If anyone asked when he’d stopped feeling like a fully functional human being, he wouldn’t know what to say. Or why. Because it just sort of...happened. Gradually over time, like the formation of the ice caps or moss on the side of a tree. Jiyong’s been to therapy. He tried smoking pot—was prescribed Adderall when his mom cared enough to run out of patience. His Junior year of high school, he started meditating, but all that ever turned into was a surprise nap. The problem isn’t that he can’t focus. It’s not even that he’s sad most days. The problem is that he doesn’t know what the problem is. Why he lacks direction, why he can’t figure out how to be happy, why it’s harder to make himself get up some mornings more than others. Why it’s so easy to shut out the rest of the world and wallow in his complete and total lack of s to give.

The morning after he went on a walk with Seunghyun, he stays wrapped in his blankets, waiting for the cold, bleak light pressing in through the windows to not be so cold and bleak, except it never does. It just hangs there like a depressing void of gray.

He stares at the wall and thinks about how yesterday was the first good day he’s had, possibly ever. Or maybe since he was a kid and hadn’t learned that everything was yet. Because they wandered around the city for an hour or two and talked about nothing. And even though it was nothing, Jiyong’s never had a pointless, marshmallow conversation and felt like he was being listened to. Seunghyun didn’t just let him awkwardly ramble about the breakfast cereals of his childhood and wait for his turn. Seunghyun actually wanted to hear the moronic crap that wouldn’t stop springing out of his mouth, prompting him with questions whenever he went quiet.

Jiyong listened, too. But it’s easy when Seunghyun makes even the most inane commentary sound interesting. His voice obviously doesn’t hurt, Jiyong would listen to him read scientific journals and then Dr. Seuss right after, because every word Seunghyun speaks has a life of its own. It’s no wonder he loves what he loves. And maybe one day he’ll get the chance to see that spark on stage. Even if it makes him jealous that Seunghyun has more passion in his pinkie finger than most people do in their entire bodies. The might try and hide it, but Jiyong sees. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to.

What he doesn’t see, though, is the reason why he feels empty today when yesterday he was fine. Better. Great, even, all things considered, which is saying a lot. Flinging an arm over his face, Jiyong sighs into the stillness of the bedroom. He doesn’t want to move. He doesn’t want to think. He rolls onto his stomach and tugs the blankets up above his head, begging sleep to take him before anything else does.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The fifteenth day, Jiyong wakes up and there’s something sitting on the windowsill in the living room again.

He pauses on his way to the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and frowning at the red plastic capsule. It looks like one of those vending machine toys that were always outside of the grocery store. Jiyong knows, logically, that there’s only one way it could’ve found its way here, but he doesn’t think about that yet—just opens the window and lets it rest in his palm while the October air spreads goosebumps up his arms.

Wrenching the lid off, he tips the toy into his hand. It’s a very questionable and very misshapen ninja that’s been given a very, very sad paint job, and Jiyong feels a tremor of laughter work its way up from his stomach.

Seunghyun must have left it on his way home from the bar last night. He won’t bother asking himself why, because why does Seunghyun do anything? Even though he also knows, in the back of his mind, that this action had an explicit purpose. And also that it was successful.

Jiyong takes the deformed ninja and sets it on the top shelf of the bookcase, right in the center. Then he looks at the boxes of he packed, having trouble remembering what he put inside of them, let alone why he brought them at all. The deformed ninja stares back at him with its beady, crooked eyes and his lips quirk at the corners. Because if anything is going to be the first sign that someone actually lives here, it should probably be this.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

After the appearance of the sad ninja, a new capsule waits for him on the windowsill every time Seunghyun has a late shift at the bar. Now the sad ninja has other sad ninja friends in various colors and varying levels of deformity. Jiyong has a tiny plastic robot, too. And a rubber finger puppet that looks more like a mythical creature from the bottom of the ocean than what he assumes is supposed to be a dinosaur. Seunghyun never mentions it when they see each other, so Jiyong never brings it up. But he does catch the small, secret smile on his neighbor’s face whenever he sees a new toy added to the bookshelf. Those moments are difficult, because no matter how much Jiyong thinks he’s prepared to watch it happen again, he always falls prey to the itch and the flutter.

It’s mid-morning on the twenty-second day—another perfect, plastic monstrosity going up on the shelf—when he realizes he missed his pretend deadline. Which shouldn’t have been possible, since all he does is think about how much he doesn’t want to think about getting a job. Or doing much of anything, honestly, even if it is mind-numbing.

Jiyong sighs. A rhythmic tapping on the glass behind him makes him jump and he can hear Seunghyun’s entertained chuckling before he even turns around.

“Sorry,” comes Seunghyun’s apology as soon as the window’s open.

He rolls his eyes.

Seunghyun flashes him a grin. “You up for a walk?”

“I need to find a job,” Jiyong answers.

“I think Ethan’s hiring,” Seunghyun offers readily, almost like he knew they’d be having this conversation eventually. “We could stop by and ask?”

Crossing his arms, he looks down at the alley through the grate of the fire escape, at Seunghyun’s tattooed hands dangling from his bent knees. He doesn’t let himself get hung up on the use of “we” and why it sounds nice as much as it sounds anxiety-inducing, focusing instead on the part where he’s never worked in a cafe.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any experience,” Jiyong says.

When he lifts his head, Seunghyun smiles and plops his dimpled cheek into his hand—the kind of smile Jiyong can’t look at for long, because he can only classify it as affectionate, and that’s worse than the “we”.

“Everyone starts somewhere,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong supposes everyone does. And, in the end, it’s as easy as that, because Ethan hires him on the spot without even looking at his application.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Some things—most things—seem too good to be true. Like the way Jiyong has coasted through life, never meeting disaster and never courting prosperity. Like knowing Seunghyun and having this job essentially handed to him on a silver platter. He’s aware that Ethan didn’t have to say yes, but he’s also aware that the reason he got it wasn’t because of his outstanding qualifications. Landing the job at his cousin’s hardware store was the same. Jiyong didn’t care at the time, since it was easy and he needed the money and, for some reason, family meant getting away with slacking off. This is different. This is tenuous threads and inadequacy and not knowing what to do with the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach that he’s going to it all up.

The fact that he’s even in this position is enough to have him pacing the apartment on the evening of his first day.

Jiyong acknowledges that he’s overreacting. But the anxiety is very real and he can’t shake it, even when he power walks his way to the coffee shop, arriving half an hour early. He paces here, too—drifting back and forth in the autumn chill, wishing he still smoked so that he’d have something to do besides disintegrate inside his own head.

Reminding himself that he’s done this before doesn’t help. Reminding himself that he can do this again and not be a mess doesn’t, either.

“Hey, Jiyong,” Ethan’s voice cuts through the brain-static and Jiyong looks up.

“Hey,” he returns, still moving.

Ethan smiles. “You gonna stop pacing like a crazy person and come inside?”

“Sorry,” Jiyong blurts. “I’m–” He heaves a large sigh, raking a hand through his mop of hair as he moves closer. “I’m just nervous.”

“I never would’ve guessed,” Ethan teases.

His heart jolts when the older man reaches out to take him by the shoulders and spin him around, marching them both through the door.

“But you’ve got nothing to be nervous about, young padawan. The time has come for your training, and I’m going to mold you into a Jedi Coffee Master, like many who have entered this hallowed establishment before you.”

Jiyong’s mouth twitches, eyes darting around the warmly lit cafe, relieved when he sees that it’s quiet and almost empty.

“Are you Yoda, Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan in this scenario?” he asks. His skin tingles where Ethan’s fingers squeeze his shoulders. He’s not used to being man-handled.

“I think the beard speaks for itself,” Ethan answers.

A soft laugh spills out of him at that and Ethan pats him on the back, guiding him behind the counter. He stares at all of the equipment, some of it familiar and some of it totally alien. The itch and the flutter compete for their right to the throne, but Jiyong isn’t looking forward to either one of them winning.

“This is Rebecca.” Ethan gestures to the redhead standing at the other end, near the sink. “She’s a regular on weeknights and officially your new best friend.”

Rebecca snorts and tosses both of them a wry grin as she dries her hands off. “He’s been here for five seconds and you’re already bossing him around?”

“Well, I am the boss,” Ethan says, folding his arms over his chest. “Bossing is kind of what I do.”

She rolls her eyes and drops the dish rag onto the counter, walking over, smile sweet. “You can call me Becca.”

Jiyong takes her offered hand. He likes the freckles dusting her cheeks.

“Jiyong.”

Becca’s smile grows. “Welcome to the circus.”

“Thanks,” he huffs, attempting to smile back.

“Awesome. See? Best friends already,” Ethan says. He crooks a finger at Jiyong and turns, heading for another door against the wall behind them. “C’mon, Joey, we’ve got paperwork to fill out before the fun begins.”

Except Ethan’s definition of “fun” definitely needs some tweaking. Because when he gets sent home at ten o’clock, his brain is overstuffed with coffee lingo, espresso machine parts, other things he knows he crammed in there but can’t remember anymore. And all he did was watch—Becca filling orders while Ethan’s resonant voice gave a play by play of what was happening. Jiyong has a binder full of stuff that he has to study, like he’s back in college. He has a stock room to familiarize himself with, rules to memorize, a place for everything and everything in its place.

The city pulses around him as he walks, some pockets just waking up as others go to sleep. Jiyong’s head pulses with it and now that he’s not being buried under information, the panic slowly emerges from the ether to remind him it’s still there. Because tonight was easy. Tonight was standing by the sidelines and barely having to speak—pretending that it won’t be him eventually standing at the register making small talk with strangers.

Somehow, Ethan seemed to know how much Jiyong was trying to act cool, calm, collected. He could tell by the way the older man kept trying to make him laugh. Big smiles, soft words. Like he was a spooked animal about to bolt.

Jiyong looks at the buildings reaching up into the indigo haze, counting the squares of light dotting their faces while he waits for the signal to change. He wonders if Seunghyun talked to Ethan. Wonders if he told his friend to handle this one with care. Or maybe Jiyong’s just not as good at hiding it as he used to be.

When he makes it back to his own building, he uses the streetlamp glow to navigate his way through the apartment and into the bedroom, setting the binder on the floor next to his mattress. Jiyong fishes his phone out of his pocket and frowns at the blinking, green notification light. He rarely checks it, because he never gets messages from anyone, but when he swipes the lock screen away there are a few texts from Seunghyun. He forgot they exchanged numbers a couple days ago.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 4:46PM]

Good luck! :)

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 4:47PM]

And if Ethan gives you a hard time

just give me a heads up and I’ll

threaten him with a beard trimmer.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:03PM]

Are you still alive? How’d it go?

Jiyong stares at the illuminated screen and feels his throat go tight. He inhales deeply, thumbs moving to type in a reply.

[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]

alive, but overwhelmed

[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]

you can put away the beard trimmer

The response is almost instantaneous and Jiyong lets out an amused breath.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:35PM]

Can I help? :(

Chewing on his lip, he thinks that if he has to deal with Seunghyun’s kindness in person, he might lose what little stability he has left. Even if a part of him reluctantly admits to wanting it.

[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]

i appreciate the offer, but i think

i’m just gonna pass out

[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]

ethan wants me to come in

again tomorrow morning

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:37PM]

No worries! Hope you sleep

well ^^v

Jiyong shakes his head at the emoji and still can’t believe how it’s possible that Seunghyun is twenty-seven and not ten.

He drops his phone onto the mattress, stripping down and going into the bathroom. When he returns, there’s another series of texts—a novel of ing text—sent several minutes after the last, and he sits on his bed in the dark and reads.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:43PM]

By the way, I just want to reiterate

the fact that I’m here if you need

anything. Like, literally anything. It

doesn’t matter if it’s 4 in the morning

or the middle of the day. You can

call or text whenever you want.

You can come bang on my door

or show up at the bar…

Seunghyun

[Sent Oct 24 10:44PM]

Or you can do nothing, y’know,

no pressure.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:47PM]

But I know what it’s like to be

alone and lonely and quietly

losing your . And I don’t

want you to think you have to

deal with that by yourself.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:47PM]

I also don’t want you to feel

obligated, though. So you can

tell me to off and that’s

totally cool, too.

He’s not done reading yet when the next one comes in, the screen beginning to warp and go fuzzy as his vision blurs.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 24 10:48PM]

I’ve just been thinking about it.

And I wanted to make sure you

understood what that offer

really meant and that you can

take it or leave it and I’ll still

be your friend.

Jiyong draws his knees up, hugging them to his chest, fighting the tears that want to roll, hot and fat, down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Can’t remember needing to until now. Still, he feels the ragged hitch in his lungs whenever he breathes. The wet sniffle when he can’t stop his nose from running.

It’s not enough to break the dam, he’s not ready for that. But the pressure is different now.

As Jiyong stares at his phone, he wipes his face with trembling fingers. He has no idea how to respond to this. Even after he reads it a second and then a third time, sifting through memories of the last month and every month that preceded it to find whatever it was he did to deserve this.

Sniffling again, Jiyong lets his head tip over to thunk against the wall and comes up with nothing.

Maybe, for once, that’s okay.

[Sent: Oct 24 11:08PM]

i’ll take it

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

For all the romanticizing the general populace indulges in when it comes to coffee shops, Jiyong can now say with authority that the real thing is nothing like the fantasy. That could be his inexperience talking, but when Ethan throws him into the deep end after only a week of training, he’s surprised he doesn’t have a gigantic meltdown right in the middle of it.

What’s worse is that it’s the morning of Halloween and it seems like he’s made enough pumpkin flavored coffee drinks to drown the entire goddamn city.

“I hate you a lot right now,” Jiyong sighs, locking a portafilter into the group head and jabbing the dispense button.

Ethan cackles, because he is, in fact, a prick.

“You had to leave the nest eventually, little bird.”

There’s also that—the way Ethan gives him a million nicknames, sometimes more than one during a single shift. It makes him feel the same way he did the first time Seunghyun called him a friend. Undeserving. Pleased. Bewildered. None of it helps him not want to break down into a thousand tiny particles.

“But one week?” he asks, holding up the cappuccino cup to collect the thick liquid and avoid splashing, like he was told.

“I wanted you to see what it was like and know that you could do it, instead of being afraid of it,” Ethan explains, frothing a pitcher of milk beside him. “We’ll go back to the old schedule again after today.”

“I wasn’t afraid,” Jiyong mutters.

Ethan’s disbelieving side-eye might as well have smacked him in the face.

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a thing,” Ethan insists, both eyebrows raised.

“You didn’t have to.”

Jiyong ignores the older man’s smug expression and concentrates on what he’s doing. He already messed up a couple times today and he is all too aware of the massive line behind him. But it’s not easy to get his hands to stop feeling jittery. To get his head on straight and his heart beating steady. The dull roar of the cafe swells in the background—a constant reminder of how much longer this hell is going to last.

When he goes to pour the milk into the cup, pulling the froth forward with a small spatula, Ethan watches. Jiyong refuses to let it intimidate him, though. He just focuses on what he learned. Even if what he learned is still precariously balanced and without roots.

“Good,” Ethan murmurs, squeezing his shoulder. “Now let it sit, like we talked about, and remember to breathe.”

He exhales and Ethan smiles.

“It wouldn’t kill you to believe in yourself a little bit.”

Jiyong ducks his head, huffing out a nervous laugh. “I’m working on it.”

One of the other baristas—Tom, he thinks—calls for Ethan at the register. Ethan gives his shoulder another reassuring squeeze.

“Keep kicking , young padawan,” the man tells him. “You’re doing great.”

He’s not sure he agrees. But Jiyong still lets the praise settle over him. Lets it maneuver its way through his body until he feels like he can at least fake it for a little while. He’s good at that. Maybe the real problem is that he always has been.

Jiyong adds more foam, serves the cappuccino, discards the coffee puck from the portafilter, starts over again. He can’t decide if he’s relieved or not when Ethan takes him off drinks half an hour later and puts him on the register. After forcing a smile for the fifteenth time, he thinks he’d rather fail at tamping the coffee grounds properly again. Anything but act chipper when he’s the embodiment of the exact opposite.

His break comes and goes. The morning dwindles and so does the crowd. Tom congratulates Jiyong on not ing up as much as he did, back when Ethan pulled the same thing with him a year ago. It’s small consolation. Because right now Jiyong feels like a wrung-out ghost. Which is fitting, given the holiday.

“I still hate you,” he grumbles weakly, one hand already on the door.

Ethan’s responding grin is as gleefully sadistic as it is fond. “I hope that changes.”

Jiyong barely has the energy to glare at him.

“You’re a jerk,” he states. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Actually,” Ethan says, preventing him from walking out. “Take tomorrow off. Come back on Wednesday evening.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

Ethan smiles again and this time it’s less sadistic and more fond.

“Yeah.”

Jiyong gives him a slight smile back. “Thanks.”

“But be ready.” Ethan points at him in emphasis. “Because I’m not letting you leave until you pour the perfect espresso shot.”

“I can’t wait,” he deadpans.

The older man’s expression turns wry as he nods and waves him off. Jiyong gratefully floats through the door and out onto the street and doesn’t stop floating until he reaches the apartment, lying down on the living room floor, too exhausted to go any further.

His feet hurt and his arms are sore, but it’s been awhile since he used his body for more than just walking. The floorboards feel nice and cool against his cheek; the stillness a balm after everything being in constant motion for eight hours. He’d add peace and quiet to the list, but once a bit of the fog clears, he can hear music thrumming into the room from above.

Jiyong holds his breath and strains to listen. It’s somewhere in the first half of “Mary Jane’s Last Dance”. He allows a real smile now, because he likes this song, and he wishes it was louder. Jiyong could text Seunghyun and tell him to turn it up, except that involves reaching into his pocket, and he refuses to move.

So he just lies there. Listening.

The beginning of the next song is too faint to make out until the chorus. Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer”. It’s difficult to hear all the words through the ceiling. Although he wouldn’t need to, they were permanently etched into the cellular structure of his brain when he was twelve—his mom playing nothing else but this album for a very bizarre two weeks. He never asked why.

What follows is a song Jiyong doesn’t recognize. The voice, however, is a different story, and he laughs, finally breaking and digging out his phone.

[Sent Oct 31 1:34PM]

really? my chemical romance? i

didn’t know we were still in high

school

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 31 1:35PM]

you, it’s a good song.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 31 1:35PM]

AND it was released in 2010.

The music grows noticeably louder after the second text. Jiyong snorts and closes his eyes, spreading his arms out and letting the muffled sound envelop him. He smiles wider as the songs come and go, most familiar and some new. But it’s the Nat King Cole track that gets his brain cells functioning again, especially when the next three songs also have “summer” in their titles. Mungo Jerry, The Lovin’ Spoonful, Bryan ing Adams.

After Queens of the Stone Age begins to pound through Seunghyun’s floor, Jiyong realizes how much he’s grinning. Because his neighbor is ridiculous.

[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]

you know tomorrow’s november, right?

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]

I was bored.

[Sent: Oct 31 2:03PM]

turn it up

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]

It’s plenty loud where I’m

standing.

[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]

not moving

[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]

ethan made me work the

morning rush today

Seunghyun

[Sent: Oct 31 2:04PM]

Hold on, I’m coming down.

Jiyong doesn’t get to tell him that not moving also means not getting up to open the window, because he already hears the clank of footsteps on the fire escape. Another song starts while he waits, but he doesn’t know this one, either. Something upbeat and catchy and repetitive in a way that should be obnoxious, but isn’t. He looks over. Seunghyun grins through the glass and pushes the window open from the outside. If Jiyong had anything worth stealing, he might be a little more worried about forgetting to lock it.

“Couldn’t even make it to your bed?” Seunghyun asks, the music filtering in behind him, clearer than before.

“I like the floor,” he argues.

Coming over to crouch beside Jiyong, Seunghyun laughs softly and shakes his head.

“You need a couch.”

Jiyong stares up at the ceiling. “What I need is to sleep forever,” he sighs.

Seunghyun’s eyebrows wrinkle in concern beneath the mess of his pink fringe.

“Ethan really had you open on Monday morning?”

“He said he didn’t want me to be afraid of it.”

“And?” Seunghyun prompts.

He attempts to shrug, glancing towards Seunghyun and away. “It was a lot.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Jiyong doesn’t need to see the sympathetic expression he knows is there, it’s loud enough in the gentle rumble of his voice.

Ever since the night Seunghyun sent those texts, things have been the same but also not. Easier, maybe. Or maybe there isn’t even a word for it. He doesn’t keep as much of himself so tightly locked away, but it’s still weird for him, deciding to let it go. Deciding to not be as cautious. Jiyong has to admit he’s not really sure how this works, though. In theory, yeah. Friendship isn’t a totally foreign concept to him, he pretended to have friends for years, didn’t he? It’s more that Seunghyun isn’t anything he’s ever encountered before and he doesn’t know what it means to be friends with him—can barely refer to him as a friend in his own head—and he hasn’t been able to make sense of why that’s such a challenge.

Tilting his head to snag Jiyong’s attention, Seunghyun asks, “Have you eaten?”

The music changes. A Smiths song he’s heard before but doesn’t remember the name of. Jiyong scrunches his nose, trying to count the hours instead of listen to the lyrics.

“Not since...five?”

“Jiyong,” Seunghyun chides and shoves lightly at his shoulder.

He scoffs. “What? I’m fine.”

But Seunghyun rolls his eyes and unfolds from his crouch, leaving the living room to go into the kitchen. Morrissey croons through the window.

“Why is your fridge always empty?” Seunghyun calls. “Do you even eat food? Are you a vampire?”

Jiyong’s lips curve and he coughs out a short laugh. “I have ramen sometimes,” he calls back. “And occasional slices from that pizza place around the corner.”

Seunghyun reappears in the doorway, leaning against it, one eyebrow raised in unspoken reprimand.

“I shudder to think what you lived on in college.”

“I’m lazy,” Jiyong mutters and lets his head hit the floor again. “Cooking for myself is depressing.”

Cotton candy creeps into his vision as Seunghyun shuffles closer, standing by his feet. “Well, I’m about to make real person food if you’re interested,” he says.

Jiyong brings his hands to his face, feeling the ache in his muscles, except the ache in his stomach is more pronounced and he can only ignore that for so long. He groans, making Seunghyun chuckle. But hunger isn’t the only thing living in his stomach, the flutter is there, too. And when Seunghyun reaches out to help him up, it starts to morph into that tiny, compact hurricane well before their hands even meet.

Because his own mother is less generous with herself than Seunghyun is. Because the idea of someone actually wanting to take care of him is a foreign concept.

Because if it’s not love, then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb that will bring us together, Morrissey sings in the background as Jiyong lets Seunghyun haul him up from the floor.

When he sways, Seunghyun steadies him—fingers warm, smile warmer. Jiyong rubs at his face again and tries to smile back, but then that same hand is smoothing over his hair and he feels his insides clench all at once. It’s a brief gesture. Brief enough that Jiyong could brush it off and forget about it, except that he doesn’t want to. Which kind of falls into the category of startling epiphany.

Clearing his throat, Seunghyun steps back and nods. Jiyong is pretty sure he’s blushing and he can’t tell if that makes it better or worse. Probably worse, because he didn’t know Seunghyun being flustered was something he’d like as much as he does. That’s not a startling epiphany. But he’s still sort of reeling when they climb out onto the fire escape.

Jiyong leaves the window cracked and follows Seunghyun up the stairs, the music steadily increasing in volume until it’s so loud it vibrates through him. He likes this one, too. “Summertime Clothes” by Animal Collective. It shouldn’t be so surprising that their taste in music overlaps and Jiyong realizes how much he missed listening to it, now that he’s surrounded by it on every side.

He hovers by the windows, watching Seunghyun jog towards the stereo to turn it down. There’s a TV mounted on the wall, painted deep red. Packed bookshelves. A gray couch and a striped loveseat and a big, lumpy chair covered in fading flowers. Posters, framed photos, the random things people collect over time. Emphasis on random.

Their apartments are identical, but he might as well be standing in another world entirely.

“I’m gonna get started,” Seunghyun says, jerking a thumb behind him at the kitchen. “Feel free to chill in here or do whatever. You like green things, right? You won’t die if you consume vegetables?”

Jiyong narrows his eyes, which earns him a brilliant, dimpled grin for the trouble.

“I’ll eat anything you make.”

Seunghyun’s grin transforms into a smirk. “Is that a challenge?”

“Maybe,” he answers, crossing his arms.

“Don’t tempt me,” Seunghyun warns him.

And then Jiyong is alone in Seunghyun’s living room with only David Portner’s warbly voice sliding through the speakers to keep him company.

He wanders, skimming over the titles of the books, movies and records on the shelves. Studying the posters and the art and only glancing at the photos, because the happy faces remind him too much of wasted time.

Jiyong likes the austerity of the apartment he lives in. However, he also enjoys the fact that this one looks like someone hung a Seunghyun-shaped piñata in the middle of the room and then beat the out of it. A colorful, organized mess of thoughts and things, just like its owner. He thinks his general lack of interior decoration must say a lot about his personality.

Coming to stand in front of the windows again, Jiyong peers out at the tops of neighboring buildings and the streets that lie between them, afternoon sun hazy and pale. Seunghyun’s cooking noises carry in from the kitchen, but he’s noticing the lyrics.

The restlessness calls us, that I cannot hide.

So much on my mind that it spills outside.

Do you want to go stroll down the financial street?

Our clothes might get soaked, but the buildings sleep.

And there’s no one pushing for a place, let’s meander at an easy pace, and I want to walk around with you, and I want to walk around with you...

Jiyong smiles. If Seunghyun was anyone else, it might seem accidental. He knows it’s not, and the flutter migrates North to nestle inside his ribcage.

When the song changes and he smells garlic wafting into the living room—hears it sizzle and pop on the stove—he turns away from the view, letting his tired feet carry him towards the source.

“Lana Del Rey and Billie Holiday better be on this playlist or I’m revoking your friendship card,” Jiyong says, leaning against the counter.

Seunghyun laughs and dumps a pile of sliced mushrooms into the pan. “It’s the version by Ella and Louis,” he replies, eyes dancing with humor. “Do I still get to keep my card?”

Jiyong struggles to maintain his blank expression. “I’ll consider it.”

Nodding, Seunghyun grins again, tossing Jiyong an assessing look before continuing to stir.

“So you do care about something.”

“I guess.” He shrugs. “I haven’t really been listening to much lately.”

“I can burn this for you, if you want it,” Seunghyun murmurs.

The offer is given casually, but Jiyong has a hunch he would’ve been gifted a copy regardless. He’d have said yes, either way.

“Sure.”

Seunghyun’s eyes crinkle into those satisfied starbursts as he adds green onions to the mix. Bean sprouts, carrots, broccoli, cabbage. His stomach gurgles and the crinkles return as soon as they’d smoothed out.

“By the way, there’s um, there’s gonna be a party,” Seunghyun mentions, splitting his attention between Jiyong and the food. “On Friday. Some friends of mine made me organize it, because apparently I haven’t had one in a while,” he explains, tone dry even though he’s smiling. “You’re invited. If you’re up for it. A bunch of strange, drunk people in a small space probably doesn’t sound all that appetizing. But you’re always welcome, you know that.”

“Thanks.” Jiyong curls his arms around himself and stares at the scuffed floor tiles. “I’ll see how I feel after work,” he says, and thinks he means it.

“Of course. No pressure.” Seunghyun flicks off the burner, moving to a cabinet on the other side of Jiyong to get bowls.

“I know,” he states quietly. The edges of his mouth tip upwards. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Seunghyun sighs, and that sounds apologetic enough without the accompanying words, “I’m sorry.”

Lana Del Rey’s “Summertime Sadness” chooses that exact moment to begin playing, which makes Jiyong come pretty damn close to giggling as he meets Seunghyun’s gaze, too amused to be embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he says.

In return, Seunghyun snorts out a laugh of his own.

“Okay.”

They spoon sauteed vegetables and rice into their bowls and sit at the small table next to the kitchen window. Jiyong thinks about how the last time he did this, shared a meal, shared space, was still with his mother the night before he left. He dips his fork into the bowl, spearing a piece of carrot and popping it into his mouth. As he chews, he watches Seunghyun across the table, wondering how he ended up giving the pink-haired poet all of his firsts.

“So what possessed you to make a summer themed playlist on Halloween?” Jiyong asks, taking a larger bite.

“I told you, I was bored,” Seunghyun says around his mouthful of rice. “And, I dunno, it’s been kind of a day.” He shrugs, suddenly fascinated by the contents of his bowl. “I needed something to cheer me up. Found myself thinking about you.”

The food doesn’t get lodged in Jiyong’s throat, but it’s touch and go for a second. He coughs. Seunghyun glances up at him and Jiyong struggles to get a grip on his bodily functions, but the heat still presses against every centimeter of skin from the inside out.

“Must be my sunny disposition,” he mutters a moment later and Seunghyun chuckles.

“Must be.”

There’s a shy smirk toying at the edges of Seunghyun’s lips. Jiyong stares at the almost-dimple denting his cheek long enough to be caught and looks away so fast, he’s amazed his eyes don’t get whiplash.

In the awkward not-quite-silence that follows, he shovels rice and mushrooms into his mouth and tries to think of something to say. Tries not to liquefy when Seunghyun’s knee connects with his under the table and stays there. Jiyong mentally kicks himself, but doesn’t pull away.

“So, why–” he starts, swallowing thickly. “Why are you having a day?”

Seunghyun considers him for a moment as he chews.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be nice to myself.”

“What do you mean?” Jiyong asks. He’s genuinely curious, if not a little stunned.

“Um…” Seunghyun sets his fork down, expression pensive while he drops his chin into his hands. “I guess, when I’m writing and things aren’t going very well, I can be pretty harsh. Then that inner criticism usually spreads to other aspects of my life and I kind of spiral. Because I get so wrapped up in that headspace, y'know? Even when it's good.” He shrugs, offering a wry, self-deprecating smile. “I forget to pay rent on time a lot. I forget to call people back. Sometimes I'm late for my bar shifts. It's a miracle anyone puts up with me, honestly,” Seunghyun finishes with a short laugh.

Jiyong frowns. It’s not that he thinks his inability to cope with himself or the world is unique. It’s that Seunghyun wears his heart on his sleeve and he’s never seen it be anything short of joyfully ecstatic and the fact that he isn’t, is surprisingly upsetting.

“You’re better at hiding it than I am,” he says, okay with the acknowledgment, and looks at Seunghyun directly when he adds, “But you don’t have to.”

A soft, grateful smile graces Seunghyun’s lips. “I know, it’s just...habit.”

“We can talk about it, if you want.”

“It’s okay.” Seunghyun shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing and then leaping up his forehead. “Not because I don’t wanna talk to you about it, I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s just nicer. Not to.”

Jiyong might agree with that more than anything else. It’s always nicer not to, but nicer doesn’t necessarily mean right. Or healthy. Which is hilarious, that he thinks that, since he is the poster child of evading his own problems.

“I thought sad was your favorite thing.”

Seunghyun barks out a laugh, jostling Jiyong’s knee in retaliation.

“It’s only my favorite thing when I’m not the one who’s sad.”

That doesn’t make any sense to him. He thought misery loved company. Then Jiyong reminds himself that nothing about Seunghyun makes sense—this new piece of information least of all. It has him wondering how much of the happy-go-lucky attitude is a cover for less positive things.

“Well, your offer goes both ways,” he finds himself saying. “Just so you know.”

“Don’t worry, you’re already helping,” Seunghyun replies.

Jiyong feels himself blush at the warmth in Seunghyun’s voice and changes the subject.

“Do you work tonight?”

Seunghyun nods, returning to his food. “Yeah.”

“Are you dressing up?” he asks.

“Nope.”

Jiyong’s mouth quirks. “Really? I thought you’d be all about it.”

The starbursts come back and Seunghyun leans forward on the table while he finishes chewing. “A couple years ago, I decided I was enough of a character and didn’t need a costume.”

He smiles in earnest.

“Not gonna fight you on that.”

“Thanks,” Seunghyun says flatly, kicking at his foot.

“Anytime,” Jiyong replies, smiling wide enough that his cheeks twinge, and he quickly stuffs another bite into his mouth.

It’s just that Seunghyun is still staring at him—curiosity in his eyebrows, amusement everywhere else. Jiyong likes it as much as he doesn’t, because figuring out how to deal with all these feelings being thrown around is difficult. The flirting, the concern, the affection, the fact that he doesn’t like the idea of Seunghyun being sad. He’s self-aware enough to understand what’s going on here, but all the understanding in this world and the next isn’t going to save him from his own inadequacies.

Setting his fork down, Jiyong boldly returns the attention. “Why do you always look at me like you’re trying to crawl inside my head?”

“Maybe I like what’s in there,” Seunghyun counters.

He resists the pull of another smile and ducks his head, pushing at a large chunk of broccoli in his bowl.

“You’d be the only one who does,” Jiyong says.

Seunghyun nudges him with his knee again. “Pretty sure Ethan thinks you’re awesome.”

“Ethan thinks everyone is awesome.”

At his wry look, Seunghyun folds.

“Yeah, okay, you’ve got a point,” Seunghyun sighs. He takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully before speaking again. “Do you like it so far?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Jiyong hasn’t been working there long enough to hate it yet. He hopes he never does, but with his track record, he has no reason to be optimistic. “It helps, at least. It’s easier to channel the mess into something else,” he continues. “Working at the hardware store , because I couldn’t leave. So I always stalked the aisles when it was dead. Drove my cousin nuts.”

“When did you start?” Seunghyun asks.

“Being a weirdo?” Jiyong retorts and Seunghyun squints at him. He exhales a slight laugh. “Middle school.”

“, I hated middle school,” Seunghyun grumbles.

“Kids are s.”

“People are s.”

You’re not, he thinks, even though he agrees. Even though he still hasn’t forgiven Seunghyun for ruining chocolate chip cookies forever. Jiyong’s fingers twirl the fork in a circle. He holds Seunghyun’s gaze for about five seconds before he can’t anymore, eating until his fork scrapes the bowl.

But, inevitably, his attention wanders.

“What are the tattoos on your fingers?” Jiyong asks, after a month of wondering.

Seunghyun smiles and lays his hands on the table. “The astrological symbols for the sun, the moon, and the planets,” he explains, then lifts his right hand, revealing an eleventh symbol inked into the outside of his wrist. “Pluto’s over here. Poor guy.”

Jiyong laughs.

“I’ve never really been into the whole divination aspect of astrology, but the mythology and the history behind it is super fascinating. Plus space is just really awesome.” Seunghyun’s eyes glow, betraying the nonchalance in his voice as he points to another tattoo lining the inside of his right forearm. “I also have the moon cycle here, and the constellation for Scorpio on my shoulder.”

“What about the others?” Jiyong prods, reluctantly giving the flutter more ammunition.

“Words. Some my own, some from poets far greater than I will ever be,” Seunghyun says and cards a hand through his hair, listing more. “Flowers, art, geometrical designs. I dunno, there are a ton. I’ve lost count.”

Without allowing himself the time to think about it, he reaches over to take Seunghyun’s left forearm and pull it closer, studying the narrow black and white band—delicate linework shaping flowers out of negative space, the rest solid. “I like this one,” Jiyong murmurs.

“Um, yeah–” Seunghyun clears his throat, muscles twitching in Jiyong’s grasp. “A friend did that for me a few years ago. It’s one of my favorites.”

He traces the elegant lines with the pad of his index finger, mesmerized by the level of detail despite the simplicity of the design. Mesmerized by the way it stands out against the beautiful, golden color of Seunghyun’s skin.

Jiyong comes back to himself and flushes so violently, he’d probably blend right in with Seunghyun’s living room wall.

“Sorry,” he almost whispers, letting go and crossing his arms tight across his chest.

“No,” Seunghyun sighs. His cheeks are flushed, too. “It’s cool.”

Jiyong’s everything prickles with embarrassment. He can’t believe he did that. Another glance at Seunghyun tells him he can’t, either, and before he can say or do anything else totally mortifying, Seunghyun picks up their bowls and takes them to the sink.

The itch crawls up his legs like overgrown weeds. Jiyong is way too out of it for walking, but removing himself to the far less dangerous and Seunghyun-free apartment downstairs would be a step in the right direction.

“Thanks for feeding me,” he says, rising from his chair. “It was great.”

“My pleasure.” Seunghyun gives him a bashful smile and dries off his hands. “I usually cook too much for one person, anyway.”

It’s probably safe to say that means there will be more in his immediate future. Jiyong nods and manages to get his face to cooperate for a little bit longer, lips curving, even if it feels like a strain.

“I should get back.”

Seunghyun chews on his lip. “You can stay, if you want,” he rumbles, soft and easy.

“I know.” Jiyong tucks his hands into his armpits; stares at the scuffed floor tiles. “But I’m pretty wiped.”

“Right, of course. I forgot,” Seunghyun laughs unsteadily.

And in a moment of he doesn’t ing know what, Jiyong nudges into Seunghyun with his shoulder as he passes, walking out of the kitchen. He appreciates that Seunghyun doesn’t follow him when he climbs out the window and flees down the fire escape stairs.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Sometime during the night, Jiyong wakes up and can’t fall asleep again.

His phone tells him it’s after three. He spends twenty minutes drilling a hole into the orange tinted ceiling with his eyes. Then he rolls out from under the warmth of his blankets and gets dressed, because if he’s not going to sleep, he might as well do something besides lie there.

Three thirty-five in the morning on the first of November is antarctic. Jiyong rifles through his still-packed suitcase, fending off the layer of goosebumps on his skin with layers of cotton. His winter coat is in a box somewhere and he doesn’t have the patience to hunt it down, so he tugs on a thick sweater and his hoodie and goes into the foyer to slip his feet into his shoes. If he takes the fire escape instead of the front door, he doesn’t give it any weight. Though maybe he should, since his thoughts seem perpetually crowded by Seunghyun.

Jiyong walks. He doesn’t have to think too hard about which streets to take, since this early he’s alone almost everywhere. Some taxis ferry the Halloween stragglers home or to their next destination. Some morning shift workers are just leaving their apartments. But the city is otherwise placid compared to its usual state.

He’s not sure which version he likes best, because the frantic hum of the day is easy to dive into. Here, in the blue-gray twilight, he’s so conscious of his own existence he has no choice but to accept it as fact.

His phone tells him it’s after five. He stops in a small neighborhood park to look at the lightening sky through brown leaves. Or the few brown leaves clinging to their branches while they can. Jiyong watches them dance in the frigid morning air, unable to ignore the flutter that hasn’t left him yet.

If he closes his eyes, he can still see them dancing. He also sees the distorted beginnings of something—a life, a future—that isn’t his, but could be. If he wanted it bad enough. If he remembered how to.

Jiyong opens his eyes and blinks against the growing brightness, rubbing at his cold face with colder fingers. He thinks he could learn again. Maybe. If he wanted it bad enough.

His phone tells him it’s five twenty-two. He thinks about all the ways Seunghyun looks at him—all the ways Seunghyun tries to reach him, wanting to make contact. Jiyong pulls his hood up over his head and tries to want that, too. Lord knows no one else has ever cared.

When he climbs the fire escape again, the sun is just beginning to rise behind the wall of gray, painting the clouds in muted pink and gold. There’s another capsule on the windowsill, bigger than all the others have been. Jiyong smiles, glancing up at Seunghyun’s window through the grate as he cracks it open. A pair of those ty, plastic vampire fangs fall out into his palm and he can’t stop himself, he laughs. So hard that he almost drops them and has to sit down on the steps, convulsing more than he’s making sound.

It’s really not even that funny, but it’s after six in the morning and Jiyong gasps for air—light-headed and empty save for the ache in his stomach and the way his heart feels too big as it strains against his ribcage.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

[Sent: Nov 1 6:48AM]

where did you come from?

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 7:52AM]

My family’s been asking that

same question since the day

I was born. No one knows :)

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 7:53AM]

Why are you up so early?

[Sent Nov 1 7:53AM]

couldn’t sleep anymore, went

for a walk

[Sent: Nov 1 7:54AM]

why are you still awake?

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 7:54AM]

Couldn’t sleep.

[Sent: Nov 1 7:59AM]

the diner on riverside has

pretty good coffee

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]

Are you inviting me out for

breakfast?

[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]

yeah

[Sent: Nov 1 8:00AM]

i owe you

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 8:01AM]

You don’t owe me , but

the day I turn down waffles

is the day I die. Probably not

even then.

[Sent: Nov 1 8:01AM]

zombies don’t eat waffles

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 8:02AM]

I will be the first zombie that

does.

Seunghyun

[Sent: Nov 1 8:02AM]

Meet you outside in a few

minutes?

[Sent: Nov 1 8:03AM]

yeah

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Do you need more syrup? I’m not sure those waffles have suffocated enough.”

Seunghyun grins. “Are you judging me?”

“A little bit,” Jiyong says, grimacing when Seunghyun takes a huge bite of what has to be the soggiest waffle in the known universe. “Seriously, how can you eat that?”

“With abundant happiness,” Seunghyun mumbles, mouth full.

He snorts and then sips at his coffee.

“You are so weird.”

Washing down the sugar overdose with a glass of orange juice, Seunghyun his lips, pointing at Jiyong with his fork. “That’s why we make a great team,” he says.

Jiyong’s eyebrow ticks upwards. “We’re a team now?”

“Yeah.” Seunghyun nods, cramming more disintegrating waffle into his smirking mouth. “Like Bert and Ernie.”

“Okay,” he huffs, an answering smile pulling insistently at his cheeks. “I’m assuming you’re Ernie.”

“Naturally.”

Then, without preamble, the singing starts—faint but unmistakable.

“Rubber duckie, joy of joys. When I squeeze you, you make noise. Rubber duckie, you’re my very best friend, it’s true,” Seunghyun warbles before he even finishes chewing.

Whether it’s the perfectly imperfect replication of Jim Henson’s off-key voice or Seunghyun’s painfully sincere expression while doing it, Jiyong doesn’t know. But he does come very close to inhaling his coffee—slumping onto the table with a hand pressed to his face while he cracks up.

He feels like he’s losing his mind.

Seunghyun puts the silverware down and stares at Jiyong with wonder twinkling in his eyes.

“Did something happen to you on your walk? Because I have never seen you laugh like that.”

“Sort of,” he chuckles, flopping against the back of the booth with a sigh. He can’t look at Seunghyun, so he looks out the windows, pushing his hair off of his forehead and definitely not noticing that their shoes are touching.

“Well, whatever it was, I hope it happens again,” Seunghyun says.

“Yeah,” he agrees, watching a dead leaf fall from the tree outside, then get swept up by the wind. “Me too, Ernie.”

In his periphery, Seunghyun melts into a puddle of hiccupped laughter, and Jiyong stops pretending that his too-big heart isn’t wheezing with reluctant affection.

a/n: the playlist seunghyun makes can be found on spotify ♥♥♥ here ♥♥♥