Jiyoung looks vastly different from Hyunseung’s memories.

          The older boy looks vastly different, and so does the rest of Hyunseung’s old team. They aren’t much different in terms of the feel they give off, but their faces have matured some, all of them have differently cut and colored hair, and little Seunghyun and Daesung aren’t so little anymore. But Jiyoung strikes Hyunseung as the most different, but Hyunseung knows he himself must look different, too.

          Doojoon let the entire team out, once they found their dorms. They went out into the lobby where the buses dock at this school, and found Hyunseung’s old team already there, milling about as they waited for their coach to give them room keys. Hyunseung instantly had set about introducing his team to his old team, back and forth with names, bowing, honorifics being established and ages being shared.

          It doesn’t take long before the two teams are talking to each other, about soccer, about the activities for the next few days, trading more information, talking about homework—the usual conversation topics. They are all chatting and immersed with one exception, and that exception is standing by himself in the corner texting.

          Hyunseung goes off alone with Jiyoung.

          “You look good,” is the first thing out of Jiyoung’s mouth, and it’s accompanied by an impish grin.

          Hyunseung snorts. “Pig,” he says.

          Jiyoung laughs sheepishly.

          “You look good, too,” Hyunseung adds after a moment.

          They don’t know where they are going because this is not their school, but the hallways feel open and their feet move naturally in sync, leading them down this way and up that way. “I think your boyfriend hates me already,” Jiyoung says, smiling meaningfully.

          A smile tugs at Hyunseung’s lips, too, but it’s anything but meaningful—it’s empty and awful and sad. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

          Jiyoung raises an eyebrow. “Please don’t add ‘not anymore’—anything but that, because if his eyes could shoot bullets, I wouldn’t be breathing right now.”

          “Are you sure he was looking at you? Maybe he was too distracted by Seunghyun-hyung’s poor hair choices,” Hyunseung says and Jiyoung’s eyes shut in laughter.

          “C’mon,” Jiyoung says considerably, “it’s not that bad.”

          Hyunseung raises his eyebrows.

          “Okay,” Jiyoung allows. “But it’s a great distraction for the teams we play against.”

          Now it’s Hyunseung’s turn to laugh. Jiyoung grins, the ever-familiar smile filled with teeth and gums, shy and flirting at the same time. The older boy loops his arm with Hyunseung’s and they lean into each other. They walk like that through a few more hallways, turns here and turns there, up a few stairs and then back down before Jiyoung says, “I think he really loves you.”

          “You don’t even know him,” Hyunseung says quietly.

          Jiyoung smiles meaningfully. “I have to know him to think he loves you?”

          Hyunseung makes a noise at the back of his throat and looks to the side. “You know what I mean, hyung.”

          “Not really, no,” the older boy says, looking amused. He bumps Hyunseung with his side and gives him a small grin. “But I know you. And knowing you, you’re happier right now than you ever were with us.”

          Hyunseung stops suddenly and turns to stare at Jiyoung. “Does it really seem like that?”

          One corner of Jiyoung’s mouth tugs up into a half-smile. “Yeah,” he says softly. He looks into Hyunseung’s eyes. “Remember when Yang-seonsangnim said you needed something different? You’ve got it now—you’ve got your team and you shine.”

          Hyunseung feels his heartbeat quicken. “And what about what you said?” he asks quietly. “What about what you said about needing something different?”

          “Well,” Jiyoung smiles oddly. “I have a victorious pain in the . And you have Junhyung-shii.”

          Hyunseung looks away. He looks away, but Jiyoung slips his hand over the younger boy’s, fingers hanging loosely onto Hyunseung’s wrist. “He’s the different that you needed,” Jiyoung says. “And you like needing him—you want him back.”

          Hyunseung smiles humorlessly. “I never stopped wanting him or needing him. But he doesn’t want or need me anymore.”

          Jiyoung shakes his head. “You don’t know that.”

          “No,” Hyunseung says, staring at his feet. “I do.”

          Jonghyun never would have thought that there would be a time in his life where he feels gratitude towards his bladder. He never thought that that his bladder would ever be there for him in a time of need and desperation and yet here it is helping him fulfill a desire that he’s had for months.

          Kibum is always gone when Jonghyun wakes up and at school, Kibum is always surrounded by his mafia-gang-mob-’91 line, meaning that Jonghyun only gets to talk to Kibum in the four-point-five seconds before they start making-out (which leads to having ) whenever they meet up at Jonghyun’s house. Jonghyun also doesn’t understand why they always have to do it at Jonghyun’s house and not Kibum’s because if they do it at Kibum’s, then obviously Kibum couldn’t leave and there’s no way Jonghyun’s getting any less than twelve hours of sleep, so he isn’t leaving either—and that way they’d actually be able to talk.

          Because while they’ve got the part in buddies covered, lately, there hasn’t been much of the buddies part.

          But thanks to Jonghyun’s bladder waking him up at half-past one on Saturday morning, he’s able to make out Kibum’s shifting form through the darkness, putting on a sweatshirt from the looks of it. Kibum is adjusting his clothes near Jonghyun’s desk, one hand holding on to the back of the chair for support as he puts on socks.

          “Kibum-ah?” Jonghyun asks, clearing the sleep out of his throat.

          The shape freezes.

          “Kibummie?”

          “What, hyung?” comes the muted response as Kibum seems to straighten up, and he walks towards the bed. Jonghyun narrows his eyes in an attempt to adjust his sight to the darkness. It takes a few seconds of straight staring before he can finally start to see Kibum’s features. The first year looks amused. “What?” he says again now.

          Jonghyun sits up and feels around—he wraps his hand around Kibum’s wrist when he finds it, and Kibum moves in surprise. “Where’re you going?”

          Kibum laughs softly—a whispered laugh. “Oh—you know, I’ve got a few more stops after this—a few more blows, a few more that want to me, but then I think I’ll call it a night and head home.”

          He know Kibum is being sarcastic—that it’s supposed to be a joke, but for some reason, it’s not sitting very well in Jonghyun’s chest. “That’s not funny,” he says quietly, tugging at Kibum’s wrist. “Don’t go home yet—stay here and sleep.”

          “I already called my driver.”

          “Well—call him back and tell him that you’re sleeping over.”

          “He’s already on his way.”

          Jonghyun rolls his eyes. “Kibum-ah, in Driver’s Ed, there’s this thing we’re learning—it’s called turning back. It’s really easy—you just look both ways and then turn the steering wheel—“

          Kibum yanks his hand away and laughs, a little louder this time. “ off, hyung,” he says. “I’m leaving and that’s that. Go to sleep.”

          He doesn’t quite know what makes him do it, but before Kibum can get very far away from the bed, Jonghyun lunges forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Kibum’s waist, face buried in the first year’s stomach, and pulls them both tumbling onto the bed with Kibum landing on top of him.

          “What the hell, hyung?” Kibum hisses as loudly as he can without making any actual noise because that would end up with Jonghyun’s parents awake and bad things happening.

          Jonghyun catches Kibum’s wrists so the younger boy can’t slap him or flail. He holds them down to his own chest and Kibum seems to give up after a few minutes of having his arms held still like a child. The younger boy settles for straddling the second year’s waist and looking down at him irritably through the darkness. “I want to go home,” he says flatly.

          Jonghyun doesn’t respond. He just continues to hold down Kibum’s hands and once he thinks that the younger boy isn’t going to bolt for it—which would be stupid anyway considering then he’d have to wait outside for his driver in toasty fifty-degree weather and Kibum only has a sweatshirt on—he takes his hands off of the first year’s and swiftly digs his hand into Kibum’s sweatshirt pocket, grabbing the other boy’s cell phone.

          “Hyung,” Kibum says, outraged.

          Jonghyun fights off Kibum with one arm, and texts back Kibum’s driver with his free hand. When the damage is done, Jonghyun is faced with a clearly unhappy Kibum who doesn’t even respond when he tries to offer back the cell phone.

          “I want to go home,” Kibum repeats stubbornly.

          “No,” Jonghyun says, pinching Kibum’s cheek playfully—gently. “You want to stay here with me and sleepover so we can hang out tomorrow morning because it’s been all and no buddy for like the past month.”

          Kibum stares.

          And stares.

          And stares.

          And stares some more.

          And stares a lot more.

          Then, “I don’t have a change of clothes.”

          “You can borrow some of mine,” Jonghyun shrugs.

          “The shirts—yeah,” Kibum says, grinning, “But I mean—the pants? I don’t want my ankles showing, hyung.”

          Jonghyun swerves his hips abruptly so that Kibum falls off of him and onto the mattress. He laughs. “ you.”

          “All the time,” Kibum says and Jonghyun pushes him. “But it’s true, isn’t it?” the first year laughs. 

          Jonghyun pulls himself on top of Kibum, kneeling above the younger boy. “C’mon,” he says, slipping his hands beneath Kibum’s shirt, ghosting up the sides. “Take it back off—you’re sleeping in your underwear tonight.”

          “Hyung,” Kibum says dryly, “just because you’re a Neanderthal who sleeps - every night doesn’t mean that the rest of us are going to ditch civilization too.”

          “What else are you gonna sleep in? You didn’t bring any clothes, like you said,” Jonghyun says, confused.

          Kibum smiles at him, slipping out wordlessly from beneath the second year. He jumps off of the bed easily and Jonghyun watches as the younger boy strips off his clothes. He gets down to just his boxer briefs, and seems to start searching for something at the foot of the bed. Jonghyun squints and realizes that Kibum is tugging out the shirt Jonghyun wears under his uniform shirt. The first year returns to the bed once it’s on him and even though it’s dark, Jonghyun stares.

          “Shut up,” Kibum grins sheepishly. “It’s comfortable and it was already there.”

          Jonghyun smiles back. “I think it looks hot,” he says and wraps an arm around Kibum’s waist, tugging them back down to the pillows.

          Yoseob knows that there are girls in his grade, in the grade below him, and in the grade below that, who would give an arm, a leg, and possibly their hair—which is important to girls, according to Dongwoon who was told so by Kibum—in order to sleep with Yoon Doojoon, one-night stand or no. He knows that there are a lot of girls in his grade who want to sleep with Doojoon, but he thinks that that’s only because they haven’t.

          To be honest, sleeping with Doojoon isn’t all that great.

          Well—

          Okay.

          Okay—so it is kind of great, but only the part is great. After the actual is over, it’s not that great.

          Although that’s not really true, because the part where Doojoon always kisses Yoseob long and slow and grins at him before they fall asleep is pretty great too—but this really isn’t the point Yoseob is aiming for.

          The point is that sleeping with Doojoon isn’t all that great because Doojoon is heavy. Doojoon is heavy and because he sleeps holding onto Yoseob (which in itself is ridiculous, he personally thinks, because Yang Yoseob isn’t a teddy bear—you don’t your teddy bears), and somehow during the night, inevitably, Doojoon’s grip will slacken and that’ll turn into Doojoon just sleeping on top of Yoseob flat out.

          Sleeping, none of this matters. Awake at six-thirty on a Saturday morning because they have to be at breakfast by seven-thirty, it matters a lot.

          Because, you know, Yoseob thinks it’d be nice if he could wake up without having the threat of suffocation looming over his head.

          “Hyung,” he says, kicking Doojoon’s leg. “You’re killing me again.”

          “Muh,” Doojoon says wittily, his eyes still closed. He flaps a hand at Yoseob.

          Yoseob rolls his eyes. “That’s attractive.” He kicks again and this time, pretends that he’s punting the ball to the other side of the field.

          “,” Doojoon yells and spirals off of Yoseob, sitting bolt upright and staring indignantly at the younger boy, hands nursing his now-red calf. “Yoseob-ah,” he says in disbelief. “Why?”

          Yoseob gives him an odd look. “What do you mean why? You were about to kill me in like four seconds.”

          Doojoon squints.

          “You were on top of me again. And your big head was choking me.”

          “Well—how is that my fault?” Doojoon says. And then he adds in a small voice, “And Joonie-hyung’s head is bigger.”

          Yoseob grins and pats the soccer captain’s cheek. “Yeah—and hotter, too.”

          Doojoon shoves Yoseob away. “My head is amazing,” he defends.

          Yoseob sneaks a hand underneath the sheets and he sees Doojoon stiffen—hears an intake of breath from the older boy. “Which head?” Yoseob teases, raising his eyebrows, and moving his fingers.

          Doojoon’s hand wraps around Yoseob’s wrist and pulls the younger boy’s hand away. “Yang Yoseob,” Doojoon says—the sternness is somewhat ruined by the fact that Doojoon is breathless just from that tiny measure of touching. “We have an hour to shower and get down there so coach-hyung doesn’t yell at us. We’re not having .”

          Yoseob snorts. “Says you.”

          “Yeah—says me, so we’re not,” Doojoon reinstates with an air of authority.

          The younger boy snorts again. “Fine.” He kicks back the covers and swings his legs out of bed. Yoseob hops out, still from the night before, and walks around the bed toward the bathroom, more than completely aware of the fact that Doojoon is unabashedly staring.

          He gets to the bathroom door and folds his arms, facing Doojoon. “You don’t want to come? Save water?”

          Doojoon stares. “We’re not having ,” he says faintly.

          Yoseob shrugs and continues in, leaving the door open.

          “We’re not,” Doojoon repeats to himself.

          The shower begins to run.

          Doojoon sighs, and gets out of bed. He stands in the doorway of the bathroom, steam floating out of the shower stall. “For the environment,” he convinces himself out loud to Yoseob’s shout of laughter, and shuts the bathroom door behind him.

          “I can’t believe we’re late because you made me have ,” Doojoon says as he and Yoseob speed walk down the maze of halls that will hopefully—very ing hopefully—lead them to the dining hall where breakfast will also very ing hopefully await them because if they run out of food before Doojoon gets there, he’s not going to be happy and Yoseob will probably end up eating him.

          And not in the ual innuendo way either.

          Yoseob makes a snorting sound that shows how he is clearly trying very hard not to laugh. It results in a small screen of spit being showered in multiple directions. “You don’t make someone have . That’s called , and we both know I didn’t you.”

          “You did make me have —end of conversation,” Doojoon says shortly, as they come to an intersection. There is a hallway that goes straight, one to the left, and one to the right. They stop and neither of them say anything or move for what feels like eons. Simultaneously, they meet gazes.

          “I quit,” Yoseob says.

          “You can’t quit,” Doojoon says. “I’m hungry.” He peers at the left and right hallways. “I think it’s the left one.”

          “Oh,” Yoseob says wryly, “well then it’s your lucky day because I think it’s the right one.”

          “We don’t have time for this, Yoseob-ah,” Doojoon says. “We’re going left.”

          “Why can’t we just call coach-hyung and ask him for directions?” Yoseob asks.

          “Fine,” Doojoon says exasperatedly. “Call him, then. And hurry up.”

          Yoseob blinks and bites his lip. “Um—how about you call him?”

          Doojoon stares. “I can’t—I forgot to charge my phone.”

          Yoseob stares back. “I hate you.”

          “What—why?” Doojoon says, because this is just uncalled for.

          “Because I forgot to charge my phone, too.”

          They stare at each other for about thirty more seconds before Doojoon breaks the gaze and goes off to kick the left wall. His shoe leaves a slight dent accompanied by a black skid mark that is shows up impressively despite the fact that the walls of this school are painted a dark mahogany. “I’m so hungry,” is all Doojoon can come up with after another minute of staring at the property damage.

          “You are so stupid,” is Yoseob’s reply. “And now we’re going to have to tell coach-hyung about this.” He gestures at the black dent.   

          Doojoon waves a hand absently. “It’s fine. They’ll paint over it anyway.”

          Yoseob’s eyebrows fly up and despite the situation, he laughs. “What do mean they’ll paint over it anyway? Hyung, you kicked in the wall.”

          The older boy breathes out and starts pressing down his sideburns, staring at the dent. He sighs. “No—you know what? We’re not going to tell coach-hyung about this. This can be a rodent problem.”

          “Must’ve been some strong rodents,” Yoseob says sarcastically.

          “Shut up,” Doojoon says, playfully annoyed, cornering the younger boy towards the wall, hands resting on Yoseob’s hips. He presses his face into the side of Yoseob’s throat and breathes in the feel of warm water from the co-captain’s damp hair, the scent of soap and shampoo.

          He can hear the smile in Yoseob’s voice when he says, “I thought you didn’t want to have and be late.” He feels the younger boy’s hands slide up his back and grip his shoulders.

          “We’re already late,” Doojoon says, grinning into the pale underside of Yoseob’s jaw. “And we’re not going to have .”

          “Just make-out for a little bit?”

          “Yeah.” Doojoon slips one hand underneath the back of Yoseob’s shirt and holds the younger boy tightly against himself.

          “Sounds good,” Yoseob says, right before his lips cover Doojoon’s.

          Junhyung is halfway through ruining his tofu stew when Yoseob and Doojoon walk in, the captain’s arm loosely around the younger boy’s waist. Their faces are flushed and their expressions both look like they are trying to appear apologetic and appropriately annoyed at being late, except it’s not really working because they probably just either had or made out and it’s fairly difficult to look mad after that happens.

          Yoseob takes the empty seat on Junhyung’s left (Kikwang and Dongwoon are at the other end of the table being equally adorable and disgusting) and Doojoon sits across from Junhyung. “You’re late,” Junhyung says, using his spoon to violently cut a shrimp in half against the edge of the bowl.

          “Not as late as we thought, apparently,” Doojoon says, looking around while Yoseob spoons out a bowl of rice and puts it in front of the captain before serving rice for himself. “I don’t see Jiyoung-shii or Seungri-shii, and Hyunseungie’s not here yet either. And that third team’s table only has two players in it.”

          “Well, they’re all late, too,” Junhyung says, trying to ignore the fact that now Doojoon is moving a slice of pajeon onto Yoseob’s plate so Yoseob can have look around the dining hall.

          “Yeah, but we just thought that we were going to be like dead last getting here,” Yoseob responds around a mouthful of soy sauce and pajeon. He takes slices of bulgogi from Doojoon’s plate and somehow manages to fit that into his mouth, too. “Can I have some water?” he asks, and Doojoon nods, mouth also preoccupied with tofu and rice. The older boy reaches over towards Junhyung’s elbow for the water jug and an empty glass, pours it out, and then pushes it towards Yoseob.

          “You think high school guys are going to actually get up at seven?” Junhyung snorts. “I mean, you guys are past the time when everyone’s supposed to be here, but all the coaches know that no one’s really going to get here and finish eating until like nine.”

          “Well, that’s upsetting,” Doojoon says flatly. “We had a ten-minute quickie just to get here even close to on-time.”

          Junhyung’s tofu slips out of his spoon. “Why would you say that?” he asks, outraged. “I’m eating.”

          Yoseob explodes into hastily muffled laughter, putting his forehead down on the edge of the table, shoulders shaking. Kikwang and Dongwoon suddenly look their way with matching raised eyebrows. Doojoon waves to them. “’Morning,” he says.

          Kikwang looks confused. “’Morning, hyung,” he says.

          Dongwoon looks like he’s about to start laughing like Yoseob and glances away before that can happen, leaning forward over the table and whispering something into Kikwang’s ear. A smile slips onto Kikwang’s face.

          Yoseob emerges, a highly-amused expression still on his face. “Ah,” he sighs contentedly. “This is going to be an amazing day,” he says to Junhyung’s glum face. Then he glances down to the maknae line’s end of the table and snorts. “And those two should just get a room already. It’s starting to get vomit-worthy.”

          “Agreed,” Doojoon says, and refills Yoseob’s rice bowl for him.

          Junhyung thinks that Life hates him.

          He thinks that Life hates him, but then Hyunseung walks in with Kwon Jiyoung and Seungri, and now Junhyung thinks that Life despises him.

          The night before, Hyunseung had gone missing right before it was time to return to their dorms. Probably because Life hates him and because Doojoon wants to play fiddler on the roof, the captain made Junhyung be the one to wander the school and find Hyunseung. They refused to even arm Junhyung with a map, let alone a partner like Yoseob who knows what he’s doing, and sent him off alone at eleven at night.

          At that point, Life seemed to take pity on him because he easily found Hyunseung with Jiyoung walking down the hall that led to the school’s gym, according to the directions Yoseob was feeding him through a series of texts.

          But of course, Life hated Junhyung, so the pity didn’t last very long.

          It lasted right up until Jiyoung and Hyunseung drew closer and closer and then they were holding hands and Junhyung left the scene because he didn’t want to know what else happened after that. Even though he knows Jiyoung is with Seungri, he still didn’t want to watch that any longer. He didn’t want to interrupt something like that and make Hyunseung hate him even more.

          He went back to the dorm, showered, and spent the rest of the night rolling around in his bed, sleepless.

          And so it’s no surprise to Junhyung that Hyunseung bids temporary goodbye to Jiyoung and Seungri, and takes a seat at Kikwang and Dongwoon’s end of the table. Yoseob and Doojoon stare toward that direction and then look back at Junhyung incredulously. “I didn’t do anything,” he says quietly before they can ask.

          “No—I mean,” Doojoon starts. “No—no of course, you didn’t—we weren’t saying you did—just—it—“ he glances at Yoseob.

          “What happened?” Yoseob asks gently.

          Junhyung tries to shrug nonchalantly—he tries, but it doesn’t work. His shoulders just go up, they don’t come down—they go up and he rests his elbows on the table, because hunching in on himself makes him feel just a little bit sturdier. Just a little bit, but that little bit makes all the difference—it’s the difference between keeping himself together and falling apart completely.

          “I saw him walking around with Jiyoung last night,” Junhyung says and fights to keep his voice indifferent because Jiyoung is Hyunseung’s best friend—there’s nothing wrong in walking around with a close friend you haven’t seen in ages.

          But he knows that there’s no point in fronting with Doojoon and Yoseob—no point in fronting with someone who’s known him before he learned how to read, and someone who makes it feel like he has two younger brothers.

          “They’re just friends—you know that,” Yoseob says.

          “I know,” Junhyung says simply. “But even if I didn’t—it’s still none of my business.”

          “What do you mean it’s none of your business?” Doojoon says blankly. “You love him—how is it none of your business?”

          “Yeah,” Junhyung says, smiling humorlessly. “But he doesn’t love me. So it’s none of my business.”