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For as long as Joshua has spent as one of thirteen, it sometimes still surprises him just how many people that actually is. Thirteen all together, spread across chairs and couches and any other surface they could find within Chan’s living room, closer than they need to be in the large space as if they were stuffed in their trainee dorm. Junhui and Minghao are sprawled on the floor, their long limbs stretched out in lithe lines. Jeonghan and Seungcheol are pressed together. Joshua sits between Seokmin and Hansol, his head resting lightly on Seokmin’s shoulder. It’s been so long since they all drank together. Joshua’s body floods with nostalgia.
Voices and laughter blur together, nearly fifteen years of memory flooding the room. It seems like everyone has a story they want to tell.
“Jun-ah,” Joshua says, warm and happy and slipping easily into memories. “Do you remember,” a smile tugs uncontrollably at Joshua’s lips. “When you asked me on a date to practice Korean?”
The room erupts in surprised laughter and aigoos over pre-debut Junhui and his antics. Seungkwan’s shouts ring loud and clear, and Joshua grins.
“Yah, Shua,” Jun says, lazily smacking Joshua with a throw pillow. “Don’t bring that up,” he laughs.
Joshua grins and grabs for the pillow. “Why not?” he asks. “It’s sweet that you wanted to be prepared. You were thinking farther ahead than I was.”
Truthfully, Joshua wasn’t thinking of dating at all during his trainee days. At first he was far too busy feeling like he was playing catch-up to the others, and then he was too busy feeling their debut slip further and further into what felt like impossibility. Navigating a whole new dating pool was not something he had time for on top of everything else.
Joshua tugs the pillow to his chest, smiling at Junhui. He’s so easily flustered these days, Joshua thinks. How funny, that it used to be the opposite.
“Oh, hyung,” Seungkwan says, eyes wide, “don’t tell us you rejected Moon Junhui!”
“Oh, no,” Joshua says, eyes widening. “We—I mean, I’m sure we told everybody about this at some point, right?” Joshua looks around the room, but he’s met mostly with blank stares. He definitely told Jeonghan when it happened. He’s sure Junhui told Minghao, at the very least. He glances towards where Minghao has planted himself on the floor between Mingyu’s legs, his face stone. Joshua looks away quickly.
“You guys went on a date?” Hansol asks, arms crossed casually, eyes darting between the pair.
Junhui buries his head in his arms. Joshua laughs. He knows there’s no point in saying it wasn’t actually a date. Obviously everyone knows that. They’d just give him more of a hard time.
“Aishhh,” Jeonghan says, covering Seungcheol’s ears with his hands. “Cheollie will never let me live it down if he knows we weren’t the first.”
Seungcheol swats him away. “We were first,” he mumble-whines. He wraps himself around Jeonghan’s torso, in a way that almost makes them look nineteen again.
Joshua scoffs. He hasn't seen Seungcheol this drunk in a while. Also, there’s no way Jeonghan hasn’t told Seungcheol.
“When was this?” Chan asks, sounding considerably more distressed than Hansol.
Joshua looks at Junhui. His face is still hidden, and it seems like he’s not talking any time soon.
“It was pretty early,” Joshua says, reaching for Junhui’s shoulders. “Our Korean was terrible. That’s why Junnie asked me.”
Junhui lets Joshua pull him up gently, dark hair falling over his eyes. “It was November,” Junhui says, “2013, I think.”
Chan gasps and Seungkwan practically scrambles to join Junhui on the floor. Seokmin shakes with laughter besides Joshua.
“Well, yeah,” Soonyoung pipes up, “that was when you guys were—”
All heads turn to where Soonyoung is perched. “You know…” he trails off. The implication is clear. Joshua forces himself to laugh. It’s what he would do if it were anyone but himself being talked about. Wonwoo flicks Soonyoung in the ear.
“Wait, wait,” Mingyu’s voice rings out, “Remember when Soonyoungie got chased out of the 7-Eleven?” he grins. Joshua silently thanks God for Kim Mingyu.
The conversation moves on, no less excited nor loud. Joshua sways Junhui (and by extension, Seungkwan) by the shoulders. He laughs when the others laugh, though his mind is stuck on Soonyoung’s words. He’s used to teasing, of course. But that didn’t feel like teasing. It felt like being held over an open flame.
Regardless, the night goes on. Whatever Joshua had felt begins to fade, and when Junhui laughs a genuine laugh he feels relief spread through his chest. They’re okay, like always.
As yawns begin to fill the room, cars are called, and blankets are spread across couches. As everyone shuffles lazily through the space, Minghao catches Joshua’s eye and motions for him to follow him into the hall. Joshua, eyes heavy with sleep, obliges. He rounds the corner, finding Minghao worrying his lip, his arms crossed and eyes sharp.
“Were you being an asshole on purpose?” Minghao whispers.
“What are you talking about?” Joshua says, his brow furrowing.
“Jun hyung.”
Joshua falters at Minghao’s use of honorifics. There’s no cameras rolling. Minghao’s serious. Joshua’s not sure what he was expecting—of course Minghao is serious about this.
“What?”
“He—” Minghao exhales. “He really cared about you back then, you know?”
“I know,” Joshua’s eyes narrow. Were he several years younger, he might have said something scathing, like you weren’t even there, Myungho. How would you know? But he knows better than that now. He knows Minghao and Junhui are Minghao and Junhui. It drove him crazy, at first—this thing that grew between them, a result of sharing a native tongue. He didn’t understand it. Sometimes he still doesn’t. But here it is in front of him, strange and entangled as always.
“Okay,” Minghao says. His mouth is tense.
Joshua could read the silence in a hundred different unsaid ways. He forces himself to nod instead. “Okay,” he echoes. “Is that all you wanted to say?”
“Yes,” Minghao sighs. “No one can tell you how to live.”
Joshua exhales. He has nothing to say to that.
The night plays on repeat in his head. The moments after he brought up the date unravel into a mess of memory and confusion. Joshua isn’t stupid. He knows Soonyoung hadn’t meant to be mean, even if it had stung. It's what Minghao said that's throwing him for a loop. He really cared about you back then.
He doesn’t want to think about the implication. Maybe it’s not what Minghao meant. But Joshua can’t ignore it.
If Junhui had feelings for Joshua back when they were teens, and Joshua brought it up like it was a joke, then yes, he would seem like an asshole. He can acknowledge that. But the thing is, in Joshua’s mind, he was the one with the silly, unrequited crush. For years. He’d accepted it long ago, and it’s something he can laugh about now.
If Junhui had wanted him back then, twelve years ago, nothing would change now. They’re adults. But even as Joshua tells himself this, over a decade of memories begin to reshape themselves in his mind. They went on a date. Junhui asked him on a date. Joshua lays in bed and feels the past creeping up behind him, wrapping its hands around his throat.
Somewhere in America, Junhui and Joshua snuck into an empty ballroom. It felt strangely familiar, the two of them together after a show. Only, Joshua realized, he was thinking of when they used to walk near the river together after practice, when they had to worry about never-ending livestreams and passing evaluations. The ballroom floor was dizzyingly carpeted with a pattern that looked about seventy years younger than the intricate walls and ceiling, where golden flourishes danced with glistening chandeliers. The whole thing made Joshua feel distinctly out of time, somewhere between 1910 and 1980, somewhere between 2014 and 2022.
They spun around, laughing with their arms out until the room twisted around them. Junhui threw himself to the ground dramatically, and Joshua laughed so loud it echoed through the space. He lay next to Junhui, and watched the ceiling slowly spin to a stop.
Silence filled the room, and it felt far bigger than before, the two of them small in the middle of the universe.
“Do you ever miss before we debuted?” Junhui spoke, quieter than before.
Joshua turned to Junhui, brow furrowed. Junhui stared intently at the ceiling. Joshua wondered what he saw in the swirling shapes. It was just abstract enough to be anything—a bed of flowers, a sky of clouds.
“No,” Joshua said in earnest. “Do you?”
Junhui bit his lip. “No,” he said after a beat. “But I think about it.”
Joshua didn’t know what to say to that. He wondered what the version of himself from eight years ago would have done, emboldened by an inability to communicate with words. He would have reached out, probably. Grabbed Junhui’s hand or shoulder. Now, frozen by the balance they’ve struck, Joshua kept his hands by his sides.
He almost said something, just to break the silence. Something light hearted, to return them to now, to their present selves.
Before he could speak, Junhui reached out and hooked their pinky fingers together. Joshua’s heart stumbled in a way it hadn’t in a long time. His face flushed. He turned his attention back to the ceiling, and saw a riverbank.
Joshua walks into practice already tired. Resetting formations is always more difficult than he expects, and half the time everyone gets frustrated after thirty minutes. Mingyu and Seungkwan are stretching on the floor. Joshua sets his water bottle down near the mirror and stretches his shoulders.
He watches as Mingyu and Seungkwan whisper to one another. He doesn’t think anything of it, until he hears Mingyu say Junhui’s name. Seungkwan smacks him on the knee. Mingyu whines, but lowers his voice accordingly. Seungkwan shoots one glance towards Joshua, quick and unassuming, but unmistakable. Joshua’s stomach twists.
He could’ve imagined it. For the rest of practice, it isn’t that anyone is acting out of the ordinary. It’s as normal as things can be with four members missing. Junhui helps Joshua with pathways while Seokmin and Seungkwan get into some kind of belting contest. Joshua doesn’t know where they find the energy. He jumps when Junhui touches his shoulders to guide him to the right spot.
“Sorry,” Junhui says quietly, “You okay?”
Joshua nods. He can’t help but notice Seungkwan going silent.
After practice, thoroughly tired and uncomfortably sweaty, Joshua turns to refill his water. Seungcheol is there, typing something urgently on his phone.
“Did you notice people acting weird today?” Joshua asked.
“It’s probably resetting forms,” Seungcheol sighs, pocketing his phone. “Weird how?” he asks.
“Like, I don’t know…” Joshua trails off. “Secretive, maybe? Mingyu said something about Jun and Seungkwan smacked him. I don’t know. I could be imagining it.” It’s possible that Minghao’s words have him paranoid. Maybe Seungcheol can at least reassure him that the tension is imagined.
Seungcheol’s mouth forms an impressively unsurprised o shape. “I’ve been wondering, actually,” he says. “Since Chan’s. You and Junhui.”
“Oh, god,” Joshua mutters, rubbing his face with his hands. That’s not the response he wanted at all.
“Tell me about the… the…”
“The date,” Joshua completes miserably.
“Yeah. The date,” Seungcheol says.
“It was really nothing,” Joshua replies.
Seungcheol raises his eyebrows.
Joshua knows it doesn’t seem like nothing, when it lingers in the room days after bringing it up. But it’s not like the date was the most damning evidence of how he’d felt back then. Joshua had felt it in their lack of conversations just as much as he’d felt it in any words he and Junhui had shared. His feelings for Junhui in those years were all encompassing. He’d felt it in every touch, in every quiet act of care. He’d been so sure it would never go away, but as he got older it became bearable, and then something he rarely thought about, and then something of a sweet and distant memory. The date was just a silly thing they’d done as kids. But it seems like everyone else had taken it as something else.
“It wasn’t—nothing happened, it wasn’t like that,” Joshua says.
Seungcheol chews on his lip like he’s considering what he’s about to say. “So if I asked Jun right now, he’d tell me the same thing?” he asks.
Joshua felt like screaming. “I honestly don’t know, Cheollie. It’s not something I think about.”
Or it wasn’t, until recently.
”We just went to a kimbap place. We talked in Korean. And then we went back to the dorms,” Joshua says.
“What did you talk about?”
Joshua resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I don’t know. Our hometowns. Favorite movies. The type of questions in an intermediate Korean textbook.”
Seungcheol looks at him long and hard. Joshua has just enough time to realize just how much overlap exists between intermediate textbooks and first dates.
“Tell me if you need anything, okay?” Seungcheol finally says. “If you want me to ask him, or anything.”
“Do not ask him,” Joshua says, a laugh startled out of him. Seungcheol wouldn’t. Probably. Unless this goes on for, like, an unreasonably long amount of time. It sends him straight back to their rookie days, a friendly but earnest warning of figure it out yourself before I have to.
The only issue is that Joshua doesn’t know what figuring it out means.
On New Year's Eve, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and Joshua had taken Junhui, Wonwoo, Soonyoung, and Jihoon out for their first legal drinks in Korea. They’d taken the subway, missed the last train back by several hours, and started the long walk back to the dorms, faces flushed and arms slung around each other.
Despite being of drinking age for a year already, Joshua had been the drunkest he’d ever been. He watched happily as Seungcheol pulled Jihoon down the street and Soonyoung said hello to every group they passed and Jeonghan and Wonwoo fiddled with a pair of glasses that only vaguely read “2015.” Junhui more pranced than walked, and every time Soonyoung stumbled, Junhui made sure he didn’t fall.
Joshua watched fondly and wondered what they looked like from the outside. A group of classmates? Childhood friends? Could the people they passed on the street tell that he wasn’t from here? That he and Junhui had grown up hundreds, thousands of miles away? He watched Junhui’s smile and the way he looked around at everyone in their group, silently making sure everyone was okay, even though this night was supposed to be for him to get wasted.
Junhui caught Joshua’s eye, and Joshua smiled. Junhui smiled back. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, surrounded by the voices and laughter of the others. Time felt frozen, the buildings around them slipping in and out of Joshua’s awareness. Junhui seemed to exist in his own plane of existence, away from time and language and the perception of others. Joshua’s heart slammed unexpectedly in his chest.
He stumbled and nearly fell, or maybe he did, and then Junhui and Jeonghan were helping him back on his feet.
“I got him,” Jeonghan was saying. “You okay?”
Joshua nodded. “I’m good,” he said. Junhui gave him one last look, as if to check for himself, and Joshua nodded again. Junhui squeezed his shoulder and stepped away again.
Jeonghan stayed holding Joshua’s arm. “What’s going on with you?” he whispered in Joshua’s ear.
“Hmm?” Joshua hummed.
“You’re staring at Junhui like you want to eat him.”
Joshua laughed. “I’m not,” he said. He was.
“It’s fine if you like him, Shua,” Jeonghan whisper-sing-songed. It was something of an off-limits topic between the two of them, something that only got brought up when they’d been drinking. The way Joshua saw it, things could only go two ways: he’d debut with the group, or he’d go home. Either way, confessing his feelings to Junhui felt counterintuitive. They couldn’t be together in either scenario. And besides, Junhui didn’t like Joshua, not in the same way. Joshua was sure of that. Every time Jeonghan brought it up, Joshua would give the same responses, and then Jeonghan would start projecting him and Seungcheol onto the situation. And the worst part was that he would never admit it. Joshua didn’t want to be like that.
Joshua didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to sour the good mood. He watched Jeonghan’s eyes dart to Seungcheol. Joshua wondered if they’d talked about it. If they’d ever talk about it. Or if it would just be something he always saw from a distance, flickering in and out for the rest of their lives. Only time would tell, he supposed.
Once they had made it a few blocks from the dorms, Jeonghan had ushered Seungcheol and Jihoon forward. Soonyoung was practically hanging off of Wonwoo, who seemed to be picking up the pace, possibly increasingly desperate to get home. Junhui and Joshua fell back, watching the others in front of them.
“Did you have a good New Year’s, Junnie?” Joshua asked.
Junhui nodded, a smile blooming on his face. “Yeah,” he said. “This was my favorite yet.”
Joshua linked their elbows together. He knew Junhui missed home, just like he did. But Joshua knew if he left now, he’d miss Korea, too. It was strange, and something he tried not to think too hard about. He wondered if Junhui felt the same.
“What about you?” Junhui said. “Did you kiss anyone?” he asked with a grin.
Joshua flushed. “No,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t want to return the question.
“That’s too bad,” Junhui said. “I guess we always have next year,” he laughed. Joshua joined him. They walked arm in arm, watching their friends ahead of them. For a rare moment, Joshua wasn’t worried about the future. He wasn’t worried about debuting, or livestreaming, or when their next practice was. He was just present.
Just before they turned the last corner before the dorms, Joshua stumbled on a crack in the pavement. Junhui caught him before he could fall.
Junhui’s face was so close. So close Joshua would only have to lean in a few inches to kiss him, right on his gently parted lips. He could have, if he wanted to. He knew Junhui would let him. But it was cold. The walk was long, and most of the drinks had worn off. If he leaned in now, he couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. If he leaned in now, it would be real. Maybe not to Junhui, maybe not to anyone else. But to Joshua, it would be real.
He couldn’t do that. So it didn’t happen.
(Joshua had hoped, foolishly, that Junhui would close the gap. Though he wasn’t sure what he would have done if he did.)
They made it back to the dorms and fell asleep beside each other. When Joshua woke up, Junhui wasn’t there. It didn’t happen. It wasn’t real.
The next few days, Joshua walked around with a pit in his stomach. When Junhui met his eye in the practice room mirror, Joshua looked down. He was embarrassed. He knew Junhui remembered. Joshua had wanted to kiss him.
He resolved then to let it go. To be an adult. He wouldn’t let himself get into any situations where he could almost kiss Junhui again. They would be friends, teammates. They would be what they were able to be.
“Can I ask you something?” Joshua says.
“Mhm,” Wonwoo nods, setting his glass on its paper coaster.
“I feel like things have been weird ever since we drank at Chan’s.” It’s not a question, but the do you know what the hell is going on is implied. Wonwoo may not be at rehearsals, but he speaks plenty with the members. Joshua pictures Wonwoo and Junhui at a restaurant like this. Would Junhui tell him how strange it’s been lately? Does Junhui know how strange it's been for Joshua? Has he been flooded by memories too?
Wonwoo’s brows raise ever so slightly. “Weird how?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” Joshua frowns. “Like, after Chan’s, Myungho started asking me questions about Junhui, and at rehearsals it feels like—like—”
Like they’re choosing sides, Joshua thinks, but that isn’t fair. There’s no sides in this scenario.
Junhui and Joshua liked each other when they were kids. That’s all it is. He shakes his head, and hopes Wonwoo won’t press.
“Is this about what Soonyoung said?” Wonwoo asks slowly.
Joshua exhales. “I guess. Yeah. It is.”
Wonwoo rubs a hand over his beanie. “What did Myungho say?”
Joshua wishes he hadn’t said anything at all. “He said… he just said something about Junnie caring about me back then, and about living your life to the fullest, or something.”
Of course Joshua remembers exactly what he’d said. No one can tell you how to live. It hangs over him every day, splices itself into the memories that have been haunting him.
Wonwoo pokes at his food. “Maybe you should talk to Junhui,” he says without looking up.
Joshua nearly laughs. “And say what?” At least it seems like everyone already knows. Do they all think Joshua is heartless? Do they know that he’d ached too?
“The thing with Junnie,” Wonwoo trails off. He sighs, like he’s considering what he’s about to say. “You know it’s hard for hyung to say what he wants.”
Joshua stares. “What does that mean?” he says after a moment.
Wonwoo shrugs. “You know him as well as I do. You know.”
Joshua doesn’t push. He doesn’t want to know what Wonwoo thinks of Junhui or him or the two of them together. He doesn’t want to know what anyone thinks. It feels like everyone is intruding on something that wasn’t even there to begin with.
Joshua knows this will pass, like every other tiff between members. He knows it’s just how they are. But he can’t help but feel seventeen and vulnerable and alone. The way he always felt when he needed Junhui most.
Junhui and Joshua had taken to walking home together after practice. On days when there wasn’t any sort of group meal planned, they’d pick something up at a convenience store. The novelty of Korean 7-Elevens still hadn’t worn off for Joshua. They were familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, an in-between of here and home.
Junhui picked out a ramyun cup for them to share, and Joshua picked out a package of fruit and a candy bar. It was nowhere near passing as a meal for two, but as Joshua was quickly learning, their budget for food wasn’t exactly high.
When they sat down to eat at one of the tiny tables outside, Joshua hesitated. He was still getting used to etiquette here, even behind grimy convenience stores. Junhui pulled his hair into a hair tie, his bangs falling over his eyes. Joshua watched as he poured half of the ramyun into the to-go cup they had taken from the counter and slid it towards Joshua.
Joshua, in return, placed half of the fruit in the lid of the container, and passed it to Junhui. They exchanged quiet thank yous, and Junhui watched as Joshua took his first bite.
Joshua had been here for three weeks. He’d been thrown into a routine, into Korean lessons and livestreams and sharing a dorm. He’d realized how little time he actually had to call his mom and how little Korean he truthfully knew. Speaking with Hansol was a comfort, but he’d lived here for most of his life. It was Junhui who he’d found the most commonality with, despite their lack of fluent shared language. They were close in age. They understood each other.
“At home,” Junhui said slowly, between bites, “do you use chopsticks or fork?”
Joshua covered his mouth, a smile threatening to break out before he finished chewing. He swallowed and met Junhui’s eye. “Usually a fork. But both.”
They ate in silence for a moment. It was never awkward, but Joshua liked when they talked. Already on the topic of home, he decided to play one of their games.
“Teach me something in Chinese.”
Junhui considered for a moment, picking at his ramyun. “Wo ai ni,” he said, eyes twinkling behind his black bangs.
Joshua rolled his eyes. “I already know that.”
“What does it mean?”
“I love you,” Joshua replied. He mimed being bored in class, resting his chin in his palm and parting his lips like he was half asleep. Saranghae was something his mother’s family said to him, something he heard over Skype calls and in his mother’s dramas. Some of the other trainees threw saranghae around both jokingly and in earnest more times a day than Joshua could count. He even joined in sometimes, when he understood the context. He understood it well enough.
“In English?” Junhui asked. He was teasing now, his face smug.
Joshua blinked. I love you.
I love you was what his mother said to him when he skinned his knee as a little kid. When he came home crying from elementary school, after being called names he didn’t know the meaning of but knew he didn’t want to be. When he made the decision to leave. I love you was what he’d said to his friends in high school, who he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see again. He didn’t say it often, but when he did, he meant it. I love you was something else entirely.
Joshua’s throat felt sticky. “I love you,” he said in English. It sounded too serious. He forced himself to smile.
“I love you,” Junhui repeated. He grinned his boxy grin and laughed with his shoulders.
Joshua’s horrible, traitorous heart fluttered in its cage.
“I love youuuu,” Junhui said again, drawing it out.
Joshua, flustered and doubly embarrassed by just how easy it was for Junhui to get to him, crossed his arms. “Wo ai ni.”
Junhui only laughed harder, like it was the silliest thing in the world, what the two of them were doing. His grin, infectious as always, had Joshua smiling too, even as his heart had not yet returned to its normal pace.
“Eat your food,” Joshua said. The certain romantic spell that seemed to hang over convenience stores at night had taken hold of him, heightened by the small table and Junhui’s tied up hair. He didn’t have a crush on Junhui. Not really. He was lonely, and Junhui saw him. It didn’t have to be anything more than that. After all, he saw Junhui, too.
Joshua can’t take it anymore. Every night he tries to go to sleep and a different moment loops in his mind, reframed by Minghao’s comments and the possibilities of Junhui. It’s getting out of hand. He doesn’t have time to sift through over a decade's worth. He knows he just needs to talk to Junhui, to clear the air and set everything right. They can go back to normal and pretend he never brought it up.
Something in Joshua’s chest twists at the thought. Pretending he never brought it up sounds a lot like pretending it never happened, and that isn’t what he wants. He doesn’t know what he wants.
He waits until they’re alone. It’s difficult, but not impossible. After rehearsal, he finds Junhui in his usual spot in the locker room hardly anyone uses. He’s packing his bag, about to leave. Joshua has to do it now, or he might lose his nerve.
“Junnie,” Joshua says, the name slipping out before he can think better of it. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
Junhui looks around the room like he’s expecting someone else to appear and jump in on the conversation. Joshua can’t blame him. He’s half-expecting it himself.
“About what?” Junhui says casually.
“I just wanted to apologize,” Joshua says. “For what I said at Chan’s the other day. I feel like things have been weird ever since I brought it up. Just with, like, everyone,” Joshua rambles.
Junhui’s brows furrow, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, that?” he says with a tight laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I don’t mind. It was funny.”
“But everyone’s been being so weird about it,” Joshua laments. “Everyone’s acting like… like I said something crazy.”
“You know how they are,” Junhui says, softer now. “They can be silly.”
“I know, but—” Joshua suddenly feels like crying. His throat goes tight, and of course Junhui notices.
“Hey, hey,” Junhui says. “You’re okay. Everything’s good,” he smiles. It isn’t genuine. Joshua’s heart sinks.
“Is it?” he whispers. “Junnie, tell me what’s going on. Please.”
Junhui sighs. “The truth is,” he says slowly, “that I meant it when I asked you on a date. I meant for it to be real. And then you said something about Korean practice, and I was too embarrassed to say anything. That’s all.”
“That’s…?” Joshua blanches. “Junnie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“It’s okay,” Junhui forces that smile again. “I know you didn’t know. I never corrected you.”
Joshua sits on the bench between rows of lockers. “You asked me on a real date?” he says quietly.
Junhui buries his face in his hands. “Yes,” he says. “I did, and I thought it would never come up again.”
Gently, Joshua touches Junhui’s forearm. “I really liked you back then, you know?” he says.
Junhui lowers his hands and meets Joshua’s eye.
“Really,” Joshua says firmly. “If I’d known it was a real date, I still would have said yes. I still would have gone.”
“You…?” Junhui says.
“Yes,” Joshua says. He feels lightheaded.
Then Junhui leans forward. Just slightly, but it’s enough. Everything falls into place.
Joshua remembers, a long time ago, making a promise to himself. No more almost-kisses. No point in stopping now, he thinks, and leans in.
Junhui kisses timidly at first, but his hands find Joshua’s back, pulling him closer. It feels juvenile, kissing on the bench behind the cover of lockers.
Junhui pulls back, his hands still resting on Joshua’s back.
“I think,” Junhui breathes, “it’s possible that I still really like you.”
“I think so too,” Joshua says. And he laughs, and Junhui smiles a genuine smile. “I really like you.”
Their history sits between them comfortably. Not reshaped. Just the two of them, as they always have been. As they are.
“How would you feel about letting me take you on a date? I think I owe you one,” Joshua says.
Junhui nods. “I would really like that,” he says. Joshua kisses him again.
Joshua doesn’t care what anyone else thinks. He doesn’t care how anyone else sees them, not now or in the past. Everything between them is only for them, at least in this one precious moment. And they have so much to catch up on, now that they know what they’ve been missing.