A/N: Technically, this would take place after Hottest is finished and right before Crazy begins, but like I said, I tend to skip around a lot >.< It's like filling in the blanks. I rarely ever do a story where I just go on a straightforward road. I think only WFLT does that and that's because it's a very specific kind of story.

 

Just the thought of you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          He piles another small box, filled to the brim with stacks upon stacks squished together. There’s hardly any space in the box and that’s how it is with the larger ones too. He doesn’t even understand why they did this—doesn’t understand why they couldn’t have been normal and done it with cell phones, posting them online or just keeping them in files. Either way, it would have been easier to press delete over and over again than what Hyunseung has to do now.

          He doesn’t understand why there’re so many—it was only three years.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Makes me hesitate again

 

 

 

 

 

 

          He’s closed most of the boxes (taped them shut because otherwise the cardboard flaps would keep springing open), but this one box—this small one—he hasn’t bothered to. It’s the last one and he doesn’t feel like getting the tape again. He’s just carrying it down in his arms through the hallways—mostly empty already because all the newly-inducted-lifeguards have gone home since the season has ended. He knows that Yoseob has already left too—going to vacation with Doojoon and Doojoon’s family. He thinks he vaguely remembers Junhyung saying that he’ll be working on his term paper at home during the break. And—

          As for—

          Yeah.

          The flaps of the small box spring open as Hyunseung turns the corner. His eyes fall into its contents automatically and he knows he shouldn’t be looking—knows it’ll only make it worse (that’s the reason he taped all of the others). He knows that he shouldn’t look, but he does anyway. He can’t help it—he knows it’ll hurt, but he looks.

          Even worse—

          Once he’s in the elevator, Hyunseung starts taking them out of the box.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even if I try to shout your name out

 

 

 

 

 

 

          These ones are the worst.

          They’re the happiest ones—the most recent ones.

          He shuffles through them as the numbers at the top of the elevator decrease. The first one he sees—the one that’s facing him, lying there at the top of the box’s pile is one that Hyunseung has no trouble remembering (he remembers all of these with crystal clarity, but some he remembers even clearer than others).

          It’s him and Kikwang on the night before the first day of the summer session—at the usual beach party with Yoseob laughing in the background and Junhyung rolling his eyes. It’s him and Kikwang, limbs intertwined, kissing (Hyunseung remembers the rush of alcohol from the younger man’s mouth into his own) and happy.

          They were happy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s no answer

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The one right underneath that one—a corner peeking out—isn’t as recent. They aren’t at the hotel—aren’t at the beach because it isn’t summer in the photograph. It’s winter and it’s snowing and they’re on campus—no Yoseob or Junhyung this time. It’s just him and Kikwang, and the younger man is the one holding the camera. Kikwang’s eyes don’t exist on his face in this picture, lips parted and teeth showing in a wide smile while Hyunseung’s own teeth dig into his lip in a grin.

          Kikwang’s chin is tucked into a black scarf.

          Hyunseung remembers winding it around Kikwang’s neck because the younger man had left half of his own winter wear at home from packing too fast and too distractedly (Hyunseung remembers that Kikwang had told him it was because the younger man had to scramble together the results of a research project at the same time).

          He’d told Kikwang to keep the scarf—but they ended up keeping it between them—sharing it on and off.

          The scarf had gone down half an hour ago—with the larger boxes. Hyunseung had slung it between two boxes, setting it against the pile gathered downstairs at the back of the hotel kitchens.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The times we were happy

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The elevator is halfway to the lobby.

          There’s another picture sticking out of the left side of the box, a little bit wrinkled at the edges. Hyunseung tucks the first two deeper into the pile (so he won’t see them again—won’t see them ever again) and pulls this one out.

          Junhyung and Yoseob aren’t in this one again.

          Hyunseung isn’t in it either.

          He’s just the one holding the camera—

 

 

 

 

 

 

The times we spent together

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “We need more trees on campus,” Kikwang says, stuffing the camera into Hyunseung’s hands and using his both now-free hands to push Hyunseung towards the thicket of red and orange and yellow and brown leaves—falling off of branches, some still on the branches, but most piled at their feet.

          Hyunseung stares at Kikwang, only letting the younger man push him so far before he plants his feet firmly on the ground (or whatever of the ground isn’t covered by leaves). “You’re the one who brought this,” he says, brandishing the camera in Kikwang’s face. “You hold it.”

          “Hyung,” Kikwang pleads. “C’mon—just a sec,” and before Hyunseung can re-stuff the camera into Kikwang’s hands, the younger man grabs Hyunseung’s shoulder, dipping in for a kiss and then running off towards the trees.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It seems we can’t have it back

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung can’t stop staring at the picture—it’s not even one of him and Kikwang. It’s just Kikwang in the photo, just standing surrounded by all the signs of autumn in a random park that the younger man had dragged Hyunseung out to on one of the weekends where they both barely had any homework. It’s a picture that Hyunseung took because the camera happened to be in his hands (because it’s Kikwang’s camera—it’s usually Kikwang who always takes the pictures).

          But it hurts to look at it.

          This one hurts the most—he doesn’t understand why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And time seems to fly away

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Personally, Hyunseung thinks that considering the fact that he barely ever is the one taking pictures, he did a good job on this one. It’s pretty as he looks it over on the camera screen while Kikwang is still over at the trees—petting a puppy and talking to the little girl who’s walking it with her older sister.

          The sun is out today so the lighting is bright and clear in the photograph—the colors of the leaves surrounding the edges like a natural frame. Kikwang is at the center, beneath the branches that are just barely appearing at the top of the picture’s corner. His face is tipped upward towards the blue sky, full lips stretched into a grin as his hand reaches up and catches a red leaf just as it falls.

          Hyunseung thinks it’s a good picture—the perfect photograph.

          But then again, he thinks, as Kikwang turns to him and waves—motioning Hyunseung over to pet the puppy too—

          It’s probably because the subject is already perfect himself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

My eyes which only saw you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          He knows he should hold the box shut now (the elevator is almost to the lobby). He knows that he’s seen enough (more than enough) and that he’s just cutting himself open again and again. The wounds aren’t even close to healing yet, but Hyunseung is ripping them wider and wider—ripping new ones that hurt more than the ones already inflicted.

          It’s weird.

          Hyunseung thinks it’s weird that he doesn’t even feel betrayed—he’s not even angry any more. The anger, the fury, the outrage—the feelings of betrayal lasted less than an hour. Those feelings are long gone when Hyunseung thinks that they should still be here—he should still be feeling them because then maybe the wounds wouldn’t be as deep. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much if he feels the way he thinks someone in this situation is supposed to.

          He knows that he should be angry at what’s been done to him.

          Instead—he’s just hurt over what he’s lost.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your bright smile

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The elevator doors part (Hyunseung is glad that most of the new lifeguards have cleared out enough so that there was no one else joining him on the ride down) when the lift reaches the lobby and Hyunseung steps off. He’s tucked all the pictures into the box, one hand clamping the flaps tightly down. He can’t look any more—it’s over, and soon the pictures will all be gone anyway.

          He tries not to think about the last few pictures his eyes wandered to as the elevator traveled through the third and second floors. He tries not to think about Kikwang holding the camera above their heads as they both lie on the sand at night. He tries not to think about Kikwang taking a picture of candles laid out on the edge of the boardwalk—candles that spell Hyunseung’s name—candles that Kikwang arranged for part of Hyunseung’s birthday present. He tries not to think about Kikwang struggling to hold the camera steady while Hyunseung lifts the younger man up playfully.

          It’s all gone—none of it means anything anymore and Hyunseung doesn’t want to be reminded of the fact that it doesn’t.

          He doesn’t want to remember.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The image of you calling out to me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          It hurts too much to remember a past with no future because it ended in the present.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think of them again

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The cool air, the smell of the ocean, hits Hyunseung’s face when he steps out of the back doors of the hotel. He takes the cement steps two at a time down to where the dumps are—right beneath the kitchen windows so the chefs don’t have to waste time bagging it out. Hyunseung walks to the boxes—he put them all in the empty metal barrels so it wouldn’t affect the rest of the trash later on—so it’ll be easy to clean up.

          It’s not just boxes, though.

          There’s the scarf—there’s a pair of shoes. There’s a paper cup with writing on it. There’s a towel. There’s a blanket. There’s a CD case. There’s a notebook. There’s a little paper bag with folded notes in it. There’s a novel. There are pens. There’s a pencil. But it’s still the boxes that outnumber all of them (because Kikwang likes taking pictures).

          There’s so much.

          And it’s all meaningless.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And my tears fall again

 

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s all meaningless because Kikwang is already overwriting all of these memories with Dongwoon.

          Hyunseung wonders, as he pulls the lighter out of his pocket, how many boxes Kikwang and Dongwoon have by now—he wonders how long it’ll be until they have as many boxes as Hyunseung and Kikwang had.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then I wander to search for you again

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “Hyunseung-ah! Hyunseung-ah.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come back to me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung’s thumb falls off the lighter as he turns around.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You’re becoming further away from me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung is doubled over, hands on his knees and breathing hard. He winces and thumps his palm over his chest a few times as he walks over (a little bit unsteadily) towards Hyunseung. “ing took the stairs,” Junhyung gasps, face scrunching up as he tries to catch his breath. “Elevator took too long.”

          Hyunseung blinks. “Why’re you here?”

          “I went to your room to give you back the suitcase lock,” Junhyung says. “And then Joonie-hyung told me you went down with a bunch of stuff.”

          Hyunseung shrugs. “You followed me?”

          The other man’s face contorts, eyebrows furrowing and jaw tight. “What the are you doing with all this?” He waves an arm out to all the boxes—the clothes, the CD case, the pens and pencil, the notebooks and books.

          Junhyung doesn’t understand—so there’s no point in explaining. Junhyung doesn’t understand—won’t ever understand and Hyunseung doesn’t want him to (doesn’t need him to—doesn’t need anyone to). Hyunseung doesn’t need anyone to understand, so he doesn’t answer Junhyung.

          He just flicks the lighter on again and leans down to light up the nearest box.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Please)

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung’s hand is like a vice around Hyunseung’s wrist.

          “If you don’t ing let go,” Hyunseung whispers. “I’ll set you on fire first.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because I love you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung just shrugs. “Go ahead.”

          Hyunseung grips the lighter as tightly as Junhyung is gripping Hyunseung’s wrist. “None of it means anything anymore,” he whispers and hates how his voice immediately goes from dangerous to weak. “It doesn’t mean anything to him anymore.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just ask me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung’s hand moves from Hyunseung’s wrist down into Hyunseung’s hand—prying the lighter out (it drops to the ground) and intertwining their fingers together. He cups Hyunseung’s chin roughly, forcing him to look into Junhyung’s eyes. “That’s a ing lie,” Junhyung hisses. “And you ing know it, Jang Hyunseung. If you give me bull about how none of this means anything to Kikwangie any more, I’ll light you up.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Turn around once more

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “He ing cheated on me,” Hyunseung whispers and every breath he takes in front of Junhyung feels like a knife digging into his lungs.

          The corner of Junhyung’s mouth tugs up into a humorless smile—bitter and black. “Don’t lie to me,” he says. “You don’t even ing care anymore. Don’t ing try to fool me, Jang Hyunseung.” Junhyung lets go of Hyunseung’s hand and the hand that cupped Hyunseung’s face moves up to lightly at the older man’s hair. “You love him so ing much, you don’t even hate Son Dongwoon, do you?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just once more—for me once more

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung stares at the lighter—the fluorescent green against the dark pavement. “If he makes Kikwangie happy,” Hyunseung says softly (happier than Hyunseung did?), “then why would I hate him?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

And smile as you look at me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “’Cause if you don’t, you’re a ing ,” Junhyung says, and his smile is no longer black and bitter—just warm and sad and looking at it eases the horrible sting of the salt air against Hyunseung’s wounds just a little bit. “But Kikwangie’s more of a ing .”

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are promises that are yet to be kept

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung tries to smile back, but he’s sure that whatever came out looked nothing remotely like a smile. It probably came out as a grimace judging by how the sadness blooms out further in Junhyung’s eyes. Hyunseung looks out at the boxes again, and all of the things hanging on them and lying on top of them. “It hurts to have it with me,” he says quietly.

          “Then don’t,” Junhyung says firmly. He’s already stepping forward and picking up the nearest box into his arms. “I’ll help you get it back upstairs and I’ll take it all home with me.”

          Hyunseung stares at him incredulously.

          Junhyung offers another tiny smile, picking up another box and dropping it into Hyunseung’s surprised arms so that they’re both carrying one each. “When you’re ready to,” he says, “then they’ll be there for you to take them all back.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m left crying every night

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung thinks of the pain.

          He thinks of how much it hurts—of how it’d be one thing if the wounds are just there and getting ready to start healing, but they aren’t even doing that. The flesh around the gaping holes are still bleeding fresh and new, digging in on themselves, self-destructing, and every time Hyunseung even thinks of Kikwang (even says his name out loud), it gets deeper and deeper.

          He knows healing is possible—knows that it’ll happen.

          Healing is possible but dealing with the pain isn’t.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s tearing me apart

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyunseung looks into Junhyung’s eyes. “How am I supposed to know if I’m ready or not?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

And only leaving me wounds

 

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung breathes in and out deeply—slowly—his shoulders moving up and down visibly. He gazes down thoughtfully at the box in his arms for a moment before looking up and meeting Hyunseung’s eyes. “You know for sure,” he says, with a last hesitant smile before turning around and heading back into the hotel, “when you fall in love with someone new.”