“DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT FISH is trying to escape the pond?”’

Unfocused eyes snap to attention at the sound of Hyukjae’s voice, lingering on the horizon for a moment before glancing over.

“Hmm?”

Hyukjae adjusts his position on the rail, turning to his boyfriend, who is poised on the rail of the metal bridge. Donghae’s left leg drifts to and fro, occasionally hitting the base of the bridge with a dull thud. His hair has fallen artfully into his eyes, the loose strands of hair reflecting the overhead sun, painting an illusion of rich melting chocolate spilling over porcelain skin.

Donghae’s gaze shifts back to the horizon, scanning the scenery in front of them for another second before turning his head and lifting his eyes to meet Hyukjae’s inquisitive gaze.

“Yes,” Donghae says.

“Yes?” Hyukjae repeats, raising a single eyebrow at Donghae’s response. Donghae stares at Hyukjae for a moment. The corner of his mouth lifts slowly.

“I wasn’t listening.”

Hyukjae rolls his eyes and shifts along the rail so he is once again facing the pond, the material of his jeans ghosting over Donghae’s bare leg.

“I’m aware,” he says. “That fish has been jumping in and out of the water for a better part of an hour.” Donghae’s eyes drift lazily across the horizon before it lands on the humble little pond to the left of the highway below.

“A noble effort,” Donghae says.

“But ultimately a useless one,” Hyukjae counters. Donghae hums in agreement.

“Could the fish escape the pond?”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere.”

“Well, I don’t think the fish could go anywhere.”

“No? Not even if it finds a river?” Donghae questions, his head tilting to the side.

“A fish born to a pond is destined to a pond. It could escape, maybe for a while, but it will have to return to the pond eventually.”

“Or die trying,” Donghae says.

“What, escaping or returning?”

“Either one,” Donghae whispers and a heavy silence falls between them. Hyukjae closes his eyes, letting the soundscape wash over him, the gentle spring breeze rustling through newly growing leaves, the quiet humming of insects surfacing from the ground, and the rhythmic thumping of Donghae’s boots on the metal of the bridge.

“We’re not talking about the fish anymore, are we?” Hyukjae says. He opens his eyes and glances over at Donghae, whose gaze is still locked on the long, winding highway before them.

“Do you imagine a life beyond this highway?” Donghae asks lieu of responding to his question. “Beyond this town, beyond knowing everyone around you, beyond living the routine, beyond growing up into a job that’s been set out for you since you were born?”

Hyukjae looks away.

He hasn’t. After graduating, when school is finally over, he’ll be working in his father’s workshop full time.

Hyukjae knows that Donghae will want more. Hyukjae knows Donghae needs more.

“Do you?”

Donghae hesitates.

“...Yeah,” he says. Hyukjae only nods. Donghae lets out a long breath, the tail end of his sigh lifting up the tufts of dark hair from his forehead. With a wan smile, Donghae falls backwards onto the bridge, his legs still hooked on the rail, leaving his body at an angle. His arms splay outward and his lips thin into an intense line.

Hyukjae watches as Donghae keeps his eyes closed, his fingers running light lines over the stone surface. After several seconds of indecision, Donghae opens his eyes and their gazes meet. Donghae reaches into his sweater pocket and pulls out a crinkled piece of paper, wordlessly handing it over to Hyukjae.

Hyukjae takes the paper. With the paper in his hand, he swivels around on the spot to face Donghae. He slides slowly off the rail and settles onto the stone floor, his back resting gently against the rail. He keeps his legs stretched outwards. When he’s comfortable, he turns his attention to the paper. With a careful hand, Hyukjae works out the creases of the paper, long fingers running lines across the page in attempts to straighten the page.

He skims the words, and the more he reads, the weaker his grip on the paper gets. Hyukjae turns to Donghae to see that his boyfriend had adopted a similar position next to him during his momentary lapse of attention. The other boy’s head rests on the rail, his eyes still closed. His head is tilted back, basking in the sun. The sunlight runs over Donghae’s pale, smooth skin, illuminating his delicate features with a gentle glow. His eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and with his impassive expression, he looks almost otherworldly.

A gem gleaming in an otherwise plain scenery.

Hyukjae glances back down at the letter before him. He blinks rapidly, swiping his hand over his eyes before speaking.

“So you found your river, huh?” Hyukjae says. He quickly wipes the glistening wetness off the back of his hand before Donghae can notice.

“So it seems,” Donghae says. He sounds almost hesitant about agreeing.

University.

Full scholarship.

Hyukjae hadn't even known Donghae had applied.

But he really should have known better than to dare dream Donghae would think of staying. Donghae — with all his beauty, ambition, and intelligence — does not belong in this small town in the middle of nowhere.

“Are you going to accept it then?” Hyukjae asks, proud when his voice doesn’t waver. Donghae shrugs.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Maybe.” That is what he says, but Hyukjae knows Donghae too well to be fooled by his words. Donghae’s eyes are a hurricane of unspoken emotion, all of which point to one thing: Donghae wants to leave.

No.

Donghae needs to leave.

“Hey,” Hyukjae says softly. Donghae turns to him. Two gentle fingers underneath Donghae’s chin are enough to tilt the other’s head up, and Hyukjae gives Donghae a small smile. Hyukjae leans close and Donghae is quick to close the gap, their lips meeting in the middle. It starts off gently, their lips barely touching — just brushing with the tentativeness of first kisses.

It doesn’t last long.

Donghae’s hand brushes past the hand Hyukjae other hand cups Donghae’s cheek and it’s enough to set Hyukjae off.

Their kiss deepens into desperation. Hyukjae’s fingers threads through Donghae’s soft hair, the other rubbing small circles on the back of Donghae’s neck.

Hyukjae can feel Donghae’s hands on him as well, one on the back of his neck and the other on his mid-back.

Hyukjae allows himself, just for this moment, forget his troubles. Forget what is coming in the future. Forget the hurts of his past. He relaxes into Donghae’s grip, basking in the other boy’s warmth. Hyukjae deepens the kiss even further, pulling Donghae closer, closer because they can’t get close enough. He doesn’t want to pull away, even when he feels himself running out of air.

When they finally separate, Hyukjae rests his forehead on Donghae’s. He stares into Donghae’s eyes, losing himself in the passion and utter adoration in his boyfriend’s eyes.

“Donghae…” Hyukjae breathes. “Donghae.” Hyukjae squeezes his eyes shut and his lip quivers. Tears slip past his closed eyelids, wet and hot as they roll down his cheeks.

He takes a deep breath.

“Donghae,” he tries again. “You should accept it.”

“Hyukjae, I…”

Hyukjae can see the conflict in the deepening of Donghae’s eyes and the tightening of the muscles in his jaw.

Hyukjae knows Donghae’s decision depends on his response. And as much as he cannot begin to imagine life without Donghae by his side, he cannot condemn Donghae to life in a place he considers a prison — suffocating in its stagnation.

He is not a cruel person.

“Donghae,” Hyukjae says firmly. “Grow enamoured with life again. Live the life you’ve dreamed of having.”

“What about you?” Donghae says. Hyukjae sighs. He lifts his head and shifts positions again. He allows himself to melt into Donghae, head in the other boy’s lap. Half of his face rests on the bare skin of Donghae’s leg, the warmth seeping comfortably into his own skin. He takes in Donghae’s face, large eyes looking uncertainly down at him.

“What about me?” Hyukjae asks. Donghae tilts his head.

“You could come with me,” he says. Hyukjae’s lip quirks upwards and he reaches up, gently caressing Donghae’s cheek.

“Oh, Donghae,” Hyukjae whispers. “You know I can’t.”

—

Donghae leaves town on a clear summer day, the summer after they graduate.

Hyukjae says goodbye in the privacy of Donghae’s bedroom. He had just finished helping Donghae with the final touches of Donghae’s packing. He zips up the bag before turning, stalking across the room and pushes Donghae onto the bed. Hyukjae wastes no time kissing Donghae with a fervent passion, allowing this to be the last moment to express all his emotions.

When they separate, Hyukjae basks in the image of Donghae’s dopey grin, framed by his tousled hair.

“Knock’em dead, Donghae,” Hyukjae says. He lowers himself so he’s speaking directly into Donghae’s ear. “Show’em what you’re made of. And don’t forget to write.”

“Never,” Donghae breathes. Hyukjae closes his eyes, ignoring the prickling heat behind his eyes.

“I'll be seeing you, Donghae.”

—

It’s interesting how life goes on without Donghae. Hyukjae takes his rightful place by his father’s side at the local (only) workshop. Hyukjae’s talent for machinery had always been a topic of conversation with his father, and now that he’s working full time, his father is happy to dump all the work on him.

“Paying back all those times you ran away with that freak friend of yours Hyukjae,” his father says when Hyukjae complains. Hyukjae’s eyes shoot up from the machine he’s working on. His father’s back is to him, Hyukjae bites back a particularly nasty retort. Instead, he turns his attention back to the machine he’d been fixing, using the therapeutic feel of the wrench in his head and the metal beneath his fingers to distract him from his father’s insults.

“Got you talkin’ funny and running off to look at sunsets,” his father continues. Hyukjae tightens his grip on his wrench.

“It’s not funny,” Hyukjae says.

“Oh? And when you say one thing but mean another ain’t a funny way of talkin’?” Hyukjae growls and stands up. His abrupt movements are enough to knock his chair over, sending it clattering across the dirty grey floor. He grabs a rag off from where it’s hanging from the hanger beside him, wipes his hands, and tosses it to the side, the wrench in his hand going off with it. It clangs on the floor, but Hyukjae ignores it as he storms out of the shop.

“I need a walk,” he says through his gritted teeth. He slams the door behind him. He can hear his father yelling at him.

Hyukjae ignores him.

The town has always considered Donghae a freak. He used words and metaphors no one understood, he was distant and almost absentminded, he would disappear from town for hours on end, and worst of all, he never seemed to show any interest in girls.

Hyukjae’s father thinks Donghae has corrupted him.

Acting like the freak, he had said.

Hyukjae kicks a rock resting near his feet as hard as he can, watching as it bounces over the sidewalk, catching on a crack for a final flight and landing at a dead stop.

Hyukjae growls and turns. He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he ascends the cobbled steps. Pushing open the door, Hyukjae stops and takes a deep breath.

He relishes the smell of old books of the small bookstore. The aroma seeps into his very bones and Hyukjae can feel the tension in his body seeping out. He slouches slightly, letting his eyes drift shut, taking another deep breath.

Donghae had always smelled like this. He had always spent far too much time — and in turn, Hyukjae also spent far too much time — in this little store, consuming everything and anything he could get his hands on. In this store once more, Hyukjae can almost hear one page whispering against another, being turned with slender fingers.

Hyukjae bites his lip and straightens. He walks forward, weaving through the tall, rickety shelves to get to the front desk.

“Hello Mrs. Lee,” Hyukjae says softly when the lady behind the desk notices him.

“Hyukjae!” Mrs. Lee says brightly, smiling at him. “You haven’t been around for almost a month!” Hyukjae’s gaze drops to the carpeted floor, his cheeks heating up with guilt.

“I — I was busy,” he says.

“You mean Donghae wasn’t here,” she says. Hyukjae’s cheeks heat up further and his shakes his head.

“T-that’s not why,” he says. “I just — I needed some time to … adjust.”

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Lee says. “My son has always been an unpredictable one.” Hyukjae looks up at Mrs. Lee. She is looking back at him, smiling comfortingly at him. Her eyes are so much like Donghae’s — dark and intelligent like she could see everything that’s going through Hyukjae’s head.

“I miss him,” Hyukjae confesses after several seconds of heavy scrutiny. Mrs. Lee’s smile takes on a sadder note and she leans against the table.

“I miss him too,” she says. Hyukjae nods, suddenly uncomfortable at the sudden note of honesty. The floor is suddenly extremely interesting and he shuffles his feet across the soft texture, following the weaving maroon pattern beneath his feet.

“Do you suppose he misses us as well?” Hyukjae asks. Mrs. Lee regards him with a private little smile, reaching over to ruffle his hair. Hyukjae ducks out of the way, but not soon enough to avoid her hand.

“I’m sure he does,” she says. “Oh! That reminds me!” She holds up a hand, telling Hyukjae to wait for a second as she ducks into the back of the store. Hyukjae can hear the soft rustling of papers from behind the door and the inquisitive humming of someone looking for something. While he waited, Hyukjae turns back to the shelves, running his fingers over the old wrinkled spine of a particularly stunning book.

The Secrets and Myths of Space, says the spine. With a practiced finger, Hyukjae hooks his nail onto the top of the spine and pulls the book out. He flips idly through the book, skimming through the contents.

Definitely something Donghae would enjoy.

“Ah, I see you found the newest addition,” Mrs. Lee says. Hyukjae jumps, snapping the book shut and looking back over to the desk.

“Yeah,” he says. “Something Donghae would enjoy.” Mrs. Lee smiles again. Hyukjae scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

“Here,” Mrs. Lee says, putting him out of his misery. She holds out a cream coloured envelope. “Letter for you. From Donghae.”

Hyukjae ducks his head and steps forward, taking the letter from her hand. He runs his hand over the smooth, expensive material.

To Lee Hyukjae, it says on the back. Hyukjae flips the envelope to see a deep blue wax seal, with what he assumes is the university’s coat of arms pressed into it. Hyukjae looks up at Donghae’s mother, his eyes wide.

“Can I…”

“Go on, open it,” she says. “I don’t mind.” Hyukjae doesn’t need any more of an invitation. He slips one finger underneath the flap of the envelope, gently working the seal off without damaging the wax. He’s pleased when the entire seal pops off and Hyukjae slips the letter out of the envelope.

He gives Mrs. Lee a slight wave before he makes his way to his favourite corner in the cozy bookstore. He sinks into the chair that sits in the corner and opens the letter. Leaning back in the chair, one leg outstretched and the other crossed over it, Hyukjae begins to read.

October 12, 1921

My dear Hyukjae,

I hope this letter finds you well. Before I say anything more, I must express my sincerest apologies for the delay in sending this letter, I would hope you do not think me negligent. City life, though everything I have ever imagined it to be, requires a period of adjustment that has taken me far longer than I had expected it to take. So, now a month later, I sit down my humble little apartment in the stunning city of Cambridge, composing a letter from my heart.

That being said, I digress.

This letter is not so much about the state of my life in the city — or perhaps it is, do you wonder how life is away from our little hometown? I hope your work at the shop has served you well — your talent for machinery and its’ finer inner workings have always left me nothing short of awed. One can only hope that the rest of town has recognized your talent as well. Anything less would do you no justice.

Is the town as quiet as I remember it being? I must say that the city is quite the wonder in its contrast with our hometown — are you aware that in the city, people remain outside far into the night? I have not yet worked the courage to explo