If you space out on the soccer field, there are at least seven bad things that can happen to you. Five of those bad things have happen to Hyunseung, and he’s glad that the other two haven’t because if they did, then Hyunseung wouldn’t be here right now—although, if number six had happened, he might still be here, but he wouldn’t be here-here. He’d be attached-to-life-support-here.

          And number two of those seven bad things has just happened to Hyunseung. The boy that hit him in the back of the knee with a soccer ball can’t stop bowing enough times in apology even though it was Hyunseung’s fault for being between the boy and Yoseob—who the boy was partnered with for this exercise.

          “No, really, it’s all right,” Hyunseung says for the eleventh time. “It’s not even bruising or anything—really.”

          “Are you sure?” the boy asks for the thirteenth time.

          “He’s sure—he’s been sure for the past five minutes,” Yoseob finally says irritably, grabs the boy’s elbow and drags him off so they can continue the passing drills at a farther location.

          Once the boy is out of earshot, Yoseob adds, “And instead of just staring at him—you could talk to him, you know.” He finishes it off with a significant look before running after his partner to restart up the passing drills.

          Hyunseung stares down at his own soccer ball—half of the field was assigned to passing drills and the other half was assigned to dribbling drills, the latter being Hyunseung and the former being Yoseob. He moves it a little bit away from the passing half of the field so he doesn’t interfere with anyone else’s practice.

          He wants to tell Yoseob that there’s nothing to talk about—he wasn’t staring at Junhyung because he wants to talk to him. He was staring at Junhyung because last night Hyunseung had gotten back to the dorm to find the other boy in bed and clearly pretending to sleep. When Hyunseung had finished showering and unpacking and gotten into bed himself, he could tell Junhyung was not any closer to sleep then he’d been before. And as far as Hyunseung knew, when he himself fell asleep at almost two, Junhyung was still rustling around.

          He knows that it’s not easy for Junhyung to sleep in new places—it took four times of sleeping over at Hyunseung’s house before the other boy was able to fall asleep normally. And if Junhyung’s nervous and in a foreign place, then it would be close to impossible to get into the Land of Nod.

          Hyunseung was staring because he was wondering if Junhyung did manage to fall asleep sometime during the night—even an hour of sleep makes all the difference for the other boy, but if Junhyung gets no sleep at all, Hyunseung can always tell. He was watching the younger boy dribble up and down the field, but the passing from one foot to the other wasn’t as brisk as Junhyung usually is—the kicks weren’t as crisp, his shoulders were drooping and when he was close enough, Hyunseung caught red in his eyes and shadows beneath them.

          Junhyung also woke up earlier than Hyunseung and when Hyunseung woke up, it was to the sound of the shower running. If Hyunseung could barely get his eyes to open and his body to leave the warmth of the bed, he had no idea how Junhyung could do it. Whenever Junhyung slept over, Hyunseung would have to thrash and shake the bed to get the younger boy out.

          Oh—

          No.

          No.

          No.

          Hyunseung can’t be doing this. He can’t be remembering and reminiscing because that’s just going to make things worse. He’s not supposed to be dwelling on this—he’s supposed to be moving on. Being apart from Junhyung isn’t a temporary thing—it’s permanent, and continuing to think about it is just going to stop him from stamping into his mind that it is permanent. It’s permanent. It’s permanent. It’s permanent.

          It’s permanent so it’s okay if this pisses Junhyung off. It’s okay if Junhyung wonders how much Hyunseung really hates him for this. Hyunseung can’t afford to think about that, so he doesn’t hesitate as he goes to the coach that’s in charge of watching over this session. He’s lucky because it’s Jiyoung’s coach, the coach that used to also be Hyunseung’s while he was at his old school.

          The coach looks happy to see him, welcomes him with a brisk hug around the shoulders. “I was beginning to think you were mad, Hyunseungie,” he says, grinning. “You were talking to everyone at breakfast and walked right past me.”

          Hyunseung smiles and shrugs. “You were at the coach’s table.”

          His old coach snorts, “Excuses, excuses.” He claps Hyunseung’s shoulder. “What can I do for you? I can’t let you head in until everyone’s done though.”

          “Oh—no,” Hyunseung looks around and locates Junhyung—near Yoseob, predictably, and he tries to ignore the way his chest starts to hurt at the sight of his two teammates laughing together. “I was just wondering if you could call someone off the field?”

          The coach looks concerned now. “Why?”

          “Just,” Hyunseung points out Junhyung to the coach. “It’s my teammate—he’s the one rooming with me and he didn’t get any sleep last night. You can call him to the infirmary for that, right? Or at least—give him a free period?”

          His ex-coach’s expression is uncertain and considering as he watches Junhyung go about his drills for a moment. “He does seem tired—his kicks are dragging, and his reaction time doesn’t look to be so good. But I haven’t observed him normally so I don’t know. I mean, this is supposed to be an excursion so you guys are all supposed to be freshening up—and if someone looks tired, then we’re allowed to get them off the field, but I don’t know what he’s like everyday so I can’t make the decision.”

          “He’s amazing, normally,” Hyunseung says with his eyes glued to Junhyung. “He’s just really tired right now—I can tell.”

          The coach still looks unsure, biting his lip and staring at Junhyung and then back to Hyunseung. “Dongwook-hyung,” Hyunseung says imploringly.

          The older man sighs. “Fine,” he glances at Hyunseung meaningfully, “but only because I haven’t seen you in ages.” A smile slides onto his face, then, as he takes his whistle in one hand. “I was watching you just now by the way—you’re looking good.”

          Hyunseung grins back. “Thanks, hyung.”

          Junhyung understands that he ed things up with Hyunseung. But he didn’t know that Hyunseung hates him this much. He didn’t think that Hyunseung hates him to the point where he uses the fact that it’s his ex-coach watching the session to get Junhyung removed from the field and sent off for the next hour or so back to his dorm or the infirmary or anywhere else that isn’t the field or the weight room because apparently Junhyung needs rest.

          Truthfully, Junhyung does need rest—he can barely tell the difference between the soccer ball and the blades of grass next to it, but he isn’t about to pass up free time on the field practicing to sleep. He can sleep tonight—he can sleep on the bus ride home. He doesn’t want to sleep now.

          Yoseob was introducing him to Daniel—a dongsaeng from his old school—and they were midway through a conversation about different leg exercises in the weight room when a piercing whistle rings through the field, and the coach in charge is motioning for Junhyung to get off the field.

          Hyunseung is already far, far away—talking with Jiyoung—when Junhyung reaches the coach and is told to go rest.

          So now Junhyung is trying not to sweat all over the school’s floors while simultaneously attempting to remember which way leads back to his dorm or better yet, Doojoon’s dorm, so he can tell the captain to put Hyunseung in a headlock because there’s a difference between hating Junhyung because he ed things up and hating Junhyung just because.

          He makes enough progress to work his way back to the dining hall when he sees an unfortunately familiar face and hopes that he can have enough restraint and not punch that unfortunately familiar face because a fight breaking out at a time like this will give Doojoon and their coach aneurysms.

          It’s Kwon Jiyoung, and how he managed to get from the field to here quicker than Junhyung—who left five minutes before him—did just serves to fuel Junhyung’s irritation further because of course the great Kwon Jiyoung has a better sense of direction than normal human beings in this stupid, maze school.

          Junhyung has just started praying that they pass each other peacefully when Jiyoung actually looks at Junhyung, smiles for ’s sake, and says, “Hey.” He stops in front of Junhyung—the perfect roadblock. “Lost, too?”

          “No,” Junhyung says flatly.

          Jiyoung raises his eyebrows, unperturbed. “Really?”

          “No,” Junhyung sighs. “I’m ing tired and have no idea where I’m going. How’d you find the dining hall so fast, anyway? I’ve been at this for like ten minutes.”

          “Seungri texted me the directions,” Jiyoung says, holding up his cell phone. “But I don’t trust them, so I improvised from what he gave me.” He looks around for a moment and then smiles again. “Where’re you headed? We can go together if you’re trying to find the dorms.”

          Junhyung knows that it’s none of this guy’s fault that things are the way they are between Junhyung and Hyunseung. He doesn’t even feel as much animosity as he wants to generate towards Jiyoung, and even if he could get himself mad enough, it’d be pointless and stupid anyway. If he managed to break a fight out, it’d just make Hyunseung hate him even more—although he’s not sure how that’s possible seeing as the other boy more or less despises him at the moment.

          “Yeah,” he finally says. “Sure.”

          “Cool,” Jiyoung smiles.

          They walk in silence for a while, only speaking when they reach turns and intersections, and occasionally luck-out to pass by a staff from this school because neither of them is going to pretend that the coaches ever know where they’re going either because Junhyung’s coach got lost on the way to the bathroom earlier this morning.

          There’s a reason why Kwon Jiyoung is the captain of the best team in the league. There’s a reason why even the coaches’ voices hush just a little bit when they talk about him—the treasure, the crown jewel, of this generation of high school soccer. It’s not just because Hyunseung has told them—college scouts approach Jiyoung with bended knees and outstretch hands filled with scholarships and talk of joining national teams. It’s more than just his skills on the field, and Junhyung gets firsthand proof of that when they finish a round of stairs and Jiyoung says, “So, tell me about you and Hyunseungie.”

          Junhyung looks at him. Jiyoung still has a small smile on his face—his body utterly relaxed, walking one foot in front of the other as if he’s just asked Junhyung how many siblings he has. “What do you want to know?” he asks quietly.

          Jiyoung shrugs. “Whatever you want me to know,” he says.

          “You already know everything there is to know,” Junhyung says, staring straight ahead.

          They turn a corner.

          “I don’t think so,” Jiyoung says after a moment. “I actually think that you probably know him a lot better than I do.”

          Junhyung glances at him quickly.

          “I mean,” Jiyoung continues thoughtfully. “I’ve known him longer, but people change when they’re young. So for who Hyunseung really is, that’s all you—you’re the one who’s really seen him grow up when it matters. I just know what he was like when he was little.”

          Junhyung lowers his eyes as they pass a stairwell and go left at an intersection. A few players from another school pass them on their way to their next session. He hears voices talking down another hall on their right. Jiyoung is looking at his phone, scrolling up and down, looking straight ahead and then back at the screen to match directions with where they are.

          “He’s quiet,” Junhyung says and Jiyoung almost jumps from the abruptness.

          “He’s quiet,” Junhyung says, “when he’s with people he doesn’t know—when we’re at interviews before a game or at a meeting with new coaches. When he’s with us, he’s really loud—he talks a lot and doesn’t care who’s talking, he’ll interrupt when he has an idea.”

          Junhyung can’t lift his eyes from his feet, but from the corner of his vision, he sees Jiyoung smile a little.

          “He’s stubborn,” Junhyung says softly. “It’s hard to tell him that he’s wrong, but after you convince him, he’ll do everything he can to fix it—he’ll stay up for more than twenty-four hours if he thinks that’s what it’ll take. He likes to exaggerate—he tells huge lies that even three-year-olds won’t believe and doesn’t get why we turn blue laughing so hard.”

          Junhyung knows that it’s going to hurt later on—tonight when he’s alone with Hyunseung, even if there’s nothing between them, it’s going to hurt so much if he goes on but he can’t stop himself. “He’s weird. He’s so ing weird that sometimes I think that it doesn’t matter what goes into his head, when it comes out no one can understand what the hell it was when it went in.”

          This isn’t good. This is terrible. This is horrible and awful because now Junhyung is starting to see Hyunseung’s face floating in the middle of his mind—dead center, occupying every part of his brain, and refusing to let go. He can’t think of what math homework he has due when he gets back to school, what new time they have practice at on Thursday, when he has to be home to make sure his brother eats dinner. He can’t remember because all that’s in his mind now is Hyunseung and it hurts.

          It hurts.

          “He’s beautiful,” Junhyung says in a voice that’s so quiet, he doesn’t know if Jiyoung can still even hear anymore. “He’s really, really beautiful.”

          The footsteps beside him stop suddenly, and he looks up to find Jiyoung’s face still smiling—but it’s a different smile from what it started out as. “This is your dorm, right?” the older boy says, gesturing to the door on their left.

          “Oh,” Junhyung glances. “Yeah.” He starts to get his keys out of his pocket.

          Jiyoung has his hands in the back pockets of his sweatpants. He straightens his arms until his shoulders go up, and he looks thoughtful, breathing in deeply, lolling back onto the heels of his feet. “I think,” he says slowly, looking at Junhyung, “that it’s a good think Hyunseungie and I broke up a long time ago.”

          Junhyung’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

          Jiyoung claps his hand on the other boy’s shoulder and smiles mysteriously, “Because I can’t hold a candle to you.” He tips his head to one side, and then continues on down the hallway.

          Doojoon flops down backward onto the bed—there were originally two in the dorm, but they pushed one of them aside because it’s not like he and Yoseob were actually going to sleep in separate beds. He almost doesn’t remember what it’s like to sleep in a bed by himself. He stares at the ceiling and feels his perspiration drying itself from his skin, leaving goosebumps up and down his arms. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get up—not even his grumbling stomach can make him.

          When he opens his eyes, minutes later, he finds Yang Yoseob’s equally sweaty and tired face looking down at him. “What?” he asks.

          “You have three and three-quarters seconds to get up and start showering,” the co-captain says. “We’re not showering together because then we’ll end up having and I’m too tired to have .”

          Doojoon rubs a hand over his face. “What do you mean you’re too tired? You’re not the one who had to race Dongwoonie up and down a field for the entire first session for a team-building exercise.” He looks up at Yoseob solemnly. “I think our maknae is on steroids.”

          Yoseob blinks unaffectedly. “I think you’re getting old.” He slaps the side of Doojoon’s thigh. “Come on—get up and shower. We only have one bathroom and both of us need to finish in less than an hour or this time we’re actually going to be late. Coach-hyung said that the shuttle is going to leave to take us to the restaurant at seven and it’s five forty-five.”

          Doojoon groans, “Yang Yoseob, stop pretending to be Junhyung and get down here.”

          Yoseob doesn’t need to be told twice. He flops down next to Doojoon, face down onto the mattress and grumbles incoherently into the sheets. “I love beds,” he says, his voice muffled.

          “Me too,” Doojoon says. He breathes in and out deeply, and fights to keep his eyes open because if he falls asleep, he’s probably not going to wake up and that’s going to result in Junhyung and their coach yelling at him. He takes out his phone and scrolls absently through the messages, taking stock of what’s going on while they’ve been gone. He finds a message from Joon that reached him while they were at the third session—sometime during lunch—and nudges Yoseob.

          “Mmf,” Yoseob mumbles.

          “Joonie-hyung’s having a party,” Doojoon says, peering at his screen. “On—he says—sometime at the end of the month.”

          Yoseob suddenly takes his face out of the mattress. His eyes are wide with alarm. “That’s the end of first quarter—that’s when all make-up work and missing is supposed to be turned in—and then there’s end of quarter tests and he wants to have a party then? And didn’t he just have one like a week ago?” Yoseob slams his face back down into the bed. “Joonie-hyung is so retarded that it gives me headaches.”

          Doojoon sits up resignedly and stretches. He pats Yoseob’s sympathetically. “We don’t have to go. And besides—it’s better that he’s a party than doing—like—drugs or something.”

          Yoseob rolls onto his back and looks skeptically at the captain. “He’s too retarded to do drugs. Someone would sell him pot, and he’d end up eating it. Or, he’d try to do heroine, and think that the syringe is a straw.”

          Doojoon considers this. “True,” he says after a moment. He steadies himself with one hand and kisses Yoseob briefly, a simple brush of the lips to lips. “Come on—it’s my turn to nag. We really do have to shower.”

          “Yeah,” Yoseob says. “I know—and you’re going first.” He waves. “Bye.”

          Doojoon stares.

          Yoseob waves again. “Go—now.”

          “I hate you,” Doojoon says, and grabs his towel from the bedpost.

          “Love you, too,” Yoseob calls as the bathroom door shuts. He takes out his phone and writes a text to Joon asking if he can import French cake for the party.

          Kikwang wishes that Dongwoon was five-years-old again.

          Five-year-old Dongwoon was adorable and nice and sweet and quiet and a little bit shy but still funny. Better yet, five-year-old Dongwoon wasn’t tall or fit or liked to walk around shirtless in their shared room and parade around the fact that after all of the nagging Junhyung’s done to him in the weight room has finally resulted in his own set of abs. Five-year-old Dongwoon also never had arms like that—arms that flex and glow in the lamplight and make Kikwang wonder what it’d be like to hold onto them while the maknae—

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon lifts up his bag from the chair for the seventh time, and peeks under it. “Hyung—have you seen my shirt? The one I was wearing yesterday coming down here?”

          “No,” Kikwang says, still staring glumly at Dongwoon’s taut stomach. “But I think you might’ve left it on the dresser.” He points, and doesn’t say that he personally thinks that the maknae wearing a shirt is just a waste of potential happiness.

          Dongwoon crosses over to the dresser and checks the open shelves underneath the first set of drawers. He swipes his hand around and emerges with a dark blue bundle in hand. “Thanks, hyung,” he says, looking at his shirt triumphantly.

          “No problem,” Kikwang says and thinks that the shirt is mocking him as it slips onto Dongwoon’s body and rests against the abs that Kikwang can’t.

          He himself has finished showering and getting dressed for dinner half an hour ago since Dongwoon told him he could go first. He sits on the edge of the bed, ready to go whenever Dongwoon is, watching the maknae dry his hair, pull on the rest of his clothes, socks, shoes, move his hair this way and that to make it lie decently, and he can’t help but wonder what it would take to make Dongwoon see him as more than just a friend.

          Kikwang knows that most of the time, Dongwoon doesn’t even think of him as the hyung. He knows it because sometimes he feels like Dongwoon’s the hyung, too. He feels like he’s always depended on Dongwoon—he’s always cried on Dongwoon’s shoulders and he knows, as a hyung, he’s not supposed to do that. He’s not supposed to do that, but Dongwoon is so strong that he’ll never need to cry on Kikwang’s shoulders.

          It’s not that Kikwang is weak. Kikwang knows he’s strong, too. But even if he’s strong, he still bumps into problems. He bumps into problems that Dongwoon always helps him put medicine on the bruises and jump over them. Dongwoon never seems to need that, though. He never seems to need Kikwang’s help, and Kikwang thinks that maybe if he was less dependent, then Dongwoon would actually be able to see him as a hyung.

          And then maybe Dongwoon would be able to consider Kikwang as more than just a friend.

          “Done?” Kikwang asks as Dongwoon finishes tying his sneakers.

          “Yeah,” the maknae answers. He straightens and adjusts his hair with his fingers again, staring at the mirror near the door.

          Kikwang laughs. “Who’re trying to impress? We’re going for dinner with a bunch of soccer players, not group dating.”

          Dongwoon’s eyebrows knit together. “Why? Is it sticking out weird?”

          Kikwang gets off the bed and walks up to the younger boy. He looks thoughtfully at the hair for a few seconds, and then reaches up to move it around with his own fingers. He has to stretch up a bit to reach and when he does that he can feel Dongwoon’s breath against his forehead—warm and feathery. “There,” he says after a moment. He smiles.

          Dongwoon coughs and turns away before Kikwang can see his expression. “Thanks,” he says and buries his face in the drawer, looking for his cell phone and dorm keys.

          Kikwang blinks because this is kind of odd and the younger boy’s ears are turning red. He puts his hand against Dongwoon’s cheek. “Why is your face hot?” He frowns. “Are you getting sick?”

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon says, looking at the space above Kikwang’s head, “Stop it—we’re going to be late.” And before Kikwang can open his mouth to state, confused, about how they have to be in the lobby at seven and right now it’s six-fifteen, Dongwoon zooms out the door by himself.

          Kikwang stares after him.

          And then shrugs because he supposes maknaes are supposed to be weird like that.

          After all, Mir gives Joon and Cheondoong apoplectic fits on a daily basis.

          Hyunseung is careful not to look up when he gets back to the dorm. He closes the door quietly behind him and looks just enough to see that Junhyung has finished showering and dressing. The younger boy is sitting at the desk, hunched over his phone, iPod speakers plugged into his ears. His hair is still wet and Hyunseung wonders if he actually got any sleep or if he just spent the entire time fuming at Hyunseung.

          He drops his dorm keys on the table near the door and heads towards the bathroom—there’s only forty-five minutes left until they have to be down at the lobby to go out for dinner. He forces his feet to move one by one and forces his eyes not to look back at Junhyung—he forces them, but they look anyway. They look and Junhyung’s back is turned to him.

          Hyunseung thinks that he really must’ve done it now—that Junhyung probably didn’t sleep a wink because anger makes him nervous too, and it’s going to be Hyunseung’s fault that Junhyung won’t sleep tonight either.

          He bends down over his bed to grab his towel—

          “I slept.”

          Junhyung’s voice is impassive—almost stony.

          Hyunseung straightens up, slinging his towel over one shoulder, and determinedly staring anywhere but the other boy. He walks around the beds and to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him quickly and clicking the lock in place. He turns on the shower to let the water warm and fog the mirror because he doesn’t want to have to look at his reflection.

          It’s already bad enough feeling the hot wet film over his eyes.

          He doesn’t want to have to see it, too.