hyukjae

When Hyukjae sits down next to the man, it feels a bit like welcoming back an old friend.

Days have passed since he last saw him, and snow has fallen and then melted, but he’s still there, waiting. It’s like he never left. Hyukjae wonders, hopes, in a wordless whisper, if maybe it’s him that he’s waiting for.

It’s someone that Hyukjae meets maybe only twice or thrice a week, if he’s lucky enough. He doesn’t even know the man’s name; sometimes, he forgets the littles details of his face, of his voice, of the feeling that surges through him when they sit close together. But as Hyukjae settles on the cold bench of the bus station, just a few inches from the man, he thinks, it’s not been that long, after all.

“Hello,” Hyukjae says, like it’s a secret. The vowels of his words fade into the crisp air like white condensation. “Going on an adventure again?”

The man smiles. Hyukjae does, too, a small reward for a job well done.

“Yes,” the man says, and his voice is quiet and soothing in the grey of another listless morning. Wind blows around them then, invisible fingers running through his unruly hair like a ruffle or maybe