ii.

True to his word, Yesung never brought up the topic of that first kiss, and neither did Hyukjae. If things seemed awkward between them the first few days after that fateful day, Yesung did his best not to be bothered by it, and did everything in his power to get their friendship back to normal.

The friendship was more important than a stupid kiss, after all.

But it wasn’t really so stupid, was it? The voice in Yesung’s mind questioned, every time he’d try to reason with himself that it had all been just a foolish mistake.

No matter how much he tried to forget, how much he hoped that his tears would wash away the memory, he could still feel Hyukjae’s lips against his, plump and soft and utterly unforgettable.

Time and again, he would wake up from dreams that replayed that scene like a broken tape recorder, his lips tingling in the morning as he cursed that vision that would never materialise.

But it happened again, because life can be cruel that way.

Several years had passed since that day, and Yesung was now in his fourth and final year of university, still in the same little town that he’d always lived in, and Hyukjae still lived four houses down the street, even though his university was on the other side of town.

They were still inseparable, because of course they were. They were best friends after all.

And best friends are there for you when you’re crying in the bar after four bottles of beer, all because the girl who you worked up the courage to ask out for the better part of a year rejected you.

Yesung had wanted to remain at least partly sober, even if it wasn’t to drive, because they’d taken a taxi there, and thank goodness for that, because Hyukjae had begged him to share a bottle to avoid drinking alone, and Yesung hadn’t been able to refuse the pleading eyes and the tear-stained face, so there he was, drinking for perhaps barely the third or fourth time since he first had, having never quite gotten used to the bitterness in his mouth and the burning in his throat.

Hyukjae was perched on the barstool, beside him, slumped over the table, looking the picture of absolute misery as he whined again about the girl who’d “broken his heart” and had rejected him without a second glance.

“She didn’t even tell me why, Hyung,” he complained, his words slurring together, barely coherent. “Can you believe it? 8 months of pining over her and I couldn’t even get a simple explanation.”

He gulped down the last of his fourth bottle, as Yesung nodded sympathetically, still nursing his own barely touched beer. Personally, he had a fairly good inkling of why the girl with cropped hair and short nails and rainbow shoelaces had barely let Hyukjae get the words out of his mouth before politely declining his offer of a cup of coffee and returning to her “friend”, but he also understood all too well that she didn’t need to explain herself to anyone.

He had hoped he had been mistaken in his deductions, and had decided against warning Hyukjae for fear of prematurely breaking his lovesick friend’s heart, but he felt pity as he watched the younger bawl his eyes out, felt slightly relieved that Hyukjae hadn’t been snatched away from him by someone else, and then felt even more guilty at that thought; as best friends, shouldn’t he be wishing for Hyukjae’s happin