Work Text:
Will the day I once wished for come?
Will you know of my heart that was preciously hoping for it?
“So, when are you planning on telling him?” Hanjin asks, fanning himself with a program.
“Telling him what?” Jihoon responds. “And who?” The June sun is relentless, beating down on the sprawling green of their high school’s football field, but he barely pays it any heed. Instead, Jihoon’s entire world is narrowed down to the sight of one particular black graduation cap, decorated conspicuously with red and the Stanford logo, amidst a sea of robe-wearing seniors.
“You know,” says Hanjin. He starts to dig around in his tote bag, eventually producing the iPad he always carries around without fail. “That you have a big, fat crush on Youngjae Choi.”
“Oh,” Jihoon mumbles. “That.”
Hanjin rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath about the heat and Jihoon’s stupidity. Whatever. “Yes, that,” he replies sarcastically. “I figured it was obvious.”
“Maybe over the summer?” shrugs Jihoon, returning to where he’s staring at the back of Youngjae’s head from afar. The closing speaker, their school principal, is wrapping up a seemingly endless speech that has already dragged on for what seems like forever. “Ugh. I’ll figure it out sometime. I just can’t believe they’re actually… leaving.”
“Because that’s what high school seniors do, Jihoon,” Hanjin tells him dryly. He doesn’t look up from the screen of his iPad, where he’s doodling away on Procreate with his Apple Pencil, but Jihoon still knows he’s teasing. “We’ve known this for, like, a whole month.”
It feels like a lie, or maybe a fever dream. If someone had told Jihoon that by the end of his junior year he would be best friends with Youngjae Choi and Dohoon Kim, he would’ve definitely laughed in their face. Before March, Jihoon’s one and only best friend had been Hanjin, who he had practically adopted in freshman year when Hanjin was a brand-new exchange student from abroad.
And he’d known of Youngjae, of course. They had a few classes together the previous year, and Jihoon had spent a good portion of his sophomore year admiring Youngjae from a safe, respectful, perfectly normal distance. Even throughout this year, even through sitting beside Youngjae in AP Chem and AP Stats, Youngjae had forever been the epitome of “cool senior”– nonchalant, good-looking, smart– who seemingly moved through the world with an effortless grace that sixteen-year-old Jihoon could only dream of.
Then March came around, and Jihoon discovered that Youngjae Choi, his favorite senior who he also desperately wanted to get closer to, also listened to Twice and ILLIT and Hearst2Hearts and practically every single K-pop girl group in existence. And knew the lyrics to every Girls’ Generation song by heart. And all the choreos.
“But we just met them, though,” protests Jihoon. “We literally just got to know them! It’s been three months, Hanjin. Three months of hanging out every weekend, and now they’re just gonna be… gone? All the way to freaking California? That’s a whole continent away!”
“It’s not the end of the world,” Hanjin finally glances up from his drawing. “Besides, they said they’d text. And you have the whole summer to mope and pine after Youngjae, anyways.”
“I am not pining after Youngjae!” Jihoon corrects indignantly. “And it isn’t moping.” Still, his heart aches as he watches the graduating seniors begin to scatter. Below them, Youngjae is easy to pick out with the amount of multicolored honor cords draped around his neck. He’s smiling brightly– in fact, Jihoon thinks he looks absolutely radiant. And then there’s Dohoon right beside him, leaning in to whisper something that makes both of them burst into laughter.
They have to be dating, decides Jihoon, a familiar, dull ache settling in his ribs. Or something like that. Either way, there’s no way they are just friends. Nobody is that close to someone without wanting them.
“Please stop staring at him,” mutters Hanjin, nudging Jihoon’s shoulder. “Your eyes are practically glued to his face at this point. It’s embarrassing.”
“I’m not staring at Youngjae,” Jihoon shoots back, though his gaze immediately drifts back to the way Youngjae and Dohoon are moving toward the edge of the field together, and– is that Youngjae’s hand in Dohoon’s? Whatever. They’re definitely… something. “I’m just... observing.”
“Right. Observing the way his fucking jawline catches the light or some bullshit like that,” Hanjin deadpans tiredly.
Jihoon’s response is to slap Hanjin’s leg, although not enough for it to actually hurt. “Let’s go,” he mumbles, gesturing for Hanjin to stand up. “We need to take pictures with them before everyone else.”
Really, the timing of it all seems like one big cosmic joke. Just as the four of them became friends, the universe has decided to whisk away the seniors to the other side of the country. “Dohoon did say we have all summer, I guess,” Jihoon adds as he and Hanjin walk down the bleachers. “That’s like, three more months.”
Hanjin gives him a thumbs up and a smile. “Exactly. Be more positive, Jihoon. You have three more months to tell Youngjae that you like–”
“Jihoon!” Dohoon’s loud voice cuts through the mass of mingling parents and new graduates. “Hanjin!”
Turning around, Jihoon is met with the sight of Dohoon with one arm thrown around Youngjae’s shoulder, the two of them approaching quickly, pushing through the last few random strangers in between. Youngjae reaches out first, a casual hand landing on Jihoon’s shoulder before he pulls Jihoon in for a tight hug. The cheap polyester of Youngjae’s graduation robe is hot from where he’d been sitting under the sun, and it makes Jihoon’s breath involuntarily hitch.
“Thanks for coming,” Youngjae tells him, smiling brightly.
“It’s not like we would’ve missed your graduation,” replies Hanjin. “Besides, the tickets were free.”
“Is that the only reason you came?” Dohoon pouts, shaking his head. “And I was so ready to hang out all summer long…”
“We better be hanging out,” says Youngjae. “Every weekend, right?”
“Every weekend,” Hanjin echoes, a sudden, sad frown coming across his face. “Wait, I’m gonna miss you two.”
“I’ll miss you too, Hanjin. And I guess you too, Jihoon,” Dohoon says solemnly.
“What do you mean, me too?” protests Jihoon.
Youngjae finally releases Jihoon from his hug, the cap on his head slipping slightly when he does so. As if on cue, Dohoon reaches out to carefully fix it, brushing a strand of hair away from Youngjae’s face; Youngjae immediately swats his hand away, but it’s so obvious to Jihoon.
Summer is just a temporary reprieve. In a few short months, Youngjae and Dohoon will head off to their respective universities in California, and probably move on to find new best friends, and Jihoon (and Hanjin) will inevitably be left behind in the cold miserable Northeast to suffer through senior year. And as he watches Youngjae smile at him again, as Dohoon starts to cheer that “we’re finally fucking free!”, Jihoon can’t help but let out a quiet sigh.
Because a guy like Youngjae Choi could never, ever look at him and see anything more than just a younger friend. Right?
—
Looking back on it, the formation of their friend group had been nothing short of the strangest thing Jihoon had ever experienced in high school.
He’d first met Youngjae in sophomore year when they’d sat together in health, and they had vaguely talked every time they had class, mostly because Jihoon hadn’t known anyone else and Youngjae was nice enough to not let Jihoon be lonely. Youngjae was nice too, and friendly, apparently semi-popular as “that one cute Asian guy in choir”, or so Jihoon had heard. By junior year, they were close enough to get coffee and study after school occasionally, and Jihoon would ditch his spot next to Woonhak Kim in AP Stats to sit next to Youngjae because their teacher didn’t give a shit.
Obviously, Hanjin was Jihoon’s best friend– that was a given. Jihoon was to Hanjin as Dohoon was to Youngjae, in essence. And Jihoon knew Dohoon and Hanjin had shared some classes, so it wasn’t like Dohoon was a complete stranger to him; they just weren’t all that close.
Until that particular fateful day in mid-March, when Hanjin had randomly come into Jihoon’s AP Chem class because he had a free period, and Jihoon had offhandedly asked Hanjin if he was planning to stay up late for the Le Sserafim comeback. Hanjin had said yes, if he could sleep over at Jihoon’s house, and then promptly announced he was going to go home early and take a nap.
But as soon as Hanjin had finished speaking, Youngjae leaned over to join the conversation and asked Jihoon, “You listen to K-pop too?”
“Yes? Of course?” Jihoon had responded, slightly flustered. “I mean, yeah. I guess. A bit?”
“Cool,” replied Youngjae, with a smile spreading across his features in a way that definitely did not make Jihoon’s heart race. “Me too.”
Admittedly, they’d wasted the rest of the period talking about their favorite groups and songs, who their biases were, the usual questions– it had been more of Jihoon interrogating him excitedly and Youngjae answering. Along the way, Jihoon had discovered that not only did Youngjae casually listen to a lot of girl groups, he was also into dance too.
What the hell? Jihoon can recall thinking at the time. Youngjae Choi listens to girl groups, and he learns choreo and goes to random play dances in his free time, and he’s been to two TXT concerts and saw Twice last year? He’s cool, he’s good-looking, and he has peak music taste?
Jihoon had gone home that day, and proceeded to stay up until 2 am texting with Youngjae about… a whole lot of nothing, really. And sometime by the next week, a group chat had been formed on Instagram between him, Youngjae, and Hanjin; Youngjae dragged Dohoon along, introducing him as “his best friend who also likes K-pop”, added him to the chat, and boom. Jihoon’s brand-new friend group.
Fast forward to the summer before Jihoon’s senior year, which he’s now dubbed as “the greatest summer of his life”– and it really was. Youngjae and Dohoon had made good on their promise, and they actually ended up hanging out every single weekend, save the one when Hanjin was out of town and Dohoon got his wisdom teeth removed. At the beginning of break, Youngjae had sent the group chat a Google Doc with a list of their so-called summer sidequests, and they’d done a diligent job of checking them off one by one.
They’d gone bowling, went to escape rooms and the arcade, camped out in Dohoon’s car to eat Taco Bell in the parking lot until closing. They’d recorded half-decent dance covers in Hanjin’s garage, sat in that one park with the benches painted a crusty shade of blue and talked until it was past 2 am and the stars were vaguely visible overhead. Dohoon and Youngjae had spent an hour debating their favorite 5th-gen boy groups one night, and the stack of Polaroids steadily built up on Jihoon’s desk, all thanks to Hanjin’s brand-new camera.
It had truly been the best summer ever– three months of bliss, ignoring the upcoming dread of senior year and college apps, as long as the four of them were sitting together in Dohoon’s car and taking stupid Buzzfeed quizzes and discussing each others’ ideal types for fun. Even while Jihoon was juggling his extremely boring but necessary research internship during the weekdays.
But all good things come to an end, naturally, which brings Jihoon to the present: early August, standing at the entrance to Terminal A of Newark Liberty International Airport, and watching Dohoon Kim skip off to his flight to San Francisco.
“I can’t believe he’s leaving already,” Jihoon mumbles, wiping away a stray tear. How did that get there? No idea. He was definitely, for sure, not going to start crying over Dohoon leaving.
“See you guys at Thanksgiving!” Dohoon shouts, and then he’s gone, disappearing into the long line of airport security.
Standing beside Jihoon, Youngjae waves and then wraps an arm around Jihoon, hugging him gently. “It’s only a few months,” he offers softly. “We’ll be back before you know it. And besides, shouldn’t you be working on your college applications, anyway?”
“Don’t remind me,” Jihoon groans, burying his face in Youngjae’s shoulder. “I haven’t even started my freaking personal statement and Hanjin’s already halfway done with his!”
“It’s kinda shit right now, though,” Hanjin cuts in. “I’m definitely starting over.”
“Well, if you guys ever need someone to edit your supplementals,” says Youngjae, his hand coming up to pat Jihoon’s head, “I’m right here?” He shrugs lightly. “Just text me. Or call.”
The realization hits Jihoon that he has his head leaning against Youngjae’s shoulder, in the middle of a crowded airport. And Youngjae has the audacity to pat him on the head like that– it makes Jihoon jolt upright, startled. Like it meant something. What the hell am I doing? he asks himself. Get a hold on yourself, Jihoon.
“You good?” asks Youngjae.
“Yeah,” Jihoon replies sheepishly. “Just… uh, cold. It’s kinda cold.”
“It’s literally August, Jihoon,” sighs Hanjin. He stares at Jihoon, as if he can see exactly what’s going through his mind. Knowing Hanjin, he probably does know.
“It’s the AC!” Jihoon says indignantly. “Whatever. I’ll be fine when we go outside.”
Dohoon has long vanished beyond the security checkpoint, so the three of them make their way out of the building and toward the spot where Youngjae had parked his car. Jihoon gets into the passenger seat before Hanjin can protest, already plugging his phone into the aux cord so he can play the new IVE album as Youngjae starts to drive them back home.
And one and a half months later, the exact same scene is playing out– only this time, it’s Jihoon who drove to the airport, and it’s Youngjae who’s busy giving Jihoon a hug. And it’s also Youngjae who’s leaving.
“Can’t you just not go?” whispers Jihoon from where he’s tightly wrapped in Youngjae’s arms. He’s aware of how whiny he sounds, but still. Whatever.
Youngjae laughs lightly, his breath warm against Jihoon’s ear as he gives Jihoon a few gentle pats. “I’ll be back soon, you know?”
“He’s not dying,” Hanjin chimes in. “Or leaving you forever. Or anything like that.”
Taking in a deep breath, Jihoon forces back the tears that attempt to spill over. He will certainly not be crying over Youngjae leaving for college, right? Right.
Youngjae hugs him again, then hugs Hanjin, and pulls Jihoon in for one last embrace before vanishing through the security checkpoint line with his parents. Just as he’s about to disappear, he turns around one last time, waving at Jihoon and smiling so brightly, Jihoon may as well give up on not crying.
“Bye, Youngjae,” Jihoon waves back with a quiet sniffle. Fuck. He’s actually… going. What if I never see him again? What if he forgets all about me in two months?
“You never told him, huh?” Hanjin pokes Jihoon’s side as they’re walking out of the airport terminal.
“No,” pouts Jihoon.
“God,” mutters Hanjin under his breath. “Of course you didn’t.”
Jihoon wipes a tear away with one hand before he unlocks his car. “Fuck this,” he sighs. “I don’t want to be a senior! I wish we could just graduate now.”
“We literally just started this year, Jihoon,” replies Hanjin flatly, having somehow already produced his iPad from nowhere.
“And it already sucks! Senior year is the fucking worst,” Jihoon retorts.
“What, cause he’s not sitting next to you in chem?”
“No! Well, maybe?”
Shaking his head, Hanjin leans against the window of the car. “You are so fucking hopeless.”
Driven by some strange impulsiveness to keep speaking, Jihoon adds, “It’s not like he’d ever see me that way, anyway. Besides, he’s smart and cool and funny and good-looking, and I’m just some… some kid, who sat with him in AP Stats.”
“In that case, he literally wouldn’t have voluntarily hung out with you all summer long,” Hanjin tells him.
“Maybe he’s just nice,” sighs Jihoon. “Too nice.”
Hanjin just shakes his head again.
—
[youngjae!]
youngjae: how ur apps going
Jihoon flops down in bed, stares down at his cell phone, and lets out a loud sigh. “This is so unfair.”
“You’re so dramatic,” Hanjin mutters from where he’s sitting on the floor of Jihoon’s bedroom, doodling away in a sketchbook.
“I’m literally not?” retorts Jihoon, swiping open Instagram for the fiftieth time that day in an attempt to ignore the brand-new message from Youngjae. Naturally, he fails, closing the app quickly so he can return to his texts. His fingers hover over the keyboard, unsure of what to reply.
Somehow, one way or another, Youngjae has managed to find the time to text Jihoon almost every day without fail, even a few weeks into the school year for both of them. It’s mundane messages, little things: “how’s it going?” “just had my first week of classes!” “everyone here is so smart bruh”. Occasionally, they call when Youngjae tells him that he has time, usually late at night for Jihoon– not that he’s staying up past 3 am just to FaceTime Youngjae. Why would that be the case?
It definitely is, but that’s beside the point.
“I wonder when he’s gonna realize that I’m just a high school kid over here,” Jihoon sighs, quickly typing out a quick response. It’s going well. No, that sounds too formal. good! Too casual? Well, they are friends, after all. Too dry?
Hanjin shifts, standing up so he’s hovering over Jihoon’s shoulder to read his text messages. “Literally just respond like a normal human being,” he sighs. “It’s not that hard.”
“Shut up,” Jihoon tells him. Eventually, he settles on a plain it’s ok i guess and hits send before he can overthink it too much.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly, with a new message arriving in seconds.
[youngjae!]
youngjae: make sure u apply to stanford too ahaha
youngjae: u r right??
jihoon: theres literally no way im getting in
jihoon: but yeah
youngjae: aw dont say that :(
youngjae: ur smart
youngjae: ill even read ur supps >:) if u want ofc
jihoon: plz plz do
“Ugh,” Jihoon sighs again. “I can’t do this anymore, Hanjin. I can’t! Why is he so– so nice? To me?”
Hanjin throws his hands up in frustration, sprawling onto the floor. “What kind of question is that?” he mutters. “Of course he’s nice to you.”
“Whatever. He’s probably gonna forget all about me soon enough,” replies Jihoon.
Out of habit, Jihoon returns back to Instagram and refreshes his home page. Almost instantaneously, as if the universe just wants to be fucking cruel today, Youngjae’s profile pops up at the top of his feed, accompanied by the familiar pink-and-orange ring signifying a new story.
What’d he post? wonders Jihoon for a split second before tapping on it mindlessly. He’s probably expecting something related to Youngjae’s college life, maybe some pictures of food or promotions for clubs or the like.
What Jihoon is not expecting is a literal work of art.
The image that loads onto his screen is a very different Youngjae than the one Jihoon remembers from the crowded hallways and busy classrooms of their high school. It’s a photo taken right at golden hour; the sky in the backdrop is soft and pink with long, dramatic shadows casting across a beach somewhere, presumably, in California. Youngjae is leaning back against a piece of fallen driftwood, the ocean a blurry expanse painted in orange and blue behind him. And he certainly isn’t wearing the plain hoodies or neat sweaters that Jihoon was so used to seeing for six months. Instead, Youngjae’s in a loose, linen shirt that’s unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the fabric suspended mid-flutter in a breeze that Jihoon can practically feel through the screen of his cell phone.
Naturally, Jihoon freezes. He feels a strange, sudden heat rising to his cheeks, a prickle of something that feels a little too much like vertigo, and he just knows his ears are bright red.
“What are you staring at?” Hanjin sighs, noticing the paralyzed stillness and the flush on his best friend’s face. He sits up, leaning toward Jihoon so he can squint at the phone. “Oh. Oh,” he comments lightly. “Okay, so life on the West Coast is apparently doing wonders for him. Or maybe it’s the California sun.”
“He looks… different,” Jihoon manages to stammer, though it feels like the understatement of the century. ‘Different’ is ridiculous. It doesn’t capture the scale of… whatever’s happened to Youngjae in the past two months.
Ignoring the way his thumb is trembling against the screen, Jihoon taps to the next story. The photo is a candid shot from what appears to be a bonfire party of sorts– the lighting’s dim, all orange and red against a dark background, and it catches the sharp line of Youngjae’s jaw and the way his hair is tousled, a bit wet and messy in a way that looks effortlessly intentional. He’s laughing at something off camera, head tilted back.
For a second, Jihoon forgets how to breathe.
Before he can really overthink how ridiculous the following actions are, Jihoon’s already screenshotting the story so he can zoom in and inspect the guy on screen. It’s just… analytical purposes. Right. But Jihoon– or at least his heart– knows better. He may as well be dissecting the image with more intensity than Hanjin in his second-period anatomy class.
Since when did his shoulders look that broad? Jihoon ponders, eyes tracing the way the shirt drapes over his frame. And he’s definitely gotten a bit more… tanned? Less pale? Clearly, Youngjae looks less like a recent high school graduate and more like a real adult– all vibrant and healthy and vastly different from the choir kid who Jihoon sat beside in AP Stats.
“He looks like he belongs there,” mutters Jihoon, a rather sharp pang of jealousy jolting through him. “Like he’s found where he’s supposed to be or something. And it’s definitely not in a suburban bedroom in New Jersey.”
“Oh, don’t be a sap,” Hanjin responds dryly, but his voice is gentle. “He’s just… living his life. And he’s still literally texting you every day, right? He’s not exactly ‘moving on’ if he’s still asking to read your mediocre supplementals, Jihoon.”
Sighing, Jihoon drops the phone on his chest weakly and stares up at the ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d taped there when he was eight gazing right back at him. Hanjin’s right, of course. He always is.
The sharp vibration of his phone against his ribs nearly makes Jihoon jump out of his skin, and he quickly taps the screen, hoping that it’s a new text from Youngjae. Instead, it’s a notification from Google Drive:
New activity in the following document: college apps suck (jihoon personal statement)
13 comments from youngjae ([email protected])
“Can you pass me my laptop?” Jihoon asks Hanjin. “Please?”
Hanjin mutters something under his breath, but still gets up to grab the MacBook off Jihoon’s desk and hand it to him. Jihoon wastes no time in unlocking it and navigating to the tab he’d left open earlier in the day, the Google Doc with his personal statement and all the half-finished early round supplemental essays that he had sent to Youngjae for editing.
youngjae: this sentence is a bit generic, u can make it stronger! more punchy!
youngjae: good!!!
youngjae: try to expand more on this moment! instead of just saying u felt amazing, brainstorm how you can implicitly depict them through emotional and sensory cues :D
At the very end of the document, there’s a short little message that Youngjae’s typing out in real time. Jihoon clicks off the tab, because it would obviously be a little stalker-ish to hover there as Youngjae’s writing, instead scrolling back up to the top of his anxious, rambling prose.
“Wow,” Jihoon exhales slowly. Even from thousands of miles away, Youngjae still manages to make his way into every corner of Jihoon’s rather messy brain, and even as his life seems to be expanding into something grand and sun-drenched and beautiful, Youngjae’s bothering to help Jihoon figure his own shit out.
A minute later, Youngjae’s profile disappears from the doc, which is all the cue Jihoon needs to scroll down.
youngjae: jihoonie i miss u sm :( thank you for sharing ur personal story with me!! u have such a good foundation to build off esp for this early and u have great ideas and natural curiosity that come across so well!! lmk if u need anymore revisions ill be here for u always muah :> see u in november hehe
As Jihoon stares at the cursor blinking on-screen, a desperate, fluttering urge begins to build up in him. He wants to text him right now to say “I miss you” or “You look hot in your stories” or just maybe, “Please don’t grow up and leave me alone here”.
Instead, he bites his lip, settles his gaze on the laptop screen, and starts to type.
jihoon: thanks for the help :) ill work on it
Not for the first time, Jihoon wonders if this new Youngjae– this hot and mature and more importantly, adult in California– could ever see Jihoon for who he really is.
After all, the Youngjae that lives in his memory, the best friend from last spring, is a vastly different person than the pixelated image on Jihoon’s Instagram feed. He’d been the “cool, good-looking senior” that people all knew, part of their school’s acapella choir and theater programs, the guy who had mesmerized Jihoon when he sang onstage in concerts and performances. In Jihoon’s eyes, Youngjae had seemed like a celestial body of sorts: beautiful to look at, but far too distant to actually dream of reaching.
And most of Jihoon’s junior year had been spent as a lucky bystander in that orbit– even after bonding over shared interests, Jihoon had kind of felt like he’d won the lottery. Really, how could he not keep his heart under lock and key? Especially when a guy like Dohoon Kim was always… there.
A bitter, familiar pang of jealousy– the kind that’s more dull ache than sharp sting– settles in Jihoon’s gut as he remembers the way those two used to be.
It wasn’t even that they were friends; it was the total, unrestrained intimacy of their friendship. Jihoon has vast memories of sitting on the bleachers at the football field at lunch, watching Dohoon casually drape himself over Youngjae, his head landing in Youngjae’s lap without a second thought. The way Dohoon would always reach over to steal Youngjae’s chips, or how Youngjae was always prepared to hand over his iced coffee just so Dohoon could take a sip. All the times Jihoon had seen them holding hands in the halls. Dohoon would reach out to hug Youngjae, resting his head on Youngjae’s shoulder, and Youngjae would only laugh softly– never pushing him away.
They’re obviously dating, Jihoon had concluded sometime in April and repeated a thousand times, the thought essentially a shield. If you accept that they’re a couple, you don’t have to be disappointed when Youngjae doesn’t look at you that way.
Because he really would never, regardless.
—
The countdown to the 14th of December is a painful thing, less like a celebratory month and more like some kind of slow-motion collision. Jihoon has spent the last few months clinging to the hope of a Thanksgiving break reunion, only for Dohoon to text at the literal last minute in November that he and Youngjae wouldn’t be back until Christmas– the break was too short, flights too expensive for just a few days. Admittedly, Jihoon had felt a bit heartbroken; they had clearly promised to come home for the holidays, right? Thankfully, Youngjae had quickly reaffirmed that they would be coming for winter break, and no, they hadn’t forgotten about Jihoon and Hanjin.
Upon receiving that message, Jihoon’s heart had been doing frantic, uncoordinated somersaults in his chest for a solid half hour before Hanjin showed up with his iPad and AP Lit notebook to ruin the moment.
Now, Jihoon stands in front of the floor-length mirror in his room, adjusting the collar of his button-down shirt for the millionth time. Too much? Not enough?
“I’m not panicking,” Jihoon blurts out before Hanjin can even open his mouth. “I’m just… performing a highly necessary ritual of… of self-maintenance! That’s exactly what this is.”
“Right,” drawls Hanjin flatly. “Whatever you say, Jihoon.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rings. Jihoon jumps, taking a deep breath and wiping his damp palms on his jeans. “I’ll get it, Mom!” he shouts, sprinting out of his room and down the stairs. Hanjin trails after slowly, shaking his head.
Jihoon takes one last breath at the front door. They’re literally your friends, he tells himself. It’s just Youngjae. And Dohoon. They’re here for dinner because you invited them. It’s not a big deal.
“Hi, guys–”
The greeting, embarrassingly, dies in Jihoon’s throat. The air leaves his lungs in a very undignified, silent rush.
What the fuck?
It isn’t that Youngjae has become a completely different person– he’s still the same Youngjae, with the same kind eyes and bright smile, but something’s not like before, either. There’s a sharpness to his face that wasn’t there in June, a certain maturity to his presence that makes Jihoon feel acutely aware of his own lanky, teenage awkwardness. He’s lost a bit more of that boyish softness; his shoulders look broader under his winter coat, and he’s just a little less pale, something like a healthy glow that makes him look like he actually spends time outside instead of just under fluorescent library lights. He looks… like an adult.
In his head, Jihoon can practically hear Hanjin scolding him: he’s eighteen, Jihoon, of course he’s an adult. You’re overthinking again, aren’t you? You two are literally less than a year apart, don’t be ridiculous.
“Hey, Jihoon,” Youngjae smiles at him warmly. “Long time no see?”
“Yeah,” Jihoon manages, his voice cracking just a fraction. Embarrassing. That’s your response? “It’s been… a long time. Yeah.”
And then Dohoon’s sweeping past Youngjae to pull Jihoon in for a hug, and it feels like that nostalgic, beautiful summer all over again.
Dinner is a blur, the smell of the Korean food Jihoon’s parents cooked for the four of them and the frantic beating of Jihoon’s heart against his ribs. Jihoon’s seated beside Hanjin and across from Youngjae, and every bite is a struggle to figure out exactly where he should look. At his plate? His parents? His incredibly handsome best friend across the table? Definitely not that, Jihoon.
Jihoon’s mom and dad are in high spirits, peppering the two college freshmen with questions about their new lives, how they’re adjusting to a new state and new coast, and the like. Predictably, Dohoon is loud, complaining about his 8:00 AMs, the dining hall food at Berkeley, the hours he has to spend for club volleyball practice. “At least it’s not as bad as high school,” Dohoon adds. “No more waking up at 6 AM for morning training in the fall. God, that was awful.”
“Maybe that’s why you were always complaining in calc with me last year,” Hanjin quips; Dohoon just shakes his head.
“And how’s it been for you, Youngjae?” Jihoon’s mom turns to him. “Have you been busy too?”
Youngjae takes a sip of water, that perfectly composed, soft smile flashing across his features. “Yeah. It’s been a lot to get used to. Definitely very different from high school,” he laughs. “But it’s been good. My parents kept bugging me to get more exercise, and my roommate’s kinda been dragging me along, but I’ve been playing tennis on the club team. I actually used to play in high school too, but I kind of took a break in senior year to focus on college apps and stuff. It’s been pretty fun.”
Jihoon’s parents, Dohoon, and Hanjin all nod collectively without reacting much, whereas Jihoon almost chokes on his rice. Youngjae never mentioned that he played tennis in high school, but then again, Jihoon had apparently become his friend at a time when he’d been on a break of sorts.
Still. Not what Jihoon would’ve expected from the theater kid who could sing a ballad well enough to make everyone listening nearly cry.
As the conversation goes on, Jihoon can feel himself spiraling into a quiet corner of his own mind. He sits there, nodding at the right times, laughing at Dohoon’s rather terrible jokes, but on the inside, he’s screaming. He feels very small, very young, and very much like a kid at a table of grown-ups.
He’s maturing, Jihoon thinks, eyes fixating on the way the glow of the ceiling lights catch the edge of Youngjae’s jaw. Youngjae’s becoming this whole, incredibly different person, in a world that has absolutely nothing to do with me. He’s busy figuring all his shit out, and here I am, still worrying about calc exam retakes and college essays.
And every time Youngjae laughs, or mentions a new friend, or a new campus organization he’s getting involved in, the gap seems to stretch wider than the thousands of miles between New Jersey and California. To Youngjae, Jihoon is probably just a sweet, familiar tether to where he grew up– a boy from high school who knows his favorite K-pop songs and choreographies. But to Jihoon, Youngjae may as well be the sun, only he’s drifting further and further into a different galaxy.
“You good, Jihoon? You’ve been kinda quiet,” Youngjae’s voice breaks through Jihoon’s internal spiraling.
Jihoon looks up, meeting Youngjae’s bright eyes, and has to fight the urge to hide under the table. “Yeah,” he lies, forcing a smile that feels just a bit too strained. “Just… thinking. About my college apps.”
Thinking about how you’re already moving on, he adds silently. Thinking about how you're never going to look at me the way I wish you would.
“Guys. I need to get a boyfriend,” Dohoon complains as he flops down onto Jihoon’s couch, practically landing in Youngjae’s lap. The four of them have migrated to the living room, bathed in the warm flickering glow of the Christmas tree, squeezed together in some strangely comfortable heap. Hanjin’s lying nearly flat on the couch, head propped up on a throw pillow, right beside Jihoon, “Really. The dating scene? Bullshit,” adds Dohoon, gesturing wildly with his hands. “You know, I’d like to say that I am a total catch. Quite a wonderful person. A delight. So… why is there nobody in my DMs? Why am I still single?”
Jihoon is half listening, attention split between the conversation and the way Youngjae is sitting right next to him; relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, his expression almost thoughtful as he listens to Dohoon’s dramatic rant. To the average person, it would look like a group of best friends just hanging out, but to him, every millimeter of Youngjae’s proximity is making it nearly impossible to concentrate on literally anything else going on.
“Maybe you’re just way too picky,” Hanjin suggests with a yawn.
“Picky? Me?” scoffs Dohoon, sitting upright on the couch. “Please. I just have standards. There’s a difference, you know. At least I’m not the kind of guy who spends thirty minutes sitting around a cafe awkwardly because I’m too nervous to tell the barista that he’s cute.”
“Well, fuck me, I didn’t want to bother him while he was working,” Hanjin defends himself.
“Sure,” Dohoon rolls his eyes. “There are options, I guess. Even if the people are all way too serious about everything.”
“You’re just salty because Junghwan didn’t work out in senior year,” Youngjae jumps in, tapping Dohoon on the shoulder. “And you two were talking for what, seven months? That’s gotta be some record for a situationship.”
“Okay, but that was not going to go anywhere. Just because you were trying to set me up with your best friend from your fucking summer job does not mean–”
As Dohoon and Youngjae briefly bicker back and forth, something about one of Youngjae’s friends that he was trying to get Dohoon to go out with, Jihoon tunes them out; he’s already heard this story a million times from both sides. “Anyways,” Dohoon says, finally relenting. “It’s whatever. At least I got another gay friend out of it.”
Hanjin snorts. “Like you don’t have enough of those already.”
“You three don’t count,” Dohoon responds immediately.
Somehow, those two lapse into a questionable argument that Jihoon quickly loses track of. Not much later, Youngjae reaches for his phone, stretching his arms over his head before suddenly standing up. “I gotta go take this call really fast,” he announces. “I’ll be right back.”
“We will be starting the movie without you!” Dohoon shouts after him.
Jihoon watches Youngjae vanish in the direction of the kitchen, phone already pressed to his ear. Dohoon and Hanjin make eye contact, shrug, and go on bickering as if nothing’s happened. A few minutes pass by, and Jihoon ends up making some lame excuse about needing to use the bathroom before stopping just past the dining room on his way back, which coincidentally is also where he can overhear Youngjae’s phone call. Not in a creepy way, of course.
“... Yeah, well, I just don’t really think he sees me that way,” Youngjae’s voice floats in from the kitchen, his back turned to where Jihoon is tucked into a corner. “No… Yeah, no. Like, at all. Yes, I told you that. It’s just… you know, when I look at him, it feels like there’s something there, but then he just kinda… yeah, yeah.” The person on the other end says something, and Youngjae lets out a loud sigh, his shoulders sagging. “No, I know. I just thought… whatever. I’ll call you back tonight?”
Oh.
So Youngjae has a crush.
Somebody– some lucky person that Jihoon is definitely not envious of; some likely very good-looking, mature, cool guy, probably in California– has managed to capture Youngjae’s attention, and Jihoon feels a sinking sensation in his stomach. If Youngjae’s already looking at someone else, what chance do I even have?
Less than a minute later, Jihoon re-enters the living room and takes his spot on the couch again, right beside Youngjae.
“Who was that?” Dohoon asks, his tone innocent.
Youngjae shrugs briefly. “Nobody. Just a friend.” He glances over at Jihoon, and for a split second, Jihoon thinks he sees something in Youngjae’s eyes. But then Youngjae smiles, and he’s back to the cool, nonchalant older friend that Jihoon’s both envied and loved for a very long time.
Maybe this is it for me.
—
Like all wonderful things, winter break comes to an end. At the very least, it doesn’t come to a close without new memories– going on long walks through the heavy snow, making hot chocolate in Hanjin’s kitchen, being forced into helping Dohoon clear his family’s driveway because he was too lazy to do it alone. But too soon, Dohoon and Youngjae are already saying their goodbyes at the airport and vanishing off to a different coast, and Jihoon– god forbid– has to return to high school.
“Hey,” Hanjin pokes him in the leg from where he’s lying on Jihoon’s bed, mindlessly scrolling reels and rapidly sending them to their group chat. “We’re done with college apps, at least.”
“Yeah,” sighs Jihoon. “Freedom.”
Unfortunately for Jihoon, freedom is equated to: a) waiting for college decisions, b) procrastinating every damn assignment he has, and c) stalking Youngjae’s Instagram account religiously for any updates and overanalyzing every single story he posts. While responding to Youngjae’s daily texts, naturally.
Almost like it’s on cue, Jihoon’s phone buzzes with a new text message.
[youngjae!]
youngjae: how does it feel to be free omg
“He still texts you every day?” Hanjin asks.
“Yeah,” Jihoon responds, already typing out his response. He misses the way Hanjin shakes his head at him, sighing softly under his breath.
[youngjae!]
jihoon: im so happy bruh
jihoon: no more supplementals 🙏🙏
youngjae: just finish out senior yr haha
youngjae: hopefully we can hang out sometime this summer?????
jihoon: ofc ofc
And really, Jihoon’s life would be a lot easier if Youngjae didn’t reply to his texts instantly, didn’t send him snaps and reels every day, didn’t have to look so fucking good every time he uploaded a new story on Instagram. Because it makes it impossible for Jihoon to say, I’m gonna get over him, and follow through with it. He can’t; he really just can’t anymore.
Jihoon’s phone screen lights up again.
[youngjae!]
youngjae: u free rn??
jihoon: yeah why
youngjae: wanna ft? :3
youngjae: or sometime this week lolol im just bored rn
jihoon: ya sure one sec
Jihoon ends up kicking Hanjin out of his house with a “why are you always at my house? Please go away for a bit, I need to do something important,” which feels a bit shallow but is nevertheless necessary, unless he never wants to hear the end of the teasing. Hanjin mutters something about Jihoon owing him coffee before leaving, yelling over his shoulder that he’ll see Jihoon the next day at lunch anyway.
It takes Jihoon approximately five seconds to sprint up the stairs, unlock his phone and simultaneously flop into bed, and accept the incoming FaceTime call. Distantly, he registers that it’s well past midnight and he still has two unfinished calc assignments, but whatever. Sacrifices can be made, including Jihoon’s sleep.
“Hi, Jihoon!” Youngjae waves at him through the screen. Jihoon waves back, an involuntary sort of smile spreading across his face before he can help it. “How have you been?”
“I’m so tired,” admits Jihoon, lying back and propping his head up on a pillow. On-screen, Youngjae appears to be sitting in his dorm room, with a pair of wire-frame glasses perched on his nose as if he was just studying, which is likely the case anyway. “I feel like it’s been forever since I talked to you.”
“It hasn’t even been that long,” Youngjae teases him. “Only a month, no? And I text you every day and respond to all of your reels.”
“Okay, okay,” Jihoon replies. “I mean, I guess you’re right. But I still miss you. And Dohoon. And Hanjin does too.”
“Wait, I actually wanted to tell you something.” Youngjae suddenly disappears from the frame, coming back into view a few seconds later with a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry, my roommate just got back. Uh, what was I talking about…”
“You had something to tell me?” Jihoon prompts. Please don’t let it be something terrible. Oh my god, please don’t say you got a boyfriend or you aren’t gonna text me anymore or–
“I’m applying for this internship in New York, so I might actually be home for the summer!”
Internally, Jihoon’s brain tells him two things. One: Youngjae might be home for the summer? Youngjae will be less than an hour’s drive away for three whole months? Jihoon could cheer.
The only reason he can’t is two: that means Youngjae is maturing. He could be working in New York, just like the grown-up, responsible, smart college student he’s becoming.
Oh.
“Well, that’s assuming I actually get it, you know,” Youngjae continues, oblivious to Jihoon’s internal spiral. “I probably won’t because I’m only a freshman. But I thought I’d tell you. Just– just cause.”
“That’s really cool,” Jihoon gives him a thumbs up, which feels a tad bit lame but still fitting. “I hope you get it! Actually, I bet you will.”
“Thanks,” Youngjae tells him with another warm smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I’ll update you.”
They talk for a while longer, catching up on what they’ve both been up too– Jihoon learns Youngjae has been working his ass off managing his schedule and three clubs and applying to summer internships but is nevertheless having a good time, while in return Jihoon talks about what he and Hanjin spend their free time doing. Youngjae’s halfway through some story about his suitemates when Jihoon yawns abruptly, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him as he realizes how late it is.
“Oh my god, it’s probably really late for you, right?” Youngjae pauses his anecdote as he checks the time. “Fuck, sorry for keeping you up so late.”
“It’s no problem. I just haven’t slept much lately,” Jihoon waves it off. “You’re all good.”
Not much later, Youngjae informs him that he should probably go back to studying– it’s been over an hour already, somehow– so Jihoon lets him hang up before promptly collapsing in bed.
The last thing he can recall thinking before he drifts off is, Yeah. There’s no way he likes me back.
February is a blur, and soon enough, it’s already nearing spring break as Jihoon counts down the not-so-many days of senior year remaining. He still wakes up and gets to school mostly on time, actually does his homework, and tries his best to keep up with the amount of reels Hanjin and Dohoon are always spamming their group chat with. And Youngjae still texts, almost daily, having a seemingly endless amount of stories to catch Jihoon up on, usually accompanied by random photos.
“Isn’t this cute?” Hanjin turns his iPad screen toward Jihoon one day at lunch. “I’m very proud of this.”
Jihoon glances over, setting his sandwich down for a second. It takes him a slightly embarrassing amount of time to process the drawing– “Is that me?”
“Of course,” replies Hanjin without even looking up. “And Youngjae. Holding hands. What do you think?”
“Why would you draw that?” Jihoon splutters. “I mean, like, I’m not complaining, but–”
Hanjin shrugs. “I was bored during physics? And I don’t have anything else to do, so, like. Yeah.”
“You’re not helping,” sighs Jihoon.
“I’m helping you manifest?” Hanjin offers. “Okay, but do you think it looks like him? I feel like I could’ve done a better job with the eyes…” He picks up his Apple Pencil and starts to tap away at the screen. “What if I sent it to the group chat?”
“How about no?” Jihoon says quickly, eyes wide. “Trust me.”
“Do you really think he doesn’t like you back?” asks Hanjin, finally making eye contact with Jihoon.
“I– why would he like me? There’s literally no proof of that.”
“Because,” Hanjin lets out a loud exhale. “He spends time every day texting with you. He remembers all the little things you mention in the group chat. And he’s literally going out of his way to– nevermind. You get it. He’s not trying to get rid of you, Jihoon. You’re not some… background character that you make yourself out to be, and you know I hate complimenting people.”
“Thank you?”
“What I’m saying is that, you’re being stupid,” Hanjin finishes, the bluntness of it cutting through Jihoon’s spiraling thoughts as he refines the shading on his drawing. ”If he really wanted to move on, he’d just stop replying. It’s that simple.”
Jihoon picks up his sandwich, but it tastes like cardboard now. “It’s not that simple, Hanjin. He’s in California. He’s… he’s, like, a different Youngjae now. And I’m just… Jihoon. The guy who still has to ask his mom to wake him up for school.”
Hanjin makes a rather strange noise of frustration, a sound halfway between a sight and a groan. “You are so exhausting. Truly. It is a talent, the way you can take a perfectly good situation and turn it into a tragedy.”
They eat in silence for a few long minutes before Hanjin speaks again. “Just… I don’t think you should give up. You’ll see.”
—
Spring break is supposed to be relaxing, the last big break before Jihoon can be freed from the shackles of high school. The air is finally losing its winter bite, turning into intermittent showers that bring the promise of spring, but Jihoon is, naturally, going in a completely different direction.
[youngjae!]
youngjae: so guess who got the internship >:3
youngjae: (it’s me lmao)
youngjae: i’ll be home for the summer!!
Jihoon stares down at his phone screen, tucked underneath the desk so his AP Lit teacher doesn’t flay him alive, until the words blur. Home. Youngjae is coming back to the same time zone. Less than an hour drive away. The distance that had been a constant, aching presence in Jihoon’s life for the past nine months is suddenly, terrifyingly shrinking.
The next blow to his sanity: college decisions.
In the afternoons and evenings for nearly the entire last half of March, Jihoon sits hunched over his laptop with Youngjae on the other end of a FaceTime call. He tells himself that he’s not actually that nervous, but that would be– like many things in his life– a lie.
“It’ll all work out,” Youngjae’s voice comes through his headphones softly, one night after Jihoon opened two waitlists, a rejection, and one acceptance. The sun casts a warm glow over his features from where it streams into his dorm room. “You’ll end up at the best place for you, you know?”
“I guess so,” Jihoon shrugs, letting a loud exhale escape him. There’s a lump forming in his throat now: How can he be so… perfect and kind to me all the time? He hangs up the phone and buries his face in his hands, a muffled groan escaping him. Fuck, why do I have to like him so much? Why do I have to be so in love with a guy that’s too good for me? Who’s so out of my fucking league?
And as if life couldn’t get any more hectic, Jihoon’s eighteenth birthday arrives on a Saturday at the very end of spring break.
It should be a good time, really– he’s becoming an adult, too. Finally. No more teasing from Hanjin about being a “child”, ever since he turned eighteen two months before Jihoon. He’d even, somehow, managed to get into Columbia, his dream school a few days prior on Ivy Day, much to Jihoon’s shock and his parents’ absolute joy.
Briefly, Jihoon wonders if he’ll feel all different by the time today is over. While he stares at his phone, busy reading through a lengthy happy birthday text from Dohoon, the doorbell suddenly rings.
“Jihoon! Someone’s at the door!” his mom calls out from somewhere downstairs, her voice suspiciously bright and also conspiratorial at the same time.
Frowning, Jihoon pulls on a hoodie and trudges down the stairs– it might be a delivery, or maybe Hanjin coming over for a surprise. He reaches the door and pulls it open, a “hello?” halfway out of his mouth.
And then the world simply stops spinning.
“Happy birthday, Jihoon!”
Youngjae– the actual, real Youngjae Choi– is standing at the top of the steps, dressed in a Stanford hoodie and dark jeans. In Jihoon’s eyes, he looks devastatingly handsome in the evening light, his hair slightly mussed by the March wind, but nevertheless still perfect as he gives Jihoon one of those familiar, bright smiles.
“I–” Jihoon manages before his brain short-circuits. He blinks twice, incapable of forming a coherent sentence for a moment. Frozen in the doorframe, Jihoon stares at the guy who has occupied his digital world for the past six months and is now a very solid, and painfully attractive reality on his doorstep.
“Surprise!” Hanjin shouts, breaking Jihoon out of his momentary trance as he pops out from behind Youngjae with a lopsided grin. He’s balancing a cake in one hand and a present in the other, somehow managing to drop neither while laughing at the shock on Jihoon’s face.
Jihoon can feel his face already heating up, and it’s definitely not from the cold. “You guys…” he stammers, looking back inside to find his parents peeking from the kitchen with triumphant grins. “You all knew?”
“Oh, we had to keep the secret,” chirps his mother. “What do you think?”
Turning back to Youngjae, Jihoon finds him watching with a soft, amused expression, seemingly waiting for Jihoon to recover from the surprise. He’s here. He’s actually… here. For my birthday, of all things. And he looks so good that it’s unfair.
Soon enough, Jihoon’s parents usher Youngjae and Hanjin inside. They light candles and sing happy birthday, Jihoon’s dad is busy taking photos of the three of them, Hanjin briefly jokes about photoshopping Dohoon in before they end up FaceTiming him just a few minutes later.
As they settle into the living room, Hanjin starts to recount all the embarrassing stories he has about Jihoon, allegedly “in honor of becoming an adult”. Much to Jihoon’s chagrin, his best friend knows him all too well.
Just a few inches away, Youngjae leans back on the couch beside Jihoon, laughing at Hanjin’s jokes, but for some reason, Jihoon feels like Youngjae’s gaze is lingering on him quietly. But maybe he’s just… overthinking it.
“So,” Youngjae nudges Jihoon’s shoulder as he turns to face him. “How does it feel? Officially eighteen? An actual adult?”
“Exactly the same as yesterday,” Jihoon mutters, though he can’t stop the small, shy smile from tugging at his lips. “Just more pressure to know what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
“Well, you’ve got many more years to figure that out, you know?” Youngjae teases, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You got through senior year, almost. And you even got into your dream school. That’s crazy, Jihoon, you know? Seriously.”
“Yeah…” Jihoon trails off, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. “It’s just a lot to process, I guess.”
Hanjin interrupts them with two plates of cake along with presents, and the three of them discuss summer plans, internships, the apparently terrifying vastness of the future. But for Jihoon, the conversation is a minefield. Every time Youngjae mentions how excited he is to be back in the area, Jihoon feels a surge of hope so intense it’s kind of painful.
And once the cake has disappeared and Hanjin bids goodbye to Jihoon’s parents, telling them he has to be home for dinner with his relatives, the house settles into a quieter space. His mom and dad have retreated to the kitchen, ostensibly to start the dishes but probably also to leave Youngjae and Jihoon alone in the living room. Soft moonlight filters through the window, casting streaks of silver onto the hardwood floor.
“It’s weird being back,” Youngjae says quietly, staring at the ground. “Everything looks the same, but it feels… different. Smaller, maybe?”
“It’s probably just because you’re not a kid anymore,” offers Jihoon, his voice barely above a whisper.
Youngjae turns his head to look at him. The amusement from earlier has faded into a look of something else that Jihoon can’t quite read that well. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s because the people in it have changed.”
Jihoon’s breath hitches. He wants to say something– anything to bridge the gap that still exists between them, even now that they’re in the same room. He wants to ask if Youngjae thinks about him when he’s in California. He even wants to ask if the person Youngjae was talking to on the phone back in December was a crush, or a friend, or someone else who made Jihoon feel like he was losing a race he hadn't even realized he was running.
But the words stay lodged in his throat. Instead, he just nods, his heart a frantic, uneven dance in his chest.
And while Youngjae stands to leave, Jihoon watches him walk toward the door, and can’t help but sigh.
“It’s New York, Jihoon-ah,” his dad says, leaning forward across the kitchen counter. “And it’s Columbia. It’s your dream.”
“I know, I know,” Jihoon starts, although he’s lost in thought. If I go, I’ll be on the East Coast. Youngjae will be in California. “It’s just… I don’t know. They’re all gonna be over there on the West Coast. I guess that shouldn’t impact my decision, and it’s probably good to go out and meet new people, but like–”
“You’ll make it work,” his mom says gently. “You’re young. You guys will see each other.”
But really, Jihoon knows. There’s a difference between a weekend trip and twenty-five hundred miles of separation. Especially when he’s got an option in California– maybe not his dream school– but it’s in the same sunny world as Dohoon and now Hanjin and, well, Youngjae.
He finds himself sitting on a park bench a few days later after getting coffee with Youngjae.
“So,” Youngjae leans back, crossing his long legs as he glances over at Jihoon. “Have you decided yet?”
“Kind of?” Jihoon lies– he still has no idea at this point. “I mean, not really. Well. I think I’m leaning toward Columbia, but I’m not sure yet. I mean, it’s like my dream school and I already toured and really liked it, so…”
Youngjae smiles at him. “That’s amazing,” he says, and he sounds genuinely happy, though there's a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "You should go where you want. Go where you think you’ll be happy, you know? It’s a bit cheesy, but I’d tell you to follow your heart."
Jihoon stares into his latte, feeling a sudden, irrational urge to scream. Follow my heart? My heart is the entire problem!
“Yeah,” he replies instead. “I know.”
He walks home that afternoon feeling utterly abandoned. He’s talked to his parents, he’s talked to Hanjin, he’s talked to Dohoon, and he’s talked to Youngjae. Everyone is giving him the most beautiful, most useless, most unhelpful advice in the history of the world.
Go where you want. Follow your heart. Do what makes you happy.
"Nobody is helping me!" Jihoon screams into his pillow at one in the morning. "Nobody is helping me at all!”
—
Before Jihoon knows it, the days tick by faster than anticipated. April is a blur of the last handful of assignments and attempts to study for AP exams with Hanjin which turn into fast food runs at midnight, and May brings senior finals and all the important decisions. The night before May 1, Jihoon ends up paying his enrollment deposit to Columbia with a final thought of, He’ll move on from me anyways. It’s my dream school anyway, they gave me more financial aid too, I’m gonna let go of Youngjae.
It isn’t like he’s unhappy, either. Truly, Jihoon knows that he’s beyond lucky to have to make the decision between his dream school and another great college.
But still. The feeling lingers.
Sometime in the middle of May, Dohoon arrives back home loudly. “Can’t believe Youngjae’s still in school,” he comments, sprawled on Jihoon’s bed while playing games on Jihoon’s Nintendo– it’s only been a week since he finished freshman year, and Dohoon’s already managed to crash at Jihoon’s house for two nights. “That loser.”
“He’s not gonna be back until after our graduation, right?” Hanjin asks. He’s seated on the floor and leaning against a wall, actually studying with Jihoon for their upcoming math final instead of busy drawing sketches of Jihoon and Youngjae.
Nodding, Dohoon replies with a yawn, “Yeah, I think it’s on his last day of finals or something. Or the day after? I kinda forgot.” He mutters a curse under his breath at the game he’s playing before speaking again. “Aren’t you guys excited for graduation? The end of an era and all of that?”
“Anything to get out of high school,” responds Jihoon, stretching his arms over his head as he sets his pencil down. “Okay. I’m done studying. My grades don’t even matter at this point.”
“Just hope and pray you don’t actually fail, then,” Hanjin adds dryly.
True enough to his word, Jihoon survives. He does alright on his finals and makes it through all the projects his teachers keep assigning– and almost way too quickly, it’s already the last week of school. The last Wednesday, then Thursday, and Friday. They toss their papers in the main hall as per tradition, sign yearbooks– Hanjin has the audacity to write, “I hope you and Youngjae get together over the summer,” accompanied with a heart and detailed drawing of them holding hands. There’s senior sunset on the football field, the honors assembly, and suddenly, Jihoon is driving out of the school parking lot for what may as well be the last time while Hanjin blasts “Where’d All The Time Go” on the car speakers.
The morning of graduation brings sunny June weather that’s pleasantly not too hot. Beside Jihoon on their school’s field, Hanjin adjusts his cap so that his bangs sit perfectly underneath. Thankfully, their last names are right next to each other (or as Hanjin says, basically the same), which means they get to sit together.
But Jihoon has a strangely hollow sensation in his stomach. He’d been secretly hoping for some kind of update or message from Youngjae, maybe a text. Only there was nothing this morning, apart from a note that Youngjae had shared almost fifteen hours ago that he was done with freshman year.
“He probably didn’t come, right?” whispers Jihoon, tapping Hanjin on the shoulder.
“I doubt it. Dohoon said he probably wouldn’t be able to make it.”
“That’s… sad.”
“I know you’re sad.”
“Shut up, Hanjin,” Jihoon mutters under his breath. “I have moved on now.”
“Really?” Hanjin turns to him. “You sure?”
“... No,” Jihoon admits softly. “I haven’t. Even though I keep telling myself that I should.” Their class president is busy going on and on, some speech about ‘new beginnings’ and ‘perseverance’ and whatever topics people usually talk about at high school graduations. “It’s like, unfair. I wish it wasn’t this hard to just tell myself that I don’t care anymore, but. I look at him. And I wish he’d like me back, but there’s no way he would. He’d be too good for me. He’s too perfect.”
Five minutes later, Jihoon walks across the stage to receive his diploma, Hanjin not far behind. And then they toss their caps, and all of a sudden, they’re officially high school graduates.
“I’m gonna go find my parents now,” Hanjin informs him as soon as they get off the field. “Let’s get our pictures later!”
Jihoon spends an embarrassing amount of time wandering through the crowd of parents, relatives, and classmates in search of his own mom and dad. He takes photos with classmates, friends, even his AP Lit teacher, until he finally manages to spot Dohoon, who’s standing beside Jihoon’s parents.
“Hi!” Jihoon greets the three of them with a wave as he approaches. His parents quickly pull him in for a hug, and then Dohoon gives him a playful shove and pat on the shoulder before Hanjin appears from somewhere.
For a brief moment, Jihoon feels a sense of peace for the first time that day.
“Jihoon!”
The voice is sudden and a bit too familiar, cutting through the chatter of classmates. I know that voice, Jihoon realizes as his heartbeat jolts in his chest. It’s the same one he’s been hearing through his AirPods on FaceTime calls that last for four hours.
He turns around.
Youngjae stands a few feet away, looking slightly disheleved– likely from travel– but still managing to look way too good under the afternoon sunlight. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt and blue jeans that make him look just a bit more grown up, all mature just the way Jihoon imagined him to be.
“Youngjae?” Jihoon calls out, his eyes wide as his breath catches in his throat. “You… you made it? You came?”
With a bright laugh, Youngjae starts walking toward Jihoon. “Yeah. My flight landed, like, an hour ago. I practically ran here from my Uber, you know.”
Before Jihoon can process the fact that Youngjae is actually here, right in front of him, Youngjae’s already closed the distance. He reaches out and pulls Jihoon in close for a hug, his arms wrapping firmly around Jihoon’s waist. The scent of him– something clean and familiar– envelops Jihoon instantly.
“You did it, Jihoon,” Youngjae whispers into his ear softly, letting Jihoon rest his chin on his shoulder. “You actually did it.”
And Jihoon can only stand there, enveloped in the hug, feeling a tidal wave of emotions crashing over him. There is relief, there is joy, and there is a terrifying, overwhelming realization: all the times he told himself he had moved on, all the times he convinced himself that distance was good for them– they were all lies.
Because as long as Youngjae can show up like this, Jihoon knows he is never, ever going to properly move on.
—
The summer after Jihoon’s senior year begins nearly as perfect as he hoped. Him, Hanjin, Dohoon, and Youngjae have their reunion and quickly proceed to hang out as much as they can, either crashing at Jihoon’s house to play games or getting food together. It’s great, he tells himself confidently. It’s as wonderful as last year.
Only that it’s cut short much too quickly. Dohoon leaves first, that traitor, off to travel Europe with his parents and older brother, Hanjin takes a brief trip to Hawaii with his family, and worst of all, Youngjae starts his internship in the city, leaving Jihoon in his room with nothing to do.
“What do I do now?” Jihoon asks himself aloud one late June Sunday, lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling pointlessly. “They’re all leaving. Maybe this year isn’t gonna be like last summer.”
In his mind, he knows it’s probably good practice for the upcoming school year, but still. He’d like to spend the last few months with his best friends before college. Is that so much to ask for?
And I’m gonna be so far from Youngjae. At least last year, I had some hope that maybe I’d be closer for college, but no. Jihoon can count the number of weeks on both hands that he has left, before he and Youngjae are over two thousand miles apart, yet again. And Youngjae, who has occupied every corner of his heart, will once more be a face on a glowing screen.
If I don’t tell him now, when will I get to? Over text? When we’ve become different people? What if the distance becomes so vast that we just… drift apart? Mom and Dad keep telling me that so many high school friendships just fade over time, because that’s natural. What if this is the last time that he’ll look at me the way he does now? The last time he cares?
What if this is my only chance to try?
The sun is setting now, casting rays of golden and pink light into Jihoon’s bedroom as he picks up his phone.
[youngjae!]
jihoon: are you busy right now?
An hour later, they’re sitting together at the park with the painted blue benches, the one right by Youngjae’s house, drinking bubble tea and chatting. The sky is a rather gorgeous shade of deep blue and indigo, and there’s a quiet hum of traffic off in the distance. Jihoon picks at a loose thread on his jeans, his mind racing a hundred miles an hour. He feels like he’s standing at the edge of a chasm, the wind whipping behind him, waiting for the moment he finally loses his footing and takes a leap of faith to the other side.
“Uh. Youngjae,” he starts, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat. Great start, Jihoon. “I’ve been, um. Thinking. A lot. About everything, you know? About college, and the summer, and…” He stops, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath. Just say it. Don’t be a coward.
“About what?” Youngjae asks quietly. He turns his head to look at Jihoon, his eyes catching the faint light of the park’s streetlamps.
“About how much everything is gonna change,” replies Jihoon, his voice barely audible. “And… and how much it scares me. Because we’re not gonna be here together for much longer, and we’re gonna have to start doing these… these big, adult things. And I don’t want to look back and realize I left the most important thing unsaid just because I was scared.”
Youngjae shifts, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Jihoon? What are you–”
“I like you,” Jihoon interrupts, those three words tumbling out of him before he can stop and think. He can’t afford to wait for a reaction; if he pauses, he knows he won’t be able to start again. “And not just in the way friends do. It’s not a ‘wow, you’re cool and you like the same music and you dance too’ kind of thing. I like you, Youngjae. I’m in love with you. And it’s fine! It’s totally fine that you don’t feel the same way. Cause you’re becoming this incredible and mature and grown-up… adult, and I’ll always be that kid you knew in high school,” adds Jihoon with a short huff. “The one who’s still figuring it all out. So it’s okay if we’re just friends. Really. I just had to tell you before the distance makes me go crazy.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, turning away to brace himself for the polite rejection, the gentle “oh, Jihoon, you're so sweet,” the inevitable heartbreak that Jihoon knows he’s bringing upon himself by opening his heart like this.
Instead, there is a stunned, heavy silence.
“What the hell?” Youngjae’s voice breaks the quiet, sounding breathless and utterly bewildered. “You... you like me? LIke, actually?”
Jihoon lets out a self-deprecating laugh, still refusing to open his eyes. “Please don’t rub it in. The vulnerability was enough, thank you very much.”
“Jihoon, open your eyes,” Youngjae tells him softly, his voice low. “Look at me.”
Slowly, Jihoon peeks one eye open; Youngjae isn't looking at him with pity. He’s acting like he’s just been struck by lightning or something– mouth slightly agape with surprise, eyes wide and shimmering with an intensity that makes Jihoon’s breath hitch.
“Look at me, Jihoon,” Youngjae repeats. “Did you… did you really think I’ve just been ‘a good friend’ all this time? Jihoon, I’ve liked you since… god, since way before we were friends. Since the times you’d sit next to me in AP Chem and Stats and we’d talk for the whole damn period, and all of last summer too.” He lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “And I’ve been trying to figure out how to make you see that I like you for months.”
The world tilts on its axis as Jihoon’s brain, quite literally, freezes. “Wait… what? Huh? Since when? You’re telling me that… we’ve been idiots for– for a year? And more?”
“Yes,” Youngjae laughs warmly, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, we have. We’re pretty stupid, aren’t we?”
Before Jihoon can formulate a coherent response to the irrationality of it all, Youngjae reaches out. His hand cups the curve of Jihoon’s jaw gently, his thumb grazing the skin of Jihoon’s face, and then he leans in.
And then Youngjae’s lips are on Jihoon’s, warm and soft and sweeter like the summer night. It’s the feeling of finally coming home after a long, very exhausting journey. Jihoon can’t help but melt into the kiss, hands finding Youngjae’s broad shoulders and pulling him just an inch closer, anything to bridge the distance.
All too quickly, they break apart. Jihoon feels breathless– and it’s exactly as wonderful as he’d imagined any first kiss to be.
“Was… was that alright?” Youngjae asks carefully. His face is flushed just the slightest shade of pink as he offers Jihoon a smile.
“Yeah,” Jihoon breathes. “Yeah. Actually. It was– it was great.” It might be a lame response, but Jihoon would like to think he’d be allowed to be a bit stunned right now.
Youngjae leans back against the bench, closing his eyes briefly before he looks over at Jihoon again. “I can’t believe we’ve been this stupid for so long,” he sighs. “Cause I really thought you only saw me as an older friend. And then we got close, and I didn’t want to ruin… what we already had. I didn’t want to lose you just because I was developing a crush on someone I knew was too good for me.”
“You– I– too good for you? Me?” Jihoon splutters. “Because that’s how I felt, Youngjae, for forever. You’re cool, and good-looking, and more mature, and well, I’m me.”
“Don’t say that about yourself,” whispers Youngjae, his expression softening. His gaze drops to Jihoon’s lips for a split second before meeting his eyes again, reaching out to let his hand slide tentatively into Jihoon’s as their fingers lace together. “I know I’ve changed a bit. College is… is a lot. But you should know that the one thing that hasn't changed… is how much I wanted to come back here just to see you."
The absurdity of their situation finally hits Jihoon belatedly. Somehow, they’d spent months navigating this maze of their own making, terrified of a gap that didn't even exist. They’d both been so convinced of their own inadequacy that they had nearly missed the most obvious thing in the world.
“You are so annoying,” Jihoon says, but he’s smiling now, a wide, helpless grin that reaches his eyes. He leans forward, closing the final, tiny distance between them.
The second kiss is slower than the previous, deeper and incredibly certain. Youngjae tilts his head just barely, and Jihoon closes his eyes as he lets Youngjae’s tongue flick across his lower lip, an involuntary gasp escaping him. And Jihoon feels like he’s floating as Youngjae pulls him closer, one of his hands finding the short hairs at the back of Jihoon’s neck and resting there gently. The overwhelming warmth of the moment– that this is real, it’s happening, Youngjae is kissing him– rapidly consumes Jihoon as he feels Youngjae’s lips, impossibly soft against his own.
Youngjae finally pulls away after what feels like forever, letting their breaths mingle in the humid June air. “Do… do you want to come to my house?” he asks, voice slightly lower than usual.
“Yeah,” breathes Jihoon. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
As they stand up, Youngjae finds Jihoon’s hand again; they walk slowly back in a daze of adrenaline and affection and realization. And Youngjae doesn’t stop kissing him– every few steps, Youngjae will pull him in, his lips grazing the corner of Jihoon’s mouth or his lips like he’s trying to make up for the months they missed because they were too oblivious to notice.
And dear god, it is way fucking better than anything Jihoon could’ve dreamed of.
—
“Is this shirt too casual? Too formal? Does it look like I’m trying too hard? Or that I didn't try at all?” Jihoon mutters, standing in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom and pulling at the hem of a black knit sweater for the tenth time in the past five minutes. “Should I change?”
From the edge of the bed, Hanjin watches the chaos unfold as he scrolls mindlessly on TikTok, tuning out Jihoon’s pleas for help with a hum. He yawns once, stretching his arms back as he inspects Jihoon and the impending nervous breakdown. “Jihoon,” he calls out lazily. “You know he’s literally in love with you, right? Like, he looks at you like you’re the sun, moon, and entire galaxy. You don't need to impress him. You could show up in a literal trash bag and he'd probably try to marry you on the spot.”
“But I want to look nice!” protests Jihoon, spinning around to face his best friend. His hair is already a mess again, probably from running his hands through it in a nervous fit of anxiety. “This is our first official date as a couple. It’s New York! It’s a big city! We’re going to a nice place! I can't just show up looking... mid.”
Hanjin groans, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he rolls his eyes. “You are such a fucking idiot,” he responds affectionately as he shakes his head.
Jihoon ignores the jab, turning back to his desk, which is currently a spread of all the makeup products he gathered from the whole house (mostly stolen from his older sister). “Do you think I need any makeup?” he asks. “Like, should I at least hide these pimples? My skin has been really bad lately… do you think he’s going to–”
“Do you want my advice?” Hanjin cuts in, staring up at Jihoon. “As your best friend of more than four years now?”
“Sure?”
“Listen to me,” says Hanjin as he stands up and walks over, placing his hands on Jihoon’s shoulders firmly to force him to stop shaking anxiously in front of the mirror. “Jihoon. I know you care about making good impressions, but Youngjae is literally not going to care. Youngjae is your boyfriend now, for fuck’s sake. He is going to see your face, he is going to see your eyes, and he is going to be thinking about how much he wants to fucking kiss you. He is not going to be walking around with a magnifying glass checking whether or not you’re having a forehead breakout. Stop it.”
Taking in a deep breath, Jihoon looks at himself in the mirror once more. Hanjin’s words sink in– Youngjae is my boyfriend. Right. “You really think so?”
“I know,” Hanjin replies, patting his back before heading toward the door. “So stop overthinking it. Finish doing your hair. If you're late, he’s going to think you're playing hard to get, and given the way you two have been for the last year, I’m gonna have to put up with a lot of bullshit again if that happens. Now if you’ll let me, I’m going to go home and take a nap.”
The vibration of Jihoon’s phone against the desk, three minutes later, makes him jump almost a foot in the air. He lunges for it, checking the notification as his heart dances against his ribs.
[youngjae!]
youngjae: i’m here!! sry im a bit late loll
youngjae: come out where ur ready <3
The little heart at the end of the text has to be some kind of tactical strike– Jihoon feels the heat rush to his cheeks instantly. He grabs his bag, checking his reflection one last time to ensure his hair is perfectly in place, and heads for the stairs.
Surprisingly, Hanjin is still present, hovering near the entryway with his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Have fun,” he offers, giving Jihoon a hug. “And seriously, don’t do anything stupid. If he kisses you after dinner, don’t panic like you did earlier. Please try to keep your dignity intact. And I expect to hear everything about this date by tomorrow night.”
Jihoon rolls his eyes, though his ears are burning a bright, telltale crimson. “Shut the hell up,” he mutters, pausing at the door to look back at his friend. “And... thank you. For– for what you said earlier.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Hanjin waves him off.
Stepping out of the house and into the warm evening air gives Jihoon a sudden rush of adrenaline, the exact kind signaling this is real, you’re going on a date, Youngjae Choi likes you back. It’s been less than a week since that rather fateful night in the park when Jihoon had taken his life’s biggest gamble, and now, it’s all paying off.
He scans the curb, and there it is– Youngjae’s car.
But it’s not the car that catches his eye. It’s the man leaning against it.
Jihoon stops dead in his tracks, halfway down the driveway as his breath catches in his throat. Obviously, he knew Youngjae was handsome; after all, Jihoon spent countless hours on Instagram admiring his looks, but this? This is different. Youngjae looks less like he finished a day at his internship and more like he stepped out of a high-end editorial– he’s in a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with a dark tie and gray dress pants.
And he looks unfairly attractive.
He looks so good? Why is he so… ugh, supplies the part of Jihoon’s brain that’s utterly unhelpful. My heart can’t do this.
As Jihoon approaches, Youngjae’s eyes light up, a bright smile spreading across his face that reaches his eyes. He waits for Jihoon to reach the car, then steps around the front to meet him and opens the passenger door with a flourish.
“Hey,” Youngjae says, voice low and smooth in a way that makes Jihoon’s knees– not to mention heart– feel like jelly. “You look great.”
“You too,” Jihoon manages to squeak out, sliding into the passenger seat of Youngjae’s car; it’s a spot he’s occupied many times as a friend, but never as… well. A boyfriend. He’s desperately doing his best to act cool, like his brain isn’t currently melting into a puddle of pure joy and adoration, but as Youngjae closes the door softly and walks back to the driver’s side, Jihoon is a lost cause.
Youngjae navigates them through the suburbs of their hometown and into the flow of downtown New York City traffic, but Jihoon finds it impossible to look out the window, at the passing lights and buildings and crowds of people. After all, how can he, when he has his incredibly good-looking boyfriend right beside him?
“The suit looks really good on you,” Jihoon says finally. “Did you just come from work?”
“Yeah,” Youngjae replies, glancing over with a gentle smile. “I didn't have much time to change, but I wanted to make sure we could get to the restaurant on time, with the reservation and all. Is it too much? Do you think it’s too formal?”
“No,” says Jihoon quickly– perhaps a little too quickly. “No, it’s... it’s perfect. You look really handsome.”
“Thanks,” Youngjae tells him softly. “You do, too.”
The evening unfolds like a dream, one that Jihoon is terrified of waking up from. He pinches himself on the arm, twice, just to make sure that he isn’t having the best fantasy of his life, but no. This is happening, and Jihoon is the luckiest person in the world to have this.
Youngjae brings them to a movie theater first, where they sit close in the dark; Jihoon watches the flickering light of the screen cast dramatic shadows across Youngjae’s sharp profile. For an embarrassing amount of time, his attention is pulled constantly toward the warmth of Youngjae’s fingers intertwined with his, or the way his boyfriend will occasionally lean in to whisper a comment in Jihoon’s ear, breath hot against Jihoon’s skin.
This is us. It’s not just another summer hangout with the four of us. It’s… it’s a date. Yes. The most wonderful, fantastic first date ever.
After the credits roll, Youngjae leads him toward a quiet, upscale restaurant tucked away on a side street, just a little ways away from the main streets. While they walk over, Youngjae’s hand naturally finds his, as if they were always meant to be. Maybe they were.
And dinner is just as perfect, too– the two of them seated at a candlelit table that feels just a tad bit too fancy for a recent high school graduate and college freshman, but whatever. Youngjae listens attentively to Jihoon talking, his eyes never leaving Jihoon’s face as he reacts and smiles. When the bill arrives, Jihoon makes an attempt to reach for his wallet, but Youngjae is faster, already handing his card over before Jihoon can protest.
Wow, he thinks, watching the candlelight dance in Youngjae's eyes as he laughs at a joke Jihoon made. I must’ve, like, saved the world in my past life or something. How did someone like him end up with someone like me?
It feels all too soon that they’re already driving back toward their suburban neighborhood, the night sky a clear shade of deep blue and the moon a bright crescent above. Youngjae has some quiet jazz station on the radio playing softly over the hum of the engine as they pull up to the curb in front of Jihoon’s house, putting his car into park.
They’re left in a sudden silence; Jihoon turns to say goodnight, but the words die in his throat.
Because Youngjae is already looking at him, his gaze filled with a longing that makes Jihoon’s heart race in his chest. Without a word, Youngjae leans across the center console. His hand reaches out, finding Jihoon’s jaw carefully as he kisses him.
And Jihoon can’t do much but lose himself in the kiss– it’s slow and deep, perfectly so. It tastes of the overly sweet mocktails they had at dinner, yes, but mostly, it tastes of them. Eyes fluttering shut, Jihoon’s hands find purchase in the stiff fabric of Youngjae’s dress shirt, letting Youngjae lead and tilt his head and give him this moment.
When they finally separate, they don't move far. They linger in that small, heated space of the car, the air thick with a delicious tension. It’s just the sort of quiet ache that makes the thought of even trying to say goodbye feel impossible.
“You're so beautiful, Jihoon,” Youngjae whispers. He brushes a stray lock of hair from Jihoon's forehead, his touch lingering. “I don't think you realize how attractive you are.”
Jihoon feels a flush of heat creeping up his neck, a giddy smile beginning to tug at his lips as he scratches the back of his head. “You're not so bad yourself,” he teases.
They sit for a handful of minutes, only because neither wants to break the spell. And really, Jihoon should get out. He should say a proper goodbye, climb the stairs, get some sleep. But the thought of the cold night air and the empty space in his bed feels like a physical ache.
“Um,” Jihoon starts, his voice slightly unsteady. He clears his throat as he fidgets with the hem of his sweater. “Do you... do you want to come in? Just for a bit?”
It’s a transparent plea, and they both know it. Youngjae’s eyes soften, a knowing smile touching his lips. “I'd love to,” he murmurs, and the way he says it– as if the invitation is exactly what he’s been waiting to hear after their date– makes Jihoon’s heart do a frantic dance.
Hand in hand, they walk into Jihoon’s home in a sort of daze. It’s quiet; Jihoon knows his parents are out with family friends and his sister’s off traveling with her friends, meaning they have the whole space to themselves if they wish.
And maybe, just maybe, Jihoon has the sense that something along those lines might happen.
Hovering in the entryway, Youngjae leans against one of the walls, Jihoon with his back to the opposite. “Was today good?” he asks softly, breaking the silence. Jihoon knows he’s trying to be casual, to give Jihoon a moment to breathe– but dear god, he just wants Youngjae to kiss him again in that same way.
“It was great,” Jihoon tells him, and he means it. With all of his heart. “Really, really great.”
They fall into a rhythm of aimless small talk– the movie they’d watched and dinner they shared, some funny picture Dohoon had shared in their group chat from Paris, Jihoon’s upcoming start of college– but the words are just noise. The real conversation is between their eyes, the way the air is charged with something new and quiet and just a bit different than usual.
Suddenly, Youngjae’s eyes drop to his lips for a split second before he looks up again. “Jihoon. Can… can I kiss you again?”
Jihoon doesn’t even have to think. He simply nods.
Youngjae steps forward into his space, closing the gap between them as he presses Jihoon back against the wall. His hands, warm and steady, find Jihoon’s waist, pinning him there while his lips meet Jihoon’s in a kiss that demands everything Jihoon can give– and he is more than happy to oblige. Hands flying to Youngjae’s body, Jihoon’s eyes flutter shut, feeling the rapid thrum of Youngjae’s heart through the fabric of his shirt.
Ever so slightly, Youngjae tilts his head to deepen the kiss, eliciting a soft and shaky gasp from Jihoon. As he does so, Jihoon can feel Youngjae tugging at his lower lip gently, letting their tongues meet in a cautious slide. One of his hands moves to Jihoon’s hair, threading into the strands and remaining there to ground Jihoon.
Breath coming in heavy pants, Youngjae pulls back just an inch. His eyes are dark, blown wide with a hunger that’s entirely unfamiliar to Jihoon– only he knows that more than anything else in the whole world, he wants this. With a frustrated groan, Youngjae reaches up, fingers fumbling with his tie as he yanks it loose, letting it hang haphazardly around his neck. He moves to the top two buttons of his dress shirt, giving the fabric a tug to expose the sharp, elegant lines of his collarbones and a hint of his pale chest.
“Fuck,” Youngjae mutters under his breath. “Jihoon-ah.”
Jihoon takes in a shaky inhale, opening his eyes just as Youngjae dives back in. His mouth is on Jihoon’s again in a heartbeat, and a soft moan escapes Jihoon before he can do much to prevent it. After all, he’s lost in the kiss– the scent of Youngjae, something clean and familiar; the heat of him.
Slowly, Youngjae moves from Jihoon’s lips to the line of his jaw, trailing gentle kisses over his skin. Almost instinctively Jihoon tilts his head back, exposing his neck in a silent invitation– I want this. I need you.
Youngjae’s mouth finds the junction of his neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the skin before he begins to suck with a slow, deliberate pressure intended to leave a mark. It draws a jagged gasp from Jihoon, one that has Youngjae’s grip tightening on his hips.
“God, Jihoon,” whispers Youngjae against his skin, his voice a rough, wrecked thing as he speaks. So different from the Youngjae Jihoon hears normally, yet so perfect, too.
“Youngjae– please,” Jihoon whispers back, even if he has no idea what he’s asking for. All he can think of at this moment is the feeling of Youngjae’s lips, the sound of his voice, the weight of him against Jihoon as he shifts his hips. The inevitable result of their combined want brushes against his thigh, the hardness in the front of Youngjae’s pants pressing against him with a blunt, desperate urgency.
In a rush of confidence and need, Jihoon brings his hands up to Youngjae’s neck– he finds the silk of the loosened tie, and frantically tugs it free. The tie falls from his hands helplessly, forgotten, but Jihoon could care less where it lands. Instead, his hands move to the remaining buttons of Youngjae’s white shirt, working them open as fast as he can until Jihoon can part the fabric.
He can’t help himself. Like a moth to flame, Jihoon’s palms find Youngjae’s warm and now bare skin, feeling the flutter of Youngjae’s pulse beneath his touch, a mirror and echo of his own. “You’re so–” Jihoon starts, but the words dissolve into a moan as Youngjae kisses him on the lips again, deep and hungry.
It seems like it’s been forever when they break apart, Jihoon’s head spinning as he catches his breath. The air is too thin, like they’ve been flying high above the ground in their own sort of heaven.
“Youngjae,” Jihoon calls out softly. “My… my family’s out tonight. Do you– uh, want to come upstairs? To my room?”
The implication hangs between them, heavy with all the things they don’t need to say.
“Yeah,” Youngjae exhales. “Yeah, Jihoon. Let’s go upstairs.”
They move, but they don’t get too far without kissing once more. Jihoon’s lips meet Youngjae, tongues colliding when they stumble into the living room, when they’re halfway up the stairs, when their bodies crash against the door of Jihoon’s bedroom to slam it shut. Youngjae rolls his hips against Jihoon slightly, and the friction that shoots through Jihoon is electric. He can feel the blood rushing to his groin, a heavy ache that’s rapidly taking over his mind as he shifts, pants uncomfortably tight.
Almost hurriedly, Youngjae breaks the kiss. His hair is messy when he reaches out, tracing the curve of Jihoon’s bottom lip with his thumb to wipe the thin line of saliva connecting their lips.
The expression on his face softens, even as he keeps Jihoon pressed against the door. “Jihoon-ah,” he whispers. “We… we don’t have to do everything at once. If you want to– to just stay like this, we can. We can take it slow. I don’t… want to rush you.”
But Jihoon has spent a week anticipating, two years pining, an entire lifetime waiting for this.
“Youngjae. I– I want this,” Jihoon whispers back. “I want you. All of you. Please. Just… keep going.”
Youngjae gives him one more gentle kiss in response. Cautiously, like he’s afraid Jihoon could shatter into a hundred pieces, Youngjae’s hands find the fabric of Jihoon’s sweater and pulls it over his head, tossing it somewhere without really looking. He shrugs off his own dress shirt, which was already hanging open, letting the fabric fall to the floor.
The room is cold and Jihoon shivers, only for the warmth of Youngjae’s body to meet his. “God, you’re so beautiful,” breaths Youngjae. “Let me make you feel good, Jihoon-ah. Okay?”
Jihoon nods. Guiding him toward the bed, Youngjae helps him shrug his jeans and boxers off, abandoning them as a mess to be cleaned up later before stripping himself naked quickly. He lays Jihoon on his back and settles comfortably into the space between Jihoon’s bare legs, keeping a close watch on each and every reaction.
“Youngjae–” gasps Jihoon when Youngjae reaches for the aching, hard length of Jihoon’s cock with one hand. Slowly, almost gently, he gives him a few strokes. The sheer sense of want that shoots through Jihoon’s nerves is overwhelming, dissolving the world into a kaleidoscope of light and sensation. “Please, Youngjae. Keep going– please.”
Humming softly, Youngjae shifts– and all of a sudden, his mouth is wrapped around Jihoon’s cock, hot and wet. Jihoon lets out a strangled whine as his entire body jolts, barely managing to speak as he feels Youngjae’s tongue pressing against the underside of his length. “Fuck… hyung–” Jihoon flushes when the honorific slips out unbidden.
Pausing his movements for a split second, Youngjae pulls away to look up at Jihoon with eyes that are glazed and half-lidded. A smirk, annoyingly enough, tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Hyung?” he repeats. “You want to call me hyung now?”
“I–” Jihoon flushes, but he has no words. Especially not when Youngjae has his mouth back on Jihoon’s cock, licking softly at the tip and simultaneously using a hand to wrap around the base. The pressure in Jihoon’s lower body builds and builds, until Jihoon feels like he can’t hold back much longer. “Youngjae-hyung… I think– I’m close–”
As if on cue, Youngjae pulls his mouth away, speeding up with his hand instead to work Jihoon toward his climax. With a broken moan, Jihoon’s head falls back against the pillow as he surrenders to the overwhelming tide, his back arching against the bed as the tension snaps. A white-hot rush floods his vision, and vaguely, Jihoon registers gasping Youngjae’s name over and over as he spills into Youngjae’s hand.
Laying there with his chest heaving and skin tingling in the cold air, Jihoon inhales shakily, muscles trembling from pleasure. He watches through dazed eyes as Youngjae gets up, reaches for the box of tissues on Jihoon’s desk, and wipes off the evidence of Jihoon’s release from his hand. Youngjae cleans him up next, his touch light and careful like Jihoon is a piece of artwork to be admired.
“So,” says Youngjae as he settles beside Jihoon on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow. “Hyung? Where did that come from all of a sudden?”
Jihoon groans, dragging a hand over his face to hide the flush of his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mumbles, voice muffled by his palm. “It just… it happened.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Youngjae tells him. His gaze drops to Jihoon’s lips for a moment before an almost sheepish smile spreads across his face. “Um… actually, you can do it again. If you want to.”
“Okay, hyung,” whispers Jihoon.
That’s all it takes for Youngjae to lean in again, capturing Jihoon’s lips in a slow kiss. His hands find Jihoon’s bare back and wander across the skin, as if to map out and memorize every inch of Jihoon. It might be uncoordinated, breathless, the kind of kissing that leaves them dizzy and lightheaded, but still: it is everything they have longed for.
Youngjae’s tongue slips back into Jihoon’s mouth, turning the kiss messy– all teeth and saliva and the wet sound of their mouths colliding. Fingers tangling into the short hairs at the nape of Youngjae’s neck, Jihoon pulls his boyfriend closer to him. He wants to lose himself in the heat of this, until there is no distinction where he ends and Youngjae begins.
Every time they break apart for air, it’s for a split second– frantic gasps before they dive in once more. Jihoon’s senses are a flood of Youngjae Youngjae Youngjae, the scent and the friction and the intoxicating taste of his boyfriend overwhelming everything.
He lets Youngjae explore his mouth with his tongue and pepper his neck with soft, wet kisses that trail down to his shoulders and torso. Distantly, Jihoon hears himself moan Youngjae’s name, mixed in with broken chants of ‘hyung, please’ and ‘more’.
It seems an eternity later when Youngjae pulls back, breathing hard as he rests his forehead against Jihoon’s. “Jihoon-ah,” he calls, his voice a low rasp. Gently, Youngjae reaches out to trace the swollen curve of Jihoon’s lower lip, eyes dark and blow wide. “We… we should probably stop. For tonight.”
Jihoon freezes, a small, wounded sound vibrating in his throat. “Why?”
Youngjae lets out a huff, one that sounds more like a groan of frustration. “Because we’re both fucking idiots who didn't think ahead,” he shakes his head. Upon seeing Jihoon’s apparent confusion, he continues. “I don’t have lube. Or a condom. And besides… I don’t want to rush you. I– if it’s okay with you, Jihoon-ah, I want to take things slow. I wouldn’t want to hurt you just because we’re impatient and, well, horny, you know?”
A smile finds its way to Jihoon, just as Youngjae gives him another soft kiss.
Yet when Youngjae shifts to settle closer to him, Jihoon feels it. The unmistakable, rigid pressure of Youngjae’s arousal pressing against his stomach.
Jihoon looks down, and he becomes acutely aware that for all the heat of the moment, Youngjae still hasn’t shed his dark dress pants– the fabric is taut, straining in the front from his very obvious erection. It looks uncomfortable, and Jihoon feels a sudden pang of empathy that pushes him to speak.
“Hyung. Uh,” Jihoon whispers, voice thick. He reaches out, his fingers tentatively brushing against Youngjae’s cock through the stiff cloth of his slacks. “Can– can I help you out? Let me help you. You didn’t… get to come yet, Youngjae.”
With a breath that’s halfway between a laugh and groan, Youngjae tilts his head back, eyes fluttering shut. “Jihoon-ah, it’s fine. Really. I can just–” he begins to stir, pushing himself up from a lying position– “Fuck. I’ll go take care of it in the bathroom. It’ll be fast, and then we can sleep, and–”
“No,” interrupts Jihoon, the word coming out firmer than he intended. “Hyung. Youngjae-hyung. Please. I don’t… I want to help you. I want to make you feel good, too.”
“Okay,” Youngjae breathes with a nod. “Okay.”
Carefully, he adjusts their positions– Jihoon finds himself kneeling on the floor, right at the edge of the bed where Youngjae is seated with his legs spread wide. Youngjae fumbles with the fly of his pants, shoving them down to his knees along with his boxers to free his hard length.
“Take it slow,” he whispers, a hand coming down to gently rest in Jihoon’s hair. “Jihoon-ah, you don’t have to rush. We have all night.”
“I’m not,” promises Jihoon. Even if his pulse is thundering in his ears.
The dim light of the bedside lamp casts long, elegant shadows across the walls as Jihoon looks up at Youngjae, who gives him a nod to go on. “Just… use your hands first, okay?” he murmurs, voice dropping into a low, velvety register. “Feel me how you want. Slowly.”
Jihoon reaches out, his mouth too dry to speak. His palms are warm as they wrap, cautious and curious, around Youngjae’s cock. In his hands, Youngjae is heavy and hot, and Jihoon can feel the rhythmic pulse of him beneath the skin as he begins to stroke tentatively– a soft, involuntary gasp falling from Youngjae’s lips.
“That’s it,” Youngjae exhales. His eyes are squeezed shut, head thrown back in pleasure. “God… you’re doing so well right now, Jihoon-ah… so good for hyung, hm?”
Encouraged by the praise, Jihoon feels a surge of desire. He wants more; he wants to taste Youngjae, to feel the full reality of what they are now. As he leans forward, Jihoon parts his lips to take the tip of him into his mouth, and he hears Youngjae’s breath catch sharply above him.
“Jihoon… ah,” groans Youngjae, his fingers tightening imperceptibly in Jihoon’s hair– not to pull, of course not, but to anchor himself. “You can… take more if you want. Use your tongue. Just like that– right there. Fuck.”
And who is Jihoon but to oblige? His entire world right now is the sensation of Youngjae’s length in his mouth and the way he tastes. Just as Youngjae says, Jihoon uses his tongue to swirl around the sensitive head, his movements slow and deliberate. The sounds Youngjae makes– low moans, frantic breaths, quiet but broken inhales and exhales– are music to Jihoon’s ears right now.
“Good job. You’re doing so well.” Youngjae’s voice is a whisper, completely undone. “Fuck, Jihoon-ah… you’re so good. Breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”
The tension in the room builds, reaching a breaking point as Jihoon works with a focused, messy devotion. He uses his mouth, his hands, like how Youngjae had guided him through the motions; now, Jihoon is simply transfixed on the way his boyfriend’s chest heaves, eyes fluttering open just to look down at Jihoon. Youngjae’s movements begin to lose their precise control, his hips thrusting forward slightly while he seeks more friction, more heat. “Jihoon-ah, wait almost– please,” Youngjae pants. “Right there… don’t stop, fuck, don’t–”
Just as Youngjae’s hips stutter, as his body shudders almost violently– he pulls away, sliding out of Jihoon’s mouth with a loud, wet noise that echoes in the room. Youngjae gives himself a few quick strokes before he reaches his climax, his release spilling into his own hand messily. Then, despite the way his hands tremble, he pulls Jihoon up from his knees and onto his feet.
They stumble to the bathroom, cleaning up quickly; although that doesn’t mean leaving out a heated kiss under the hot shower water, one where Youngjae tilts Jihoon’s chin back as he backs Jihoon up against the tiles. The contrast is startling– the cool wall versus the heat of Youngjae.
“You okay?” Youngjae asks once they’ve made it to the bed and crawled under the sheets.
“Yeah. Just– that was a lot. But I’m… I’m really happy, hyung,” Jihoon murmurs in response. He’s busy burying his head in the crook of Youngjae’s neck, settling there comfortably as if it’s where he belongs. As if they were always meant to be this way.
“I would hope so,” smiles Youngjae.
And as his boyfriend holds him close, as they tangle together under the blankets, Jihoon drifts off to sleep. The last thing he feels is the steady beating of Youngjae’s heart against his ear, a promise of everything good to come.
—
The morning light filters in through the curtains, casting slants of yellow and white against the floor. Jihoon stirs first, his consciousness returning in hazy waves while he blinks to let his eyes adjust to the brightness. Naturally, he’s still curled up next to Youngjae; they’re both bare and warm, Jihoon’s head resting against Youngjae’s chest.
And even in the messy, unrefined state of just waking up, with his hair a chaotic nest and eyes heavy, Youngjae is the most beautiful person Jihoon has ever seen.
“Morning,” Youngjae whispers, his voice raspy from sleep. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yeah.”
Jihoon shifts so he’s facing Youngjae now– one of Youngjae’s hands comes up to cup Jihoon’s cheek, tracing his jaw before he presses a soft kiss to Jihoon’s lips. Their motions are slow and lazy, both from exhaustion and the way that neither of them wants this moment to end.
God, I love him so much, Jihoon finds himself thinking as he watches the way the light traces the lines of Youngjae’s naked body. How did the stars even align for me to have this? To Jihoon, seeing Youngjae is something akin to looking right into the sun– blinding, overwhelming, yet impossible to ignore.
“You’re staring again,” murmurs Youngjae softly.
“Am not,” Jihoon replies, though that’s precisely what he’s doing. “I was just… thinking.”
“About?”
“Us,” admits Jihoon.
Youngjae lets out a quiet hum, shifting closer until his nose brushes against Jihoon. “Us,” he repeats, that single syllable echoing in the quiet of the room. “It’s a lot to think about, isn’t it?”
Nodding, Jihoon’s gaze drifts briefly down before returning to Youngjae’s eyes. “I just…” Jihoon starts, voice small. “I had this idea in my head for a long time, you know? That when you went off to college, everything would change. That you’d be reminded of me every so often, and see just– just a kid. A high school senior. Stuck in this town while you were out exploring the real world.” He sighs. “I thought that maybe, I was just gonna be some younger friend. Some guy who you hung out with for a few weeks before moving onto better things.”
“Jihoon,” breathes Youngjae as he pulls Jihoon even closer to him, “if only you knew how much we both had it wrong.” He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing down the tufts that stick up from sleep. “Cause I had the exact same fear. I thought you’d just see me as… I don’t know, an older friend. And if I’m being honest– way back in my junior year, before we were even close, I wanted to get to know you. And be your friend. Because I thought you were cool, and cute, and smart and funny, and you had such a damn gorgeous smile. You still do, you know? Every time you sat down next to me in health– remember that class?– my brain would just… short-circuit.”
Jihoon’s jaw practically drops. He stares at Youngjae, searching for any sign of a joke, but all he finds is a raw, terrifying sincerity. “You? You thought I was cool? Really? And I was over here thinking you were getting too fucking good for me every time you posted a new Instagram story at the beach or playing tennis or–”
“About that,” Youngjae cuts in, his cheeks flushing a faint, dusty pink. “Okay, this is really fucking embarrassing, so you’re not allowed to laugh at me until I’m done.” With a shaky exhale, he mutters something incomprehensible under his breath before going on. “Do… do you remember last summer, when we talked about our ideal types in Hanjin’s garage after we recorded our ‘What is Love?’ cover? It was sometime in July, I think…”
“Yeah? What about it?” replies Jihoon– he has just the vaguest recollection of that day, something to do with Dohoon arguing with Hanjin over his answer. If he’s being honest, Jihoon can’t even remember what he’d said.
“I… may have been taking mental notes,” Youngjae admits with a shake of his head. “I still remember it now, you know? You said you liked guys who were laid-back, who were athletic, maybe that effortless kind of cool in, I dunno, a Hollister ad. And I’m sure you remember high school me was– well, a total fucking nerd, right? That one choir kid who spent all his time in the library studying to get good grades. Fuck, Jihoon, I was so convinced that I’d never even have a chance with someone like you. It’s so stupid now, but… I guess I was so busy trying to become the person you’d notice, that I didn't realize you were already looking at me.”
Jihoon stares.
“So those times– every time you were posting those annoying sunset pictures of yourself on your Instagram? Or the way you suddenly started dressing so differently? All the club tennis bullshit?” Jihoon gestures vaguely at Youngjae’s bare chest. “That was because of one fucking thing I said?”
“Yes!” Youngjae buries his face– now a deep shade of red– in Jihoon’s shoulder, his warm breath tickling Jihoon’s skin. “It was so damn exhausting. I just wanted… I just wanted to be someone that you’d actually see, Jihoon-ah.”
“We are so fucking blind,” laughs Jihoon. “We really spent all this time chasing each other in circles because we were worried about what the other person thought, huh? When we already had what we needed just sitting in front of us, this whole fucking time.”
Youngjae sighs. “I know,” he says quietly. “But at the very least… now we do know. Now we aren’t guessing or telling ourselves we aren't enough. We can just be us.”
“I guess so,” murmurs Jihoon as he reaches out, fingers tracing the sharp curve of Youngjae’s collarbone. “But… but how do we actually do it? The distance… it’s not just a few states or anything, hyung. It’s two opposite coasts. Thousands of miles.”
Gently, Youngjae catches Jihoon’s hand, lacing their fingers together in a warm grip. “It’ll be hard,” he tells Jihoon. “There are gonna be nights where the time difference will probably feel like a physical wall. Or there’ll be days when it feels like everyone has their loved ones so close by except you. But… but I still want to be that person that you come home to, not only a voice on a phone or a face on a screen. I want us to work. I really do.”
“Me too, Youngjae,” Jihoon whispers. “Me too.”
Youngjae gives him another kiss. “Let’s do it.”
—
“I can’t believe you’re going,” Jihoon whines as he gives Youngjae a hug at the airport.
It’s been a blissful three months of having Youngjae so close to home, but the end of September means that Youngjae, too, also has to return to college. But not without great memories– they’d gone on many dates, including an overnight road trip to the beach the weekend before Jihoon started college. And Jihoon has been settling into his new schedule since starting school at the beginning of the month, getting around campus without getting lost, meeting friends, finding student organizations to join.
“It won’t be long,” Youngjae pats his hair before giving him a soft kiss on the crown of his head. “I’ll be back before you know it, right? You made it through last year just fine.”
“But you weren’t my boyfriend last year,” counters Jihoon. “So it isn’t the same.”
“Alright, alright,” Youngjae concedes with a laugh.
They remain there for some time, Youngjae with his backpack and Jihoon holding back tears from spilling over. Around them, people pass by in a rush, but Youngjae and Jihoon are in their own world.
“You better call me every single day,” Jihoon sniffles. He raises a hand weakly to wipe away the tears, only for his boyfriend to be faster. Youngjae’s thumb brushes against the wet droplets that cling to Jihoon’s eyelashes, so gently. “Or else.”
“Of course I will.” Smiling, Youngjae pulls Jihoon closer, allowing Jihoon to rest his head on Youngjae’s shoulder. “I promise, Jihoon-ah.”
And just like he did a year ago, Youngjae vanishes into the security line, turning back to wave one last time before he’s gone.
Wow. That all… really happened.
Jihoon sure hopes that winter break comes soon.
@_jihoonhan ᐧ 17h
142 likes 55 comments
boyfriend <3 @y.jae.choi
@kdh.130 what do u mean jihoon han got a boyfriend before me ???
@kdh.130 cute
@han_zhenn aww my best friends in the whole wide world
@kdh.130 yall r disgusting.
@han_zhenn replying to @kdh.130 why u hate so much
@_jihoonhan replying to @han_zhenn hes just jealous of us
@kdh.130 replying to @_jihoonhan am not.
@y.jae.choi love u too jihoon
@y.jae.choi see u at christmas bby
@_jihoonhan replying to @y.jae.choi see u then <3