He was wearing bleach faded plaid, the blue stripes are white and the black is gray. The sun beat down on his too pale skin, rivaling the blonde curls on his head. But the most significant thing about their first meeting was how Youngjae didn’t think much of him really. He was just some teen at the skatepark. All saggy jeans and lanky limbs. 

He looked too cool for his taste: pierced ears, large red headphones, crowd of teens in tow. And seeing how skating was never his scene to start with, nothing really pieced together for them. Maybe that’s why they liked each other, though. Youngjae provided some sort of stability and freshness that Junhong never had, and Junhong the teenage rebellion that he’s avoided for the past nineteen years. 

And, although Junhong was seventeen at the time of their meeting, he connected with Youngjae on the same level. Be it either that Youngjae wasn’t as mature as he perceived himself as, or Junhong was just older beyond his years. 

Sometimes they spent nights walking down the boardwalk together, the eight pm sun hanging just barely above the water as all the seagulls left to god knows where. Their steps fell into line and the not so accidental brushes of their hands sent shivers of excitement down their spines. It was as if they had a secret that the rest of the world didn't have. And they suppose they did. 

(both) Their first kiss happen by the ocean. There's the scent of salt water and the cotton candy being made right above their heads as it happens. The water rushes in tune with the creaking floorboards of the pier, and maybe there are some seagulls in the background, too. (it's around eleven and the sun has definitely set; do seagulls stay out that late?). He has Junhong's large jacket draped around his shoulders and the boy's hands gripped tightly against the sleeves as he’s pushed against the wooden pillar. Youngjae’s head knocks back against the wood just slightly, but he ignores it in the exchange of sweet kisses.

Their heels dig into the fine sand. 

Their touches are awkward and stiff at first, with Junhong still adjusting to his new body, accepting the sudden height it provided him, along with the stiff aches and joint pains. His movements are odd, bordering on clumsy. While Youngjae, on the other hand, just has never been comfortable within himself, leaving him in a perpetual state of cautious movements (be them romantic or not). Physically they never fit. They're a bundle of inexperience. Junhong learns fast, however. 

They’re so close; Youngjae can count every freckle on Junhong’s face, along with every shade of brown sprinkled in his eyes. Junhong’s fair skin is sunkissed in all the perfect places. He loves them, yet they’ll probably fade. 

The night’s cold, his body is uncomfortably warm.

And their first kiss is soft and speaks of first love, with the seconds and thirds following in similar fashion.

But when you’re seventeen, it isn’t about holding hands and sweet hugs. Boys wants long kisses and intimate touches. Everything was new and spiced with some sort of hidden taboo. 

Youngjae noticed fairly quickly the thrill Junhong got from their trysts deep in the night. He was addicted to the feelings Youngjae caused him. He adored the sweaty palms, shaking legs, the brief seconds before their kisses for the okay, and each and every secretive meeting (or the lack thereof). But he supposed he was in the same boat, too. 

There’s something about two in the morning kisses that’s addicting. 

And like most addictions, it is better to be without. Summer only comes once a year; it ends like first loves tend to do. Youngjae doesn’t mean to break the boy’s heart. But it’s really more for Junhong than himself, or so he says. 

Drawn out days transcend into early nights. Freckles fade. First loves usually never the last.