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Sunwoo is in the middle of gathering his strength. The howling wind in a large field of green prickles away at his drenched hair and exposed legs. Delivering prayers seems like a good thing, too—he does that as well—all the while muttering words from his notes app that’s tucked far away inside his locker.
All comes to a halt though when the entrance swings open, quick footsteps that he’s been waiting for following close behind.
He gets up from the side bench, taking sluggish steps of his own. Watches with a smile that probably goes unnoticed by the person stopping right in front of him. Haknyeon keeps his eyes on his phone all the way, thumb scrolling, fingers typing but he still manages to swat Sunwoo’s chest for a fast second like he’s acknowledging his existence.
“I’ll never get how you athletes can stand chilly weather,” Haknyeon huffs out in lieu of a greeting.
“And I’ll never get why you PR people can’t go a minute without this—” Sunwoo takes a glance at the entrance. Then a second glance, a longer one, more like a stare. Some of his teammates, the reserve players, are sending him very energized thumbs-ups.
“What?” He hears Haknyeon say. “What are you even looking at?”
“Nothing, nothing.” He focuses back on Haknyeon, whose lips are curled into a puzzled smile when they look at each other. It doesn’t last long before Haknyeon looks back down at his phone again.
It is at this time that Sunwoo concludes: he can’t focus on Haknyeon. He wants to. Tries. The view behind Haknyeon’s head catches his eyes unfortunately.
Most of them are still doing their drills, non-stop footwork, labored breathing, set-up disc cones, agility ladders and a dozen of balls that require the utmost attentiveness. For someone who’s been granted to take a quick break, he’s starting to feel tired again from watching them alone. But his on-field teammates also have the time to grin at him and send more unasked-for thumbs-ups, and even cat-call his way so it’s probably a matter of replenishing stamina on his part.
There’s this thing called ‘turning the other cheek’ that he’s trying to replicate but it’s impossible. It’s like they’re in the midst of an ongoing match, the score’s still nil-nil and this is the one chance in the last two minutes to score a winning goal, and there are spectators around, waiting, expecting, anticipating how things will go down.
Sunwoo is in no way a stranger to it—hell, they’re practically family at this point in his life. Grow up, find your muse, live out a good portion of the fleeting years in the center of the sport and the floodlights, the pregame songs, the cheers. From a large field of overgrown weeds in the playground near his house to a makeshift one with narrow bleachers and patchy, scratchy grass in the back of his old school; from a play-for-all stadium that his previous club used to rent and to here: an in-house stadium, extravagant in its size and repute of the city’s most cherished club.
Maybe it’s a sign, maybe these are glaring signs that he should wait for a more appropriate time and somewhere less public.
But he’s feeling pretty great about himself right now and this feeling doesn’t come around very often. And when he says, “Look at me for a second, hyung,” Haknyeon peers up at him, amusingly smiles as he tucks his phone away in one of those loose pockets of his parka.
“Okay, you have my fullest attention,” he says.
And suddenly, he’s not only feeling pretty great. He feels pretty fucking great and he should totally indulge in this. So maybe. It’s not much of a sign in the end.
—
Once upon a time, Sunwoo was bright and slaphappy and had advocated himself as a romantic. A dreamer actually but his dad had ruffled his hair and laughed, and said that he’s a romantic. It didn’t make any sense before, he wasn’t talking about rose-tinted lenses or playing slapsies with the girl he liked just to hold her hand. It’s more like this: that outlook of life that plays out like the systematical structure of what he used to watch on kiddy channels every morning and every afternoon after school. Be the main character, turn your enemies into your friends in the span of a 24-episode arc, conveniently be the best at what you do and the merriest ending of all endings is already waiting for you at the end of the line.
It’s a romantic outlook that he has. Had. Until he turned ten and his little sister, an eight-year-old Miss Right, had started to optimize her cuteness overload fatality that everybody in his family cooed over. A coddling fest that had him grimacing at it.
He tried that once, her skillful technique. But his grandparents and uncles, and aunties just endearingly shook their heads, told him to play with Younghoon on the basketball court as if he wasn’t holding a literal soccer ball in his hands.
From then on, he decided that he should just stick to what he does best and not do silly things like trying to do things that he can’t, and make himself look sillier.
Life is—life is life, it is what it is. On one hand, it’s being eleven and the Gundam model on a store display that bedazzled his round eyes was left behind to his mom’s tugging hand. It’s also being thirteen, making paper poppers from his workbook with his friends and seemingly-not-giving-a-shit Ms. Park actually gave a shit when she called him, only him, to the front of the class. It’s him at sixteen, taught his sister how to ride a motorbike and gave in to her driving them to school instead of the other way around, and with the other guys and girls snickering, it absolutely had made him feel emasculated.
On the other hand, it’s something like no higher education than a high-school diploma and giving his all doing tryouts at the local club in his hometown. His parents were as supportive as they were dubious. Still are when he’s down on the luck and got injured. A stable future delving in sports can be guaranteed but going into that world as an athlete is a fatal injury away from being thrown out. His sister with her planned-out study courses and Younghoon with his own start-up company, do the math and according to conversations over holiday dinners, Sunwoo still holds the crown for the riskiest livelihood in the family.
Because yeah, everybody knows that life has its ups and it has its very, very many downs. Knows the romanticized idea of hard work that to reach the top, you have to experience what it’s like to hit rock bottom.
Sunwoo would like to beg to differ though. Not to have that too many downs and rock bottom is thousands of kilometers away from the soles of his feet. But rock bottom is in the rampant beats in his chest, in Haknyeon remembering some yet remembering none, and in the following days that will have him wishing to invalidate his feelings altogether.
It’s bad. It’s worse. It’s the fucking worst.
—
This is not happening. This is not fucking happening to him. (It is—unabashedly, unforgivably, unfathomably—fucking happening to him.)
—
March 27th (day one)
What happened: Sunwoo, with his strength gathered, prayers delivered, words on his notes app that are an equivalence to ‘you, me, date?’ hopefully memorized, and the incessant wishy-washy wind seemed to be cheering along for him.
They’re standing on the sidelines under a 10-o’-clock sun; Haknyeon looking fluffed and puffed-up bundled up in a parka, his chin tucked in in a desperate attempt to keep warm and he didn’t really look like he’s aware of the very, very stubborn stares directed their way. Sunwoo was hyperaware of everything actually. The compression sleeves feeling tight on his arms, polyester of charcoal black sticking to his skin, the floating heads peeking out from the entrance, passing drills that had taken place.
If Haknyeon didn’t care then he should try not to, too. Fade those away like the washed-out cyan of his T-shirt that’s also sitting in his locker.
Now or never. It’s now or never. “Hyung.” Haknyeon hummed at him. “Haknyeon hyung.”
He squinted at him then, a smile spreading. “Yeah, that is my name. You want to see my ID while you’re at it?”
Sunwoo shook his head. “No, thank you.”
“You sure? Just to jog your memory a little, give them a stretch before a run.”
“No, I—You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?” Haknyeon looked so amused that Sunwoo felt his own lips quirking up. “I’m trying to say something here.”
“Then just say it,” Haknyeon nudged, soft and bright, both with his words and a pinch of his fingers on Sunwoo’s forearm. Like cotton.
Easier said than done but Sunwoo’s still proud for taking the next step forward, and asked, “Do you remember this morning?” Backtracked with, “Of course, you do, it’s like three hours ago—What I meant to ask is...do you realize that you’re there whenever I need you, hyung?”
For a very fleeting moment, that came out smoother than the rough texts on his phone. Haknyeon simply blinked and stared, and Sunwoo simply thought that this might go smoother than he had originally thought.
But then, he heard this instead of a whisper-like ‘yeah?’ that his head conjured up: “Is this about you forgetting about your phone again because that’s nothing, Sunwoo, you don’t need to thank me like this for that. Just wait until we’re off the clock, your turn to buy dinner.”
“What? No, that’s not—Why would I drag you out here just to thank you?”
“I don’t know, don’t ask me, I’m asking you.”
“No, hyung, what I’m trying to say is that,” he sighs, “you’ve always been there for me. And the phone thing is the very least that you’ve done. You put up with a lot of my bullshit.”
And right here, he kind of—sort of, heard Yoseob’s distant shout of ‘Haknyeon, watch out!’
“I can talk to you about anything and it feels really nice. Hanging out with you is always nice.”
He also kind of—sort of, saw Coach Lee, their manager, running towards them in haste once he wasn’t so pulled in by how effortless his mouth was running right now.
“I want you to feel that way around me—” and then, there was a really, really, really solid thud; Sunwoo breathed out, “—too.”
Time moved too fast, too quick in the blink of an eye. Hisses and winces from the spectators could be heard, including from Sunwoo himself who wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. Numerous footsteps and overlapping worries neared and it became a sausage fest with him and Haknyeon in the middle of it.
That solid thud? It came from one hell of an out-swing kick that he would be in awe of at any other time.
One of the few times that he decided to say, fuck it, life malformed itself into the personification of the Vagan to his Gundam AGE that scorned at him and said, well then, fuck you.
What’s happening: the treatment room where he gets his back cracked every now and then serves as a clinic when in need. As crisp as ever with the portable air-cooler and the strong humming of AC duct vents.
Haknyeon is sitting on the massage bed, looking either dumbly innocent or innocently dumb like it’s his first visit to the doctor’s office, his parka bundled on the cross of Sunwoo’s arms. All those articles that headline hyperbolic, eye-catching words of fatal injuries to the brain are starting to get to him a little.
Some.
A lot, a fuck ton.
Yoseob’s a really great guy, fantastic player. If it wasn’t for Coach Lee calling off practice to talk about—this, Sunwoo is pretty sure the guy would be right here with him right now, trying to make things less worse. Sunwoo has an old poster of him rolled up somewhere in his room, not even a dent nor a fold to the paper. It’ll be hard to look at it for now without seeing the guilt scrawled all over the veteran player’s face when he said that he’ll pay for the hospital bills.
Sunwoo doesn’t stop fidgeting even if he wants to, he can’t, he keeps tapping his feet like it’s a lifeline. The on-call medic tells him to quiet down while she gives an incredulous stare at the cold bottle of beer that Haknyeon is pressing against the back of his head. Courtesy of Coach Lee’s cooler and one of the reserve players’ fast thinking and faster legs.
She sighs. Says, “I assume that this is another case of ball to the head, Mr. Kim?” She turns to look at him askance as if he has everything to do with this.
It’s rightfully defensive as he rushes to say, “I hit the kit-man once.” She stares, unimpressed. “And Cheolyong hyung once. Twice, it only ever happened twice.”
Sunwoo hears a small laugh following his defense. Not long after, a pained hiss and a gentle ‘ow’.
“Goddamn right, ow,” Sunwoo mutters. Haknyeon really is unbelievable. Not only he still can laugh at him, he got hit in the head and the first thing he did was reassure Yoseob that the only thing needs worrying is not letting this ‘small incident’ distract the veteran player from what’s important: the upcoming match against the Ninety-Fives and something about a photo op.
The medic asks if Haknyeon remembers getting hit and there’s a few seconds of drawled ‘uh’s and ‘uhm’s. It ends with a shrug and a thumb pointed at Sunwoo and his emerging frown. “Just Hyungseo hyung telling me that he wants me to come to the stadium and grabbing my coat after that. I think.”
Actually. It’s him asking the kit-man to call Haknyeon, who must’ve told another staff of the PR team, who then told Haknyeon. It was a bad sign after all.
Regret does come to bite him in the ass.
“You don’t remember anything else after it?” she asks.
“I know something must’ve had happened when my head started to throb like crazy,” Haknyeon mumbles. “But yeah, that’s pretty much it.”
“Huh. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything major. Short-term memory loss is a common thing to be experiencing from concussions.” She rounds the massage bed to stand beside Haknyeon. “I’ll check if there’s anything unusual so that beer needs to go. Tell me if it hurts.”
While Sunwoo is just standing about, watching the way Haknyeon winces here and there at the medic’s careful prodding, he’s also trying not to pay too much close of an attention to his not-so-calming-down heartbeat. His clutch on Haknyeon’s parka is proof enough. The case with the kit-man and Cheolyong was one bloody nose after another that twirled-in tissues and a whole lot of hydration fixed but Haknyeon couldn’t even walk properly without halting in his pace. He only begrudgingly gave in to get his head checked after he realized that Sunwoo’s constant scolding in his ear wasn’t making things better.
He seems about the same right now, contorted expression as he keeps stealing glances at Sunwoo for some reason. A reason, the reason, it’s not hard to know why. Sunwoo clears his throat and relaxes his face muscles. That’s not enough apparently because he’s suddenly beckoned to come closer. He blinks at that and only moves when Haknyeon beckons him again.
Haknyeon lays a hand on Sunwoo’s arm once he’s in reach. Or, the fluff of his parka for that matter. “You can stop looking like that, I feel like I have to cheer you up.”
Sunwoo scoffs, light and resigned. “You’re the one who needs cheering up.” The scoff warps into a swallow. “Just be okay.”
It feels warm. The pressure of Haknyeon’s hand on him. “My head’s a scrambled egg right now but I’m fine.”
“That doesn’t sound fine at all, hyung, you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”
“Okay, then, I will be fine. How does that sound?” he asks.
“I know that, but you’re not right now, that’s the problem,” Sunwoo says.
Haknyeon laughs, so quiet that it’s a mere huff. “So hard to please.”
“You’re being too soft on him,” the medic cuts in, somehow managing to chide both of them with it. She gets Sunwoo out of her way with such ease, just steps of her space, and tells Haknyeon to follow the light from the mini flashlight in her hand. It’s definitely dumbly innocent, Haknyeon’s looking like a hypnotized cartoon moth that’s drawn to an open flame. After she’s done, she continues, “If you ever want to point fingers, Mr. Ju, there’s two heads for you to do so.”
“Yeah, I know.” Haknyeon smiles, tranquility dies and reaps a grimace when the medic presses an actual cold pack to the back of his head. He throws Sunwoo another glance. “Must be pretty urgent. The thing you wanted to tell me.”
Sunwoo is suddenly a protagonist manifested when he heaves out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding. Suspended tension and belated relief. There’s some good in this, this is a silver-lining of some sort. Haknyeon is clueless to the fact that Sunwoo was in the middle of a (heartfelt) confession when it happened. Gives him the opportunity to take care of one thing at a time. One Haknyeon-related-problem at a time.
The first one: “Yeah,” Sunwoo says. He changes it to, “No, no at all. It can wait. I’m sorry, this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t ask you to meet me.”
Typical is saying sorry when you can’t do anything. Typical is Haknyeon waving him off and saying, “Don’t be. You’re not a sage, Sunwoo, I won’t hold this against you or Yoseob-ssi.”
“Too soft,” the medic chimes in again, singsonging this time. She says some things else that Sunwoo takes notes of, like some over-the-counter pills that Haknyeon should take and some essential oil to reduce severe headaches. Says that concussions like these are usually hardly anything to worry much about and even then, it’s still a good thing that everyone had reacted so quickly.
Being cheeky is a good and a bad thing. Good, because Haknyeon is still wholeheartedly himself. Bad, because he’s taken those last pieces of words as final statements and he fights off Sunwoo’s aggrandized state of a worrywart when he pointedly says, “See? I’m fine, you can stop with the pouting and the look.”
As it turns out, she’s a recurring team member on Sunwoo’s side. She clicks her tongue at Haknyeon because even so, hospitals aren’t completely out of the picture; a CT scan is suggested if the headache starts to become frequent and vomiting becomes a regular visitor.
“See?” he echoes as he sways in front of Haknyeon. He can afford be a little smug, feel a little bit better.
Haknyeon jabs a rather harsh finger to his side. “Fine. You can repay your debt for all that time of your seasonal flu.”
Sunwoo doesn’t immediately head back to practice. He makes a detour, takes a beeline to one of the three conference rooms that smells too sleek and too clean for his reeking of the outdoor to be in. He can’t really explain what it is but he can describe what’s happening: he has already draped the parka back onto its owner’s shoulders, they’re already standing in front of the room, and Haknyeon is standing so close to him that their sides are touching.
Sunwoo knows an eager Haknyeon when he sees one. Can sense a hungry Haknyeon from far distances. He’s well-versed in an embarrassed Haknyeon who will do anything but look at anyone in the eye, and he’s come to know with a heavy heart that a piqued Haknyeon is brimmed tears that unreached deadlines and rejected proposals could trigger. You live with someone for almost three years, work with that same someone for four. Terrible first impression aside, they make it work. Things like that become a blank notebook that’s filling in by itself as time goes on.
Back then, Haknyeon had been looking for someone to split the rent with and Sunwoo had just so happened to be so sick of Younghoon’s couch as the one place that he could stay at in a new town where he knew no one. After the epiphany that he had this very morning, confessing was a risk that he was willing to take. A terrible combination no matter how you look at it, big risk, big reward.
“Hey,” Haknyeon calls. “Your face still looks like shit, stop it.”
“Shut up, hurting your head doesn’t mean you can hurt my heart, hyung,” which makes Haknyeon elbows him. They laugh at it. For the time being, this is a reward enough.
One of the guys that handles the club’s social medias—some call him Kevin, some call him Hyungseo; Sunwoo calls him Infectious Menace because that’s what he is—has the brightest smile on his face when Haknyeon walks in. The smile stays intact as he raises a hand to greet Sunwoo through the glass panel. Haknyeon turns around to wave at him, too, a little timid, a little red despite the room and the cold pack that he’s pressing against his head being anything but warm.
Imagine that there are bullet points of Haknyeon-related-things that he mentioned beforehand. Penned and thought out. But at the very end, the last dot, there are only scrawled question marks to follow up on as Sunwoo waves back, brows furrowed for a second and the wires in his head are going at it at the speed of light.
Sunwoo has seen an embarrassed Haknyeon but never a shy Haknyeon—that’s alien, that might as well be an alien.
Sunwoo almost invites himself in to make sure (again) if it’s really okay for Haknyeon not to reconsider going home for the day instead. He can always work remotely, that is a thing.
It’s probably nothing. Yeah, it’s probably nothing.
—
Turns out, Haknyeon proves him entirely wrong. It’s not fucking nothing. It’s fucking something.
Everything is seemingly fine at first, nothing is out of the norm. Once they’re back at their public housing, Haknyeon calls him predictable (like he always does) when he picks another movie by Shinkai Makoto for them to watch (like he always does). He shrieks at Sunwoo for getting water all over their one bathroom and still swats Sunwoo all the damn time when he finds something funny.
The expected comes in these: Haknyeon doesn’t laugh like how he usually does, he can’t. It’s watered down and it’s sprinkles of titters after one too many halt and winces, and learning new habits for the sake of his well-being. The container of self-baked brownies in their refrigerator is left untouched and at the end of the night, there’s still some rice in their cooker, it’s rare. He downs crushed pills like they leave a bitter aftertaste on his tongue and they definitely do. Sunwoo smiles into his drink when Haknyeon hangs his tongue out because of it.
Their friends somehow got hold of the news, and by somehow, he means Haknyeon’s prompted ‘guess what happened today’ in the group chat.
There’s a moment of protest when Sunwoo back-reads all of it over dinner, between ‘nooo, don’t be worried’ and ‘Sunwoo’s trying his best, heh’, and Haknyeon slapping his hand away when he tries to add more rice onto the older man’s bowl. That’s what he gets for trying his best.
The unexpected is this: halfway into the movie, Haknyeon kind of takes Sunwoo’s shoulder as a resting place for his cheek.
—
March 28th (day two)
The unexpected is also this: he holds Sunwoo’s wrist and doesn’t really let go when they’re waiting for the bus the next morning.
Thankfully, he doesn’t spend all of his time thinking as to why those even happened, why Haknyeon acts like they’re used to being this way when it’s hardly the case. Kicking a ball around is actually Sunwoo’s most effective way to destress and even then, those occurrences come into mind here and there that he actually crouches in the middle of the field, in the middle of practice, and buries his face in his arms.
“Vitamin drinks or milk?”
Sunwoo halts from flipping over a meat with the tongs in his grip and leans back on the cushion. “Milk? I brought my own drink, it’s right in front of you.” It’s a water bottle, nearly empty of its brew-your-own protein drink. He reaches out his hand. “Did you hit your head again?”
Haknyeon moves his head away before Sunwoo can touch it, nudging Chanhee in the process who exclaims and drops his meat.
“Careful, Haknyeon,” Chanhee half-heartedly says.
“Sorry, hyung.” Haknyeon clicks his tongue at Sunwoo like he’s pinning the blame on him. “Not that, Sunwoo. For the brand endorsement. Eunji noona’s already waiting on you.”
It’s seven, the moon’s out. “I thought I’ve already answered that.”
“You did but sparklings are out of the question. No booze, club’s regulations.”
Their friends had called them to eat out and Haknyeon is still busy typing away on his phone. Sunwoo frowns. “Why doesn’t she just ask me herself? You’re not an assistant.”
“Stupid, why would she go through all that trouble when you’re right next to me?” Haknyeon snorts. Laughs at his supposedly dumbfounded face. “You didn’t even bring your phone with you. Honestly, this doesn’t make you Chris Pine.”
“I’m not trying to be Chris Pine,” Sunwoo mumbles. “Maybe vitamin drinks. I’d like to keep my brand domestic.”
Two years in a local club of his hometown, almost four and counting from the day he got scouted and signed a pre-contract with a professional one. Just today, the other players congratulated him for finally getting his very first personal endorsement. That is, after they had expressed their shared dejection about the now-dubbed Confession Gone Wrong.
Not the time to think about right now though, not when chatters are loud and indistinct, and you’re currently in the presence of a rather lively night. Younghoon’s unjustly long legs keep nudging his under the table, sitting across from Chanhee as the man attempts to feed his boyfriend the measly-wrapped roll with his unjustly long arm. Youngjae and Jaehyun are laughing among themselves, something about what Sangyeon had done the last time they gathered.
Haknyeon is infectious with his little laugh and his reply of: “Okay, stop sending your clothes to the dry cleaners and try washing them on your own. We’ll talk about your brand of domesticity,” that Sunwoo doesn’t really realize he’s staring.
He blinks and says, “Those are two completely uncorrelated things, hyung, they don’t even mean the same thing.”
“Ah, ah,” Haknyeon has a certain glint in his eyes, no smile, no nothing, “but I’m riiiight.” Just lots and lots of teasing.
Sunwoo waves the older man off. “Throw in your dirty laundry, too, I can handle them.”
Haknyeon rolls his eyes and backs down, putting his phone aside. “How did I get so lucky?” Sunwoo’s not being serious and big chances are, Haknyeon knows that he’s not. Both of their clothes get dry-cleaned, it’s more efficient, less time-consuming.
Jaehyun isn’t aware of that fact though. Probably still associates Sunwoo’s way of living with that one time years ago when both of them spent New Year’s with Younghoon’s family at that. He chimes into their conversation, slyly saying, “Lucky? You call being stuck with a pig in its sty lucky? Your tolerance is worse than I thought, Haknyeon.”
Sunwoo wants to elbow him in his ribs. Haknyeon simply replies, “I’m literally drinking lemon tea.”
Sunwoo turns to look at Jaehyun, calculated words hanging by a thread. They get swallowed down when he sees the logo knitted on Jaehyun’s beanie, uncannily familiar for some reason. He turns back at Haknyeon. It’s the same logo on his beanie.
They’re wearing matching beanies. Matching beanies.
Sunwoo doesn’t bat another eye. Prefers to drape a loose arm around Haknyeon instead and scoffs at Jaehyun’s jeer. “Please, if Haknyeon hyung says he feels lucky to have me then it’s totally valid.” He winks at Haknyeon then, the drive of confidence alone confuses himself but there’s no backsies. “Isn’t that right, hyung?”
Haknyeon firmly pats his cheek a few times. “Truer words have never been spoken.” Then, he lightly pinches the back of Jaehyun’s palm that’s just lying on the table. “Don’t be a hypocrite, hyung. I remember you telling us all about your college dorm life and the amount of dirty socks you and Younghoon hyung just got lying around.”
Sunwoo remembers the tongs after a while. He sees Haknyeon’s empty plate and starts grilling again, an ear perked to whatever conversation sparking up beside him. He doesn’t remember Jaehyun telling him that.
“That’s a Kim bad habit rubbing off on me,” Jaehyun says instead. “And you.”
What happens next though is—it’s fucking alien.
Sunwoo feels a weight on his side as well as on the side of his head, both from Haknyeon leaning on him. He doesn’t know if Haknyeon’s voice is the one that’s loud or their table just decide to run out of things to say this exact moment, coincidences can be painfully funny like that.
But Haknyeon then sighs and it sounds fond, and he sounds equally fond as he says, “That’s your best friend and my boyfriend you’re talking about, hyung.”
If silence can be loud then it’s fucking loud, settling over sizzling meat and Sunwoo’s turning frown at this—this sick joke that the guy he likes just spewed. Eyes darting back and forth, he witnesses Chanhee’s piece of lettuce that’s been dropped down, sees a smiling Younghoon and that’s never good. Sees a grinning Jaehyun and that’s worse, and comes face-to-face with Youngjae’s blank expression.
Sunwoo’s sight fleet to Haknyeon who looks too composed and tinted red. Even if it’s not ill-intent, it’s still rattling to hear. “I know that you have a kinda warped sense of humor, but this isn’t it.”
Unbeknownst to usual expectations, Haknyeon doesn’t laugh it off and say that yeah, he’s only pulling Sunwoo’s legs because he’s fun to tease. He does, however, mirrors Sunwoo’s own frown with a puzzling expression. “I didn’t say I was fucking around.”
Sunwoo sits up straight, wants to laugh, wants to cry all over again. He’s also a little scared now that Haknyeon looks so convinced and adamant, and any semblance of a sound just dies in his throat. “Hyung.”
Haknyeon just keeps looking at him like that. Like heart poured on a piece of paper that he had just read out loud. “What?”
Failing to score a crucial goal is a glory diminished, failing to understand a joke is a conversational flow interrupted. Sunwoo has gone through both numerous times but the dread that he feels right now kind of feels unbeatable.
Huh.
Haknyeon isn’t joking around. He’s actually being pretty serious.
Why is he being so serious about it?
Like an ascending credit roll, Youngjae’s hand slowly hovers over his mouth. “Oh. My God.” He grins, so wide and so high, and his voice goes high as he offers, “Congratulations?” Sunwoo doesn’t want to call him his friend anymore.
“Nice going. Got your birthday present early, huh?” Younghoon muses.
“No—”
“That’s it, we need to celebrate,” Chanhee says. “I’m ordering more strips.”
“You don’t need to—”
“Say, how did this even happen?” Jaehyun asks. “Did it happen before or after the ball thing?”
Haknyeon furrows his brows. “Well—”
Sunwoo immediately cuts in before Haknyeon can say anything, fervently shaking his head. “Wait, wait, before this get any further out of hand, I have to clarify,” he takes a deep breath and points at Haknyeon, “you are definitely lucky to have me. But hyung, we are not—we’re friends. Just friends. Roommates, co-workers, two peas in a pod. Me and you, you and me. We’re not...”
“...not together?” Haknyeon picks up for him, less convinced and more apologetic by the seconds.
Sunwoo nods. Reality is a hard-to-swallow pill that he downs every morning after waking up. Hearing Haknyeon actually saying it is another kind of pill. “Yeah. Yes, exactly. Not together.” It hardly matters right now, what’s important is to get the rest of his friends to get this bullshit out of their heads. “Do you all hear me?”
Jaehyun smirks, dropping it while Chanhee tuts at him. “I already ordered more, Sunwoo. Now my pocket will be missing extra wons with nothing to celebrate.”
“We’re celebrating one thing,” Younghoon says. He lifts up his beer, the glass dragging against the table, and he toasts, “I’ll be expecting to see your face when I’m feeling like drinking something healthy.”
Chanhee also lifts his glass. “And I’ll be avoiding the brand at all cost.”
Jaehyun and Youngjae, too. Even Haknyeon a beat later with his lemon tea. Sunwoo joins in, pleasantly embarrassed by the turn of events and the never-again-to-mention subject. He can’t even look at Haknyeon in the eye and the tip of Haknyeon’s reddened ear when he takes a glance tells him that the older man is feeling the same.
“To me,” Sunwoo drawls. “Yay.”
Clinks of their beverages hit hay after, Sunwoo’s water bottle resounding the least noise.
Younghoon snickers. “To you! And please, I beg of you, please beat the Steelers. I’m putting all my money in your club this season.”
Chanhee drops his second meat of the night, chopsticks too firm in his grip. “You what?”
Younghoon leans forward straight away to hold his boyfriend’s hand. “Figuratively speaking, of course.” The smile that he wears is so sickeningly sweet that Sunwoo drinks his protein drink to the brink just not to throw up in his mouth.
Awkward silence is almost never a thing for him and Haknyeon anymore. Except this time around. Even as he grabs a few cooked meat, dips them in oyster sauce before placing them on Haknyeon’s plate, he keeps his gaze on his own movement.
“Tell me if you hit your head again, hyung,” he says.
Haknyeon doesn’t elbow him or anything. Only clears his throat and replies, “I didn’t. Sorry, I made a scene.”
It’s not Haknyeon’s fault, it’s not. “Eat up, okay? You need to take your meds.”
The thing is, Sunwoo’s not as much brave as he’d like to be. They don’t normally feed each other but that’s just his problem, not Haknyeon’s. Haknyeon is physically affectionate, he gives, he receives, their friends are on the same wavelength when it comes to it. He dotes on Youngjae, calls him cute; links arms with Chanhee, hangs off of Younghoon. He lets Jaehyun feed him just fine and the apparent matching beanies are another thing.
So as much as Haknyeon has always respected Sunwoo’s personal space, Sunwoo has never really asked for it to begin with. It’s just is.
For all he knows, there’s something going on in Haknyeon’s temporal lobe that is missing a prominent gear.
Before it kicks him in the face again, he contemplates about how to approach this delicate situation in the comfort of his bed with strained eyesight and fingers that smell so strongly of Tiger Balm. There’s a lot of options and he narrows it down to:
- Consulting a doctor—online, offline. Maybe online. It feels wrong to do it behind Haknyeon’s back though.
- Anonymously going on a forum and writing ‘My friend/roommate (23M) hit his head and kept acting like we’re together but we’re not and I (21M) am freaking out’ but that’s shittier than actual shit when pseudonyms behind a screen would probably be as helpful as he is in his dad’s workshop.
- Continuing on with his days, just like that. Just that with sole willpower and self-affirmations. Wait until Haknyeon fully recover. At the very least, Haknyeon still acts like himself. He isn’t showing symptoms of the list of things from health articles that pained Sunwoo to read.
- Just crawl into a cave.
(The last option is a five-out-of-five.)
—
March 29th (day three)
Sunwoo shoves his feet into the shoes of inconvenience instead. Tells his legs to stop bouncing but they never listen as he waits for the medic to finish eating her breakfast. She said that it’s breakfast but it’s almost noon. The Ninety-Fives are coming for an away game and it’s been three long minutes since she has squinted at him in such scrutinizing way that he feels like taking offense.
Granted, he just disturbed her on her break.
The first thing that she says is this: “Interesting, very interesting.”
Sunwoo begs to differ. “It really isn’t. It sucks.”
“It sucks that the person you like actually thinks that you’re kind of a thing?”
“Yeah,” what, “excuse me, what?”
“Your teammates tend to go on and on without realizing when they’re getting a remedial massage.” She pops a fishcake into her mouth. Sunwoo wants the ground to tear open and swallow him, he can’t believe—“I’m messing with you, Mr. Kim. I have eyes, you’re kind of an open book. But it really is interesting.”
He can’t believe that this is a reoccurring thing. The other players are one thing, his coaches are another, the physical therapist is also another. “Interesting doesn’t help answering my question, Doctor. Neither does speculations about my...feelings. So if you’d please.”
“Alright, alright,” she gives in.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet, this isn’t exactly in line with my know-how,” she says, keeping her elbow on her desk as a piece of fishcake hangs by a stick. “So. A case of post-traumatic amnesia. Has he been throwing up ever since? Severe headaches? Loss of consciousness?”
“No, no, he’s fine, he’s doing great all things considered. Physically, he’s fine. There’s nothing wrong. He just suddenly...assumes things that he won’t normally assume and that—that leads to a few incidents that he won’t normally do,” Sunwoo explains, taking a breath, “with me.”
“That’s something, I guess. Like you said, he’s fine, right? From what I know, there isn’t much to worry about. I personally don’t think that it’ll be a chronic nuisance, there hasn’t been any case regarding it. It just takes time.”
When she doesn’t go on to say anything else, Sunwoo frowns. “That’s it?”
“Yep.” The lights bounce off of her glasses as she nods. “It’s a temporary aftereffect. Just take care of him, give it a week’s time and see how it goes.”
“A week? I can’t wait it out for a whole week, I can’t put up with him being like that for that long.”
“If your luck is atrocious, it could last longer.” Spend all your time worrying about trouble and when it comes, a good shoulder to lean on can help drive it away a little. Sometimes when the medic speaks, it sounds a lot like the passive consideration that Sunwoo needs. “He’s your friend, isn’t he? He’s probably that fond of you that his amnesia drove him to be selective.”
Funny enough, it would make much more sense if it were him who got hit in the head and saw Haknyeon in a newer light. He quietly scoffs and mumbles, “That’s bull.”
“It’s hypothetical, Mr. Kim. I work with ligaments and tendons, and the occasional skull. Not a neurologist.” She glances at her watch, her head cocked as she gestures at him to move. “Now, get out. Good luck with your match.”
Coach Lee calls him into the office and the 40-something-year-old man with undeniable crow’s feet usually does that under two circumstances: to build up the team’s morale, sports morale; or, to tell him which roster he’d be on.
He calls Sunwoo in to give a review of his performance this time. On a larger scale, this can be classified as building up Sunwoo’s sports morale.
He says that Sunwoo’s play-style is sticking too close to the book. If he were still playing for an amateur league, that’s okay. But Sunwoo’s not and his defensive plays are usually the most handy in breaking the opposing team’s formation. That’s why even though there are more experienced players on the bench, he’s put out on the field. But today has been one of the club’s worst streak against the Ninety-Fives and some parts of it have something to do with the opponents adapting to his tactics.
First of all, ouch. Coach Lee asks him to close and burn that fucking book, and try to play with his gut.
Second of all, still ouch. Back in high school, his coach always told him not to be so erratic and to play soccer like how it’s meant to be played.
The locker room is as how one would expect in an enclosed space full of guys after a game: entirely reeks of sweat and the sting of Axe Body Spray being carelessly sprayed everywhere. Sunwoo is already stripped off of his uniform, back to his everyday clothes.
The aftermath of a game is in the messages that he receives: Haknyeon’s perpetual habit of congratulating him a good game that makes his day a little, makes him smile that they’re not as awkward as yesterday anymore; his uncle with laughing syllables telling him that he doesn’t know how to feel about his favorite player being switched out for his nephew; his mom keeping things short and sweet, saying to keep warm; and of course, Younghoon’s numerous bubble texts that he fails to hold back a snort towards. The man forwarded him an article about advantages of buying the country’s bonds when they’re steep, proceeded to follow it up with multiple exploding emojis, and a ‘that’s gonna be the Steelers, I can feel it’ as the cherry on top.
The actual aftermath of today’s game is a step closer to the end of the season, Coach Lee’s words in his head, the medic’s words in the further back of his head and someone placing their hand on the small of his back out of nowhere.
Sunwoo clicks his phone off, turns to see that Minhyuk has taken a seat next to him. He looks further up. Sees a good number of his teammates surrounding him like he’s a wounded animal. An old classmate of Sunwoo had playfully cursed at him in the comment section when he posted a picture that he and Minhyuk had taken together. He doesn’t know what that classmate would do if he were to see his favorite goalie looking at Sunwoo as if Sunwoo was his little brother.
The one thing that people seems to like to gauge about is that it’s a nightmare to meet your idol. A picture might say a thousand words but a picture can’t be vocal about things that you don’t want to hear. It’s not really the case for him though. He was welcomed in with so much opened arms that it scared him. Yoseob was the first one to shush him from calling them sunbae and this was a year ago.
When they found out that he had turned twenty-one, bars were all that they could talk about. Finally, a proper team outing. They were also too raved up, suggesting to go to a gay bar together instead when Sunwoo had scratched his nape and said what’s what. Aside from Haknyeon promptly choking on his juice and snorting to the point of orange leaking out of his nose when Sunwoo recounted the events to him, it was cheers and laughter all night long that he still thinks about from time to time.
“Hey, kid,” Minhyuk calls, deliberately soft. “You were different out there today. Everything’s okay, yeah?”
He may be the youngest in the club but the looks on their faces are a little bit too much. “Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,” he pauses, hesitates, “hyung.” The word is bumps on his tongue, still weird to call the people he used to cheer for on television so familiarly.
Minhyuk hums, sounding unconvinced. “You sure?”
“I just forgot to stretch properly. Put my head in the game, too, forgot about that. Coach already gave me an earful.”
Something akin to epiphany dawns on Minhyuk’s face, his hand leaving Sunwoo’s back and onto his own chest. “Ah. Understandable.” He solemnly nods. “Even the heart needs a good stretch when it’s feeling down.”
Sunwoo blinks. “The heart...needs a stretch?”
“Precisely.” He sounds sure. And proud? “Your heart, Sunwoo. It’ll heal.”
“Yeah, we’ve all been there. A lot of times. It’s just life,” Seokwoo adds. He’s a sub-forward to Taekwoon’s forward, really bubbly guy. Sunwoo remembers him sharing that he lives with eight other guys, might be why he’s so energized all the time.
“I mean, take it from me, kid,” Dujun says. “To this day, I still remember being so crushed that the girl I liked chose to share her lunch with another boy after promising she’d share it with me.”
Seokwoo laughs a bit. “Middle school love, huh?”
“Kindergarten. Healed wounds. Left a mighty scar though.” Sunwoo thinks he hears Yoseob snorting while Dujun sighs. He actually looks dejected, bending down to squeeze Sunwoo’s shoulder. “Getting your heart broken is never easy. It’s damn tough. Hang in there, okay?”
Minhyuk speaks up again. “Yeah, there’s still a lot of fish in the sea, we can help you if you want.”
Yeah. Yeah, this is getting out of hand pretty quickly. He stands up, waving around his hands. “No, thank you, hyung, no—”
Someone clears their throat, loud and clear. A dozen of concurrent turning heads turn towards the door. “Can I steal Sunwoo for a moment?”
Yoseob makes a beeline for it, hollering, “Haknyeon! Oh my God, I haven’t seen you in your forever, is your head okay? Is it giving you any trouble?”
“It’s nothing, Yoseob-ssi, don’t worry about me.”
On Sunwoo’s side, he doesn’t waste any more time. Closes his locker, zips up his gym bag and slings them on his shoulder. Ready to greet another evening of going home together.
“You sure about hanging out with Haknyeon?” Dujun asks in a whisper, concerned. “That doesn’t seem like a good heart-mending situation.”
Taekwoon deadpans, “They’re roommates.”
“Oh, damn!” Dujun exclaims. “That’s harsh.”
Ah.
He has to get out of here.
It’s not a smooth journey but once he’s at the door, he’s a witness to Yoseob fussing over Haknyeon, looking more and more like an uncle and a doesn’t-know-what-to-do nephew. It ends with him saying fast goodbyes to the veteran player and Haknyeon who keeps gently bowing his head. Who looks as thankful as Sunwoo feels that they’re out of there.
They don’t move further from the now-closed door though, standing in front of it like it’s a place of comfort. Upon closer inspections, Haknyeon isn’t carrying his stuffs with him. Just the strap of his staff ID hung around his neck and the sling bag for his laptop. They haven’t talked much today, too.
Haknyeon is smiling and starry-eyed, and it feels like Sunwoo’s the only one still thinking about it. “Today went great,” Haknyeon says. “You’re a step closer to the first league.”
“I don’t know, I felt like it could’ve gone far better.” Sunwoo wants to do a lot of things, everyone does. As a player of a 67-year-old club that’s stuck in the second league, he wants: “Those sports anchors keep bringing up we haven’t been able to beat the Steelers for the past decade.”
Haknyeon calls his bull, says, “The whole town’s on your side. Don’t listen to them, listen to yourself.”
It’s not exactly bull when it’s the way things currently are. “Myself tells me that I haven’t been able to beat the Steelers since I joined. That’s six seasons came and went, hyung.” Sunwoo lets a smile slip in. Finds himself relaxing, woes momentarily pushed back. “I take it we’re not catching the bus together today.”
Haknyeon makes a conscious effort to be sheepish. “No. The schedules for your and Seokwoo-ssi’s campaign plans sort of overlapped, and Hyungseo hyung is freaking out, Gahyeon is freaking out, Eunji noona is freaking out so hopefully we’ll get to do them back-to-back before I freak out as well.” He grabs a hold of Sunwoo’s wrist, skin on skin and it’s warm. “I came here to tell you not to eat my brownies.”
Sunwoo hears that, hears mirth falling out of his lips because Haknyeon could’ve just texted him about this. “Not even a taste?” He hasn’t had a good laugh these few days.
“Maybe a little. Those are my practice batch so don’t come crying to me if they taste like shit,” Haknyeon pointedly warns. “It’s—what—the 29th? Two weeks until the real thing.”
“Oh, so the brownies are my annual-pastries-to-be,” Sunwoo says, leaning against the door frame.
“I thought that was already obvious. As for dinner, there’s some leftovers in the fridge, you can heat them up.” He drums his fingers on the base of Sunwoo’s wrist and Sunwoo tries not to move. “I’m probably going to eat out with them. I’ll text you the menu, see if you’d like anything to-go.”
Domesticity, good-ol’-damned domesticity. It’s funny that something like this is enough to make Sunwoo want to pull Haknyeon close, give him a little kiss along the way. He settles for this: “Okay. Don’t exert yourself though, hyung, you’re still recovering.”
Haknyeon turns pink. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll go straight home if I don’t feel good.”
“Sounds good.”
“Good.”
Sunwoo shifts, Haknyeon doesn’t move nor does he let go. Sunwoo echoes, “...Good.”
He has a hard time trying to read Haknyeon lately. To make matters worse, the older man heaves out a sigh and says, “Learn to take a hint, Sunwoo,” which doesn’t make any sense and that feeling quadruples when he’s left speechless by being enveloped in a sudden hug. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
Tell a friend you love them, that’s a territory that he hasn’t embarked before. Give a friend a hug that lasts a little too long to be deemed amicable, it’s a sporadically calming waves that he’s experiencing for the first time. He doesn’t really reciprocate, hands lightly placed on the base of Haknyeon’s back.
Haknyeon smells nice. He smells so nice.
Sunwoo’s mouth, dry and wilting, replies, “I, uhm. Okay.”
The medic’s words has a front-row seat to the gymnastics of Sunwoo’s brain. When Haknyeon walks away, turns a corner, he keeps stealing glances back at Sunwoo. Waves a hand, too. It’s deceiving. Haknyeon isn’t fond of him the way that he’s fond of the older man.
He turns around and makes a mistake of glancing through the glass panel. Some of his aforementioned teammates aren’t trying to be inconspicuous at all by the fact that they’ve been watching. They don’t even pretend to look away when he looks at them. Puzzled-looking faces that makes him feel puzzled.
There are two things that Sunwoo would like to do right now: either scream and be obliterated into pieces, or scream and be obliterated into smaller pieces. He gets neither and gets a maelstrom of victims of Medusa when he walks back into the locker room, phone forgotten and left behind on the bench.
They look even more puzzled.
“Aye, idiot,” Yoseob exaggeratedly sighs out, almost as if he’s groveling. He scowls at Dujun. “You said that he’s heartbroken.”
Dujun’s eyes doubled in their size. “Did ya see his face then? That was not the face of someone with a boyfriend.”
It’s not really ‘never meet your idols’ in Sunwoo’s case. It’s closer to ‘don’t get too close to your idols’. Most of his are apparently just inflated versions of overly (and overtly) supportive uncles and older brothers that don’t know when and how to stop.
Youngjae laughs at him over the phone. He fucking laughs.
Sunwoo thins his lips even though Youngjae can’t see him. Wants him to know that he’s not amused. “I’m actually being pretty serious right now.”
The call is on speaker mode, phone lying face down on his chest as he’s splayed on the couch. At first glance, ringing up his friend seemed to be a reasonable choice. Haknyeon is still out, Youngjae doesn’t have classes today. Being on the phone with his sister and his parents that kept chiming in here and there made him feel homesick and that never ends good.
His sister ended the call by saying that she loves him, kind of forced him to say it back along the way and that’s the thing about being away from family: the feeling when you’re left alone again is worse than before you got to hear what they’ve been up to. He doesn’t want to think about that though—at all—and Youngjae’s laughter sounds more comforting now.
“Okay, okay, sorry.” It doesn’t take long for him to start laughing again, muffled and oddly sounding a lot like a barrage of snorts. The level of hysterics is off the roof. “Wait, wait, wait, give me a minute, I need to breathe.”
“Right.”
“Okay, whew! I really thought you finally confessed but it’s really all in Haknyeon hyung’s head?”
Sunwoo rides the neckline of his hoodie up to his nose. “You can’t word it like that.”
“Fine, so Haknyeon hyung has been acting like you’re boyfriends ever since he got hit in the head?”
That sounds less worse. “Essentially.”
“Well, it must be like paradise for you,” Youngjae says, absolute nonsense, “just roll with it. The way I see it, this is basically just God giving you a trial run of what it’s like to have Haknyeon hyung as a boyfriend. In some twisted way, you got what you asked for, you got what you wanted. I doubt he would cut ties with you when this amnesia thing goes away anyway.”
“This is the last time I’d be coming to you for advices,” Sunwoo replies, completely and absolutely done.
—
A small slice of Haknyeon’s brownies tastes too sugary on his tongue.
Haknyeon scoffs in disbelief, loud enough that Sunwoo can hear it over the running sink and dirty dishes. He sticks the note with scrawly handwriting on Sunwoo’s cheek, and tells him to say it to his face next time.
It’s the little things, like buying two takeouts of gyudon rice bowls instead of one because he knows that Sunwoo would like to have it again for breakfast. Spoiling his tastebuds.
It’s the smaller things, like grabbing Haknyeon’s towel from the balcony and hanging it in the bathroom while the older man brushes his teeth.
—
March 30th (day four)
The weather has a forecast. Sports events have predictions and bets. People’s lives have tarot cards and astrology, signs and stuffs.
Standing under the bus shelter, here is the thing that Sunwoo foresees: Haknyeon grumbling about how chilly these early months are. Because it is, because he does. It’s colder, raising more goosebumps than usual. The cherry blossoms are blooming, they’re pretty hardcore for doing so under these circumstances.
“You brought your hand warmers with you?” Sunwoo asks.
Haknyeon is all teeth, proud as he shows him the one that he takes out from the pocket of his parka. “Here.”
Here, Sunwoo reaches out to grab it from Haknyeon’s open palm. Here, is where miscommunication ensues and the hand warmer is tucked back into where it came from. Right here, Haknyeon takes Sunwoo’s hand in his, slipping them inside the amicable coziness of his pocket, their palms occupying each of the hand warmer’s sides.
Some of Haknyeon’s fingers land on his nails and they stay there.
So. Hand-holding. It’s a thing.
It’s stupid. His cheeks heat up an awful lot and he doesn’t know what to do with his hand after Haknyeon lets go of it.
Yoseob tells him to snap out of it when he’s taking too long to change into the team’s uniform. Coach Lee looks at him funny like he has a phallus drawn on his face. The team doesn’t but they look the part, airing shared delights and romances over the energy punch that the kit-man made. It’s a small break but it’s nice. It was until the attention turns to him and questions of his ‘promoted’ relationship with Haknyeon is brought up.
Their sports metaphors kind of suck.
—
March 31st (day five)
It’s a rare day-off during season, the director belatedly informing everyone that the club and the stadium will be undergoing a spring cleaning. They’re both occupying the couch: Sunwoo on one end, Haknyeon on the other. What he means by that, is that he has one feet planted on the floor, another folded over his lap while Haknyeon has his taking up the rest of the space.
This position reminds him of home. Almost the exact same thing that his sister used to do whenever they’ve just come home from school and didn’t want to move from the couch. He’d tut and shove her feet off his lap and she’d just keep putting them back until he gave in and gave her the remote control. He rarely did give in when it came to TV rights. She went as far as weaponizing her socked, smelly foot from eight hours of school by bringing it up to his nose.
Right now, the TV that Sunwoo’s currently busying himself with doesn’t have cable. But it does have a few streaming services that he has been searching through for the past ten minutes. Unlike him, Haknyeon seems to be having the time of his life. He keeps startling him with sudden little kicks to his thigh because he keeps laughing at something on his phone—a very weird-sounding song if the sound is anything to go by—and it gets to the point where Sunwoo doesn’t know how much more little kicks he can take before Hanyeon eventually gets too excited and kicks him harder.
Haknyeon titters. Sunwoo’s thigh gets what’s coming. “Hyung. Hyung, I’m gonna have to ask your feet to find their place on the ground if you keep doing this.”
Instead of replying, Haknyeon folds his legs. Drags himself closer to Sunwoo’s side and evidently enough, he’s trying so hard to hold in his laugh to show Sunwoo what’s on his phone. It’s a 30-second video, been far too compressed too many times that pixels overtook, the voice of a very well-known comedian is auto-tuned to sing a SECHSKIES classic.
Ah, that’s why it sounds so weird. Sunwoo blinks at it, Haknyeon snorts out a laugh as his hand grips onto Sunwoo’s shoulder for support. He lays his head there afterwards like a place of rest.
“Fuck, why is it so funny? Why the hell is it so funny? I’m so tired, Sunwoo.” He sighs. Not three seconds later, he laughs again.
Sunwoo can’t move but he can still laugh. So he does, a small huff. “We need to reevaluate your definition of funny.”
“My humor is just fine, thank you. You should take your own advice,” Haknyeon says. “It wounds me that you don’t get me.”
Sunwoo actually laughs this time, lips stubbornly hanging onto a smile while he tries to look at Haknyeon as best as he can in this position. “In what way do I not get you?”
“You don’t find it funny.”
“Who does?”
“Like nine-hundred thousand other people,” Haknyeon says it like it’s a universal fact. “And Jaehyun hyung, the one who gets me and my humor that he sent it to me.”
Oh. “Come to think of it, his jokes also suck.”
Haknyeon rolls his eyes. He shifts, cheek getting smushed and the top of his head brushing Sunwoo’s neck ever so leadenly. “Like yours are any better.”
Sunwoo wants to shrug but stops himself from doing so. “You still laugh at them.”
Everybody has a breaking point. The last nerve ticked, the dwindling patience gone. Sunwoo’s own is a lot more calmer than that. More like an uninterrupted stream. He’s far too aware of the weight of Haknyeon’s head on his shoulder and he’s trying to be nonchalant about it. But the more he takes the time to study Haknyeon, the more he notices that his bangs are long and they are sunken deep on his brows, and it’s been two, three months since he got them trimmed.
And Sunwoo almost falls into this. Almost reaches out a hand to brush them away.
Haknyeon says, “Yeah. It’s because it’s you, you’re proud of your jokes. You can tell the same one over and over and I’d still laugh.”
He clasps his hands together instead, raising his shoulders, and relishes in the way Haknyeon laughs and tells him to stay still.
—
>> April 2nd (day seven)
Today’s after-work hours have gone something like this: he waited for Haknyeon outside of the club, the group chat is overflowing texts of the textbook excuse of using someone’s birthday to get together, get some drinks, get some food, get lots of fun. The targets this time around are him and Chanhee. The latter called him out for obviously lurking but not saying a word, Youngjae sent emojis, Younghoon sent a picture of a tumbleweed. Sunwoo snorted at Jaehyun’s voice note in his ear, that as Sunwoo’s spokesman, everything he says, goes.
Haknyeon greeted him like this over text: a barrage of laughing syllables. And greeted him like this once he stepped out: grinning and swatting his arm.
The current after-work hour is going like sudden rain during a parade. The bus is late, it’s cold, it’s raining and it makes it even more, more cold.
“On a second thought,” Haknyeon squeaks out, “we should’ve just accepted Hyungseo hyung’s offer to give us a ride home.”
The roof is clanking from forceful torrents, the streets are expectedly deserted and it’s raining. “Yep,” he agrees.
Though, by some pure luck or some pure coincidence, the rain came pouring the moment they stepped under the bus shelter. (Luck, Sunwoo doesn’t really have that.)
The last target of said-textbook excuse was none other than Haknyeon. They went to karaoke on the night of his birthday with Sunwoo arriving an hour late because the team outing to celebrate the start of the season turned into a pity party towards a looming doom by their seemingly sealed fate against a certain club. When Sunwoo got there, he’s forcefully wedged between an obviously pissed Chanhee and Younghoon who kept stealing obvious glances. Overall, it wasn’t a particularly fun night. He doubts anyone would want a rerun of it. Haknyeon said that it was still fun nonetheless and Sunwoo’s glad to see him singing with Youngjae and Jaehyun, holding and swinging their hands like there’s no tomorrow.
The last part kind of leaves a bitter taste in his mouth if he thinks about it now.
He has something in mind and as he watches Haknyeon’s lifted shoulders—hands tucked in so deep in those pockets of his—he clears his throat. His own windbreaker isn’t doing much of a job when he’s not out running on a field.
Haknyeon’s pocket. It must be really warm. Sunwoo tears his gaze away, watches the downpour like it’s the silver screen. Unprompted, he asks, “Do you want to, hyung?”
Haknyeon probably looks confused. He sounds like it. “Do I want to what?”
“Eat out with everyone for my birthday.”
“It’s your birthday, stupid, why are you asking me? I’ll want whatever you want. As long as that ‘whatever’ doesn’t ruin my part in it, keep that in mind.”
“You’re never not getting an exclusive from me,” Sunwoo jokes.
“Stole my line right there,” Haknyeon counters. “I baked you chocolate muffins last year. Took me too much tries to get them right. And the fondant cupcakes the year before.”
“And you also bought me a cake two years ago, I remember, hyung.”
Haknyeon nudges him, their shoulders touching for a fast second before the cold is invited again. “You better.”
Sunwoo is asking for the impossible in the midst of pouring rain. There’s no rhyme, no reason, just a want. He wants Haknyeon to lean on him. Lay his head, lay his cheek, take Sunwoo’s bare-bones shoulders as his own. Wants Haknyeon to take his hand and press their palms together like they’re meant to meld into one. Wants Haknyeon to hug him, pull him near, pull him close like the rare moments of special occasions becoming mundane occurrences.
He wants them to change, wants them to stay as they are. “We have our tradition, we can celebrate with them the day after.”
He wants to ask for a sign but he gets none, and when he looks at Haknyeon again, he’s already looking over at him. Smiling at him. “Okay,” Haknyeon says. The look in his eyes is fond. Too fond. “Get that stomach of yours ready to rumble. Good thing I already saved up on coupons. We’re ordering takeouts from different restaurants and eat until we can’t move again.”
Sunwoo feels like he’s reading into something that isn’t there. His lips quirk up, amused. “And don’t forget about giving zero fuck to my diet program for a whole day.”
“And give zero fuck to your diet program for a whole day,” Haknyeon echoes, laughing. He shudders then. “Just like this weather that gives zero fuck to our well-beings.”
“Your hand warmers not helping?”
“Redundant. They don’t even deserve to be called that anymore, it’s hand-at-a-room-temperature.”
Sunwoo scoffs a laugh at the way Haknyeon said it. He looks for possibilities in the impossible. In the rain, in the highs of Haknyeon’s shoulders and the low of his chin.
Fuck it.
Fuck it.
He unzips his windbreaker, the club’s official color no longer donning him fully.
“What are you doing?” Haknyeon splutters. “You’ll get cold.”
“I’ll be fine. Just trust me.” He goes to stand behind Haknyeon, erratic heartbeats and a hitching breath. Flaps the windbreaker open to let it bundle the both of them. Tentatively, he rests his arms around the older man’s abdomen. “This okay?”
Haknyeon doesn’t call him his boyfriend or anything like that. Doesn’t try to touch him, doesn’t say things that he doesn’t mean. He turns pink and it reaches the tips of his ears; he stays rigid and Sunwoo holds on just a little while longer. He thinks that Sunwoo is his boyfriend. Sunwoo feels like a real asshole for taking chances and having an ulterior motive.
“This is...fine. It’s okay.” Haknyeon relaxes. His back against Sunwoo’s chest. “Thank you, Sunwoo.”
Haknyeon’s warm. He’s so warm in spite of everything. And it’s quiet, a breath taken then let go. Sunwoo’s chin gently brushes against the back of Haknyeon’s head as he replies, “Anytime, hyung.”
—
>> April 4th (day nine)
‘Lucky’ wouldn’t be the word that Sunwoo uses to describe how Haknyeon had initially felt about having him as a long-term roommate.
Fact: other than passing by each other in hallways and team-branding talks, they hadn’t had a proper interaction with each other for the first year after he joined. This was prompted by starting off on the wrong foot where he sort of—kind of told Haknyeon to get lost before his brain could stop him when the older man had bumped into him in a bad mood on a bad first day.
Fact: it was awkward. Once, he had off-handedly mentioned about his current living situation to one of the players. Infectious Menace heard this, perked up, and pointed a jesting thumb towards Haknyeon like it was the greatest thing he’d ever heard.
Fact: the first few weeks of living together were bad, stilted, and uncomfortable. Even after he had gathered the courage to apologize for being so rude back then, it didn’t cease nor ease a thing. Things only started to look up when he was doing a tour around for his mom and Haknyeon, who was trying to discreetly pass by, got caught by her tunnel vision. The questions had doubled in quantity, so did the words he exchanged with Haknyeon.
(Fact: it went back to awkward awhile when Younghoon and Chanhee got together for the very first time. They were forced to hangout with each other even outside of work and at their place.)
Sunwoo is terrified and he doesn’t really know of what.
Haknyeon has made a makeshift seat on the floor, adjusted to the low coffee table that holds the center of the room. His laptop screen is filled to the brim with open applications and notes, and folders, it makes Sunwoo feel better about the state of his tablet. Speaking of which, his tablet tells him that there’s still two more hours left before evening practice. Coach Lee drills on them harder than usual every time they’re up against the Steelers.
He gets a pretty good view of Haknyeon’s side profile like this: sprawled on the couch, blinking owlish blinks at the concentrated anchor of his brows to the nice slope of his nose. Down to his lips that makes Sunwoo audibly sighs for even staring at them.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve this but you keep staring at me.”
Sunwoo heaves a sigh again and doesn’t tear his gaze away. “I’m so bored.”
“Be bored in your room or watch your giant fighting robots,” Haknyeon says without missing a beat. “You know I can’t work when someone is practically drilling holes into my head.”
Sunwoo processes a few things. “They’re called mecha and you know that.”
“Slipped my mind,” Haknyeon singsongs. He’s replying to a chat right now. All Sunwoo sees are PDF files being forwarded. “Whatever they’re called, I need you to keep your eyes off me.”
Speculation: Haknyeon hasn’t been acting...off. He’s been acting...fine.
Speculation: it can’t be, right? The medic did say to wait it out and he did. But it can’t be that Haknyeon conveniently forgets about everything that has made Sunwoo questioned his own sanity.
Speculation: he wants to know if it’s a fact. The easiest part? When you’re fatigued and tired, and you feel as if you’re on the brink of shutting down, things spill out of your mouth easier than it enters your brain.
“Do you remember referring to me as your boyfriend and holding my hand and stuff?”
Haknyeon doesn’t move. Simply mutters, “What the hell are you on about?”
“That’s what you said when I thought you weren’t being serious. Seriously, you don’t remember anything about that?”
This time, Haknyeon’s mouth hangs open and he whips his head to look at Sunwoo. He gets red though, cheeks and ears and he looks like Sunwoo has just summoned a ghost. “You’re freaking me out.”
Sunwoo puts his feet down. Literally. And props his elbows on his knees. “I should be the one saying that to you. We were out with Younghoon hyung and the rest, you told me I’m not Chris Pine—”
“Chris Pine?”
“—and Jaehyun hyung said I’m a pig, then you said that that’s your boyfriend that he—”
“Oh my God, stop talking.” Haknyeon has been running his hand through his hair throughout Sunwoo’s synopsis that it looks like a hurricane just landed on his head. His cheeks get unbearably redder. “Did I—Really? I did that? I did what?”
“Yeah. You did some other things, too, but—”
“No, no, keep them to yourself,” he cringes. “Fucking God, that must’ve been so awkward for you.”
“It’s not like you tried to kiss me,” Sunwoo mumbles and laughs.
Haknyeon laughs, too, looking away and making more mess of his hair. “God, can you imagine?”
Sunwoo blinks, his lips thinning. His heart squeezes. “Yeah. No.” Even like this, Haknyeon’s still so handsome to look at.
He looks uneasy though once they fall into beats of silence. Maybe even uncomfortable. When he glances at Sunwoo, Sunwoo can’t quite read him. “So embarrassing, stop looking at me.”
There are no buts to be said, what’s final is final. Forget about it for now and hope that one day, you would eventually be able to forget about it forever. But maybe there’s a sign that Sunwoo wants to see and his gut tells him to overthrow everything that’s going on in his head. Maybe if he tries, there’s a silver lining that he gets to chase after.
“Haknyeon hyung,” he calls. “Do you remember what I told you? When I asked you to meet me at the stadium?”
He sees the way that Haknyeon stills, the way he suddenly doesn’t know where to look. “Before I got whacked?”
“Before,” Sunwoo confirms. “Do you remember?”
Haknyeon buries his nose into the crook of his arm and blinks up at Sunwoo. Quietly says, “Should I?”
Speculation: it’s a copout.
Fact: it’s a copout. His bullet points of Haknyeon-related-things are a scratched-out mess of torn-apart pages that a new notebook won’t be able to fix.
There isn’t a silver lining. There’s an unrestrained hope that feels so out of place. And hope is for kids but Sunwoo—he’s hardly a kid anymore. But it feels like he’s still one when he hopes that he’s less of a fucking coward.
“Nah. It’s really nothing. I think,” it’s hard to swallow, hard to put his mind anywhere else, “I think I’m gonna go get ready for practice and let you go back to your thing.”
Haknyeon’s brows deepen. He glances fast at his laptop, squints and looks back at Sunwoo with a little laugh. “It’s only five, Sunwoo, where are you going?”
Sunwoo breathes. Too brisk, too crisp. “Practice.”
“Yeah but. Okay. What about dinner? Do you want me to wait for you? What do you want to eat tonight?”
He wants Haknyeon to be loved by him and be loved back, but Haknyeon does love him. Care for him at least. Just. Not in the way that he wants it to be. “You can go ahead, hyung. I’ll be back later tonight, don’t wait up.”
Before evening practice, he plays soccer with some kids on some playground that they pass everyday on the way to the club. Also decides to answer their unending questions about what’s it like to play for a living, how’s being able to be around Yoseob all the time like. They tell him to beat the Steelers with earnest nods and grunts. Cheer him up a bit.
He gets back home after getting some twisted potatoes with Coach Lee and Minhyuk. Overhears Dujun telling Yoseob that ‘kid’s face looks like absolute shit, he’s going through it like I did’ when they go their separate ways.
He gets back home after making sure that Haknyeon is already in his room. It’s 12AM.
—
He can’t exactly remember how things come to be the way it is. More than an amicable smile, a casual sling over shoulders sometimes. More than a congratulatory hug after the last match of each season that he doesn’t want to let go of.
Maybe it’s a few months into their living together. His second time in a row to celebrate his birthday without his family around. Haknyeon asked him to accompany him to the mall, they walked back home with pastries in one bag, soft drinks in the other. He had woken Sunwoo up in the middle of the night, holding the cake that he saw him picked out and it’s something so comforting to think about even now, and maybe it was then.
Maybe it was when his mouth had felt dry and he stumbled upon Haknyeon crying on the couch late at night, and the first thing that he did was apologize for making things awkward. Because it’s hard and he’s trying but no one seemed to take him seriously, and it was so jarring and relieving at the same time to see him not being the all-time-lively guy that he had perceived him to be.
Maybe if he thinks about it hard enough, recalls it as if it was just a second behind, it’s something so simple like after a long, closing match. After celebrations in the locker room and avoided relegation, and something shut off his brain, carried a coup d’etat over his motor functions when he saw Haknyeon there. Haknyeon had complained that Sunwoo smelled bad and that he’s sticky, but he hugged Sunwoo tighter when Sunwoo reciprocated. The hug lasted longer in his mind that it actually was.
Haknyeon acts the same with everyone. He looks at him the same as he always does, it never changes. He’d probably be so uncomfortable if he remembers that Sunwoo had taken the chance to hug him so brazenly like that.
(Fact: Haknyeon laughs a lot when it comes to Jaehyun.)
—
>> April 8th (aftermath)
Instead of taking the bus, Sunwoo purposely wakes up earlier under false pretenses of wanting to take morning runs to work. Two birds, one stone. He gets home later than usual, too, telling himself that it’s just extra preparations for the match next Thursday. It messes with his schedule and routine even if it has just been a few days.
It’s a little bit lonely. The kit-man makes it obvious that he’s astounded by Sunwoo arriving the same time as he does. It’s weird to be hiding from Haknyeon when he’s usually looking for him all the damn other time. It’s not really hiding because Haknyeon hasn’t sought him out. He kind of acts like everything is still the same and Sunwoo, really, he tries not to read into that too much.
But things are out of mind once the whistle’s blown.
Call him selfish and to some certain extent, maybe he is. Call him an asshole like Chanhee does in their group chat when he somehow knows that Sunwoo doesn’t even bother to open it. Just reads through notifications with a deepened frown at Haknyeon jumping to his defense.
Sunwoo is supposed to know the intricacies, twists and turns about the person that he spends a large portion of his everyday with. He doesn’t.
—
>> April 11th (aftermath)
Sunwoo goes to the sports bar where the team frequents and it’s almost as crowded in the afternoon as it is at night. Changmin lets him stay even though he orders nothing but a glass of water. Someone recognizes him, the TV switches from a baseball game to a live coverage of a soccer one that’s currently going on at the first league.
A catch: Changmin lets him stay as long as he keeps attracting customers.
Chanhee’s math course is a no-go, the immigration office that Jaehyun works at is a no-go. Youngjae is a fish-eyed looking company in the booth they’re sitting at when Sunwoo finishes on what just happened to him thirty minutes ago.
“Joonyoung hyung kicked you out?” Youngjae echoes, incredulous. “Joonyoung hyung? The guy who wouldn’t even kick those high schoolers out of the store? Those kids who kept giggling and laughing when we were getting our readings done?”
“To be fair, he said that his manager was on edge because I was bringing the whole cosmic atmosphere down with my dreadful energy.”
“But he’s—”
“—the manager, yeah, I just remembered that when I was already on my way here.”
Youngjae cackles into his oolong. Sunwoo’s scowl infinitely deepens.
It’s a little hole-in-the-wall bar and bistro, nice place, comfy. They’ve only ever went once, that one time Younghoon’s friend invited him to the soft launch party of the place. He had not only brought Chanhee, he brought all of them. A small world in a relatively big town: Younghoon’s friend turns out to be one of the eight guys that Seokwoo lives with.
“You know,” Youngjae says, “you really should’ve come with us. Or just respond? Chanhee hyung was pissed pissed, even Younghoon hyung and Haknyeon hyung couldn’t pacify him. It took us winning second place on quiz night to do it.”
He better steer clear of Chanhee for a while. “Wasn’t really feeling it.” He mulls. “Did Haknyeon hyung have fun?”
Youngjae shakes his head at him in such a motherly way that it makes his eye want to twitch. “You’d know if you were there. What happened to just roll with it? I can’t believe you’re actually giving Haknyeon hyung the silent treatment.” He pauses. “Never mind, I can. It’s so...Sunwoo.”
“You did not just use my name as an adjective.”
Youngjae impishly sticks out his tongue. Sunwoo scoffs and mutters, “You can roll in your own grave when I put you there.”
“That is actually so insensitive. And wrong. I want a cremation, not a burial.”
“Fine, I’ll roll in your ashes when the time comes.”
Youngjae leans away with a hand on his chest. “Dude!”
“Why, hello there, boys.” Someone slides into their booth, the vacant space across. “Thought you might like the extra company.” Younghoon smiles at them so innocently that Sunwoo swears he just saw him ringing up a customer’s order.
“Hyung, get your cousin under control.”
“Shouldn’t you be serving tables?” Sunwoo interjects.
Younghoon waves him off. “Youngkyun’s on it.”
Sunwoo turns his head, sees the owner of this place hauling Younghoon a cheerful grin and a thumb-up. He looks back at a relaxed Younghoon, horribly dumbfounded. “Your company just went bankrupt. In just four years.”
“Did I regret it? No. Was Juyeon dropping out the best thing that happened to it? Yes. Because I get to know what it’s like to hit rock bottom and start small—”
“You actually got into trading.”
“—and take a more conservative approach.” His gaze gets stricken before it marvels. “Two words: municipal bonds.”
Youngjae raises his cup, grinning. “Cheers to that.”
“And you convinced Youngjae to do it, too. Great.”
The guy furrows his brows at him, taking offense. “They’re relatively low-risk actually, you should try chipping in.”
Younghoon hums his approval. “Great minds think alike.”
Sunwoo only makes a noise. Adds, “This is why Chanhee keeps breaking up with your whimsical ass.”
“Leave my issues alone.” Younghoon leans forward, arms crossed on the table. “Let’s pivot to yours.”
His Haknyeon woes were out of sight, out of mind for a good minute there. “Don’t got any.”
“He does,” Youngjae unhelpfully chimes in.
“You do,” Younghoon says. “You have that same look on your face when you thought Auntie put your toys in the charity box.” His eyes light up. “And that one time Jaehyun and I had a contest on who can score more Maltesers into your mouth.”
“I was asleep, you jackasses.”
“Oh, man, that sounded like fun,” Youngjae sighs out. He scrutinizes Sunwoo then. “Tell me that you didn’t spit them out because I swear to God.”
“I ate them, I ate them.” Unbelievable. “You just had to use that as an example.”
“I got another example if you want.” Elbows on the table and weaved fingers, Younghoon looks like he’s about to pinpoint someone’s mistakes. “Haknyeon came by this morning for an errand. How did he look to you when you saw him?”
Sunwoo wants to frown at it. He shrugs. “Fine. He seemed fine.”
“He absolutely did not seem fine, he looked like a kicked puppy. Have you ever seen a puppy get kicked? Do you want to?”
Sunwoo actually frowns this time. “No. But I have my reasons for why I’m acting like this.”
He sees Younghoon and Youngjae exchanging a look. What look it entails, he doesn’t know. Doesn’t have the heart to pick apart. “Care to elaborate why?”
“I don’t...” his leg bounces, “I don’t want to. It’s personal shit, okay? Haknyeon hyung just happens to be on the receiving end of it.”
“Personal or not, you don’t need to tough it out, Sunwoo. All you need to do is just talk it out,” Younghoon argues.
“No, that would just lead to more talking and if I’m not ready to hear this part, what makes you think I’m ready to hear more, hyung?”
Younghoon lifts his shoulders, his foot nudges Sunwoo’s under the table. Sunwoo slithers his further back. “I don’t think you are. But that’s life. You don’t live alone, someone else will always be affected by what you do. In this case, you literally don’t live alone.”
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re asking me to put myself behind,” he mutters.
“Don’t twist my words,” Younghoon amusingly says. “The point is, just talk. It’s better than what you’re doing right now.”
Here’s what Sunwoo’s been doing: convincing himself that distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. His parents and his sister already proved him wrong time and time again but that’s what makes a fool a fool. Doing the same thing over and over, and expecting different results.
He swallows Younghoon’s words like a brand new pill.
—
(d-day) (conclusion)
There’s a gentle knock on his door. He finds Haknyeon peeking in, leaving it slightly ajar. “Are you going to be okay if I come in and sit with you?”
Of course, it is. It always is. Sunwoo doesn’t say that though. He closes his tablet and nods.
Traditions are traditions. Sunwoo cowers when he isn’t cornered and that’s how he finds himself like this: it’s one in the morning, the night light in his room is the only source of light there is, and Haknyeon is sitting on his bed with a small plate on his lap.
Sunwoo sits up, too. Keeps a small distance between them.
Chocolate muffins, fondant cupcakes. It’s two pieces of cold brownies that he’s offering tonight by saying, “Doesn’t feel like a happy birthday, does it?”
Despite things, mirth bubbles up. His chest feels warm and it screams something that he already knows. “It’s my own fault.” He takes the plate, sets it aside on his bedside table. “Kind of took it out on you.”
Hearing that, Sunwoo sees that Haknyeon sobers up. He sits up straighter, brows pulled. And then he says, “Did you avoid me because of what I said?”
Sunwoo opens his mouth. Closes them. Haknyeon has always been straightforward. All Sunwoo has to do is to just own it. Take it. He thinks of the paths that this could lead to and all of them sort of ends with Haknyeon trying to maintain what they have.
It’s both a nightmare and a dream.
“I avoided you because of what I would have said.”
Haknyeon smiles at him. Small but it’s there. The weight on his brows eases just like that. “And what would you have said?”
“I don’t know.” He feigns a hum, blinks at a starry-eyed Haknyeon and feels himself relaxed enough to make a light joke out of this. “Something about how you put up with my bullshit a lot.”
“And?” Haknyeon asks, smile widening.
“And about how you’re nice and all, I just remember associating you with that word. A lot.”
Sunwoo has a thought or two about what’s happening. It’s not one he’s willing to dive into. It’s like holding fine China and be overly cautious that it would break. Or, it’s simply like watching Haknyeon making lands over where their palms could touch, and not wanting to break the magic.
“See? Was that so hard to say?” Haknyeon has a look on his face that tells him he knows more than he leads on. But it’s milder. Softer. His fingers fill the gap between Sunwoo’s own and this feels as real as last night’s dream.
Sunwoo’s voice is scratchy. “Depends on the context actually.”
“Please.” Haknyeon snorts but it ends with a light-hearted laugh. “It wasn’t entirely your fault. I said I didn’t remember even though I did. I just wanted to hear you say it again.”
Sunwoo. His throat dries. “Yeah?” He sees the way Haknyeon looks at him and wonders if the older man has known all along. Even before all of this.
“Yeah. I feel that way around you, too.”
Oh.
It’s not Jaehyun.
Oh.
Call him selfish. He is. He wants them to stay like this until time becomes a hollow shell of itself.
It’s a piece of paper that’s seeping in liquid when Sunwoo has the strongest urge to be brave for once. He wants to pull their intertwined fingers to tug Haknyeon closer, to seal a kiss. And another because it won’t probably be enough.
And another. And much, much more until his lips would probably feel numb.
He wants to shut off his brain and his thoughts that are always rambling on until daylight comes, and focuses on what’s here, what’s in front of him.
So he does.
—
>>
Sunwoo is replenishing his strength. A towel thrown over his shoulder, the AC is a welcomed chill that’s hitting his skin in full force.
They have just played a full match, two hours of running on adrenaline. A corner kick that reignited the wilted flames of hope, reverberating through the entire stadium that maybe this time around, the town’s most cherished club can finally beat a decade-old stigma.
They didn’t though. His sister wished him good luck, sent pictures of their entire family gathered in front of the live-streaming TV while wearing trademarked scarves of the club’s color around their necks. The spectators were chanting their name over and over during their announcement, they had whole tactics and strategies to play their hands in. At the end, they still didn’t manage to beat the Steelers.
But everyone keeps acting like they just did with how loud and high in celebrations the locker room is. And he means everyone. From the coaches to the physical therapists, to the medic, and marketing team and the PR team. The club owner and director even drop by. Every available hands are passing around (and given) a bottle of cold beer. Sunwoo sighs and joins the crowded heart of the room. Leaves his beer in Taekwoon’s capable hand, the man wordlessly accepting it with a small smile.
The worst part of this is the inevitability of Younghoon sending him replay clips of the game and pointing out what ifs and maybes.
He weaves through, takes a detour towards the other side of the room where Haknyeon is standing. “Pretty good game. We tied this time, that’s something.”
Haknyeon is wide-eyed, watching whatever shenanigans that’s occurring: someone’s hollering, someone’s laughing. Sunwoo doesn’t pay attention. “It’s eating you up from the inside, isn’t it?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely.”
“It was a pretty good game. You’ll get them. And then, it’s promotion. First league championship all the way.” He grabs a hold of Sunwoo’s hand, discreet behind their backs with the lockers as spectators, and presses his lips on Sunwoo’s bare shoulder for a fast second. “We’ll be right behind all of you.”
The room erupts in another cheer. Another holler that sounds a lot like a screech, another round of laughter that dims into background noises.
Sunwoo sobers up.
“You’re actually killing me.” Haknyeon laughs this time, his usual boisterous, infectious one that it makes Sunwoo grin as he makes his way at a way-too-vigorous Yoseob. “Sunba—Hyung! Pass me the shampoo, would you?”
Out of sight yet still at a hearing distance, he makes his way to the bathroom. The smile on his face becomes an immovable object tugged in when Dujun tells Yoseob, “Did ya see him just now? Kid’s face was practically glowing.”