Today is the day that Hongbin is back. He only remembers because of the crumpled post-it in his hand, smoothened over then crumpled again, smoothened, crumpled, until the blue ballpoint ink is hardly recognizable against the topographic yellow map: Hongbin is back TODAY, with three bolded lines underneath “TODAY”.

Sanghyuk hates waiting. He hates waiting because it either means something very bad or very unknown might happen. And he doesn’t like the sound of both. Mostly, he waits for the bad things. He waits for the pain of the whip, or the click of the machine before he feels it, he waits for the sneering eyes that crush him under its glares. Here and now, he’s not sure what he’s waiting for but his imagination keeps conjuring up all these images and worst possible situations.

Here and now, kneeling on the cold toilet floor, shaking and stiff (he’s not scared, he’s just cold), he’s waiting for Hongbin to be angry at him for not being good, Hongbin disliking him, Hongbin deciding that his life is more than having to pick up broken pieces of a broken boy from his toilet tiles, and he wonders – how much does Hongbin hate him? Just how angry will he be when he gets back? Will he hit Sanghyuk? Sanghyuk can live with angry, can live with violent, but if Hongbin decides not to speak to him ever again… then… then…

He’s fighting to not dissociate but the pressure is crushing him, his ears popping constantly like he’s being forced a thousand feet down into water. If Hongbin were here, he would probably feel his fingers on his scalp, the warm hands wrapping around his body – or at least he hopes.

Sanghyuk hears the click of the front door and for some reason he can’t bring himself to move. He’s so tired, spent, his muscles are cramping non-stop, and he just doesn’t want to try anymore.

The knob on the bathroom door turns, and Sanghyuk rests his forehead to the floor. It’s the safest bet. Almost everyone wants him on his knees.

He waits for the silence to split open like an oozing fruit.

“Hi.”

Hongbin.

It’s a voice he remembers, and the voice sounds so relieved to see him that he almost believes it. His body starts to shake and it’s too cold. He doesn’t want to look up – he’s too scared to let Hongbin see how broken he is. Before this, he thought it was because he didn’t want to see how angry Hongbin would be. But now he realizes, it’s not Hongbin he’s scared of. Hongbin would never hurt him – his body has a hard time understanding that concept but his mind clings desperately onto it like it’s all he has left, and maybe it is.

It’s not Hongbin’s anger he’s scared of. He’s scared of the look of disappointment on Hongbin’s face.

“You okay?” Hongbin whispers, and when there’s no response, just the clatter of trembling knuckles against a floor, he says softly, “I’m going to hug you.”

Sanghyuk doesn’t reply, but a high-pitched noise fizzles from his throat as he nods. That’s all he can give. That has to be good enough.

Sanghyuk lets himself melt into the embrace. He thinks he might fall apart, but astonishingly (it’s the first positive emotion he’s felt in days), he doesn’t. He merely lets the warmth engulf him, engulf his heart, his mind – but he doesn’t let it drown him. It feels like a tsunami and a saving grace all at the same time. Hongbin has that kind of magic; Hongbin exists to be magic. Sanghyuk hears every word spoken to him, as if he’s been hearing them for the very first time.

Slowly but surely, a calm overtakes all his senses. His breaths start to slow and the air of the toilet seems a little bit warmer.

Hongbin presses Sanghyuk’s head into his chest, rubs circles between the boy’s shoulders, and for a moment, just takes in how much he has missed his roommate. In a rush to not dwell on the feelings of just… pure, unbridled relief and – and love, everything spills out. Hongbin tells Sanghyuk about South Africa, about the staff, his friends, and the models that annoy him.

He’s half-way through telling a story about latte spilling over the front of his shirt when Sanghyuk laughs. It’s not a big one; not even a one that can be considered a laugh, but it’s at least a sound of joy. A sound of: “thank you, I’m okay”, or perhaps, in the trepidation of hope that Hongbin sometimes allow himself to have, a sound of an “I’m happy”.

Hongbin smiles warmly and cups Sanghyuk’s face in his hands. Sanghyuk likes it when Hongbin smiles. “You ready to get out of this dingy toilet so I can show you what I brought home?”  

Sanghyuk nods and pretends the blush on his cheeks isn’t there, pretends he wasn’t just a minute ago breaking down, waiting to be broken down. He follows Hongbin out to see the world through his lens, shoulders square, and he leaves in their wake a bathroom full of forgotten dark things. Step by step, he gets closer to safety – possibly in more ways than one. Sanghyuk catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He doesn’t look exactly in the pink of health, nor exuberant, but he’s something in between.

And, briefly, he thinks he can live with that.

***

“So right, Myungsoo,” Hongbin clicks through his photo album to show Sanghyuk a few playful shots of his fellow photographer. He’s reaching over to do this, and Sanghyuk can feel Hongbin’s breaths tickling the side of his neck. “This jerk, spills latte on the front of my white shirt right before the meeting with the magazine. I was so mad, but he just kept laughing, okay, here, found it.”

On the screen of Hongbin’s camera, is a selfie of him and what is supposedly Myungsoo. Myungsoo’s laughing face takes up the top corner, and Hongbin, all latte-drenched shirt, is pouting. Sanghyuk smiles, and doesn’t have to force it. He doesn’t look at Hongbin and picture someone else just to force his mind to tear its guards down. He looks at the picture, and sees Hongbin for Hongbin.

Sanghyuk doesn’t try to disappear. He’s getting good at letting Hongbin see him happy while the emotion lasts. Because not once has Hongbin ever tried to scold him for smiling, or laughing, or letting himself be. He’s only ever illuminated by someone else – but the brighter the sun glows, the brighter the moon gets. It can’t help it.

“I like your hair by the way.” Hongbin comments, going back to unpacking his luggage. “It’s cute.”

Sanghyuk’s hand self-consciously goes up to touch the back of his ponytail. Getting too annoyed at having strands of hair too all-over-the-place when he tries to work, he learns how to tie them back.

“Y – You’re not going to make me cut it?” Sanghyuk stutters. His speech has been getting better; not as out-of-place and untrained as before, all full and fat in Sanghyuk’s mouth. But he still trips up over new words and the way he cadences his intonations sometimes sounds like he’s trying to awkwardly imitate a Seoul accent, but it’s really not half as bad as before. Or that’s what Ravi tells him, at least.

“Nah,” Hongbin says casually, words breezy and light. “You can do whatever you want with it. It’s your hair.. But doesn’t it get kind of in the way? It’s tiring to have to keep tying it up, isn’t it?”

Sanghyuk, for a split second, gets nervous with the mixed signals. But his friend keeps talking, and this time, Sanghyuk genuinely wants to try having a conversation with Hongbin. No walls. He doesn’t like waiting. It either means something bad, or unknown is going to happen. He hopes it’s going to be the latter.

“I grew out my hair once, when I was in college.” Hongbin rolls his eyes dramatically, laughing to himself after for his immaturity. “Came up to your length, maybe a bit more. But it was pretty annoying. Had it cut the minute finals ended.”

“Ah,” Sanghyuk scrambles to find the right words. “It’s… fairly. Annoying.”

Hongbin looks up from his phone and laughs. “You ever gonna cut it though? Or are you aiming for the man bun style? It’s popular now.”

Sanghyuk runs the word over his tongue silently, popular.

“I don’t really l – like cutting my hair.”

“Mmm? Why?” Hongbin continues scrolling through his phone, knowing that if he scrutinizes the boy now, he’ll never speak the truth.

“Bad experience.” The words jerk out of Sanghyuk’s mouth, like he can’t control them. “Sc – Scars on my head from it.”

Hongbin nods his head, not showing any obvious signs of unwanted pity that the house can’t make space for. He makes a solemn sound of assent, as if he’s turning the fact over in his head.

Sanghuk, for once, isn’t even aware of the wait.

“Hakyeon hyung can cut hair, you know,” Hongbin says after a while. “So can your friend… Niel? I’m sure they can fix something up for you, but only if you want to. Your ponytail looks good anyway.”

Sanghyuk goes back to looking through Hongbin’s photos on his camera, fingers pressing carefully on the buttons.

“But if you’re going to grow it out till your waist…” Hongbin smirks.  “I’m gonna have to figure a way to chop it off.”

Sanghyuk looks up at Hongbin and there’s a sound he cannot smother out of existence – a laughter.

He laughs. Unrestrained, unafraid.