On a particularly cold winter afternoon in middle school, they were lying on Taekwoon’s bed, staring up at the ceiling with Taekwoon’s iPod between them, one side of the earphones in Taekwoon’s ear and the other in Wonshik’s.

A slow ballad was playing, one that Taekwoon loved very much, and he closed his eyes when his favourite part came.

Wonshik was stirring next to him out of boredom, making Taekwoon knit his eyebrows in frustration when his bony elbow hit Taekwoon’s. The song was over and it changed into another ballad, but Wonshik asked: “Can I show you my favourite song, hyung?”

Taekwoon let out a tiny sigh, telling him yes, so Wonshik dug his own music player out of his school bag, replacing Taekwoon’s earphones with his own in both of their ears, pressing the play button.

The underground hiphop song that started lacked rhythm and melody altogether. It was a pain to listen to, so Taekwoon didn’t do so–he listened to Wonshik rap along to the song instead, smirking a little when his best friend’s voice cracked (which it did a lot around that time).

“Do you think I could be a rapper?” Wonshik asked when the song was over and they were listening to another; an older one they had listened to numerous times before.

“Maybe,” Taekwoon said, turning his head towards Wonshik with a grin, “after your voice stopped changing.”

“Shut up,” Wonshik tried to grumble but it came out weird and Taekwoon started laughing. “I don’t even think yours has changed since you were, like, five.”

Taekwoon shrugged, and stared up at the ceiling again.

“But I’ve always loved hearing you sing,” Wonshik said quietly.

Taekwoon felt his heart beating erratically in his chest, and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He loved singing and he liked being complimented for it, but what made Wonshik’s confession a lot more valuable than any other person’s was Wonshik’s genuine tone and the nudge of his leg as he kicked Taekwoon in the ankle, trying to clear the awkward atmosphere he had created.