xviii. Sehun

When Hana calls him, he knows. Almost intuition, like the doubts he has when he twists the doorknob to see if it's locked or switches lanes because there might be traffic in the freeway-- 

Who is he kidding, he's known it all along. He's been bracing for the fall, and maybe that's why he's not devastated when he watches utter the words that he's already stacked layers and layers of cushions around.

"So," he smiles, "is Jong In the one?" He tries not to sound accusative, but it ends up straining his voice even more.

"I don't know," she scratches her head, "but I want to make sure. I just hope I don't regret it and come crying back to you because I find out that oops, Kim Jong In's actually just a big ."

"But he is," he notes bemusedly. He is, but you love him.

Her shoulders shake in relieved laughter, and he turns away.

It's not supposed to hurt, there are cushions beneath him, but it does.

It ing hurts.

xix. Jong In

He's in Sehun's doorway on a Thursday afternoon, and Sehun's complexion fades from surprise to confusion to an unreadable blank.

"Um," Jong In his chapped lips. "Can I come in?"

Sehun offers him orange juice, and Jong In wraps all 10 fingers around the cup and waits for Sehun to sit down.

"You've grown," he comments, and it's true. It's only been a few months since he's last seen the younger boy, but Jong In can sense gravity that wasn't there before, the gaunt cheeks and stiff postures.

"I have," Sehun says. It sounds like something between a question and a statement. "How have you been?"

"The same. I should have answered your calls."

"It's okay," Sehun runs a hand through his bangs, "I mean, if you're here to say apologize, don't worry about it, because there's nothing to forgive." He tries a smile, but it ends up weak and pathetic, and suddenly, Jong In feels like he sees a stranger in Sehun's spot. 

"That's it," he stands up abruptly, setting the cup down on the coffee table. "Let's go for a drink."

"Right now?" Sehun frowns and slides his own cup next to Jong In's. "It's not even dark outside."

"Perfect," he shrugs. "We'll sober up by tonight."

xx. Sehun

"Hyung."

"I'm not drunk," Jong In laughs slowly. Sehun sighs.

"You are. And you're heavy. I gotta get you home."

"Why? It's only like 6 o' clock."

"It's 11:45."

They're on the slope of concrete beside Han River, blinking lazily at the lights that glimmer against dark ripples. Their skin is sticky and frozen from the damp night air. It feels like they've just waded out of the sea, and Jong In's eyes become glazed with nostalgia.

"Let's go to the beach," he jumps to his feet. "Just you and me, like the old times. We'll go swimming." He staggers. Sehun catches him by the wrist and carefully seats him back down.

"No, we're not going to go swimming," Sehun says. "We'll freeze. Or drown."

Jong In chuckles, and the white breath curls onto his jaw.

"You're a good kid," he says, slinging an arm around Sehun's shoulder. Sehun grumbles, but appreciates the warmth of Jong In's sleeve on his back. "It kind of makes me jealous, you know. I'll never be stop being an ."

"No, you won't," he grins. "But you're a pretty decent . You carried my backpack and walked me to school for a month because I tripped on the steps and sprained my ankle."

"Broke your ankle, not sprained," Jong In sniffs. "If it were a sprain, I wouldn't have."

Jong In still would have. Sehun wants believe that his hyung is the villain, but the truth is, the night after Sehun broke his ankle, Jong In had come home bruised "from a motorcycle accident." But Sehun knew he had been picking a fight with the upperclassmen who pushed Sehun down a flight of stairs. Jong In may be blunt, but he doesn't know how to be selfish, Sehun knows.

"Hana knows that, too," Sehun mutters, and his throat tightens a little. His mind wanders back to the school trip in junior high, the dirty drizzling and sour moods, how Jong In risked a week of detention and snuck out of the tour to buy a box of Kyungjoo cakes. Sehun couldn't sleep that day because Hana was happy and Jong In was the reason.

"I'll be good to her," Jong In speaks, understands.

"Yeah," Sehun nods, and his eyes curve into half-moons as he smiles, full and genuine. Jong In's body eases at that, and he tosses a piece of crumbled brick into the river. It breaks the current with a small dull splash.

"I guess this is the closest we'll ever get to the sea," Jong In laughs. The closest we'll ever get to reckless youth, to irresponsible dreams.

"Next time," Sehun promises, and he glances at a few stars shining above.

xxi. Hana

The truth is, there's really no harbinger. It just happens, and she's heard people casually talk about it like some plot device in a blockbuster film. Interesting to analyze and interpret, but not metamorphic, not personal. Until it happens to Hana, she doesn't think much of it either. 

The train crash is an accident, and accidents are accidents because they are unexpected, unpreventable. 

She gets that, and the logic keeps her going. She can nod and mumble sorries that no one in the world seems to process. She can't produce a single drop of tear. 

Some time later, she's lying in bed, playing connect the dot with the haphazard stains on her ceiling. The blinds are drawn closed and windows shut, it's stuffy in the room and almost hard to breathe, but she keeps up with the tempo of her stifled inhales and exhales.

From outside her window a muted chatter about chocolate and paper cranes bleeds into her room. She crawls out of her blankets and peeks through the blinds. Sitting on the curb is a group of children designing some project for a school festival. Most of the chatter is from a tall boy, and another kid with dark skin constantly diverting the flow of the conversation with random jokes. A girl between them is screeching at the second boy cut it out and grow up.

A soft laughter slips out between Hana's lips. Maybe the girl is in love with the lanky boy. Maybe the dark-skinned boy is in love with her. Maybe the taller boy loves them both, but there are activities to plan and business to sort out, so he keeps on talking, ignoring the argument breaking out between the other two and unaware of the young lady who watches all this from the window above.

2nd year of high school, school festival. Hana hates running, so she's faking a heatstroke to sit out from the athletic competitions. Sehun and Jong In are sprawled out beside her, making bets on which relay team would win, with the loser obligated to fan the winner. Sehun is rooting for Class 3-2, Jong In for Class 3-3, and Hana is throwing joking comments that neither is going to win, that Class 3-1 is going to take first place. 

When Class 3-1 actually does win, Jong In and Sehun question whether that the bet even existed (Bet? What bet?) while Hana screams at them both to start the fanning. They ditch her with a high-five, and Hana chases them around until the gym teacher reminds her that hi, she's supposed to be dying from heatstroke. She plops back down on the bleachers and shoots dirty looks at the other two, who snicker at her from across the field. They come back with melon-flavored ice cream, and the three of them end up fanning each other, lazily on the popsicle wood.

She leaves her bedroom and trudges to the kitchen. She digs her fridge for a melon-flavored ice cream, carefully opening the wrapper and biting into the cold flesh.

It tastes like toothpaste, artificial and dirty, nothing like the creamy, ephemeral sweetness she remembers. She throws it out and sinks to the floor.

A way back. Just 5 years, a year, no, even just two weeks back. When they were whole, when she was cracking corny jokes, when Jong In was laughing carelessly, when Sehun was smiling with crescent eyes, an unspoken I love you.

When Sehun was.

She chokes back her sobs because all she wants is that, a way back (to bring Sehun to life) but she's an adult now and there are no more second chances.

xxii. Jong In

Time has always been a subjective thing for him, something that slows down and speeds up according to his perception, but after it happens, time locks into a steady, precise pace. It's better this way, he tries to convince himself, and it's exactly 24 days after it happens that he finds the courage to see her again.

"You know," she laughs emptily, "I've always thought if anything, you'd be the first one to go, from a motorcycle wreck or something." She doesn't look at him and looks past the large panels of the cafe's glass windows instead. He doesn't reply and just nods, I know, me too.

He wishes time lost its rhythm again and returned to being subjective so he could fast forward all her pains and start anew. But things like this - telling her it's okay, don't be afraid, I've got your back - they're things that only Sehun knows how to do, so Jong In can only drink his ing coffee and helplessly watch as she tunes out on life. He doesn't even like coffee.

Making her happy used to be such an easy thing to do. But that, he realizes, was when he was certain that if he ever failed, Sehun would be there to make it alright. He hates that the last time he saw Sehun was when he was drunk and stupid. Hell, he'd always been drunk and stupid, but the difference is that Sehun had never let him slip.

Next time, hyung.

Those were the last words Sehun had said to him. Except Sehun had left before next time could roll around, before Jong In could tell him, with the waves murmuring against their skin, you mean a lot to me, and I'm sorry for not being a good enough hyung to you, for letting you grow up so fast, for falling for the same person--

Jong In turns back to Hana. She's sitting across from him, right now and in this moment, today and not yesterday, the present and not the past. Her eyes are blurry with fatigue and disappointment and surrender, and perhaps she's even more broken than he can speculate. But somewhere around her translucency he still sees the shadow of whom he used to know, used to love, still loves.

Even now, he doesn't know why, or how.

He just does, and what they used to have doesn't matter nearly as much. 

He wonders if Sehun figured that out before he ever did.