will you still love me when i’m no longer young and beautiful?

Yugyeom doesn’t like break time.

Recess is a different story, and naptimes are positively sublime, a weird attitude from a child his age, but beggars can’t be choosers, right? At least he’ll be with the older kids during recess (being in a combined school has its merits) meaning he can trail behind his childhood friend Youngjae and lessen risks of getting picked on, and time set aside for sleeping is nothing less than sacred for Yugyeom. But when it comes to break time-…

Yugyeom sits near the table legs of their desks, picking at a bit of the foam mat with chubby fingers as he watches the boys with the Lego set build their haphazard, mismatched empire raucously, snatching parts from the upturned boxes and yelling if someone took the bricks they needed, before glancing at the clock, wondering if he should go over and tell them that their ten-minute turn was three times over.

Nah. Vague memories of the muddy tee shirt and black eye they’d given him and made him lie about to the teacher the last time he’d come across them flashes through his mind, and he very thoughtfully decides against it. It’s much more comfortable here, with the table legs, anyway. He’d made an acquaintance of one of them, the one with the black paint marks and shoe scuffs and protruding wood chip so it seemed awkwardly longer than the others, because he’d thought they had a lot in common.

Yugyeom watches the clock with beady eyes. He doesn’t know exactly what the numbers or the hands mean but when the longer one is at one-two and the shorter one at one-one, teachers usually force the kids to keep their toys to prepare for naptime, Yugyeom’s absolute favourite time of the day, other than when the loud bell outside rings and they get to go home.

He absently wiggles his toes inside his too-tight sneakers- his dad had gotten angry when he outgrew the last pair of shoes in less than two months, so he’s taken to shutting up when his pants ride way up above his ankles when he sits down or when he has difficulty cramming his feet into socks and shoes. His mom’s never focusing long enough on one thing at a time to notice, so at least he’s safe on that.

“You.”

Yugyeom blinks, shaking out of reverie to look up at the tiny boy with a red nose and large, expressive eyes suddenly standing in front of him, staring fiercely down at him. It’s one of the foreign kids that comes to this school- they like to advertise their wonderfully English educated teachers in the hopes that some rich foreign family will push their kids in here and pump loads of money in at the same time. The boy doesn’t hang out much with the kids in this class either, preferring to hang out with the other older English speakers (from the big country on the other side of the world full of tall white people, Yugyeom thinks informatively) during recess, but being able to speak English automatically makes you cool in this school, so he’d been given some sort of diplomatic immunity amongst the other kids.

“What?” Yugyeom asks, in as submissive a tone as he can manage with the fact that even when seated down, he comes to almost the same height as the other boy.

“You’re tall,” the other boy says, still with the same sneer in his voice Yugyeom’s grown accustomed to hearing, both at home and here. “You have to help me reach that.”

His Korean is funny, but Yugyeom carefully neglects to mention that as he follows the boy’s tubby finger to one of the shelves with his eyes, to where a set of building blocks is situated just above any normal kid’s reach, on one of the desolate, empty upper shelves.

Yugyeom’s used to following orders from anyone now, after learning first-hand that how tall you are doesn’t exactly matter when seven shorter people push you down and start kicking you, and gets up, feeling the tiny boy’s eyes following him cautiously. He comes up to about one-and-a-half heads taller than him, and perhaps about two heads taller when he stands on tiptoe to reach the blocks and bring them down slowly, handing them to the boy.

He reaches out for it, still regarding Yugyeom suspiciously, and snatches the box at the last minute, body crouched and tensed, watching vigilantly for any reaction at all. When none comes from Yugyeom, he straightens, and something changes.

To Yugyeom, it was like watching him take off a mask he never knew was there, like the magician that came to the school last year to perform. His face untwists, eyes suddenly brighter and impossibly bigger, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel, revealing perky dimples, the crinkles in his forehead disappearing at reappearing at the edges of his eyes when he smiles.

“Now you have to play with me,” he says, in that same commanding tone, as he sits on the foam mat, upending the colourful blocks onto the foam mat, and Yugyeom slumps down heavily opposite him, slightly confused. He wonders if this is some trick so the kid can call on his big English-talking friends to come beat him up later. He plans out a quick escape route from the classroom to the table with Youngjae at recess later, just in case.

“I’m building my house,” the boy announces in wonky Korean, as he stacks several rectangular blocks, a triangular one in his other hand to put on top later. “And you have to build yours next to mine.”

Yugyeom mechanically makes a square shape with the blocks near the other kid’s one, propping up the sides with triangular blocks, wondering where the catch is and why it’s taking so long to come. The unease building inside his stomach is familiar- like when his dad comes home late and slams the door when he gets in. Then his mother disappears and Yugyeom disappears too, except he can’t do it as well as her, so he gets caught more often. Then he gets shouted at, then he gets hit if he doesn’t say what he’s supposed to. If he doesn’t, then he hides for the night in the closet or under his bed, where he pretends nothing is happening, but feels the exact same way he does now.

Yugyeom starts when the kid turns to him, head cocked and eyes questioning.

“What’s your name?” it’s with that same loud, bossy tone, except this time with less hints of a threat and more of curiosity.

“Yugyeom,” Yugyeom mumbles, then clears his throat when the boy looks confused, speaking as loudly as he dares. “Kim Yugyeom.” 

“Oh,” the boy shrugs, as though it means nothing, returning to building his house. Yugyeom has to work up the courage to say what he wants to next.

“What’s yours?”

The boy sighs, deflating slightly, before scrutinizing Yugyeom, as though trying to see if he was deemed worthy of knowing, but when he opens his mouth to speak again Yugyeom is quite sure he’s trying to use alien communication or something.

“Kunpimook Bhuwakul.”

Yugyeom blinks.

“Kun. Pi. Mook. Bhu. Wa. Kul,” the boy says each word loudly and clearly, with more confidence than with Korean, as though he’s used to people returning his self-introductions with blank looks.

“K-Kun,” Yugyeom stutters, unable to remember the rest, or understand how to roll his tongue to pronounce the syllables, and the weirdly-named boy flops back on the foam mat, a stream of the same alien gibberish leaving his lips in an exasperated manner, his tiny limbs flailing in the air. 

“Kun.”

“Kun,” Yugyeom repeats obediently.

“Pimook.”

“Pimook.”

“Bhuwa.”

“Bhuwa.”

“Kul. Kunpimook Bhuwakul.”

“Kummipook Bwakoo.”

The boy kicks out on the mat, as though throwing a temper tantrum, and Yugyeom feels a coil of dread in his stomach. That’s it, he’s failed whatever test the boy’s set up for him, and now he’ll have to hide out in the toilets during recess all the time because he’s pretty sure his and Youngjae’s friendship doesn’t extend to protecting him from big foreign bullies.

The tiny kid jackknifes up, eyes narrowed at Yugyeom, cheeks puffing out in a way that’s very endearing, but endearing doesn’t mean much to someone like Yugyeom, not now, anyway. He’d thought one of the girls in his class with pigtails and pink hairbands was “endearing” too, until she taught everyone in the class the word “stupid” so they could all call him that together.

“Bambam,” the boy eventually mutters, and Yugyeom winces, expecting a slap or a harsh word. He wonders if Bambam is a codeword for “get him at the playground later” or “trip him during recess”.

“Call me Bambam,” he says louder, and though Yugyeom’s trembling inside, he obeys naturally.

“Bambam,” he says dutifully, and the boy sighs, continuing to build his house.

From that day on, something changes, something Yugyeom with his limited knowledge of human relationships could barely understand, but appreciates anyway. During recess, even though they’re on opposite sides of the canteen, Bambam with the foreign kids, legs swinging cheerily above the ground from his chair as he chats animatedly away, Yugyeom seated quietly beside Youngjae and his rowdy group of friends, he can still see the boy clearly, but they don’t acknowledge each other properly outside the classroom. They rarely do, even though Bambam takes to sitting beside Yugyeom during lessons and sharing his blanket during naptime after that day.

No big foreign bullies come to pick on Yugyeom after that. In fact, the tripping and name-calling in general seems to fade, though most of the kids still stay away from Yugyeom and Bambam, giving them a wide berth wherever they go. Even Youngjae notices it, one day when Yugyeom’s saying bye when Bambam’s mother picks him up.

“It’s like you’re his giant pet bear or something, and he’s your trainer,” Youngjae rolls his eyes as they walk home together, big words Yugyeom doesn’t quite understand flowing easily off his lips.

All he knows is that he’s comfortable, more comfortable than he’s ever been his entire life, the way he is with Bambam now, so much that he might even dare say he’s happy.

Things don’t last forever, and Yugyeom knows that well. When it’s time for them to move up, Yugyeom stays, but Bambam leaves, following in the footsteps of two of the foreign kids he used to hang out with, for some fancy international school. They stand together during graduation, after the ridiculous skit they’d had to put on for adoring mothers and grandparents, Yugyeom with his pants still above his ankles and Bambam still a head shorter than him.

“So this is goodbye?” Bambam’s Korean is still funny, but not as much anymore, especially not when this is the last time Yugyeom might be hearing it first-hand. He remains mute, trying not to cry. His dad hates it when he cries. But he’s never been good at controlling how he feels, even after facing the consequences for it so many times.

Bambam’s eyes are still bright, still fierce as ever, burning with a passion and determination Yugyeom has never been able to fully understand. “But we’ll see each other again?” he says, and it’s more like a promise than a question, more like a command than a promise, and despite all the sorrow that’s coursing through his veins, Yugyeom feels at ease, because when Bambam tells him to do something it’s his job to fulfil it, and if Bambam says it then it’ll always come true.

“You have to stop crying,” Bambam orders, though his eyes are red and his voice shakes. “Because we’ll see each other again, right?”

“Yeah,” Yugyeom nods, wiping his eyes, and then just like that, Bambam’s gone, the silhouette of him waving as he clings to his mother’s hand barely outlined through the sunlight that’s pouring into the dim school hall.

Yugyeom tries not to cry. He really does. But this is the one time that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t do what Bambam tells him to.

Time passes, and both boys forget, though the imprint of the emotions that’d bubbled forth and hardened to form an unbreakable bond between them stays, buried under the new memories and experiences that come. But time can only do so little, especially for those as young as them, and fate does funny things when it wants to.

It’s mine.

Bambam glares, locking eyes in a mortal challenge between himself and that last packet of tomyum flavoured ramyun on the top shelf of the instant noodles section in the supermarket. Again, he stands on his absolute tippy-toes, holding his breath, reaching up for his impossibly high prize, and his fingertips just manage to brush the glorious plastic packaging before he stumbles slightly, his basket almost knocking over the lower packets of ramyun.

Stupid. Who the heck puts stuff that high anyway? You’ve got to be a freaking giant, or something, to get something that high.

Bambam sets his shopping basket on the ground, pushing up his sleeves, dramatic bass drum music playing in the background soundtrack of his life, before casting furtive looks around him to ensure the aisle is empty. He’ll die if Jackson or Jinyoung come along and manage to catch a photo of him jumping to reach a stupid packet of noodles. He bends his knees, experience from months of training hard at tricking coursing through his veins, and swipes a finger across his nose for good measure.

He leaps, fingers ghosting across the plastic packaging of the ramyun…and misses.

“!” he actually curses aloud in English, so angry he starts making pathetic jumps for the noodles, seriously considering, for a moment, knocking down the whole shelf so he could reach his glorious tom yum ramyun. He manages to twist it so the plastic packaging is sticking out, and his heart leaps, tongue poking out as he continues to stretch, reaching up for his wonderful noodles-…

And a lean, pale arm reaches up easily from behind him, plucking the noodles from the shelf.

“Yah!” Bambam turns around angrily, all the arguments of I saw it first and I’m actually Thai therefore by racial rules that is mine tumbling over one another in eagerness to leave his tongue, until he sees who he’s actually looking at and gapes.

“A-ah, I uh, I saw you were having um, difficulty taking the uh, noodles so I-I just-…” The giant in front of him stutters, holding out the noodles awkwardly, face flushing red under the harsh supermarket light. “I’m sorry, I uh, people usually ask me to help them get stuff off supermarket shelves, so-…”

“Yugyeom?” Bambam asks incredulously, and the boy blinks at the mention of his name, his face colouring impossibly further as he does so.

“…Bambam?” Yugyeom asks cautiously, eyes flicking from Bambam’s head to his feet.

“It’s been what, t-ten years? You’ve uh-…” Bambam suddenly finds himself stammering for the first time in forever, blinking rapidly as he takes in Yugyeom’s still-giant form, the oversized black tee with red words JUST DANCE emblazoned across in English, black cap pulled backwards over his head, the smooth bulges of muscle swelling from his arm, half-hidden under the loose sleeve that had fallen back when he’d reached up. “You’ve grown.”

“You,” Yugyeom’s voice sounds funny, and he clears his throat, still staring at Bambam strangely. “You uh, you dyed your hair?”

“Oh, what, this?” Bambam chuckles nervously, running his hand through the single blond strip he’d bleached into his hair on a whim, seriously regretting it more than ever now. “Jackson calls it my skunk hair, ahaha. It-…it was a real stupid decision, really-…”

“No no, it’s,” Yugyeom clears his throat again, eyes darting away nervously. “It’s nice.”

“You um,” Bambam glances at the shirt, before looking back at him hopefully. “You dance now?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yugyeom says, sounding slightly embarrassed, and Bambam has to fight the urge to stare at his arms when he reaches up again to rub the back of his neck. “I’m with the T.I.P. crew now, we just had practice, so.”

“Really?!” Bambam suddenly laughs, slightly hysterical at the coincidence. “You’ve got a competition this Saturday, right? I’m with the Gamblerz crew, we’ll probably be there too.”

“So we’ll see each other again?” Yugyeom says quickly, before his eyes widen. “I mean-…wow, it’s such a crazy coincidence, right?” he flushes, stuttering in his haste to say something else. “Like, ten years, right?”

“Yeah,” Bambam holds his breath, heart pounding in his chest at the rush of familiarity that’s just hit him, nostalgic and warm and bubbly and something else altogether that he can’t identify. He blames that and his running mouth for why he says what he does next. “Hey uh-…if you’re not rushing anywhere, you want to go uhm, have a coffee or something later? Catch up for a bit?”

“S-sure,” Yugyeom says, sounding both surprised and nervous, but the smile that spreads across his face tells Bambam otherwise. “Oh, and um-…” he hands the packet of noodles over to Bambam, who takes it slowly, feeling an odd spring of déjà vu wash over him as he does so. He expects jolts of electricity to jitter down his spine when their fingers brush in the movement, like all those cheesy romance dramas show, but it’s overwhelmed by the homeliness that hits him at the same time.

“I missed you,” Bambam blurts out, flushing when he realizes what he’s just said, quickly adding a “bro” to relieve at least some of the awkwardness in the situation. It’s only when he looks at Yugyeom, blushing and averting his eyes, that he thinks he might realize-…

“I missed you too.”

…-he might realize that nothing much has changed at all.