Jeongguk is eighteen. He knows a lot of things and actually understands them. He is old enough to sort out which things are right, and which aren’t. He has grown up so much that now he can handle his mom’s anger or silent treatment really well. He knows exactly when to speak up and when to shut up. He knows a lot of things and he knows for sure that this, this, cannot end nicely.

“Please don’t get married.”

-

Rewind to: ten years before.

Jeongguk hates vegetables. He doesn’t like them no matter how good his mom makes them in their green-y fake splendor. To him, they taste like something rotting and are just not enjoyable, plus the fact that Jeongguk’s favorite color is not green. He likes red so much and will only wear clothes and shoes and sandals in that color, so yes, to put it simply, vegetables will only be edible to Jeongguk if they are red.

(Until the day Jeongguk turns fifteen, Jeongguk’s mom still thanks Taehyung for this logic.)

Eight-year-old Jeongguk is a chubby, rosy cheeked kid. He doesn’t talk a lot yet grumbles a lot, will smile at whatever funny face you make in front of him, and will laugh very loudly if you do an impersonation of Dooly the Little Dinosaur—which Taehyung does, very regularly.

It’s a little odd, how Taehyung is fifteen and is about to graduate from middle school, and yet when he is asked who’s your closest friend, he would happily say baby Jeongguk from my neighborhood (it’s not like he has no friend in school, he does, Taehyung is a cheerful personality inside that gangly body of his, of course he has many friends in school). It’s a little funny how Jeongguk is suddenly a chatterbox when he’s near Taehyung, telling stories about the weekly cartoons, mumbling about his mom’s cooking and the friends he’s made in elementary school. It’s a little jarring and weird and strange and whatever, but Taehyung has always liked babies and kids and he enjoys cuteness more than he does soccer in the rain. Really.

Fifteen-year-old Taehyung talks a lot—he has been like that since the day he was old enough to start blurting out words. This story and that story, Taehyung likes to narrate them, adding moves here and there, changing the depth of his voice here and there—high-pitched when he’s telling about the scolding he gets today from his mom, husky when he’s copying his teacher’s story. Jeongguk likes him a lot, and of course that is understandable; Tae-hyung is always there, playing with him or laying down on the grass with him, trying out the new toy Jeongguk’s mom bought or finishing a Mickey Mouse puzzle together. It’s always Jeongguk and Taehyung, it’s always Jeongguk asking his mother when’s Tae-hyung gonna get home, it’s always Taehyung falling asleep under Jeongguk’s Sonic the Hedgehog blanket after hours of incomprehensible talking and playing. It’s always about company and friendship and joy, and neither of them are up for what comes next after growing up finishes.

-

“Can you even see under that fringe? I can’t even see your eyes.”

To be honest, Jeongguk can’t, but he would rather kiss a baboon’s than admitting that out loud. So he says, “Shut up, Tae. This is trendy.”

The condensation of the strawberry popsicle Taehyung’s holding drips when he shakes it, “Nah, Guk, you’re just an emo kid.” He laughs as Jeongguk glares. “Shut up, Mom, this is not a phase! This is who I am as a person!”

Jeongguk’s cheeks redden. “You’re eavesdropping! Beside, I wouldn’t dare tell my mom to shut up, she’d slap the heck outta me.”

“Can’t call it eavesdropping, more like, overhearing.” Taehyung corrects. “Seriously, though, get rid of the bangs, Guk. It’s plain ugly.” He reaches out to ruffle Jeongguk’s ‘trendy’ fringe that is far too long.

Jeongguk just snorts, flinching away from Taehyung’s grasp. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not like you see me everyday, anyway. You won’t see if I rid them or not.” He doesn’t mean it to sound so sad—he’s fourteen after all, being all sulky and grumpy just because you can’t meet your neighbor that’s also your bestfriend all the time seems a little bit childish if not annoying. At least Taehyung still treats him to lunch and popsicles break afterwards when he comes visiting, which he doesn’t do a lot these days.

Whatever remarks ready to be blurted out to mask Jeongguk’s bitterness however dies when Taehyung pats his head softly, and says, “Don’t be too sad. I’ll make sure to call you once a week, or.. what? Is that not enough?” he stops to ask upon seeing the subtle frown on the other’s forehead.

You said that too when you were leaving for college, you didn’t do that. Jeongguk wants to point out, but doesn’t anyway, because he is fourteen and Taehyung is twenty-one. Taehyung won’t understand; Taehyung doesn’t need the constant clinginess.

“Y’know, Guk, if you miss me that much,” Taehyung continues and dodges when Jeongguk tries to hit him, “..you can always call me first. It’s not that hard you know, I even set my number as 7 on your speed-dial.”

Jeongguk the remnants of his vanilla ice cream before throwing the stick into the garbage can beside him. He doesn’t know that, that Taehyung is 7 on his phone, he never checks. But there’s always been a tiny fear in him saying Don’t call him. You’ll just end up nagging and he’ll find it annoying, so Jeongguk doesn’t. Call Taehyung, he means. He just waits.

“I don’t know,” he settles on answering.

Taehyung ruffles Jeongguk’s hair one more time the morning after, when Jeongguk’s standing on the Kim’s doorstep, again with the I’ll  call you twice a week and a boxy grin. Jeongguk knows he’ll probably do that only on the first week, but he smiles and nods.  A white lie.

-

Going back to: the evening Jeongguk turns ten.

The birthday party the Jeon held for him was a mess, the cake was uneven and (as Jeongguk’s mean classmate said) just plain ugly, the event was boring and too darn long, and on top of that, his mom also managed to embarass him in front of the cutest girl on his class by saying that Jeongguk watched Toy Story and cried—making the whole party attendees laughed at him. Jeongguk despises his mom so much for that (he wants to say hate, but Taehyung had said that hate is a strong word and you can’t hate your mom, so he’ll just say despise because it seems bolder than a simple dislike).

But those aren’t all, Jeongguk still has another reason why his tenth birthday .

The tree he is sitting on top of shakes when Taehyung calls, “Jeonggukie!”

Tae-hyung weren’t there. Taehyung was supposed to be there. Taehyung is his best friend and he ought to be there when Jeongguk’s celebrating his birthday. Taehyung should’ve been there so his mom wouldn’t have a chance to say Jeongguk watched Toy Story and cried to Yeonji, or at least if Taehyung were there, Jeongguk wouldn’t have felt so humiliated because Taehyung wouldn’t laugh at him, he would laugh with him. Sometimes having someone to laugh with is the best thing you could feel.

Jeongguk looks down from the tree’s branch, stares at Taehyung’s windswept hair and wrinkled uniform. Jeongguk is angry.

Taehyung looks up and watches him with worry lining his expression. “You shouldn’t have climbed up there yourself, the tree’s quite high.” He says.

“Yes, but I’m big!” Jeongguk exclaimed, clear anger colors his voice. He doesn’t care.

Instead of replying, Taehyung s his backpack, rummaging through it in a bit, and then gets out a... Jeongguk can’t see, it’s too dark here. He decides not to ask, though.

“Look, Gukkie, I bought you something!” Taehyung says, waving the gift. “Come down?”

“No.”

“Whyyyy?” Taehyung asks with smaller voice. Sometimes he does that, talk with that voice, Jeongguk thinks it’s because Taehyung wants to feel cute, too, because he always said that Jeongguk’s small voice is cute.

Jeongguk says begrudgingly, “Tae-hyung is not cute!”

A breathless laugh from under—Jeongguk is looking at the sky and not Taehyung, because he’s ten and he’s allowed to be petty. “And you are?” asks Taehyung.

“’Course I am! You said that yourself,”

“Yeah, yeah. Now would you come down, please, Mr. Cutie?” another wave of the gift. “I think you would like it.”

Jeongguk’s angry facade is about to crumble, but then he remembers—“You didn’t even say sorry.” He remarks, sounding sulky even to his own ears. “Mom said you have to say sorry when you do something wrong. That way, you can be forgiven.”

Taehyung smiles, but of course Jeongguk can’t see it. “Alright. I’m sorry for not coming to your party, I was doing assignments. Sorry, yeah?”

That is good enough for Jeongguk, so he props himself up, ready to climb down, until the branch he is standing on lets out a squeak and then he is flailing and trying to grasp whatever he could grasp—and Taehyung is screaming so loud that even amidst the panic he’s in Jeongguk still manages to cover his ears.

It’s too late though, the next second Jeongguk is on the ground—well, on the ground if not for Taehyung’s body underneath him.

“Ugh.” Taehyung groans, eyes blinking to catch sight of Jeongguk sprawled over him. “Ugh. Are you alright?”

Honestly speaking, Jeongguk is not alright, his palms hurt and so do his knees, but Taehyung just made himself Jeongguk’s human pillow to catch him from falling directly on the ground and that is the nicest thing someone has done for him. So he says, “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Could’ve been better, but yeah. Now get up.”

The gift turns out to be a giant Goku figurine, Jeongguk’s favorite character from his favorite TV show Dragon Ball Z, and two melted popsicles—vanilla for him, strawberry for Taehyung. Suddenly, Jeongguk’s tenth birthday doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

-

A little fast-forward and suddenly Jeongguk is not just a 140 centimeters baby with sulking tendency—his mom says Jeongguk grows up too fastand look he is this tall already! while his dad just laughs while keeping the camera that is still recording steady in his hand. Jeongguk, on the other hand, doesn’t look even partially amused with what his parents are doing right now.

“Mom!” he calls, eyebrows furrowed. “Stop filming! It’s just school!”

His mom shakes him easily and turns to the camera, again. “Jeongguk is this tall but inside he’s still a grumpy baby! Look at him trying to look scary.” The camera zooms in on Jeongguk’s face. “Yes, that’s good, Honey.”

Really, Jeongguk is right. It’s just his first day of high school and there is no need to exaggerate that—it’s just freaking school. At least Jeongguk thinks so. His parents, on the contrary, seem to think that this is a huge step-up, even going as far as getting out his dad’s most expensive camera to make the memory lasts forever. Which seems really silly, but they’re his parents and parents always win no matter what situation they are in—so yes, Jeongguk just stands there, looking pretty and nervous in his new, super neat uniform while his dad’s busy zooming in and out and his mom’s cooing nonstop at how cool you look, darling!

Ten minutes later, his parents finally—finally—deem it enough photos and videos for the day and let him go. Jeongguk actually breathes in relief while gathering his stuff, which isn’t much, just some newly bought books and stationery. He begins saying his goodbye while retreating to the front door.

Until his mom steps in again.

Jeongguk groans. “What is it, Mom? I’m really going to be late, y’know.”

 “Wait a little bit,” his mom answers vaguely, looking at the street as if waiting for something. “It’s just six-fifteen, you’re not going to be late. Just, wait.”

Jeongguk eyes her suspiciously, “Yes, but for what?” but her mom just waves him off and motions him to sit beside her on the porch. It’s unusual and strange as heck but then again it’s Jeongguk’s first day of high school and it’s completely understandable if his mom feels a little emotional. So Jeongguk sits and says, “Just until six-thirty.”

Turns out, he doesn’t have to wait until six-thirty because a familiar car pulls in at six twenty-two and. Taehyung.

“Your ride’s here!” his mom exclaims, enthusiastically waving at Taehyung who’s walking closer and closer. Suddenly, Jeongguk can’t breathe.

It’s going to be hectic. Seoul. I don’t think I could visit as frequently as when I was in college—works, y’know, Guk?

It was a month and seven days ago. Jeongguk hasn’t seen Taehyung that long.

Taehyung greets, “Good morning!”

But Jeongguk isn’t breathing.

“Looking good, Guk.” Taehyung whistles, laughter bubbling up inside his chest and colors his voice. Jeongguk is staring too sharply and Taehyung seems oblivious but that’s a good thing, because Jeongguk’s struggling to breathe and it’s stupid.

Don’t worry, Busan is like two hours away. Close, right? You can visit me anytime you want! My roommate is cool. Just visit when you’re on holiday, yeah?

Jeongguk had nodded and said yeah, but he didn’t. It’s Taehyung’s first year working on a law firm and of course everything’s hectic, Taehyung will be busy adapting and doing cases and he’ll still be working even when Jeongguk is on holiday. Because as Jeongguk grows older and bigger Taehyung does too, and as the number of his age increases, so does the responsibilities that come with it.

“Let’s go,” Taehyung says, offering his hand for Jeongguk to take. “We’re leaving first, Auntie!”

Halfway into the short fifteen-minutes walk, Jeongguk breaks the silence. “My school is close, you know. You don’t have to come from Seoul just to walk me.” He says. His gaze is fixated on the road after them, full with chatters of students and adults going to work, he doesn’t even look at Taehyung even once, afraid the squeezing in his chest will make a comeback.

“I know. I want to.” Taehyung responds. “Also, what do you mean just to walk you? I’m meeting my parents, too!”

“Yeah. But you haven’t even see them,” Jeongguk points out, wiggling his palm in Taehyung’s grip—Taehyung’s like that, he likes to hold Jeongguk’s hand and compare the size. Your fingers used to be this short. When did it grow? 

Taehyung laughs, “It’s because my favorite kid in the block is going to high school for the first time. Also, I miss you more.” He says, probably to humour Jeongguk’s quite, somber demeanor. “Cheer up! I’ll buy you sundae when you come back.”

Jeongguk might be fifteen and a high school student, but sundae is a nice exchange for a month and seven days of not talking. He lets out a surprised gasp and exclaims, “With various toppings and all?!”

“With various toppings and all.” Taehyung confirms.

Later when they’re already in the school’s front gate, when Taehyung is shouting goodbye and hwaiting, Jeongguk says to the passing wind: I miss you too.

-

An ivory card is sitting on the table when eighteen-year-old Jeongguk gets home from an exam. It’s coruscant and classy, beautiful and entirely hard to miss. Maybe Jeongguk’s brain isn’t working properly when he curiously grabs it, or maybe it’s just how his brain is, how it’ll never proceed to think that when he sees the glimmering card under the sunlight coming from the windows.

Request your presence at the ceremony...

It falls.

-

Summer on the first year of high school, Jeongguk has his first encounter with love.

“It was kind of weird,” he explains around a mouthful of tempura. “She just went, I like you so much, and I just. Froze. Like that.”

Yugyeom’s laughter probably can be heard from the teacher’s lounge upstairs; obnoxious and ugly. “Seriously, though,” he says when he’s done being an unloyal friend. “Did you even reject her?”

Jeongguk thinks about the hurried answer he threw at the girl’s confession—I’m sorry I don’t think I like you like that plus I have to go to the bathroom right now yeah see you later—and nods, albeit reluctantly. “I think I did.” He mumbles.

“You think you did.”

“I did.”

“Okay, good, at least you didn’t give her false hope or anything.” Yugyeom bites his tempura and says. “Not trying to be annoying—but why did you reject her? I mean, I remember you talked about being lonely weeks ago. You could maybe, I don’t know, ask her out and see if you’re interested? I’m pretty sure you don’t even know this girl.”

When did I say I was lonely is already on the tip of Jeongguk’s tongue, but then he remembers. He starts slowly, “I didn’t mean lonely like that.” No, he didn’t mean it like that at all. “It’s just, my friend—”

“You missed him.” Yugyeom cuts in with a grin.

“No—”

“Yes.” Yugyeom stares at him unblinkingly and Jeongguk can feel his resolution’s breaking. “What was his name? Tae-hyung? You talked about him a lot and it almost like he wasn’t just friend. You have this, aura, when you’re telling  a story about him—like, happiness, I think? You weren’t like that when you aced that Biology test or when you won the soccer tournament.”

Jeongguk snorts. “It’s because Biology is Biology and I didn’t win the medal alone—it was the team, not just me.”

Yugyeom purses his lips and thinks. “Fine, that makes sense but. Still.”

“Of course I make sense, although I can’t say the same about you.” Jeongguk states and adds when Yugyeom shrugs absentmindedly. “Seriously, Taehyung is friend. We’ve been neighbors for years.”

We’ve been neighbors for years, that’s what Jeongguk tells himself too on the last day of that summer holiday, when he is sitting in the center of a playground in the neighborhood, a bag of chips in his hand and Taehyung on his left.

Taehyung is twenty-three—it’s strange for people his age to be eating chips and popsicle in a playground late at night, but Taehyung doesn’t seem like he cares and Jeongguk likes that. The fact that grown-up Taehyung is still the old Taehyung who plays yo-yo with him. In fact, Jeongguk likes that too much.

“How’s work?” Jeongguk decides to ask after five-minutes pass by without one of them speaking. He knows asking about works isn’t a very good idea, but he is really curious of what Taehyung has been up to these days. They rarely talk—Taehyung rarely goes home, calls rarely happen, and Jeongguk is embarrassed how true Yugyeom’s accusation is. You missed him.

“Eh, same old, same old,”

“No interesting cases?”

Taehyung shakes his head. “No interesting cases.” He looks tired, Jeongguk observes. Taehyung has always been thin, tall but gangly, but tonight he looks extremely lanky—he doesn’t even talk much. That’s strange, too. Jeongguk wants so badly to rid the exhaustion lining Taehyung’s every moves and words.

He wants to say something, Taehyung beats him to it.

“How’s high school? Found someone interesting?” Taehyung asks, rising his eyebrow. Up and down, up and down. He has nice eyebrows, Jeongguk can’t help but notices. He is good-looking. “Jeonggukie’s falling in love yet?”

Jeongguk hits him. “It’s school, I’m there to learn,” he says. A white lie. When Taehyung barks out a laugh, he smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, spend all your years studying and getting good grades then, Guk. Forget love and all that jazz—”

The way Taehyung says love and all that jazz is so bored and taut, as if he is saying vegetables are healthy for you, you should eat them to ten-year-old Jeongguk. As if it is a fact known by everybody.

Then it hits him.

“Taehyung—did something happen?” he questions, even when what he actually wants to ask is, did someone break your heart?

 Taehyung just laughs.

-

The phone call happens right after Jeongguk got the acceptance letter.

It isn’t surprising, really, Jeongguk has been expecting to get it since the day he sent in his curriculum vitae. It doesn’t make him jump in happiness, it doesn’t make his heart skip. He just calmly sits down and grabs his phone.

He doesn’t expect the call to go through. But it does.

“Hello?”

There’s a lump in the back of Jeongguk’s throat, invisible but so tight. Jeongguk has trouble breathing. He clears his voice—hoping the person on the other line would know that it is him without him having to say the word I’m Jeongguk—yes I’m calling you first. Because he would know, he would know if Taehyung were to call him and not saying anything. He would know it’s him just by the sound of his steady breathing. Jeongguk would know and he would sit down and listen. He so very would and the knowledge hurts too much.

“Jeongguk?”

Thanks for recognizing me, he doesn’t say, instead he blurts out. “You didn’t tell me.”

There’s a sound of papers getting flipped, a buzzing and a feminine voice saying we should get that. Of course Taehyung is busy.

“I’m sorry I didn’t really catch that—”

For a moment Jeongguk thinks that I’m sorry would be followed by something else. Something intensely meaningful that would show some recognition that Taehyung’d hurt him. It doesn’t come.

“I—” Jeongguk starts, “—you didn’t even tell me.” You caught me off guard. He wants to sound angry because Taehyung is supposed to feel bad, but he has trouble breathing and he’s getting tired and sadder as the clock sitting on his nightstand ticks by. “I thought we were friends.” It sounds so small and weak. I wish we were more than friends.

Somewhere along the way, Jeongguk falls.

When Taehyung’s voice comes again, it’s clearer. “Of course we are friends—I didn’t really tell my family about it either. Sorry, yeah?”

Somewhere along the way, Jeongguk forgets that Taehyung is getting older too.

“You’re getting married this Friday, Tae. I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”

A silence.

Somewhere along the way, Jeongguk has forgotten that loving someone doesn’t mean that you could have them forever. Just for you.

“Just congratulate me, yeah?” Taehyung laughs, but it sounds so distant that Jeongguk has to press his phone closer to his ear. To hear better. To feel closer.

Somewhere along the way, Taehyung finds another hand to hold. Your fingers used to be this short. When did it grow? 

“Congratulation.” Flat. There’s no feeling to it, only emptiness and untold distress. “Tae, can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you... do you ever think of me as someone else?” Jeongguk’s voice breaks. “Not friend, not—”

The feminine voice comes back, interrupting the long overdue question—confession. “Are you done yet? We have to check the hall—”

Jeongguk laughs. “Why did I bother honestly.” He mumbles, sad, oh-so-sad. “Sorry for this, Taehyung. Congratulations.” He ends the call.

Passing his eyes over the A4 envelope one more time, Jeongguk sighs and gets up. Congratulations, the letter also said, ignored, it is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the University of Tokyo.

-

“It just.. broke. Like, I didn’t even do anything—just typing up my report, but then the thing shuts down by itself, and when I turned it on the screen is just blue? What the hell. Why the would it do that—oops, sorry. Forgot I shouldn’t curse in front of a child—”

Jeongguk cuts in, “Shut up, Tae. I’m trying to concentrate here.”

Taehyung nods—a little leery with how fast Jeongguk clicks on the touchpad, right clicks once, then left. He doesn’t really understand, even when he’s supposed to be the adult here, in this situation. But Jeongguk looks sure, his eyes fixated on the screen, so Taehyung will give him the benefit of the doubt.

 “Um... Tae,” Jeongguk cracks the silence two minutes later. “What were you doing before you type up that report?” he asks, relaxing back onto the chair and looks at Taehyung right in the eyes—a challenging glimmer in his gaze.

That tone is enough to stop Taehyung from chewing on his tortilla chips. He sits straighter and questions, “I was downloading GTA V? That, and...” he remembers the same time as Jeongguk barks out a laugh. “Oh my God, give me that! Give me! Jesus Christ, you’re thirteen! You’re not even old enough to watch that. Give me back my laptop!”

“I can’t believe you opened an illegal site and got lotsa viruses on your laptop—” Jeongguk wheezes, tears streaming down his cheeks as Taehyung shoots dagger at him. “I’m telling your mom—”

“Don’t you dare!”

“AUNTIE KIM—”

-

Four days before Friday 7th, Yugyeom pops the question.

“What college you’re going to? And don’t give me that I still don’t know—you know. I know you do.” He demands. They’re sitting on the bench in front of school, people-watching and just sitting.

Jeongguk breathes in the early summer breeze, in and out, in and out. “Computer Science,” he mutters slowly.

Yugyeom stops waving at some students passing by and turns to him, “Science? Ow, that sounds smart.” He mumbles with a grin. “Where, though? What university?”

Contemplating, Jeongguk wonders if te