And you are in business.

You stare at the monitor, eyes re-reading the simple words that are going to seal your fate for the next three years. A simple declaration stating your acceptance into the faculty of business from the only university you have applied to (only one university not because you aren’t confident, but because you are too confident—your academic results can get you everywhere, anywhere you want) lies there, on your screen. And you think you should be more excited, happier, because it’s your first choice after all and people should be overjoyed when they get what they want most.

Instead, a sort of emptiness fills you and you are feeling sort of queer. You close the window (you will accept the offer later, perhaps tomorrow) and open up your Outlook. No new mails, but no surprise there. You have just checked your inbox 10 minutes ago.

And now, you are left with nothing to do. Because even though the internet is a vast, vast world that tangents out into the wildest things than minds have the capacity for, you aren’t all that interested in going out into unexplored territories. You are a man of routine, you are.

And perhaps that’s the reason you aren’t feeling as great as you should be. Because gaining acceptance into university means closing the book on highschool, and you are going to miss your friends—flaws and all—not to mention you will have to get used to new things and new people. You aren’t terrified of change, but you aren’t a big fan of it either.

You put your head down and grit your teeth through it, waiting for your body to adapt to the nauseating sensation that is known as change. The discomfiting feeling won’t dissipate, but humans are miraculous creatures and you know you will be able to get used to it if it goes on long enough.

So, you see, you are now an official (or maybe not so, not till you accept the offer you have to accept because it’s your only offer) business student. And you roll the words around in your mouth and taste it on your tongue. It feels dry and limpid and now you want nothing more than to curl up in your bed and close your eyes to the world.

Coward, coward. Avoidance has always been your primary tactic.

But the idea of universities keep niggling away at your mind. You think of Kibum and you think of how he is going to be miles away from you all because he wants an overseas education (and you pretend you aren’t envious at all, that he has the money to do so). You think of Taemin and you think of how he has signed up for fighting battles in unfamiliar lands (and you wish he won’t do it, because you are horribly afraid he may return in a casket). You think of Jonghyun and you think of how he knows exactly what he wants to do and is unafraid of taking a gap year (that courage is going to kill him one day, because singing is not a livelihood, cannot be a livelihood).

And because you guys are five (have always been five), your thoughts can’t help but to wander over to the one person you have been avoiding ever since you realize he has separate ambitions than you do. The golden boy, your one true friend, and the person you have been watching from afar forever. His name pops up in your mind and you are in some sort of morbid wonderment how many emotions it can elicit from you with just those two syllables.

Minho.

Minho, you whisper to yourself. And you pull the blankets tighter around you (because the sun is getting too bright, and that’s the only reason). You pull them tighter around you and you whisper his name brokenly to yourself, and somehow, something deep within you breaks as well (you have been trying to stave off this moment, trying to will the feelings into non-existence). The leaky boat you have done your best to patch is sinking, as a name rips off all the canvas and tape you have applied and opens the holes even wider.

Sink, sink, sink.

And tears are probably running down your cheeks now. But you don’t really care, because you are going into full-fledged wailing, not the type of pretty wailing you see on TVs, but the type of painful, heart-wrenching, genuine wailing that can only be seen if people close to you are willing to let you. And in the midst of the strangled cries you are giving out (you are doing your best to stop yourself, because it is a weak, weak thing, crying like this), your mind notes dimly that your family is not home and you are all manners of relieved.

You are a model student, a perfect son and you don’t want to make them worried.

You are only 20, but you are carrying all sorts of burdens on your shoulders already.

And when you finally feel your heart calming down, your mucus drying out and your breaths steadying, the shrill ringtone of your phone rings and you nearly leap out of your skin. The calm of your sanctuary has been invaded, and you kind of want to ignore the phonecall. Because, dude-on-the-phonecall, how about some better timing?

But curiosity got the better of you and you move over to take a look at the lit-up screen. And you know you should have just continued burrowing yourself in the bed, because what meets your eyes is the familiar face of the person you have just been crying over.

You make to deny the call, but somehow, your hand slips (does it, really?) and you pick it up instead. You stare at the phone, mortified, and have no idea what to do. The silence goes on for three seconds, before it is finally broken by a hesitant ‘hello’ from the other end. He has never been a man of patience.

You stare harder at the phone and do not trust yourself to reply. Because given the sort of aerobics exercise you have just given your lungs a few minutes prior, you have an accurate impression of how you will sound like—hoarse and sad, like a person crying. So you opt to remain silent and wait instead.

“Are you there, Jinki?”

You set your phone on hands-free mode and place it a far distance away from you. You are beginning to sniffle and you are hating yourself for being so weak.

“Hello?”

You begin hunting for some tissues because the waterworks is starting again. But it seems you have used them all up the previous round and you settle for wiping your eyes (and nose) with your blanket instead.

“Anyway, I am just calling to tell you I got into business too.”

Your breaths hitch and you frown.

“So yea, that’s all. B—“

It is a splendid feat you have just shown, and Minho would have been proud have he seen it. Because in just a single fluid movement, you are out of the bed and across the room, cradling the phone tightly to your chest. You open your mouth to speak, “B-but.” You stop yourself in embarrassment and clear your throat, trying again, “But your sports uni doesn’t have any business faculties.” Your voice sounds slightly hoarse, but you think to yourself you don’t sound that bad after all.

“Are you crying?”

You flush red. And it makes sense, it really does, that you can’t hide anything from him even if you want to. You ignore his questions pointedly and repeats like a broken record (your brain is kind of lacking in oxygen), “But your sports uni doesn’t have any business faculties.”

A silence elapses and you can just imagine him pressing his lips into a thin line, because he can smell an evasion a thousand miles away. Nonetheless, he responds, “I am not going to the sports uni.”

“Which one then?”

“Yours.”

And you know you are all sorts of an evil monster when your spirits begin lifting immediately and you feel your tear ducts stopping. Because sports have always been Minho’s life and you have always known in your heart that should he apply to a sports university, it would definitely accept him, no questions asked. But now he is going to your university of choice which doesn’t excel in sports at all and you think it is all for you. And you know that you will get to see him for three years more and you are celebrating wildly in your heart, because you are a selfish person and you are glad you will be able to be with him some more even if it comes at the sacrifice of his dreams.

You are a selfish monster but it doesn’t really matter to you then. Because the next moment, you are flying down the stairs, disheveled appearance and all, down the road and towards his house. Your phone is still tightly held in your hands and you are running a hundred thousand miles an hour to reach him and you think of how surprised he will be to see you in front of his place. But it is all for naught, because the next second, someone is jogging easily beside you.

You look to your side, and it’s him.

He smiles, and your feet slow. He pulls you into an embrace and whispers into your ear.

“Don’t cry, I will always be with you.”

But it is all kinds of counterproductive, because you are crying, crying hard now. Except that it’s a different sort of tears.

Cliche, cliche to the max! I kinda regret writing the second last paragraph, but thinking of a cool one-liner is hard and my brain isn't working too well now haha. So, it would have to do ><

P.S. And let's all ignore the girly POV this story is written in, alright? :)