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Jiung and Intak are lovers.
But they are not lovers.
Intak can’t see the moon from where they are sheltered inside of the parking garage, but the reflection of the structure’s fluorescent lights off Jiung’s face is damn near close enough. If the concrete were to come crumbling down at this instant, it would be incomparable to the leaden weight cemented in Intak’s chest. He tilts his head a certain way, and sees the faint glint of a tear gathering in the corner of Jiung’s eye.
“I think I’ll take a gap year after I graduate.” He picks a leaf off the floor and crinkles the edges of it. “Or maybe I’ll just drop out now, and disappoint everyone anyway.”
“But then you’d miss out on Keeho’s annual undie run,” Intak easily replies. He twiddles his own leaf in his fingers and lets dried bits of it flutter to the ground. Jiung won’t drop out. The threat would sound more convincing if this weren’t the fifth time he’s brought it up since he stopped going straight home after his classes concluded for the day. He wouldn’t risk making his dad more angry.
“I’m just tired of not doing anything,” and Jiung heavily sighs, eyes glued to the leaf in his palm, the corners of his mouth downturned.
“Then do something.”
“It’s not that simple, Intak.”
“You can promise to do things your entire life, but they won’t mean anything unless you actually do them.”
“Gee. Is this about that girl in the library?” But a quick smile flashes across his face.
Intak pokes the other boy’s knee. “I told you to go get her Instagram, hyung. Not my fault you’re a bitch.”
“She definitely doesn’t know who I am!”
“And why do you think that is?”, and he feels a little foolish, because here Intak is, a first year in university, giving advice to a second-year who falls in love with the first pretty face that walks into the room. “You never talk to her!”
“We made eye contact the other day! And I saw her on the way to my modern history class!”
“You can play eye-tag all you want, but getting a piece of ass requires talking to said piece of ass!”
“You think I’m that shallow?”
“You don’t know anything else about her, how could you judge her based on anything except looks?”
Their exchange is easy and difficult, light and heavy, black and white. Banter is their playground, and metaphors are the monkey bars connecting the words said and those unsaid.
“Oh, like you know what yearning from afar feels like, Hwang Intak. A man who yearns is a man who earns.”
“And the Mona Lisa wouldn’t have been painted if Leonardo’s brush didn’t actually touch the canvas, dumbass.”
Jiung throws his leaf at Intak, and if the younger boy wishes hard enough, the bits of torn leaf transform into falling cherry blossom petals like in all the best romance animes. Jiung looks so gorgeous like this, leaning closer to Intak to maximize his attack and preparing a remark on his tongue, always ready to match the mood of the conversation whether they’re gossiping about club drama or the existence of ghosts or the meaning of life—and Intak knows, he knows what it’s like to yearn from afar. It’s like fishing for a giant tuna in the ocean, adrift on an iceberg with the fishing pole frozen to his hands; it hurts even though his hands should’ve gone numb a long time ago, but still he keeps his line in the water if that giant tuna might find its way to him.
But instead of laughing at Intak’s metaphor, Jiung smiles again. “I like that metaphor,” says he, and Intak thinks he feels a tug on the line.
There is coincidence, there is fate, and there is them. Strangers, to just aware of each other’s existence, to pieces of a puzzle of a large group, to partners in crime, to something like being the opposite sides of a coin hidden beneath the couch cushions. Flip the coin, watch it land on its side, hope things go your way and see it fall towards your opponent’s side because nothing ever goes as you think it will.
Intak’s phone rings, and he’s in a different parking garage, a month before that night on the bottom floor of the previously mentioned parking structure, and he picks up Taeyang’s call right away.
“Yo!”
“We’re just finishing up here,” Taeyang says over the phone, before a loud slapping sound is heard. Intak winces away from the speaker. “Sorry, Shota almost crashed his electric scooter—anyway. Do we have a spot open for Jiung for Seob’s karaoke outing?”
Intak attempts to ignore the hot lightning that flashes through his veins at the mention of the enigmatic, charismatic second-year. “Sure. The room seats four to six people, and if we have another person we can split the cost into smaller portions.”
“Wonderful. He’s just going to drive himself, though, and we’ll just meet him at the place. Keeho’s driving you, right?”
“Yeah. I’m walking towards his car right now. See you there in thirty?”
“Yeah, yeah. Tell Keeho to drive safe, or whatever. I don’t care.”
“We all know you’re basically dating him, hyung.”
“Don’t tell him that. He might crash the car out of excitement.”
A few hours pass, they’re singing “Happy Birthday” to Jongseob and serenading each other with mangled renditions of “Despacito” and Katy Perry songs, and Intak swears Jiung’s watching him from across the sweaty, dim room. He doesn’t know the other boy well, not yet at least, and the sensation of dark eyes tracking his every knee bounce and head bang is disconcerting.
Not that it’s a bad stare. It’s quite a nice one, if a bit piercing and makes Intak feel like a rabbit in a trap.
They end up performing a duet close to the end of their session, a rap song that’s trending on TikTok about falling in love with a girl and getting high with her and cooking pies with her and everything in between. Not extremely romantic, but enough to make Intak scoot closer to Jiung’s side of the bench. It’s so Jongseob’s recording gets the both of them in the same frame—for efficiency, or whatever Intak tells himself so he doesn’t fall in love with the way Jiung hits all the notes perfectly and never breaks eye contact with him for the entire three-minute and forty-three-second song.
Jiung makes everything seem so effortless. Everyone in their club knows him, he turns a corner in the library and there’s always someone who’s delighted to see him and dab him up, he’s an extreme hobbyist who does anything he puts his mind to, he can sing. He can dance, too. So far, Intak likes that the best of all.
Later, Intak learns of the dark side of Jiung’s moon, the part he doesn’t talk about during daylight hours because there are some things you can only admit at night.
This part, he decides, he likes the best.
They’re both people defined by their obligations and their passions, who choose others over themselves because what’s in their souls is nothing short of depressing. Jiung finds distraction in his admiration and blind love for people he never talks to. Intak finds distraction in words, in the low and even way Jiung’s voice gets when he drops the playful facade and is honest with himself, in his friends’ drama because his own feelings are too deep to acknowledge.
They’re quite different, and yet so alike.
The group decides to head to a 24-hour diner after karaoke, and Taeyang suggests that someone should ride with Jiung to keep him awake at the wheel because it’s fuckass 1 ‘o clock in the morning and the only other people on the road are those speeding away from their demons.
“I’ll do it,” Intak volunteers after no one jumps to the occasion for a long thirty seconds.
Jiung flashes his crafty grin and twirls his keychain on his finger. “Alright. Let’s whip this hoe.”
Intak climbs into the passenger seat of Jiung’s Honda, acknowledges the bike occupying the entire trunk and backseat of the car, and Jiung laughs.
“Gotta be prepared for everything,” he says and that doesn’t explain much, but then he taps on his phone a bit and shows Intak the Instagram account for the biking club he’s a member of. “I’m supposed to do a forty-mile ride tomorrow.”
“And you’re still here?” Intak asks. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to rest up?”
“I‘m not that tired. We gotta go get food, right?”
Immediately, Intak feels bad. “Sorry, man, I can go squish into Keeho’s car if driving me is an inconvenience, or anything—”
“Hell no. I’m hungry, bruh,” Jiung interrupts with a noisy pshhh. “Want to listen to this country song my friend recommended?”
“Um. Sure.”
“And fasten your seatbelt.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Jiung puts his little car in reverse, backs out of the parking space, brakes, forgets to shift to ‘Drive’, and lifts his foot off the brake. The car continues to lurch backward.
Intak fails to stifle the cackle that bursts free from his mouth. “You’re not that tired, huh?”
Jiung shoots him a glare. “Don’t tell anyone about that.”
“Sure, Jiung-hyung. Your horrible driving habits are safe with me.”
“I’ll make you walk to the diner.”
“But your doors have child-lock activated!”
“Dammit.”
They run into each other in the library. They start studying together. They grab lunch, once. And Intak gets to know him.
Jiung likes the randomest YouTube video essays and Shark Tank episodes. He laughs at anime memes on Instagram, sends inspirational shitposts to Intak once every blue moon, and enjoys the movie Interstellar. Blue is his favorite color, he doesn’t talk about his dad much but loves his mom, and runs when he gets drunk. He wants to travel, works a part-time job, and finds his major to be a drag. He’s a great person to confide in, keeps secrets well, and is tight-lipped about his own.
“I’m waiting for my special someone to spill my guts to,” he tells Intak when the younger boy asks him why he doesn’t share when shared with. “Plus, I don’t want to make another person’s venting session about me.”
His voice impressions and accents are spot-on. He talks to people and makes them feel seen, he knows how to cook, he contemplates as much as he jokes around. He offers Intak his jacket when Intak complains about the night chill. He enjoys his time alone.
With all this, it’s far too easy for Intak to fall in love with him.
“You’re not supposed to grind like that,” Intak sighs, exasperated at Jiung’s poor execution of a striptease at their friend group’s weekly movie night. “You’ve got to put more emphasis on the forward hip movement.”
Jiung's body rolls against the floor again, this time getting it perfectly. Intak hums in approval, tries not to make eye contact with Jiung’s ass stuck in the air, and joins the other boy in their impromptu dance practice.
“We were watching Ratatouille,” Jongseob says out loud, a bit disturbed. “How does a movie about cooking rats turn into a Magic Mike masterclass?”
“Dude, imagine Remy has to teach Linguini how to dwerk like that,” Shota snickers as he steals a piece of popcorn from the bowl in Jongseob’s lap. “Freaky ahh rat.”
A joint in Jiung’s knee pops loudly, and the entire room winces.
“Hag status,” Intak murmurs.
“Shut up,” Jiung says with no bite. “At least I haven’t fallen asleep like Keeho and Taeyang.”
In response, Keeho snores loudly. Taeyang untangles his hand from Keeho’s and flips Jiung off in his sleep.
“To be fair, it’s four in the morning,” Jongseob says. “The sun’s going to come up in like, an hour and a half.”
“Ooh. I know a spot on the cliffs we can watch the sunrise from,” Jiung pipes up, mid-grind. “If you youngin’s aren’t too tired to stay up a little longer.”
Intak scoffs. “You were yawning two minutes ago.”
“Because you’re a bore, Hwang Intak.”
“Okay,” Jongseob cuts in before they can start fake swinging at each other, “should we start walking soon?”
The morning breeze is cold, and Intak shivers beneath the lightweight hoodie he slipped on before they’d begun walking to the cliffs. Shota tucks into his side, equally chilled, and Jiung coos at the sight. He snaps a picture, and Intak makes a note to ask him for it so he can include it in his end-of-the-year dump.
Jiung wanders up the ocean overlook and the sun has just begun to rise, painting his lone silhouette dark against the pink and purple sky. It’s an aesthetically pleasing sight, and Jiung might want to have it in his camera roll, so Intak takes a picture.
(Intak posts the sunrise picture on the Close Friend’s story of his spam account. The Close Friend’s story that only Intak can see.)
They like to gossip about the lack of label on Keeho and Taeyang’s relationship. So much in fact, that Intak decides to walk Jiung back to his car after dinner one night to discuss it.
Of course, this is a cover for the other reason he wants to speak to Jiung alone.
He’s not the type to act impulsively about things regarding his innermost self. He presents himself as an open, carefree person so people don’t ask too much, so they think they know everything and don’t try to pry. Intak is a boy who dreams, a boy who wishes, and a boy who loves. He loves his friends, he loves food, he loves the clubs he’s joined, he loves establishing a life for himself away from home, he loves late night talks about everything and nothing. He loves love, but not falling in love.
For Hwang Intak, falling in love hurts. It encases his lungs in steel until he can’t breathe, it makes his stomach twist like a pretzel, it consumes his waking thoughts and sleeping dreams. It squeezes his heart like the jaws of life, or a boa constrictor, and does not let go until he’s certain of an answer—yes or no.
He’s unlucky in love. There’d been a girl before college who led him on for a year, then a guy during his first few months of university who turned out to be straight and was chasing a sorority girl’s tail. He’s been on a bad date.
So when Intak meets Choi Jiung, who cares and pays attention in the smallest ways—like that one time he’d taken off his shirt so Intak didn’t burn his hands on a hot metal pan (they were baking brownies) taking it out of the oven—and takes the time to get to know Intak and entertains his questions and has private conversations with him even when they’re with the group, he thinks maybe the bad luck is over. He’s found someone who gets him. Who might even want him back.
They arrive at Jiung’s car. The words are stuck in Intak’s throat.
“I’ll drive you back to your dorm,” Jiung says.
“You don’t need to,” Intak quickly amends, “I know you have to get home.”
“Nah, it’s fine. As long as you’re okay with me getting gas on the way.”
Intak says, “Sure,” before he can stop himself. He assumes “his” spot in the passenger seat. They continue talking on the drive, and Intak knows what he has to say, or else he’ll never say it, but he can’t. Not at this instant. So he looks outside the window when Jiung pulls into the gas station and examines the stars in the sky.
Music softly plays through the car’s speakers once they start back towards Intak’s dorm, and it’s not until Jiung’s about to turn onto the street of the school that Intak reels in the line of his fishing rod and blurts out, “I’m gonna be honest with you.”
Jiung meets his eyes as he completes the turn. Before Intak had spoken, they’d been talking about Jiung’s failed romantic endeavors—the most recent from last year, when a fourth-year had been his first everything and then had dropped him at the end of the term. There’s a knowing look in his eye.
“I think I like you.”
This is a lie. Intak doesn’t even need to think about liking Jiung. It’s something he knows in the very depths of his soul.
He clamps his jaw shut and stares right ahead at the road before them. He doesn’t want to see Jiung’s reaction.
“Um.” Jiung clears his throat. “I really appreciate your honesty. But I—I’m sorry. I don’t like you like that.”
The worst part is that he sounds sincerely apologetic.
Intak’s heart sinks. But it’s not like he didn’t prepare himself for this outcome. He’s got a bad history with love, remember? Intak isn’t a great fisherman, not even a good one. He should’ve known the tugs on his line were fabricated completely in his mind.
“I feel bad now,” Jiung continues, his eyebrows pressing together as he starts to ramble, “I was talking about all the people I’ve liked in the past. And in the library. I pointed my library crush out to you. I talked to you about romantic prospects. I basically rubbed it in your face—”
“Jiung.” Intak pretends like he’s perfectly okay with this. “I had a feeling you didn’t feel the same. I just wanted to be honest with you because you’re my friend.”
For someone who cries when he sits with his emotions, Intak’s voice doesn’t quiver once. He feels a bit proud of himself, despite the disappointment poisoning his bloodstream. “This was something I needed to get off my chest, so I could move on with my life and not suffer with my feelings over the summer. Thanks for being nice about it.”
Jiung stops his car in a loading zone right outside Intak’s dorm. Intak keeps his body facing forward, despite Jiung moving to look at him completely.
“Promise me you won’t disappear on me,” Jiung pleads. Pleads. Someone kill Intak now. “I know that these sorts of things can cause people to drift apart, but I really value our friendship and I promise not to disappear on you if you don’t disappear on me.”
Intak knows it will be awkward. It will break his heart every time he sees Jiung for the rest of the year, the month they have left in the same city before the summer saves him and whisks him back home. But it might—just might—hurt more to lose the bond he’s come to cherish so much.
“You know me, I value friendship above all else,” he tries to joke cheerfully. It falls a little flat, but Jiung is gracious enough to chuckle too, so it’s okay. “I won’t disappear.”
“Pinky promise?” Jiung sticks his pinky out.
Intak wraps his pinky around it and musters up his best smile. “Of course.”
“Good.” He breaks their link and holds his hand open with his middle and ring fingers pushed slightly inward.
Intak wishes for whatever god might exist to strike him down. Not only is Jiung being respectful about his emotions, but he wants to do their secret fucking handshake. How cruel.
Intak mimics Jiung’s motion and they clap their hands together with practiced ease. After a shake, they separate and Intak unclasps his seatbelt.
“You’ve got to get home,” he says out loud, more to himself than to Jiung. “See you later.”
“Bye!” Jiung bids him as Intak clambers out of the car and shuts the door. He’s still got that apologetic smile on his face, even as he drives away.
Intak, feeling like the stupidest motherfucker on the planet, goes to the parking structure where they had talked for over two hours the week before and tries not to cry.
They FaceTime over the summer to talk about club gossip. Jiung is still devastatingly handsome. Intak is still not over him.
But they still banter. They still joke about some random old things, TV shows they’re catching up on in their free time. They still care about each other. And somehow, it’s enough.
Intak’s second year begins, and he is still a lover. He loves the beach. He loves walking around campus at nighttime. He loves playing video games with Shota and Jongseob. He loves grabbing lunch with Taeyang in between classes. He loves Keeho’s motherly fretting. He loves Keeho and Taeyang’s love, now labeled as boyfriend-and-boyfriend.
He loves his friends so much. He fills his heart up with Jongseob’s toothy grins, with Taeyang’s snarky comments, with Keeho’s singing at ungodly hours, with Shota’s affection for the lizards, snails, and rabbits that scamper across the campus trails. He leaves the least amount of room for Jiung, just to protect himself, but ends up loving him anyway.
Jiung’s laugh still calms the nerves that run amok in Intak’s blood. His smile is still beautiful. His presence is still like a black hole, sucking everything and everyone into his gravity.
Everyone in the friend group knows what has transpired between the two of them, of course. It’s only natural, when people are so close and can sense the most discreet changes of behavior between a pair. Jongseob once asks Intak if he’s okay, after the group has dispersed post-baking night.
“I’m over it,” Intak reassures him with a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m focusing on myself and my studies this term.”
He doesn’t want to fish anymore. He’s tired.
Jiung makes a comment to the group about the person he was during the last year. “That wasn’t me, guys,” he jokes lightly, as if his self-deprication and personal failures hadn’t choked the life out of his soul in front of Intak’s eyes in that damn parking garage. “I’m better, now.”
It seems the summer has treated Choi Jiung well, and Intak is glad. He is glad one of them is doing well. He is glad, because Choi Jiung is a lover at heart, and now he can love freely.
He can crush on every attractive person who walks into the library. He can fall in love with anyone he wants to at a party because he finds the beauty in everyone. He can love his hobbies, he can love his club members, he can love all he wants and then some. He can love himself. And that’s what puts a part of Intak at peace.
“It’s not a big deal, Intak. Just sit down.”
“My bussy is full on, like, out to you right now, dude! It seems kind of like a big deal!”
“Don’t call me ‘dude’ when you’re about to sit on me! And straddling isn’t a big deal if you don’t make it a big deal.”
It’s a big deal, thinks Intak, because I’m still in love with you.
“I don’t think yoga involves this much talking,” says Taeyang from his comfy, high and mighty position on the mattress of his bed. “This is like being in the cuck chair, damn.”
“Shut up,” says Intak. Taeyang doesn’t get to joke about this. He doesn’t know that it is torture for Intak to be in the same three-foot radius as Jiung and feel self-conciuos of every laugh he makes when Jiung cracks a joke. He doesn’t get to poke light-hearted fun at Intak’s situation when his own relationship is going so well and they will probably get married and have a couple of kids and live happily ever after.
“Come on,” Jiung urges again, poking Intak’s thigh with his socked toe. “I’ll get in the table position, you sit on my knees and stick your feet under my armpits, you lean back and I counter-balance by sitting up.”
“This seems complicated,” Intak moans. “And athletic.”
“You’re athletic.”
“Hyung.”
“Just sit on me.”
Ignoring Taeyang’s snickers, Intak complies and attempts to match the pose the couple is doing in the TikTok pulled up on his phone. As soon as he shoves his foot beneath Jiung’s armpit, the older boy violently jerks and dissolves into giggles, causing them to fall. Intak lands with his ass directly over Jiung’s groin.
“Oh my fuck!” Jiung giggle-shrieks. “That tickles, dude!”
Intak forces a laugh and scrambles off of Jiung’s body. “Bro, not my fault you’re ticklish as shit!”
“You guys are hopeless,” Taeyang sighs.
Intak agrees.
Taeyang meets Intak for lunch the next day.
“I really did feel like I was cucking you guys,” he states. “Just thought you might want to know.”
“He’s still hung up on his library crush,” Intak insists. “And some dude he met at a party two days ago. I think they’re still DM-ing.”
Taeyang rolls his eyes and takes a loud sip from his water cup. “Jiung fumbled that guy. Left on delivered for too long.”
Intak is glad he waited a second to take a bite of his burrito, because if he hadn’t, he would’ve spit it out over Taeyang’s beloved track suit jacket. “What?”
“All I’m saying…” Taeyang winks at Intak. “Y’know.”
Intak glares at Taeyang’s unwavering support of his crush on Jiung. “You know that ship has sailed. We’re just friends.”
“There were vibes last night, man. I’m not blind.”
“But you don’t know—” Intak stops himself.
Taeyang leans forward, intrigued. “Don’t know what?”
Know him like I do. Know that he won’t ever see me that way. Know how hard I’m trying to never give myself that same hope I stupidly held to my heart.
“I—I can’t.”
“Can’t what?”
Intak gingerly places his burrito back down onto the table. “I just can’t.”
Taeyang scoffs. “You can’t live the rest of your life scared.”
“I’m not scared. I’m cautious.”
“Look, Intak,” and Taeyang exhales so heavily that Intak looks up to make sure he hasn’t been punched in the lungs, “you got hurt. I get that. And I know I don’t know Jiung, or you, like you know each other.”
“Right, so don’t act like—”
“I will.” Taeyang crosses his arms, like that’s that and he has the last fucking word. “I’m still both of your guys’ friend. I watched him at the party two days ago, when he was standing in between you and the guy he was ‘interested’ in, and he looked at you more than he looked at Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”
“So? I was frat-flicking like a tweaker! Who wouldn’t want to watch that?”
“He left his drink with you while he went to the bathroom!”
“He would’ve left it with you, or Keeho, or Shota, or Jongseob, too!”
“You two talked about destiny for like fifteen minutes straight last night, right in front of my face like I wasn’t even in the room! It was like I was a damn ghost!”
“Well, now you know how I feel when you and Keeho start staring into each other’s eyes during dinner.”
Taeyang throws his hands up in the air. “Exactly!”
“He doesn’t like me, Taeyang. Not like I love him.”
Time stops, after that. Taeyang blinks in slow motion.
“Love?” Taeyang asks, gently this time like he’s talking to a spooked puppy.
“I don’t want your pity,” Intak simply says. “I just want to get rid of my feelings for him.”
The older boy goes quiet for a second, and blessedly, Intak thinks he’s going to drop it.
No such luck. Taeyang opens his mouth, and Intak braces himself for some lecture about facing his feelings and working through them like a rational adult because Taeyang is always the sane one—
“It’s scary to be known. I would know, because I danced around my feelings for Keeho the moment I realized I knew the reasons he woke up in the morning and he knew the things that kept me up at night.”
Taeyang pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Your feelings for Jiung, your care for him hasn’t changed since the moment your soul recognized his. His care for you hasn’t changed either. I can see it with my own two eyes. And,” he opens his texts with Jiung, revealing a message from ten minutes ago asking of Intak’s whereabouts, “he still calls for you.”
Intak can’t do anything but hold his breath. He refuses to feel hope. “What makes you think this time would be any different?”
“Because distance makes the heart grow fonder,” Taeyang confidently declares. “And unknownst to you until this moment, he texted me the entire summer about you. Asked me about what you were doing during the week days. What you got down to on the weekends. If you had met anyone. How you were doing. If you went on that camping trip with your hometown friends like you’d told him before the year ended.”
“He would’ve asked about anyone,” Intak weakly replies, feeling a bit faint. “And why didn’t he ask me any of this personally?”
“I asked him the same thing.”
“And?”
“He thinks you’ve moved on. That you’re like him, the type to do things once you put your mind to it. The type to heal and go on forward if you really wanted to.”
Taeyang scrolls to a message from the dead middle of summer, a singular text three words long. Intak’s chest constricts painfully.
I miss him.
Then do something about it, Taeyang had responded.
“You’re both as stubborn as mules,” says the third year. “And he’s only talking about his meaningless crushes because he wants to see your reaction. Or lack thereoff.”
“Let’s say I believe you.” And Intak doesn’t. Not yet. “What am I supposed to do about it? If you’re wrong, I am the fool again. And then I’ve wasted all my progress and have to get over him all over again.”
“Oh, Intak.” Taeyang has a sad look in his eye. “Love may make fools of people, but it is never a waste of time.”
The door of the taqueria bursts open, announcing a new customer with the ring of a bell and rush of fried air. Choi Jiung stands in the doorway, face open and raw in the broad daylight. It’s the look Intak, and only Intak, has seen at the quietest hours of the night.
“Oops,” says Taeyang, not sounding the slightest bit apologetic as he scrolls to the bottom of their chat and lets Intak read the latest message—sent by Taeyang.
Taqueria-H. He’s here. Come now.
“Sorry, but not really,” Taeyang whispers before grabbing his things and dashing out of the restaurant before Intak can strangle him.
“Hey.” If Intak’s ears weren’t specifically tuned to Jiung’s frequency, he would’ve missed the soft greeting. He slides into the chair across from Intak, cautious and delicate.“Long time no see.”
Intak can’t breathe. “I saw you ten hours ago,” he wheezes.
“I missed you.”
This is too much for him. “Apparently so.”
“Intak,” Jiung starts, but Intak holds up a hand before he can say another word.
“Jiung, this can’t be like last time,” and a piece of the poorly-welded metal fortress Intak built over his heart over the summer chips off, “it really can’t.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t!” Intak can’t stop the anger, the frustration, the pain bottled up in his heart from coming out in a rush. “You know, I know, that we’re basically—I don’t know—fucking meant to be in each other’s lives. You got to know me. I got to know you. I’m pretty sure you didn’t lie to my face about all those things you told me about yourself, but really? We talked about signs we gave people to let them know we liked them. You talked about excessive eye contact. Seeking them out in a room. Spending time with them, smiling at them, laughing at jokes, pushing their buttons just to get their attention—all things you did to me! You led me on!”
“I know.”
Intak knows he’s about to start crying, in public, but he can’t find it within himself to care. He’s too furious, and blinks through his blurring vision. “So, why?”
Jiung looks equally up and at arms, and a vicious part of Intak’s being feels satisfied that Jiung is on the defense. He hopes Jiung punches him. Anything to get the burning sensation out of his stomach, anything to lessen the pounding of his heart. Look, Jiung’s scrunching his nose, which is only something he does when he’s about to rip Intak a new one for annoying him—
“I was wrong, okay? And you know I hate being wrong, so please, I’m sorry. I was wrong about trying to convince myself you were just some first year who I could just be friends with, I was wrong about acting normal after you’d confessed your feelings to me, and I was wrong about not telling you sooner!”
“Holy shit.” Intak maniacally giggles. He feels insane. He and Jiung are the type of people who’d rather lay down on train tracks than admit they’re wrong. “You’re actually serious.”
This isn’t real, he tells himself. You had a late night. You’re delusional. Or dreaming.
Then, Jiung carefully pries Intak’s hands apart. He hadn’t even realized he was picking at his nails. The older boy’s hand is warm, far too warm and life-like to be an illusion.
“I was wrong about pretending to have crushes on all those people. I was wrong about not confronting my feelings head-on. And I was wrong about not wanting you all those months ago.”
Intak’s burrito has gone cold by now, but he doesn’t care. He might vomit if he tries to force any food into his twisting, flipping, butterfly-filled stomach.
“I know it will take time and effort to regain your trust. Lots of it. But if it’s you, I don’t care how long it takes.”
“What if you end up changing your mind? And regret even trying in the first place?” He hates how his voice breaks.
“I’ll never regret you, Hwang Intak.” Jiung is resolute. Intak knows the look in his eyes. It’s the same look Jiung had made when Intak asked him, a year ago, if he was sure he didn’t want to go home instead of going to the diner after karaoke.
“Plus, a stupid, meddling guy once told me that love is never a waste of time,” Jiung adds while Intak struggles to find his voice. “And even though you always debate me on everything, never stop fidgeting, and breathe really loudly—and drive me insane in general—I am just as insane about you.”
And this Jiung. This Jiung is the one afraid to be vulnerable. The one who made Intak realize that he wasn’t untouchable—that Jiung was a human, that he eventually had to vent to others just as they did to him. The Jiung who trusts Intak with his dark matter.
Intak swallows the lump in his throat. “What happened to the ‘special someone’ you were waiting to spill your guts to?”
Jiung gently brushes a tear off of Intak’s cheekbone. “I’d argue that you’re pretty damn special yourself.”
“Honest?”
“Honest.”
“And what if it doesn’t work?”
“What if it does?”
He and Jiung are back to being contrary to one another, to being the ‘heads’ to the other’s ‘tails’, to being Jiung-and-Intak, Intak-and-Jiung. Intak realizes he wants this.
So, Intak lets himself want this. Because, yes, Jiung and Intak were meant to be in each other’s lives—but now, their desire is what dictates their fate.
He clears his throat. “You haven’t eaten lunch yet, have you?”
Jiung shakes his head.
“Well, my burrito’s cold. And there’s a new bakery across the street we can try.”
A brilliant smile splits Jiung’s face in half, and something in Intak’s soul reflects in its light. “Are you suggesting we ruin our appetites and eat dessert before lunch?”
“You know me.”
“That’s right,” and Jiung is tugging him out of his chair and towards the door. “I do.”
This time, when Intak reels the line in of his fishing rod, the fish matches his strength so well that they fight for control for a brief moment. At the last second, Intak gets pulled into the freezing water below his iceberg—and yet, no panic floods his system. It’s invigorating, electrifying, and is completely right.
Jiung and Intak have always been lovers.
But at last, they are lovers.