FIVE


A miraculously sweet taste on his tongue and clumps of crumbs stuck under his expertly clipped fingernails, Kun waves over his shoulder one last time, ensuring his gesture is seen by the widely smiling Taeil. He is thankful to be the reason behind such a brightly beaming face, and though he knows he should be consumed only by guilt, he feels nothing but a hugely overwhelming burst of happiness. His heart seems remarkably warm and his cheeks are heated, aching from laughing so often and so hard. Though he had strolled slowly towards the library, shaking and sweating due to a mixture of anxiousness and bewilderment, he leaves feeling confident and refreshed.

Day has turned into night now, as the sparkling sun has been replaced with a black sky full of twinkling little stars. The moon is nowhere to be found, masked shyly behind a veil of soft greyish clouds and a cluster of daunting skyscrapers. Though the irregular crescent-shaped light cannot be seen, it is still powerful enough to demolish some of the shadows dancing across the street, providing a better sense of comfort than the flickering streetlights and flashing billboards. It is quickly nearing the weekend, so the city is busy and the drunks are out in full force, stumbling about as though their legs are about to collapse into useless piles of dust. There are all kinds of people, but the most worrisome are the sturdily built men – each covered in countless tattoos, the designs ranging from simple things such as tiny skulls to huge elaborate scenes and portraits – that are rapidly moving closer and closer to Kun. Fortunately, there is a special someone who has his back, just as they have for many years.

As one of the men begins to quicken his pace, ill intentions prominent through his nasty sneer and sly squint, a firm hand claps down atop Kun’s shoulder. The fingers dig into his skin, not enough to cause pain, but just enough to remind him that he is not alone. Breathing a sigh of subtle satisfaction, Kun reaches up, resting his own hand over that of the one providing him a much appreciated jolt of safety. The man decides not to approach and after a final glance, darts down a dark side alley to join his boisterous friends.

A year Kun’s junior, Sicheng stands tall and proud, puffing out his chest. His hair had been pink earlier this week, but now even beneath a tightly fitted black cap it is evident that the bright colour has faded, leaving behind an almost natural blonde in its place. His shirt – an old gift from Kun, something he had unwrapped with a grin on the morning of Christmas last year – hugs his frame quite snugly, accentuating the places in which he has so significantly grown. He is no longer as skinny as a stick, but made entirely of lean muscle and a mature, broad bone structure. The single physical trait remaining that exaggerates his youth is his boyishly featured face. Unlike many others his age, his eyes still shine with curiosity and a slight bit of chub sits comfortably within his reddened cheeks. With the cap tugged down over his face, he appears relatively intimidating and does well as Kun’s unpaid bodyguard.

“You shouldn’t be out walking by yourself at this time of night. This city is dangerous.”

Kun smirks and flicks the younger male’s hand away playfully. “As long as you’re around, I’ll never really be alone,” he states, chuckling lightly. His laughter becomes louder as he spots the comical repulsion emphasised through his friend’s forced grimace.

“When I get a girlfriend, you’ll have to stop relying on me,” Sicheng says audaciously, leaning forward with his hands glued to bony hips, “I won’t be able to play the role of your knight in shining armour anymore.”

“By the time you get a girlfriend, I’ll be safe and sound in my grave.”

Sicheng snorts, shaking his head out of incredulity. “You’re not even thirty yet and saying things like that. I can’t imagine what kind of ridiculous nonsense will come out of your mouth when you really are an old crusty man.”

“The day I’m considered old and crusty, will be the day you’re a year away from being old and crusty, too,” Kun retorts.

“I can’t believe I’ve let the conversation reach this point. Let’s stop putting it off,” Sicheng says, his tone suddenly cold and serious, “how did you go with the guy at the library? Did you get anything useful out of him?”

Kun’s stomach drops and a lump forms in his throat, clogging it, stopping the words from escaping. Every person that passes by has Taeil’s handsome face and every distant conversation is full of kind, uplifting words that are spoken in a voice that is familiar and appeasing. The music – terrible and robotic – pouring out of a nearby clubs starts to blur, distorting until all Kun can hear is Taeil’s splendid melodies and tuneful laughter. He casts his eyes downwards and his stomach begins to ache, torn at by a feeling of nausea. “Nothing yet.”

Sicheng immediately senses the extreme change in Kun’s mood. His picturesque smile has vanished and he sways unsteadily, as though he is about to faint. “There’s only a few days left until your deadline. If you want to pull out, now is the time to do it.”

“No, I can’t back down now, not when my future is on the line. I’m not the only one after this story.”

“There’s someone else?”

“Some kid working as an intern at The New York Times,” Kun responds dismissively. He shoves his hair away from his forehead and dabs at a few irritating beads of sweat with his soft fingertips. “Taeil mentioned him briefly. It sounds like he’s way ahead of me.”

Sicheng is not a malicious person. He is not miserly or petty, and very seldom causes any trouble. Rather than see anyone else suffer, he would put his own life on the line, sacrificing his wellbeing and time just to put a smile on someone else’s face.

And so, he does not particularly wish to meddle in this other journalist’s affairs. He does not possess deep desires to see him fail and secretly hopes that he is able to advance in the ranks at his news firm, but Kun’s prosperity and success always comes first in importance. He will do whatever it takes to assist his friend, even if it means sabotaging the efforts of someone who deserves the best, and nothing less.

Doyoung’s house is extravagant, each wall coloured differently and decorated with an abundance of unique features, each tile and wooden plank placed with utmost care. Every piece of furniture has been selected after many hours of conscientious thought and has been arranged with constant reference to interior design magazines. The paintings are all hung perfectly straight, their dimensions measured countless times to ensure they fit together like jigsaw pieces, and every object sitting atop a polished surface is pointing in the same direction, as though ready to greet guests when they walk through the door. A tiny, carved tiki is the first thing such visitors see, and is what Jaehyun jokingly waves at whilst he kicks off his shoes to exchange them for shabby slippers.

“I see that your Mother has been recently,” Jaehyun exclaims, rubbing his tired eyes. The kitchen countertops are so clean that they almost to hurt to look at for too long. They also wonderfully play the part of a ginormous deformed mirror. Jaehyun can see his reflection clearly, which is unfortunate, because he is tremendously dishevelled.

Doyoung groans audibly and drops his bag. It lands with a frighteningly loud thud. A single hardcover novel slips out onto the spotless floor. “I can’t leave a thing out of place, because if I do, she will undoubtedly sit me down for a lecture so long that it’ll break world records.”

“If having to clean regularly is the only disadvantage to living in a home this huge, you really have nothing to complain about.”

“You’re right. I just wish I could change the locks without my Mother noticing,” Doyoung responds, rolling his eyes. He glides towards the kitchen and runs a single finger over the countertop, flinching when he realises that there is a small speck of dust clinging to his fair skin.

Jaehyun still stands near the entrance, feeling as though something is missing. With a somewhat cute frown, he checks his pockets for anything important that might be absent; a wallet, a phone, the keys to his apartment. Upon realising that all of his belongings seem to be in place – luckily – he peers up, eyebrows still furrowed. His gaze wanders, pretty irises fluttering as they read the words sprawled across each sentimental, artsy canvas hung up. There are phrases about the beauty of having a home, the splendours of sharing time with one’s family, and the miracle of a stomach full of healthy home-cooked food. It is the latter concept that resinates with Jaehyun, who upon seeing the words ‘there is no love sincerer than the love of food’, recognizes that he is exceptionally hungry. His stomach grumbles noisily like the call of a monster from the Jurassic ages, so he speedily removes the slippers, toes sliding along the refreshingly chilled floorboards.

“Do you want something to eat?” Jaehyun questions, tying his laces loosely. He reaches for the handle, cracking the door open just a bit.

Doyoung’s head peaks around the corner, inquisitive eyes glimmering. “Why? Are you heading out to grab something?”

“Is pizza good with you? Extra cheese, no olives?”

“You know me all too well,” Doyoung replies cheerily, extending a hand to showcase an overly dramatic thumb’s-up, “I’ll pay you back with knowledge.”

Jaehyun chortles exuberantly as he steps outside, embraced suddenly by darkness. He blinks a few times to allow his eyes a moment to adjust, and then jogs down the concrete staircase, careful not to trip. Eventually, the wind picks up and jostles his hair, and the stars begin to glow brightly, illuminating his path. There are patches of the sidewalk that are cloaked in a thick sheet of blackness, but Jaehyun knows the way like the back of his hand and could find the Italian restaurant with his eyes closed. However, he keeps them wide open so as to avoid running into any of the city’s nastier crowds, like the rowdy bunch up ahead. Though he is not one to judge by appearance, he cannot help feeling wary of men three times his size, with thighs so gargantuan they could crush him in seconds. Their horrid language – continuous cursing and aggressive tones – does not help him feel any less cautious of the situation.

Once he enters the restaurant, he finally feels invulnerable, swallowed by the comforting scents of Italian cuisine, anxiety cured by the presence of so many kaleidoscopic lights. He smiles pleasantly at the staff as he approaches the counter, edging closer to read the menu’s miniscule text and to appreciate the dainty scribbles decorating the borders.

“I heard there’s an event tomorrow,” a voice says, muffled slightly by the numerous conversations, “we’ll have to cut Chemistry and Economics, but we should be able to make it back in time for the beginning of Maths.”

There is a spontaneous eruption of laughter, followed by some softer, more feminine giggles. “It’s not like my grades could get any worse, so let’s do this,” is the reply. The voice is familiar, effortlessly distinguishable even when stifled by the ramblings of a seemingly selfish elderly man speaking over the top of his wife nearby.

Jaehyun turns away from the counter, removing his focus from the woman patiently awaiting his order, whose awkward smile slips from her face. Instead of arranging his dinner, he zones in on the voice, following it until he discovers the source.

In the corner of the restaurant is a cluster of school-aged kids, many of them easy to recognise. One is taller than the others (after a very recent growth spurt) and wears his tie loosely, with multiple buttons left often to expose his pointed collarbone. His hair flops messily into his eyes and every second word is accompanied by his fingers flicking the strands away from lengthy lashes. Na Jaemin – his school’s star basketball player – had once been a relatively quiet kid, who had focussed entirely on his studies and put copious amounts of effort into the things that truly mattered. His hard work had certainly paid off back then, as most of his reports had been full of genuine praise and his grades were a sign of his potential. Now, he apparently spends his nights surrounded by girls, converting Jaehyun’s younger brother into a thoughtless rebel.

Jeno, whose hair is the colour of sparkling gold, sits across from his classmate with a naughty grin. His eyes crinkle as he laughs in synchronisation with those around him, though it is obvious that he is not truly happy, but more so uncomfortable and succumbing to the weight of peer pressure. His wavering pupils completely destroy his laidback, buoyant façade, and his weakness nearly makes Jaehyun seethe with fury.

“So, you’re not only letting your grades suffer, but you’re getting yourself involved with people who could possibly drag you to jail with them? Well done, our parents would be so proud of you,” Jaehyun mutters, just high enough to be heard.

Jeno’s body becomes rigid. He does not move his head, only his eyes. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” Jaehyun responds. Normally, he is calm and polite, and his irises are full of warmth, like chocolate fresh out of the microwave. But right now, he is absolutely livid and though it is no longer as hot as it had been earlier in the day, there is perspiration building up all over his body. He feels as though his anger is setting him on fire and he is burning up, a bomb ready to explode. Disappointment also eats away at him, battling against his usual placid temperament and his struggle to maintain a friendly personality. It makes his mind ache and every word trapped inside screams madly at him, wanting to escape, to roam freely. The longer he attempts to keep his emotions controlled – these dark, foul thoughts kept under wraps – the more his heart hurts, the more he wants to forget everything and run to his brother’s side, to embrace him with loving arms.

Grimacing out of pure discomfort, Jeno wriggles past his chattering classmates and waddles towards his brother, whose expression contorts staggeringly. Jaemin calls out tautly after him, but he doesn’t acknowledge the words, now preoccupied with Jaehyun as he is tugged by the hand out of the restaurant.

When they are outside and their skin is tickled by the breeze, sheltered from the many nosy customers and now exposed to random people passing by, Jaehyun lets out a strangled yelp. He balls his hands into fists and holds them up towards the stunning night sky, as though he is cursing the moon’s absence. “Why did it have to be you?”

“What do you mean?” Jeno questions, his voice softer than a whisper. The crisp wind carries his words and feeds them to his brother’s ears, which are yearning for information, greedy for some kind of explanation.

“I was assigned the task of writing a story that covers the protests,” Jaehyun explains, flattening his spread fingers over partially closed eyes, “and covering such an event means that a few names are going to be divulged in the process.”

Jeno gasps delicately, surprised and scared. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Do Mum and Dad know?”

“No, and I was hoping to keep it that way.”

“But this is amazing! They would be so damn happy to hear how far you’ve come,” Jeno exclaims, his voice trembling. The fear has already subsided, now replaced with an inimitable sense of excitement and just a little bit of pride. Though he is doing poorly – returning home with results that make his parents fall horribly silent, too shocked to speak – he is glad that Jaehyun is present to maintain some kind of balance.

Jaehyun wishes to thank his brother for such encouragement, because though the words are full of simplicity, they are spoken with love and admiration. But, there are far more pressing matters; matters with ghastly consequences.

“They wouldn’t be too happy to hear that their eldest son had disclosed their youngest son’s bad habits and near criminal actions to the whole of New York.”

Jeno pouts and shoves his hands into his pockets, a gesture that very discernibly portrays remorse. “I wasn’t really planning on going. I just…wanted them to think I was cool.”

“You don’t need to put yourself in danger to be cool, Jeno,” Jaehyun clarifies listlessly, gazing at the younger male with subtly watering eyes, “a real friend wouldn’t care about that kind of thing, because they’d be more concerned about your safety and grades.”

The restaurant door jingles as someone steps out into the cool night air. “He’s right.”

Jaemin stands there awkwardly, with a stiff posture and considerably creased forehead. He presses his lips into a tight, thin line when he notices that all attention is on him. Then, he tries desperately to smile, to alleviate this unexpected feeling of unease.

When Jaehyun nods, the high-schooler continues, creeping closer to Jeno as each second passes. “I’ve reached the point where I know I can’t achieve higher academic results and that my fate rests in the hands of my social ties and sporting abilities, but you have so much more potential. You don’t have to come to the protest to impress anyone. I’ll think highly of you no matter what you decide to do.”

Jeno looks back and forth between his brother and best friend, disorientation rapidly transforming into such overwhelming elation that it is expressed in tears and loud, insuppressibly hideous blubbering. So much of his time has been wasted, spent doing and saying useless things in attempt to please those around him. He has lived in a way designed to satisfy people who serve no importance – who would not do the same for him – without realising that those who truly matter have been by his side all along. It is an overpowering and sudden understanding, and though it has made his face horribly wet, he is glad to have discovered it.

He swipes frenziedly at his cheeks and after a grateful smile directed at his brother, sprints into Jaemin’s open arms, burying his soaked features into the warm, inviting curve of his friend’s neck. The sight it uplifting and enlightening, and enough to convince Jaehyun that everything will be okay in the end. Though things may seem difficult, they will not remain so forever, and there are so many people willing to help that complications can become far easier to solve. It is something that not only Jeno needed to know, but Jaehyun, too.

He eventually returns to Doyoung’s house – only after a tiresome discussion and many emotional apologies from his sobbing mess of a brother – and feels a splendid sense of relief. He smiles slightly as the cosy slippers slide onto his feet, providing immediate comfort and heat.

“Where’s the pizza?” Doyoung asks, eagerly coming over to greet him with grabby hands. A single eyebrow is cocked and he tilts his head like a confused dog.

Jaehyun stares down at his empty hands. “Ah, .”

Though there are walls and floors that should act as barriers to sound – blocking, or at least suppressing it – Taeyong can hear every lyric clearly and can feel the vibrations caused by the music’s heavy bass. Without even being present, he is certain that the party is out of control, an event that is full of staggering dances, drunken one-night-stands and a light trace of forbidden substances. There are probably – no, definitely – hands gliding naughtily up thighs only to be half-heartedly pushed away, and there are bodies grinding against one another on the dance floor, skin sparkling under spinning rainbow lights. And, there is no doubt that there are people falling in love for the first time, or maybe even for the last time. Parties are prone to all sorts of craziness and those that attend will leave as changed people, mentally or physically altered.

Their transformations come in two simple shades; the good and the bad. The bad are those who allow alcohol to lure them in, to give them a false sense of confidence or security. They leave only after having done something terrible, that no one will dare speak of again if they are unlucky enough to remember the details, or after they have experienced an unimaginable horror, something that will leave an aching scar on their heart for eternity. The good are those whose hearts contrastingly jump at the sight of someone unbelievably beautiful standing across the room, whose words come out jumbled because of the nerves no matter how much vodka they’ve downed to ease such anxiety. They are the people with smiles that one could never forget and they are the kind souls who make sure only to leave with jubilant memories. Though Taeyong hopes the party in his dorm building influences the latter, a gut feeling tells him that the people involved in this loud, chaotic event, will not be changing for the better.

Rubbing his stinging eyes – eyes that have had very little time to rest – Taeyong pushes away from his clustered desk and starts to pace pointlessly, feet moving to match the sudden slow point in the song, which still makes his whole room shake. The music isn’t aggressive, but its volume creates a horrid sense of violence and causes his posters to slide, corners curling up. With unhurried movements, he tries to stick them all back up, but now they are so far from straight that it makes him feel agitated. He has never been too fussed with tidiness, as his spectacularly disordered room may indicate, but wants these images to remain perfectly aligned to exaggerate his deep respect for those captured within. They are photographs of his idols, those he secretly aspires to be. Growing up, he had called these people superheroes, because they had saved him from a path of total corruption, giving him a glimpse of the light waiting at the other end of the tunnel. And each time the beat becomes loud and rough enough to force these talented people to slide further down his cracked walls, his fists become balled tighter, knuckles burning a red so dark that it is obvious just how much frustration is eating away at the very little serenity residing within him. He grunts and yanks his door open.

Paying minimal attention to what is ahead, he takes a step forward and instantly regrets it, tripping face first. As his nose hits the ground, he not only registers the severe, agonising pain and sudden wetness – a metallic tasting liquid trickling rapidly onto his top lip – but also the odd way in which his body has landed, propped up uncomfortably as though a relatively large, solid object is sprawled out beneath him. Then, he notices that his breathing is being accompanied by that of someone else. Theirs is uneven, interrupted constantly by silent sobs and desperate gasps for air, and their breath smells like something sweet, like candyfloss. Taeyong only knows a single person who munches on candyfloss chewing-gum, and knows that they must’ve bought it from the very cute and convincing part-timer named Renjun. But, that’s another story.

“Ten?” his voice comes out as a strange croak, the words mixing with a groan as he rolls off his crying friend.

The younger male repositions himself, pressing his back up against the wall and wiping his hand over his snotty nose. Taeyong tries his best not to react visibly, even in spite of the evil part of his conscience encouraging him to vomit. “Oh, hey. What are you doing here?” is the response.

“You’re in front of my room, so shouldn’t I be asking you that question? And why are you crying? Did something happen?”

Ten shrugs, attempting to seem nonchalant. The tears dripping quietly into his lap destroy his act, though. “You probably don’t want to hear about it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Taeyong mumbles, edging closer and smearing the blood off his face, “we might be in the middle of one of our stupid fights, but I’ll always be there for you. Talk to me. What happened?”

“I got invited to the party by the infamous Johnny Seo, the man others could only dream of talking to. I should’ve been more cautious, suspicious about someone like him talking to someone like me, but I was so excited and just wanted to forget the look of anger in your eyes.”

Taeyong takes his friend’s hand and it with his thumb gently, dotingly. When he speaks, he must raise his voice to beat the booming music, yet his tone is still oozing with comfort. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, I hardly saw him there,” Ten replies shakily. He takes a deep breath and lets his head drop, resting on Taeyong’s sharp shoulder, absorbing the warmth from his body. “I think he asked me to come as some kind of joke, because the moment I walked in everyone was looking at me, trying not to laugh. It was like they were all in on something and I was the odd one out. When I grabbed something to drink, they all pointed at me. When I asked where the bathroom was, they snickered and whispered. When I left, I could hardly hear the music because their laughter was so loud. I feel like an idiot. I am an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot. You’re an amazing person whose brilliant, innocent heart was taken advantage of at a time it was feeling vulnerable.”

“In other words, I’m incredibly naïve,” Ten says, chuckling bitterly. He moans.

“Maybe just a little,” Taeyong states, smiling charmingly, “but you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Ten breaks into a delighted grin and entwines his fingers with Taeyong’s, whose grasp tightens considerably. “So, are you just up to me so I’ll be less infuriated by tomorrow’s protest, or do you really love me that much?”

“A bit of both.”

The two laugh harmoniously, mouths stretches into cheeky smirks, eyes crinkling into sweet crescents. Ten cuts his giggles off every so often just to inhale noisily, unable to breathe through his nose which continues to run like an infinite river, flowing steadily. “I heard you invited that journalist,” Ten manages to choke out.

“Yuta told you everything, huh?”

“He might be a bit of an , but he cares about you and he knows I do, too. And, though he might not show it, he does feel bad about dragging you into his affairs so often. You’re the only one with so much influence and so many powerful words. I hate these protests, but he needs you, and so do a lot of other people. I can’t deny that.”

Taeyong’s eyes widen and his nose twitches. “So does that mean you’re supporting me now? You’re not going to nag anymore?”

“Of course I’m going to nag. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t nag.”

They laugh again and it is a sound so splendid that Taeyong realises nothing else matters more than this moment. He is alive and well, and his best friend is, too, albeit somewhat heartbroken. He could not possibly ask for anything more than this.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Taeyong peers up to gaze upon Johnny’s handsome features. His sensational caramel-brown hair dangles lazily into his eyes and his pretty pink lips jut out in a confused pout. Every element that makes him this uniquely attractively man should help Taeyong feel at ease, but they only make him enraged, furious that what is inside does not seem to be as beautiful as what is on display for the world to see.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, you’re not.”

The two friends blurt out their responses in synchronisation and then fall exceedingly silent. Ten eyes Taeyong, desperately attempting to express something notably important through the dramatic wavering of his pupils and the refined changes in his facial expressions. Oblivious, Taeyong frowns and glances back at Johnny, who somehow seems smaller than he was seconds earlier, shrinking as distress envelops him.

“I just wanted to apologise,” Johnny says, evidently uncomfortable, “when I invited you, I was too eager to spend time with you and didn’t think about how horrible some of Hansol’s clique can be to people outside their circle. I really didn’t ask you to come just so you’d leave feeling humiliated. I wanted you to have a good time…with me.”

Taeyong squints as though struggling to find the truth he is so frantically searching for. “And just what is your definition of fun? What are your intentions with Ten?”

“Now who sounds like a nagging mother?” Ten snaps, rising to his feet. He trembles, afraid to approach the prince down the hall, not wanting to let go of his best friend’s soothingly heated hand.

Shock is apparent for just a moment, and then Taeyong is chortling deafeningly, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re right,” he stammers, standing up, “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

Ten seems pleased when Taeyong disappears, creeping back inside. He smiles stunningly, gorgeous white teeth shining beneath the dorm’s flickering lights, and moves to Johnny’s side. And then, before he has the opportunity to say anything, his friend makes a quick reappearance.

“I have some condoms in my room, so don’t hesitate to ask for some if you plan on getting dirty tonight!”

Taeyong spends the rest of the night chuckling and wrapped in blankets, unable to move past the spontaneous sense of happiness that has swallowed him whole.