Mark wakes to the revolting taste of vomit in his mouth, and opens his eyes to a dimly lit room. He sits up with much struggle, and a crushing pain pierces through his head, causing him to wince. He recognises the furniture: the desk, the photo-frames, Jackson’s Marvel posters and his laptop by the side – he is in his room, but the heavy curtains are closed. Weird, because they never shut their curtains. Having sunlight streaming into the room in the morning helps them wake up, and they never do on time, always sleeping like the dead.

 

He also realises he is not on his top bunk, but instead on Jackson’s bed. The owner of the bed, as Mark assumes, is the reason for the substantial weight pressing onto his lower body alongside the pins and needles in his legs. He squints at the figure on the other end of the bed, but with his morning vision and terrible headache, he can hardly make out that that is a human.

 

A narcotic heaviness still clings deliciously at his limbs. He groans, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva, before retreating under the duvet. Considering he feels as alive as a fish out of water, he gathers that last night was insane. Although, he only remembers getting into the Rogue, and nothing after that.

 

Jackson shifts at his feet, stirring from his sleep. He asks lazily, “what time is it?” Except, it isn’t Jackson’s voice. It is softer, more high-pitched, and if Mark is not creeped from this alarming situation he would describe it as soothing, like smooth red wine.

 

“Who are you?” he demands as the stranger sits up. His heart is trembling in slight fear, less for the possibility of the unfamiliar young man murdering him viciously, than for that of him having done something he shouldn’t have with him. Especially since the intruder looks so young, almost underage. It could be illegal.

 

“You don’t remember me, hyung?” the stranger asks, ruffling his bed hair strategically to look his best on a post-party morning. “I’m Bambam. We met last night.”

 

Mark stares at Bambam – such an outlandish name, he thinks – and swallows nervously. Did they…? 

 

“We did nothing,” assures Bambam, laughing lightly, to which Mark stones at. This is nowhere close to funny. He wakes up in the morning with a horrid hangover, loses his ability to recall his memories, and now a stranger is in his room, on the same bed as him.

 

“Just in case you were wondering, which you looked like you were,” Bambam adds.

 

“Then, w-w-why are you in m-my room?” Mark falters.

 

Bambam laughs again. “Well, between you and I, nothing happened. But with Jackson, let’s just say we had a lot of fun together.”

 

Mark cringes. He does not need to know about Jackson’s ual life, especially with a seemingly underage boy. In fact, he thinks Jackson should prepare himself, in case the cops come knocking at their door any minute. That reminds him, if Bambam is the one sleeping on the bed with him, where is Jackson?

 

“Okay um, leave it at there. Where is Jackson then?”

 

“He is…” Bambam scans around the room and Mark’s eyes follow, only realising now how disorganised the place is. Their shoes are littered across the floor, and left behind multiple muddy trails of macabre, unmatched footprints; their socks somehow find their way to the potted plants, sprouting from them like rancid Rafflesia; and their jackets lump together to form a new doormat. “…here! Look at him, sleeping like a babe.”

 

Mark sees what Bambam is seeing: Jackson sprawled across the floor at the other side of the bed like a corpse, drool accumulating at the corners of his mouth, far from a babe. Callously, he throws the pillow at his snoring friend, and it smacks him right in his face. Bullseye! 

 

“Wha-ahh! Pffft! What the !” Jackson awakes with a shock. He slaps the pillow off his ghastly puffy face and mutters a string of profanities with his hoarse voice.

 

“Language, Jacks. There’s a kid in the room,” reminds Mark. He has no sympathy for Jackson now. After all, he is the reason why Bambam is in their room. What happened to the “no hook-ups allowed in their room” rule that Jackson always preaches?

 

“Hey, I’m twenty. A full-fledged adult!” Bambam defends, looking very offended. Mark thinks he must be the kind of kid that goes around showing off the baby shoots of his armpit hair when they start to grow (little did he know they are, up to this date, still non-existent).

 

“Oh, Bambam! You’re here!” Jackson beams. “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Not as well as you did, hyung. Your bed is really comfortable though, I haven’t been in such a deep sleep for–”

 

“Wait!” Mark interrupts, not believing his ears. Are they for real? How can they be talking about the comfort level of the bed right now? What is going on? He looks at Jackson and says, “I don’t care about your relationship and won’t haggle over your little boyfriend being in our room without my permission. But, if you were not the one who brought Bambam – and me – back, how did we get home?”

 

Jackson tightens his upper lip, raising his eyebrows like it is a stupid question. “We came back on our own, duh. Who cares how? If we walked, it’s good exercise. If we took a car, I probably paid for it so you don’t need to complain.”

 

“So, you don’t remember,” Mark comments.

 

“Ha!” Jackson flicks his wrist, directing a dismissive hand gesture at Mark. “You mean, you don’t remember? Were you that drunk?”

 

“Actually,” Bambam corrects, “we did not get back here on our own. Sorry, Jackson hyung, you really were too drunk to remember.”

 

Jackson pouts, making his disappointment clear.

 

“You’re still cute though,” Bambam winks, and Mark pukes in his throat.

 

“Anyway,” he continues, “I was wasted too, of course, but I kinda remembered a guy bringing us back. I think he was Mark hyung’s friend?”

 

“My friend? Who? Jaebum?” Mark wonders aloud.

 

“I don’t know him, but he came over after you called. You must have had a lot to tell him, hyung, being able to drunk-call for so long!”

 

“I did?” Mark is befuddled. What did he have to say to Jaebum? 

 

“Yes, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but it was hard to ignore some parts when you started swearing, and then suddenly, you were sobbing like a baby. You’re saying you don’t remember any of that?”

 

“I don’t! Not at all,” says Mark. He will have some explaining to do to Jaebum later. Being the Buddha of the group, the only “enlightened” one, Jaebum will understand. At least that is what Mark is counting on.

 

Jackson lets out a long hum. “I’m sure it’s nothing important. We’ll just treat Jaebum to a meal to thank him for his transport services. Big guy, strong arms – he probably carried us three at one go,” he says.

 

“Actually, that wasn’t what happened,” Bambam corrects once again. Mark is secretly loving that there is someone to point out that Jackson, a.k.a Mr. Know-It-All, is wrong. “He only carried Mark hyung and left me to carry you. I love your guns and abs but, honestly, with all that muscle weight, it’d be nice if you cut down on those protein shakes.”

 

“Nope, you’ll disagree when you see me in bed.”

 

“You’ll be surprised to know how I am not inferior to you.”

 

“Uh, hello? I’m still here?” Mark reminds, disgusted. If he wasn’t in the same room as them, he can bet Jackson and Bambam will be all over each other by now. Also, didn’t they just met last night? If such fast progress is considered normal, Mark guesses he will never get married.

 

“Sorry not sorry,” snickers Jackson. “Anyway, you’d better prepare for a tongue-lashing from Jaebum hyung. Get your umbrella ready, he will shower you with his spit.”

 

“It’s going to be that bad?” Mark frowns, his flesh already crawling at the thought of angry Jaebum.

 

“Um, remember? Him and Youngjae? I am going to assume they were in the middle of some intense ion when you called,” Jackson shrugs, as if he is saying “your problem, not mine.” 

 

“What’s ion?” Bambam asks.

 

Jackson narrows his eyes in disbelief, then pats Bambam adoringly on his back. “And you wanted to impress me in bed, darling? It means to make love, have , to .”

 

“Why didn’t you just use ‘’ then? I repeat, I’m not twelve, I’m twenty,” Bambam emphasises on his age once again, giving Mark a deliberate glare.

 

“Have you seen Im Jaebum? He looks like he has a stick up his 24/7.  is too y for him. ion is about right.”

 

Mark is close to screaming at them to take the wayward conversation somewhere else when the door opens. Like meerkats they turn their heads together to the infiltrator, and Mark almost drops his jaw to the ground when he sees Jinyoung walking in. The conversation quickly shifts.

 

“Jinyoung,” he says, like one would state when pointing at objects in a picture book to teach a kid new vocabulary. There is a moment of awkward silence, as always when Jinyoung is in the same space as Mark. Meanwhile, Jackson switches his focus from Jinyoung, to Mark, to Jinyoung and Mark again, and he lets out an “ah” like he just experienced a philosophical awakening.

 

“You are Jinyoung,” he says in replacement of a greeting. “Why are you here?”

 

It is exactly as Mark wants to ask, but he is still astounded to the degree of being tongue-tied. The aching in his skull returns, ebbing and flowing like a cold tide.

 

“Hello,” Jinyoung greets, not sparing a glance at Jackson and looking straight at Mark. His voice chills Mark to the bone; he sounds like he doesn’t want to be there. “Just dropping by to return your shirt,” he says.

 

“Oh,” Mark says first. A stunted pause follows before he stands to take the shirt, and he notices belatedly that he reeks of alcohol. His hands turn clammy, anxious for a possible contemptuous comment from Jinyoung. After all, they did not end on a good note yesterday. “Oh alright, thanks. But, why didn’t you call?”

 

There is a glimmer of surprise and something unreadable on Jinyoung’s face. “What do you mean?”

 

Mark blinks confusedly. At the side, Bambam stares at Jinyoung with a sort of intensity that can easily be misinterpreted for a call for a challenge.

 

“Oh,” Bambam says suddenly, clapping his hands in revelation.

 

Mark notices that Bambam has stood up and taken position right behind him. He also doesn’t like the sound of his “oh”.

 

“You are that friend,” he announces. There is a silence, during which Mark feels acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with Jinyoung.

 

“I am that friend?” Jinyoung echoes.

 

“Yes, Mark hyung’s friend that brought us back. You were the one Mark hyung called last night. Am I right?”

 

“What?” Mark exclaims, in unison with Jackson. His head spins and his brain feels like it is swelling beyond the capacity of his skull. It is no longer the effects of his hangover; the sky is, now, truly crashing down on him.

 

“No…?” Jinyoung lies through his clenched teeth. His lost eyes give away his intention to keep that a secret, but the beans are already spilt.

 

“Oh my god, Mark,” Jackson says, making a vague gesture towards Jinyoung. “He is holding our room keys. It is true. !”

 

 is right. Mark cannot believe that he didn’t notice the jangle of keys in Jinyoung’s hand and that he walked straight into their room as though he lived here. He also cannot accept that he didn’t check his call history – which he does only now, fingers moving like a frantic spider, to confirm it is true.

 

“Okay, fine. It was me. But now that I see you guys are fine, can I go?” says Jinyoung. For the first time, he looks just as uncomfortable as Mark.

 

“No!” comes Mark’s impulsive reaction. He needs to find out what venom he spat last night in his imprudence, what possibly outrageous things he revealed, and mostly importantly, how Jinyoung reacted to it. His memories have dissipated along with all the alcohol in his liver, and there is no way of retrieving them back on his own.

 

He casts a helpless look at Jackson, pleading for his understanding to find some occasion, take Bambam away and leave the room. Jackson widens his eyes, contemplating the request, before mouthing a self-assured “OK” to Mark.

 

“Yeah, Jinyoung, don’t leave! Jaebum’s meal belongs to you,” chimes Jackson. Wrong cue. Brakes, brakes! Ignorant to Mark violently shaking his head, he continues to explain, “we thought Jaebum hyung brought us back here so we promised to give him a meal. But now that we know it’s you, the meal is rightfully yours! What do you like to eat? Korean? Western?”

 

No. No. No. And Jackson had to say it so brightly, it is impossible to reject. Not even someone as cold and unpredictable as Jinyoung can resist his glib tongue.

 

“You seriously need to take Mark out to a good restaurant so he can taste human food. Not those disgusting noodles he always eats – oh! You’ve seen it, haven’t you?” chatters Jackson. He is suddenly Jinyoung’s new best friend and they have more things to talk about than the number of words in all volumes of Encyclopaedia Britannica.

 

“Um, yes?”

 

“Great! Then you know just as well as I do!” Jackson checks the time on his watch. “Look, it’s already late enough for lunch. I bet you haven’t had lunch, having to take care of us bunch of smelly inebriates – ha-ha!”

 

Jinyoung blinks at Jackson placidly, his eyes balled and heavy-lidded like a tortoise. “You’re welcome, it’s not a problem.”

 

Mark is blown away at the sedate reaction of Jinyoung. He can never understand, not when he is already completely drenched in his cold sweat. Where they are going is crazy on so many levels.

 

“I take that as acceptance for Mark to buy you lunch!” Jackson snaps his fingers triumphantly, at it again with his hero complex. “And you know what? Drumrolls please?”

 

Only Bambam complies, rolling his knuckles against the wooden bed frame, and Jackson smiles delightedly. “I have pizza coupons! 1-for-1 personal pizza! On a scale of one to ten, how good does that sound?”

 

Negative infinity, Mark thinks, and Jinyoung seems to agree.

 

“I really don’t think I should join you guys. It’s no problem, really, you don’t have to thank me,” he says.

 

“Nonsense!” Jackson dismisses. He is not one to let his original plans stray. Pulling Bambam to his side and snuggling into his neck, not one bit aware of the indecency of his public display of affection, he says, “I have plans with Bambam. So unless you want to see us eat each other’s faces off at the lunch table–”

 

“–no thanks,” Jinyoung cuts in.

 

“There you go! Come on, just go for lunch with Mark or he will be all over me tonight, crying and complaining about how you are ignoring him again. He might not look like one, but he’s a real whiner.”

 

Mark doesn’t know whether to laugh at the absurdity of his plight or cry because his best friend just threw him under the bus. Jinyoung is judging him right now, he imagines, he is shaking his head with a throbbing vein in his neck, belittling me and thinking I am a creep… 

 

“Fine,” Jinyoung gives in. From the hundreds of scenes that fleeted through Mark’s mind in that short period before the reply, this is not one of them. They say a planned life is a dead life; to Mark, an unplanned life is a dead death. 

 

---

 

 

The ‘L’ in Mark’s luck is replaced by an ‘F’.

 

Firstly, Bambam is no “full-fledged adult”. He is a baby, a freaking fussy foetus; that or he is pregnant with unstable hormones. He insisted on having pizza, and initially Mark thought that it could benefit him if they end up going together as four. However, Jackson had other plans, deeming it essential for them to be together, minus Mark and Jinyoung. Bambam refused to change his mind. So, the exchange of plans occurred, despite Jackson acting all reluctant as if he was trading world secrets.

 

Mark ends up with vouchers to a fancy restaurant. That means two things: one, he has to sit through a full-course meal with Jinyoung and not just have after gobbling up a burger with fries; two, he cannot just choose to abandon the vouchers given to him because everything will be too expensive to afford considering he is a broke student. Both become unavoidable reasons why he cannot just run away from the White Day Special vouchers Jackson has so generously bestowed him with.

 

Spring is in full bloom and the restaurant is on board with the flowery decorations, from daisies delicately embroidered on the table cloth to the attention-seeking bouquet of roses set between him and Jinyoung. If it were a date with his mother, it would seem more appropriate, because there is something dated and rustic about the interior (he is seriously questioning Jackson’s taste in date venues). He knows he is right when he notices every couple in the restaurant is at least a decade older than them, and is already embarrassed enough by that until a bubbly waitress comes to make things worse.

 

She gushes and speaks with unnerving vigour, praising time and time again that Mark and Jinyoung are a cute couple (they remind her every time that they are not, which somehow tickles her even more) and promising that they will enjoy their “specially designed menu for two”. Then, she definitely outdoes her job by offering candles, chocolates, and even one of those frivolous fruity drinks with spiral straws meant for couples to share.

 

Mark’s stomach feels like a piranha is gnawing its way out of it. Hohoho, he feels festive alright. He barely manages to chase the over-enthusiastic waitress away after shoving the vouchers in her face, and then he finds himself staring at his lap absently, having no courage to look at his alleged “date”.

 

They don’t speak for the bulk of the meal, the only sounds between them being the clinking of cutlery against their plates. As much as he is curious of what Jinyoung is currently thinking, he lacks the capacity to guess because he hasn’t looked at him once. And then, of course, when he looks up for the first time, their eyes meet.

 

It is not like he was expecting heaven to be kind for once, but he still gets shocked as he finds himself in direct eye contact with Jinyoung. A coil of fear wrenches in his stomach. There is no reason to maintain silence now, and they both know it.

 

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison. It brings grudging laughter to finally break the ice.

 

“I’m sorry,” repeats Mark, “that you have to go through all of this because of me. What happened yesterday in school, last night and now this–” The subtle upward quirk of Jinyoung’s mouth tells Mark he is smothering a laugh.

 

“–darn ridiculous situation we are in. I must have brought you a lot of trouble, Jinyoung. I’m truly sorry,” he finishes all in one breath. It is only when he stops talking that he feels his heart palpitating forcefully against his chest, relieved that they are finally talking but also on edge for what Jinyoung has to say.

 

“I’m sorry too,” Jinyoung says softly, his eyes unfocused as if he is reflecting on something. “I take back my words. I didn’t mean it that way.”

 

Mark puts down his fork. “What?”

 

“I mean, I take back what I said about not being friends. You’re great, Mark. You are funny in your own way, so genuine as a person, and you’re easy to talk to. You would make an amazing friend, but I said something so… insensitive.”

 

The shower of praises sparks something in Mark; he feels warm and tingly, like someone lit fireworks in his heart. He knows he will look stupid if he stares at his feet bashfully, but his body reacts that way without his permission. Jinyoung is like wild ivy, growing anywhere it pleases – saying anything he wants and it is never predictable.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t offended in any way,” Mark lies. It is already a challenge to maintain a semblance of normalcy in front of Jinyoung, like them talking so casually is normal after a major disagreement the day before, and he now has to lie to not spoil the mood.

 

Jinyoung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Don’t lie to me. From the insults you were hurling at me last night through the phone last night, I am surprised you’re not holding me by the knife right now.”

 

“I did what? I insulted you?” It’s coming back at him – the alcohol. He knew it. He knew it will do more than destroy his liver.

 

“Within my knowledge of vocabulary, yes, they were pretty major insults. You mum would have slapped you if she heard you saying those… do people even call them words?” Jinyoung says cheekily. He is clearly enjoying himself teasing Mark, and more than being flustered, Mark is intrigued at this new side of Jinyoung. He sees again a flash of joy, a child-like innocence that is usually obscured by his poker face and chilling words. Why is he hiding that side of him?

 

“Oh crap, I’m sorry,” Mark apologises sheepishly. “What else did I say?”

 

“Oh, nothing much really,” says Jinyoung, before transforming into the talented actor that Mark knows he is and he begins to perform his best impression of Mark. “You remember me, didn’t you? From when you gave me those stupid, problematic noodles! Why! Why did you ignore me when we met in class? Do you hate me? Do you hate me, Jinyoung ah? Boo-hoo!”

 

“Gosh, don’t continue! That is so embarrassing!” Mark groans, but soon cannot contain his growing smile as he watches Jinyoung slap the table and double over with mirth. He can never buy a conversation as pleasant as this. It is safe to say that never in his life has he enjoyed himself so much when the topic of conversation is about his embarrassing deeds. The laughter that bubbles between them also make the earlier tension seem so mediocre and unnecessary.

 

As the wave of merriment dies away, Jinyoung morphs back into his stoic manner. “You know, you don’t have to care so much about what others think of you. Just be yourself, before it’s too late to regret.”

 

“It’s that obvious?” Mark asks, and Jinyoung nods without hesitation.

 

“You mean, you don’t find what I do shameful? Not at all?” Mark cannot quite wrap his head around that idea, even though, many times Jackson has told him he is the abnormal and over-sensitive one.  

 

Jinyoung hums and his eyes sparkle. “No, not at all! In fact, you sobbing over the phone is about the most adorable thing I’ve witnessed in a long time!”

 

“Adorable?” Mark chokes, bursting into a fit of coughs to hide his astonishment. “Jinyoung, I’m pretty sure I’m hyung to you. ‘Adorable’ is not for you to say!”

 

“Adorable hyung you are then!” Jinyoung teases good-naturedly. The laugh that Mark lets out feels fuller already. Sitting opposite Jinyoung in comfort feels right. It feels good.

 

The waitress arrives and interrupts their banter. She is here to clear their dishes. As she leaves, she sends an inconspicuous wink to Mark and mouths something along the lines of “enjoy your day with him”, and Mark wonders if that is how they appear to the public: sweethearts on a regular date at the restaurant.

 

He would attribute this to his own mental ersity, some degenerate vagary of thought, a projection of his own desire – because from others’ approving looks and smiles in recognition of them as a couple, the thought of them together brings, along with the predictable twinges of embarrassment and surprise, another very much sharper one of excitement.

 

He catches himself thinking about how nice it would be to spend the rest of his life with Jinyoung. It is the first time he admits to himself his yearning for a relationship. It is pleasing, a sensation akin to a rush of endorphins in his blood. But it is perhaps because he knows it is not possible that he dares to indulge in these fantasies; it is not possible, from what Jinyoung had said himself.

 

Some things should stay the way they are, he had said. He made it clear as day.

 

“Jinyoung, can I ask you a question?” asks Mark, now used to casually letting his thoughts slip.

 

“Sure, go ahead, hyung.”

 

“Why did you tell me that some things should stay the way they are?”

 

Silence. There is a flicker of hesitation in Jinyoung’s eyes as he looks at Mark, like he wanted to say something but chooses to keep it to himself. Instead of answering, he throws back another completely unrelated question: “do you like dogs?”

 

It is not what Mark expects to hear, but he replies anyway, assuming Jinyoung changed the subject because he doesn’t want to talk about yesterday. “Yes, I love dogs. In fact, I adopted one back in the States. Why?”

 

“Would you adopt a dog, knowing that one day it will leave you, and forget you?”

 

“Hmm, I would. I definitely would.”

 

“Don’t you think it’s selfish for the dog to receive your care and then abandon you like that?” Jinyoung urges. His sincere tone makes even a trivial question like that sound paramount.

 

“Yes, it is selfish,” says Mark, and Jinyoung looks crestfallen right away. He continues, “it is selfish, but that wouldn’t change my mind. It just wants some love.”

 

“You think being selfish is okay?”

 

Mark contemplates for a moment.

 

“Yes,” he says. “I think being selfish is okay, because there is always a good reason behind selfishness. It’s normal, Jinyoung. It’s normal to be selfish.”

  

---

 

 

Jinyoung doesn’t ignore Mark anymore. Mark thinks they are at least “friends” now, unless friends don’t hang out together, have lunch together and study together. It is always enjoyable; being with Jinyoung gives him peace and quiet, time to do his own things while having company, a well-needed contrast from Jackson’s ludicrous shenanigans.

 

In their time spent together, Mark discovers some things about Jinyoung.

 

Firstly, Jinyoung loves books. His attachment to books is not that of a mere hobby, but one that is ingrained in his life. The books he read have a vice-like grip on his mind, as Mark realises, his emotions vary greatly with the contents of his books. It is as though their twisted reality distorts his own, challenging the once mundane facts of his existence, bringing him into a new turbulent realm where even his sense of self was up for grabs.

 

There was once Jinyoung was reading Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, and by two hours after pouring into the book, he was hopping mad.

 

“This is blasphemous!” he had exclaimed, his vocabulary in line with the timeframe in the book. “The abuse of power by these cruel and ignorant people is unbelievable! They caused this poor black man to be falsely accused and this is j-just… unjust!”

 

Jinyoung went on to ask Mark for his opinion but Mark only gave a perfunctory hum. He was more charmed by how engrossed Jinyoung was, highly entertained by his furious chatter and reddening face. His strong sense of empathy for the characters is admirable, but his reactions – the way he flails his arms dramatically in the air and goes into a passionate debate with the lifeless characters – are simply adorable.

 

They spend most of their time together in the library, as it is Jinyoung’s favourite place and Mark doesn’t mind it. Rows and rows of books with their spines facing outwards, coded with colourful dots, a potpourri of ideas in harmonious order: it inspires a magnificent laziness Mark has not known since birth. It is placid, cozy, just like Jinyoung’s presence.

 

Every single time, without fail, as soon as Jinyoung sets foot into the library, he makes a beeline towards the shelves, picking books off like they were cherries on a tree which he would consume immediately without any digression.

 

“Jinyoung ah, why are you reading so intensely?” Mark had asked out of curiosity.

 

“I want to finish as many books as possible in my lifetime!” came Jinyoung’s reply, his eyes never once left the words in his book.

 

“Take your time. You have plenty of time left to read books in your life,” said Mark while beaming at the younger in fascination. “You’re barely a quarter into your life, Jinyoung.”

 

Jinyoung didn’t reply.

 

Perhaps he was transported into the reality of the book in his hands, fighting off demons and saving damsels in his reverie, that he had not heard Mark.

 

The second thing Mark discovers is that Jinyoung is a klutz. He does not look like it, but he is extremely forgetful, like there is a hole in his brain and information spews out constantly. Sometimes, he forgets his keys, having to call Mark and chat for hours as he waits at the door for his parents to return from work. Sometimes, he forgets the timings of his classes, always having hilarious stories to tell such as when he interrupted a female yoga class by accident. And sometimes, he even presses the wrong floor button when he visits Mark at the dorms (“don’t you stay on the fifth floor, hyung?”).

 

Mark thinks the younger must be swamped with work to forget these minute details. Also, Jinyoung being a perfectionist does not help much, for he would always fault himself when these memory slips happen, chiding himself all day long. And then Mark would have to coax him with barbeque or sashimi, which increasing frequency successfully burnt a hole in his pocket.

 

But he doesn’t mind, because the wrinkles at the corners of Jinyoung’s eyes when he smiles are priceless.

 

Finally, Mark learns that Jinyoung needs his alone time. In this aspect they are comparable, since they are both introverts. However, when Jinyoung requires solitude, he disappears from the face of Earth. No calls or texts, and sometimes he even misses an entire day of classes.

 

It is during times like these when Mark truly apprehends the idiom: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Jinyoung’s companionship, albeit a quiet one, is prominent in Mark’s life. If Mark stops to dwell for just a fraction of a second, he is reminded of Jinyoung. He wants to share with him the superficial specifics of what he had for lunch, what happened in class and what he saw on the way home, but he can’t. Ironically, he feels empty from bottling up these stories in himself.

 

It is during times like these that Mark misses Jinyoung.

 

But he doesn’t mind, because when Jinyoung returns and the first thing he says is “I miss you, hyung”, it is like his suffering from being alone never happened.

 

---

 

“I miss you, Mark.”

 

“Eww, don’t be disgusting,” Mark growls at Jackson, who has just interrupted his quiet lunch with an aggravating, loathsome confession. The noise that Jackson makes comes from deep within his throat, reminiscent of a snorting pig. He places his food tray on the table and sits beside Mark.

 

“I am being serious, okay. I hardly see you nowadays, it is like some alien abducted you,” Jackson complains.

 

“It is not like me being around makes a difference. Remember when you said talking to me was like talking to a wall?” Mark shrugs. He nudges Jackson away from his side. “Can you sit opposite me? Why squeeze me like we’re a can of sardines?”

 

“Jaebum hyung and Youngjae are coming. And I am extremely disappointed that you find my presence comparable to that of a smelly sardine. I showered yesterday, okay?”

 

Mark scans Jackson from head-to-toe; he is in his sports attire which is still damp from his earlier work-out, his hair still dripping with sweat. “Sure,” he sighs.

 

Jackson grabs a bunch of fries and shoves them in his mouth. “So,” he begins with his mouth full, “where’s your alien? You know, the one who abducted you to the library and transformed you into a bookworm?”

 

“Jinyoung is not an alien. And I am not a bookworm.”

 

“How is it that you spend full days in the library then? You hate books!” Jackson says, then lowers his voice to a hushed, scandalised tone, “and you hate the creepy librarian. You know, the one who remembers everyone’s shoe sizes?”

 

“It’s a nice place. It’s quiet, I like quiet places.”

 

“More like you like Jinyoung,” Jackson teases, and Mark has to stop chewing in case he bites his own tongue.

 

“Who likes Jinyoung?” a voice booms from the distance, so loud it can possibly be from a loudspeaker. The three words jump at Mark like a shark out of water, and his breathing accelerates, thinking the whole cafeteria might have heard that. It all makes sense when Youngjae appears (his voice has a confounding ability to deafen people temporarily), with Jaebum by his side. They join in at their table.

 

“Mark! Who else?” Jackson spouts.

 

Jaebum sips at his drink. “Well, arguably, it could be you.”

 

“Oh! No way! Don’t let Bambam hear that or I might get killed, man. Plus, I’m not the kind to snatch my best friend’s boyfriend.”

 

All heads turn to Mark, who is now blushing from his neck up. “Ha-ha-ha, not funny!” he laughs nervously. But his friends obviously disagree, and he feels them looking amusedly at him.

 

“I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you two are together,” admits Jaebum, “because technically, you guys are already physically together all the time. Although, of course, you can say you are just friends.”

 

“I am disappointed again, Mark,” Jackson pouts. “I am your best friend and your roommate, and I don’t even see the tip of your nose in our room until midnight every day. Nothing close to physically together like Jaebum hyung is saying. Where have you been?”

 

Mark has been at the library – not because Jinyoung is there but because Jinyoung might turn up there. It has been almost a week, six days to be exact, since Jinyoung retreated to his shell to re-charge. Mark, with the excuse of free air-conditioning, waits in the library like a pet dog to its owner every day, hoping Jinyoung would just materialise some day with his usual stack of books.

 

“Not with Jinyoung,” he says.

 

Jackson widens his eyes in mock horror and amazement. What he said seems to pique Youngjae’s interest as well. “Why? Where is he?”  

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I take back my words about you two always being together,” Jaebum says flatly.

 

“This makes no sense at all. You mean he hasn’t contacted you? How many days has it been? You have no idea where he is?” Jackson grills Mark like he is a suspect in an interrogation room, the firing questions putting him on edge.

 

“He hasn’t contacted me, but he will come back soon. It’s just a Jinyoung thing, okay? It has been almost a week. And no, I have no idea where he is,” replies Mark, increasingly frustrated at the direction of the conversation.

 

“Why? How is that possible?”

 

He doesn’t know. No matter how many questions Jackson or the others ask him, he doesn’t know the answers. Blood hammers nightmarishly at his temples.

 

“I said, I don’t know!” he cries, instigating a stressful silence at the table. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighs, “you’re not the only ones who want to know why he is gone for so long, okay? I want to know too! It happened before, for one day, yes. Three days, maybe. But almost a week? Never!”

 

Jaebum looks at Mark steadily. To him, Mark is as easy to read as an open dictionary. Disregarding Mark’s upset state, he speaks, in a manner similar to reciting a speech, articulating each word clearly for his friend. “Newsflash: you like Jinyoung.”

 

Mark frowns and parts his lips to protest, but Jackson beats him to it by gasping way too loudly. “I knew it! I knew it, I knew it!” he whoops in delight, as if he just won the lottery.

 

When he turns to Youngjae with hopes for some support for his side, the younger disappoints him by following the crowd. “I’m sorry, Mark hyung, but you know Jaebum hyung is never wrong.”

 

“I am never wrong,” Jaebum echoes, a smug grin plastered across his face as he pulls Youngjae into a shoulder hug proudly.

 

“And I am hella confused?” Mark rants. “Why are you all so clear about my feelings? What does that make mine? What does that make me?”

 

“In love?” Youngjae proposes fearlessly.

 

“What?”

 

“He’s right, Mark,” adds Jaebum. “Bystanders see it clearer. Maybe you’re just too clouded with emotions to see through yourself.”

 

“I agree with Professor Jaebum. You prance around like a princess unicorn in our room whenever you have spent the day with Jinyoung. And when you haven’t, you’re like Grinch on an all-broccoli diet,” Jackson points out.

 

“That doesn’t mean anything! Plus, Jinyoung made it clear that it’s not possible,” Mark insists, refusing to give in to what he believes. Or rather, what he has been reminding himself day and night.

 

Youngjae furrows his eyebrows. “You mean he friend-zoned you?”

 

“N-no, not exactly.”

 

“Then?”

 

“I’ve told you guys at The Blue Velvet. He said – quote word by word – some things should stay the way they are.”

 

“So?” Jaebum says, and Mark is thrown off his balance. So… what? It is already a hurtful memory to recall, and he has always been careful not to be too clingy or intrusive to Jinyoung, for fear that he would one day change his mind and run away if Mark crosses the edge. And now, Jaebum just has to throw him a grenade of a question that confuses him even more.

 

“You two are considered friends now, right? That means he already went against his words. His broke his own rules. And once rules are broken, other rules will follow suit,” Jaebum reasons, waving his French fry like a lecturer’s pointer.

 

He continues, “you have to figure out your own feelings, Mark. We can’t help you with that. And if you decide that you truly like Jinyoung, you have to tell him.”

 

“True love conquers all,” Jackson interjects in a sing-song tone.

 

Mark squeezes his eyes shut. There is too much going on: too much information, too much advice. He feels vulnerable with his feelings up for his friends’ discussion, like a lone figure standing still in the middle of a food fight.

 

“Stop thinking, Mark. Your brain is useless for this. Your heart already knows the answer, you will know it when you are with him. And then you tell him how you feel, problem solved,” says Jaebum.

 

“You make it sound so easy,” Mark grumbles.

 

“That’s because it is! I hate to quote Jackson but true love really conquers all. Just take a moment to feel, not think, when you are with Jinyoung. It will all come together. You cannot just hold back how you really feel because of one meagre sentence that Jinyoung probably has already forgotten. Letting a person you like know that you like them, is not just for you. It’s respect for your relationship, whether you are friends or flings –  I don’t know, even strangers!”

 

Mark is driven up a wall. Nothing makes sense. I don’t know. I don’t know anymore. He lets out another exasperated sigh. “But… how?”

 

Jaebum exhales audibly. He says nothing for a while, like he is brooding over a crucial concern, and then resolutely, he straightens his back. He turns to face Youngjae and what comes out of his mouth left all of them stunned.

 

“Youngjae, I like you. I like you very much. I didn’t want to say this in such a circumstance, but I can’t wait anymore. I suddenly just had to tell you. I like you, everything about you.”

 

Youngjae stares at Jaebum unblinking. His adam’s apple moves up and down hesitantly, as he grasps for straws in his brain. What was initially a look of surprise transforms into one of bashfulness, his face now a glowing red and his eyes watery with tears.

 

Jaebum smiles, and Youngjae returns one.

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

 

---

 

At about four in the afternoon, Jinyoung turns up at Mark’s room in an oversized hoodie. He looks like he just woke up, with his usual straight hair tousled in different directions.

 

Mark thought he would simply be delighted to see Jinyoung after days of missing him, but he is overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. While he is mostly relieved that Jinyoung is standing before him unscathed, he is also b with anger, longing for an explanation to his extended disappearance. Besides that, he is feeling jittery, a sentiment he blames Jaebum for from their earlier conversation.

 

“Hey,” Jinyoung starts, his voice wavering. He lets Mark lead him to the bed, where he sits warily at the edge, almost military-like with his feet and knees aligned.

 

“Hey,” says Mark, rigid with tension. Tersely, his eyes flicker to Jinyoung’s bed hair. “Did you just wake up?”

 

“Yeah, how did you know?”

 

Mark reaches out to tidy Jinyoung’s hair, his fingers running through the soft texture, and he doesn’t think it’s spontaneity – doesn’t think it is recklessness than spurred him to touch Jinyoung. His hand is trembling and he knows Jinyoung can feel it too, despite him staying very still and not saying a thing.

 

“All better,” Mark says softly as he pulls his hand away. It is difficult to pretend he is not dying to ask Jinyoung a million questions. Where have you been? Why haven’t you contacted me for so many days? Did something happen? Are you okay? But he restrains himself, deciding to be contented with Jinyoung’s return.

 

“Sorry,” apologises Jinyoung, his clenched fist wrinkling the bed sheet.

 

“Huh?”

 

“For coming here with messy hair and in pyjamas,” he says, and for justification, “I wanted to come here as quickly as possible.”

 

“Oh.” Mark doesn’t know what else to say. It is nothing to be sorry about. On the contrary, he is oddly touched at the imagery of Jinyoung rushing over as soon as he gets out of bed.

 

“Sorry,” Jinyoung says again. 

 

Mark laughs. “You don’t have to be,” he assures, but the younger shifts his eyes nervously. He has more to say.

 

“I mean, for disappearing for almost a week without telling you. You must have been worried, not that I deserve your concern.”

 

Mark remains silent. He is not angry anymore. From the moment Jinyoung apologised to him with those big doe eyes, his pillar of indignation collapsed. Nothing matters anymore, as long as Jinyoung is back by his side. He stares at Jinyoung, taking in his beautiful facial features, basking in the warmth of his blessed presence.  

 

“You’re not going to ask me why?” Jinyoung asks, returning the heated gaze.

 

“No, you would have told me if you wanted to,” says Mark, and before he can activate the filter in his mouth, “I’m just happy you are back.”

 

There is something about the way Jinyoung smiled. The way it caused butterflies to escape from the pit of Mark’s stomach and the way the sun had somehow toppled down from the sky and made a home right there in his heart. Mark smiles back, his face tinged with pink, but for once, not from embarrassment or shame but from pure bliss.

 

Is this what Jaebum was talking about? 

 

He tries not to think as advised, and to focus on feeling. And all he feels is an indescribable happiness. It is not until Jinyoung smiles that he realises how much he missed the crinkled corners of his eyes, his dimpled cheeks and perfectly-aligned teeth. He missed Jinyoung, much more than he imagined.

 

“I’m happy to be back,” says Jinyoung.

 

“Oh dear,” Mark fans his hot face rapidly. “We really have become so cheesy, haven’t we?”

 

They burst into laughter together, the sweet, throaty cadences of Jinyoung’s voice adding a marvellous harmony to Mark’s own.

 

“You have, hyung. I’ve always been like that,” Jinyoung jokes.

 

“Yeah, right. Don’t think I’ve forgotten the days you look at me like you’re an Ice Queen. You used to scare me a little, you know that?”

 

“I scared you?” Jinyoung asks incredulously. “That’s hard to believe! I used to scare you?” His facial features come to life again, his bright eyes sparkling with gaiety.

 

That’s it, Mark thinks. Jinyoung is the closest thing to a perfect human specimen. He was beautiful, yes, but never as blindingly beautiful as now. He is the living reverie for Mark: the mere sight of him sparks an almost infinite range of fantasy, from Greek to Gothic, from vulgar to divine.

 

“Anyway,” Jinyoung speaks again, “I really missed you, Mark hyung.”

 

As soon as Jinyoung says that, the sun comes suddenly from behind a rain cloud, flooding the room with glorious light that wavers on the walls like water. His face bursts into a glowing bloom.

 

A terrible sweetness boils up in Mark. Everything, for a moment – mirror, ceiling, floor – is unstable and radiant as a dream. He feels a fierce, nearly irresistible desire to embrace Jinyoung and keep his close, and to tell him exactly how he is feeling.

 

I like you, Jinyoung. 

 

I like you very much. 

 

And then, the cloud passes over the sun again, and the life went out of everything.

 

“I missed you too,” he says.

  

---

 

  

“Don’t worry, hyung!”

 

“But–” Mark begins, except, his protest falls on deaf ears as Jinyoung scurries to the door with his books before Mark can grab them.

 

“I’m not a baby anymore, I can get home on my own. You’d better focus on your work. Don’t blame me if you can’t graduate! Bye!” Jinyoung yells as he leaves Mark’s room and disappears onto the corridor. Mark listens to his footsteps diminish into the strong, evening wind. He moves to close the door, but ends up standing there, the frigid air burning his face.

 

In a distance, the grass is pale and stiffened with frost, and the last few browned leaves cling to the otherwise bare branches of an oak tree. Mark’s breath rises in visible puffs to join the darkened clouded night sky. It is winter already. He met Jinyoung in spring, and in the blink of an eye, it is down to the last quarter before a full year is complete.

 

“Don’t worry, hyung!” Jackson repeats mockingly, imitating Jinyoung’s voice. “Yes, please, for goodness sake, Mark. Stop being Mr. Worry-pants and sit your fat down. And close the freaking door, it’s like negative two hundred degrees out there.”

 

Mark rolls his eyes, but listens to Jackson anyway. He flops back onto the bed after shutting the door.

 

“Why do you worry so much about him anyway?” Jackson continues while devouring his ninth slice of pizza. “You’re acting like an obsessed boyfriend.”

 

Mark sits up immediately. “You know I’m not his boyfriend,” he says.

 

Yes, Mark likes Jinyoung. Ever since he admitted it to himself, he feels stronger for the younger with each passing day. However, he has yet to confess. Maybe he is still scarred from Jinyoung’s initial rejection to become friends, or maybe he is afraid of the prospect of them breaking up (if they ever got together). Mark is greedy, but cowardly. He wants to be by Jinyoung’s side forever, and unless there is a fool-proof formula to confess and sustain a lifelong relationship, he’d rather stay in status quo.

 

“I know, I know,” deadpans Jackson. “Then act like it? You two are spending so much time together in our room that I’m beginning to consider collecting hotel fees. Pay up, and I’ll throw in my condoms and lube.”

 

“Don’t be disgusting!” Mark shrieks, almost like a teenage girl. Heat is creeping up his neck way too swiftly for the cold weather.

 

“The disgusting ones are Jaebum and Youngjae. It’s such a pity, really. I was rooting for you and Jinyoung the whole time, and then they got together first – um, without my permission? And now I have to watch them feed each other and call each other baby all the time! Who knew Jaebum hyung could be so… scandalous?”

 

“Uh,” Mark clears his throat. “Actually, you and Bambam were the scandalous ones.”

 

“Hey, now, now. Stop reminding me that we broke up. I’m already hurt enough that he left me for this younger, inexperienced dude called Yug – what’s his name again?”

 

“Yugyeom.”

 

“Yes, Yug-whatever. Because he is taller than me? Ha!” Jackson crosses his arms and shakes his head in disbelief. “That boy is going to regret man, once they hit the bed, he will realise the power of my hips!”

 

Mark raises an eyebrow amusedly, then approaches Jackson to give him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “It’s been four months, Jackson. I hate to burst your bubble, but they probably already did it.”

 

Jackson says something – from his exaggerated arm movements Mark can deduce it was in opposition of what he just said, but his attention is drawn to the bunch of keys sitting at the side of the desk. He picks them up and examines them.

 

“Are these yours?” he asks Jackson.

 

“No? Were you even listening to me?” the younger complains, before adding, “and I’m pretty sure those are Jinyoung’s.”

 

“This, is why I worry about Jinyoung,” Mark mutters. And before Jackson can reply, he is out of his room with his winter coat.

 

It is only when Mark steps onto the frosty pavement outside of their dormitory that he realises he forgot his phone. He did not think this through; his actions beat his thoughts again. Jinyoung has been getting increasingly forgetful nowadays and Mark is always on a lookout for him, reminding him of things he needed to bring to school or to take his belongings when he leaves. Most of the time, it is not a serious problem since they are almost always together. But a day like today is not unanticipated.

 

Deciding to take the keys to Jinyoung’s home, he zips up his coat and lightly jogs against the gusty winter wind. Where Jinyoung lives is not far from their college (he has been there twice), at most a twenty-minute walk. If he runs, he might reach in half the time.

 

Mark loves the winter. When winter comes, everyone would hide in their warm apartments, sipping on their pumpkin spiced lattes while cosseted in their leather chairs. But Mark could stand outdoors forever, and listen to the silence that hangs so thickly in the frigid air – the quietness that is so hard to come by especially in college campus. He also enjoys the winter scenery, when everything is so pristine and magical: streetlights misty in the light snowfall, streets blanketed with soft snow, the milky moon like an ornament hung in the midnight sky. The first snowfall has yet to come, but he is already looking forward to winter wonderland.

 

But for now, the cold air is nothing but a hindrance to his speed. He worries that Jinyoung would be stranded outside of his home in the chilling temperatures, and he runs faster with that concern as motivation.

 

When he finally reaches Jinyoung’s place, a quaint little single-storey apartment away from the main roads, he is relieved to see that the porch is empty, meaning Jinyoung’s parents must have been home and let him in. Nevertheless, to make his trip worthwhile, he knocks on the door in hopes to return the keys.

 

Mark would have called, in case he wakes Jinyoung’s parents. Also, he is not the best tantalising talker who can hold riveting table talk with future in-laws. But without his phone, he doesn’t have a choice.

 

It is like his worst fear descended on him when Jinyoung’s mother opens the door. They have met once, but it was so brief that he could hardly greet her properly. And now she is staring at Mark as though he is an unwanted cookie-selling girl scout.

 

“You are?” she asks cautiously.

 

Mark’s arms stiffen by his side as he bends his back into a ninety-degree bow. “H-hello Mrs. Park. I am s-so sorry to interrupt at this time of the n-night. I’m M-mark, Jinyoung’s friend.” He barely finishes his sentence, stuttering from nervousness. His broken speech is perhaps misinterpreted as him shivering and clattering his teeth, as Jinyoung’s mother hurriedly ushers him into the house.

 

“You must be cold, hurry in first and we’ll talk,” she says.

 

Mark originally plans to reject politely and just hand her the keys, but he follows like a child to the Pied Piper. Jinyoung’s mother is too sincere and welcoming for him to say no.

 

“I remember you, Mark. Jinyoung tells me about you all the time,” she begins with a warm smile. Her wrinkles etched at the side of her eyes remind Mark of Jinyoung’s, except she looks much more tired. Without her smile, it would even look as though she is sick of life. “What brings you here?”

 

“Oh, is Jinyoung not in?” he asks, puzzled.

 

“Not yet, but don’t worry. He called to say he would be dropping by somewhere.”

 

Where? And this late? Mark cannot help but wonder, but Jinyoung’s mum doesn’t elaborate, so he shall not ask. He pulls out the bunch of keys from his pocket and presents them. “He forgot his keys again, so I thought I should bring it over in case you are not in,” he explains.

 

“Ah,” a gentle exclamation leaves . She pauses, looking at a distance as if she is organising her thoughts – a habit Mark thinks Jinyoung got from his mother – and then she smiles again, this time a bit forcefully, with her lips contorted uncomfortably. “Thank you so much for taking care of our Jinyoung.”

 

“You’re very welcome, it’s my pleasure.” Mark returns a courteous smile, and then wastes no time standing up to signify his wish to leave. He doesn’t think it is at all considerate to keep Jinyoung’s mother up when it is almost eleven at night. He bows again and bids farewell. “I don’t think I should stay here any longer, it’s already so late and you need to rest.”

 

To his surprise, Jinyoung’s mother reaches for his hand and holds them tightly. “Wait, Mark,” she says, “I have something to talk to you about.” Her voice is shaky, and Mark sits back down intuitively. He looks at her with worry as she shuffles into a room – likely Jinyoung’s bedroom, which he hasn’t been in despite having visited their apartment before – to retrieve something.

 

She returns with a notebook, which in Mark’s faint memory, he somewhat recognises to be the same notebook he has seen months ago when he stumbled on Jinyoung’s Instagram account. It is the same grid notebook that contained Jinyoung’s bucket list, identifiable by the tattered sides on the cover and the ribbon bookmark sticking out.

 

“I don’t know if I am being a good mother by showing you this. Jinyoung keeps it very private, and he probably doesn’t want you to see it. But I know he values you very much, and you to him too,” Jinyoung’s mother begins. There is a forlorn expression on her face, and her words drag out, full of reminiscence, as though she is speaking of a loved one that has passed on.

 

She continues, “I want to help him as much as I can, even if it means he will resent me. So please, take a look.”

 

To say Mark is confused is an understatement. He is beyond that; the tentative tone of Jinyoung’s mother and the unusual combination of words she spoke fuel a fear deep in his gut. His instincts are sending warning calls to him, and somehow, he knows that nothing good will result from him opening the notebook.

 

His fingers brushes across the cover, and despite its modest exterior, it sends shivers down his spine. Hesitantly, he flips the first page open. Jinyoung’s neat yet artistic handwriting fills the entire page, in an orderly list of what seems like one of those personal-particulars form one has to fill in at a hospital. It has everything, from his full name to his birthdate to his family’s particulars. Mark deciphers that as the immense value of this notebook to Jinyoung, who perhaps had written these information in case he ever loses the notebook.

 

However, as he flips through the other pages, it makes less and less sense. He was expecting a diary, which he wasn’t too far off if he only looked at the front few pages. From seemingly regular diary entries, the contents change drastically from the page of his bucket list onwards. There is a large post-it note on each page, each with short memos on them. But they are not the everyday shopping list or homework reminders.

 

“Your dream is to become an actor.” 

“College: take bus 52.”

 

If one thinks carefully, there is no reason for someone to write down trivial things like that; things that are routine, personal, innate. But Mark isn’t really thinking as he reads in interest, especially when he sees a few mentions of his name.

 

“Met Mark @The Blue Velvet.” 

“Mark likes noodles.” 

“Mark’s dorm room: Block B Floor 4 (not 5!!)” 

 

Nothing could have prepared him for the last note.

 

“Remember this name: Mark Tuan.” 

 

The words stare at Mark like a reproach. Were his thoughts visible, they would be an inverse explosion, crazy chaotic turns and twists of light all coming together to just one conclusion. He knows, he knows what these memos mean and he knows how they come together with so much sense in retrospect with his experience with Jinyoung. But he refuses to say it. Because when he hears himself say it, it will be reinforced as reality.

 

And it must not be reality. It must not.

 

However, against all his wishes, Jinyoung’s mother helps him voice his thoughts. “What you’re thinking is right, Mark,” she says with a trembling voice, “I’m s-so sorry…” She bites her lip tightly in attempt to hide any sound that wanted to escape from , and Mark’s heart sinks. Don’t say it. Please. 

 

Her lower lip quivers as words slowly make their way out of . “It’s Alzheimer’s.”

 

Sometimes, when there's been an accident and reality is too sudden and strange to comprehend, the surreal will take over. It is exactly as Mark is feeling right now.

 

Action slows to a dreamlike glide, frame by frame; the motion of a hand, a sentence spoken, fills an eternity. Little things are magnified, brought from the background in achingly clear focus. It is like a painting too vivid to be real – every piece of furniture, every detail on the wallpaper sharply defined, the lights so bright it hurt him to look at them.

 

He does not cry. He feels dead, like an empty carcass, but he listens to everything Jinyoung’s mother has to say between her sobs. It is early-onset Alzheimer’s disease, so rare for young adults that Jinyoung is the only one in Korea with it. She wants Mark to take care of him, to help him as much as he can until the disease is too severe for him to go to college. And Jinyoung is at the hospital to get his pills as they speak, alone, because he doesn’t want anyone to treat him differently.

 

It is only when Mark steps out of the apartment, when the cold wind blasts at his face that the anguish begins spread in his body. It surges with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by his long intakes of the damp, wintry air. He limps into the distance, not looking at where he is going, too fixated at blaming the gods for this miserable fate. Only the slipping of his feet brings his attention earthward once more, the need to stay upright pulling his mind into the present.

 

He might have walked for more than an hour, he has no idea, wandering lifeless like one of those ghosts who are said to linger around depots late at night, asking passers-by for the timetable of the Midnight Express that derailed twenty years before. 

 

Why? He cannot stop asking himself. Why Jinyoung? Out of so many people in the world, why Jinyoung? Why now? After I’ve fallen for him? 

 

Why is the world so unfair? 

 

The concrete floor begins to spot with water droplets, and as Mark looks up, he sees snow falling, flakes drifting lazily to the ground like confetti. Just a while ago, he was looking forward to the snow. He was feeling happy, excited. He had wanted to experience the first snowfall with Jinyoung.

 

Now, he feels his heart limping in his chest, and is revolted by it, a pitiful muscle, sick and bloody, pulsing against his ribs. What right does he have to be happy? What’s the point of being alive now?

 

His favourite part of his favourite season becomes a nightmare. When the snow alights on his face, it is harsh and biting, far from the enrapturing magic he has known. He had kept his face stubbornly dry; he didn’t want to cry. But as the snow melts instantaneously against his cheek, it rolls down like a lone tear, inviting more to fall.

 

When the first tear escapes his eye, what was denial turns into awareness, and he finally breaks down. Falling to the ground, he strikes his forehead and heart like a man demented, with cries of grief, curses and lamentations.

 

In this swirl of white Mark’s world is washed anew, like a new page, and he doesn’t want it.

 

---

 

  

Mark falls sick the next day. Of course, considering he was crying his eyes out in the winter cold yesterday and refused to head home until Jackson called the school security to engage in an excessive manhunt for him. The security called him various things, from “crazy” to “out of his mind”, but he cares less for their brickbat than for Jackson to find out what had happened. Jackson tried, interrogating him some time in the morning but Mark remained adamant about keeping his lips sealed.    

 

Thankfully, Jackson gave up and left for classes. Yet, leaving Mark alone gave him all the more reason and time to feel sick, and it is not alleviating his suffering in any way. He tries to take his mind off his worries by randomly watching videos on YouTube, but the pounding agony in his head is such that he cannot concentrate on anything, and even compilation videos of babies laughing are useless.

 

Every time he thinks of Jinyoung’s Alzheimer’s, he feels like puking. The nausea swells in a great green wave, trembles at the crest, sinks and rolls again. Mark feels saturated with despair. Everything, he thinks tremulously, everything would be okay if only I could have a few moments of quiet and if I lay very, very still. 

 

It no longer surprises him, knowing he is dogged by misfortune, when Jinyoung knocks at his door and makes himself comfortable in the room before Mark can pretend he is not in (he should never have given Jinyoung spare keys).

 

“Jackson told me you called in sick,” Jinyoung begins, concernedly. He rummages his bag and pulls out an array of things that can possibly set up a pharmacy store, from unidentifiable bottles of sickly, colourful liquids to bandages and gauze which Mark obviously doesn’t need, maybe except to use them to cover his eyes and avoid Jinyoung’s worried gaze.

 

“I’m fine,” Mark croaks. As he says that, waves of heat course through his blood and his body starts to ache. His head aches, his stomach aches, even his bones ache.

 

Jinyoung frowns at him. “You don’t sound fine,” he says, moving towards Mark in the bed and placing a hand over his forehead, “and you don’t feel fine too. Gosh, your fever is bad! Did you wash your face in boiling water or something?”

 

To Mark, the gentle touch of Jinyoung’s hand feels like it is burning through him like a potent catalyst. Without warning, he feels a rush of blustering energy surging through his body, and in an instant, all of his worldly pain evaporated.

 

Except the pain in heart, which grew even more unbearable.

 

How can he act like nothing is wrong? How can he act like he is not in pain? 

 

“Anyway, let me get you fixed up,” says Jinyoung.

 

Jinyoung knows what he is doing, being all motherly with his damp washcloth and apparent expertise in mixing fruity homemade remedies. Throughout his life, Mark has never felt more taken care of. How ironic it is that less than twenty-four hours ago, he is given the important life mission of taking care of Jinyoung.

 

It really hurts him, the pain even more raw now that he is seeing Jinyoung up close. The younger has always been happy – acting like he is happy – when he is with Mark, and he never once showed distress towards anyone because of his condition. But now, Mark sees everything. He sees why Jinyoung avoided him at the start, why he always asked eccentric questions and why he acted like he needs to complete all life goals by the end of the year.

 

As Jinyoung dries off his sweaty forehead for him, Mark stares at him through the moving shadows of the towel. He doesn’t just sneak glances like he usually does, but blatantly stares, wanting to etch every detail of Jinyoung’s face into his heart.

 

Jinyoung does look different from a year ago. His eyes are dark-lidded, with dark shadows beneath them; he really is older, not the bright-eyed boy he had fallen in love with but no less beautiful than that – beautiful now in a way that less excites Mark’s senses than tears at his very heart.

 

“I’m sorry hyung, it’s all my fault,” Jinyoung confesses out of the blue. And Mark stops breathing for a moment. Does he… know? 

 

“I heard from Jackson that you were out to return my keys, which got you so sick,” he continues, showing no knowledge of his mother’s disclosure to Mark. He lets out a huge sigh, and grinds his teeth as he blames himself, “if only I can be less forgetful! I’m always troubling you, Mark hyung, I’m sorry.”

 

Mark wants to yell at Jinyoung, and tell him there is nothing to be sorry about, that he shouldn’t blame himself, that life is the ruthless and unfair and a ing . But he knows better than to behave extraordinarily which would let Jinyoung suffer more than he already is.

 

“It’s alright,” he says instead, feigning a lively attitude – an absolute failure. He is lucky he is ill, and it can be an excuse for his voice cracking uncontrollably every time he speaks.

 

Jinyoung takes no notice, and smiles back. “You’re the best, hyung.”

 

Mark doesn’t deny that he is a coward. In fact, he is the biggest loser of all wimps. His delayed confession to Jinyoung can be pardoned by all sorts of excuses, from it not being the right time or him waiting for when it is clear that his fondness is reciprocated, but that only applies if there’s a guarantee that Jinyoung stays by his side forever. At this moment, the opposite stands true. Jinyoung’s mother has related what the doctors have said about Jinyoung’s condition: instead of his motor skills or judgement, his memory will deprive more quickly, especially the recent ones.

 

A year from now, Jinyoung might not even recognise Mark on the street. And as heartbroken as Mark is, he is in a dilemma, like at the start of a two-way junction. Which is right? To confess and possibly make Jinyoung feel apologetic for not being able to promise anything, or to keep his feelings to himself and never give Jinyoung a chance to know them before he forgets and moves on?

 

Both seem wrong. But the correct answer in Mark’s heart would take a miracle – no, infinite number of miracles combined – to happen.

 

“Jinyoung ah,” he begins cautiously, his voice barely audible.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“S-stay with me,” Mark mumbles. It is his wish, a wish he would trade anything with for it to come true.

 

“I can’t stay with you all day, hyung. I have a class in the evening,” Jinyoung laughs as he ruffles Mark’s hair affectionately.

 

“No,” Mark says, more seriously this time, “I mean, stay with me, forever.”

 

Jinyoung stops laughing. He gently pushes a stray hair away from Mark’s eyes, but looks away as he replies: “I will.”

 

They both say nothing, but it is the most excruciating moment, because they both know very well, that that is an empty promise made.

 

---

 

 

When Mark gets better, he falls into a deceiving illusion that everything is back to normal. Life goes on, as distressing as it is, and he is ashamed to say that there are many times he forgot about Jinyoung’s Alzheimer’s. Maybe it is just his defence mechanism working, blocking out all thoughts on that and bringing him back to the fluffy, wondrous days of just wasting his life watching Jinyoung read.

 

When reality strikes back, it falls on Mark like a landslide every single time without fail. Jaebum has asked several times if he is pregnant, for his mood swings attack like a 360-degree pirate ship; one second he is smiling and the next he can be tearing up for no reason.

 

This is how Jinyoung feels, he tells himself in order to buck up. No pain is harder to bear than one that is secret, with nobody to share the burden with. Jinyoung has been dealing with this for an entire year, and Mark shouldn’t be wailing at the sight of a Charles Dickens book.

 

Mark decides to do all he can for Jinyoung, and the first thing he thinks of is to help him complete his bucket list. It is in no way obligatory; he wants to do it, he wants to make Jinyoung happy. However, it is perhaps the most preposterous thing he has chosen to do in his life, on his own accord.

 

In reference to the photo of the bucket list Jinyoung posted on his Instagram (and that is, after hours of squinting and fumbling with resolutions on his computer to sharpen the words), Mark tries to lead Jinyoung into completing his wishes.

 

Some are not difficult, such as “watch Wicked live”, where Mark just had to pretend he won tickets to the musical from taking part in the nearby supermarket’s lottery game. His bank account balance plummeted, losing a digit altogether, but it is all worth it when he saw how engaged Jinyoung was during the show, how he gapes at the performers and laughs heartily at the comedic skits.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

Some are just cute; well, strange, but fantastic because it is Jinyoung. “Carve a pumpkin” is one, which Mark guesses is one of Jinyoung’s childhood wishes that he never got to accomplish. Koreans don't dress up for Halloween, and kids are too busy studying in after-school academies to be able to take a few hours off to haunt the streets and collect candy. He thinks Jinyoung might have been one of them.

 

Carving a pumpkin is fine, it is great; but finding an excuse to do so in January is ridiculous. He had to ask the staff at the mart for a bigger pumpkin, and then stuttered foolishly when asked for the purpose of his choice. “Oh, I want to carve a pumpkin for Halloween… in January” sounded absolutely reasonable. Also, if not for Jinyoung, Mark would never speak to a staff member in any public venue (self-checkout is his best friend).

 

When he had invited Jinyoung over and deliberately displayed the pumpkin with carving knives at the side, as though it is completely natural to prepare for Halloween nine months in advance, Jinyoung had pretended to be uninterested. Mark found it endearing, how the younger strolled around the room but always gravitated towards the pumpkin, and how he stole inquisitive glances at it when he thought Mark wasn’t looking. They eventually settled for “hating” pumpkin soup and deciding to have fun with the giant fruit instead.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

Some, on the other hand, took half of Mark’s lifespan away. Jinyoung loves people, albeit his introverted nature and professed love for alone time, and he wants to help people around him and make everyone happy. He is the kind of person who would wish for world peace or the elimination of world hunger. Mark isn’t. So, taking part in community or charity events isn’t really his thing, especially since they require adept communication skills, which he could definitely use more of.

 

One wish on Jinyoung’s bucket list is to “take part in Free Hugs”. It sounds like a complete nightmare to Mark, but he is willing to tread dark waters for Jinyoung. When the college fair came and Mark suggested to take part in the Free Hugs event with Jinyoung, Jackson called him “possessed by Dalai Lama who just had his ual awakening” – god knows what he meant by that, but Mark was acting unlike himself, for sure. 

 

He had to wear a wide smile throughout the event, engage in cordial but pretentious chatter and deal with sleazy pricks who came just for the skin-to-skin contact. And many times he felt like crumbling to the ground from all the socialising going on, and he questioned himself relentlessly on his decision, but ultimately pressed on for Jinyoung. However, his bullheadedness overestimated his physical stamina, and he fainted after a group of chirpy female students flocked towards him all at once.

 

Mark’s experience at the infirmary was no less traumatic. The rough nurse had ripped off the bandages around his IV with such callousness, and poked him black and blue in her desultory search for his veins. Also, they insisted on pushing him out in a wheelchair, though he was perfectly able to walk and humiliated at being rolled out like a parcel. However, when Jinyoung appeared by his side and engulfed him in a big, bear hug, he felt better immediately.

 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” he had said. And Mark’s heartbeat did a tango.

 

Jinyoung was happy, and so was Mark.

 

At some point, Mark eliminated all reasons for helping Jinyoung. It is not for himself to feel good, as he feels happiness not from making Jinyoung happy, but seeing him happy. It is not sympathy, because Jinyoung, with or without Alzheimer’s, is still Jinyoung to him. It is not by duty as a friend, because he sees Jinyoung as more than just a friend.

 

There is no reason needed to help Jinyoung, because love is not a reason.

 

Love, is unconditional.

 

---

  

Time flies.

 

As much as Mark doesn’t want to admit it, it is evident from both the increased frequency of Jinyoung’s memory lapses and his progress of completing the bucket list. In three months, Mark has done more things than he imagined he would have in three lifetimes. And he has now reached the last point of Jinyoung’s bucket list.

 

It is what he aimed for when he set off on this personal project, to complete the bucket list. But somehow, now that he has reached the determining finale, he doesn’t like the sound of it. Completing a bucket list seems like a jinx, as though once it is achieved, it is also time to kick the bucket. Jinyoung is not going to die, Mark is aware, but he cannot help but feel an inexplicable sense of loss.

 

It may be because he doesn’t know what else he can do for Jinyoung after the bucket list is completed, which is in the near future – tomorrow, to be exact. “Wish upon a star” is Jinyoung’s last wish, which on a normal day Mark would find ironic and marginally funny, but in Jinyoung’s situation it is heart-breaking.

 

He is unsure if it is due to the touching element of Jinyoung’s wish or because of his imminent post-bucket-list crisis that he is overcome by depression. He spends all day heaving in bed, allowing himself to be swamped with negative emotion and shed tears as silent as the grave roll in steady procession. He skips dinner when he barely had lunch, never once leaving the confines of his bed but also never falling asleep for fear that nightmares will haunt him.

 

Some time in the middle of the night when even the crickets that shrieked piercingly had fallen asleep, Jackson wakes up and shuffles to the mini fridge to grab a bowl of cereal.

 

“What time is it?” Mark asks, having lost count of time since a long time ago.

 

He can hear Jackson drop his bowl back onto the table, followed by a loud sigh. “It’s just past 4am,” Jackson grumbles.

 

“Isn’t it too early to be eating?”

 

“Isn’t it too early to be eating?” Jackson repeats as he turns on the room light shortly. Mark flips over on his blanket to see his friend glaring incredulously at him. “What time do stomachs open? Tell me, Mark. Tell me why I am awake at ing 4am in the morning!”

 

“Uh–”

 

“Because of you!” Jackson interrupts before Mark has a chance to say something. “How many times must I tell you not to flip around on your bed like a lil’ worm? I’m a light sleeper, okay? You’ve been doing that for days and I keep waking up thinking something is going to crash on my glorious forehead!” He is fuming, so unlike the usual Jackson who would wave off an insult with at most a few sardonic comments.

 

“I’m sorry,” Mark whispers, not knowing what else to say.

 

“Sorry? To me or for yourself?” Jackson says exasperatedly, “seriously, you’ve been acting like your colonoscopy is looming. Why else would you skip meals and hide in your bed and secretly cry? Oh, I know! Jinyoung! Who else?”

 

Mark gulps. The whole world knows.

 

Jackson continues, “I know, I know. You can’t tell me what the problem is –”

 

“–I have a reason!”

 

“A reason I do not care about,” Jackson expresses. He slaps his hands to his own face and contorts his features in an indication of his grievance. “What are you afraid of, Mark? Rejection? Separation? Humiliation? Wait, I thought you’ve gone past that, going as far as fainting after giving free hugs to impress Jinyoung? What exactly are you scared of?”

 

Him losing his memories. Him not remembering me. Him disappearing from my life. 

 

“Did you see me hesitate in any of my relationships? Did you see me giving up on life when Bambam left me?” Jackson continues, voice stirring with emotion.

 

“N-no...”

 

“And why is that, Mark? It’s because I loved him. I loved Bambam, sometimes I still think I do. I was outraged when he cheated on me, yes, but would that stop me from loving him if I knew it would happen from the start? No, Mark, because I truly loved him. And nothing is scarier than having regrets.”

 

Mark has never seen Jackson so sombre and sentimental like that; he understands, he thinks he understands, but with Jinyoung it is different. He tells himself again and again not to treat Jinyoung like a terminal patient, and it has been manageable, like a granted pledge, but as Jinyoung’s condition deteriorates, it gets tougher. Jinyoung has been even more forgetful recently, and the rate at which it worsens is increasingly rapidly. It scares Mark. It feels like the end of them is approaching.

 

“I know, Jackson,” he avouches, “I know, but it’s a different situation for me and Jinyoung. I’m trying, Jacks, I’m trying my best. But I don’t know what is right. I don’t know how Jinyoung will feel about it, if I told him how I feel.”

 

“Forget Jinyoung! Do it for yourself, for once, please. If you love him, just ing tell him already! If you really love him, give him all of your heart and let him decide what to do with it. Give yourself a chance, Mark,” says Jackson.

 

“B-but, isn’t in inconsiderate of his feelings to–”

 

“I said, care about yourself for once!” Jackson reaffirms his point, so strenuously he is almost shouting. “In relationships, you have to be selfless. But before that, to love, you have to be selfish.”

 

It is okay to be selfish. It is normal to be selfish. 

 

That is exactly what he had told Jinyoung.

 

---

  

When the twilight fades to blackness, it lights a fire inside Mark’s guts. It is time, he thinks. The two of them – him and Jinyoung – are sitting by each other’s side, shoulder to shoulder, on the rooftop of the dormitory. Officially it is to stargaze, unofficially it is to see the finale to Jinyoung’s bucket list.

 

Mark was hoping for a canopy of luminous stars, something like a brilliant Van Gogh, so this fateful night can at least be under the protection of beautiful lights. Reality is, however, a stark, inky darkness. No stars to wish upon, perhaps a blessing in disguise.

 

“How long have we known each other?” Jinyoung asks. The openness of the roof engulfs his words into silence, as if they were quickly taken away by the Spring wind.

 

“A year,” Mark replies, and eleven days, he wanted to add, since I saw you drowning in drinks at The Blue Velvet. “It’s almost a year.”

 

“Time flies doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes. Yes, it does.”

 

Somewhere far away, a nightingale sings a sweet melodious chorus, which tumbles through the crisp, night air.

 

“Mark hyung?” Jinyoung speaks again.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“I don’t think I’ve said this enough, but thank you. Thank you for being by my side, and for always being there for me. I’m so glad you let me in to your life, especially since I know you’re not really fond of making friends,” he says. Mark tries not to look at him, because even in the dark night Jinyoung shines bright like the sun, yet he sees him, like the sun, even without looking.

 

“There’s no need to thank me, Jinyoung ah. I’m happy to have met you too, and I’m happy we are so close now. I don’t mind at all, doing these things for you,” Mark says. He is smiling, but his heart hurts.

 

“But you don’t have to do so much for me.”

 

“I don’t have to but I want to, Jinyoung.”

 

Jinyoung then turns to face Mark, making direct eye contact. His soft lips stretches into a smile but doesn’t quite reach his dark eyes. They are lit with sadness, and the forced expression would have looked comical to Mark if it didn’t make his heart feel heavy. Mark doesn’t want Jinyoung to leave. He doesn’t want to turn into a random image that floated in the pool of his memory, which will one day be wiped out as well. He doesn’t want Jinyoung to go.

 

“Hyung, I know everything,” Jinyoung starts, his voice quivering. “I know that you know. About… my Alzheimer’s.”

 

Mark stares at the younger. Nothing could have prepared him for what Jinyoung had just said. He remains silent, letting his heartbeat pound in his ears. Baboom, baboom. This is happening. It is real.

 

“It’s hard not to notice you are ticking things off my bucket list, hyung. And I’ve never said this to you before but I know you liked my Instagram post, so it all links up.”

 

Mark knows that, from Jinyoung’s notebook.

 

“And so I asked my mum about it and she told me everything about how she told you about my condition.”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Mark speaks under his breath, guilt filling his downcast eyes, “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

 

Despite the tense atmosphere, Jinyoung chuckles lightly. “It’s alright, hyung. I’m the one who kept the secret from you. I just, didn’t want you to know, y’know? I remembered our first encounter at the bar – I was drunk but I remembered clearly – yet I kept it from you because I didn’t want you to know.”

 

“It’s okay. I mean, I was pretty embarrassed myself so I was hoping you wouldn’t mention it,” Mark admits, his heavy heart fluttering transiently at Jinyoung’s eye smile.

 

“I guess that was what made me feel close to you, hyung – the fact that we both had something to fear for. I tried so hard to avoid you, because I didn’t want you to go through any pain from our impermanent friendship. But I just couldn’t.”

 

“Me too.”

 

“It’s so selfish of me to keep you as a friend, knowing I cannot even promise to be by your side forever. And that is after I’ve hurt your feelings by pushing you away so many times before I single-handedly decide to acknowledge you all of a sudden. For that, I tried my best to keep our memories together, but they j-just… they keep leaving me, Mark hyung. I was so scared. Scared that I will not remember you one day, but even more afraid that it was wrong for me to be so selfish. I wanted to get to know you. I wanted to be your friend. Even when I knew I will forget and you will be the one to suffer, I wanted all of that.”

 

Upon Jinyoung’s confession, Mark feels empty. He doesn’t know what to feel – how to feel. Jackson’s words keep ringing in his head: “If you love him, tell him.” 

 

Jinyoung keeps on talking, understandably, as taking that load off his chest would be comforting after a year of bearing it alone. “I’m so selfish!” he repeats, reproaching himself, “I wasn’t thinking of you, but, at the same time I was. I don’t know, hyung. I just couldn’t imagine my life without you.”

 

I love Jinyoung, Mark realises suddenly. It is not that he has never thought of it, but at that moment it is so clear, like a ray of light in a void of darkness. If it weren’t for Jinyoung, there would never have been an empty space in his heart, or the need to fill it. He loves Jinyoung, and he will love him until they cannot love anymore.

 

He leans in and kisses Jinyoung. And the world disappears around them, along with all their worries.

 

For the first time in forever, Mark’s mind is locked in the present. He doesn’t dwell in their past, and he doesn’t think about their future together. Jinyoung makes him feel like none of that matter. As their kiss deepens, Mark feels a wave of warmth passing over the nervousness from their first contact. Whatever feelings of hesitation dissipate in the heat between them, and are replaced with sweet, saturated love.

 

Jinyoung tastes of reminiscence of their time to come, of heartbreak and pain, but it fills Mark up. It makes him feel complete.

 

As they finally pull apart, Mark gazes at Jinyoung’s flushed cheeks, and his heart feels like bursting. Not because he is embarrassed of the kiss between them, but because Jinyoung looks beyond beautiful in his dazed state. For once, Mark isn’t the one blushing and flabbergasted. He is feeling brave like a warrior who just conquered his own fears; he is daring and he is in love.

 

He reaches out to cup Jinyoung’s cheeks in his own hands. “It’s my turn to be selfish,” he says. And then he leans in again, meeting those soft lips he will never grow sick of. “I love you, Jinyoung.”

 

It is rare to see Jinyoung this startled and the sight of him trying to gather his senses together makes Mark grin.

 

“As I said, it’s my turn to be selfish. You wanted to be my friend despite knowing it will not be forever, and now I’m saying I want to love you. I don’t care if you will leave me one day, or if you will forget me forever. I love you, and I want to love you until the day we cannot love anymore,” Mark confesses. “Will you let me be selfish this time? Will you let me love you, Jinyoung?”

 

Jinyoung doesn’t pause to think. He smiles, the first genuine smile of jubilation in ages, and then he nods. The distance between them then becomes a thing of the past, as they find comfort in each other’s arms through the rest of the night.

 

As if some form of divination decides to bless their new relationship, a swirl of clouds part to reveal a lone star in the night sky. It doesn’t sparkle, but glows like the moon, softly kissing the gloom of the night.

 

“Hey,” Mark nudges Jinyoung lightly, gesturing to the star above their heads, “make a wish!”

 

Jinyoung laughs against Mark’s chest, sending vibrations though his body. He says, with a twinkle in his voice, “you’re really into my bucket list, aren’t you?” Nevertheless, he closes his eyes and clasps his hands together before his chin, and makes a wish beside the love of his life.

 

When he opens his eyes, he searches for something in his bag. “I have something for you,” he tells Mark.

 

“What is it?”

 

“This,” says Jinyoung, pulling out his grid notebook. “It’s the one you saw at my place.”

 

Mark muses, “I know. But, you’re giving this to me?”

 

“Yes. Keep it for me,” Jinyoung requests, presenting the notebook to Mark like it’s his most valuable treasure. “Keep my memories, our memories safe for me.”

 

Mark takes Jinyoung’s hand and interlocks their fingers. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, he promises: “I will.”

 

This time, it is not an empty promise.

 

---

 

Jinyoung wants two kids, a boy and a girl. He wants to get a job as a theatre actor but sometimes indulges in his fantasies to make an appearance on the big screen. He wants to get married and have his honeymoon in Paris, or Venice, or Santorini – he cannot decide. He wants to own a multi-storey apartment where he can live with Mark and their children, as well as both their parents all together like one big happy family. He wants to grow old to the music on the radio, and to books with pages yellowed and covers bent.

 

Mark and Jinyoung speak of their future together all the time, despite it being uncertain. Sometimes, it feels as though everything will fall in place as they have planned. But one day, after a trip out of Seoul with his parents, Jinyoung meets Mark in college and looks at him closely. The unfamiliar concern in his eyes makes Mark nearly sick with fear.

 

“I see so little of you these days, Mark hyung,” he says. “How long has it been since we’ve met? Two weeks?”

 

The innocence, the spiritual calm that radiates from him seems so clear and true that, for a dizzying moment, Mark feels darkness lift almost palpably from his heart. But it takes just another second for him to realise what is happening, and the whole poisonous weight comes crashing back down, full force.

 

“Is everything alright? Are you alright?” Jinyoung asks.

 

“Oh, sure I am,” Mark says. “I’m fine.”

 

Except he is far from fine. They did not last see each other two weeks ago.

 

They just Skype-called last night.

 

---

 

After graduating, life becomes even more mundane. Mark now works as a recording engineer in Jaebum’s own music recording studio. While he is deeply grateful to Jaebum for giving him a job, he is tired of all his nagging. Jaebum is one demanding boss who, unfortunately, firmly believes in working overtime.

 

As such, Mark finds himself depending on alcohol a lot more to take his mind off his stress. Some things have changed in his group of friends, but their frequent visits to The Blue Velvet remain the same, just like their old schooling days.

 

“Cheers! For Youngjae’s non-pregnancy!” Jackson exclaims in a sprightly tone, his nonsense once again earning a painful smack on the shoulder from Jaebum.

 

“Hey, cut it with the nonsense. How is it possible for males to get pregnant? Ever studied biology?” Jaebum berates.

 

Jackson slaps his lap as he guffaws, clearly enjoying Jaebum’s annoyance. “I don’t know. Maybe you have a magical or something. Miracle ! Ha-ha!”

 

Mark laughs along at his best friend’s drunken jokes, which get much funnier when Youngjae takes it seriously. “Excuse me?” Youngjae protests, “what makes you think I’m the bottom?” That sends everyone into convulsions again.

 

Mark sips at his wine thoughtfully as the conversation dies down. His friends are awesome, and their company is great, but being in The Blue Velvet makes him feel a little sorrowful, no doubt. It is ultimately the place he had first met Jinyoung.

 

They soon run out of drinks. Jaebum and Youngjae leave the table and head to the back of the bar together – what they plan to do, Mark doesn’t want to know. And so, it is just down to him and Jackson.

 

“Mark, go get more drinks,” Jackson whines, refusing to move his lazy to the bar table a few feet away.

 

“I’ve had enough. Go get them yourself if you want,” replies Mark.

 

Jackson huffs. “I’m tired and I have zero energy left. Let’s draw lots!” he suggests, quickly holding two straws of different lengths in his hand, a bit too efficiently for someone who claims to be without energy. Mark picks one randomly.

 

“Why aren’t you showing your straw, Jackson?”

 

“Argh! Okay fine, I’ll get the drinks,” he mumbles, peeling his bottom off the chair reluctantly. “Can’t believe I got the short straw. You’re lucky we’re not comparing sizes!”

 

Mark scoffs, shaking his head. Jackson is drunk alright. He also takes forever and doesn’t return, and Mark turns around to see him flirting with the bartender in a distance. Typical. 

 

He is beginning to feel bored swiping down his Instagram feed when he hears footsteps and a tinkle of ice from an advancing cocktail. Thinking it is Jackson or perhaps Jaebum and Youngjae, he takes no special notice and continues staring at his phone. That is, until a familiar voice speaks.

 

“Hi,” the interrupter says as he pulls out the seat beside Mark and sits down.

 

Mark looks up, and his heart stops. There he is, Jinyoung, right before his eyes. He blinks in disbelief before sending him a questioning look, cocking his head to the side. But Jinyoung simply smiles, a sincere one, yet impersonal, reminding Mark of the first time they met at the very same place they are right now. He doesn’t remember, he realises, feeling a familiar pang in his chest.

 

“Hello,” Jinyoung says again, extending a hand towards Mark. “I’m Jinyoung.”

 

As their hands touch, Mark is abruptly overwhelmed with a mix of strong emotions. The sadness he had felt when Jinyoung never came back to him, the loneliness he suffered without Jinyoung by his side, as well as the sudden rush of memories of them together – the times they held hands, the times they embraced like the sky is falling over them, kissed without any qualms and touched each other with passion and love.

 

It is now all behind them. They have moved on, like they have promised each other on the night he confessed.

 

“So, I just keep this notebook forever?” he had asked after receiving the notebook Jinyoung treasured so dearly.

 

“No, not forever,” Jinyoung said, “until the day I completely forget you. I don’t want you to be stuck in the past if I leave. I want you to move on and keep our love as a memory in your heart. Burn this notebook, when that day comes. So I will never see it and struggle to love you from the memories I cannot remember, and so you can move on and live your life without me.” 

 

Jinyoung looks good. He looks well-rested, free from worries, and happy. That is all that Mark needs to know. He is finally ready to let Jinyoung go, and keep him as a memory in his heart. A bittersweet memory.

 

He shakes Jinyoung’s hand and returns a smile. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “I’m Mark.”

  

---

 

 

That night, in the brazier outside of Mark’s apartment, a fire burns, illuminating the dark night. The flames flicker passionately, presenting their last dance of courage, faith and love. As the pages of the notebook incinerate into black ashes, the words that were once there get etched in Mark’s heart, line by line.

 

After a while, the fire dies, leaving behind a single page that avoided the strong blaze. On it, four words can be seen beyond the soot and dust.

 

I love you too.