Airplanes frighten me – a lot. Everyone has that one fear they’ve kept with them since childhood, well for me, that fear is airplanes. I’ve never so much as thought to board one ever in my life and if someone I care about is flying anywhere I don’t sleep until I know they’ve landed safe and sound.

Hyukjae’s flight to New York is a 19 hour long, non-stop journey. So, when I finally receive that text from him it’s hard not to fall asleep on the spot. If he weren’t cruising at 33,000ft without any contact to the world below, he would’ve scolded me and told me to go to bed. The waiting has sort of become tradition now, I guess. Hyukjae travels a lot, his family make a lot of money and tend to vacation twice a year. It’s usually amazing, exotic places – and Hyukjae insists I join them because his mother is so keen on me and it wouldn’t be a problem. I decline each offer. I secretly love sitting for hours on end, listening to Hyukjae ramble on about what they saw, what food they ate, showing me these pictures he took and those pictures his parents took.

Then, I remind myself that Hyukjae isn’t on vacation and my heart sinks a little.

I’m proud of him in unfathomable ways, I mean, wow – New York City, right? He’s been working toward this dream since as long as I can remember. Maybe, somewhere in the back of my head, I came to the conclusion that it would never become his reality. Not that I doubt his ability to do great things. It was just a secret longing of mine that my best friend I would never be faced with permanent separation.

These are thoughts I don’t share with Hyukjae. In fact, it’s probably the only thing I don’t share with Hyukjae. We share clothes, shoes, beds, hats, beverages, fears, dreams – but I don’t share this with him. I see it as a selfless act. If I told him I’d be crippled with loneliness without him I know all too well it might deter him in going. Even though, we both know that we’ll both be crippled by loneliness without the other.

I’m a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. Hyukjae has always been the one who cries on my shoulder and writes long, deep essays about his innermost thoughts. On the outside it appears much different, I guess we like it that way. In a way it makes our friendship a little more sacred, a little more just ours.

I should be thanking my lucky stars that I still have the privilege of conversing with Korean people; Hyukjae’s English sounds a lot better on paper than it does when it’s flying out of his mouth. He’s become a stranger in a city rather than being in a city surrounded by strangers, it doesn’t help that he is quite a shy character. Here, I still have my other friends. They aren’t exactly Hyukjae but I do hold them dearly.

I’m finally awake, after being dead to the world for a good 13 hours. I was never really good at staying up longer than I’m used to, I was always the first asleep at sleepovers when I was little.

It’s 10AM, my bed is warm and at its most comfortable state – I’m not moving anywhere for a while. Lazily, I slide my phone out from underneath my pillow and check to see if Hyukjae’s imminent meltdown is upon us yet – it isn’t. I’ve got one text from my roommate informing me that he’s left for our daily morning run without me and that I’m a lazy son-of-a-.  

Feeling less-than-bothered about his insult I slide my phone back under my pillow and immerse myself among the bedding, freeing one leg from the mass of sheets. He’ll come back from his run and probably make me breakfast like the secretive, good-natured soul he is.

People naturally baby me. Apparently I have ‘one of those faces’. My mother still treats me like a child, my colleagues gush over me and always remind me to be extra careful when dealing with boiling water, my friends treat me like their annoying, albeit adorable, younger brother. I have childish tendencies, admittedly, and boy does everyone treat me as such.

Everyone except for Hyukjae; I’m gonna miss being treated like the slightly irresponsible adult that I am.

We’re both pretty childish; I wear it on my sleeve though. I’m childish in the sense that if I lose a game of rock, paper, scissors I’ll demand a rematch until I’m victorious. He’s childish in the sense that he cries if a girl doesn’t return his romantic feelings. We play to each other’s strengths and weaknesses. He’ll rematch me until I win for the sake of my pride and I’ll wipe his tears and insist that he was too good for her anyway.

It’s hard to accept that the reality I must face is one without him; made even harder by the notion being forced upon me so suddenly. We’ll still talk, the internet is a great tool for long distance friendships – but is it ever really the same? Hearing the voice through the receiver and seeing the face through a screen. I’m pretty old-fashioned and I prefer the real thing, sitting in front of me, voice not being made fuzzy by the bad reception and face not being pixelated by the lack of good Wi-Fi.

It hasn’t quite hit me yet. That he is there and I am here. At the moment, it just feels like he’s on his annual trip and slowly, but surely, that anchor like feeling of loneliness is going to drown me out at sea.

I ease my thoughts long enough to notice my hands are gripping at the sheet under me. So maybe I am scared, and maybe he is too.

Upon hearing the front door of the apartment opening and closing, I relax immediately. Problems and doubts are a lot easier to ignore if there’s someone around to talk to. I hear the unmistakable sound of Jongwoon stomping around in the next room and slide out from under the comforter, quickly pulling on a pair of sweatpants before hurrying into the lounge.

Jongwoon is sifting through our mail when I scuttle in, he discards most of the letters, murmuring about bills under his breath. He’s clad in a black, flimsy tank top and black sweatpants. His raven locks aren’t sweeping over his forehead like they usually are – he clips his bangs back to avoid forehead sweat making his hair greasy.

“Morning,” I announce, fake-yawning, “Have a good run?”

“It lives,” He gripes, setting the mail down atop the coffee table, “Did you just wake up?”

“No,” I tell him, “I’ve been awake for about thirty minutes.”

He grunts and rolls eyes, walking into the kitchen, “Shouldn’t you be at work?” He calls to me while I follow behind.

I shake my head, even though he’s looking into the fridge rather than at me. “They insisted I have the day off, to heal.”

Jongwoon stops rifling through the refrigerator and peeks one, narrowed, obsidian eye around the door in my direction. “To heal? Hyukjae isn’t dead, Donghae.” And his rifling resumes.

“I know that!” I half-yell, stomping my left foot, “I’m working all day tomorrow, happy?”

He appears once again, arms full of ingredients for god knows what – he’s always making weird, foreign food that he reads about on the internet. “Suppose,” He mumbles, setting the premade concoction on the counter, “Do you want some German apple pancakes?”

I nod and quickly make my way out of the kitchen; he gets pissy if I’m hovering around the kitchen doing nothing while he’s cooking. Jongwoon gets pissy about a lot of things, but that just adds to his… loveable charm.

He and I aren’t exactly a match made in roommate heaven. I have a lot of quirks that ignite his impossibly short fuse, and he detests most things I love; Christianity, loud noises, cats, American sitcoms. How we make it work? I have not the faintest clue.

The original plan was for Hyukjae and I to move out and get our own flat together and have many parties with lots of girls… but then he got accepted into New York University and that plan was shot to . I still wanted to move out, partly to prove to everyone that I didn’t need Hyukjae by my side for every little step I took in my life – that’s when I asked Jongwoon if I could move into his two-bedroom apartment, he didn’t sound so keen until I promised to split the monthly bills.

I fidget upon the sofa in the lounge in silence, gnawing my bottom lip and listening to Jongwoon’s bustling in the kitchen. He has enforced a strict no-feet-on-the-furniture rule, so it’s hard to get comfy sometimes. If I protest he’ll merely say, “You want to put your feet on the furniture? Then buy your own furniture”. Another contrast that usually has us clashing.

“Has Hyukjae landed, then?” Jongwoon yells from the kitchen.

“Last night,” I call back, “He’s fourteen hours behind us!” I say, baffled. The concept of time zones amazes me, yet I still have no desire to leave my home of UTC.

“I bet you miss him already,” Jongwoon laughs, poking his head out of the kitchen to proudly present the mocking smirk on his face.

I manage a sneer in Jongwoon’s direction before he disappears back inside the kitchen. Of course I miss him, like I do every time he jets off to another country for a week or two. I’ve got a hard time ahead of me, I’m aware. However, this is no vacation. Hyukjae isn’t going to come prancing through Incheon airport next week with gifts and pictures and stories to share.

All I manage to think about is Hyukjae and wonder if he’s feeling the same way. People peg him the strong and smart boy, the boy who oozes confidences and reeks of self-esteem. Sure, he can play that part when he has to, and the only time he gets a break from his one-man show is when it’s just him and me; the way we both prefer it.

Maybe this separation will be good for us, teach us how to stand on our own two feet. Failing that it’ll send us both on a downward, lonely spiral, but that’s an absolute worst case scenario.

He’s going to do great things in New York.

Just when I feel that unfriendly lump clawing its way up my oesophagus, Jongwoon’s hand slaps down onto my shoulder. I jump in my seat – he lurks about quietly, picking up the unintentional habit of scaring people.

When I peer up to him he’s straining his thin lips for the most comforting smile he can muster, “He’ll be fine, you’ll be fine; it’ll be fine.”

“I hope you’re right,” I mumble, heaving a sigh.

He chuckles and tells me, “I’m always right,” before wandering back into the kitchen.

Jongwoon serves up his pancakes, I can smell the sickly sweet apples before anything else. They’re delicious and I hoover them up and even ask for seconds. I’m more of a Waffle Guy myself, Hyukjae is the Pancake Lover. We tend to bicker over what to have for breakfast whenever we’re together during the early mornings.

Almost subconsciously, as Jongwoon leaves the room to plate up our second helpings, my hand slips to my phone and I tap out a message to Hyukjae, ignoring the extra cost it’ll add to my phone bill. I don’t expect a reply because it’s night over there and he’s tired, but, he’s unpredictable like that.

Haekdonghaek: Jongwoon made these amazing apple pancakes, you would’ve loved them.

Haekdonghaek: Miss you, ok?

Eunhyukkie: He can make them for me next time I see him ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Eunhyukkie: I miss you too, idiot~