sounds a bit confused, a little shy on the edges.
“What? Seriously, what?” He lifts his head up, arm going across Chan’s stomach again.
“You’re clingier than usual when you drink,” Chan says, shaking his head dismissively. “How much did you have?”
“Not too much. Just, like, enough.” Seungkwan tries to shrug from his position. He wiggles awkwardly on top of the towel until he can comfortably drop his head on Chan’s chest, staring up at him. “Am I too much?”
“Sometimes,” Chan whispers. He immediately regrets his joke when Seungkwan reaches up to twist his nipple, making him yelp. “Not now, though. Christ. Why are you like this?”
“Who cares. You like it,” Seungkwan repositions himself, looking at the ocean now instead. “You always have.”
Chan chooses silence now. Seungkwan isn’t wrong and he knows it, and Chan knows he knows it, and they both know it’s one of those undisputable truths between them. There is a reason beyond comically-timed confidence for Seungkwan to be so sure of himself and his spot in Chan’s life after all these years. So Chan doesn’t say anything, looping an arm around Seungkwan’s shoulders instead to keep him close.
The ocean goes back and forth with its infinite crashing waves. The sky shifts ever slightly, ever slowly, infinite shiny spots dotting the universe above Chan’s eyes. He could fall asleep like this. Not only right now, or for the next few days they have left of the trip, but for the rest of his life. With a weight on his chest, a finger drawing circles on his skin, the quiet exhales that remind him that he is human and that he loves, and that this is what life is all about.
Seungkwan shifts. He rests his chin over Chan’s chest, looking up at Chan again, blinking slowly. Chan wastes a couple seconds longer staring at the sky before he looks into Seungkwan’s eyes, but he smiles to himself, seeing those infinite shiny dots reflected on them.
“What?” Chan asks this time.
“Nothing,” Seungkwan whispers. “I just love you.”
Seungkwan doesn’t quite get up. He’s hovering above, head hiding the stars behind him and hair falling over his face, and Chan, for how much he wanted to be alone, for all of the seconds he didn’t want to waste not looking at the sky, finds that he doesn’t care much.
Not when he can look into Seungkwan’s shiny eyes to whisper back yet another one of those undisputable truths.