i.  Seoul, 1992. 

Fall was coming. The leaves were falling, fluttering gracefully through the air and settling on the cracked asphalt of the Seoul streets. 

     Youngho shrugged his black uniform jacket closer around his frame, the chill of the autumn air seemingly reaching deep into his bones. He pushed his dark brown hair back and away from his face with a clipped, tight sweep of his hand, the other the pack of squares in his trouser pocket. 

     School had been rough, not in a particular way but really like most days, where the creeping of the clock was so slow he could almost grasp the time spent in his hands and realize the lack of weight it held. 

     He was in his third and final year, almost free. After, well, he hadn't really given that much thought; maybe he’d build some ships or work in a steel factory, money was money anyways. But first, he needed a smoke. 

     His spot was an alley sandwiched between two teetering, concrete ‘taxpayers’. Small and narrow, but relatively clean and quiet, it was the perfect place for his after school excursions.

     He was about to round the corner of the building beside the alley, when he heard it. Now he wasn't quite sure what this it was, but the muffled sound of distress honestly kind of pissed him off. This was his spot, he needed to smoke, and some dumb better not get in the way of that. 

     He turned the corner, purpose in his strides and hands in his pockets as he postured. 

     Then he saw it. And I mean what else did he really expect? Some kid was cornered against the gray, flaking wall of the building. Another larger boy forcefully pressed two of his fingers against the kid’s forehead, causing his head to smack against the concrete with a loud thwack. The sound ricocheted between the alley walls. 

     Youngho sighed and coughed gently. The two perpetrators turned towards the noise, fists clenching for a fight. The boy being attacked merely took this chance to slide down the wall and shakingly curl into a ball, hands bracketing his head in an attempt at self-preservation. 

      Dip one and two, as Youngho had so lovingly named the bullies, chuckled while glancing at each other. Then forehead presser or dip one, voiced out, in a tone he probably thought was intimidating, "what are you looking at?"

     The second, most likely forehead's lackey, laughed at the comment. Forehead preened with the others encouragement, puffed out his chest, crossed his arms, and took a step forward. 

     Youngho simply pulled out the cigarette pack from his pocket, tossed it lightly into the air and caught it. 

     "You're in my spot, ruining my day with your . I think I'm allowed to look," he stated, a bored drawl in his tone. 

     He glanced down out of the corner of his eye at the cowering boy on the ground, then looked up again to meet the two dips’ eyes.

     They shrugged and laughed, "don't see your name written anywhere."

     Feeling agitated, Youngho stepped forward ever so slightly, nodding at them, "true, but I'm not particularly patient today and you're wasting my time." 

     He rolled his neck, subtly flexing his arms, as he breathed loudly through his nose, "take your somewhere else or my name will be freshly written on the walls in red."

     The two goons glanced at each other, then at the boy on the ground, and finally back at Youngho. 

     "Fine," they concurred but not before the lackey delivered a sharp kick to the cowering boy's side. Youngho wanted to wince as the boy let out a muffled whimper, but refrained, merely raising an eyebrow pointedly. 

     The two strode out of the alley, but not without hitting Youngho's shoulder with their own first. 

     A couple seconds or maybe minutes passed and the boy on the ground still had not moved. Youngho gritted his teeth, patience wearing thin. 

     "When I said get lost, I meant all of you," he spoke out. The boy merely shrunk even further into himself, which drew a quiet hiss of pain from him, then sniffles.

     "Ok, look, they're gone and you're good to go too," Youngho attempted to appease the boy, as he took a step forward. The sound of his boots echoing off the walls caused the boy to whip his head up, eyes wide and frightened as he gripped his knees to his chest, gasping for air.

      Youngho quickly put his hands up as a sign of peace, causing the kid, no teen, to relax his shoulders slightly.

    "Thanks…" the boy mumbled, as his right hand raised to aggressively wipe the tears from his cheeks. He winced, probably forgetting that his left eye had purpled significantly and was swollen.

     "No problem, I guess," Youngho shrugged as he dropped his hands and placed them back into his pockets, "honestly didn't do it for you, I just wanted to smoke." 

     The teen chuckled slightly at that, and then winced. Probably a bruised, maybe fractured rib from that kick earlier, Youngho deduced.

     The boy slowly uncurled himself, "well you saved my , so yeah, thanks." 

     He pushed himself to his feet, using the wall as support. Youngho's hands itched to help but he just clutched the pack in his pocket instead. 

      Although he was hunched over slightly at the moment, the teen was clearly shorter than Youngho by at least a few inches, not a particularly difficult feat though considering Youngho was roughly 184 centimeters last he measured. 

      His black hair was matted from the scuffle, blue uniform jacket torn at the elbow, and lip crusted with blood. His left eye was swollen shut, but the right seemed to twinkle with something undecipherable as he scanned Youngho up and down quickly. A movement most would not have noticed, but Youngho seemed to notice a lot about this boy. 

      "I'm Minhyung," the teen introduced himself with pursed lips, as he ed his hand forward for Youngho to shake. 

      Youngho glanced at the hand, pulled out his pack, and lit a cigarette. 

     Minhyung's face fell ever so slightly, as he dejectedly retracted his hand to rest at his side. 

     Youngho took a drag and breathed out deeply, as Minhyung began to walk forward and passed him to leave the alley. 

     "Youngho," he stated passively. Minhyung abruptly halted and turned to peer back at him, eyes wide and wondering, as a smile proceeded to grace his lips. Soft.

      "Well Youngho, I think I have reason to believe you helped me on purpose," and with that Minhyung walked out of the alley and onto the street. 

ii.

The second time Youngho and Minhyung met was not much different from the first, aside from a couple less bruises.

     Youngho was leaning against the wall in his alley, cigarette in hand, when a figure darted in and proceeded to hunch over, panting as they rested against the opposite wall.

     Youngho merely glanced disinterestedly at the figure, and took an inhale. Shouts and cursing could be heard from outside of the alley as a group of ruffians ran by. 

     Two of them stopped at the entrance and glared at the hunched boy angrily, but as soon as they began to rush forward, Youngho coughed. It was dip one and two, whose heads whipped around towards him. Their eyes widened and they glanced at each other, scowling.

     "Lucky son of a ," one of them muttered, as they decidedly turned to leave.

     Youngho sighed, gaze trained on the boy across from him, "You know you really oughta stop ruining my peace and quiet."

     The boy glanced up, eyes upturning in creasents as he breathlessly laughed. 

    "Thanks again, I really owe you this time," he voiced out, "although, I totally forgot that this was your alley. I really must be a lucky son of a ." He giggled.

     It had been two weeks, the boy had healed quite nicely, his black hair rested like downey against his forehead, whereas Youngho's was slicked back.

    "What'd they want this time?" Youngho could not place what compelled to say this, but he couldn't help his curiosity. 

     Minhyung shrugged as he pushed himself off the wall and strode over to stand by Youngho's side, head coming up to his nose. 

    "Couldn't tell you," he sighed resignedly and frowned, "maybe my marks, my looks, my family, I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine."

     Youngho dropped his cigarette, stuffing it out with the toe of his boot. 

    "What school do you go to?" He asked instead, after seeing Minhyung's face fall slightly.

      Minhyung rocked on his heels, smile returning, although not as bright, as his hands fidgeted together. "Myeongdong, second year."

      Youngho nodded, reaching to light another cigarette, but decided against it. Minhyung was warm beside him. It must've been the thick coat he was wearing this time around. Fall had been quite unbearably cold this year.

      "Look, I was wondering if, you know, I could hang out here after school. The guys seem pretty scared of you and I wouldn't mind a couple less bruises here and there," Minhyung breathed out in a tumble of words. He turned to peer at Youngho, who felt the burning gaze on his cheek.

      "I mean, I guess," Youngho shrugged, "as long as you're quiet."

     For some reason the taller did not mind the younger's presence nearly as much as he had anticipated.

     Minhyung smiled brightly at him, all teeth, "Ok, sweet, thanks... So, if you don't mind me asking, why’d you choose this alley?" 

iii.

Time passed and Minhyung seemed to frequent the alley more often than his own home. And it seemed that Youngho had taken to smoking more often, standing and waiting. By the time they parted, the sun would often be setting, casting a tricoloured orange, pink, and purple hue.

     Their conversations were usually pretty one sided, Youngho being completely content to simply listen to Minhyung, as he shared little tidbits about his school and home life: what he read, a joke some boy named Wong Yukhei made in class, how his mother made japchae the other night for dinner.

     He found himself invested in what the shorter had to say, often hanging onto each word. However, although Youngho listened intently, he still remained a passive participant in most of their after school discussions.

    That was why the first time Minhyung had heard Youngho laugh was honestly quite momentous, despite laughing being a pretty inconsequential thing.

     It happened one afternoon when the boys were sitting side by side. Their respective school jackets acted as a picnic blanket of sorts, while they ate some snacks from one of the stores beside the alley. 

      "Man you should have seen their faces," Minhyung chortled, "Mr. Kim called them out real good. He was all like, 'maybe if you studied more, instead of acting like a bunch of buffoons, you'd all be passing my class'." Minhyung mockingly imitated his language teacher's light and airy voice. 

      Youngho merely listened as he bit into an unwrapped chocolate bar; although his lip did quirk up slightly at the corner. That alone was enough for Minhyung, who had laughed at his own story and remained quite unfazed by Youngho's apparent lack of reaction. 

     Minhyung leaned his head back against the wall with a content sigh, taking a sip of his soda as their shoulders brushed. 

    "Sounds like monkey business to me."

     In shock Minhyung snorted, nose spewing the soda he was drinking. He quickly turned towards Youngho, somehow managing to knock his head off the wall in the process.

     ", dude, ouch," Minhyung groaned, hand going up to rub the back of his head as he looked at the ground in embarrassment. He could feel a bump forming already.

     Then he heard it: a low chesty rumble coming from beside him. His eyes widened and he whipped his head up to look at Youngho, lips parted in awe. The taller was leaning back against the concrete wall, eyes closed, as a soft chuckle escaped through his lips.

     "Of course the first time you laugh is at my expense," Minhyung lamented, looking back down at the ground as his cheeks turned pink. 

     Youngho peeled his eyes open lazily and turned his head slightly, cheek almost pressed against the wall. He slowly raised his hand and hesitated a moment before he softly dropped his downturned palm onto Minhyung's head and caressed languidly. A subtle smile graced his lips as he turned back to face the opposite wall. He then proceeded to close his eyes, but did not remove his hand which had stilled while buried in Minhyung's locks. Something had shifted, silently, easily, and almost unnoticeably.

     The rest of the afternoon was filled with laughter, matching pink cheeks, and content smiles.

iv.

As the fall days grew shorter, they danced around the tension hidden behind stares that lasted a little too long; words that held a little too much weight; slight touches, like a clap on the back, a nudge of an elbow, an arm around the shoulder, or a hand ruffling hair, that felt too comfortable, too natural, but not enough all the same.

     Today should have been no different, except it had been a particularly rough day for Youngho.

     He couldn't help but let the words tumble from his lips when Minhyung paused his rant about the excessive amount of work his Arithmetic teacher, Mr. Moon had assigned and peered up at him questioningly. 

      "Hyung, are you ok? You just seem out of it," he asked, brown eyes glinting with concern, as he noticed Youngho distantly staring at the wall, his cigarette hanging loosely, forgotten between his fingers. 

      "You can tell me Hyung. I- to be honest, most of the time I feel like I'm the only one who talks," Minhyung stated earnestly, as his hand moved to gently grab the sleeve of Youngho's jacket. 

      Youngho, as if snapped out of a daze, began to spill, "My dad came by today, he's been living away from home so that he can be closer to the factory he works in. I--well I guess I've missed him, you know. And the first thing, the very first thing, he said to me was, 'son why are you sitting uselessly at the table while I'm out there working'."

      Distraught, Youngho turned to face Minhyung, who tightened his grip on the tallers sleeve, "the first thing he did was call me useless. I wonder every day if I should quit school, get married, have kids, and just work, wasting my life away in some factory. But Minhyung, I can't. I really don't want that to be all there is to my life. I don't want that to be my life."

     Minhyung looked at Youngho, as his hand slid down to gently grab the latters, squeezing lightly in an attempt to comfort.

     The dancing ended. 

     Youngho looked down at their hands, unsure if anything was real at this point, except for the hold that Minhyung had on him. 

      "Youngho, the only person you have to answer to is you. Not your father," Minhyung could feel Youngho grip his hand a little tighter. 

     Youngho turned away and faced the wall again, "I want to believe that, but life makes it so hard Minhyungie. It's all too hard." 

     Youngho's gaze was still fixated on the wall in front of them. He breathed out heavily and his exhale clouded in the cool, crisp air. He would not cry. He could not cry. 

     "But with you it feels easy," Youngho followed in a whisper, as if speaking in a hushed tone would lessen the weight of his words. His hand moved to intertwine with Minhyung's, "why can't it be easy?"

v.

That night had Minhyung brought a cigarette to his lips for the first time, closed his eyes, and swore he could almost feel Youngho. The taste bitter, yet addicting on his tongue.

     Youngho, no, the smoke embraced him in a warm caress. His eyes burned and his chest tightened as he was racked by a hacking cough. 

     Minhyung could now understand why his father quit. He honestly couldn’t breathe. Decidedly he concluded that cigarettes must not be for him.

vi.

School became time-cosuming as midterm exam season began. Even Minhyung's tormentors were distracted by the school's demand for dedication. 

     Minhyung became busy and Youngho, well, he smoked half a pack more a day. 

     Their meetings became shorter, as Minhyung chose to frequent the library after school instead to study. The bullies weren't as adamant in pursuing him and so he could venture elsewhere, no longer confined to the alley. But despite this, Youngho would wait there every day and Minhyung would make sure to drop by, even if only for ten minutes. 

     Until one day he didn't. Youngho had still waited, and then after the fourth day he stopped.

     Exams were important if you wanted a future. Minghyung knew the country, ran on exports. Factories fueled the economy. 

     Now don't get him wrong, he wasn't one of those traditionalists who felt that vocational and technical training were inferior to an academics based education; but he wanted something more. Although it might be cliché, he wanted to make an impact on people's lives. He wanted to help them out of their alley and into bustling streets built for the navigation of life. 

     As days passed, morning thoughts of Youngho were replaced by the rushed shoveling of breakfast into his mouth, so that he could go to the library before school. Afternoons were filled with cram school. Evenings became designated self-study time. And at night he slept, exhausted beyond belief. The constant pressure from his mother and father to do well and make them proud fueling his determined drive.

     On the morning of his exams Minhyung was fraught with nerves; a crackling livewire ablaze in his veins. He woke up tense and anxious, missed the early bus, forgot his lucky pencil, and was almost locked out of his exam. But he was a lucky son of a if anything.

     The next few days he waited with baited breath. He needed to do well. 

     The exam results were posted that following Monday afternoon. He stood among other anxious teens and scanned the ranking board outside the principal's office.  

     Not fifth, that was Wong Kunhang. Not fourth or third or even second. Maybe… no, that couldn't be true. But there, at the top of the list, was his name. First.

     Relief crashed over him in a wave, air entering his lungs properly for the first time in weeks.

     Maybe now he'd be good enough. 

vii.

He wanted to tell someone. Youngho, Youngho, how could he have forgotten. The older must have written his exam last week as well. Maybe he'd be waiting in the alley, since his school ended 15 minutes before Minhyung's. 

     He had to ask the taller how he'd done. Although the older said that he didn't really care about examinations and rankings, the weight in his brows the last time he'd seen him had revealed more than words could. 

     Wait, the last time he had seen him… that was ten days ago. God, he hoped Youngho was still there. I mean he had to be, that was his spot. That was their spot.

     Minhyung raced down the sidewalk, as he swiftly dodged other students and ignored the taunting calls of his bullies. 

     He whipped around the corner and into the alley, eyes frantically scanning for any sign of Youngho. He wasn't there. 

     It must have been from the wind while he ran, but Minhyung’s eyes burned slightly. He really wasn't there. 

     Shoulders slumped, Minhyung dejectedly turned to leave and walked straight into a broad chest. 

     “Oh sorry,” he choked out, as he stepped to the side without looking up. However, in accompaniment with the sound of a throat clearing, a can was pressed into his hand before he could walk away. 

     Minhyung looked up and was met with Youngho’s stoic gaze. 

     “Youngho, you came,” Minhyung breathed out in disbelief, hoping the man in front of him wasn't just a figment of his imagination. The weight of the can in his hand was the only thing to confirm that this was in fact reality and he was not dreaming. Although, the lack of his hand being held by Youngho’s, also confirmed that this was not one of his dreams. 

     Youngho did not acknowledge his statement but merely strode into the alley and sat on the ground with his back against the wall, not caring if his slacks became dirty. He gestured his head towards the can that was in Minhyung’s grip, “a celebratory drink.”

     Minhyung looked at the drink in his hand, beer. Youngho had opened his and began chugging as Minghyung shuffled over to him, clutching the beverage tightly in his hand hoping to draw something from the firmness of the can. 

     He carefully placed himself on the ground himself beside Youngho, a foot of space between them. “I- I missed this. Missed us.”

     Youngho merely took another gulp, grip slightly tightening on his can as Minhyung continued. 

     “I placed first in my school, but the only thing I could think of was you. I-is that wrong of me. I don’t know much of anything hyung, but I know I missed you.”

     Silence settled between them. Youngho pulled his outstretched legs up to his chest, draping his arm opposite to Minhyung over his knee, the can dangled in his grasp in front of him. He turned his head slightly to look at Minhyung, eyes softening.

     “Hyung, I’m sorry I stopped coming. I'm sorry if you waited for me,” Minhyung held the older’s gaze, an unspoken question in his stare. 

     “Doesn't matter. You're here now anyways,” Youngho stated, as his gaze drifted, roaming Minhyung’s face before returning to the younger’s eyes once again. He then proceeded to offer him a tight lipped smile, “you did well Minhyungie. You did well.” 

     Minhyung laughed stiffly and leaned his head back against the alley wall, staring at the sliver of sky framed between the two buildings, “I kinda had to, anything to lessen the disappointment my parents’ll feel later.”

     Despite not looking, Minhyung could feel Youngho’s gaze still resting on him as the other turned to face him fully, intrigued.

     “Why?” 

     “I- I thought you knew. I’m, well, there’s a reason those boys beat me hyung. I’m not normal,” Minhyung voiced out, grip tightening around the can in his hand, as Youngho merely continued to stare at him. 

     “I, hyung, well, I like boys I guess,” Minhyung turned to face Youngho, hoping to gage his reaction. Youngho seemed to be contemplating something, but remained unreadable and silent.

     With the lack of response from the older, Minhyung continued, desperation colouring his words, “and like, I won’t blame you if you start to hate me too. Most days I hate myse--hmph.”

     Lips. 

     Lips were on his. 

     Youngho’s lips were on his. 

      The older had pulled away before Minhyung could even process. Minhyung’s eyes fluttered open, having previously closed in shock, to a view of Youngho’s side profile. The taller was facing the wall again as he took a swig of his drink, face neutral and guarded, almost as if the kiss had been a mere figment of the younger's imagination.

     Minhyung looked down at the can in his hand, rolled it once, cracked open the tab and slowly raised it to his lips to take a sip, savouring. Now, beer was a taste he could get used to. 

     Some dream he must have been having. 

viii.

Minhyung had worked himself into the cracks of the concrete walls that formed the alleyway; a foundational piece that supported more than meets the eye.

     Laughter echoing off the walls replaced the silence that Youngho once sought respite in. 

     Time passed. 

     They talked about anything and everything, except for the kiss. 

ix.

Fall seemed to creep by slowly that year, but Youngho could not grasp the time spent and feel its weight in his palms. It just kept slipping through his fingers.  

     Autumn faded into the early stages of winter; something akin to a bittersweet taste on the tongue. 

     Mono no aware. 

     Youngho’s cigarette burned to ashes, while his lungs burned from the cool air. 

     The last vestiges of fall could be seen in passing pedestrians’ refusal to dig out their winter coats, hats, scarves, and gloves just yet. Instead, they rushed around in their shawls and loose, lightweight jackets. 

     Minhyung wanted to meet him on a Saturday. It was the first time he’d ever asked to meet with no after school to guide their interactions, since they had a short break before second semester began.

     Youngho had arrived ten minutes early wearing his best black slacks, a white button down, a black chore coat. He wanted to be prepared for whatever may come, as the occasion was lost on him. 

     At precisely 5:00 pm, Minhyung came plodding around the corner, dawning black rimmed glasses and a red, fuzzy, cable knit pullover. Soft. 

     “Hyung, did you wait long?” The younger asked, as he sped up his pace to reach the older, a bright smile gracing his face.

      Upon seeing the shorter's smile, Youngho glanced at his watch, chest