They meet through a mutual acquaintance, not a mutual friend because Howon is still too much of a stranger to Seoul to really have friends there and Sungkyu…Sungkyu does not make friends well.  (Howon understands why within twenty minutes of meeting him.  Sungkyu first comes off as distant and awkward, once that passes he comes off as rude.  Whatever, he’s not really in a position to comment on someone else’s social grace.)  They don’t get along exactly but they don’t not get along either, they’re both desperate enough for a roommate that anything beyond that and the ability to pay half the rent doesn’t really matter, so they end up living together.

The apartment is modest for one and tight for two, there is one bedroom and a small living room that becomes Howon’s room.  To be honest it’s much more than he’d expected from the ad, so they move in without complaints.  It’s close to the subway line and while the building is old it’s not falling apart.  There isn’t a door for Howon to close if he wants privacy but that doesn’t really matter since Sungkyu always closes and locks his door and spends most of his time in the apartment in his own room.  They’re more neighbours than roommates, so when his neighbour gets noisy Howon just slips on his headphones and doesn’t complain.   They barely see each other more than brushing by as they come and go (they’re both too busy chasing dreams to care), they talk to each other even less.

He’s pretty sure the only things that they know about each other are name and age.  (He also knows that Sungkyu plays the keyboard and that he sings, but only because he hears it through the walls.  He’s not sure Sungkyu knows what he does but Howon knows they both have dreams, it’s the only thing he knows about Sungkyu that’s vaguely personal, vaguely intimate.)




Six months after moving to Seoul he manages to land a job at a dance studio.  It’s not what he hopes for, it’s not what he’s chasing after, not even close to his dream—but it’s the only thing he’s gotten since coming to Seoul and it’s better than nothing.  It’s something.

Dongwoo (who shares his taste in music, who chases after the same dream, a friend) declares it reason enough to celebrate, so they end up at a tiny little restaurant two stops away from Howon’s apartment.  They run into Sungkyu there.

They don’t greet each other (not exactly, Sungkyu greets him as part of the staff and Howon doesn’t respond) but they stare at each other for longer than polite before Sungkyu looks away and smiles flatly as he shows them to a table.  He eats and chats with Dongwoo, barely paying attention to Sungkyu, but a few times Howon looks over and Sungkyu meets his stare evenly for a brief second before returning to his work.

(Sungkyu’s embarrassed and annoyed, Howon gets the sense.  It doesn’t really make sense because there’s nothing embarrassing about it, working hard at a meaningless job so that he can keep pursuing his dream—but maybe Howon gets it.  He wishes he hadn’t run into Sungkyu that night, he likes their impersonal relationship and now, for the stupidest reason, it doesn’t feel quite as impersonal.  Just a little bit, he’s curious; and he’s annoyed too.)




It’s maybe a week later, late at night, when Howon hears the sound of Sungkyu singing filter through his flimsy door.  He’s barely seen Sungkyu in that time (he works two jobs and when he’s not working he’s practicing, it must be like that for Sungkyu too), they keep missing each other and it’s never bothered Howon before.  (Does it bother him now?)  But he figures it’s impossible to feel awkward when they never see each other.

Howon automatically reaches for his headphones but he doesn’t put them on.

He can’t really hear what Sungkyu’s voice sounds like, his voice trickles through the thin barrier of the door, distorted and rough.  Howon can barely trace a vague melody in what he hears.  He kind of wishes the door was open, just a crack even.

(It’s a bit annoying because the way they live right now works for them, but Howon supposes this is inevitable.  It’s only natural to feel curious about the person that he’s living with even if they barely talk.)




He doesn’t have the time or inclination to worry about someone else.  His jobs pay well enough that he’s able to save up some money, and at the very least his job at the studio gives him plenty of opportunity to practice and network—but he’s not exactly swimming in excess (money, time, patience).  He should just concern himself with his own things; he shouldn’t bother with others that have little to do with him.

(They’re more neighbours than roommates, and definitely not friends.)

He’s acting outside of his own expectations, standing in front of Sungkyu’s door, about to knock, with some kimbap he bought at the convenience store two blocks away.  He’s pretty sure Sungkyu hasn’t left his room in more than a day (his shoes are in the exact same place, same position, as they were twenty-four hours ago), unless he has a stash of emergency rations in his room (they share a fridge and the food in there has not budged since Howon last made eggs) then he hasn’t eaten in however long he hasn’t left his room. It’s really none of Howon’s business.

He knocks.

There’s a lot of shuffling before Sungkyu answers the door (Howon tries to visualise what’s happening behind the door but he’s never seen the inside of Sungkyu’s room so he cannot begin to guess).  When the door finally opens Sungkyu is standing there, half slumped, looking more haggard than Howon ever remembers seeing him.  

(To be fair, until recently Howon barely looked at Sungkyu, so maybe this is normal—but he feels the surge of concern nonetheless.)

His casual, ‘Hyung, have you eaten?’ dies on his lips.  (Thinking about it, that would have been strange.  Howon has never called Sungkyu ‘hyung’ before.)

“You’re sick.”  There’s no need to ask, he’s only pointing out the obvious.  But maybe it would have been better to ask, because something in his tone (Howon has never been good at tone, not when caught by surprise) makes Sungkyu’s unnaturally pale features twist into annoyance.

“I’m fine,” he lies in a hoarse, rough voice and closes the door without giving Howon a chance to say anything else.  He's left staring at the closed door while Sungkyu coughs up a storm from behind it.  He decides it doesn't really matter that they're more neighbours than roommates, and not friends at all, that coughing is noisy and the situation is frustrating.  

(Howon ends up barging in, because Sungkyu had forgotten to lock his door in his sick haze, and telling him to get dressed.  He ends up dragging Sungkyu to the nearest walk-in clinic, buying him medicine, and making soup for him from scratch.  Sungkyu's face looks sour the whole time, so does Howon's but he does it anyways.  

By the next day some of the colour returns to Sungkyu's face, he still coughs but it's not as violent.

Sungkyu thanks him in a mumble and Howon says nothing, because he doesn't know what to say.)




There aren’t any drastic changes but Sungkyu no longer locks his door all the time (Howon knows because he doesn’t hear that click after he hears the door fall shut), and occasionally he eats in the kitchen instead of in his own room.  They nod at each other when they pass through, rather than averting their gaze.  




Sungkyu hands him a few crumpled bills suddenly and Howon looks at him in confusion.

“For the medicine, and the soup.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just take it,” and again, his face twists in the annoyance that’s easily recognisable by this point—and Howon gets it.  Sungkyu has a lot of pride, in everything.  Howon gets it, because he’s the same way, so he takes the bills and tucks them into his jeans’ pocket.  

“Okay.”

It’s the first time he sees Sungkyu smile (except that one time at the restaurant, on the job), it’s thin and tight but it’s a smile all the same.




“I have an audition,” Sungkyu tells Howon one day.  He looks like he’s trying to stop the smile that’s spreading over his features, it’s a losing battle.  Howon doesn’t realise he’s smiling as well until Sungkyu looks away, embarrassed.




He fails the audition and that night they go drinking together for the first time.  Sungkyu drinks too much and Howon barely.  So he has no excuse for how he almost whispers against Sungkyu’s face, as he hauls them back to their apartment, “I want to hear you sing.”

Sungkyu’s voice is hoarse (again) and his notes slurred.  He’s searching for a high note and takes in a gasping breath once he finds it.  Howon has no idea if Sungkyu is a good singer but he wants to hear more, regardless.

(Sungkyu looks embarrassed the next morning.  He shuffles to the kitchen and drink two glasses of water without pausing before he manages to turn to Howon and mumble an apology.

‘It’s okay, hyung.’

Howon realises, later, that even though Sungkyu was embarrassed he didn’t look annoyed this time.)




The next week Sungkyu leaves his door open a crack, and Howon can hear his voice flowing out quietly (almost hesitant or shy).  Howon stops what he’s doing and listens.  




His birthday passes for the first time since he left Busan, he gets a brief phone call from his mother and a few texts from a few of his friends.  This lifestyle (chasing after his dream, chasing after what he wants more than anything else) is incredibly lonely.  There are too many disappointments and failures for Howon to really want to celebrate, but it feels lonely still.

The last thing he expects is for Sungkyu to come back to the apartment with a bag of snacks and drinks.

“Drink up,” he demands.  There’s no sofa, just Howon’s bed, so they sit on the floor together with the drinks and the snacks, talking.  It’s the most they’ve talked since they moved in together (unless he counts the drunken rambling from the month before).  It feels strange and a little bit uncomfortable but, strangely, Howon finds that he doesn’t mind.

“How old are you anyways?”

“Eighteen.”

Sungkyu’s hand falls heavily on his head and ruffles his hair roughly (he’s beginning to get drunk, Howon thinks).  “You’re still young,” he declares laughingly and Howon huffs a little.

“So are you, hyung.”

It’s true, they’re both still young.  But it’s something he forgets a lot of the time because he’s so dragged down by those disappointments and failures.

“By the way, my birthday’s next month.  On the twenty-eighth.”

“Noted.”




It’s probably inevitable that he cares about the person he’s living with.  They’re roommates after all; it occurs to Howon one day that they’re probably friends too.




He comes second in a dance competition and it’s not good enough.  Second isn’t enough to get noticed, and it’s not enough pay back for the hours he’s spent sweating and feeling like he’s dying (drowning in his dreams).  

He’s watching the video Dongwoo recorded for him, picking apart his own performance viciously.  It’s the seventh replay and, just a little bit, Howon feels like he’s having trouble breathing.

“You’re good,” Sungkyu’s voice cuts into his thoughts sharply.  Howon’s not sure when he started to watch, hovering over his shoulder to look at the small screen of his phone.

“It was a competition, I came in second.”  He bites down sharply on the ‘only’ that threatens to follow.

“That’s amazing!”

He’s not sure why (maybe just for the sake of comfort) but Howon can believe it when Sungkyu says it and the pressure that was growing in his chest begins to lessen.




“I have an audition tomorrow.”

Sungkyu’s smiling and Howon grins widely in return.  “Good luck, hyung,” he says as he pulls Sungkyu into a tight hug.




Sungkyu passes the audition, it’s only the first round but it’s something. Howon buys drinks and snacks that they share sprawled on Howon’s bed.  They talk, but Howon’s distracted by the innocent glee that seems to shine through in everything Sungkyu says.  It’s infectious, Howon can feel an echoing flutter in his chest every time Sungkyu looks at him and smiles.

“Congratulations,” Howon says (again, he doesn’t know how many times he’s said it) in a sleepy, tired voice.  He’s smiling, but he doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling all night anyways.

“It’s just round one,” is what Sungkyu says but he’s smiling too, smiling as he fiddles with the wrinkles in the bed sheet.  

“It’s something,” Howon insists.  Because sometimes, it helps to hear someone else say it, he thinks.  (And he hopes that it makes a difference, the same way a few words from Sungkyu makes a difference for him lately.)   Sungkyu nods wordlessly, lips pressed together as if to keep from smiling too widely.  

Their beer cans clack softly as they knock them together.  It’s nice to have something worth celebrating (and someone to celebrate with).

They fall asleep on Howon’s bed that night, no locks, no doors between them.  (When he wakes up the next morning he finds Sungkyu’s hand in his and Sungkyu laying half on top of him.  He can’t move away without waking Sungkyu and it’s early, so Howon closes his eyes again, Sungkyu’s hand still resting in his.)