Winter

Between the sky that’s overcast with dark grey clouds, the fading light of the setting sun, and the light but unceasing sprinkling of snow drifting to the ground, the world outside looks as though it’s been leeched of all colour. It’s the perfect atmosphere for coming up with new lyrics—and that’s exactly what Youngjae would be doing, in what feels like a different life. Instead, he gazes out at the drab scene from his position by the large window in his living room with an unblinking stare. A quick glance at his phone tell him that he hasn’t moved in about three hours. He should probably get up and have something to eat, but he feels no compulsion to go anywhere or do anything. Gradually, his eyelids get heavier and heavier with each slow blink, until they finally cover his eyes. Youngjae slumps fully against the window, paying no mind to the coldness of the glass against his cheek.

Bzzzzt!

“Huh?” Youngjae sits up, blinking blearily.

His phone slips out of his hand and clatters to the floor, where it buzzes even louder. Picking it up, Youngjae sees that he’s got a call from Mark. For a long moment Youngjae just stares at his phone, his finger hovering over the screen. Before he can decide to take the call or not, it cuts off. Youngjae lowers his finger, but it’s only a few seconds before he gets a voice message notification.

“Uh, hey, it’s me. Haven’t seen you in a little while, just thought I’d check up on you. Erm…look, I know it’s too cold and the weather’s too for us to really do anything fun, but we could always just hang out and watch a movie or something. I finally got back my copy of Miracle in Cell No. 7 from Bambam. So, like, call me back if you’re interested. Bye.”

These days Youngjae doesn’t even get the warning of a prickling sensation before water fills his eyes and streams down his cheeks. It’s been two years since he and Jaebum first saw that film together, but Youngjae can still remember every one of the one hundred and twenty seven minutes they sat in the cinema—the smell of Jaebum’s cologne, the cut of his hair, the feel of his hand in Youngjae’s.

Pushing himself off the floor, Youngjae stumbles back to his bedroom on wobbly legs. He buries himself under his covers and stays there for the rest of the day. His phone lies abandoned on the floor of the living room.

Spring

The air is filled with the twittering of small birds and the sweet scent of the light pink cherry blossoms that blanket the entire park. In the bright blue sky above, the sun shines brightly with not even a wisp of a cloud to block it. The light breeze that gently ruffles the leaves and blooming flowers keeps the temperature comfortably cool. Young children run freely through the lush grass, squealing with pleasure as they’re chased by their older siblings, while their parents watch them from blankets laid out on the ground. All in all, the setting looks like something straight out of a classic idyllic painting, but Youngjae just can’t bring himself to enjoy it.

“Come on, Youngjae,” Mark picks up a rice roll and holds it up to Youngjae’s lips. “Eat something, at least.”

“’m not hungry,” Youngjae mumbles with a shake of his head.

Mark huffs out a sigh before he pops the roll in his own mouth. Youngjae’s gaze drops to the food laid out before them, his fingers idly playing with the frayed edge of the blanket they’re sitting on. He should feel some kind of shame with himself for how he’s brushing off Mark’s kindness, but he’s too emotionally numb to feel anything.

“Please, eat,” Mark all but whispers. “Not for me, but for yourself.”

The breeze picks up, making the excess fabric of Youngjae’s sweater flap against his arms. Four months ago, this same sweater would’ve fit him perfectly.

Youngjae picks up a dumpling and slips it in his mouth. The filling tickles his taste buds, but the food feels like a brick in his stomach after he swallows it. In his peripheral vision, Youngjae can see Mark chewing on the inside of his lip—a tell-tale sign that he’s trying to figure out how to say something uncomfortable. Youngjae forces himself to eat two rice rolls and some kimchi. The next time he glances up at Mark, he sees that Mark has stopped gnawing on his lip.

“Not bad, right?” Mark smiles tentatively.

“Yeah, it’s good,” Youngjae nods. He tears a rice cake in half and nibbles on it.

Mark’s smile widens a bit. “I’ve been going to a class on the weekends. Yugyeom takes it too. You can drop by one day, see if you like it.”

“Maybe,” Youngjae mumbles, surprising himself—and Mark, judging by the way his eyebrows jump slightly.

“Cool,” Mark grins.

As he finishes the rest of the food, Youngjae curls up on the blanket. The worn material is soft beneath his cheek. Even with the glare from the sun, it’s not difficult for Youngjae to slip into a doze. He opens his mouth to thank Mark, but he can’t tell if he manages to get the words out before he drifts off. 

Summer

“A cooking competition?” Youngjae frowns as he tries to concentrate on following his conversation with Mark and look through his work schedule at the same time.

“Yeah, it’s nothing big or anything—the grand prize is a free dinner at the restaurant the teacher works at—but it’s the pride of the matter!”

Youngjae can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips at the excitement and determination in Mark’s voice. “Is Yugyeom entering?”

“Yes, and I need to win this to re-earn his respect after he topped my high score on the right hook machine,” Mark whines slightly. Youngjae laughs a little harder. “Well, there’s also another reason why I want to win,” Mark says, a nervous edge creeping into his voice.

“What’s that?” Youngjae bites his lip, setting aside his schedule.

“The free dinner is actually a dinner for two. If I win…If I win, I’d want you to come with me. On a date.”

“Mark—”

“No, don’t say anything right now. Just—just think about it, alright? You can’t live in your memories with him forever, and I could make you happy. I want to make you happy.”

Youngjae inhales deeply, holding the breath before he releases it in a sigh. “What if you don’t win? Will you give up on me if you lose?”

“Is that what you want?” Mark asks lowly. Youngjae doesn’t answer. “Right, well, anyway, I’ve got to be going now. I’m gonna try to get to a specialty store before it closes, do some practising for the competition. Later.”

“Good luck,” Youngjae blurts out just before the line goes dead.

The day before the competition, Mark comes down with a bad case of hay fever.  Youngjae stays with him for the next couple of days, feeding him soup and lending a sympathetic ear when Yugyeom sends a flurry of gloating text messages. Mark doesn’t bring up his declaration. Youngjae doesn’t ask about it.

Autumn

“How many pictures are you going to take?” Youngjae laughs as Mark once again pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Haven’t you gotten used to seeing the leaves change colour?”

“No, I haven’t, and it’s a shame that you apparently don’t have any appreciation for this wonder of nature,” Mark replies, his gaze fixed on the cluster of trees in front of him as he holds up his phone.

Youngjae rolls his eyes, but, secretly, he also loves the changing of the season—the way some of the trees shed their canopy of leaves, the ever shortening days, and the crisp chill in the air that hints at winter. It creates beautiful, striking images that are very conducive to song writing. In the last few days alone, Youngjae has had inspiration strike him several times, filling his head with bits of lyrics and pieces of melodies. If he’s completely honest with himself, the climate might not deserve all—or even most—of the credit for his increased productivity.

“What are you thinking so deeply about?” Mark steps up to him, pocketing his phone.

“Nothing,” Youngjae shrugs innocently.

“Didn’t look like nothing to me,” Mark scoffs playfully. He pauses visibly before he stretches his arm and wraps it around Youngjae’s shoulder.

Youngjae fiddles with his fingers, his stomach bubbling with mixed emotions, but he doesn’t move away. They walk together in silence for a few paces, both of them too nervous and uncertain to say anything. Youngjae is so preoccupied with trying to process what this means for the two of them and how he feels about it that he doesn’t notice a familiar figure until it’s too late. Jaebum throws him a waves and starts to head in his direction. He’s not alone.

“Youngjae, it’s been ages. How have you been?” Jaebum grins easily.

Youngjae steps to the side, shrugging off the suddenly heavy weight of Mark’s arm. “I’m fine,” he nods. His gaze flits between Jaebum and the man standing beside him. He can’t help but notice the arm Jaebum has wrapped around the man’s waist. “Who’s this?”

“Jackson Wang, pleased to meet you!”

Youngjae takes an involuntary step back when the man—Jackson, apparently—s his arm out. “Uh, same here,” he stutters out, his body shaking as Jackson all but wring it off. “This is Mark,” he gestures Mark with his head when he sees the curiosity in Jaebum’s eyes as he looks the other man over.

“Hi,” Mark lifts and drops his hand in a wave, his voice a bit flat.

“I told you everything would itself out in the end. We’re better off with other people,” Jaebum says confidently. Youngjae swallows the lump that suddenly appears in his throat. “Well, I won’t interrupt your date any more than I already have. Take care, Youngjae. It was nice to meet you, Mark,” Jaebum gives a parting wave as he turns to leave.

“Bye,” Youngjae says faintly, his eyes following Jaebum and Jackson until they become two small dots in the horizon.

He takes a deep breath. Turning back, he sees Mark standing a few steps away, his face blank and pale. Youngjae closes the distance between them and touches their fingers together. Mark jumps, his eyes widening in surprise. Youngjae curls his fingers around Mark’s and he starts to walk, pulling the older man along until his feet start moving.

“Don’t give up on me,” Youngjae says softly, his words hanging in the air for a second before they’re carried away by the wind.

Mark gives Youngjae’s hand a gentle squeeze.

Winter

Youngjae hums the melody of his new song as he scribbles down lyrics on his notepad. He wants the hook to be the lure that ensnares the general public, but he can’t quite find the words to fit the tempo. Getting up from his desk, Youngjae stares out the frosted glass of the window. Outside, the city is blanketed in white. Even the shovelled roads gleam as the falling snow creates random pockets of ice and frost deposits.

“Ah, !”

Youngjae jumps at the sound of Mark’s voice. The shout is soon followed by a loud crash. Youngjae hurries out of his study and heads towards the source of the noise, the kitchen.

“Are you alright? What happened?” Youngjae stops short. Most of the floor is covered in a brown liquid, an upturned pan of meat the source of the spill. The door to the oven is wide open, bathing the room in waves of heat.

“I left the turkey too long. It started burning and I tried to save it,” Mark groans from his position by the sink, his right hand underneath the tap.

“Be careful, you still need that hand,” Youngjae gently scolds him, closing the oven door and shutting it off.

“I just really wanted to do something special for our first Christmas,” Mark sighs, is shoulders slumping. Youngjae quickly makes his way over to him and pokes his cheeks with his index fingers. “Wha—?”

When Mark looks up, Youngjae leans forward and tilts his head. Mark responds immediately, his uninjured hand curling around Youngjae’s waist and pulling him closer. A gasp escapes Youngjae’s lips and it’s quickly swallowed up by Mark’s lips just before Mark slips his tongue into Youngjae’s mouth. Youngjae’s fingers tighten in Mark’s shirt.

The tap is still running and the kitchen is still a mess and he still needs to find the words for that hook, but Youngjae ignores all that and loses himself in Mark’s love.