e i g h t e e n 

part of a double-update, don't forget to read chapter 2a before this one :)

(still not proofread lmfao)

The next morning, Donghae was surprised when both Hyukjae and Siwon-hyung offered to drive him to high-school. Although he had to admit it was nice not to take the subway for once, he couldn’t help but find it a little strange. He still happily accepted though, sitting at the back of the familiar green car when he was ushered to.

However, he immediately understood what was really going on the moment they stopped in front of the school gates.

“Oh my God,” he squeaked when he caught sight of Joon with his friends, standing just a few meters away from them. He whipped around on his seat to glare at the two older men, horrified. “Oh my God, don’t tell me that you –… Don’t punch him! Don’t even think about doing it!”

They glanced at each other, sharing a smirk that looked almost vicious. “Okay,” they hummed innocently. “We won’t.”

That sounded very suspicious. “Or kick him!” he immediately added. “Or bite him, or pull on his hair, or step on his feet, or hit him with something, or—or—or –… just don’t touch him!”

An unhappy silence was his answer.

“Go on and take all the fun out, why don’t you?” Hyukjae grumbled after a while as he turned the ignition off.

Judging by his sullen look, Siwon-hyung seemed to agree with him. Donghae groaned aloud.

*

Hyukjae met another girl when Donghae was a little over sixteen.

Her name was Kwon Boa. She was a couple of months younger than him, but sometimes acted more maturely than all the twenty-two-year-old population in the world, and had enrolled in a law school at the other side of Seoul. Which was pretty far and made it a bit hard for them to meet up whenever they felt like so, but they didn’t seem to mind so much. The two of them had met at a party one of their common friends had invited them to, and by the end of the night, they had already shared phone numbers and promised to meet up again sometime the following week.

Donghae thought it was sort of sweet, in a way—and also that she was wonderful. Hyukjae hadn’t been almost bullied into dating, he liked her, she liked him, and she didn’t act like a jerk for some odd reason only she knew about; there wasn’t much more he could hope for at that point. He definitely liked her more than his last lover, he had decided with a wise nod.

“See?” he had told Hyukjae once. “You can have great taste when you want. You just tend to forget about it and then ignore your common sense. Try to fix that, seriously.”

One evening, Boa-noona was invited to have dinner with both their families. Which meant that all of them were crammed in the same house—Hyukjae’s—, and therefore talked very, very loudly. Donghae loved nights like those the most—it usually meant he got to spend some time with the student, and that he wouldn’t need to clean up the dishes. Their parents would always be too busy chatting together to realize they were the ones doing all the work by themselves.

As Donghae hogged the television and flipped through random channels, Boa-noona sat down next to him on the couch and gave him a bright grin. Shifting slightly to give her more space, he smiled at her in return and grabbed at the remote to lower the volume.

They started chatting together, about studies and future plans, until she finally asked him with a curious voice, “Can I ask you something though? Why don’t you call him hyung? Hyukjae, I mean. He’s older than you, right?”

Before he could think of an appropriate answer, one that wouldn’t involve ‘he’s my favoritest Hyukjae, that’s why’, the latter heavily flopped down onto him, and then casually rested his head onto his lap.

“That’s because he’s a brat,” he with a cackle. Then, closing his eyes, demanded, “Worship me, kiddo.”

Donghae scoffed and playfully pretended to push him off. He still complied in the end—as he always did—and gently ran his fingers through his soft hair.

“Actually,” the student added afterwards with a contented hum. “It’s because I’m his favoritest Hyukjae. Right, Donghae? He’s my future boyfriend, you know. As soon as he’s eighteen, he’s all mine. And I’m all his. Something.”

The younger almost choked at his words and blushed a deep red, promptly adverting his eyes away. What the actual—why the hell would you tell that to your girlfriend?! he wanted to scream at him.

Boa-noona laughed however, but not in an obnoxious way, and snuggled more comfortably into the couch. “I’ll have to make the most of the time I have left then,” she smiled then winked at him. “Except that he’s a bit of a stingy airhead, you’ll be very lucky to have him, Donghae. Always keep your wallet on you, though. Just in case.”

“What do you mean, I’m a bit of a ‘stingy airhead’?” Hyukjae huffed as he craned his neck up to frown at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remember that time you brought me to that fancy restaurant? For our second month together?” she raised a challenging eyebrow at him. “And then you realized you forgot your wallet and made me pay for it all?”

Donghae didn’t manage to stifle his snort in time. “He really did?” he laughed incredulously. Then, looking down at Hyukjae, accusingly pulled on his hair. “You really did?”

“Oh, come on!” the other whined. “It was an accident! And it only happened that one time!”

Frowning playfully, the youngest sighed loudly. “I need to rethink this, Hyukjae. I’m not sure I want you to be my boyfriend when I’m eighteen anymore.”

Boa-noona burst out laughing, hiding her pretty giggles behind her hands. On his lap, Hyukjae spluttered indignantly and argued that he was some really good boyfriend material, and that he would be a fool to change his opinion after so many years of great common sense. Donghae only rolled his eyes and chuckled at his adorable antics.

*

“Isn’t it a little bit… weird, though?” Donghae wondered aloud one day, while Hyukjae helped him with some homework he still had troubles understanding. They were seated on the floor with his books carelessly scattered in front of them, back leaning against the edge of his bed. Pensively biting onto his lower lip, he looked up and met the other’s confused frown.

“Boa-noona and you,” he clarified, hiding a smile. “You know, when you guys talk about not being together, like it’s something natural; like you two actually expect to break up someday. Isn’t it weird?

Hyukjae stared at him for a short moment, and then chuckled under his breath. “It’s not really,” he said, sounding suddenly so mature it almost felt odd. “We already talked about it together, actually. Before we even went on our first date, she’d already told me she’d always put her future before me. I can understand that. I’m fine with it,” he shrugged. “We both know we’ll break up before we get our master’s degree anyways. She doesn’t want to get too attached, and neither do I.”

“Oh,” Donghae blinked. “Well… that’s that.”

Nudging his shoulder with his own, the student laughed and shrugged again. “Don’t look so surprised, kiddo. We’re just too ambitious to want to stay together,” he explained. “She wants to finish the last year of her master’s degree abroad. I do, too, actually—I’m thinking of trying for some French or American universities.”

The sudden declaration made Donghae freeze in the midst of his childish doodling. His pencil shook a little above his rumpled sheet of paper. Cold sweat ran down the back of his neck, causing him to shudder unpleasantly.

He blinked and breathed in a couple of times, until he was sure his voice wouldn’t waver if he spoke up.

“I—you said… what?” He gulped and tried to sound even, but failed. “America? France?”

A pained look was sent in his direction, which he refused to acknowledge immediately. He continued to stare at his notebooks, focusing on the way his g’s looped messily next to his stiff i’s and t’s.

After a long silence, Hyukjae sighed next to him and said, “Yes.” He paused, then softly added, “I already have all the papers ready. I have to send them in before the second semester starts in February.”

“Oh,” Donghae whispered again. But this time, his voice sounded so small and lost he almost didn’t hear it himself. He closed his eyes, doing his best to ignore the unnamed pained that pulled at his chest. “I—okay. Okay.”

Dropping his things onto the floor, Hyukjae shifted closer and slowly brought him into a warm, silent hug. They didn’t talk much more after that.

*

That sounded so—wrong. But—that was also his dream.

Donghae was still a little over sixteen, although a couple of weeks older already, when he realized what heartbreak really meant. It was nothing to compare with the vague disappointment he had felt with Jessica; and it was nothing to compare with the short, angry resentment he had built up against Joon. It was nothing to compare with those. No, it felt a thousand times worse than just—that.

Years ago, he had thought his heart had been stepped on, that someone had ripped it into shreds. This time—… this time, it felt as though Hyukjae had kept it warm and beating, gently and tenderly. Only to return it with a sad, sorry smile.

And nothing hurt more than that.

France. America. Those were so far. They were countries from the other side of the world. They were countries he had only ever seen in geography books and on travel leaflets. They were—they were countries which were going to steal Hyukjae away from him.

That sounded so—wrong. But—that was his dream.

The mere thought of such a possibility made dry tears burn the corners of his eyes.

Donghae willed himself not to let them fall, however. He would not. Because if he did, it would have meant he didn’t respect his choices. And how could he not?

The both of them had grown up so much since the first time they had met. Hyukjae was now tall and handsome and perfect; and his head was full of ambitions. He wanted to build himself an incredible future, pursue his craziest dreams and make the most out of them. He wanted both the sun and the moon, and seemed ready to do anything just to get the closest to them possible.

He wanted—he just wanted to live. Donghae couldn’t demand of him not to live.

“At least,” he murmured into the night, flinching at his own tone of voice. It sounded almost broken, as though someone had stolen what kept it alive and cheerful. “At least, he warned me. He didn’t lie. And—and he said he’d come back.”

It sounded so wrong, but it was also his dream. And Donghae would always support Hyukjae, whatever his dreams were, and even if they brought him somewhere far, far away from him.

*

True to his predictions, Hyukjae and Boa-noona did break up about a year later.

The two young adults had apparently decided to part ways on a mutual agreement—one that had brought up the expected excuse of time-consuming studies, as well as the wish to focus on their future career instead of each other. College romance, as sweet as it surely had been, wasn’t a part of their short-term plans—at least, not anymore. Their growing ambitions—great jobs with greats salaries for great causes, mostly—didn’t allow them enough time or patience to build long-lasting relationships, no matter how hard they tried. Which wasn’t much.

The two of them had been firm in remaining friends, however—that was a good thing, Donghae had mused. They always tried to find some spare time to see each other, usually when one of their common acquaintances would throw a random party, or when they would manage to meet at a coffee shop to catch up. Moreover, Boa-noona still continued to drop by his house from time to time, although considerably less than when they had still been together—and that, for obvious reasons. Only staying for a short hour most of the time, she would ask Donghae how he was doing, what he planned to do after high school was over, and if he still bullied Hyukjae when he got bored of homework—and then she would leave again, always looking as wonderful as she had been the first time he had met her.

Whenever the topic was brought up, Hyukjae would laugh and shrug, and then make some lame joke about how they were certainly not destined to be with each other. “It must have been fate,” he would dramatically exclaim, but his exaggerated rolls of the eyes always ruined his theatrical tirades. And then, “stop saying you’re sorry, guys, seriously!” He made it sound like the mere question—the mere concern that he might be sad over his fresh break-up was just a silly one.

All things considered, if one had to wonder about him, they would probably conclude that he looked mostly unaffected.

But—Donghae knew. He always knew, when things came down to him. All he needed was a quick glance at his hazel eyes—the pretty-named color suited him so much, he thought—, and he would immediately guess what the student was truly feeling. No words needed—just a simple look.

And, that evening, as he joked and laughed and shrugged again, his single-lidded eyes screamed relief, bitterness, regret, sadness. Even if Hyukjae loudly claimed to everyone that he was doing perfectly fine, Donghae knew he wasn’t at all. Even if he kept smiling his bright, beautiful smile, Donghae knew he had been on the verge of crying for days now.

Hyukjae was holding back on his true feelings—and he hated the sight of it. It hurt more than imagining him with someone else again—because that always pained him, no matter how much he felt bad about it—, and it hurt more than knowing he would leave him soon, for some foreign countries he preferred to forget for the time being. “Life goes on,” he had told him when Donghae had felt sad about Jessica leaving him. Yes, he thought, but you’re pushing it to do it too fast, Hyukjae.

That evening, as the older said something silly about hoping for a red-thread kind of romance, Donghae simply lost it.

His smiles were terribly forced while his hazel eyes shined too dully, even under the bright lights of his drawing-room, and his jokes lacked their usual wit and enthusiasm—too many sighs had already left his mouth in just the span of a few hours. The sight of his slumped shoulders caused a painful ache to swell in Donghae’s tight chest. A part of him wished he could hate Boa-noona for it—for the pain that flashed across his sharp features whenever he thought no-one was looking his way. But she was nothing if wonderful, and he knew it all too well.

There was nothing to blame but a lack of attachment on her part—one that might or might not have been intentional.