Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more:
It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

-Macbeth; Act V, Scene 5

Howon does see Sunggyu around. Sunggyu smiles at him passing by, acknowledges him with a nod when he sits down beside him during lunch, but they never talk.

It’s an art, the act of sitting in silence. It’s tricky, how to make the silence comfortable, but Howon thinks it’s okay. Everything is okay if Sunggyu is smiling, which he is most times. He smiles at his notebook, tilts his head with a smile, and writes smiling. Howon wonders how such an expression can look so soft, and how ethereal a person can look wearing it.

“Are you a creative writing major?” Howon finally asks one day, breaking their silence. Sunggyu glances at him, smiles, and continues to write.

“Yes,” he answers, pen never stopping its journey across the page. “I live off my imagination. What about you, Howon?” He puts down his pen, leans his elbows on the table, and smiles. “What do you do?”

Howon wants to reply, he really does, but the smile on Sunggyu’s face makes his heart beat and his breath quicken, and he feels a prickling heat crawl up his face.

“I’m in chemistry,” he finally says. He looks away, clears his throat, and misses Sunggyu’s head tilt. When he looks back, Sunggyu’s smile has shifted slightly to the right - Sunggyu’s left - and his gaze has turned just a bit more interested.

“Tell me about it,” he says quietly. “Tell me about yourself, your life. I want to know you, Howon.”

The day slowly passes, and Howon tells Sunggyu about his family, his brothers, his dreams. He tells him how he once crashed a car into a neighbor's front lawn, how he once almost fell from a tree onto the ground, how he once accidentally knocked over a candle and nearly set the house on fire. Sunggyu chuckles, laughs, and nods, resting his face in one hand. His eyes remain fixated on Howon, never wavering, and Howon finds himself breaking under it.

“What about you, hyung?” he asks, a challenge faintly shining in his eyes. Sunggyu hums, pulling himself up, and stretches.

“Well, Howon…”

Howon learns a lot about Sunggyu. He learns that Sunggyu was born into a poor family, that his parents worked long hours for short wages, that he never had time to find himself. He learns that Sunggyu once found two baby birds on the ground, took them home, and took care of them. He learns that when they died, Sunggyu cried. He learns that Sunggyu loved to read, was intelligent beyond his years, yearned to find his place in society. Howon smiles, hums, and nods, leaning his weight on his elbows. His gaze drifts to Sunggyu’s hands, elegant and refined, and listens to Sunggyu’s melodious voice.

Sunggyu could have been a pianist, Howon thinks in a daze. He could have been anything he wanted to be, if only he could have had it.

“Lee Howon?” Sunggyu’s soft voice breaks into his thoughts. Howon lets his gaze travel back to Sunggyu’s face. Sunggyu is still smiling, although now, it seems to be a sad smile.

“You need to sleep.” Sunggyu stands up, gathering his notebook. “I’ll see you around, Howon.”

He throws back one last dazzling smile, and Howon feels his heart break.