When the homework was finally remembered, there was no more time to goof around: the boys took out their books and copybooks and studied intensely with furrowed brows, perhaps regretting some of the time-wasting from before. If asked about it, Kibum would say that Jinki had been as distracted by making puns about candies as much as he had been by eating them, and Jinki – that Kibum had definitely taken his time questioning the already perfect layers and textures of their project (which could absolutely wait just yet).

They were both finishing the exercises when Kibum's mom peeked in and asked him to step outside for a minute.

When he came back, Jinki had just closed his textbook.

“My dad is here,” Kibum said, sitting down on the swivel chair. “We're gonna have dinner now.”

“Oh! I'm...” Jinki, already flustered from that piece of news, looked at the Totoro clock on the wall and whistled. “Wow, I forgot about the time. I'm gonna be, er, real quick.”

And he jumped up on his feet and hurried to pack his stuff – the irony was that the more he hurried, the more slowed down he was by his very hurrying.

Kibum, who was watching him dropping his things and crushing his papers, did not have the same sense of urgency: chilly from the draught coming from the window his mom had opened for air circulation, he wrapped his kimono robe tighter around his shoulders and simply observed.

He cleared his throat.

“You can stay for dinner, actually.”

Jinki looked up briefly, gave it a moment's thought and said that he wasn't hungry – but any plausibility that statement might have had otherwise, was crushed by the thunder rolls that came out of the boy's stomach.

“What was that sound, then?” Kibum tilted his head.

The other shrugged.

“The sound of a full stomach, obviously.”

“It sounded pretty hollow to me.”

“Well...” Jinki scratched the back of his head. “I don't wanna be a nuisance...”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Kibum comforted him. “You're always a nuisance.”

When that didn't have enough comforting power, he added:

“They don't mind if you stay. For real.”

Kibum was telling the truth, but not all of it: today, he wanted his friend to stay. Today, it was important that he did.

It was still kind of surreal to see the boy whose name he had once struggled to get right, standing in the middle of his sanctuary, the one place where he could be himself and where he almost allowed himself to be as imperfect as he was. Surreal to think that they had both been lying around on the bed that had been the place to the most secret thoughts and most intimate urges... No, he wouldn't like to go there.

Either way, he didn't hate Jinki's presence here – he actually found it comforting.

It was crazy to think that he had mentally flipped out once because their hands had touched: he would be perfectly fine if it happened again. It wouldn't be a big deal, because it obviously meant nothing.

Jinki shook his slightly overgrown bangs out of his eyes.

“I'll call mom, then.”

Kibum gave him a magnanimous nod. Unlike his friend, he had known from the start that Jinki's only option was to stay.

At dinner, he checked on Jinki once – and was instantly convinced that he didn't need being checked on: he was as well-behaved as he had been in the afternoon with grandma Kim, equally content when he was talked to and when he wasn't. It was incomprehensible, of course, to Kibum, who'd rather starve than have dinner with the whole family of a friend he barely knew gathered at one table, but he was satisfied with the result of his observation, too. Jinki was playing his part perfectly while not even playing at all.

Predictably, Kibum's dad approved of his new friend.

“Finally, you befriended someone who'll have a good influence on you, young man,” he said, shaking a finger at his son.

Kibum rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, if one day I wake up a nerd, you know who's to blame.”

Jinki gave him a playful shove, and all laughed.

“Don't let him bully you into submission, Jinki,” Mr. Kim continued. “He can be a handful.”

Mrs. Kim, who was sitting on Kibum's other side, caressed her little boy's hair as she defended him:

“Don't say that, Kibummie is not a bully. He's the sweetest, handsome boy.”

Kibum could tell that Jinki was on the verge of laughing and it made him feel embarrassed. He pushed his mother's hands away and smoothed his hair back down.

But Mr. Kim knew his son well enough to stick to his own judgement.

“He can be a handful,” he repeated. “And has a mouth too big and loud for his own good. But he is a good kid.”

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to invite him.

His parents must have conspired to be especially cheesy today.

Kibum opened his mouth to change the subject when Jinki spoke:

“It's okay, I know he doesn't mean a lot of the stuff he says.”

“Well, the joke's on you, 'cause I mean every single thing,” Kibum replied haughtily.

But Jinki shook his head.

“Too late, now that I've heard what a good kid you are,” he argued with his soft, tired smile.

Kibum's eyes lingered on his face, his own mood transitioning from vaguely annoyed to vaguely ecstatic. He did his thing – reached out and buried his fingers in Jinki's full hair, combing through it and letting it fall back down a mess, as the boy laughed through his protests.

His cheeks grew hot for a moment, but maybe it was the effect of the soup.

Suddenly, the lights turned off and Mrs. Kim, who had slipped out of the kitchen in the midst of the banter, reentered the room with a tray in her hands. On that tray rested a simply, but tastefully designed chocolate cake that she had made herself. Eighteen candles burning on top of it illuminated her smiling face.

Jinki, bewildered at first, joined the birthday chorus for Kibum.

Meanwhile, the birthday boy himself looked quite bashful as he blew out the candles quickly and efficiently, not spending much time on thinking of a wish.

Mr. Kim gifted him with a box of very professional-looking acrylic paints, which Kibum accepted soberly.

“They're cool,” he nodded, to which his father nodded, too, thus sealing the entire transaction.

At the door, Jinki got stuck in an endless loop of expressing gratitude for the delicious dinner, remorse for burdening them with his presence, hope that he hadn't burdened them too much, again gratitude for the hospitality – rinse and repeat infinitely until nothing matters anymore.

“Your back muscles must be strong,” Kibum muttered, counting his change as Jinki bowed with impressive depth.

“What?” Jinki asked, shaken out of the vicious cycle of thankfulness for a moment.

“Your laces are loose,” Kibum said instead.

Jinki apologized for that too before bending down to fix the situation. Over his back, Kibum and his mom exchanged looks.

See? I have friends again. Stop worrying.

Her eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he would be lying if he said that seeing that didn't bring him relief.

“You must eat all of that today.”

Jinki looked down, at the bag that Grandma Kim had shoved into his hands while he was stuck in the polite refusal-but-not-really routine. Inside that bag was a plastic container, and inside that were two generous pieces of Kibum's birthday cake.

“Why?” he asked innocently.

“Because Grandma needs her container back. Like, in a couple of hours.”

Kibum tried to stick his hair behind his ear, but it didn't stay there - it never did.

They looked at each other, Jinki - in mild distress.

“Tonight? Really? But I'm kind of full.”

As much as he was tempted to let that distress grow, Kibum relented.

“Come on, don't be silly.” The doors of the elevator slid open, and he pushed his friend in.

“You're gonna apologize yourself to a heart attack one day,” he continued, pushing a button.

“Yeah, probably,” Jinki agreed. “And then be sorry about it.”

Kibum laughed.

“You look like you took a sweaty shower.”

Jinki dabbed his face with the back of his hand, and his friend decided to help him. Using the sleeve of his shirt that he had changed into before coming out, Kibum patted the boy's forehead, cheeks, chin and even nose to help him dry.

“Thanks,” Jinki said, his eyes closed.

Kibum didn't know how to reply to those, so he just continued the patting, although it wasn't necessary anymore. He'd like to say that it was all part of the teasing, but in truth he wasn't sure what it was about anymore.

He put his hand away, still looking at Jinki.

Who was that girlfriend that he'd had? Was she going to their school? Did he know her?

There was no reason to care.

Jinki opened his eyes and looked back at him. He looked exhausted, although not unhappy. That boy definitely needed a full night's rest, starting about now.

But did you kiss her?

“What?” Jinki asked, shaking Kibum out of his strange thoughts.

“You look like you're about to collapse,” he replied, turning away.

The boy smiled and said that the food made him sleepy.

Jinki said that he needed to get something from the convenience store before taking the bus, and Kibum followed him without objection. He wouldn't mind if he lingered more.

At the nearest 7-Eleven, Jinki pulled Kibum over and said:

“Choose.”

They were standing over the ice-cream fridge outside the store.

Kibum didn't understand.

“Why?”

“'Cos it's your birthday,” Jinki replied like it was the obvious thing.

The other boy sighed.

“It's not my birthday. It was weeks ago.”

“But…”

“Dad was on a business trip, so we celebrated today.”

Jinki looked both confused and a little vexed.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Was I supposed to?”

Kibum was having a hard time grasping the core of the problem – or he looked like he was, at least.

“Well…” Jinki tried to fix the rubber tape lining the fridge by pressing on it where it was loose. “We were already hanging out when that was, right? I mean, we're friends.”

Kibum joined that pointless activity just to give himself something to do.

“So what?”

“We could've celebrated is all. I could've brought you a gift or something.”

Kibum gave a little snort.

“Who even cares about birthdays? What are you, four?”

“My family cares about birthdays. And so does yours,” Jinki added, looking back at him pointedly.

It was a bit cute how he took it so seriously.

Kibum told him that he'd already had his load of sugar for the day, and the ice cream fridge had to be left in peace.

Jinki slid his hands back into his pockets and looked around, stubborn in his own way. His face brightened.

“What?”

“Arcade room!”

Kibum groaned, but let himself be dragged toward the blinking lights of the gaming joint across the street, by the sleeve of his sweatshirt, quite like a tired parent who had given up on trying to restrain their child.

Inside, Jinki made a beeline for the claw machine.

“Now, which one do you like?”

Kibum glanced over the toys briefly.

“The turtle thing?” He shrugged.

Jinki grinned for some reason.

There you go.

“You mean Squirtle?”

“Whatever,” both of the boys said in unison.

Contrary to his habit of proving and arguing, Kibum said nothing about having been imitated so insolently.

Jinki chuckled and proceeded to stuff a crumpled thousand-won bill into the corresponding slot. Then, he cocked his head in all possible directions and positioned the claw with the precision of a senior surgeon. Biting his lip intensely, he watched the claw pick up one of the ‘turtle things’.

Kibum, who had been eyeing a touchy-feely couple laughing about something at another claw machine, shifted his attention to his friend. He didn't need to watch the outcome, as Jinki's face told the whole story – eyebrows that had been raised expectantly, dropped, followed by a little groan of disappointment.

“It's okay, they're all rigged anyway.”

But Jinki took out another bill, muttering something about ‘a different tactic’.

This time, there was barely any science behind it – he made the claw swing around like it was haunted by a wild poltergeist, to try and knock one of the Squirtles over the edge.

He was biting on his poor lip as if it was a piece of delicious fried chicken.

Kibum wanted him to win. Not because he was desperate to get the toy – he hardly cared about that. He just wanted Jinki to get the sweet feeling of victory and not waste any more money on something that was made for the sole purpose of making him waste more money.

And also – Jinki knew that Kibum was annoying. He knew that he was arrogant and full of himself, and he had heard similar dismissive ‘whatever’s enough to be able to predict when another one was coming.

He knew. And he was still here.

Jinki failed again, but there was no groaning this time – the boy just stared at the barely affected Squirtle with an air of quiet desperation coming from feeling so mercilessly betrayed.

When he came to grips with reality and prepared to test his luck yet again, Kibum's hand covered the bill slot.

“That's enough for today, Mr. Top Gun.”

Jinki pouted.

“But I can get it this time.”

Kibum wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulders.

“I'd rather watch you lose.”

His hand couldn't stay in one place. It slid up Jinki's shoulder and settled on the back of his neck, rubbing it soothingly.

“Then watch me lose.”

“Mama's boy has a bit of an addiction problem, huh?”

Kibum pulled Jinki away from the temptation and turned to the exit.

“I swear I can get it,” the other insisted, looking back over his shoulder as someone else stepped up to the treacherous machine. “Three is a lucky number.”

“Say it to your mom when she asks where the money went.”

Jinki laughed, finally allowing himself to be led away willingly.

“Yes, I forgot that you were the ‘sweetest, handsome boy’. Thank you for taking care of my money.”

Kibum huffed and let go of his arm at once.

“I'm impressed you remembered ‘Top Gun’,” Jinki said with a smirk.

“The fact that you don't shut up about it helped.”

The bus stop was empty, and the two tired boys happily dropped on the bench. By the force of habit, Kibum crossed his slim legs, and Jinki hid the palms of his hands between his hips because he was starting to feel chilly.

If they had walked faster, Jinki would have caught his bus just a couple of minutes ago, but now they had to wait for eight minutes before the next one would come.

Meanwhile, another empty bus opened its doors briefly and rode off without taking anyone in.

“Do you ever feel the urge to hop on some random bus and go wherever its last stop is?” Kibum asked suddenly.

The other boy nodded.

“All the time.”

“If we ever did it together, you know, just the two of us,” Kibum continued, “I think our parents wouldn't even be worried. My folks would just assume that I'm studying with you and yours would do the same. It's kind of annoying how they just take it for granted that we're good kids.”

“Yeah, just look at those awful people, trusting us and all,” Jinki sighed, shaking his head. “Makes me sick.”

Kibum couldn't help cracking up at his earnest tone.

“Well, it's not like you'd ever leave your precious Taemin behind, so scratch that.”

“Maybe I should leave Taemin behind. Look what he sent me.”

Jinki took out his phone and showed it to Kibum. In a message from a couple of hours ago, Taemin had sent him a string of poop emojis without a single word.

The boy chuckled, but he felt a pang looking at that message, too. He felt homesick for Taeyeon.

Kibum was not convinced.

“You're gonna miss him in like five minutes.”

Jinki nudged him.

“Haven't I been hanging out with you all day? I can have more than one friend.”

“I'm just being sassy because I hate everyone, don't mind me.”

Kibum felt his friend looking at him with his quiet quizzical smile.

“No, you don't. You don't hate me, for starters... And also, I know you well, but others might feel…” Jinki faltered. “…Differently.”

“I'm sure they don't like me either, so. Big deal.”

Kibum made a movement with his hand as if fanning those petty social concerns away, but he actually felt tense inside.

“Oh, no. I mean, some people might want to get to know you better, but feel that they can't get past the, you know, the…”

He didn't need to look at Jinki to know that he had a guilty expression on his face now.

Kibum turned to face him: he was right.

“Who talked to you about me?”

Jinki's adam's apple bobbed.

“Arisa.” Oh. “She said that you're a cool and interesting guy, but you're, um…”

“Cold? Intimidating?”

“She didn't put it like that, but pretty much, yeah…”

Kibum had no clue where this was going and he already didn't like it. He crossed his arms to put up a wall.

“I am cold and intimidating, so she's not wrong.”

“But you're not, that's the thing. Not with me, at least.” Kibum said nothing, and the other continued: “When it's just the two us, you're nice and we have fun and fool around. But it's true that when she comes near and tries to talk to us you, like, clam up? Like you don't want her there.”

Kibum's gaze shifted from his friend to the ground, focusing on a dried-up blob of spit beside his shoe. He his lips.

“And your take on that is?” he asked unevenly.

Jinki cleared his throat.

“Don't get mad.” Where is that damned bus? “But I think… I think you like her.”

The noise that had begun filling up Kibum's mind was muted abruptly.

He raised his head.

“What?”

“Another explanation would be that you really don't want her there, but that would be weird, right?” Jinki laughed at his own suggestion and Kibum joined without much enthusiasm.

“And did you tell her all that, Jinki? About me liking her and stuff.”

“Of course, not! I told her that it's just your manner of talking, but you're a really sweet guy inside.”

“Right.” Kibum nodded a few times. “What can I say? You got me, Sherlock!” He gave the other boy a rough punch on the shoulder that felt rather awkward to execute. “I'm totally crazy about that chick.”

He thought that Jinki looked at him incredulously for a full second, but wouldn't be surprised if he was seeing things after that rollercoaster of a day. The sight of the approaching headlights down the road made him jump up with relief, and Jinki stood up too.

“I'll try to be less of a jerk and be soft, approachable and considerate like you, thank you for your feedback, bud,” Kibum shot out, pushing him towards the doors of the bus.

Getting in, Jinki gave him a very confused wave, and the torturous talk was over.

When Kibum finally collapsed into his bed after shower, he had no mental or physical strength to write the diary like he had meant to. And it was probably for the better: it had been a lovely day, for the most part. Up to the point when the very person that had made it so, ruined it with his best intentions, crushing every piece of joy and pleasure, until there was nothing left but lifeless, miserable dust.

But he was too exhausted to ruminate either. So, he closed his eyes and let the anxious dreams in.

A/N: Hi friends! Thanks a lot for reading and subscribing to my story! As always, I will be happy to know your thoughts. I will be leaving Korea on Sunday and I'm feeling pretty emotional about it, but my hope is that I can put that emotion into my writing and make it better. Take care~ L. 

P.S. We're still in the flashback~