“Kim Junmyeon,” Yixing mused as he scrolled through the timetable of the day. It was still early enough that he was the only one in the office, the bright red numbers of the table clock showing ten to twelve. “Now why does that name sound familiar?”

He clicked out of the greyed-out studio booking, pulling up a new tab to punch the name into Google’s search bar. Dozens of pictures popped up, many mentioning the new drama that was currently airing on TV but nothing that would explain why the name felt like an old friend to Yixing.

Yixing was just about to pull out the rest of the attendance files, to put the name out of his mind when the front door opened. A man dressed in a simple grey sweatshirt popped his head in, smiling sheepishly.

“Hi,” he said, waving. “I’m Kim Junmyeon. I have a studio booking with uh- a Park Chanyeol?”

Yixing had never known any artist to be early to an appointment before. They were usually so full of themselves, waltzing in like they owned the place thirty minutes later than the stipulated time. He became aware that he had been staring for too long when Kim Junmyeon cleared his throat, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

“Should I come back later?” he asked, and Yixing blinked back to attention.

“Oh no, everything’s in order. You’re just early. Chanyeol’s not even here yet.” He sent off a quick text message to inform his colleague that his artist was here. Chanyeol was notorious for showing up late too.

“Oh, I could come back later if I’m bothering you,” Kim Junmyeon said.

“You can come in and take a seat,” Yixing said, surreptitiously moving to close the tab where he had googled his name. “Chanyeol will be here soon.”

They sat in silence for a while, punctuated only by Yixing’s shuffling as he pulled out all the attendance sheets he would need for the day. He splayed them all out on his table, carefully arranging them chronologically.

“You went to Seoul Chinese Primary School?” Junmyeon broke the silence, his eyes landing on the sticker stuck onto Yixing’s laptop. It had been years since he received that one, after returning to the school for a little visit. His favourite math teacher had given it to him as a joke.

“Yeah,” Yixing answered. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Junmyeon breathed. He looked relieved now that the silence had broken. “They were some of my best years in school.”

Yixing raised his eyebrows. He would not have characterized his primary school years as his best years.

“I had this ‘boyfriend’,” Junmyeon went on, his expression wistful. “He was smart and funny and loved to write and he knew nothing about cars but I loved cars so he learnt about them just so he could have conversations about them with me.”

“That sounds sweet,” Yixing said slowly. The sentence had jogged up a very old memory of his, of a black folder full of printed out pages with pictures of luxury cars. He could see most vividly, the photo of a yellow and black striped Ferrari. “Did you stay in contact?”

“No,” Junmyeon answered, deflating. “We were sorted into different classes after our first year and we rarely ever spoke again. In fact, I think he hated me for a while. I became- kind of a .”

“And you remember all these from what? Ten years ago?” Yixing asked, baffled. There were more memories returning, of secret hearts penciled into a lined notebook, words like ZYX ❤️ KJM written in the most permanent form a seven-year-old knew, in blue pen in between pages of a diary he pretended could talk back.

So that’s why he found the name familiar.

The face he saw in front of him was nothing like the Kim Junmyeon fifteen years ago, full of baby fat and a smile that made little Zhang Yixing’s heart skip a beat. It was sculpted, and even without makeup, his skin looked smooth and glowy. Yixing could almost remember the way their tiny hands felt, swinging side by side when the teacher asked them to hold hands with their partners. He had not thought about Kim Junmyeon for fifteen years.

Funny how the world worked, bringing back the “boyfriend” he had when he was seven and innocent to the ways of the world. He never counted that dalliance into his body count when asked. Seven was too young for a relationship, but evidently, Kim Junmyeon remembered differently.

“Have you ever tried to contact him?” he asked, sifting through his attendance sheets just for something to do. Junmyeon did not know it yet, but something had irrevocably shifted between them. “After you’ve grown up.”

Junmyeon laughed wryly.

“No. I would try but I don’t remember his name. Only that his initials were ZYX. It seems foolish to search when he might not even remember me.” Plenty of people wiped out memories of their early childhood, Yixing included. There was too much there for him to want to remember. “But if I knew his name, I’d call him.”

“Maybe you’ll meet him again,” Yixing said softly. He did not know why Kim Junmyeon was telling him all this, when it seemed like it was something very private. Something you would not tell a stranger you only just met. Even if that stranger was that boy you fell in love with at seven years old and could never forget. “What would you say to him if you did?”

“I’d write him a song,” Junmyeon laughed, his cheeks tinting pink. “I’m not good with words but, I’d write him a song, and ask if he’d like to go out for a coffee sometime.”

Yixing exhaled, his eyes fixed onto the screen of his laptop, unseeing.

“And if he says yes?” he asked.

“Then I hope we can rewrite that story we started when we were seven,” Junmyeon beamed. “And maybe, we can give it a happier ending this time.”