One;

Low voices spread like signal waves around the large university stair-type classroom. Words from the epicenter flew around the vaulted room, such as physiotherapy, alveolar rhabdomyosarcoma, vascularized composite allotransplantation, 1916 Polio outbreak, Per Henrik Ling.

The sounds of like tap dancing men coined on the alternatively arranged burnished wooden boards, mixture of wood, cement, paint and plastic ivies. Large framed science charts and element tables cluttered everywhere, with shelves on walls, it was a library and classroom at one. Tall permanent windows and soft curtains were motionless, made the silence more severe; the seriousness of the environment completely becomes unbearable.

Students are ridiculously aligned in three rows, where at the first is the few students who really wanted to listen to the professor, next is those who never hesitates to bring their Biology 101 notebooks, and the last is where those who know the subjects well, and would rather sleep in their long tables or listen to the professor half-mindedly—neutral parties if you’d say.

“Hey.” A husky voice collared Suho’s neck, who was busily taking down every little word the professor dictates. His hands were shaking badly as he was non-stop writing throughout a straight line of two deadly hours. Professors came in like they were just switching faces, and a thirty-minute break doesn't really break any bones.

He replies with a hum, yet the persistence went on. “Hey, Junmyeon-hyung.”

Suho drops his pen at the top corner of the paper after landing a period on the last tail of the sentence. He removed the pressure between the material and the desk, and awfully played with the muscles of his eyes, fighting off his mental drought. He buried his exhausted face on his warm hands, followed by throwing of his back flat at his chair.

“I’m glad you made me conscious.” Suho greeted his seatmate as he looks at him, eyes as old-looking as the corner details of the ceiling, and simpers his stress away at him.

“I’m Chanyeol.” Chanyeol introduced himself in a lower voice noticing that the professor started moving in two repeating directions, proffering his hand at a level of almost touching the floor.

Suho winkled his memory to remember the familiar face in his mind, but found himself mentally scratching his brain. Even though, Suho reaches for the other’s and made a shake. He drops his head down after on the desk, lying between his two flat arms.

"Isn't this gonna end earlier? We still have 8 hours of this mayhem." Suho uttered then pouted, with his eyes half closed, seeing only the nose and the mouth of the younger one.

They both propped their chins and listened for a few seconds, as it was the same sound that they didn’t want to hear.

Chanyeol leaned closer to Suho, ignoring his forethoughts and pursed his lips in to his ears, almost funny. "I've seen you walk by a street at Dongchoeng-dong, is it possible you live close by?"

Suho, who was inexplicably asleep or awake, answered, hiding a trace of his grogginess. "Yes, I live close at a flower shop there. Actually I work there during mornings." Seeing an interest with the question, he inclined on his seat and acted comfortable with his block mate.

"Really? It happens that I bought a bouquet there two days ago. And I also live not that far from that flower shop." Chanyeol revealed, resting his elbows on the desk, masking his mouth with his hand, fingers all pointed on one direction. "But, I didn't saw you there."

Suho looked around, biting the right side of his lips, trying to formulate something in his mind.

"Maybe I was at the inventory at that time. I do remember a customer appeared without my presence—maybe it was you." He guessed, smiling at his hypothesis.

Chanyeol nodded, the corner of his mouth down-right with his lower lip pointing upward. He steered back, facing the stage of the room and watched the professor move around while nagging thousands of words.

"We should go home together later." Suho suggested, facing the same scene as Chanyeol is.

Chanyeol rotated his head and looked at his hyung, smiled, and nodded.

————∞————

Seven in the evening stabs the sun at its heart and the blood of the people came alive. Feminine night markets, deep-fry stalls, and anything glitzy through the eyes of the townspeople. Gyeongju is just one of the places that anyone would consider the freshest among all South Korea. Even at this time, this city still remains historical and early Korean-culture based.

The tangy smoke of the food carts glided in Chanyeol’s philtrum that made his stomach boil in gastric acid. Their classes ended as late as unexpected, but it didn’t stop them from walking and enjoy a long conversation together.

Getting himself in a thin shirt isn’t really convenient at this kind of night—he never expected the morning heat wave could transform in to an evening winter wonderland. He only had his bag and a pair of notebooks to warm him—spirals of plastic color surprise and coil burying in his skin. The same goes to Suho, but he was wearing long sleeves, hugging Kravitz sweater and casual white shirt, enough to block the temperature.

“The night is so beautiful isn’t it?” Suho claims. “I remember when my mother used to have a stall just right there,” he stopped and pointed on a empty spot, “as she used to sell hand-stitched sweaters all-year round. I helped her too.” He then laughs. “You know, I was one of those petty children who would scream all night long at people advertising our shop. Honestly, it was fun.”

“Really, hyung? Wow. You’re such an obedient child.” Chanyeol admires Suho, but he is just actually out of words.

“But, hyung. When I came in to your shop to buy flowers for my mother, there was someone else.” Chanyeol asks out of the topic, recalling the face from the flower shop before. His mind lost the smell of daebokki and fries-crusted hot dogs, and turned in to something like auburn wood, perfumed cloths, and flowers.

“That’s Baekhyun. He’s the owner of the shop, and also my bestfriend.”

Baekhyun…

Two soft syllables danced like fingers tickling around Chanyeol’s upsized ear. Hearing the name of the face that was painted in his vision fits everything perfectly, like how a ring slides in a tight finger through lotion. Baekhyun, the name of the man who had his hair in dark ashes cream, eyes deeply hollowed yet they were smiling and standed just by his ear. But the petite physique makes everything admirable than a lady’s.

“I see.” Chanyeol spurs—staring blankly at the street, trying to conceal his red face with the moon’s shadow from Suho.

“He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Chanyeol’s pupils formed a dot in his eye, shockingly reflexes his head to Suho’s face. But he wasn’t looking at him. Maybe—he thought as he crumples his pants—Baekhyun really is adorable.

“Let’s meet again tomorrow. I’ll wait you at this shop so we can commute together to school, okay?” Suho informs Chanyeol, who was already walking away to another block, looking back.

Chanyeol flashes his pointed thumb up in the air and cracked a huge grin. Suho then faces their shop, the only one still open lit in the middle of the night. He enters, startling Baekhyun as he hears the door chime once again. Wind from outside vigorously entered the shop, fanning sleeping leaves and pushing flower petals as if hairs on beach waves—clipped papers flipping upward like Marilyn Monroe’s skirt in pearl white layers.

Baekhyun’s nostrils contracted and his upper lip flinched, fingers drew a cross at the veneer he was leaning on. He listened to a few steps from the person, his hearing detailed at each friction it makes with the floor.

“Suho?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Baekhyun releases his breath, his identification was correct. He turned around back to his desk and touched the petals of the displayed hydrangeas.

“How was school?”

“2 hours overtime.”

The sound of window blinds like poker cards rafting made Baekhyun think about the windows, sending waves in his brain that Suho is already patching up the shop.

“It seems like professor is at his mood again.” He joked, carefully pressing force on the plant.

A weak slap on Baekhyun’s shoulder harbored, followed by Suho’s theatrical laugh. Baekhyun pressed his palm on the furniture, and wiped the surface in a circular motion once. He stood up and catched the end of Suho’s short sleeve hem and followed his steps.

“How many did you sell today?” Suho asks, opening four zippers in two different bags of his and Baekhyun’s, not leaning far so Baekhyun could still hold on to him.

“I managed to do a thirty-three.” Baekhyun answers. “I sometimes wonder why we have so many customers.”

“Because you’re cute.”

Baekhyun puffs a breath out of his mouth, and pouted at Suho.

"It’s true. I met someone and he thinks you’re cute. He happens to be a customer too before.”

Baekhyun faced Suho’s direction, unknowledgeable of what kind of expression he is about to give him. He stands by—removing his little grip—and waited for Suho to grab him in the wrist to head out of the shop.

"But, honestly—" Baekhyun starts, his fingers interlocked with each of his hands, feet tips facing each ends. "Do you think someone will love me?"

Suho looks to Baekhyun, his eyes glaring and brows pointing upward. "Are you stupid? Of course!" He then stood up and ruffled the younger's hair. "You're the most beautiful man in this world. And you're extra nice and caring too. Don't worry about those matters."

Baekhyun shrugs him off, looking at his two embarassed feet. Maybe he still has a chance to get loved.

————∞————

The posts lit a weak spotlight between every thirty steps at the lane—some are almost dead—like subways saving electricity on Septembers. The drizzling leaves of dark trees sang like mocking birds of the morning, and the population of the night is unusually few. Maybe there was a forecast about raining tonight, or maybe the world drastically changed. Nowadays, a hot day always comes a night of cold, peaceful and quiet life of the city.

Baekhyun had both of his hands deeply inserted in his pockets, regretting the choice of not bringing his warmers to work. He was sure he was just five-feet away from the television, ears sharp listening to the temperature forecast on eight-handed mornings. He even remember having raspberries and store-bought milk at that exact breakfast.

“Suho.” He calls the man on his side, their shivering footsteps moving in harmony.

“Yes?”

“What’s the name of the customer you mentioned lately?”

“Chanyeol. Why?”

“Nothing—“

A couple of footsteps had passed as they started to run over fallen leaves—cracking every single one they step on—horrid sounds of breaking bones at despair. The both of them are startled and avoided the patch of leaves as they transferred their route at the left side of the road instead.

Baekhyun tried to pull Suho back to the pedestrian’s, but Suho counteracted, pulling back as he restrains to keep on the road.

“Isn’t this dangerous, hyung?” Baekhyun asked, grabbing Suho’s hands.

“Don’t worry, Baekhyun. I’ll be your eye if there’s something approaching.”

Baekhyun smiled—no, his heart smiled at what Suho had said. It gave him a feeling of something calm and easy. He inserted his fingers between his hyung’s spaces, and enjoyed the warmth of their palm altogether. Gyeongju drifts in the night, the moon and the sun is at an equal space, both hidden from the world. But the stars were there—still watching over the world.

————∞————

The scent of fresh brewed coffee aroma and early Christmas gingerbread sifted through Chanyeol’s dying chestnut sweater. It was from the reopened café next to the flower shop. Speed six tourers started appearing out of nowhere in the Gyeongju street, vintage throwbacks of subtitled Charlie Chaplin’s of 1936. The morning lies cold yet sunny, and the sun sets in the sky like a crescent moon—the winter was about to approach.

Chanyeol fired up his arm up and looked at his watch as his sleeves slipped downward. It was five o’ seven, says his leather and chrome watch he received from his parents on his 18^th birthday. The city was still as quiet as last evening, he could almost hear the tick of the hands of his accessory.

“Chanyeol!” A voice appeared out of the soft traffic and a Hyun Sik Kim song at the near convenience store. It was Suho, running.

“Hey.” Chanyeol greeted back by raising his hand and did a few waves.

Suho arrived panting, cheeks tinted red, arms nailed at his knee caps as he gasps for air.

“I apologize to be late. I had to bring my friend in too.”

“Friend? Baek—“

Before even Chanyeol can say the name, the friend appears behind the latter, geared with a bonnet and sweater same color as Chanyeol was wearing. Baekhyun’s fringe was pushed downward as the garter of his headwear pressed against his hair, making him look younger and different from their last meeting.

“Yes. I’m Baekhyun.”

Chanyeol felt frozen—not because of the bizarre cold weather, but because of Baekhyun’s icy appearance. His lips were forming a line and his nose was tinted red, yet his charming eyes change his seriousness in to complete innocence. The sweater covered most of him, but his fingers lies long and feminine out of his sleeves. It slowly danced into a light tango, before he reached for a handshake.

“Baekhyun.” He repeated his name.

It was a moment before Chanyeol finally noticed that Baekhyun’s hand was already erected in front of him. He gasps and quickly reached for it for a shake. Their skin made contact, and the lines like Yellow Park canyons on their palms filled up each other. The feeling was so electrifying, Chanyeol couldn’t add a second longer. He withdrew his hand and held Baekhyun by the wrist instead, and gently placed back his hand back to his side.

“I’m sorry, I just was—yeah, I’m Chanyeol.”

Baekhyun smiled, and Chanyeol surpisingly didn’t find any trace of annoyance in his face. Baekhyun then lowly whispered to Suho and the three of them continued walking.

“I’ll be back by twelve. Take care, Baekhyun.”

And the door chime once again rang, but it was an exit sign. Chanyeol and Suho continued and left Baekhyun at the flower shop.

As the two grew a distance from him, Baekhyun pulls out his hand from between his legs, touching it with his other hand’s fingers. He looked straight out of the door, hoping that Chanyeol and Suho isn’t there anymore—to see him blushing.

“Why isn’t Baekhyun going to school?” Chanyeol curiously asked, both hands heavy on his pocket and a cap he withdrew from his bag pushing his hair backward, eyes concentrating on Suho who was checking on his phone.

“He finished college by the age of 18.”

“Really? He must be really smart.”

“He is. He even learned in a special school. That makes him rich too.”

“I see. But why is he only working on a flower shop?”

Suho pauses, his eyes shifting point to Chanyeol. “The bus stop.”

Chanyeol was triggered by Suho’s answer, until he realized that they were already at the bus stop. They forwarded to the benches and had a seat.

“Baekhyun owns a flower shop because it is their family business. The shop is very large as you can notice, since it had been running for 12 years and had been really successful.”

“But—“

“Baekhyun chose to keep their business because flowers are something ultimately significant for him.”

The words from Suho’s mouth was rather genuine, it was roses that blossoms in his revelations. Chanyeol silenced, placed a weight on the bench, and just listened to whatever Suho has to say—it will help better.

“Flowers are something that he sees even though he only touches, smells, even taste and hear them.”

Chanyeol remained silent that made Suho look at his expression.

“You’re confused, right?”

Chanyeol nodded.

“And I bet you didn’t notice it as well.”

Chanyeol, extent from responding, faced Suho and furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn’t getting something clearly. Suho took a deep breath, inhaling the oxygen from the bushes from behind, with a little hint of smoke and sunshine warmth.

“Baekhyun is blind—”

The sound of calamity and machines clanking, roads and wheels scratching and smoke heavily breathing distracted the city’s rounded sleep. Everything seemed so vast, yet so occupied. The pace of life was harsh and fast, like turning on a fire to its extremity, burning you into ashes in seconds.

This is the scene of the busy Seoul, far from Gyeongju. But it seems beautiful as it is, it resembles New York life, France urban streets, or Singapore’s daily environment. Admittedly, it is different from where we came from, and how it was different was rather harsh. Gyeongju was peaceful, but it had hidden dreads, while Seoul was so busy, it couldn’t occupy as single problem. These thoughts are rather confusing, but the mind would truly understand.

Little by little, life like this might be spelled out. Maybe it was the city, not him. Maybe it was them, not him. But the anchor will soon inevitably drop on someone’s soul, dragging him all way around its roller coaster.