It was the thirty-seventh time in the span of two months that Sunggyu was pulled into this dream. Bubbles, tiny bubbles, in a flurry, rose up to the surface, whirling around like white noise. Sunggyu’s hands whip the water, trying to find purchase. But he was stuck, probably ten metres underneath, and there were no rocks to cling onto in the sea. Below him was dark, he could see no sandy floor. If he sunk, it would be a straight drop to where the light doesn’t reach. His feet were useless, kicking with no effect. He was scrambling, running out of air. Yet he knew someone would come.

A hand held his. It was Dongwoo.

His other hand would have found his perfectly, fumbling through the water, which swayed rhythmically, pushing him to Dongwoo, and pulling back a bit. Dongwoo had his eyes on him, like he always had, white button-down billowing around him, like the skin of a jellyfish. Pale, with braided seagrass reaching towards his eyes, almost like external veins but stopping just before the corners of his eyes, and the shock of his coral hair hiding undertones of lavender scales. Sunggyu saw that the seawater had washed off most of its neon absurdity. It was as if he was born underneath, underwater, cut off from oxygen and human toxicity.

                “Dongwoo, I can’t swim. Can’t breathe,” Sunggyu would say, grasping Dongwoo with white knuckles.

And like always, Dongwoo would pull Sunggyu close again, giving him a perfect view of the pearls embedded into the back of his neck, trailing down his spine, jutting bones. “It’s alright, just flow with me,” came his voice. Soft as ever. Like the last time Sunggyu heard it.

-

Dongwoo kept his burdens to himself. But he could only hold so much, before he shatters into pieces on long nights. Sunggyu was there, every time, letting his warm tears soak through his shirt, his skin, absorbing his tears, feebly thinking that maybe by absorbing his tears, he can absorb his pain. That night had been hard on Dongwoo. 15 hours of practice, a scolding for something he didn’t do, and a beating for no reason.

It wasn’t his fault Infinite was failing.

After two years of promoting and less-than-lukewarm responses, Infinite was not the same. Hoya had left, unceremoniously, to go back to his parents, who had always scoffed at his dream of becoming a dancer. Why stay? Infinite had no hope anyway. He left suddenly, leaving nothing behind but a note taped to the door. Written in black ink, with a marker they would have used for fansigns. But how many fans did they have anyway? “Thank you for everything. Goodbye. –H” it said. Hoya was never a man of many words.

Not long after, Myungsoo left as well. He never wanted to be a singer. And he was getting bored. Who wouldn’t, having to stick with a group that was going nowhere, when you were being offered modelling gigs left and right? What did the remaining five have? Without their lead dancer, and the face of the group, Infinite was just that. Faceless. The band you can’t remember the name of, with the songs that were half-okay, and the music videos that looked as if they were filmed with a tight budget and recycled ideas.

Sunggyu stayed, partly because he was the leader, and mostly because Dongwoo had pleaded for him to, because he still believed Infinite would be okay, and Sunggyu believed in Dongwoo. So he half-believed Infinite would be okay. Like how he would half-believe that it was only a matter of time that Infinite would disband.

Without Hoya, Dongwoo had to do the work of two. Sacrificing his health to perfect that one fluid move, or to find the perfect rhythm for the words he was assigned to rap, even being a rock for Woohyun’s and Sungyeol’s rants. They didn’t mean any harm, but Dongwoo, with his warm eyes and sympathetic smile, how would they know if anything was off?

In no time he had a mild back injury, from enough dancing and rapping for five, and from carrying the burden of five.

That night his injury had acted up, and he had messed up more times than he would allow himself to. Their choreographer and manager had already said harsh words. Harsh words meant for five, but because it was Dongwoo, and Dongwoo was so easy to attack, the words came to him like missiles. Woohyun had pressed his palms into his knees, hunched over from panting. Sungyeol and Sungjong cast their eyes on the floor, sweat dripping into their eyes. Sunggyu had half a mind to yell at the managers that Dongwoo had an injury that was getting worse, that maybe if they had let them rest or at least let Dongwoo recover, things wouldn’t be so bad. But they had a show the next night, and sufficient rest wasn’t negotiable.

Sunggyu could only watch as Dongwoo crumbled to dust inside.

-

Dongwoo was pulling him through the waves, green eyes flickering bright, his iris diffused into the white of his eyes, like a watercolour blotch of a fisheye. It is strange, Sunggyu thought. Dongwoo doesn’t have green eyes. Then again, Dongwoo doesn’t live underwater.

They were almost to the surface, white bubbles swirling, the glittering particles in the turquoise waters. And he could see a rippling image of a lighthouse, its smooth walls distorted into sharp curls from beneath the waves. Dongwoo, his fading pink hair floating like a whirlwind around his head, faced him.

                “It’s okay. We’re almost here,” Dongwoo said softly, voice dropping low into a mumble. His hands were cold.

Sunggyu vaguely noticed Dongwoo’s error. They couldn’t be ‘almost here’. It is either ‘here’ or ‘almost there’. But ‘here’ could have meant a different thing. He imagined what it would be like being ‘almost here’. Being stuck at one point and not being whole. Being tempted with ‘there’ only to be looping back to ‘here’, as if the line between rewind and fast forward had dissipated. As if they were perpetually stuck ‘here’.

-

It was a rare day off when Dongwoo took the opportunity to disappear with Sunggyu.

The breeze, marked with notes of brine, blew at their faces, whipping their hair this way and that. It was cold; they were in their coats. And the sea foam looked like iceberg shavings. But Dongwoo didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was sporting one of the biggest smiles Sunggyu had seen that month. Or technically, last year.

                “Happy new year, Sunggyu,” Dongwoo smiled, hands in the oversized pockets of his coat. He had ridiculously pink and purple hair this time. The stylists thought it would be a good idea to keep up with the rainbow hair trend. Thought. They didn’t even get the tone right. It just made Dongwoo look as if his head was made of strands of solidified spray paint.

                “This was what you wanted to show me?” Sunggyu asked, a slight tone of disbelief nudged into his voice. He had to admit, he wasn’t very thrilled to be dragged out of bed at seven in the morning to catch a train to a beach in the middle of nowhere. Okay, not nowhere. Dongwoo went there once, during a school trip many years ago.

It feels more like a life ago, he had said to Sunggyu, staring out to see where the horizon ends, that incremental curve that suggests the vastness of Earth, compared to their insignificant forms, wandering around a beach at 12:26 in the afternoon.

Dongwoo nodded, grinning. He showed Sunggyu where his class explored when they were there. Where they walked. Everything. But he only told Sunggyu whats and never whys. For example, why he brought him there.

                “They never let us go in the water though. I don’t know why. It would be nice to swim down there,” Dongwoo gazed wistfully.

Sunggyu shook his head, teasing, “Maybe it’s because you can’t swim for your life!”

                “I can so swim. I can hold my breath underwater for one minute, too! Which is definitely a longer time than you!” Dongwoo laughed, his voice lost in the wind.

                “Anyway, I love this place a lot. There’s this calm feeling,” he smiles serene, gaze following two seagulls flying around a lighthouse.

They had reached home in the middle of the night, bodies drooping from waves of sleepiness. Sunggyu could hear, just a faint murmur from Dongwoo, who lay bundled up beside him in thin blankets.

                “I still think it would be nice to swim down there,” said Dongwoo into Sunggyu’s chest.

All Sunggyu saw before he went to sleep was the neon pink-purple mess that was Dongwoo’s hair, still smelling slightly of the sea breeze.

The day before Dongwoo went missing, Infinite had officially disbanded. The news came quietly, in their dorms, sitting in a circle before their manager. They hardly showed any signs of shock. It was expected. The name Infinite had drowned in the unforgiving industry.

That night Dongwoo pretended to sleep, although it was obvious to Sunggyu that he was crying. His tense shoulders trembled. Gradually, Sunggyu coaxed Dongwoo into his embrace, his hair until he stopped crying. In the next room, Woohyun stayed up to pack his bags, throwing things often, which was why the wall thumped at irregular intervals. In time, the thumps stopped, and Woohyun’s sobs carried over to their bedroom.

                “...don’t want to…the end,” Dongwoo mumbled groggily, gripping Sunggyu’s shoulders as if they were lifesavers.

-

They found Dongwoo lying lifeless on a cold metal bed, a day later. Sunggyu stood rooted, feeling blank. The shock left him empty, as he stared at Dongwoo’s pale face. The body lying there had been up walking and laughing a few days ago. It seemed unreal.

We were informed that he drowned. Swept away by the current. They tried to save him but it was too late.

He could imagine Dongwoo, going into the waves, flailing as the waves crashed around him, going under with water in his lungs. He couldn’t have drowned on purpose. He wouldn’t do that. He would die before he abandoned Infinite. The irony wasn’t lost on Sunggyu.

Sunggyu only remembered the funeral in bits and blurs.

-

The pearls down his spine were iridescent in the sunlight, penetrating through the rolling waves, almost like an aquatic kaleidoscope.

Dongwoo cupped Sunggyu’s cheeks. “You have to go now.”

Sunggyu leaned into his touch, hand latched to Dongwoo’s wrist.

“Take care of Infinite. I’m sorry. I love you,” Dongwoo leaned closer and murmured to his neck, pressing cold kisses to his skin.

With a flick of a translucent wrist, Dongwoo sent Sunggyu floating to the surface, staying under.

As he floated higher, Dongwoo sunk, his sad eyes haunting him for many dreams to come.

-

He opened his eyes. He was no longer underwater, no longer asleep. Sunggyu shut his eyes tight, picturing Dongwoo sleeping soundly beside him, curled up with his blankets kicked off. Dongwoo, not dead. But in the next room, Woohyun was yelling at Sungyeol. And he knew, he was awake.