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Eight years later and Luhan stands outside the gates for ten minutes every day, hands shoved in his pockets when it’s cold outside. His fingers clutch around invisible fingers that he hasn’t been able to forget the warmth of. He leans against the wall and watches as elementary school students get picked up by their middle school siblings. He glances down as one particularly excited student catches the toe of his sneaker on a certain protruding tree root and falls to his knees.
 

“Chanyeol!” his brother is shouting from the bench, “Take your time, oh my God, hyung’s not going anywhere.”
 

Let him run, Luhan wants to tell the brother.
 

“Chanyeol, slow down!” the older brother is shouting again, “You’re going to kill yourself!”

 

Luhan’s jaw clenches before he can stop himself as the words ring in his ears, and his hands turn to fists inside his pockets.

 

“Baekhyun-hyung, are you really mad?”

 

“No, Chanyeol-ah, hyung’s just worried that you’ll hurt yourself. Because what would hyung do without his precious dongsaeng?”

 

Luhan always waits until the second bell rings before he leaves, and he doesn’t know why, because no matter how long he waits, there’s no blur of white skin and brown hair rocketing into his chest anytime soon.

 

He walks to the cafe slowly, like he should have when there were quick footsteps sounding behind him, trying desperately to keep up. He hates himself for it, that tiny thing, because those were precious seconds he could have had with him.

 

“Two chocolates,” he says to the barista. She glances out the window, then back at him, but shrugs and fills his order. It’s cold outside, and bubble tea is quite possibly the worst drink on the menu to battle biting wind, but as Luhan sets the plastic cup down on the headstone, taking care to brush his fingers across the cold marble engraved with beloved brother, he doesn’t care that he’ll probably lose a few extremities to hypothermia.

 

He pokes a straw into each of the cups, sipping from one, and setting the other down on the tombstone.

 

“, that tastes like ,” he grumbles, spitting the tapioca back into the cup. His eyes widen after a moment, once he realizes what he’s said and who he’s said it in front of. Soon enough, he relaxes.

 

“You’d be sixteen now, huh,” Luhan muses. “Old enough to swear. Maybe I’ll start bringing beers here soon. Your super cool hyung would have snuck you some beers to bring to parties. You would have been cool in high school. You should have waited around for it. It would have been nice for you to stick around long enough for us to share a beer.”

 

Luhan stretches his legs out and swills the bubble tea, ignoring the way it freezes his fingertips.

 

He regrets a lot.

 

He regrets not seeing the way Sehun was bullied for only having a brother to come home to after school.

 

He regrets not seeing the way Sehun looked longingly at the complete families at school, jealously watching as parents took their children in their arms and told them they loved them.

 

He regrets not seeing the only thing Sehun needed; not uniform pants or bubble tea or extended bedtimes or video games at Christmas. Sehun needed someone to say “I love you”.

 

It was true, but a teenage boy didn’t want to say something so girly, and that’s the dumbest reason Luhan’s ever had for not doing something, and no matter how many times Luhan says it now, he can’t make Sehun hear it.

 

He tries anyway.

 

“Hyung loves you, Sehunnie.”

 

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