like the leaves fall

by strawberryvmins

Summary:

chwe hansol has known boo seungkwan for eight years, three months, nine days, and then some hours.

he has sixteen days, four hours, and thirty-one minutes to tell him he is in love with him.

Notes:

andddd first time writing verkwan. i hope i do the little guys justice. apologies in advance for the vague timeline and schedule of seungkwans acting activities. i am a writer not a realist

Chwe Hansol has known Boo Seungkwan for eight years, three months, nine days, and then some hours. He has been in love with him for six years, seven months, eighteen days, and probably a lot of hours in between. 

Chwe Hansol also has nine days, four hours, and thirty-two minutes until Boo Seungkwan leaves Seoul to go to America. 

He has nine days, four hours, and thirty-one minutes to tell him how he feels. 

Not like anyone is counting or anything. 

“Are you counting?” Seokmin asks, appalled, watching as Mingyu pulls up the stopwatch app on his phone, waving it around menacingly. “You’re not supposed to be counting. Counting isn’t a part of the game, Gyu.”

He’s pouting now, a detail that does not go unnoticed by anyone in the room because they all love poking fun at Seokmin, especially when he’s whiny. 

“It is when you’ve been strategizing for forty fucking seconds,” Mingyu counters. “Put the beer in the glass.”

They’re playing Titanic, Hansol thinks it’s called, he’s only half paying attention. All he knows is Seokmin grabbed him by the collar when he was talking to Chan and Soonyoung, sat him at the coffee table in Jeonghan and Joshua’s living room, and told him the rules quickly— pour your drink into the shot glass in the middle until it drowns. Like the Titanic, get it?— and that was that. Hansol’s not one for games, but he is one for his hyungs, so he couldn’t say no. Distantly, he wonders where Seungkwan is, but when he doesn’t notice Joshua here either, he figures they must be together. 

Last minute America talk, Hansol thinks, only somewhat bitterly. 

“When I lose, it’ll be your fucking fault, Kim Mingyu.” Seokmin pours his drink into the shot glass floating in the bowl of water before them, and they all watch with bated breath as it dips down just the smallest bit. 

“When you lose,” Wonwoo says, “it’ll be your own fault. Dipshit.”

Seokmin makes a face of annoyance at Wonwoo, one that the older doesn’t even see because it’s Junhui’s turn now, and Junhui, of course, in all his long, lean, college dance team bod, muscular glory, leans into Wonwoo’s space to carefully pour his drink into the cup. He takes about a fraction of the time Seokmin did, but Hansol deducts points for the way he unknowingly has made Wonwoo probably half hard in his jeans, and now Hansol has to live with the fact that his friend is probably half hard in his jeans. 

“See how easy it is, DK?” Junhui raises a brow, a pretty smirk sitting on his lips as he does. 

“I hate all of you, by the way.”

“But you just love being a big baby, don’t you, Seokmin-ah?” That's Seungcheol, patting Seokmin’s head patronizingly, which Seokmin leans into more than he probably should. 

Seokmin mumbles something about how terrible everyone is, which must make Minghao pity him because he pats Seokmin’s knee as if to placate him, much like Minghao usually does. Seokmin puts a hand over Minghao’s in silent appreciation, and Hansol finally takes his turn, ignoring the incessant thumping to the back of his head, which he is about 89% sure is coming from Jeonghan who’s sat on the couch behind him. 

“Can I help you?” Hansol hardly turns around to face him, only turns at about a 90° angle, just so he can glare at Jeonghan slightly. Jeonghan is looking back, craning his neck a little to see into Hansol’s soul, face blank, but Hansol knows Jeonghan well enough to know his mind is processing roughly forty-six meddlesome ideas as they live and breathe. 

“I’m trying to help you,” Jeonghan returns. Hansol already knows where this is going because it’s all Jeonghan has bothered him about for the past four weeks. Even amid his and Joshua’s move, while throwing this housewarming party, amid everything else going on in their lives, Jeonghan is nothing but nosey, and admittedly, a good friend. He lives for this. “Seungkwannie is leaving soon.”

“Is he?” Hansol asks, sarcastic. “I didn’t know.”

“Hansol-ah,” Jeonghan starts, voice teetering on the edge of annoyance where any of his other friends would move towards concern. “When are you gonna tell him you love him?” 

“Probably when I’m dead?” Hansol looks back to the game, laughing with the rest of them when Jihoon accidentally gets Mingyu to spill more into the shot glass than he had tried to. 

“Hansol.”

“Jeonghan.”

“That’s hyung,” Jeonghan corrects, not like he means it, but he says it anyway because he can, and because he usually does when one of them is pissing him off. Hansol has even seen him do it to Joshua, which was just—weird. 

“My bad, hyung,” Hansol says halfheartedly, sarcastically again. “Anyway, I’ll figure it out. You know it’s not the easiest thing to let your best friend know you’re in love with them, right?” 

Hansol doesn’t bother keeping his voice down because he’s pretty sure everyone here knows how he feels about Seungkwan, except maybe Seungkwan. There are a few other random partygoers, people that graduated uni with Jeonghan and Joshua, but none that Hansol cares enough about to take this conversation anywhere else. Eventually, it gets to a point where harboring a secret love for your best friend isn’t even fun and sneaky anymore; it’s just a little sad. 

“Telling someone you love them is never easy,” Jeonghan reminds him. “I struggle to tell my sister it every Chuseok.”

“Funny.”

“I know.” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “But I’m serious. Not about Chuseok, but in general. You think it was easy telling Shua how I feel?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Hansol admits. The circle comes back to him and he pours a drop into the shot glass, honest to god amazed it hasn’t sunk yet. Seungcheol claps him on the back like he’s just done this incredible thing and it makes him feel momentarily like a god. “Joshua has always looked at you like the sun shines out of your ass. It couldn’t be that hard to know he felt the same about you.”

“It does shine out of my ass,” Jeonghan says without missing a beat. “Is that what you’re worried about? Him not liking you back?”

Hansol shrugs, noncommittal. 

There are a lot of things Hansol is worried about. Seungkwan not liking him back, ruining their friendship, Seungkwan giving him a chance and regretting it, ruining their friendship, Seungkwan grossed out that Hansol has ever thought about him in the first place. Ruining their friendship. Not only that, but Seungkwan is leaving. Not forever-forever, sure, but still, he’s going to a foreign country—LA, a place where everyone is prettier and cooler and way better than Hansol—and Hansol will be here, watching Mingyu and Seokmin try to tear off each other’s heads, and work on his laptop from his couch, doing a very boring job of computer software programming until he’s dead and gone. 

Seungkwan is larger than life. Seungkwan, who came to Seoul with a Jeju dialect and no friends to work on his acting career, to become Hansol’s very best friend somewhere along the way, deserves LA. He deserves pretty people and nice weather and overpriced iced americanos because Seungkwan likes those a whole lot and Joshua says LA coffee is better than here. 

Seungkwan deserves a love so glamorous it knocks those old Hollywood movies he’s always making Hansol watch with him right out of the water. He doesn’t deserve a love confession from the boy he’s known since he was sixteen with a chin full of acne and an accent he couldn’t quite shake. 

But still. 

“You’ll regret it if you don’t,” Jeonghan says, all ominously, and before Hansol can react, the shot glass sinks, courtesy of Wonwoo, and Seungcheol is running out of the room to grab the bottle of tequila so Wonwoo can suffer the consequences, all while the rest of them break out into a chorus of boo and wolf whistling, except for Jihoon who sings a very fitting song from an anime that only Junhui seems to know. 

“Jeon Wonwoo, accept your fate,” Seungcheol says dramatically, holding the bottle of tequila over his head as he enters the room again, this time with the rest of their friends behind him. Seungcheol loves an audience. 

Seungkwan finds Hansol easily, the same way he always does. His eyes light up for a split second when he sees him, squeezing into the space that had been left from Seungcheol, around the coffee table. Hansol instantly feels at ease. The Seungkwan effect, or something. 

“Having fun?” Seungkwan asks like he’s genuinely curious, reaching out to push a piece of Hansol’s hair into place. Hansol isn’t sure it was ever really out of place. That’s just how Seungkwan is. 

In front of them, Soonyoung and Chan feel the need to get involved since they had missed the game, holding each of Wonwoo’s arms like he’s walking to the guillotine. Wonwoo’s legs go limp for dramatic effect. 

“Jun hyung gave Wonwoo a semi,” Hanssol says, like spreading a rumor about their friends is an answer, and Seungkwan pulls a face of disgust, reaching over the table to shove a bunch of M&M’s in his mouth from the bowl there. 

“So you’re having fun,” Seungkwan says around a mouth full of candy, “but not as much fun as Wonwoo hyung. Or Junnie? Who do you think would get more enjoyment out of that situation?”

“Jun hyung,” Hansol answers after a minute. He leans closer to Seungkwan as if to avoid anyone hearing them, but in reality, they’re all far too busy giving eulogies for Wonwoo, prolonging the whole tequila thing because they’re ridiculous and probably the most annoying people in the world. Jeonghan is still behind him, which might make Hansol nervous because Jeonghan somehow can hear everything ever, but he’s got Joshua half in his lap lazily making out, which is gross, but this is also their new apartment and they’re in love, so Hansol lets it slide just this once. 

He continues, “I think it’d be nicer knowing I was hot and the cause of a boner than just—popping a boner-mid-my friends’ living room.” 

Seungkwan hums, offering the rest of his M&M’s to Hansol, eyes squinting at Wonwoo as he does. Hansol takes them, chewing them all at once. “Fair point.”

“Moon Junnie, if you’ll do the honors,” Mingyu is now saying, still extremely dramatic, handing Junhui a container of salt and a precut lime, which Chan had been holding in his shirt pocket the entire time. 

“You’re objectifying me,” Junhui says, deadpan, pausing only momentarily with the salt before he seems to decide what he wants to do, tugging the collar of his shirt down just slightly. “I regret to inform you all that I will not be taking my shirt off for this.”

Seokmin and Soonyoung boo in response, Minghao calling out what Hansol assumes to be some expletives in Chinese because Junhui flips him off, all while Wonwoo still stands there, helpless, visibly affected, potentially still fighting off that semi and Junhui finally pours the salt in the dip of his collarbone, which holds a lot more than Hansol might’ve guessed. Impressive. 

“Ready, Wonu?” Seungcheol asks, tilting the bottle up towards his lips while Junhui shoves the lime between his own. 

“No.” It sounds like something between a statement and a question, but they don’t listen, either way, tipping Wonwoo’s head back to pour the shot in his mouth, which only then do Soonyoung and Chan release him, letting him dizzily find his way to Junhui, where they share a far too intimate moment for two people who are supposed to be just two friends fucking. Hansol almost feels like he should look away when they both close their eyes as Wonwoo takes the lime from Junhui’s mouth, but they pull apart quickly when Jeonghan gets them with a spray bottle, shooting it across the room at them like they’re dogs. 

“What the fuck was that?” Wonwoo is frowning now. Everyone turns to face Jeonghan, who’s still got Joshua in his lap, their lips are both swollen and slick and Joshua looks a little smug about it. 

“It was a housewarming gift from Jihoon.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, “to clean your fucking counter. Not spray our friends?” 

Junhui licks his lips. “It tastes like vodka.”

“It is,” Joshua confirms, taking it from Jeonghan’s hands to spray the back of Hansol's head just to be annoying. 

Hansol turns to glare at him, face unmoving, which of course makes Joshua spray him again. 

“I regret ever becoming your friend,” Hansol says in English, to which Joshua smiles what Hansol thinks he must believe is an evil smile, but Joshua doesn’t have an evil bone in his body so it’s just the opposite. 

“You will die alone,” Joshua says back, also in English, because that’s all they really use English for anymore, for empty threats and poorly put together insults because something about that is funny to the both of them. 

“Yah, Shua hyung, don’t be so harsh,” Seungkwan butts in, in Korean, but he’s been picking up enough English in preparation for his America excursion to understand their trivial conversations now. 

“I love you, Hansol-ah,” Joshua says instead, which just seems to spark the wildest amount of glee in Jeonghan. 

“See how easy that was, Hansolie?” he asks. “To say I love you?” 

Hansol doesn’t answer that. 

“Flip cup or dicks up!” Mingyu shouts suddenly, which brings absolute panic to Wonwoo’s eyes, making both Hansol and Seungkwan keel over with laughter, deflating into the back of the couch behind them as they do. 

“What the shit is that supposed to mean?” Minghao asks, very much disturbed as he is by most things Mingyu does, and before Mingyu can answer himself Chan is shoving red cups in all their hands, bouncing between them like a pinball in a machine. 

“He’s saying play flip cup or go home,” he explains. “Dicks up—like go fuck yourself.” Chan pauses, looking between Soonyoung and Jihoon, “or each other?”

“Not this again,” Jihoon grumbles. He raises a hand to cover his face, fingers pressing into his forehead as if Chan is giving him a physical headache. 

“You have one sex dream about your friend and suddenly he’s the only dude you wanna bone,” Soonyoung laments. “I told you guys that in confidence, by the way.”

“Would you do me, Hoshi?” Seokmin asks, hopefully, posing a little like he’s a centerfold or something. 

“Why not?” Soonyoung shrugs. “You wanna get out of here, Seok?”

“It was a metaphorical dicks up!” Jeonghan chides, spraying his vodka-horny-repellant again, this time at Soonyoung and Seokmin, respectively. 

“Oh, you guys are one’s to talk,” Seungcheol accuses with a snicker, pointing to where Jeonghan and Joshua are still very much attached at the hip. 

“That was nothing,” Joshua says, even. He has that polite tilt to his voice that he always does even though Hansol already knows he’s going to say something evil. “We can keep going if you guys want. Really give you a good show.”

“Gross.”  Chan actually gags, earning a pat on the back from Minghao, which Hansol counts as the second Pity Pat (trademarked) he has given out tonight. 

“I think all of you need to get laid,” Seungkwan says, dignified. 

 “Together?” Mingyu asks. “Like at an orgy?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Junhui teases through laughter, if only because Mingyu is a little bit always horny. As it is his right. 

“You guys wouldn’t?”

“No?” Hansol speaks up, looking around the room in mild disgust. His legs are starting to cramp from sitting on the floor for so long, but Seungkwan’s got one of his hands on Hansol’s knee, just resting there, warm, so he doesn’t move. 

“Ah, well, Hansollie is different,” Jeonghan says, solemn. “He’d much rather have a one-on-one with some of you guys, you know?”

“Hyung!” Hansol groans, which he knows is obvious, but Seungkwan is helping himself to the M&M’s again, so Hansol feels a blanket of safety for a moment. 

“I hope it’s not with me,” Seokmin says, completely serious. “Because me and Soonyoungie kinda just made plans.”

“No, Seokmin-ah, I don’t think it’s you.” Joshua blinks at him. 

“Flip cup,” Hansol says like a final plea, which ignites a silly fire in Mingyu’s eyes and he nods. 

“Flip cup!” 

Hansol needs to be a lot drunker if he’s gonna be here until the end of the night. 

* * * 

Hansol doesn’t remember it exactly, but one of the first times he thought Seungkwan was beautiful was Seungkwan’s birthday when they celebrated the year they turned eighteen. Seungkwan was just so happy, so loved, so celebrated, and Hansol remembers thinking, this is it, this is Seungkwan at his best, and I want to keep him like this—this happy—forever. 

There have been lots of times he thought Seungkwan’s been beautiful since then. The day they graduated, the day Seungkwan landed his first lead in the school play, the first time they got drunk and Seungkwan drank so much his face was flushed and rosy. Every day in between.

Hansol remembers all this and more as he and Seungkwan linger outside the taco place Chan is obsessed with, waiting for their friend to finish up his order before they all head home, cheeks just as flushed as they were the first time they got drunk. It had been a long night. Regardless, Seungkwan is still, as always, beautiful; sparkling eyes round although tired, his flawless skin reflecting the light of the OPEN sign in a way that shouldn’t be as poetic as it feels. Goddammit. 

“It smells good,” Seungkwan mumbles, face pressed into Hansol’s shoulder as they sit on the curb because the tacos would be taking longer than expected if the line that’s nearly out the door is anything to go by. Chan does not mess around when it comes to these. 

“Ask Channie to get you one,” Hansol tells him, flicking the skin showing through the ripped knee of Seungkwan’s jeans. He doesn’t budge. 

“No,” Seungkwan says. “I ate a shit ton of M&M’s before.”

“So what?” 

“So that’s not very LA, Hansol-ah.”

Hansol rolls his eyes. He’s not bitter that Seungkwan is leaving. He’s scared, maybe, and a little sad because that’s his best friend, but not bitter. He’s excited for Seungkwan. A series of auditions for an American movie. That’s big. Even bigger if they like him—and he stays. 

“But it’s very Seungkwannie,” Hansol counters, flicking at the skin again. Seungkwan swats his hand away, lightly. He picks his head up from Hansol’s shoulder, blinking at him. 

“What’s that mean?”

“Means if it’s something that’ll make you happy, then do it,” Hansol says simply. “You’re best when you’re happy. And besides, you’re not even in LA yet.” 

“I guess,” Seungkwan says, pulling out his phone and shooting off a text to Chan, indeed asking for him to get him a taco, too. Hansol smiles to himself. “Do you want one, too? I’ll make Chan get two more.”

Hansol doesn’t even answer, but Seungkwan texts Chan to add another anyway. ‘I’m not your fucking waiter,’ he sees Chan reply, but Seungkwan just responds with a kissy face emoji before locking his phone. 

“Yah,” Seungkwan is saying, “who will make sure you eat when I’m gone?”

Hansol hums. “No one probably. I’ll just wither away. Like a forgotten houseplant.”

“Hansol.”

“Some old shrubbery.”

“Dick,” Seungkwan swears. “I’ll ask Mingyu hyung. He knows how to cook.”

“Are you doing this with all our friends?” Hansol asks, laughing. He flicks at Seungkwan’s knee again and this time Seungkwan groans, mumbling a Chwe Hansol, grow up, under his breath, as he does. “Who will accompany Seokmin to pilates while you’re gone?”

“Wonu hyung,” Seungkwan answers, near immediately. “I think it’ll do wonders for his ass.”

Hansol laughs, shoving Seungkwan to the side playfully. It’s gotten easier to talk about Seungkwan leaving. Hansol avoided it at first. Now he feels like he has to keep talking about it. Like it’ll make it easier when he leaves if he’s constantly reminded about it. 

“No,” Seungkwan says after a minute, voice much more serious. “You know you’re my favorite, Hansol-ah. My favorite houseplant.”

It would be so easy, Hansol thinks, to tell Seungkwan right now. To tell him he’s his favorite, too, that he wants Seungkwan to be his favorite forever, no matter what. It’d be so easy to brush the unruly blond strands from Seungkwan’s eyes and lean in to kiss him, to hold him under his lips and say all the words he wishes he could say. 

He doesn’t, though. 

“Fucking finally!” Chan says instead, swinging his bag of tacos around like it’s gold, or maybe something a little less precious than gold considering how he’s moving it. “I’m starving. Hansollie, can you give me a piggyback ride home? I’m far too famished to go by foot the rest of the way.”

“It’s only two blocks!” Hansol argues, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stands, reaching for Seungkwan to pull him up afterward. Their hands linger in each other’s, only for a moment, and then the warm feeling’s gone. 

“Two blocks that we could spend bonding together. Pressed close. Snuggled up.”

“Chan.” Hansol’s mouth forms into a straight line. “Be serious.”

“I have never joked about anything in my entire life.”

“Oh, come on, Hansollie,” Seungkwan elbows him, bony and sharp. “The kid is hungry. Carry him.”

“It’s his dying wish, hyung,” Chan says, gesturing to Seungkwan sympathetically. 

“He’s not dying?!”

“LA,” Chan says with a shrug. “Might as well be.”

“Fuck off, Lee Chan.” Seungkwan takes the bag from him, allowing Chan to wiggle his way onto Hansol’s back, pleased. Hansol groans in mild protest, adjusting to what is, admittedly, not a lot of weight. “Besides, I need to take a picture to send to Seokminnie. I need to prove that the three of us are cuter than him, Myungho, and Mingyu hyung.”

“Easily done,” Chan says, arms tightening around Hansol as he leans in to add, “Though, are we all just friends, Hansol?”

Hansol tightens the grip around his legs right back, satisfied only when Chan lets out a yelp. 

“Yes,” he says, even. “Friends.”

The only problem is that friends don’t think about each other in the way Hansol thinks about Seungkwan. 

* * * 

Hansol should be more surprised, really, when he knocks on Wonwoo and Mingyu’s apartment the next morning in hopes of coercing a free breakfast out of Mingyu but is instead met by Junhui, who answers the door like his name is on the lease. He’s wearing a sweatshirt that is too big to be Wonwoo’s, so Hansol deduces it’s Mingyu’s, which is weird only because it’s obvious Junhui is naked under it. His eyes are still sleepy despite the fact it’s nearing noon now, and his hair is messy under the hood of the sweatshirt. He looks at Hansol, blinking. 

“What’s up?’

“Nothing,” Hansol says, casually, letting himself into the apartment when Junhui does not attempt to invite him in. “Where’s Mingyu hyung?”

“Hao’s,” Junhui tells him, the lock clicking into place again once he shuts the door. “He went over last night.”

Hansol should be more surprised, really.  

Hansol hums, kicking his shoes off at the door before turning back to Junhui. “I wanted breakfast.”

Junhui nods with a tiny, understanding sigh, heading to the kitchen because he is probably the kindest person Hansol has ever met, and is an extremely doting hyung, even though this was not how Junhui planned on spending his morning. Unfortunately for him, it’s exactly how Hansol planned to spend his morning; he usually shows up at Wonwoo and Mingyu’s after a night of drinking because he always wakes up hungry, and Chan is always dead to the world, which knocks out forcing him to make anything for him. Plus, Mingyu is usually delightful morning company.

They’re hardly settled, Junhui begins to rummage through the fridge and cabinets when Wonwoo emerges from the hallway then, hair damp and skin flushed from a shower, content expression dropping from his face when he notices Hansol, eyes squinting at him instead. Hansol chalks it up to the fact he’s holding his glasses instead of wearing them. 

“Don’t look so happy to see me, hyung.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, wordlessly pulling out what looks like a container of leftovers from the fridge, and giving it to Junhui who makes a little happy noise before getting to work. 

“I need to put a lock on the door,” Wonwoo says, leaning down on the counter in the space across from Hansol. 

“You have one,” Hansol reminds him. “Jun hyung let me in.”

“Hansollie is too cute to turn away,” Junhui says over his shoulder. “Maybe if it was Jeonghannie hyung I would’ve said no.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“True.”

“So.” Hansol clears his throat. “How was… your night together?”

Wonwoo is wearing his glasses now, so when he squints at Hansol again, he knows it's because the question was asked in poor taste, and not because Wonwoo can’t see him. 

“How was your night?” Wonwoo asks back. “Did you finally confess to Seungkwannie and ride off into the sunset with him?”

“The sun was already long gone when we were hanging out, hyung.”

“Smartass.”

Hansol rolls his eyes. “I just don’t see how every conversation we have to have has to circle back to Boo. Why doesn’t everybody mind their business?”

“Why don’t you?” Wonwoo returns, which, ok, fine. Maybe Hansol was being a little annoying, a little nosey, but Wonwoo is also sitting with a bunch of nasty marks on his collar bones that Hansol can see peeking from where his shirt is slipping off, so sue him. 

“Wonu,” Junhui interrupts, turning away from the counter he’s working at and holding a spoon like it’s a weapon.”Do you have that sauce? The one you’d use for this. You know the one.”

Wonwoo just nods, seemingly understanding exactly what Junhui needs. He reaches around him into the cabinet, a gentle hand at Junhui’s waist as he does. In a soft voice, he reads the label to Junhui, which is oddly gross and domestic, but Hansol tells himself it’s just because Junhui still struggles with certain Korean words if he doesn’t use them every day, so Wonwoo is only trying to better him. Or something. 

He turns back around to Hansol, blinking once, then twice. “What were we talking about again?”

“You were telling me to mind my business.” Hansol snickers, which makes Wonwoo roll his eyes, cheeks turning a shade of pink. 

“Right,” Wonwoo says, he waves a hand like he doesn’t care anymore. “Because of Seungkwan.”

“He’s leaving,” Hansol says like that’s an answer. 

“Which is why you should tell him?”

“Which is why I shouldn’t.” Hansol points a finger at Wonwoo just to be annoying. “Why ruin a good thing before he’s gone?”

“I feel like it doesn’t have to be as serious as you’re making it,” Junhui comments, spinning around to face them, literally spinning in a perfect ballerina circle, holding a bowl of food that he put together surprisingly fast considering how gourmet it looks.

“I’m in love with you,” Hansol tells him as Junhui sets the food down, looking quite proud of himself. 

“That,” Wonwoo says, “but say it to Seungkwannie.”

Hansol rolls his eyes. “I’ve gone like, five whole years liking Seungkwan and it hasn’t gotten in the way of anything yet. Why tell him now?”

“Right,” Junhui muses. “Hasn’t gotten in the way of anything except every relationship you’ve ever had, and also Seungkwan’s. You notoriously hate every single one of his boyfriends.”

“Because they don’t treat him right!” 

“Because you think you could do better.” 

“Because he deserves better,” Hansol corrects. “And that doesn’t necessarily mean me.”

“But you want it to.”

“Hyung.”

“He’s right, though,” Junhui agrees, leaning up against the counter with his chin in his hands.

“Hyungs,” Hansol says instead, emphasizing the plural of the word. 

“Alright, Hansol,” Junhui says, giving a little pump of his fist before straightening up. “Best of luck, then. I’m leaving.”

“Just like that?” Hansol asks through a mouthful of food, letting out a tiny whine when Wonwoo steals a bite off his plate. 

“Yeah, you just—I mean—” Wonwoo tries, awkward because groveling after your fuck buddy is not exactly an easy, eloquent task. “I mean, I’ll see you later.”

“You will.” Junhui nods, smiling. “I’ll see both of you.” 

Hansol watches Junhui gather his phone and keys, apparently not bothering to go back for the clothes that he arrived in last night, much more comfortable in Mingyu’s sweatshirt and, assumably, Wonwoo’s sweats. 

“Thanks for the food, hyung,” Hansol says, grateful because Junhui is a real-life angel. 

“You’re welcome,” he returns. “Next time, I’ll teach you how to make it.”

“Unlikely.”

“Brat,” he calls over his shoulder, doing one last ballerina twirl to face the two of them before he waves. “See ya.”

“Bye, Jun-ah,” Wonwoo says back, the two of them quiet until they hear the click of the front lock again, and Wonwoo seems to let out a breath Hansol hadn’t known he was holding. 

“Alright,” Hansol says, trying to mask the laugh in his voice. “When are you gonna tell Jun hyung you like him?” 

“Never?” Wonwoo scoffs. “Because I don’t.”

Hansol shovels another load of food into his mouth, just watching Wonwoo nervously fidget with a hangnail. He sighs, speaking again like he’s suddenly changed his mind on the whole view of it. 

“It’s not—as straightforward with Jun.”

“What’s that mean?” Hansol asks because he genuinely has no idea.

“You’re scared to tell Seungkwan because he’s leaving,” Wonwoo says, the phrase sounding like a question, but coming out more like a statement. 

“Part of it, maybe,” Hansol admits. “But this isn’t even about—”

“It’s hard to put a lot in someone when you know they’re not forever,” Wonwoo says slowly like he wants to make sure Hansol is hearing him. He doesn’t say it for Hansol’s sake, though. 

“Oh.” Hansol nods, starting to understand. 

Junhui misses home all the time. He’s here now, has been for the better side of five years, but they all know one day, maybe, he’ll go back. He misses his parents, his friends from growing up, his brother, the food, the language. To Wonwoo, Junhui is a ticking time bomb, dangerous and flighty, but so sweet, so kind, so perfect, it makes it all worth it sometimes. 

But it’s hard to put a lot into someone that isn’t forever. 

“The difference,” Wonwoo starts, “between you and me, maybe?” Hansol watches him finally pick off the hangnail, cringing when the tiniest bit of blood creeps at the open wound. “Seungkwannie is already part of your forever, Hansol-ah.” 

“Oh,” Hansol says again, stupidly probably, but he’s never been the best at expressing himself with words, anyway. 

“You have more to gain than you have to lose.”

Hansol looks down at the food Junhui made for him, a melancholy kind of feeling suddenly filling his bones. When he looks up and sees the pink, loved-up skin of Wonwoo’s collar bones again, it makes him sadder, the feeling bubbling through his veins like an infection. 

It’s hard to put a lot into someone that isn’t forever, but even harder when you’ve already put forever in them.

* * * 

Something about Seungkwan’s room past midnight has always felt a bit like a time warp. Like nothing else really exists outside of there, just Hansol and Sengkwan, in their own world, their own bubble. Hansol’s always liked it.

“Oh, Hansol-ah,” Seungkwan is laughing, grabbing Hansol’s attention away from the old high school yearbook he’s flipping through. They’re sitting cross-legged on Seungkwan’s floor, boxes of old books, awards, and pictures around them, because Seungkwan is taking his LA trip as an excuse to clear out the clutter he should’ve done years ago. 

“Look,” Seungkwan says, handing Hansol a picture, one that makes Hansol smile immediately. It’s the two of them from their first day at college; Hansol’s hair is bleach blond and Seungkwan’s is cut way too short for it to be considered stylish. They both look young, way too young to be starting at university, scared of the world, except for that glimmer in Seungkwan’s eye, the same one he always has, the one Hansol has always envied. The one that says he can do anything. Larger than life, always.

“I can’t believe you hung out with me when I looked like this,” Hansol laments, squinting at the photo like the tie-dye from his shirt in it is enough to blind him. “I was such a loser.”

“I’m not much better,” Seungkwan counters, snatching the photo to look at it again. “Why am I wearing a turtleneck in August?”

“Maybe it was chilly,” Hansol offers. “Global warming.”

“It most definitely wasn’t.” Seungkwan scoffs. Then, a little nostalgic he adds, “We were so young. I wish I could go back sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Hansol goes back through the yearbook, laughing when he finds Chan’s photo from his time on the table tennis team. “Would you do anything differently?”

“I think so,” Seungkwan says. “I wasn’t as brave as I seemed. I think I regret not doing things. Saying things.”

Hansol laughs, not the bubbly, nice kind, but the pitiful, empty kind. “Me, too, Boo.”

“One day,” Seungkwan says, almost to himself. “I’ll say it one day.”

“I think you’re braver than you think, though,” Hansol tells him, always Seungkwan’s biggest fan. Always a touch too sincere. Chan always tells him it’s too much—Seungkwan never makes him feel that way, though. “I wish I was as brave as you.”

”Being bold is different from being brave,” Seungkwan says. “I think I’m bold. But I care about what people think. That makes me not brave.” He tucks the picture away, flipping through a stack of papers now, most of which Hansol remembers as Seungkwan’s big literature report from sophomore year of college. He got a 100%. He made Soonyoung take them all out to dinner to celebrate since he was the only one with a good-paying job—as if Soonyoung wasn’t just a part-time fast food worker, but some kind of millionaire. 

“You don’t care what people think,” Seungkwan points out. “That makes you braver.”

“I care what some people think,” Hansol corrects. “The people that matter.”

“That’s less caring what people think and more so wanting to please people you love.” Seungkwan tosses some papers to the side, into the trash pile. “You’ve always—” 

Seungkwan stops then, eyes scanning the paper in his hands when Hansol looks up at him. It’s loose leaf, old and tattered on the side like it was ripped from a spiral notebook. 

“What’s that?” Hansol asks, trying to sneak a peek, but Seungkwan folds it up again, tucking it back into the box carefully.  

“Nothing,” Seungkwan says, snippy. He’s giving Hansol a smile that’s too big to be genuine. “It was something… from Jeju. A friend from there gave it to me before I moved.”

“Secrets, secrets,” Hansol tsks. “I can’t believe you’re putting a no-name friend from Jeju over me.” 

“Oh, my poor city boy, you must be all torn up,” Seungkwan says, smiling for real now, continuing to sort through the papers, tossing most of them to the side. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”

Hansol hums. “If you say so.” 

Seungkwan huffs out an exaggerated sigh, dropping the rest of the papers to the garbage pile before laying down on top of it. He stares up at the ceiling, fingers fidgeting in that nervous way Hansol has learned they sometimes do.

“You good?” Hansol asks, pushing the yearbook to the side, joining Seungkwan in his recline on the floor. Hansol shyly puts Seungkwan’s hand in his own, hesitant, although he knows Seungkwan would never pull away, that Seungkwan needs it. 

“Fine,” Seungkwan says, a little unsure of himself. “I’m fine.”

“But?”

“But,” Seungkwan starts, “it’s scary, isn’t it?” 

“The number of pictures you have of Seokmin from Halloween in 2018? Kind of.” 

“Yes,” Seungkwan says, then laughs, loud, just once. “But no. America. Being alone. Going there. The audition—all of it.”

“You’re gonna do great with the auditions,” Hansol encourages him. “You got the opportunity for a reason.”

“There’s always someone better.”

“They’re not you, though.”

“Shut up,” Seungkwan mumbles, giving Hansol’s hand a playful squeeze. “But LA? That’s scary. I think part of the reason I do so well here is that I have you guys. You’re all like my family.”

Hansol hums. “You’ve been without us before.”

“Not that long,” Seungkwan reminds him. “LA is so much more different than Seoul.”

“Joshua did it?” Hansol offers. He’s not very good at picking pieces up when they start to fall. You would think by now, after all these years of friendship with Seungkwan he’d know. But still, he struggles. 

“Shua hyung had Jeonghan,” Seungkwan says. “Even when he didn’t really, he still did.”

That much is true. Since Hansol had first met Joshua, he somehow, in some way, had Jeonghan. It was immediate, the way they found each other. It’s why Joshua ended up staying here after college; it’s like they were always meant to be, always just waiting for the other to finally find them. 

“And what if—what if I don’t have a Jeonghan?” Seungkwan asks. “What if my Jeonghan is already here and I’m leaving them?”

Hansol fights back the urge to remind Seungkwan that his Jeonghan is already here, the actual Jeonghan, because he knows he doesn’t mean it in that way. When he doesn’t say anything, Seungkwan continues. 

“And like, in a way, you’ve always been my Jeonghan.'' His voice is quieter now. “Like, you got me through the Seoul culture shock, and college, and now real world, and now—”

“I’ll get you through LA, too, Boo,” Hansol says, all he can say. He wants to say more, wants to tell Seungkwan he wants to get him through everything, will get him through everything, no matter what, no matter where. “We’ll figure it out, ok? You still have time, anyway. Don’t worry.”

“Right,” Seungkwan says, nodding. He turns his head away from the ceiling to look at Hansol. “We still have time. Together. I’ll be fine.”

“You will,” Hansol agrees, squeezing his hand again, thumb skimming along the top soothingly. “We’ll figure it out.”

Chwe Hansol and Boo Seungkwan have six days, twenty-two hours, and forty-nine minutes to figure it out.

* * *

Joshua picks up an oversized bag of chips, hardly looking at the label before he dumps it into their cart, and then dumps another one in for good measure. 

“Do people still eat food at parties?” he asks, a bit belatedly. “Or do they just care about booze?”

“Both?” Hansol offers. “For example, Seungcheol hyung is just there for the booze, but Hoshi enjoys a little snack here and there.”

“Good point,” Joshua says, adding yet another bag to the cart before finally moving on. 

“How’s married life, by the way?” Hansol asks, teasing, shuffling his feet behind Joshua as he leads the way through the supermarket. He had asked Hansol to accompany him with shopping for Seungkwan’s goodbye party they’d be having at the end of the week, put to work only because he was the one who ‘spent the most time up Seungkwan’s ass, it would be a guarantee that everything would be perfect if he helped shop.’ Or at least that’s what Jeonghan said. 

“I don’t know,” Joshua replies, voice flat. “Ask your mother.”

Hansol laughs, rephrasing the question even though he knows Joshua is smart enough to know what he meant. “You like living with Jeonghannie hyung?” 

“Yes. It’s nice,” Joshua says, a little softer this time. “Not so nice when Jeonghan leaves a shit ton of Legos on our kitchen table and then goes to sleep, but still. Nice. Jeonghannie is nice.”

His voice is all warm and gooey when he finishes, making Hansol’s skin crawl, just a little bit, in like, a sweet way. 

“At least somebody thinks so,” Hansol jokes, laughing at himself until he collides with Joshua’s back, who stopped short only to cause Hansol minor distress for making fun of Jeonghan. “Fucker. I was kidding, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Joshua repeats, rolling his eyes before he comes to a more gradual stop, eyes scanning over the selection of paper goods, plates and napkins abound in a variety of colors. “What’s not nice is the way our apartment has become a central location. Ever since the housewarming party, everyone just feels like they can make themselves right at home. I think Seokminnie made himself a key.”

“He did that to me and Chan’s place, too,” Hansol says. “Don’t feel so bad.”

“And then the other day,” Joshua continues, “Myungho and Mingyu showed up unannounced, all while Jeonghan has his tongue in my—”

“Hyung!”

“There is no privacy, Hansol.” He looks solemn. “I moved out from me and Cheol’s place so we could have privacy. Be together. Not become a commuter station for our friends.”

Hansol laughs, patting Joshua on the back. “Personally, I think the way you’re both in everybody’s business has to do with it. You guys are too invested in our friends, they think what’s yours is also theirs.”

“Jeonghan is overly nosey and caring,” Joshua defends. “He can’t help it.”

“Then don’t complain.”

Joshua frowns, hands flexing around where he’s pushing the shopping cart. “Does this have to do with Seungkwan? And the way Jeonghannie keeps pressuring you?” 

“It doesn’t not not have to do with it.”

Joshua picks up two different packages of napkins, one blue and one orange, turning them over in his hands. He squeezes a little. Hansol looks around to make sure no one is looking. 

“Did Seungkwan say something to you?” Joshua asks next, inspecting both the napkins like it’s the most important decision he will make all day. Maybe it is. 

“What would Seungkwannie say something about?”

“About Jeonghan.”

“Should he?” Hansol panics, just a little. “Did Jeonghan hyung say something to him ?” 

“I don’t think he did,” Joshua says, deciding on blue and tossing them into the cart. “I made him promise not to intervene, but.”

Hansol reaches into the cart and pulls out the blue napkins, choosing orange instead. Orange is a better color for Seungkwan, it’s brighter. Happier. Prettier. Joshua doesn’t say anything, just smiles a little at his decision. 

“But Jeonghan rarely listens,” Hansol concludes with a sigh.

“I don’t think he would outright say anything. It’s not his place, anyway.”

“It’s Jeonghan hyung, Josh.”

“Evil and conniving, maybe,” Joshua allows. “But morally corrupt, no. I wouldn’t put it past him if he was at least planning something, though. A catalyst.”

“Why don’t you figure that out, then?”

“Maybe if we had a minute to ourselves, I would,” Joshua bites back. Then, “Does Seungkwan like balloons? Maybe I can get Myungho to make a balloon arch. That’d be fancy.”

“Balloons?” Hansol repeats, raising an eyebrow. “I guess he does. Who goes on record saying they like balloons?”

“Junnie loves balloons.”

“Jun hyung is a weirdo,” Hansol says. “He likes—”

Hansol’s phone rings then, the home screen lighting up with Seungkwan’s contact picture. It’s one Hansol took a few years ago, Seungkwan posing with one of those gigantic, gourmet milkshakes, the ones they sell at the burger place by Jihoon and Jeonghan’s old apartment. Hansol remembers he couldn’t finish the shake and made Hansol have the rest which was funny only because of how much Seungkwan had hyped himself up for it.   

“Go on,” Joshua says with a dismissive hand, already noticing Seungkwan’s name on his phone. 

Hansol rolls his eyes, however, sliding his thumb across the bottom, unlocking it. 

“What’s up, Boo?”

“Hansollie,” Seungkwan greets back. He sounds busy, flustered a little. Hansol hears the tell-tale beep of the subway in the background and that much confirms it. “Where are you?”

“With Shua hyung,” Hansol answers. Joshua holds up a stack of paper plates that has Dooly the Dinosaur on it and mouths “who the fuck is this?”, to which Hansol rolls his eyes, tossing the plates in their cart instead of an explanation. Seungkwan loves Dooly. 

“Hi, Shua!” Seungkwan shouts into the phone. 

“Seungkwannie says hi,” Hansol relays the message, holding the phone away from his ear.

“Hi, Seungkwan,” Joshua returns primly and then Hansol presses the phone to his ear again. 

“What are you up to?”

“Seeing my friends from volleyball,” Seungkwan tells him. Ah, right. Seungkwan’s friends from his jock days—Hansol never really understood them. “We’re going out for barbeque.”

“Fun,” Hansol says, lackluster.

“Right,” Seungkwan agrees absentmindedly. “But I forgot my headphones so I called you. I’m bored. And miss you. And people keep looking at me funny.”

Hansol laughs, maybe nervously, but if it is, Seungkwan doesn’t have to know that. “People keep looking at you funny?” He repeats instead.

“Probably because you’re ugly,” Joshua offers to no one, busying himself with the wall of balloons. 

“What did he say?”

“He said probably because you’re very handsome.”

Joshua laughs at him, but Seungkwan coos, flattered. 

“Listen, can I come over later?” Seungkwan asks. “Your place is one stop closer than mine and I’ll be drunk off my ass. Don’t make me do it, Hansol-ah.”

Hansol laughs again. “Fine. I'll leave the door open. Get home safe later, ok?”

“I will,” Seungkwan promises. “I’ll see you then, yeah? Tell Shua hyung I know he called me ugly, by the way.”

“Seungkwannie said he knows you insulted him,” Hansol directs at Joshua, who shrugs.

“He was meant to hear that.”

“Ok, Hansollie,” Seungkwan huffs. “Talk to you.”

“Later.”

With a click, Hansol hangs up, his phone going black as he puts it back in his pocket. 

“Sleepover later?” Joshua sing songs. “That’s cute.”

“Die,” Hansol says, in English.

“Are you guys gonna cuddle?”

“You’re the worst person to ever walk into my life.” That’s in English, too.

“I’m kidding,” Joshua says, now also in English. “Just a little jokey-joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.” Hansol switches back to Korean.

He watches Joshua sort around in their wagon for a little, as if he’s trying to gauge if they’re satisfied or not. He doesn’t seem like he is as he turns down another aisle, looking for more ridiculous nonsense to buy.

“It was funny to me,” Joshua says. “Anyway, I hope you have fun tonight. Even too much fun, maybe. You need anything for it?”

“No, hyung, I don’t.”

“We can get more snacks? A casual balloon arch? Condoms?”

Hansol sighs, not bothering to argue anymore as he picks up a bag of gummies from the shelf next to him. If Hansol only gets them because he knows their Seungkwan’s favorite, Joshua doesn’t need to know that.

* * *

Seungkwan is drunk, just as he had suspected, but luckily, it’s nothing Hansol can’t manage. Seungkwan can carry himself well, ever the professional, which means even at his drunkest, he’s still not bad. Hansol wishes he could say the same. He’s not allowed soju shots anymore after his last birthday. 

“Bin-ah cried, Hansol,” Seungkwan is explaining, sitting cross-legged on Hansol’s bed as he hands Seungkwan a water bottle, because they’ve just finished Seungkwan’s obligatory drunken ramen that he’ll complain about in the morning, and now it’s time to hydrate. “He said he’s gonna miss me that much.”

“Did he?” Hansol asks, gathering the pillows at the top of the bed and rearranging them in the proper way Seungkwan likes. “You won’t even be gone like, that long. I mean, it’s not like it’s forever.”

“He’s a bit of a drama queen,” Seungkwan says, shrugging. His voice is only a little bit too loud for this hour of the night, but Chan is most likely still up in his own room, giant headphones on blocking out any extra noise. “Do you think you’ll cry when I leave?”

Hansol hums, pondering. Seungkwan finally takes a sip of the water bottle, downing half of it in one go, which Hansol is proud of. 

“Probably not,” he finally answers. “It’s like I said—you’re not leaving forever. Everyone’s acting like you’re dying.”

“Drama queens, then, all of them,” Seungkwan says, scooting to the other side of the bed when Hansol flicks the overhead light off, signaling he’s coming in. 

Chan always teases them, but whenever Seungkwan stays over, they always share Hansol’s bed. It’s not like it’s small, he’s upgraded since the twin bed they would sometimes share in high school or college. But still—Chan likes to poke fun. Seungkwan has never said anything to indicate he didn’t want to sleep with Hansol, though. Plus, Seungkwan is a cuddler and Hansol likes being cuddled. So it works. 

“You will miss me a little bit, though, right?” Seungkwan’s voice sounds small, the kinda small like when he’s unsure of himself. It’s dark now, the lights off, but Hansol can still make out the curve of Seungkwan’s features with the dim lighting in the hallway seeping in from under the door. 

“Of course, I’ll miss you,” Hansol says, entirely sincere. He slips under the covers where Seungkwan already is, their bodies finding each other like magnets. Always like magnets. “You’re my best friend. It’ll be—weird when you’re gone.”

“Good,” Seungkwan says, trapping Hansol in a bear hug, tugging him over to his side of the bed. Hansol lets him, falling into Seungkwan’s side as if he should always be there. His cheek smushes against Seungkwan’s chest, much more sturdy than it once was some years ago, and Hansol listens to his heartbeat— bum, bum.

“It’s good that I’ll be lost and confused without you when you’re gone?” Hansol laughs and Seungkwan laughs back. 

“No, it’s just—it’s nice to know I’ll be missed,” Seungkwan’s hand comes up to tug at Hansol’s ear, just once before it lingers there, just feeling. Somewhat of a habit of his. “By you.”

“What’d you expect, Boo? I’m useless without you. I’ll miss you every day.”

“Yah, don’t say that,” Seungkwan chides him. “You’re very good and very capable, Chwe Hansol.”

He focuses on Seungkwan’s heartbeat again, the sound loud below his ear. Bum, bum.  

And this isn’t the first time they’ve been like this; not the first time Hansol’s laid pressed against him and counted Seungkwan’s heartbeats while Seungkwan counted the lashes on Hansol’s eyelids, but this time, it feels different. This time, Hansol feels like he can’t swallow down the words he wants to say, he can’t stop himself from blushing when Seungkwan pushes a hand through Hansol’s hair, and he can’t stop his heart from wanting, from wanting Seungkwan so bad it hurts, so much that he can’t breathe. 

This time, Hansol hears his heartbeat— bum, bum —and thinks of a clock, counting down their days left together. Counting down how much time Hansol has until Seungkwan slips through his fingertips, until the door is shut, locked, and key discarded, letting him lose Seungkwan forever. 

“Hey, Seungkwan-ah?” Hansol calls out despite himself. He can’t hear Seungkwan’s heartbeat anymore, only his own. It’s deafening, pounding through his chest up to his ears like a tidal wave, making his head spin and cloud with nothing but nerves and Seungkwan, Seungkwan, Seungkwan. 

“Hm?” Seungkwan hums, the vibration of it tickling Hansol from where he’s on his chest. 

“I’m not only gonna miss you because I’m your best friend,” Hansol starts, swallowing around nothing, throat suddenly incredibly dry. He wishes he practiced this. He wishes he had Seungkwan’s way with words. “I’m gonna miss you because of that, sure, but I—I’m in love with you, Boo. I have been for a while, and I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, and I’ll fuck off if that’s the case, but I. I had to say it.”

He says it. Fast, and all at once, but he says it. His heart is pounding so fucking loud it’s like a siren, and his hands are freezing and sweating all at once, but he said it, he said it, and now Seungkwan is—

Dead silent. 

Terrified, sick to his stomach, and a whole bunch of other awful things, Hansol picks his head up, frantic, eyes searching the dark in an attempt to see Seungkwan’s where—he’s asleep. 

Hansol told Seungkwan he loved him while Seungkwan was asleep.  

His life, pathetic, tragic, and a whole bunch of other awful things, is also a comedy. 

Bum, bum still beats from Seungkwan’s chest, calm, lulling him to sleep, and Hansol’s, erratic and yearning beats throughout his whole body, Seungkwan, Seungkwan, Seungkwan. 

It’s a clock that keeps ticking. 

* * * 

Before Seungkwan, Hansol never paid much attention to the changing seasons. He knew he’d go back to school, it’d get cooler, he’d get off school, it’d get warmer, and repeat. Not much else thought went into the little things like that. 

Seungkwan loves the seasons. He gets particularly festive when it starts getting cold—New Year's, Christmas, Valentine's. His birthday, he likes to add. Hansol’s birthday, he would later add. So now, Hansol likes the seasons, too. He thinks it might only be because of the little smile Seungkwan gets when he notices the leaves changing color, or his breath fogging up the air in the winter, but either way. It’s nice. 

“It’s cooler today,” Seungkwan says, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he looks up at the sky, squinting. “It feels like Autumn.” 

They’re sitting outside the cafe they both frequent, the one where Seungkwan likes the coffee and Hansol likes the vibes. Or whatever he always says. Seungkwan was adamant about going out this morning to beat his hangover, and yes, he also regretted that ramen, so they walked. 

“It is Autumn. Technically,” Hansol points out the obvious, biting into the pastry he got. It’s too sweet for it to be the first thing he’s eaten all day, but it’s good nonetheless. 

“It’s not Autumn until the leaves change,” Seungkwan says, just for the sake of saying things. 

“Do the leaves change in California?” 

“I don’t know,” Seungkwan says after a minute like he was really thinking about it. “I’ll have to ask Shua hyung.”

Hansol hopes they do. He’ll feel terrible if Seungkwan doesn’t get to experience the leaves this year. 

“It doesn’t get that cold in the Winter there, apparently,” Seungkwan goes on to add. 

“Will you still be there in the Winter?” 

Hansol heard the way he sounds nervous when he asks. His voice is all—shaky and distant. Not like him. 

Seungkwan looks at him for a second, quiet, like he’s really thinking about the answer again. 

“No.”

“Oh.”

“You want me to be?” Seungkwan asks, laughing a little as he does. 

“No.” Hansol shakes his head, forcing a laugh back. “You just—you seemed confident when you said that. Confident that you’d be there for Winter.”

“Oh.” Seungkwan nods, fidgeting with the straw of his iced coffee, eyes drifting back to the street. 

There are kids in a park across the street, an old couple walking out of the bookstore next to them, a businessman rushing between a group of teens, in an obvious hurry to get to his destination. Hansol wonders if their best friends have ever gone away to a foreign country and left them here. He wonders if they ever missed a chance at love. 

“I’m not,” Seungkwan says. “Not confident I’ll be there for Winter.” 

“You like to watch the snowfall, that’s why I—“ Hansol stops. He sits up more as he points out, “there’s no snow in LA.” 

Seungkwan smiles a little like he’s all proud Hansol remembered that about him. Like they’re not best friends and Hansol doesn’t remember everything about him. He turns on the bench they’re sitting on so they bump their knees. 

“I’ll come back to see the snow,” he says like it’s a promise. “It’s your birthday, anyway.”

“Our birthday,” Hansol corrects him. He tries not to focus on the warmth radiating from where their legs still touch. 

Seungkwan hums like that detail is not as important to him. He takes a long sip of his coffee, giving Hansol a funny look. 

“Seokmin hyung and Channie’s birthdays,” Hansol adds, just to be a pain in Seungkwan’s ass. 

“Who?” He asks, pushing his bottom lip out in feigned confusion, which in turn makes Hansol laugh again, a real laugh this time. 

As if on cue, their phones buzz from their pockets, both of them pulling them out with the same squinted look. 

“Speak of the devil.”

Seungkwan puts on his best Lee Seokmin voice as he reads:

Hello, SLUTS! I want to live out my EDM baddie dream tomorrow night so I am formally asking all of you to come out to that club by Myungho’s. And by asking I mean be there or die, bi-otch’s. 

“Kissy emoji, kissy emoji, throwing up emoji, angel emoji, middle finger emoji, sparkling heart emoji, and throwing up emoji again,” Hansol finishes for him, looking up to be met with a confused-looking Seungkwan. 

“What the fuck does bi-otch mean?” Seungkwan frowns. 

“DK needs to stop watching American reality TV with Joshua.”

Their phones buzz again with a reply, from Jihoon:

Erase my number and never contact me again.

“So are we going?” Seungkwan asks, round eyes looking out from under the rim of his baseball hat. 

“Do we have a choice?” Hansol holds his phone up to Seungkwan. “He said he’d kill us.” 

“Yah,” Seungkwan mutters, “Lee Seokmin, you menace.”

“I think it could be fun,” Hansol says, noncommittal. He’s never really been one for clubs, but he likes his friends, likes watching Seungcheol embarrass all of them with his dance moves, so it probably wouldn’t be too bad. “Another event to add to the week-long Goodbye, Boo Seungkwan-Celebration.”

“Don’t give it a name, that sounds douchey,” Seungkwan chastises. “I guess it could be fun though. We haven’t been to a club in a bit.”

It clicks then. 

The last time they went to a club, Seungcheol and Mingyu made out just because. Wonwoo and Junhui—the first time they hooked up was after a night out at a club, too. Now that he thinks of it, he’s pretty sure Joshua kissed Jeonghan for the first time at a club, or at least that’s what he always heard, and—

A catalyst, Joshua’s voice from the other day echoes in his head. He’s planning something. 

Yoon Jeonghan. 

Before Hansol can revoke his willingness to pay an absurd amount of money to drink booze they have at home, Seungkwan’s already replied, the notification coming through Hansol’s phone with a thud of a vibration. 

Me and Hansollie are in, the text reads. Kissy face. 

* * *

There are many marvels of the world, but one of them definitely has to be the combined power of Yoon Jeonghan and Joshua Hong. 

That’s what Hansol thinks, anyway, as the both of them come over with their hands full of drinks, some even shoved between their arms because they’re a big group and Jeonghan and Joshua are very doting, devious hyungs. 

“There’s no way,” Seungcheol says in disbelief, laughing before they both even make it into view. The couple has a matching smug smile on their faces, pleased once they reach the table and put the drinks down.

“Enjoy, Cheollie,” Joshua says. “Because there is a way.”

“If there’s a Shua and a horny man,” Jeonghan adds, “there’s always a way.”

“That’s what we said when you started dating him, Jeonghannie hyung.”

“I know where you live, Kwon Soonyoung.”

Because the combined power of Jeonghan and Joshua is a force not to be reckoned with on a normal day, so when they go out, sex appeal turned up to an eleven and evil, scheming brains working together for their maximum potential, it’s unstoppable. Their go-to party trick; shaking men for free drinks for everyone under the guise that Joshua will give them the time of day because no one has ever said no to Joshua, especially when Jeonghan is next to him, alluring and a little scary. Hansol hopes one day he can achieve that kind of mutual deceit and beautiful teamwork in a relationship.

“It never ceases to amaze me,” Minghao shakes his head like he’s genuinely moved, and Jeonghan and Joshua beam.

“Drink up,” Joshua says, mouth forming into a straight line as he adds, “The last guy was kinda handsy so I hope it’s worth it.”

“The drink you have, Chan-ah, that one is from him,” Jeonghan points out. Chan falters for one second, pausing as if he’s contemplating not drinking it before he decides passing up a free drink is ridiculous, and takes a big sip.

“Does that not bother you, Jeonghan hyung?” Seungkwan asks, laughing a little around his straw. “Other guys hitting on Shua?”

“It’s a team effort,” Jeonghan says like all of this is normal. “Plus, Shua is so pretty, everyone should tell him.”

“That was gross,” Jihoon says, unblinking. 

“Jihoon-ah, tell my boyfriend he’s pretty.”

“Not everyone is as possessive as you, Seungkwannie,” Mingyu snickers, hanging all over Seokmin with absolutely no regard for personal space. Hansol knows Seokmin will snap soon—that’s usually how their arguments begin.

“I am not possessive,” Seungkwan says, scoffing. “I don’t even have anything to be possessive about.”

Seokmin snorts, obvious eyes darting towards Hansol who feels his face heat up. 

“That’s not—” Seungkwan stutters, looking indignant. “Hansol-ah, am I possessive over you? Why would I be possessive?”

“Uhhh—” 

Hansol has never thought about it because that’s just the way Seungkwan has always been. Always a bit greedy with his time, always a bit overbearing, but always what Hansol needed. If Seungkwan was possessive, it never bothered Hansol. 

“In college, you used to make me dance with Hansollie so other people wouldn’t,” Soonyoung points out. Now that Hansol is thinking about it, it did always happen, but he also always thought Soonyoung just liked him as a dance partner. The reality of it doesn’t hurt only because it was Seungkwan’s doing. “That’s a little possessive.”

“And now you dance with Junnie hyung and tell people, ‘no thanks, he has a Wonwoo at home,’” Chan puts air quotes around the phrase, “so next time you wonder why you’re bitchless, just remember that.” 

“You do what?” Junhui looks at him, eyes wide over the glass he’s drinking. 

“Yeah, you do what?” Wonwoo echoes, looking suddenly very awkward with his arm subtly around Junhui.

“Nothing,” Soonyoung says with a quick laugh. “Who said anything?”

“I’m going to dance,” Seungkwan says, an obvious escape from the conversation, but one Hansol is thankful for. Seungkwan downs the rest of his free drink and grabs Seokmin, fingers wrapped tight around the elder's wrist. “DK, let’s dance.”

“Don’t worry, Hansol-ah, I’ll respect my distance,” Seokmin jokes, laughing afterward which is immediately cut short by an ow!, when Seungkwan assumably pinches him. “Mingyu-yah, if I don’t make it back alive, tell my mom I love her.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu says, hardly looking in their friends’ direction as he claps his hands. “So, anyone else? Myungho, Chan-ah?”

“Anything to get away from—whatever this was,” Minghao says, grabbing Junhui while he’s at it. Junhui gives Wonwoo a pouty look as he’s dragged away, and it must mean something between them, because Wonwoo just shakes his head and smiles, and then they’re all gone, leaving Hansol with the few souls not drunk enough to brave the dancefloor yet.

“For the record,” Wonwoo says, “I did not ask Soonyoung to tell strangers Junnie ‘had a Wonwoo at home.’”

“If saying that makes you happy, that’s ok, Wonu,” Seungcheol says, placating.

There are only five of them left, including Hansol; Wonwoo, Seungcheol, Jihoon, and Jeonghan, though it probably won’t last too long. They are, unfortunately for Hansol sometimes, a pretty obnoxious group, and love nothing more than to be together, doing something stupid that will most likely be funny only to each other. Hansol loves his friends, really, but god, can they be a headache sometimes. 

“Is Seungkwan really possessive over me?” Hansol asks, genuine curiosity getting the best of him. 

His friends stare at each other for a second, just exchanging looks. Jihoon speaks first.

“Is that you being funny?” He doesn’t look like he thinks it's funny. “Because it’s not very funny.”

“Seungkwannie is—weirdly obsessed with you, Hansol,” Jeonghan informs him. “Have you really not noticed?”

“I mean,” Hansol thinks about it, “not really. Sure, he’s always treated me a little differently compared to everyone else, but—is possessive the word? He’s my best friend.”

“Everyone has… a person,” Seungcheol says carefully. “You are Seungkwan’s.”

“A person,” Hansol repeats, hoping that if he says it again it’ll make more sense. 

“Yes, a person.”

“And that means…”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It means—you’re important to him. He likes having your attention.”

“Like, for example, I like Shua’s attention,” Jeonghan says plainly. “You know why? Because he’s my fucking boyfriend, Hansol-ah. Seungkwannie is basically treating you like his boyfriend without the boyfriend perks. Almost like he likes you or something.”

A knot twists in Hansol’s stomach, maybe the one that’s always kinda there when it comes to Seungkwan. Always winding up just a little tighter with each glance, each touch, each implication. One day, Hansol thinks it’s just going to break completely. It’ll be like—Seungkwan’s just consumed him, or something. 

“Fuck off, hyung,” is all Hansol says. He’s not in the mood to argue tonight. Not in the mood to do this—to go along with Yoon Jeonghan’s mind games and whatever else his friends have up their sleeve. 

He sighs, rolling out his neck as he pats Seungcheol on the back. Hansol’s not a dick, but he’s very much going to become one if he doesn’t get out of here soon. “I’m going to dance.”

“Already, Hansollie?” Jeonghan calls after him, “we were just getting comfortable over here!”

Hansol flips them off over his shoulder before he starts to push his way through the crowd, easily spotting everyone thanks to Mingyu’s obnoxious height. The giant of a man, he is. 

“Hansol-ah!” Seokmin greets him excitedly, like it’s been ages since they saw each other or something, grabbing him by the hands and pulling him into the middle of their little circle. Hansol feels a little awkward standing there, if not only because he is now the center of attention, then because Seokmin is still holding him, all while Minghao holds him, and there’s a weird tension between the two of them that Hansol would care more about if he didn’t have a million other things on his mind right now. 

“You’re out here early,” Chan notices, craning his neck to try and see the rest of the group from where they seem to be wrapping up at the bar. “Is Cheol hyung getting hit on by moms again?”

“He wishes.” Hansol scoffs, slowly pulling his hands away from Seokmin and just starting to bop awkwardly to the music. It’s a pop song at least, nothing any of them are dancing seriously to, which makes it less uncomfortable at least. “They’re just—finishing their drinks.” Hansol doesn’t tell Chan he’s actually just here because all of them are terrible and nosey and the biggest pains in Hansol’s ass like, probably ever. 

“Hansollie!” 

A pair of slender arms snaking around his waist let Hansol know it’s Seungkwan, a familiar warmth spreading through his body as he turns around to face him. Hansol holds his hand with his drink up higher, attempting not to spill any of it, but when it sloshes over at the lip towards Joshua just a little, he can’t be blamed. 

“Need another drink?” Hansol asks, noticing Seungkwan’s empty hands. Well—not empty because right now they sit comfortably at Hansol’s waist, just holding. Hansol thinks if Seungkwan had a drink maybe there’d be a little more space between them. Maybe his mouth wouldn’t be so dry, then. 

“Not unless Jeonghan and Shua hyung are going to swindle more men for it.” Seungkwan grins, mischievous and beautiful, the flashing, colorful lights bouncing off the curves of his face in a way that’s much more breathtaking than it should be. 

“They’re not,” Hansol says, voice flat, but expression teasing. “I could buy you it. A goodbye drink.”

“Yah, “ Seungkwan mumbles, “let's not focus on goodbye for once. I’m right here.”

The hands on his waist squeeze just a little, and Hansol hopes his body doesn’t feel as tense as he is. His own hands have just been—floating, one still holding his drink while the other awkwardly fist pumps to the beat of the song that’s on, synchronized with Soonyoung who’s doing the same thing. Hansol guesses they are dance partners after all. 

“You are,” he says with a nod, eyes scanning Seungkwan’s face just once like he wants to remember him inside this moment forever. “No goodbye then.”

“Not yet.”

Hansol nods again. “Not yet.”

Seungkwan smiles, moving a hand to take Hansol’s and twirl him in a circle, which is a little embarrassing, but Hansol does it willingly because he’d do most things Seungkwan asks. 

“So cute, Hansollie,” Jihoon says, who Hansol only sees in a quick blur as he turns in Seungkwan’s hold. The rest of the group is joining them now, everyone gravitating towards their respective spots, just like they’ve done this a billion times before, and probably will a billion times to come. 

Something about that makes Hansol sad; Seungkwan is always his spot—and now he’s leaving. 

No goodbye tonight, though. 

“Mingyu hyung, Jihoonie is looking for a dance partner,” Hansol says, just to be annoying, and it pays off once Mingyu excitedly makes his way over to Jihoon, who visibly cringes at Mingyu now in his space. 

“Well played, Chwe Hansol,” Jeonghan compliments him, letting himself be manhandled by Joshua into a dance that apparently Seokmin also knows and is very enthusiastically doing alongside them. 

Hansol gives him a thumbs up before Seungkwan’s hand is wrapping around his again, interlocking their fingers and letting them hang by their side, still a silly pep in his step as he does. And despite his usual annoyance with his friends and their constant prodding at Hansol’s lack of love life, Hansol is happy. Because he likes his life. He likes his friends. He likes Boo Seungkwan a lot, too. 

He has three days, twenty-two hours, and forty-six minutes to let him know that.

Hansol doesn’t think about it, though. Doesn’t think about much really as the thirteen of them take up an obscene amount of space on the dance floor, each taking turns throwing one another in the middle, forcing them into a ridiculous dance that’s funny to them, and no one else. Their drinks get refilled twice somewhere along the way, this time at the hands of Seungcheol only because he’s feeling generous when he’s drinking, and he’s the oldest here so it’s like, his sole duty or something. 

It’s then that things start to get a little messy, or at least that’s what anyone from the outside would think. Anywhere there’s alcohol, there’s usually some sort of problem, whether it be small like Chan throwing a fit when McDonald’s is out of chili sauce and he’s drunk and hungry, or bigger, like that time Soonyoung was almost kicked out of the club for public indecency when he thought giving Mingyu a strip tease was a good idea. 

Hansol thinks right now might be somewhere in the middle. 

It feels like a switch has been flipped all of a sudden. Like the fun, bubbly atmosphere of the club has been replaced with something darker, more sultry, more alluring, something that’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore. Maybe it is the alcohol. Or the music or the way it’s getting later in the night and everyone’s starting to lose inhibitions, but—Hansol is scared he might, too.

“Why do you look like that?” Seungkwan is asking him, deft hands crawling up Hansol’s body to his face, squishing his cheeks in the familiar way Seungkwan always does when he’s cooing at him.

“Look like what?” Hansol frowns, taking Seungkwan’s hands in his own as he removes them from his face gently. 

From the corner of his eye, he can see Junhui drag Wonwoo off the dance floor with their hands intertwined, and Hansol has been in clubs enough times, has been around Junhui and Wonwoo enough times, to know where they’re going. Hansol makes a mental note not to use the bathroom until they’re back. 

“Like you’ve seen a ghost or something,” Seungkwan tells him, laughing. Hansol laughs back because a ghost is not nearly as scary as the air becoming increasingly thick with—tension, coming from both strangers around him and his friends alike. 

“I’m good,” Hansol says, more like he’s trying to convince himself rather than Seungkwan. “I think I need… water.”

Yes. Water will fix it.

“I’ll come with you,” Seungkwan offers. “I need a break from dancing, anyway.”

Hansol doesn’t argue with that because he can’t. He just nods, leading the way towards the bar as Seungkwan shouts to Chan they’ll be right back, and Hansol swiftly ignores the somewhat sinister look that Jeonghan gives him. It’s almost a little impressive, how Jeonghan can focus on both Joshua who's pressed up against him, and also all their other surroundings, even if it is at Hansol’s expense. 

When they reach the bar, Seungkwan is pressed close against him in an attempt not to get lost, and Hansol is doing his best to ignore the heat radiating from Seungkwan’s body, seeping into his own and scorching his skin. 

Water, Hansol reminds himself, that’ll fix it.

“Feeling better?” Seungkwan asks through a giggle, watching as Hansol enjoys the cup like it’s the last bit of water he’ll get for as long as he lives.

“Yes,” Hansol answers stupidly. “It’s hot in here.”

Seungkwan laughs a little again, nodding. Hansol thinks he imagines the way Seungkwan’s eyes trail up his body as he agrees, “Yeah. It is hot.”

“Did you want—” Hansol sputters, “water?”

“No,” Seungkwan says, resolute, shaking his head. “I’m ok. You need it more than I do. You look a little nervous, Hansollie.”

He looks smug when he says it. Like he knows something, or he wants to know something. It makes Hansol nervous—or maybe just more aware that he already is nervous, suffocating in the heavy atmosphere.

“I’m fine,” Hansol tells him, placing the now empty cup on the bar behind him, wiping the condensation from his hands on his jeans. “Maybe you just want me to be nervous.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Getting rid of an evil streak before you head to LA.”

Seungkwan rolls his eyes. “I told you no goodbye tonight, Hansol-ah.”

“Sorry,” Hansol apologizes. He shrugs as he adds, “Just—on my mind.”

“What?” Seungkwan’s eyes are playful, roguish. “Me?”

Hansol barks out a laugh, one that sounds nothing like his laughs usually do, but he’s not sure what else to do. He wipes his hands on his jeans again, this time trying to rid them of sweat rather than anything else. 

“Do you wanna be on my mind?” Hansol raises a brow. “You want me to think about you?”

“Well,” Seungkwan says, “you’re my best friend. I’d be offended if I wasn't on your mind.”

Hansol just hums. He’s not sure if Seungkwan can even hear him, but he’s also not sure what they’re doing. They play flirt, play fight, play tease, but this, this is new. Too real. He wishes he had another drink to hold, suddenly feeling awkward and vulnerable.

“I think about you,” Seungkwan says. “Thinking about you right now, too.”

“Well, I am in front of you,” Hansol points out, trying to ignore the way his heart is beating in his throat.

“Not like that, Hansol-ah.”

“Oh,” Hansol says, stupidly, barely audible. “Well, yeah.” He’s speaking without really thinking about it. It has to be the alcohol. Or maybe he’s just finally lost it. Maybe the little voice in his head that always sounds a lot like Jeonghan finally won. “I do think about you. A lot.”

“Oh,” Seungkwan says back. “I did want you to.”

“Ok,” Hansol just barely breathes, and it feels like Seungkwan is getting closer, or maybe the room is just getting smaller, starting to close in on Hansol. He can’t focus on anything else anymore; just Seungkwan and the distant vibrations of the music, nothing but a dull rumble now.

“You should—do something about it,” Seungkwan says. 

Bold, always bold. 

But being brave is different from being bold. Seungkwan had always said Hansol was brave.

Is he?

“If that’s what you want,” Hansol says slowly, not to be misunderstood, and the space between them gets smaller and smaller. Be brave, be brave, not bold. There’s a difference and it matters.

“It is what I want,” Seungkwan says, bold. Honest. Firm. Everything Hansol pretends to be. Everything he’s trying to be. “Is that what you want?”

Hansol just nods, body moving on autopilot as he closes the distance between them, brain going to static once the space is closed, Seungkwan pressed against his body, and his lips fitting against Hansol’s.

He feels like he’s dreaming. Not in the corny kind of way, but in the way that it just feels like Hansol’s waited so long for this, and now it’s finally here, except they’re in a dirty club, and he’s sure all their friends will eventually see, and it’s Seungkwan, his Seungkwan, it shouldn’t be happening at all, but it is.

Hansol thinks he’s frozen in place, hands awkwardly hanging at his sides while Seungkwan’s grab at his shoulders, just holding onto something for the sake of holding. He makes a little put-out noise as he reaches Hansol’s hands, bringing one of them to his own waist, and Hansol gets the hint, firmly putting his own hands there, which results in a pretty sigh from Seungkwan instead.

Seungkwan is warm and soft. His lips taste like the juice that had been mixed with his drinks all night and like everything Hansol’s ever waited for. He’s kissing Seungkwan, and Seungkwan is kissing him back, and he’s not pulling away.

Hansol can feel the slight upward pull of Seungkwan’s lips into a smile as he shifts their position, head tilting to the side as his tongue swipes over Hansol’s bottom lip, and it’s a good thing he’s leaned up against the back of the bar because otherwise, his knees surely would’ve given out. Seungkwan is exceptional at everything he tries; of course, kissing would not be any different. 

It strikes Hansol then—it’s now or never. 

Because Seungkwan is leaving in three days, and Hansol is kissing him right now, and Hansol is still in love with him, and Seungkwan still has no idea.

Be brave.

“Seungkwan-ah,” Hansol breathes out, barely removing his lips from Seungkwan’s, but when the other hums in response, Hansol just lets the nerves guide him as he continues, “I like you.”

It’s like a balloon pops. The static in his brain goes quiet, the way Seungkwan’s lips had been moving against his comes to a stop, and the warm, lithe body of Seungkwan beneath his hands goes stiff. 

“What?”

“I like you,” Hansol says again. “I like you, Boo. I—more than just a friend and I—”

“Hansol-ah,” Seungkwan is saying. His voice makes Hansol feel sick. He sounds worried. Not quite aggravated but something of the sort. “Oh, no. Not now. Hansol-ah, I—”

“I’m sorry,” Hansol says quickly, shaking his head like he never said any of it at all. “I’m sorry, I—”

“No, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan says back. He looks terrified. “Why did I do that? Why did we do that?”

Hansol opens his mouth to answer, to say sorry again, to say he doesn’t know why they did it, but Seungkwan speaks again. 

“Not now, Hansol,” he says again. “Can we—we can’t do this right now. I love you, but not—” 

Not like that, Hansol’s brain supplies. 

“Not now.” His voice is so quiet that Hansol is sure he wouldn’t hear it if he didn’t know Seungkwan so well.

“Not now,” Hansol repeats, nodding. “It’s ok. We’re ok.” He’s not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or Seungkwan. “Let’s just—let’s go back out.”

“Hansollie.” Seungkwan sounds miserable. His eyes are big and round and filled with sorrow or regret or something else Hansol doesn’t want to quite place right now. 

“It’s ok, Boo,” Hansol assures him because really, it is. He gives Seungkwan’s hand a timid squeeze, almost afraid to even touch him. “We can… we’ll figure it out.”

What ‘it’ is now, Hansol has no idea.

* * *

The balloon arch looks silly in the middle of Jeonghan and Joshua’s living room, but Junhui and Soonyoung keep going back to have a never-ending photoshoot in front of it—something about being Gemini blood brothers—so it’s entertaining enough for Hansol to keep looking at.

Besides, he needs a little extra joy, anyway. The past day has been... weird. Ever since the night at the club. Since Hansol told Seungkwan how he felt and Seungkwan hadn’t quite rejected him but didn’t quite accept him either. Hansol wishes he never did it. Because now Seungkwan is leaving tomorrow night, and Hansol and he had hardly spoken more than three sentences at a time to each other, and Hansol is gonna lose him forever, all because he couldn’t wait three more days and hold it in. All because he had to ruin it.

“You’re gonna ruin it, DK!” Soonyoung is shouting, shoving Seokmin to the side as he tries to slip into the forty-eighth photo Soonyoung and Junhui take in front of the rainbow balloons. Wonwoo is standing there, still taking pictures, Soonyoung hip checking Seokmin out of frame while Junhui flips off the camera and smiles very sincerely. 

“Forgive me for trying to make memories,” Seokmin defends himself, frowning. Wonwoo pans the camera to take a photo of him by himself on the side, and then one of Jihoon who’s next to him, which makes Soonyoung and Junhui whine for attention. Gemini’s.

Seokmin plops next to Hansol on the couch with a huff, somehow not spilling the drink in his hand as he does. Seokmin is full of surprises.

“You good?” Seokmin asks him once he’s settled. His voice is quiet and he’s eyeing Hansol in that sympathetic way he tends to do. 

Of course, all of his friends knew about the club fiasco, if not for the look of terror on both he and Seungkwan’s faces when they returned to the group, then a group text from Jeonghan to everyone but the guilty pair that was sent out was enough of an informative—

We are officially retiring our efforts to get Seungkwan and Hansol together. If you mention them, I will cut your dick off.

—that’s what the message had said, or at least, that’s what Jihoon told Hansol the message said because Hansol was excluded from the group and just so happened to be wallowing on the floor of Jihoon’s living room when Jeonghan had sent it.  

Embarrassed? Extremely. Good? Maybe. At least it’s not like Seungkwan was avoiding him. They just—haven’t spoken about it. Or much about anything. Hansol is trying to remind himself that Seungkwan is probably just busy, but deep down he knows he is partly to blame.

“I’m fine, hyung,” Hansol says, like it is what it is. He’s not good or bad. He’s fine. He misses Seungkwan. He has regrets. 

“I know you probably don’t wanna talk about it,” Seokmin says, “but I think it was really brave what you did. Not many people can admit their feelings like that. Seungkwan should be lucky he knows.”

Hansol holds back something between a sigh and a groan and slumps further into the couch. He doesn’t want to hear about brave anymore. 

In front of him, Soonyoung is now scolding Chan and Mingyu who have decided it’s their turn with the balloon arch, all while Wonwoo absently continues snapping photos of Junhui who is no longer posing, but just standing, watching. If Hansol had it in him, he would call out Wonwoo for being horribly whipped.

“Should he, though?” Hansol whines a little. “I most likely destroyed our friendship. I shouldn’t have let it get all… deep and gross in the first place.”

“What?” Seokmin asks. He looks away from Mingyu who is more than tipsy and throwing a fit, and turns to Hansol. “Deep and gross like, your feelings? I think it’s kinda beautiful. I mean, you’re his best friend—”

“Was,” Hansol says, just because he’s in a bit of a pessimistic slump.

“— are his best friend. What’s better than being loved by the person who knows you best?”

Hansol sighs because Seokmin is saying all nice things and all of it is going straight to his gut, sinking there like an anchor of doom. “I don’t know, DK. Ask Seungkwannie.”

Seokmin shrugs, taking a sip of his drink. “Maybe you should.”

And then he’s gone, wrapping his arms around Mingyu to bring him in a bear hug, who seems to visibly relax, enjoying the feeling of Seokmin trapping him in his arms. Like a weighted blanket. 

Hansol looks around, exhaling a breath of remorse and anxiety. The party is relatively crowded; Seungkwan is popular, of course, people from everywhere came to say goodbye. It’s bittersweet to Hansol. On one hand, Seungkwan has all these friends, yet still chooses Hansol first for everything. Hansol is his go-to, no matter what. On the other hand, he’s leaving—leaving Hansol here, too, and Hansol doesn’t have different groups of friends like Seungkwan does, he just has Seungkwan, and now? 

Does he even have him?

Hansol decides a drink is well needed, slipping out of the room towards the kitchen, drifting through the lively chatter, and people crammed seemingly everywhere in Jeonghan and Joshua’s tiny apartment. He reaches the fridge, pulling it open for a beer before it’s promptly shut, Jeonghan suddenly in front of him now, arms folded over his chest. 

“Hey.” Hansol frowns, looking past Jeonghan at the fridge like he’s just lost some great love or something. The analogy hits a little too close to home. 

“Hi,” Jeonghan returns, giving him an overly friendly smile. Then, a complete 180, “Why aren’t you with Seungkwan?”

Hansol rolls his eyes. “Hyung.”

“Hansol-ah,” Jeonghan returns. “I’m not arguing with you anymore. You don’t have to make him… see it your way or anything. But he’s leaving—you need to fix it.”

“Why do I have to fix it?”

“Because I said so.”

“What?” Hansol frowns at him. “You’re not my dad. You can’t just—say because you said so?” 

“Yes, I can, I just did.” Hansol goes to open his mouth and argue further, but Jeonghan stops him, this time being the one rolling his eyes, “Please talk to him. He’s with Shua. Out in the hall.”

He jerks his head to their right where the doorway is, leading into the hallway that leads to the rest of the apartment. There are people everywhere, but something about the hallway seems safe. Secluded. 

“I’m…” Hansol tries. “Don’t you think I’ve done enough? Bothered Seungkwannie enough? He doesn’t—feel the same. Like I do.”

“Talk to him,” Jeonghan says like it’s final. When he walks away without another word, Hansol supposes it is. 

At this point, Hansol should probably stop listening to his friends, especially Yoon Jeonghan, but he also doesn’t have much else to lose. He’d rather try and mend whatever awkwardness is between him and Seungkwan than leave them off on a weird note. So despite his lack of motivation to do so, he rounds the corner to the hall, spotting Joshua and Seungkwan huddled together, hunched over, looking at something on Seungkwan’s phone. 

It’s time to rip the bandaid off. Like, again.

“Seungkwan-ah,” Hansol interrupts, trying not to throw up when he and Joshua look at him and Seungkwan’s face almost falls. Normally, Seungkwan would beam. Now, he looks dull. Tired. 

“Can we…” Hansol doesn’t have to finish for Joshua to get the hint.

“I’m gonna find Jeonghannie,” he says, smiling at Hansol as he pats Seungkwan on the back, lingering for just a minute. “Have… fun.”

“Thanks,” Seungkwan says, sour, and then Joshua is gone, and it’s just the two of them, safe for some friends of Seungkwan and Seokmin from their Communication Club days on the opposite end. The hallway is small, but not small enough for them to overhear whatever Hansol has to say, and certainly not small enough for how far away Seungkwan feels from him right now. Only a few feet, but it feels like lightyears. 

“So,” Hansol starts, kicking at the carpet beneath his socked feet. He doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know when talking to Seungkwan got so hard. “Are you… excited?” 

He also doesn’t know where to begin. He doesn’t really want to begin. He wishes they could go back to normal. He wishes he never said anything. Wishes he wasn’t as brave as Seungkwan always told him he was.

“I guess,” Seungkwan answers curtly. He’s fidgeting with his fingers, wiggling the digits in the way he does when he’s nervous. Hansol doesn’t want to be the reason he’s nervous. “It’ll be cool.”

They’re talking like they’re strangers, like they haven’t had this conversation a million times. Seungkwan is looking at him like he knows him inside and out, like he can see right through him, but he speaks to him like he’s nothing but an acquaintance. It makes Hansol feel queasy.

Hansol sighs. Rip the bandaid off. “Seungkwan-ah, I wanted to say sorry.”

“Hansol, don’t—”

“No, listen,” Hansol argues, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us by telling you. I just. I don’t know. I’m sorry. I was being—stupid? And selfish, probably.”

Seungkwan sighs back, looking down at his feet. He looks up then, staring hard at the ceiling like there’s something there besides the chipped paint of the old apartment and the glow-in-the-dark stars Seungcheol stuck there the other day just to piss Jeonghan off. 

After a minute, or what feels like an eternity, he says, “It wasn’t selfish, Hansol-ah. Don’t say that.”

“But it made things weird. I ruined it. I just wanted you to know before you left because everyone kept—”

“That’s just it, Hansol.” Seungkwan is frowning. Hansol hates when he frowns, but he hates it, even more, when he’s the cause of it. Like that one time years ago, back in high school, when Seungkwan got so mad at him, frowned so hard, Hansol cried. He can’t even remember what it was about anymore. He just swore to never make Seungkwan upset again. And yet. 

“Why did you wait?”

“What?” Hansol blinks, mouth dry. 

“I’m leaving, and you pick now to tell me?” Seungkwan doesn’t sound annoyed, but the tone of his voice is making Hansol feel like he did something terrible. “That’s not fair. There’s nothing I can do about it right now.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything about it,” Hansol says, somewhat petulant. “You can’t do anything about it. It’s mine to do something about. I said it.”

“But it was for me,” Seungkwan argues. “You said you liked me. Did you think you could just say that and I wouldn’t have a say in it?”

“No?” Hansol feels thrown off. “I don’t want you to feel stressed out. I don’t want this to be on your mind when you’re gone. It doesn’t have to be a thing. That’s why I’m trying to fix it.”

“But it’s not yours to fix, Hansol.”

Hansol frowns, a mirror image of how Seungkwan is looking at him. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“You’re my best friend, Hansol-ah,” Seungkwan says slowly. “I love you. Ok?”

“I know that.”

“Please just remember that I love you.” It’s almost like he’s pleading. “And then when I come back—can we talk about it then?”

“There’s nothing to talk about anymore. I just wanted to say—”

“When I come back,” Seungkwan says again. “Not now. Just not now.”

“Fine,” Hansol secedes, nodding. He doesn’t want to argue with Seungkwan, doesn’t want him to be more upset with him than he already might be. He wants Seungkwan to go to LA and have the best time he can. He wants Seungkwan to live a life as big as him, one bigger than Hansol can ever be. 

“I love you, Hansol.”

“I know you do.” Hansol gives him a tiny smile. One last peace offering. “Love you back.”

Seungkwan shakes his head, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out a piece of paper that looks vaguely familiar. Notebook paper crinkled at the edges, folded up in a tiny square. Seungkwan holds it out towards him, fingers shaky. 

“Open it tomorrow. When I leave,” he instructs.

“What is it?”

“The day we were cleaning out my room,” Seungkwan says, “I found it. I wrote it a while ago. I want you to read it, too.”

Something about it makes Hansol unreasonably sad. He doesn’t tell Seungkwan that, though. He takes the paper, turning it over in his hands once before he tucks it into the pocket of his sweatshirt carefully. He nods, slowly, hoping to put on his best face for Seungkwan.

“I’ll read it.”

“Good,” Seungkwan says. He reaches for Hansol’s hand next, the touch feeling like coming home to Hansol. “Now. Can we just have one more good night together?”

“Of course,” Hansol nods. “Always, Boo.”

“Chwe Hansol, my favorite houseplant,” Seungkwan says, fond. “Come on. Seungcheol hyung said he wants one more round of Titanic. He thinks Wonwoo is destined to lose again and be humiliated.” 

Hansol laughs and nods in agreement, letting Seungkwan lead the way back to the rest of the party. It’s not exactly the same, Hansol isn’t sure if it can be, but it’s their last night together and it’s a memory that Hansol will remember for a while. Wonwoo loses Titantic, they torture him with more body shots off Junhui, Seokmin throws a Mingyu-related fit, Jeonghan and Joshua are grossly in love and annoying, and Hansol says his last goodbye to Seungkwan outside his apartment in a long hug, one that even Chan doesn’t bother interrupting, despite how much he hates Seungkwan and Hansol showing any kind of affection for each other.

“Don’t forget me when you meet all the sexy, cool people in LA, ok?” Hansol holds his pinky out in a promise, and Seungkwan takes it.

“Never, Hansollie.” He kisses their pinkies. “Never.”

Boo Seungkwan leaves for LA in sixteen hours, twenty-two minutes, and not enough seconds. 

* * *

Hansol wakes up late the next day. Maybe it’s on purpose. Maybe he didn’t want to see the live updates Seungkwan sent on the way to the airport for the group chat. Maybe he didn’t want to see Seungkwan’s last goodbye and little Instagram story right before he took off. Maybe he didn’t want to see the separate text Seungkwan had sent just him that only read—

You better be ready to answer my calls once I land. 

Two little plant emojis.

Hansol, despite himself, smiles, typing back a response even though he knows Seungkwan won’t be seeing them for hours more, not until he lands. 

Duh. I’m getting plenty of sunlight in the meantime. 

He’s satisfied, as satisfied as he can be now that he’s just had the most emotionally exhausting three days of his life and his best friend who he is, was?, madly in love with, is now on a plane to a foreign country for the foreseeable future. 

He decides to try not to wallow. Wallowing can’t be any good. 

He sits up slowly, reaching for his sweatshirt on the floor to slip back on and head out to accost Chan to get coffee with him, stopping only when a piece of paper falls out of the pocket into his lap. The note from Seungkwan. Hansol had almost forgotten about it. 

He unfolds it carefully, expecting something silly, like maybe one of the games of MASH they used to always play. Seungkwan never quite understood it, always begged him to play it with Joshua instead, but Hansol had insisted Seungkwan’s confusion was half the fun. Or maybe it was that page from their yearbook Soonyoung bought for them when they graduated, one that looked more like a ridiculous In Memoriam, than congrats on graduating. When he looks down at it now unfolded, he realizes it’s none of that.

Seungkwan’s handwriting looks back at him, neat and familiar. Hansol can recognize from the pressure of the pen showing through the other side that it's the note they found that night last week. From a friend from Jeju, Seungkwan had said. Hansol laughs to himself, eyes scanning the page as he begins to read. 

 

2/18/18

Hi Hansollie,

I guess if you're reading this I actually worked up enough courage to finally do it because I’ve written this and thrown it out dozens of times already, and find a way to talk myself out of it every time. Let’s hope you got this from me, though, and not like, Chan. If that’s the case please throw it out now TT. 

Anyway, happy birthday. I know that’s a bit delayed, but that’s not really the point of this letter. Sorry. You know I love your birthday the most, anyway. I’ll keep it short because like I said, I’ve written this a million times before, and also, my hand is cramping from holding the pen this tight. I need to work on my grip. Sorry for stalling heh.

Chwe Hansol, I’ve known you for four years and some change now, and I’ve spent all that time trying not to fall in love with you. I’m writing this now because I failed. Oh, wow, that was intense. Sorry. Sorry for saying sorry, too. You hate when I say sorry. I think that’s part of the reason I like you so much. I know I’m a lot sometimes; you never make me feel like that. Instead, you make me feel like I can be unabashedly myself. Like I can do anything. I was scared when I first met you. Scared of a lot of things. Of Seoul, of fitting in, of life. And you make me feel not scared. Maybe that’s why I’m able to finally say this to you. Because with you, there’s nothing to be scared about.

If loving you is the scariest thing in my life, then I don’t think life is so bad after all. I think I can do anything. 

I’ve known you for four years and some change and I’ve spent all that time in love with you. 

(Sorry for being corny, but Seokmin hyung told me if I’m not now, I might regret it later. And I’d hate for him to be right.)

Happy birthday, Hansollie. Please spend many more with me. 

Your best friend, 

Seungkwan

 

Hansol hasn’t cried since the first and only fight he and Seungkwan ever had. Looking down at the paper in his hands now, he notices the tiniest drop of water on the edge of the paper. He’s crying.

* * *

Sometimes Hansol can’t remember what life was like before Seungkwan. 

It sounds pathetic, probably. But in Hansol’s defense, he’s spent his weekends with him, his holidays with him, his school days with him, his nights, his mornings, and everything in between, and now he needs to do all that without him, and it’s hard. It’s hard because Seungkwan has been the biggest constant in the past eight years of Hansol’s life, and now he’s gone. 

It’s not all bad. Hansol hangs out with Chan and Soonyoung at the dance studio they help out, he plays video games with Wonwoo and Seungcheol, he goes to Jihoon’s place and watches him play around on Garageband. He misses Seungkwan. They talk on the phone when they can, text almost constantly, but it’s nowhere near the same. Seungkwan is busy now, plus the timezone, and the giant elephant in the room that is still their apparent reciprocated feelings for each other, makes it all hard. Seungkwan also refuses to talk to Hansol about the letter. 

When I’m home, that is all he keeps saying. Hansol doesn’t want to get in the way of any of his auditions so he always just nods and changes the subject. He didn’t tell his friends about the letter either. It felt almost like an invasion of Seungkwan’s privacy; for him to bare his soul like that only for Hansol to turn around and show someone like Mingyu, for example. Besides, he feels like he learned his lesson when it comes to his friends and his and Seungkwan’s relationship. For now, he’s letting time heal them.

Time, which was once his enemy, has become the only thing that can fix it. 

The rest of September gets consumed by time, and then in October, things like Jeonghan’s birthday or Mingyu’s photography exhibition are gone before most of them know it, and at each gathering Seungkwan tries to Facetime one of them, missing them all too much to not be invited somehow. 

That’s how Hansol finds his phone being passed around at Jihoon and Minghao’s joint party, the one they have every year because double the party, double the fun, as Seokmin always insists. Seungcheol has his phone now, actively trying to shove Soonyoung out of frame which leads to Jeonghan yelling at them about bumping into him and destroying his ‘scientifically proven perfect face’ in the process. Hansol stays safely at his distance on the couch, sitting next to Junhui who is patiently waiting his turn because they all know Seungkwan saves Junhui for last, claiming he and Chan have always been his favorite.

(Hansol, of course, is not included in that.)

“You look tired,” Junhui tells him, completely unprompted and entirely honest. 

Junhui has his legs folded under him on Mingyu and Wonwoo’s couch because for once they were nice enough to throw the party instead of Jeonghan and Joshua being designated for it. Hansol knows it’s just because Mingyu has always kind of always had a crush on both Minghao and Jihoon. The hopeless romantic. 

“Thank you,” Hansol says, not even turning to look at him. Instead, he watches Soonyoung finally get possession of the phone, where he excitedly begins to show Seungkwan a very well-prepared impression of him. Seungkwan does not seem to be enjoying it. 

“You’re welcome,” Junhui says for whatever reason. “Up late talking to Seungkwannie?” 

Hansol shrugs. “Sometimes. He’s usually busy. He’s—far.”

“No shit.” Junhui laughs. Then, a little softer, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I think it was nice that you told him how you feel. Whatever happened, happened. But it’s… very big of you.”

Truthfully, Hansol doesn’t want to talk about it. He’d rather pretend it never happened. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. Junhui is, at least, one of his sweeter hyungs about all of it. 

“Thanks,” Hansol says because he doesn’t know what else to say. He feels like he exhausted himself on the matter. For whatever reason, though, he continues. “It doesn’t really… I mean, it doesn’t make much of a difference now. Nothing either of us can do about it. He has LA to focus on. I have making sure Soonyoung doesn’t get my phone cracked to focus on.”

Junhui laughs again, just once. He shakes his head. “No. It matters more to him than you know. Letting something silly like—distance or something get in the way of what you want is stupid.”

When Hansol looks away from his friends to face Junhui, Junhui is looking past the group, over to where Wonwoo is sitting quietly with Jihoon. Hansol feels the same sad feeling sweep through him again, the one he got that day Junhui made him breakfast all those months ago. The same one he gets when Jeonghan tells Joshua how lucky he is that he decided to stay in Seoul and Wonwoo always stiffens as if he can actually see a time bomb over Junhui’s head. 

“Did Wonu hyung—”

“No,” Junhui says quickly. “He won’t. Or maybe I won’t let him.”  

Junhui doesn’t have to say it for Hansol to know what he means. To know what they mean to each other. 

“You know,” Junhui continues, “Seungkwannie asked me right before he left if love was worth it.”

“Like, in general?” Hansol asks. 

Junhui hums. “He didn’t mention you if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Hansol feels his cheeks heat up. “I didn’t think he—”

“Yuàn dé yī xīn rén, bái shǒu bù xiāng lí.” 

Hansol’s limited knowledge of Chinese leaves him fruitless. He probably should’ve paid more attention in college, but that’s beside the point.

“What’s that mean?” 

“My grandma used to say it after my grandfather passed away,” Junhui starts to explain. “It’s not the same, really. No one here is gone, but. ‘When you catch someone’s heart, you’ll never be apart.’ That’s what it means.”

“Oh.” Hansol nods. “That’s nice.”

“It is,” Junhui agrees. “It also really fucking hurts.”

* * *

The leaves do change in Los Angeles, but not in the way they change in Hansol’s grandmother’s backyard. That’s what Seungkwan tells Hansol sometime towards the end of November. 

“You waited a while to figure that out,” Hansol had pointed out to him with a laugh. His eyes had been closing as he talked on the phone to the older boy, but he wouldn't fall asleep. He waited to talk to Seungkwan all day. He’d stay up for hours if he had to. 

“People wait a while for things to come,” Seungkwan told him. His voice was staticky through the phone’s connection. “That doesn’t mean they never do.”

* * * 

All the leaves have fallen by the time Seungkwan finally comes home. The auditions have been going well—Seungkwan had been called back twice for a movie role, one of those indie movies that aren’t seriously indie, or at least that’s what Seungkwan had called it. Hansol doesn’t know if he’s just trying to undermine the excitement of it or not. Regardless, he has a quick break right when Winter is in full effect. 

He promised he’d be back by Winter. Seungkwan always keeps his promises.

It’s snowing the day Seungkwan arrives home, which Hansol thinks is somewhat poetic; a little welcome home gift from Mother Nature to the boy that shines so bright he rivals the force of the sun. The boy that loves the seasons so much despite the way he is exclusively warm just like the hottest of Summers. The boy who makes flowers bloom in Hansol’s chest just like the Cherry Blossoms bloom in the spring.

For the first time since Seungkwan left, Hansol feels at ease. 

“To Boo Seungkwan, who managed to make it back to Seoul without succumbing to Los Angeles’ life of spin class and plastic surgery,” Soonyoung is saying very nobly, holding his shot glass to the middle of the table, clinking it with everyone else’s. 

Seungkwan had denied yet another party that they were all keen on throwing him, this time deciding a dinner and drinks to catch up was all he wanted. Of course, it would be at the expense of Seungcheol, who Seungkwan claimed owed him since he had requested pictures of multiple Hollywood Walk of Fame stars. Seungcheol had accepted because he was a good hyung, and also because he can admit the amount of effort Seungkwan put into taking a photo of Daniel Radcliffe’s star. 

“You forgot about ‘making the beach your personality,’” Joshua adds. “So far Seungkwannie hasn’t mentioned the beach once. Very impressive.”

“He already does that,” Jihoon says. “People from Jeju love reminding you they’re from Jeju.”

“Fuck you, Lee Jihoon,” Seungkwan says through a smile, tipping his head back as he takes the shot, only cringing momentarily at the flavor before he smiles again. “I missed you guys.”

“That’s a relief,” Minghao says. “It makes DK whining about how much he missed you all worthwhile.”

“I was not whining!”

“You are always whining.”

“Seokminnie, I missed you the most,” Seungkwan tells him, reaching across the table to caress his face in an obnoxious way, which makes Seokmin swat his hand away, frowning. 

Seungkwan giggles, bringing his hand now to Hansol’s thigh, giving it a small squeeze from where it sits under the table. Seungkwan is still warm and still gentle and still touches Hansol like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hansol is still weak for him. Distance makes the heart grow fonder; if becoming fonder for Boo Seungkwan is even possible. 

“It is nice to have everyone back,” Jeonghan says, visibly trying not to recoil at the sincerity he can hear in his own voice. “Although, you did miss my birthday and did not give me anything. So if you’d like to, I am willing to give you an extension.”

“I am not willing to accept the extension.”

“Dick,” Jeonghan swears. “LA changes people.”

“Cry about it,” Seungkwan says, squinting at his hyung. He claps his hands then, the lack of warmth on Hansol’s thigh jarring for just a second, and then it’s back like he’s reassuring Hansol he really is here, and won't be going anywhere for at least a bit. “Now, tell me everything I missed. Paint the picture. Pull out those notes I made you guys take. Moon Junnie, get us started.” 

Junhui rolls his eyes, however, sitting up straighter, clearing his throat. “September 26, 2022, the day after you left—”

“This is gonna be a long fucking night,” Jihoon grumbles, which makes Seungkwan frown vehemently. 

“Let him speak,” he insists, gesturing wildly at Junhui to continue, who does so, a bit begrudgingly. 

Wonwoo has his arm around the back of Junhui’s chair and Hansol wonders if they’ve made any progress in talking things out since Hansol last spoke to Junhui about it. He wonders if there’s more hope for them than there is for him and Seungkwan. Wonders if they took the leap, if they think it’s worth it. He wonders if love is worth it.

When you catch someone’s heart, you’ll never be apart.

Hansol realizes then that he doesn’t feel complete because Seungkwan is back; he feels complete because he has a piece of himself back. 

* * *

The snowflakes catch on Seungkwan’s eyelashes perfectly, like they were made to dance along the curves of his face and stick there, making a home in the brightest sky in all of Seoul. He’s beautiful, Hansol thinks, just like he always does, as they walk back from dinner, cheeks warm with alcohol and the cheeriness of the evening, high on the promise they would see each other tomorrow once Seungkwan is more caught up on jetlag-deprived sleep. 

It’s how Hansol always wants to feel.

“It’s freezing,” Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, hugging his jacket closer to his body, moving an inch closer to Hansol for more warmth. 

It’s just the two of them out here, Chan having left with Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Minghao for more drinks, leaving Hansol and Seungkwan to brave the walk home themselves. Hansol is kind of happy about it; he hasn’t been alone with Seungkwan yet. 

“You’re already losing your tolerance to the cold,” Hansol tsks. “LA is worse for you than I thought.”

“Shut up.” Seungkwan looks genuinely offended. “Just hold me, will you?”

He maneuvers Hansol’s arm around him, which makes Hansol laugh, doing anything to ignore the butterflies it simultaneously sets loose within him. He flips the hood up on Seungkwan’s jacket, earning a weak yah, Chwe Hansol, in the process, and suddenly he feels much warmer.

“Better?” Hansol asks, peering at Seungkwan over his own hood.

“Better,” Seungkwan confirms, stuck to Hansol’s side like a bee to honey. “You know, I did say that I missed Seokmin hyung the most, but that was a lie. Of course, it was you.”

“Of course,” Hansol mocks, pretending the confession doesn’t make him beam. “Should I tell him?” 

“No,” Seungkwan says instantly. It makes Hansol laugh. “I know we talk all the time, but. How have you been? Like really?”

Hansol shrugs, letting Seungkwan slide his hand into his own, carefully. 

“I’ve been ok.”

“Just ok?”

“Sometimes better than ok,” Hansol says, stupidly, which makes Seungkwan laugh a little. “I did miss you, I think. I know you already knew that, but it’s nice to have you back.”

Seungkwan laughs sheepishly, shuffling his sneakers on the thin layer of snow beneath their feet. He’s leaving a trail behind them, revealing the sidewalk underneath. 

“It’s nice to be back,” Seungkwan tells him. “I wish I could stay for longer.”

He’ll be leaving again in a week. This time, he won’t be back for—well. Hansol doesn’t really want to think about it. If the movie audition goes well, it could be for a very extensive amount of time. One that Hansol would much rather pretend wasn’t a possibility. Just for now. 

“Don’t think about leaving, you just got here,” Hansol reminds him with a laugh, knocking into his shoulder gently. “Focus on now.”

“Right,” Seungkwan says with a nod. “I know, I just—” 

Seungkwan stops abruptly, letting out a sigh. 

“You good?” Hansol asks, craning his neck to try and look at him. 

“You read the letter I left.” 

Seungkwan says it fast, so fast Hansol feels like he must’ve imagined it. Like he wanted to talk to Seungkwan about it so much that he just dreamt he would bring it up right now. He stops walking and Seungkwan stops to face him, too, and then, looking at the fear in his eyes, Hansol knows he didn’t dream it. 

“Yeah.” Hansol’s voice is barely audible. “I did.”

Seungkwan nods slowly, turning to start walking again. “And you—ok.” He nods again like he’s more sure of himself now. “So there.”

“So there?” Hansol asks, laughing a little. He doesn’t think it’s funny, he’s just nervous and has no idea what to do with himself. “Can we—I’ve been wanting to talk about it. I wanna talk about us.”

“I know you have,” Seungkwan says. “I told you when I’m back. And I’m—I’m back, aren’t I?”

“Yeah,” Hansol says, hopes he doesn’t sound as nervous as he is. “Yeah, so. I mean, do you still feel that way?”

It’s silent for a beat, nothing but the hum of cars and buses around them and the low chatter of other people on the street. Seungkwan looks up from his feet and straight at Hansol. 

“Yes,” he says, resolute. “I wouldn’t have given that to you if I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Hansol says because his throat is suddenly dry and he doesn’t know if he can say anything else. 

“Do you see why I was upset with you now? That you waited to tell me right before I left that you liked me, too?” Seungkwan’s tone is admonishing, but gentle. Not angry, but more so distraught. 

“I’m sorry,” Hansol apologizes, will never stop apologizing because he never wants to hurt Seungkwan. “I wouldn’t have done it then if I knew—”

“There’s never a right time,” Seungkwan tells him. “But now… it just feels like the wrong time.”

Hansol doesn’t understand why he still sounds sad; why if they’re finally talking about it, finally coming clean, that Seungkwan still looks broken. They’re so close, Seungkwan’s hand still intertwined with Hansol’s, but he feels like they’re miles apart.

“How is it the wrong time?” Hansol asks, genuinely confused. “If we’re both—we like each other. We fit together.”

“But do we?” It cuts through the air like a sharp knife, landing in Hansol’s chest, twisting there until the pain is numb. “I’m leaving again, Hansol. You’ll be here, and I’ll be there, and I can’t make you make promises to me from oceans away.”

“I’ve been doing that anyway,” Hansol tells him. “Willingly, by the way, because I just—I can’t shake you, Boo. You’re my best friend, but you’re also… a part of me. And I haven’t tried to get over my feelings for you because I don’t want to.”

“You say that now—”

“And I’ll say it next week, too. And the week after that. And the month after that—”

“Hansol.”

“No, wait, I wanna finish,” Hansol says. “It’s not fair that only you have a say in this. I hardly made my case at the club all those months ago.”

“It’s not just me, I’m thinking about the both of us.”

“But you’re not letting me tell you what I think.” 

It’s an old habit of Seungkwan’s, Hansol thinks. He was always much better with words than Hansol, always used to making excuses and explanations for the both of them. Hansol needs to be the one to say it now. 

“What I think,” he starts, “is that you’re underestimating me. Because I haven’t just liked you since four months ago, or even a year ago, it’s been—you. All the fucking time. And if you don’t want to be with me, then that’s fine. But since the day I met you, I felt like I could finally… breathe? Like somewhere within me just knew it was you. Like maybe I didn’t know it then, but I know it now, and now I know that I’m me because I have you.”

“That gave me a headache, Hansollie.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to finish,” Hansol tells him, reaching out to shove at his shoulder again. “I just. Can’t imagine myself without you. Because whether you like it or not, or whether I knew it or not. A part of my heart is with you. Like. Always.

“And maybe that’s scary. For a while, I thought it was, but I’m not afraid anymore. In your letter, you said that. If loving me is the scariest thing about life, then maybe life isn’t so bad. Maybe we can both be brave. Together.”

Seungkwan’s eyes are soft, his brows are furrowed just a little, and his lips are turned downwards just a little, understated pout on his lips. 

“So I’m sorry, for taking so long. But you make me feel like I can… do things I normally can’t. And if that includes loving you from the other side of the world, then I say we should do it.”

“Yah, Chwe Hansol,” Seungkwan starts, and his expression is unreadable, even for Hansol. “Since when are you so good at speaking from the heart? Huh? When did you get so grown up?”

“You left me here for three months,” Hansol says. “I got plenty of sunlight on my own. Grew a lot.”

“I like you so much, you idiot,” Seungkwan tells him. “Sometimes I don’t know what to do about it. What to do with me.”

“Just let yourself like me,” Hansol says, “that’s something you can do about it.”

“And when I leave again? And you’re still here?”

“Then I’m still here.” Hansol takes a step closer, grabbing his hand once more. “I’ll be here ready to welcome you home.”

“What if there’s someone else?” Seungkwan asks, voice small.

“Why would there be?” Hansol scoffs like Seungkwan is dumb. He thinks he is. “Why would I stand here in the snow for anyone else but you?”

“Hansollie—”

“Seungkwan-ah.”

“I’ve spent eight years trying to be brave enough to let me have you.”

“So be brave with me, Boo.” Hansol squeezes his hand. “I’m all yours. Have been.”

The last time Seungkwan had kissed Hansol, it tasted like nerves and a sour, guilty feeling. It was warm and it was Seungkwan and it was apparently everything Hansol had been dreaming of, but it wasn’t like this. This—this is everything Hansol had needed.

Sweet like the cherries that grow in the Springtime and as familiar as the grass is underneath his feet in the Summer. Kissing Seungkwan is like a cool breeze in Autumn, sending a chill down his spine when he nips at Hansol’s bottom lip, goosebumps erupting along his body like the cold does to him in the Winter.

Kissing Seungkwan is like everything Hansol feels he should’ve done ages ago. He’s just happy he’s finally brave enough to do it the way he was meant to; both of them.

“I want you forever,” Seungkwan confesses against his lips, hushed, like a secret.

“Easily done.” Hansol kisses him again. “Houseplants don’t have legs, anyway. I’m not going anywhere.”

Seungkwan kisses him again, this time like it’s a punishment for Hansol’s lame joke. He’s smiling when they pull away again, leaning his forehead against Hansol’s, but not daring to pull away just yet.

“Promise?”

“Just like the leaves always fall in Autumn, I'll always be here,” Hansol says. “I promise.”

* * *

Chwe Hansol has known Boo Seungkwan for eight years, three months, nine days, and then some hours. He has been in love with him for six years, seven months, eighteen days, and probably a lot of hours in between.

He’ll spend Winter, Spring, Summer, and Fall telling him he still loves him, showing him all the ways he can.