‘What’s ‘love’ like?’ 

Luhan and Jongin are back at the neighbourhood playground, sitting on the ledge of the playhouse castle. The playground used to feel like a second home to them, spending as much time as they could exploring every single inch of the plastic tricolour castle. Here, they were no longer kids – they were treasure hunters on a neverending quest for riches, bloodthirsty pirates that conquered the seven seas, noble kings that triumphed over vast kingdoms. Here, they were fearless. 

Things were different now. Jongin was hesitant, suddenly unfamiliar with the direction in which the conversation was heading. 

‘Um, love is…’ Jongin stalls, biting his lip in concentration, trying to recall the words his mother had told him years ago. Why was Luhan asking me this? Why now? ‘It makes you um… reckless at times, maybe even careless and foolish. But you learn to become selfless and caring. Patient, too. And you can’t be hasty, because… True love blooms in its own time.’ 

‘Is that it?’ Luhan laughs begrudgingly, giving Jongin a contrite smile. It’s quiet for a while, Luhan allowing Jongin’s answer to sink in. ‘Remember the mixtape I gave you, Jongin?’ 

Jongin reaches instinctively for his bag, hand hovering over the pouch he always keeps the cassette player in, ‘Um… Yeah, hyung. Why? Do you want it back?’ 

Luhan’s eyes drop to the ground, his voice faint. ‘No, it’s not mine,’ he confesses, Jongin slightly taken aback by the reply. ‘It belongs to my mother. She gave it to me that night – right before I asked you to follow me to the golf course. After her divorce with my father was finalized.’

Jongin was dumbstruck, words not coming to him fast enough to form a cohorent response. How could he have been so dense? So completely unaware, especially after all these years? Had he always been that oblivious to Luhan’s situation? 

‘She was… crying. Packing up her things, telling me she still loved him. I was so scared… Scared that she would leave me,’ Luhan chokes out. ‘The songs – on the mixtape – they were a collection of her favourites. Those were the songs my parents would dance to after dinner and a glass of wine, and I still remember the way they’d hold each other close, his hand on the small of her back, hers on his shoulders, swaying to the music late into the night.’ 

Jongin wavers, not knowing how to react. This was all new information to him. He was shocked that there was this huge chunk of Luhan’s life that he was unfamiliar with, especially something that held so much weight. Luhan knew everything about the younger boy, and Jongin had assumed that he knew everything about Luhan too. 

Jongin feels as if the ground has disappeared from underneath him. Suddenly, it made so much sense why Luhan had stopped inviting Jongin over to his house for dinner years ago, all the brusque, curt replies whenever anyone asks about his family, why Luhan’s father never showed up to parent-teacher conferences. It all added up, so painfully obvious that Jongin felt ashamed for not putting the pieces together earlier. 

The older boy turns to face Jongin now, face contorted into a mix of anger and sadness. ‘Is that what ‘love’ is, Jongin? If it is, I’ve decided that I want nothing to do with it,’ Luhan says, almost sneering. 

‘Love,’ the older boy spits out, as if the word were vile, dirty, murderous, ‘Is good for absolutely nothing. It gives people the power to hurt you. Love is destructive.’ 

Jongin opens his mouth to disagree, because no, love isn’t supposed to destroy. Love is healing, love is strength, love is hope for the future. Why can’t you see that I love you? 

But Luhan intervenes, words like whetted claws, ‘He hurt her, Jongin. I’d see the bruises on her arms when she rolls up her sleeves to cook dinner, the tears in her eyes when she tucks me into bed every night, whispering empty promises, assuring me that everything was alright. He still comes over sometimes, to visit me, he says, but the fighting between them always gets worse,’ Luhan pauses to check his temper, wiping the hot tears from his eyes, ‘I can never forgive him for what he did to her. And I– I couldn’t protect her.'

There aren’t any words in the world that Jongin can think of to make the older boy feel better. Jongin looks at Luhan, the older boy’s expression exactly the same as all those years ago when they had met outside the golf course. He had been hurting, keeping it to himself for all this time. 

Jongin wraps an arm around Luhan protectively in an embrace, the other hand reaching out to pull the boy’s head into the curve of his shoulder. ‘Thank you,’ Jongin murmurs, words soft and assuasive, hand drawing soothing circles on Luhan’s back. ‘Thank you for telling me. You’re so brave, hyung. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.’ 

Love is patient, Jongin tries to say without words, holding Luhan closer.

Luhan starts to cry, body wracking with suppressed sobs, allowing himself to be vulnerable, shielded from the world in Jongin’s arms. The older boy feels lighter, as if a weight has been lifted from his chest, liberated from the confines of his untold secret. 

And I will wait.