Chapter Text
Spring 2025
You know what they say: “never waste a Friday night on a first date”. And Matthew should have heeded Grammy Award winner Chappell Roan’s words of wisdom. Instead, ironically, there he is — wearing the best jeans in his wardrobe and having put actual effort into styling his hair and making sure his skin looks nice. It’s a Friday, and Matthew’s date is sitting opposite him at a table barely large enough for both their drinks to fit on top, and he’s smiling seraphically, while he’s not saying anything.
Anything at all .
Matthew has been trying, he won’t hear any other opinion about this. Ever since he started talking to Yejun (on a dating app, then on Instagram DMs, then on KaTalk), Matthew has tried his best to come off as a cheerful person, a proactive guy with lots of ideas and projects. So, he shared a list of places they could go and meet up at, he investigated whether Yejun preferred to eat something or just have a drink, if he favored the Friday or the Saturday, and even if he was more for an informal vibe or something more elegant. A club or a pub? A café or a restaurant? In a busier neighborhood or a quieter area? Did Yejun like to go on walks? To museums? To the theatre? To his own dismay, to his utter desperation, Matthew had discovered that Yejun was up to whatever Matthew liked .
It had driven him crazy, to be fair. But Matthew had never been one to back out of a challenge, and he’d put his mind to it. Now, though, he’s wondering whether the intellectual challenge of planning this date hasn’t been a lot more fun than the date itself.
Because Yejun hasn’t been asking a single question. He’s been completely silent, for the most part.
Matthew could give an exact account of their interactions tonight and he’s pretty sure it would look like a very aggressive police interrogation, where he’d be the policeman and Yejun the suspect. It would go like this:
Seok Matthew, officer: Hey, so, I ended up picking up this bar. It’s actually one of my favorite places. Ha ha. I hope you enjoy it.
Lee Yejun, citizen: It looks nice.
Seok Matthew, officer: How was your day? Did you have trouble getting here?
Lee Yejun, citizen: It was all good. I used Maps .
Seok Matthew, officer: Oh. [pause] Do you already know what you’re going to order, or would you like to take a look at the menu.
Admittedly, that is the point where Yejun shows a glint of the humor he’d displayed while they were still chatting (the difference, though, is making Matthew question whether it’s his fault. Is he so much uglier and more unappealing than he looked like in his online profile?) as he replies with a witty “Why, are you also waiting tables tonight?” Okay, it isn’t the peak of comedy, but it makes Matthew bark out a laugh and he thinks — mistakenly — that maybe Yejun just needed to warm up a bit.
It lasts too little, however: Matthew ends up having to pick what each of them will drink and he also has to go and place the order himself. The barwoman is an involuntary witness to Matthew’s attempts to come up with some kind of conversation starter that will change the trajectory of his date, something that will finally prompt Yejun to start engaging more actively in this dialogue. What Matthew won’t absolutely do, however, is feeling defeated: he’s funny, he’s hot, he will crack this guy.
Yejun is lucky he’s attractive. This is the conclusion Matthew gets to after — he takes a look at his phone for utmost precision — fifty minutes of this tragedy. Yejun has perfect skin, his eyes turn upwards in a cat-like shape, and his teeth are just the right amount of misaligned to look cute. And he’s got legs for days, which were highlighted plenty on his online profile along with a great set of abs. This is teaching Matthew, however, that being shallow is never too useful. Like, Yejun is surely nice to look at, but Matthew is the type to look for something more than that. He needs to be able to strike a conversation with his date, one to stretch far into the night, one that actually never ends, but morphs into different shapes and is thoroughly populated with as I said the other day, and you mentioned this, and then I thought that …
It’s not like Matthew is ignorant of the reason why most people use dating apps, but he’s also not going to hook up with someone who only bothers to reply nicely via text. Seriously, if Yejun was only going to be interested in that , why did he accept to go out like this? Why didn’t he suggest they met at home directly? Matthew would have most likely said no — he cares about his safety — but at least he would have spared himself this disgraceful night.
“Earlier I got a call from my sister who’s in Canada,” Matthew is telling, in a desperate, frantic, attempt at occupying their time and filling the silence. If he’s honest with himself, it’s clear that he’s not ready to call this date off and go back home and cry to sleep over yet another failure in his relational life. He kinda needed this thing to go well, not for anything, but because he wants to have one single nice thing, alright? Matthew’s life hasn’t really been… kind to him, lately. And, naturally, dating isn’t the magical solution to all of his problems, but is he too selfish to want an evening just for himself where he can have some harmless fun with someone like-minded? Apparently, yes, that’s too much to ask. “And she was mentioning that one of heer students explicitly asked her if I could let her sleep over at my house if she comes to Seoul, because she wanted to save the hotel money.”
Yejun only raises one eyebrow to show his perplexity.
“Yeah, I know ! That’s so crazy?! Doesn’t it sound crazy?” Matthew is possibly spoiled by his friends. They’re all people too big on reactions. They’re loud and expressive and that’s the kind of attitude he’s come to expect from everyone else, too.
“It’s immature,” Yejun concedes. And he doesn’t elaborate, taking a sip of his drink. Matthew waits. And the silence stretches on. And on. And on.
“Do such stupid things happen at your job, too?” Matthew tries, again. He’s discovering that he’s one to never stop trying. He’s still trying to figure out if it’s a bad thing or a good one. So far, his opinions on the subject are mixed.
“Not quite.” Yejun humors him. He also sighs.
“Yeah,” Matthew makes himself sound cheerful. He’s not happy. Not at all. He’s going to block Yejun’s contact on every single platform. If he sees him again on the street, he’s going to hide behind a corner, wait for him to pass by him and make him trip over his foot and then leave him stumbling as he comes up with another two-word reply. “Me and my sister are lucky, since we both found very entertaining jobs, all in all. She teaches dance, which was one of my ambitions too. But then I ended up majoring in dance but using my degree to work in production.” Yejun is looking at him. At least he’s listening, Matthew reckons. “Like, I’m working with a full-on dance company. Isn’t that amazing?”
A noncommittal sound of agreement is all the answer Matthew gets. This might be his breaking point, he thinks. He’s going to try again. Just once. And then, he’s leaving. And he’s also going to request money from Yejun for his drink. What a waste of time.
“I’m planning to travel to New Zealand this summer.” This isn’t even true. The idea just came to him right now.
“Oh, why?” Alright . This, Matthew could work with. If only he knew anything about New Zealand. He thinks someone told him once that…
“They shot The Lord of the Rings there,” he says confidently enough. Why does Matthew know this? He’s naturally seen the movies, he grew up with a sister who’s almost a millennial. And their dad was a fan. However, he clearly remembers someone telling him this fact in Korean. Matthew’s friends are all nerds, yes, but in different directions. Well, except for Taerae. He’s a nerd in every direction a person can be a nerd. And, now that Matthew thinks about it, it could only be him to gift him with this info. If all this had taken place seven months earlier, he could have gone back home and asked Taerae if he remembered this correctly. This is impossible now, however, so Matthew will have to ask Google.
“Okay,” Yejun says and he’s honestly looking like he might add something else. Yet, his attention is diverted as a loud cheer erupts from closer to the door of the establishment.
“You’re the best!” The rowdy exclamation is followed by an equally delighted: “I knew you’d find a table for us!”
Oh, fuck.
Matthew knows these voices. He could recognize them in a crowd of a thousand people. And his worst nightmare just becomes worse as his friends, a noisy eight-some of young men clad in jeans and sweatpants and with the brightest smiles on their faces. Single-file, they march right past the tiny table Matthew and Yejun are haunting.
“Oh, hi, Matt hyung!” The fourth person in the line turns towards them. It’s Gyuvin, a tall giant with hair in his eyes and a smile as bright as the sun. “Guys, Matt hyung is here, too!”
“What?” Hanbin’s anxious exclamation. “Wasn’t he… oh, hi, Matt.” He gets pushed forward by Hao’s hands on his shoulders.
“Hello, Matthew,” Hao himself says. And then he also drags forward the last person of the group, lagging behind the other seven: Kim Taerae. Who is not looking at Matthew, and determinedly keeping his head turned the other way. Oh.
It’s been five months and a half since the last time Matthew was in the same room as Taerae. It’s impossible to look away from Taerae’s figure as he walks through the bar, as he sits down between Hao and Yujin, as he glues his eyes to his phone, as he cracks a smile at something one of the guys said. He hasn’t changed. Nothing about him looks different from the last time Matthew saw him. It’s possible he’s wearing the same sweater, too. He’s — Taerae has the same haircut, the same smile, the same way of crossing one leg over the other as he sits. He’s lifting his eyebrow — his left eyebrow — in the usual fashion, right before throwing a jab at someone. Why is Taerae so consistent, so much like always, when nothing about them is the same?
Yejun clears his throat and Matthew is starkly brought back to the reality of sitting in front of him, on a date. “Were you saying something?” Matthew asks, and he plasters a smile on his face. He hopes it looks genuine enough. Why did he ever think that Yejun was so handsome? His face is too unexpressive, his posture too perfect. He looks constructed from head to toe. Matthew needs to go home.
“No,” Yejun smiles. He smiles . It’s the first action his face performs all evening. Matthew feels like laughing, like pulling his hair out of his scalp. “Were those your friends?”
“Uh,” Matthew hesitates. But it’s the first question Yejun has asked, and there’s a small, rachitic, part in Matthew’s brain that’s telling him that if Yejun would at least fuck him, maybe he would stop feeling like shit for fifteen minutes. (He doesn't have very high hopes, does he?) “Yeah,” he says. “They’re my friends. Actually, we love this bar. I picked it because it’s a place I’m quite fond of. We come here often.”
Yejun doesn’t seem to notice how fake Matthew’s smile is, however. This, or he’s willfully disregarding it. With unprecedented curiosity, in fact, he stalks on: “Did they not know you’d be here with me?”
“ What ?” Matthew lets it out in English, for some reason. Maybe it’s the shock. But Yejun shrugs and there’s a smirk on his lips. Just what is going through his head, Matthew can’t understand. He has the feeling he wouldn’t enjoy it. “I didn’t give them the details,” he ends up replying. “But they knew I had a date.”
Yejun takes his time before saying anything else. He turns slightly to his side, unsubtly watching the guys. It makes Matthew anxious. Why is he so focused on them? Who or what caught his attention? Matthew doesn’t want to observe them, but he can’t stop himself from throwing a few glances over. They’re all focused on picking what to drink, and no one is looking their way. It’s fine, Matthew tells himself. It’ll all be fine. “Do you want me to do something that will make them flip? Like, out of jealousy or something?”
What the fuck is wrong with him? Matthew’s brain is scrambling to find any answer that will satisfyingly convey his dissatisfaction with… everything about Yejun. First, he kept his mouth shut for an hour, and now he’s suddenly talkative? And in the worst way, too. What did Matthew do to deserve this?
“Why would my friends even be jealous of who I’m out with?” He tries to ask, as calm as he can. It’s highly likely, however, that he looks all but calm from an outside perspective. It happens, when one is the furthest thing from calm. “Let’s just talk about something else,” he suggests. “Like-”
“Like, the guy with the glasses,” Yejun tilts his head. Taerae has glasses on. Is he the only one with glasses, tonight? Did the rest of them put on lenses? “Is he your ex? Did you date?”
Getting up and walking away is a tempting option. Somehow, though, Matthew’s instinctual response is to sag further into his seat and run a hand over his face. The portrait of desperation, he takes a sip of his drink. “No,” he replies. If he thinks any longer about this, he will say something nonsensical. Like that it would almost be easier if they were exes. At least people would get it. The truth is harder to make palatable for others. “We used to be roommates,” he says. “He was my best friend. We lived together in college.” This is as clear as it can get. This is all Matthew will say, all he can say. Everything else is still tangled. It still stings, six months later.
If there’s a lesson Matthew should have learned, it’s that this guy is the worst idea he’s ever had. Which, in turn, means that Yejun consistently does the opposite of what Matthew would like him to do. Instead of shutting up, for example, he keeps asking more — increasingly inappropriate — questions. “Oh, your roommate looks like he’s a fun guy. Did he bring many guys over?” Why is he even assuming that Taerae is — which he is , don’t get Matthew wrong. But, you know. Why assume? “Did you and him go on double dates often, since you didn’t date each other?” Matthew is sinking his drink and ordering a second one because he needs to have something to distract him. “Or, you know, maybe you had some fun together? You’re bi, right. What about you, him, a girl?” Matthew will strangle him. Or maybe he’ll find a way to off himself. Yeah. “Oh, maybe I could ask him if he wants to join us? Actually, I think he’s coming over.” What. The. Fuck.
Matthew has, admittedly, been throwing miserable glances towards his friends. If any of them was actually his friend, they’d be able to interpret the Morse code of his furtive looks. They’d know he needs to be saved. It’s just — Matthew wished Hanbin would do it. Even if Hanbin, now that he looks their way, is rather engrossed in whatever might be on Hao’s face. Wait, no, he’s definitely — Ew: they’re now fully exchanging saliva. Unfortunately, there’s even more pressing issues at hand: Kim Taerae is walking over. And he’s not wearing a pleased expression.
He’s quick to approach them, and then he plants himself between Matthew and Yejun, with a sugary smile on his face. “Hi,” he says. “I saw you looking over so often that I thought it would be rude not to introduce myself. I’m Taerae.” He cocks his head to the side. Matthew should put a stop to this before it gets somewhat worse. He tries to say something, but Taerae beats him to it. “I’d like not to know your name, though, because otherwise it’ll become a synonym for the rudest person I’ve ever seen in my personal vocabulary.”
Oh .
“Tae-” Matthew breathes out. “Maybe-” What is he going to tell him? What is he allowed to tell him, after all this time?
“Also,” Taerae isn’t done. Matthew needs him to shut up. Or maybe not. “Also, aside from being incredibly rude to us, you look like you’re a quite disappointing date too. Matthew hasn’t said a word in ten minutes and, on one hand, I’d ask you how you’ve done it because I’ve never been able to get him to shut up. On the other, though, he’s clearly unhappy with you. And I really don’t think you’re anyone with the right to make him keep quiet out of disappointment. So. I’ll go. And don’t look at me again, thanks.”
The silence that follows this tirade is going right up in Matthew’s personal top three moments in his life where he’d have liked for the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. Just like any such instance, though, the ground remains resolutely intact and Matthew has to raise his eyes from his inspection of the floor (just in case it starts cracking) and hold the gaze he was avoiding. Yejun is speechless, back to his mutism. There’s shock painted on each of his features. Matthew knows he should say something. On the other hand, however, he really doesn’t want to say he’s sorry, because, all in all, Taerae wasn’t wrong.
“I didn’t know he would say that,” he says, instead. This, at least, is true. Matthew is quite shocked, too. Taerae defended him, although weirdly and embarrassingly and in a way incomprehensible to anyone. And the most surprising fact is that he, Kim Taerae, was the one who wanted to stop being Matthew’s friend. So, why is he-
“Do you agree with him, though?” Yejun sounds strikingly open. Matthew hates letting people down, but he also loathes lying. “Actually, you don’t have to reply.” A pause. “God, what a waste of time.”
“Sorry?” Matthew must be mistaken. Yejun thinks he’s wasted his time? When it’s Matthew who did everything? Oh, no, sir. “I really didn’t know they’d be here, and I haven’t spoken to Taerae in forever either. So, now don’t act like I set it all up.”
“Sure.” Oh, now he’s acting like he’s been wronged. You know what, he can go fuck himself. Matthew considers telling him as much, but it would be too rude, even for him. And it’s true that Taerae laid it on heavy.
“I’m sorry it turned out awful,” Matthew ends up saying. “I hope-”
But Yejun cuts him off by scraping up to his feet. “It’s better if I leave,” he cuts to the chase. Matthew can’t disagree. “And it’s even better if you don’t follow me out.”
The sigh Matthew lets out is loud, but it’s also tinged with unmistakable relief. He definitely dodged a bullet. Turning to where his friends are sitting, he finds that Taerae is again engrossed in conversation with Gyuvin. He needs some air, then he’ll decide what to do.
Winter 2021
The box below all the other boxes emits an ominous noise, much like it’s going to give out soon and the pile of disorderly items on top of it will collapse as a result. This is going to be something Taerae will deal with later, however, as he’s already walking out of his room, sprinting out of the apartment altogether and running down a couple flights of stairs — and good riddance to his still healing ligament — to go and stick his head inside the window of his sister’s car. “That was the last one, right?” He asks, and his heart is thumping. Whether that’s because of his sprint or because of all the rest it’s not something he’ll focus on.
“You didn’t just skip on the stairs with your fucked up knee,” she says, instead of answering his question. “I really don’t know why you’re like this.” Taerae knows he loves his sister, and he knows it’s mutual, so he leaves it as it is, accepting the chiding with a large smile. It’s a matter of seconds before she’s smiling too. A-ha , he thinks. Taerae 1 — Darae-noona 0. Predictably, she reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Call me if you need anything, okay? Even if it’s something stupid like not being able to turn the heating on or the power going out, or…”
“Yeah, okay,” he cuts her off. He’s stupidly happy . “It’s going to be fine, though,” he shrugs. “I’ll send you and mom a picture when I’m done unpacking.”
Darae sighs. “Yeah, maybe at the end of the semester we’ll see it, then.” Bitch. Taerae flips her the middle finger, soon matched by a mirroring gesture from his (accomplished adult) sister. “Okay, I’ll go. Have fun, Taerae-ya. Say hi to Matthew for me, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Taerae waves her goodbye. He watches her drive away, her car soon disappearing behind a corner, and soon he’s alone in front of the building where his new place is. How surreal it is to think that this, actually, it’s not just his place, but it’s Matthew’s too. What makes it better is that not only is Taerae getting to live on his own for the first time, after spending his first uni year on a yo in his sister’s spare room — abusing the campus libraries so as to leave Darae some space, crashing at his friends’ houses whenever she wanted some time with her boyfriend, fighting most days about who got to use the bathroom first — but he’s going to have the best roommate ever: Seok Matthew. The greatest friend he’s made in uni, maybe in life. The best person he knows, probably. The very same boy who desperately asked him if he was perhaps looking for someone to split rent with, because if he stayed on campus accommodation one more semester, he was going to flip. Taerae had never said a faster yes than that.
He takes his time climbing up the stairs. If he’s honest, his knee still bothers him, even though it’s been a full year since his stupid injury. When Matthew heard about how Taerae, who never plays sports, tore up a cruciate in his left knee by attempting to score in a two-on-two basketball match with his friends from high school, he kept silent for a while. “It’s a blessing, though,” he ended up saying. Taerae had argued that there was very little to feel blessed by in an extremely uncomfortable surgery and three months of physical therapy and in the strong sensation that he would never be able to run normally again. “Well. at least you won’t be enlisting for a while and you can keep me company while all our other friends have to go.” And that’s true, too. It’s so true that, when they were signing their lease for the house, Matthew had the owner put in three and a half years on it: the entirety of their degree, plus one whole semester to spare. Just in case , Matthew had explained. Maybe I’ll be slow to graduate .
Stepping back into their apartment, Taerae takes a breath. It’s all a mess. There’s boxes and bags everywhere and they lack something like seventy percent of the furniture they will actually need, but it’s a start. It’s the start.
Matthew is standing, with a frown, near the kitchen sink, and he turns to face Taerae without adjusting his expression when Taerae closes the door behind himself. “Kitchen towels,” he says, completely out of context.
Taerae cannot physically fight the smile on his face. He probably looks dumb. “We can start making a list of all the stuff we need to buy,” he replies, and it makes Matthew’s scowl soften.
“Do you want to start unpacking now?” His roommate asks.
“We should,” Taerae tries to be rational. One of them has to be, and he knows Matthew well enough to also know that he gets lost in his thoughts a lot. He likes that about him, too, but it’s too easy to be led along, even if it’s not the best course of action in the long run. “At least let’s fix our rooms enough to sleep in them and the kitchen enough to eat here.”
Matthew is not too happy about it: he’s pouting and Taerae crosses their tiny living room to pull at his wrists and drag him towards his door, immediately adjacent to Taerae’s. He should be suspicious, as Matthew is unusually malleable and isn’t opposing any resistance, but Taerae is too happy and too drunk on his feelings of freedom and adulthood to pay it any mind. It’s only when Matthew applies some force, making him stumble into a hug that Taerae thinks that he should have seen it coming. Too late, he’s enveloped in Matthew’s arms, incredibly tight against his waist. Matthew’s face is pressed against his shoulder and, when he looks up, his eyes immediately find Taerae’s. He doesn’t need to raise his voice, he’s right there . “Did I ever tell you that I wouldn’t have wanted to share a house with anyone else, Taer-ya?”
No , Taerae thinks. You were acting like the most important thing was to get out of that student housing. “Well, that’s great,” he says instead, and he’s already trying to free himself from Matthew’s steel grip. “Since you’re stuck with me for the next three years.”
“And a half,” Matthew points out, his voice still low. Taerae finally manages to push him away and to have access to the full expansion of his lungs again. Being the object of Matthew’s stare is too much, sometimes, but Taerae imagines he will have to get used to it.
He turns to step into his room, where a disgraceful amount of stuff stands in the way of his bed. Where did he even put the linens and bedsheets? How is he supposed to sleep in January without a duvet? Maybe he should have listened to Darae and tagged the bags and boxes more properly.
Before he starts cutting the tape off, though, he takes one more look at Matthew, who’s still lingering on the threshold. He’s wearing his study glasses and he’s rocking the ugliest sweatpants in his wardrobe, but his smile is blinding when he notices Taerae watching him. “I’m really glad we’re roomies, too,” Taerae says. “Let’s be the best pair of roommates to ever exist, okay?”
Taerae lies with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling, for way too long that night. They outdid themselves, unpacking most of their stuff and, exhausted, they ordered delivery which they ate on the couch they’re going to throw away as soon as possible. (It’s half broken, the previous renters have left it behind but it’s worthless.) As far as first days can go, this went all too well. Except, Taerae is extraordinarily prone to worrying about everything, and so that’s what he does.
For months, he’s been worried that this move wouldn’t happen, that any material obstacle would prevent him from being allowed to start his cohabitation with Matthew, or that, maybe, Matthew would realize that, all in all, he doesn’t want to live with Taerae. The truth is that Taerae isn’t good at being close to people, so this is scary. He can be a good friend, he can joke around with others and go out for drinks, he can laugh along with the rest of the group and keep up with their tales about their lives, but he’s not the kind of friend you can easily lean on, in his own perception. He’s too blunt, too honest, too brutal even. He doesn’t like when people ask him about his feelings, because they’re complicated and he’s not going to be able to disentangle them as easily as the others do.
Taerae is all this, and Matthew is the complete opposite. Matthew is the easiest person to like, he’s all smiles and kindness and he radiates the kind of warmth that Taerae can only dream of emanating. Matthew has seven thousand friends wherever he goes, and there’s hardly any reason why he would like Taerae as a person. Let alone why he would want to share a house with him. Yet, for the best part of three months, he’s been the one to lead this whole operation, sending listings to Taerae, dragging him to viewings, and even deciding which of the apartments they’d seen was the better option. I wouldn’t have wanted to share a house with anyone else , he said.
And Taerae repeats it to himself for hours, in the hope that it sinks in. Matthew wants him as his roommate, and before that he wanted him as his friend. Matthew enjoys his company, he seeks it out. Matthew’s eyes shine brighter whenever he notices the guitars (three of them) that Taerae will hang in their living room and are still encased in a corner behind the couch. All these things, Taerae will just have to repeat them to himself forever. They’re true. They’re going to be true. Matthew won’t change his mind in the next week and realize what a mistake he’s made. They’re truly going to be the best pair of roommates that ever existed.
When he gets up in the morning, Matthew is already up. He must have gone for a run or something, because he’s fresh out of the shower and there’s his workout clothes tossed on the floor. “Wait, no,” Matthew yelps, upon seeing him. “I was gonna pick them up. Fuck, now you’ll think I’m the worst roommate.”
There’s a warm feeling that’s spreading through Taerae’s body. “Yeah,” he hums along. “Truly the worst.” Matthew smiles at him and it feels like everything will be fine. Forever.
Spring 2025
“I still have a lot of questions,” Hao is saying, with his eyes pointed on Matthew. He’s already asked many of them, since he was the one who actually went and fetched Matthew, telling him to join the rest of the guys at their table after Yejun left. “But the night is still young, we’ll get to that!”
“Honestly,” Ricky starts, slowly. “I have my own questions, too.” It’s only fair, in Matthew’s opinion. It’s not like he gave any comprehensive account of what happened. If he were to do that, he wouldn’t even know where to start from.
“Like,” Gyuvin pitches in. “I think I’ve missed some info. Who was that guy?”
“His boyfriend,” Yujin confidently says. And he’s wrong, loudly so.
Before Matthew can start correcting him and setting the record straight, Gyuvin is already replying. “What? Since when?” Matthew tries again. And fails. “So what? Did you break up? How are you?”
“Well, clearly he isn’t too happy.” Gunwook means well, and he’s usually smart but he’s so wrong this time. Also, of course Matthew isn’t happy: they’re making up shit about him, too.
“Guys,” Hanbin looks like he might start yelling. “ Maybe if we let Matt speak.” He’s correct, he’s right. He’s always right. Anyway, his being the voice of reason gets promptly ignored.
“Well, you have such shitty taste,” Ricky shrugs. “He wasn’t even that hot.” And this is clearly fake. Yejun’s only inalienable virtue has to be his hotness. Alas, it’s not even enough to make up for his awful character.
“Let’s not start dragging each other’s taste,” Jiwoong gives his input. Great, now that they’ve all said their piece, perhaps Matthew can hope to open his mouth and let some words out. To be honest, there’s someone who hasn’t spoken, but Matthew has the distinct feeling that Taerae isn’t going to join in this discussion. In fact, he’s busy staring at the ice cubes in his glass, stirring them idly. It’s evident he’s not too interested in Matthew’s date, now that he’s effectively saved him from it.
“It was the first time I saw that guy, anyway,” Matthew finally says. He doesn’t miss the way Taerae’s left eyebrow flicks up, almost condescending. If he has that many opinions on the subject, then why is he not saying anything instead of judging others in silence, in this asshole-ish behavior?
“Where did you even find such a jerk?” Gyuvin looks like he’s truly pained about what Matthew just went through, like this is something that impacts him, too.
“Dating apps!” It’s Yujin, the one replying. He’s got the widest smile on his face as if he’s sitting some kind of exam and he’s acing it. It’s true he was the one who suggested Matthew should start using them, but he should not be proud about the result. On the contrary. “But don’t worry, hyung, the next one will be better.”
“Do you already have another date lined up?” Now Gyuvin is worried, with a line right in the middle of his forehead. Matthew turns to Hanbin, hoping he can come to his help. However, Hanbin has a defeated air about him, slouched back in his seat, with his eyes half closed. It’s clear that Matthew should deal with this situation on his own. He dug his own grave, in a way that goes further than just tonight. It’s not like he’s simply responsible for going on a date with Yejun: his sins go way back. If he could trace back the chain of events leading up to this night, it’s very likely it would go right back to that horrible November night in which he and Taerae stopped talking. The point is, Matthew isn’t willing to explore the inner workings of this consequentiality path.
“Hey, come on, Matt hyung is not a player,” Gunwook says. “I bet you really thought it could go somewhere, right, hyungie?” Again, it’s impossible to miss the scoff Taerae lets out. Matthew wishes he could call him out on it, but it’s already a miracle that they’re sitting at the same table and neither of them has gotten up and left in a poor reenacting of a temper tantrum. So, Matthew guesses the least he could do is to pretend he didn’t see anything and accept to be a mature adult for the night. After all, Taerae also did him a huge favor by humiliating Yejun earlier. He can extend him some good grace.
“Do you want me to tell this story or not?!” Matthew explodes, anyway. They’ve all been talking over him, it’s impossible to give a reply to any question like this. A weird quiet ensues.
“Well, go on,” Hao prompts him, his usual thick face making him the first to speak. “We’re all waiting for your tale to start.”
The rest of the night is quieter, the group breaking up in smaller conversations. On one side of the table, Hao has recruited Gunwook and Jiwoong into some kind of cultural debate that started from a failed cooking experiment. On the other side from where Matthew is sitting, Yujin and Ricky have been talking Taerae’s ears off with some anecdote or other about some music class Yujin is attending.
Hanbin is mindlessly touching his fingers to Hao’s back as he’s replying to Gyuvin’s questions on his new job as a school counselor. Which leaves Matthew to observe his friends without saying much. Technically, he, too, is hearing the new tea coming from Hanbin’s school. However, he’s too distracted by other things to properly pay attention to whatever situation Hanbin is describing. It feels weird to be sitting opposite Kim Taerae, after six months in which they basically pretended the other didn’t exist, and the way Taerae is laughing along with the others, smiling so naturally, is hard to process. He’s there, being normal and happy, while Matthew’s stomach is churning and turning and he can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all wrong and he should have just told Hao that he’d be going back home, thanks for inviting him but, really, the night had been heavy enough.
“So, why did you even accept to go on a date with that guy, anyway?” Gunwook touches the subject again, a while later. “Are you really that swayed by the way people look?”
“One mistake,” Matthew hisses. “Will you ever let me live this down?”
“No,” Ricky replies in earnest, which elicits a snort from Taerae. Oh . So he isn’t pissed off whenever Satan-Yejun is mentioned. What the fuck is going on in Taerae’s head? Matthew would pay millions (of won) to know. “But you should still reply.” Ricky's coaxing is all but gentle.
“He was a whole different person when we were texting,” Matthew tries.
“Oh,” Hao laughs, softly. “Then it must definitely be your fault.” He’s joking, but Matthew has entertained that thought for real, although briefly. Isn’t it his fault, all in all, if he’s single? Isn’t it his fault, too, that his best friend of four years doesn’t even want to look him in the eyes anymore? Taerae might be sitting in front of him, but he hasn’t taken a real look at Matthew in a whole hour, and Matthew is rapidly growing irritated by his behavior: doesn’t he deserve to be treated better? Why does he have to move from an awful date to this nauseating reminder that this (this friends group, this one friendship, this whole thing) is never going to be as good as it once was? They were friends, for fuck’s sake. Best friends. They shared a house, they shared a life. And now all that’s left of three years and a half of symbiosis is a bleeding hole in Matthew’s heart. That, and Taerae’s too noticeable unease. It strikes Matthew — a moment of unexpected clarity: Taerae doesn’t want to be in this situation either. He’s simply putting up a good front for their common friends’ sake. He’s making sure the others are having a good night, maybe he’s also trying to let them believe that the nine of them being all together is something that can start happening regularly again. Taerae always worried that Yujin or Gunwook had less to worry about than the rest of them. Just like he always checked with Gyuvin and Ricky if they were alright or they needed anything, reminding them they could ask their hyung, which was him, Taerae himself. He’s always been thoughtful, behind that mask of aloofness and sarcasm, and Matthew has always appreciated him for it. The only problem is that, now that he’s seeing Taerae being fundamentally unchanged from the friend he’d come to love so much, Matthew misses him.
He’s done a bad job of forgetting about Taerae, after all.
As Matthew sips his beer, trying to focus back on whatever story Gunwook is sharing, he wonders if tonight is the last time they’ll all be around the same table, all huddled together, sharing stories and building memories. The last time it happened, five months and a half before, Matthew had no idea they would possibly never get the chance to do this again. Now, though, he’s acutely aware that there’s a concrete possibility that Taerae’s effort at self control is a one-time thing. In the back of his mind, Matthew dares to hope that Taerae is making these same considerations with the same hue: if they’re both willing to, they can at least try to attend the same group outings once again. It’s not like they’re going to go back to being friends, but they can start by sharing the same space every so often.
“I’m going to get some air.” Taerae’s words snap Matthew out of it. He doesn’t reply, doesn’t join in the lighthearted jokes about him not taking alcohol well, but he stares at Taerae crossing the bar, stepping outside. He doesn’t turn back once. Matthew sees a guy out front getting closer to Taerae, offering him a cigarette. He sees Taerae shaking his head, notices him saying no and stepping away from the dude, too. That’s when Taerae takes a glance towards the inside of the bar. If he sees that Matthew is studying him, he doesn’t react. Looking away, Matthew makes a promise to himself: he won’t ignore the way this last hour has made him feel. They’re a group of nine, they’ve wasted enough time broken in half.
November 2024
Taerae is going to explode. He’s going to have a meltdown, he’s going to seal his fate and have to be banished from the face of the earth. It’s his destiny, he’s pretty sure. And it’s all because he’s stupid and he agreed to go out tonight. It’s just fried chicken , Gunwook had insisted. It cures your soul . Yeah, because that’s the issue: Taerae is a mess.
It’s been two weeks. And, rationally, normally, two whole weeks are enough to get over a fight when you’re an adult — when you’re both adults, and you’ve been friends for what feels like forever. Right? Taerae believed that with all his heart before he sat down at this table, with the rest of the people he loves to call his friends. They’re all there: Jiwoong with his thick rimmed glasses and his silly smile, Hao and his happy expression as he fills his mouth again, Hanbin whose cheeks are already crimson either because of the heat or because of the alcohol, Ricky who wore a dress shirt to a fried chicken joint and is therefore being made fun of by Gyuvin, Gunwook, squinting as he tries to follow the conversation, Yujin who genuinely has no real reason to hang out with people so much older than he is, but has been tagging along for ages after Gyuvin found him in a dance academy. And then, of course, there’s Matthew.
Matthew, who used to be the person Taerae talked to the most.
Matthew, who has gone out of his way to make sure they didn’t cross paths when they each moved out of their shared apartment.
Matthew, who hasn’t so much as looked at Taerae once in the two hours they’ve been in the same place. And this, this thing right here, makes Taerae want to scream.
Matthew is clearly not okay;, Taerae has the ability to notice it. You don’t spend three and a half years living with someone without developing an uncanny talent for noticing if your housemate is upset at something. Taerae is clearly fluent in Matthew moods, so he can see right through the smile plastered on his face. It’s fake. He’s smiling because he feels like everyone expects him to do so. They’re all out together, after all, why wouldn’t Matthew be happy?
It’s also noteworthy how they’re sitting at opposite ends of the table. Taerae isn’t dumb;, he noticed how the others made it so that he and Matthew were physically distanced throughout the night. He also saw the way no one asked any tricky questions, such as, how have things been? Someone must have taken the reins of the situation, briefing the whole group about what to say and what to avoid. Taerae wonders who did it: was it Jiwoong? Or was it Hanbin with his hard-earned therapist license that he’s just achieved? After years laughing along with Hanbin about all the weird situations he encountered during his internships, did Taerae end up being just as bad?
For sure, he knows Hanbin has been working overtime thanks to this situation, what with how Matthew’s been talking to him non-stop these two weeks. Gunwook has informed Taerae of this.
If Taerae thinks back to that one conversation, he might start crying right where he is.
“Is it okay if I leave these boxes with you until I buy a new cupboard?” Taerae had opened the deal with a very straightforward question. His new place was tiny. There wasn’t much on the market and he didn’t have much time either. Neither he nor Matthew had imagined they’d be leaving their previous flat in such a rush. Yet, it was understandable why they wouldn’t want to spend more time than necessary there. Not when Matthew had walked out of there with his eyes rimmed red, slamming the door after himself. If you hated me so much, you could just say it . He’d yelled so much. How could he be so wrong? Taerae had tried, and failed, to explain. In the end, that had been the last time they’d spoken to each other.
“Yeah, sure.” Gunwook is such a helpful person. He is the most reliable guy Taerae knew. “Are you still moving stuff from your old place?”
Taerae had sighed. “I had a lot of stuff there.” An understatement. And a partial lie. The truth is that Taerae has avoided stepping foot there for a whole week. His sister’s boyfriend wasn’t happy to see him every morning. “But there’s space at my new place too. I just need to organize it a bit.”
“Oh.” What a pregnant pause. “Have you heard from Matthew?”
“Well, no.” Taerae keeps finding himself wanting to text him. But, realistically, what could he even tell him? Hey. You probably still think I hate you. How are you? “Hanbin sometimes randomly tells me he knows he’ll be okay.” What a meager display of information.
Gunwook’s expression at that very moment had been indescribable: a frown, but with his mouth half open. “Matthew’s been visiting him often. They talk a lot.”
It’s good, isn’t it, that Matthew has someone in his corner. Especially if it’s Hanbin, with his incredible sensitivity for human emotions. Though, he wonders. What do they talk about? Is it just Matthew dissecting the inner, deeper, workings of their final fight? Is it a mere substitution of the constant flux of conversation Taerae and Matthew had, before? (They used to talk so much. It’s creating such a hole in Taerae’s days. It’s so often that he turns to his side or takes his phone out and he starts half composing the sentence in his head: Matt, did you see… Matt, have you heard… Matt, what do you think…? ) Hanbin must know everything Taerae has no right whatsoever to ask about. Like, where is Matthew staying? Did he find another roommate? Someone better than Taerae? He was so adamant on it being awful that he would have to live on his own. He wasn’t nice about it, either, that last time.
“Hyung, you look a bit pale.” It’s Yujin. Sweet boy, he is. It’s likely that Taerae doesn’t look too well, despite how hard he’s trying to make it look like this whole thing isn’t weighing too much on him. He feels tired, though. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stay in this room without crying. It’s building up inside of him — he knows he’s broken something really deep within his soul. He didn’t mean for Matthew and himself to end up like this. If he could turn back time, he would do it all differently. That way, maybe they wouldn’t be sitting at the same table with all their friends walking on eggshells. If he’s honest, if he truly dares look at himself and face the truth, it’s all his fault. So, isn’t it better if he just leaves? If they (especially Matthew) can get on with their fun, if they can curse at him in peace, if they simply keep being friends without the one that ruined everything. Would that be what Matthew wants? Does Taerae still have a right to try to interpret what the other boy feels? Has he ever had this right, though?
Fuck . FUCK . This is why they fought. Exactly this. The reason why Taerae took a step back: he’s never in his right mind if Matthew is around. The panic he’s feeling, the anxiety that everything will spill out of him if he doesn’t keep it under control — they’re familiar. They’ve been Taerae’s companions for a long time. It’s time he lets all this go, no matter how much it hurts. It’s time he accepts that Matthew will find his footing again (hasn’t Hanbin mentioned he’s getting better, after all?) and that their group will have to find a new balance. So, all in all, it’s better if he doesn’t hinder them. Taerae’s always been good at making friends. He’ll make new ones, and he’ll miss these ones, and he’ll cry, and he’ll heal. He can let Matthew have the best friends in the world, though. He can grant him as much, after he ruined his life.
“Yeah,” he replies, after forever. Yujin looks surprised that he's even saying something. “I don’t feel too well. I think I should go home.” Home. Is it even home? Still, he gets up, gets his coat, zips it up.
Taerae hasn’t taken three steps outside the fried chicken joint, when a hand on his shoulder stops him right in his tracks. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Hanbin is half breathless, his puffer jacket is all askew and Taerae thinks about telling him as much. Then it hits him that Hanbin ran after him. “You left without a word.”
Yeah . It was on purpose, though. Hanbin stares at him with round eyes. His hair is falling a bit flat on his forehead, but the worried crease of his brows is still pretty evident. Taerae has to look away from him. “I can’t do it,” he says. “I’m sorry, I thought I could.”
The hurt is so visible on Hanbin’s face that it makes Taerae hate himself even more. See, it’s truly better if he just — “I know,” Hanbin says, instead. “It must be so hard.” And, “You know we’re here for you, right?”
How? How can they be here for Taerae when they also need to be there for Matthew, because of Taerae ? He has to fight back a sob, and it pains him to do so. His throat is burning. There’s a lump that’s neither going up nor down. “It’s just that-” The words aren’t coming out. What does he even want to say? That he cannot be in the same space as Matthew or he will start spiraling again? That there’s a reason why he did what he did and maybe Hanbin won’t understand but Taerae didn’t act out of sheer cruelty? How can he even start explaining? It’s three years in the making and it feels like he hasn’t been able to breathe for the better part of them. “It’s that I can’t be around Matt right now,” he pushes out. It’s better if he keeps the reason to himself, Hanbin’s eyes are already glossy now. Taerae can’t burden him with the truth. It’s for the best that he thinks that Taerae is the biggest asshole. Let him regret being his friend, it’ll make everything easier. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”
Maybe it’s because it came out broken, with his voice betraying him. Or maybe it’s because Hanbin knows him too well, after all the time they’ve known each other — long before Matthew was even in the picture — and can see right through him. Whatever the reason, Hanbin has already pulled Taerae in his arms, in a strong hug. Taerae is trapped there, he cannot escape and ultimately he doesn’t even want to. Hanbin is clinging to his coat with too much energy, to the point Taerae feels every single finger through all the layers he’s wearing. “I’m not Matthew,” Hanbin mutters. “The rest of the guys aren’t Matthew. And I very much still want everything to do with you.”
He’s not making it easy. On the contrary, he’s making it impossible for Taerae to cut all the ties he wanted. Not that he truly wanted to, or he simply would have stayed home tonight. It’s all starkly clear in Hanbin’s asphyxiating hug. “I’m sorry,” Taerae whispers. A tear breaks free, finally.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Hanbin replies. What? How can he- Didn’t Matthew tell him everything? How can he think that Taerae isn’t a monster, then?
Hanbin steps back a little. He’s grimacing, clearly pushing back tears, too. It makes Taerae laugh, despite it all, because Hanbin’s face is twisting in every direction and he’s scrunching up his nose in such a childish way. “How can you be certain of that?”
Hanbin scoffs, he shrugs and he tries to act all cool and indifferent. However, it’s so evident just how much he cares. He always does. Just like Taerae, in the end. This is possibly the biggest thing they have in common, with the huge difference that Hanbin doesn’t try to hide it while Taerae has spent his whole life trying to look unimpressed and unaffected and failing so bad at this. “Taerae-ya,” Hanbin’s smile is still a bit unsteady. “Haven’t we been friends since we were stupidly young?”
Taerae isn’t sure that they’re less stupid now, but he nods. Hanbin must believe this is enough of a reply, because he hugs him again, and they stay like that for the longest time. There’s still a wound plaguing Taerae from the inside, and he doesn’t know how long it will take for it to heal, but at least he won’t have to mend himself all alone. “Won’t your boyfriend be worried that you ran after another man?” Taerae jokes, after a while. He thinks he’s ready to go home.
Hanbin laughs. “Oh!” There’s a mischievous glint to his eyes. “Should I maybe tell him you’re trying to seduce me?”
The sheer idea has Taerae laughing, too. “I don’t see that happening, no,” he replies.
“Me neither,” Hanbin smiles. Then he sobers up all of a sudden. “I hope you get some good sleep,” he says. “You must be exhausted.”
Taerae nods. He’s tempted to ask Hanbin to tell him how Matthew is feeling, to beg him to share if Matthew ever needs something. He holds himself back right at the last instant. “I’ll try to rest,” he promises. “You know what, though? This is really making me write some fucking great music.”
The variety and intricacy of the curses falling out of Hanbin’s lips is shocking. If Taerae thinks about the chain of profanities he let out he can laugh for three days in a row.
Spring 2025
When Jiwoong had invited Matthew to “grill some meat and make a night out of it”, as he’d put it, he hadn’t specified who would be there. Or, at least, Matthew thinks he hadn’t. It feels a bit intentional, now — a lie by omission that allowed Matthew to just assume it would be a night with half of the gang, like it’s been for the past six months. Instead, when he steps back inside with a tray full of grilled vegetables, ready to tell Gyuvin and Ricky that the meat is also almost done, he has to metabolize quite quickly that the people in this room have, well, tripled. Shit, I was ambushed , is the first thing he thinks. Jiwoong follows him inside, a hand on Matthew’s shoulder.
“Oh, everyone’s here,” Jiwoong says, his smile so clear in his voice. “How nice!”
“Isn’t this the first time we’re all together at your new place?” Gunwook mentions. And it makes Matthew lose all the fight left in him. Jiwoong — older, reliable Jiwoong, who’s worked his ass off as a theater actor and as a screenplay writer, juggling two or more jobs at once most of the time — finally got himself a house, full with a functional terrace and all the space needed to have all of them over. He’s impressive. None of them will manage to emulate such a feat.
“You all came over before tonight, right?” Jiwoong sounds a bit panicked. “Or is there anyone who didn’t get the house tour?”
“I’d like the house tour,” Yujin jokes, joining them from outdoors. It’s a rather known fact that he’s often at Jiwoong’s place. If Matthew remembers correctly, Yujin even brought some of his friends over to Jiwoong.
“While you’re touring, bring over some plates.” Taerae is always quick witted, just like now, pushing the youngest to the next room over with a smile on his lips. And that’s when he also catches Matthew staring at him. He only tilts his head to one side, as if daring Matthew to say something. But what can he say? I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon? Or I still feel uneasy around you ? Maybe I think the two of us shouldn’t be here at the same time. Instead, Matthew leans over to set the veggies on the table, and then he walks back to the grill, placed outdoors, on the half terrace.
“How’s the meat coming along? Are the ribs cooked?” Yujin settles on a foldable chair with a lazy air around him. He’s holding an aluminum casserole on his knees, and Matthew puts a few pieces of meat right there. It’ll only be a few minutes before they start eating.
“This feels a bit like The Parent Trap .” Matthew knows it’s not the same. He and Taerae didn’t have a divorce, didn’t split two twins and raised them with no knowledge of the other, didn’t send them to a summer camp and ended up victims of the mischievous orchestrations of two prepubescent girls, both played by Lindsay Lohan. However, there was a split in their friends group, and they’ve now been tricked into reuniting by those same friends.
“I don’t know what a parent trap is,” Yujin replies, flat. “Is it a horror?”
“What? No, it’s a family movie, it’s a com-” He has to pinch his nose and take a breath. “You know what? It doesn't matter. Did you plan for me to come here unaware that Taerae was going to be here, too?”
“Is that what a mother trap- no, wait, a… whatever trap is?” Yujin will make Matthew explode, one day or the other. There simply isn’t any person more infuriating than him on the surface of Earth. Yet, Matthew loves him deeply. “Anyway, not quite. I just think Jiwoon hyung forgot to mention he was inviting everyone.”
“Yeah, right,” Matthew deadpans. “It’s so likely for him to take this kind of initiative himself, right?”
Yujin would never snitch on his beloved Jiwoong hyung and he would never out the true culprit either, so this is a losing battle from the start. “Well,” Yujin shrugs. “His house, his rules.” Matthew will not argue with that. The point is, he would have liked some kind of heads up. “Are you angry?”
“No,” Matthew is quick to reply. “Last week went well, so why would tonight be different?” Yujin smiles like he knows too much. What he knows, though, is a mystery for Matthew himself.
No sooner are the nine of them sitting around the table and eating like the goblins they can be, that Matthew forgets all about the circumstances leading up to this dinner. He’s filling his glass quite often, too, and while he’s not totally drunk it surely helps to relax a bit. To let go of some of the anxiety that being in Taerae’s presence inevitably still brings.
It looks like everyone’s happy, and it’s not just superficial to state so. It’s not based on the fact that they’re all smiling or laughing at the stupid story Gyuvin is telling. It’s not because the food was good and the beer was excellent. It’s because there’s this energy, when they’re all together, and it’s like a supernova burst and let it all out in the world and the nine of them soaked it up. Matthew doesn’t know shit about astrophysics, this might not be what supernovas do. However, he thinks that they’re definitely channeling some galactic-type of energy. Hao laughs at someone with his deep laughter and Matthew turns to look at him, at the natural way he’s leaning into Hanbin as he laughs, at the surprise he elicited from Taerae, who’s sitting on Hanbin’s other side. Taerae looks healthy. This thought comes out of left field for Matthew, but it’s still important to notice such a thing. To be able to look at him long enough to be able to deem him alright, to evaluate the fullness of his cheeks, the absence of evident circles under his eyes, the soft wave of his hair. Despite everything, Matthew knows he must have been hurting too. It’s a relief to see that he, at least, has found some even footing again.
Is Matthew there, too? Is he all better as well? When he looks at himself in the mirror, he can still see the pain in his own eyes, but maybe it’s just because he knows exactly what to look for. Maybe, from an outsider’s point of view, it’s not as evident.
“Anyway,” Gunwook starts, after a while. His cheeks are so pink, he looks adorable. “There’s, like, this trip we should definitely make.”
“I think it depends a lot on your concept of a trip,” Hao intejects. “I’m not going to be subjected to another trekking trip.”
“You had fun,” Hanbin points out. “You said that you had fun and that you understood why we like it so much.”
“This doesn’t mean I’m doing another one,” Hao reiterates. “But don’t make it about yourself, Hanbin-ah, Gunwook was talking.” As if he hadn’t been the first to interrupt. It must be a lot to deal with Hao all day long, every day. Hanbin, however, takes it in stride and shakes his head while grabbing his boyfriend’s hand.
“No, I don’t want to go trekking. I want to plan a trip for the nine of us. Like, we should go somewhere that we all like. So I was thinking of either NYC or some place in Europe.”
“What does some place in Europe even mean?!” Comes Gyuvin’s heated protest. “You were selling it like it was already a done deal. Gaslighting at its finest.”
“I don’t think that’s what gaslighting even means,” Ricky shrugs, then he’s back at scrolling on his phone.
“That’s not the point,” Gyuvin replies. “The point is that Gunwook is a liar.”
“Then call him a liar,” Ricky is smiling like triggering Gyuvin’s nerves is his favorite sport. It might as well be. “Words matter, right? Isn’t that why you bugged me forever to learn Korean?”
“It’s a metaphor,” Gyuvin tries. Matthew is too quick at turning towards Taerae. There was a time where they kept a mental note of all these silly debates between Ricky and Gyuvin. They had a bet going on: would they reach the millionth debate without making out with each other first? Matthew had lost count, he would never know if he would have won. However, Taerae is also looking at him. It’s quick, Matthew looks away immediately and, when he looks back, Taerae is looking somewhere else, very pointedly. His ears are red, and Matthew needs air. He needs oxygen, because somehow his brain isn’t working anymore.
The view from Jiwoong’s terrace isn’t exceptional, it simply opens up on the other buildings in that neighborhood. Still, Matthew looks at the few people passing by, their busy footsteps as they all march towards their intended destination. He wonders what he’d look like, from such a perspective. It would probably be impossible to tell how big a wound inside himself there is. Everytime he casts a glance at Taerae he’s faced with the truth that the reason why he isn’t fine yet is that he wants Taerae back. He misses him. He can’t live just as well without the best friend he had on his side all this time. And maybe Matthew is dumb, maybe he’s just a dreamer and he has no perception of how the world works — because he thinks that it’s possible they can fix it. He just needs to find the courage to go and ask Taerae if they can be friends again. It will take time for them to be truly close once more, but they can go slow. He really needs to just get inside and ask Taerae if they can have a word.
So he steps back in, and Taerae is leaning back in his chair, his phone in his hand. Matthew needs to find the strength. He opens his mouth: “Hanbin hyung, can I ask you something? Outside?”
It’s clearly too soon to talk to Taerae directly. It’s why Matthew chickened out at the last possible second. This is what he tells Hanbin, at least, as he vomits out too many words at once, half of them in English, while Hanbin listens to him patiently. “So, like, do you think that he might be willing to be my friend again?”
Hanbin takes his time to come up with a reply, which leaves Matthew to listen to his heart hammering forever. It’s so fast. “I think you should ask him,” Hanbin says, in the end. How unhelpful?! “But if I’m allowed to have a personal opinion, I think that it’s going to be fine.” Okay. This is good. Right? It has to be good. “But you still have to ask him, you can’t just assume that what I said is true by default.”
“But how can I ask him? We haven’t spoken in months! Do we even know each other anymore? We could have become whole different people, in this interval!”
To the credit of Hanbin’s infinite patience, he just looks at Matthew for a bit. Then, “I don’t think either of you changed that much,” he says. Matthew has many more questions, but Hanbin isn’t done talking. “Although, as your friend I think I ought to tell you that it was mostly your fault that you haven’t spoken in months .” What? “You outright blew off in his face and refused to talk about the issue ever again.”
Matthew — Matthew did those things. At the same time, he did it because Taerae backstabbed him so bad that there was no other viable option than yelling at him and slamming the door. How could he want to talk about that again? Taerae had sent him so many texts, that week.
Can we talk?
Hey, Matt, I think we should try and have a chat about it.
Listen, I know I fucked it up, but maybe if we discuss it… idk man just talk to me?
Whatever, Matt. I picked up all my things. Do whatever the fuck you want.
And honestly, Matthew wouldn’t know what to tell him even now. If Taerae asked him to explain why he acted like that, he would only say “because you betrayed me”. If Taerae asked him to forget it, to forgive him, Matthew doesn’t think he’d be able to.
Hanbin leaves him alone, and Matthew thinks. It’s all true. He reacted big . He exaggerated, maybe. But he still cannot bring himself to feel guilty. You think you have a future with a person, you think you’ve settled for a while, even while your life is changing. And then — and then it all gets taken away from you. Matthew had believed he would graduate, he’d find his first job, and his second and his third, all while rooming with Kim Taerae. He’d imagined that, even as they would be shaken up by everything life would throw at him (they were performance majors: they weren’t going to get great jobs from the get go, come on!), they would have an oasis of peace in their shared little apartment.
That was the agreement, right? Together until we find our footing . And then Taerae had pulled the rug from underneath their feet. He said he didn’t want them to renew their lease. So now they’re both stuck in tiny, ugly, unappealing rooms (okay, Matthew might be projecting his own situation, but is it so improbable that Taerae didn’t find anything significatively better than he did?) instead of coming home together in the evening, of running through job listings together, of complaining about the state of the world and the economy and the job market together. They’d made plans for that. And Taerae destroyed them, all by himself.
The thing that hurts more about this, however? Matthew isn’t done with Taerae, he isn’t over this, not at all. And every time he sees Taerae, every time he hears about him, he wonders. If they hadn’t fought, would Taerae have really moved out? Would he still have called Matthew daily to update him on his life? Would he have invited him to see his new place? Would he have-
“Hey, there.” Matthew isn’t alone on the balcony anymore. Stepping out with two glasses of soda — one for each hand — is Taerae, who’s put on a sweater and who obviously is looking for Matthew. It makes Matthew’s stomach jump.
“Hi,” Matthew says. He takes the glass Taerae offers him. It’s Cola. Matthew wants to drink it all at once. He doesn’t. He also doesn’t know what to say, or what to do. Did Hanbin send Taerae his way? Did he come of his own volition? Can Matthew run back inside?
“Nice house, right?” Taerae opts for small talk. Why? “This terrace also really elevates it.” What does Taerae want? Matthew is still unable to say anything. Taerae takes one look at him, he sighs. Great, now Matthew has ruined this chance, too. Will he get another- “How have you been, Matt-ya?”
Oh. Does he really want to know? Is he ready to hear what Matthew has actually been through these six months? Because Matthew is pretty sure that, once he opens his mouth, he's not going to be able to stop. He's one hundred percent certain that he's going to scare Taerae off him once and for all, because he's quite assured, too, that he's not going to be too nice to him. Or, maybe, this is not the most productive way to go about it. It's highly likely that this opening from Taerae’s side should be treated with the utmost care. After all, Hanbin wasn't wrong. The one who blew it out of proportions was Matthew, so — well. Taerae has taken a huge step forward just now. Hasn't he?
“I've been better, to be honest,” Matthew settles for. What a diplomat he can be, when he wants.
The way Taerae is staring at him should be illegal. It's insane. He's clearly trying to pierce through Matthew’s mortal shell and reach down to his soul. What is it? Did he want the full story? Is he going to call out the blatant bullshit Matthew just spouted? It's okay. They're talking. Isn't this what Matthew wanted, in the end? A chance to rekindle their friendship. And if Taerae wants to start it up again by judging him extra hard with his (quite too) nice eyebrows then it's all fine.
However, Taerae lets out a quiet, subdued laugh. He steps toward the balcony, takes a look at the street below, and stuffs a hand in the pocket of his pants. It's a brief thought, did he start smoking? , but it rattles Matthew nonetheless. What has he truly missed in Taerae’s life, in those fatal six months? But Taerae leaves his hand there, and with a smile that isn't as bright as it could be, he speaks. “Yeah,” it's a soft acknowledgement. “I guess that it shows in your sorry choice of dates.”
The fuck?! “Yah,” he laughs right back. Taerae might have helped him — saved his life, even — , getting rid of that asshole of Yejun. This doesn't allow him to be so comfortable in judging Matthew's taste in dates. Not when Taerae doesn't even have a bright dating history himself. So, Matthew decides to fight for himself. “Can you even talk?” Taerae’s smile takes a sharper tilt. It's a signal to go on, if Matthew still knows him. “All this time you've only collected a streak of great excuses for rejecting the people who came after you.” Taerae rolls his eyes, it's a show. “Have you even ever liked someone?”
It's a low blow. Matthew might have gone past the line of what's acceptable for two people who aren't quite friends anymore. Taerae doesn't get angry, though. He looks at Matthew, instead. And he rakes his eyes all over Matthew's face — is he picking where to punch him? Matthew thinks either the jaw or the nose would hurt more. Not that he's ever been punched. Taerae looks at him with a look in his eyes that Matthew isn't able to read. This one is new , he notes. Where does it fit, in his Taerae encyclopedia? Finally, Taerae takes a breath. Maybe he'll say something. Maybe he'll give an explanation.
“Hey hey,” Yujin slides open the door to the terrace. “Are you done making out?” He says this in English for some reason. “Sorry, making up . My English is so bad .” It's not. He's great at it. “Anyway, get back inside, we're about to play a game.”
“Shall we?” Matthew hears himself asking.
Taerae is weirdly red in the face. “Go ahead,” he says. “I'm joining you.”
August 2022
The fact that Taerae managed to not get lost in this hospital is a feat in itself. Granted, there are directions mostly everywhere, but he believes he walked for longer than a kilometer within this building alone . There’s a bunch of flowers in his hands, and Taerae has to convince himself every other step to avoid chucking it in the garbage. They weren’t even his idea — the flowers, that is. Hanbin and Gyuvin have the stupid habit to make stupid practical jokes all the time, and now here Taerae is, roaming a university hospital he’s never stepped foot in before (his ACL was dealt with elsewhere), with flowers, looking for the room where Matthew is staying.
They should be sending him home soon, if he didn’t lie on the phone just earlier. But, all the same, Taerae ignored his dismissive tone ( fakely dismissive, because he knows what Matthew is like) and came to visit him all the same.
He finds Matthew with his phone in his hands but he’s quick to set it aside as soon as Taerae walks into the room. “Hey,” Taerae is uncertain what he should say. Can he joke about the fact that this is the direct consequence of the kind of grocery shopping they do? Is he allowed to make fun of the tragic way Hanbin shared the news with him? (It was a panicked phone call, the hours between it and now weren’t very relaxing for Taerae). Matthew doesn’t look too bad, he’s got color in his cheeks and he’s even smiling.
“Heya,” Matthew shoots back. “You didn’t have to get me flowers, I didn’t give birth.” He’s grinning.
“Well, passing a kidney stone is kind of like giving birth,” Taerae shrugs. “At least, it’s the closest thing any male person can experience.”
He can see it painted all over Matthew’s face: he would like to reply, he thinks Taerae is spewing bullshit (he is, after all), but he doesn’t know where to start. Taerae takes pity on him, and he replies: “They’re from Hanbin hyung and Gyuvin, they wanted me to convey their compassion. Companionship. Whatever.”
The smile on Matthew’s lips doesn’t falter. “You’re so eloquent, jagiiya ,” Matthew sighs, theatrically. Then he runs a hand through his hair, a bit stuck to his forehead, beckoning Taerae closer. It’s not like Taerae hates obeying to Matthew in a split second, but he does. So he takes a detour, going to put the flowers on his nightstand. They’ll whither fast, but no one will cry about it — Taerae thinks. “Were you worried?”
It’s a tough question. Taerae knows the answer, it’s an easy one. Of course he was worried.
Hanbin called him, frantically explaining that he had to drive Matthew to the ER in a rush, because he’d half collapsed in pain during dance class. He had no more information, aside from that. He had to leave Matthew in the doctors’ care, he had to go back to the academy where they both teach classes. He kept wondering (anxious, paranoid, Hanbin) if it was an appendix flare. “Didn’t he get it removed as a kid?” Taerae had interjected, as he remembered Matthew telling him about it. Then it’s like a colic , Hanbin had cried. Whatever it was, Taerae was worried. It was likely Matthew would be okay, but what if it took a long time for this to be true? What if he needed his family soon, but they were all in Canada? What if his insurance was rejected or he bumped into some bureaucratic obstacle as a foreigner? But Taerae was in class as well, and it was the kind of lecture he couldn’t quite desert without it impacting his grades. Shit.
So, he’d waited, and he’d texted a lot of people. And then, finally, eventually , Matthew texted.
sooooooo i’m at the hospital! LOL
just a kidney stone, nothing bad. (hurt like a bitch) they told me to stay here until i pass it….
they got me SO MUCH water to drink?!?!?
I’m bored.
…can you come chat with me? I’ll text you the room.
At the same time, Taerae can’t just say that he was worried. He will never live this down, if he does. Him, having and processing human feelings? Unthinkable. So, as he often does, he deflects. “You always accuse me of never drinking enough water, yet it’s you who’s here, forced to drink water.”
The stare Matthew throws him is nasty. It makes Taerae laugh out loud. “That’s because I sweat all day long in dance class. Obviously.”
“Ew,” Taerae shrugs. “You must have been stinking so bad when they hospitalized you.”
“Clearly their priority,” Matthew doesn’t waste a single millisecond answering. This back and forth gives Taerae life. It’s the single reason why he loves spending time with Matthew. They could go on like this forever.
“Well, didn’t your mom teach you to have your underwear in order just in case you had to be taken to the hospital?” Taerae makes a point of sounding really, really , serious while saying this.
Matthew frowns. “No?”
“ What ?”
Matthew roars out a laughter that might genuinely be disturbing the other patients in this area. “You cannot be serious. Like, this can’t be something they teach you.”
“But it is,” Taerae isn’t even lying. “And it’s also very functional in those romance scenarios you fantasize about all the time.”
By Matthew’s expression, it’s clear that he’d like to throw something at Taerae. Unfortunately, he has nothing close to him that can be suitable ammo. Sweet victory. “This feels too smutty of a romance for my taste,” Matthew retorts. As if . “Or,” Oh no. “ Maybe that suits your taste better. Do you daydream of being helped by hot doctors? Do you want a bulky, muscular, doctor to visit you?”
Ew? “What the fuck, Matthew?”
Matthew knows (at least, Taerae thinks he knows) that he must have hit one vulnerable topic. It’s not even hard to do so, when they spend that much time together. There are times when Taerae wonders if they’re getting dangerously close to reading each other’s mind. It would be a nightmare, in both directions. He doesn’t think he would like to know just everything about Matthew, and he also thinks it’s much better that there are parts of himself that are inaccessible to others. Matthew is already an exception on too many fronts, he’s not quite ready to grant him full access to the Taerae Experience.
“Speaking of,” Matthew starts after a brief pause in which no one says anything. “The nurse who attends to me…”
Taerae shouldn’t raise to the bait. At the same time, it’s practically impossible not to answer. “Hm?”
Matthew’s gaze on his face is heavy. It’s too uncomfortable to be looked at like this. Matthew has a way of looking at people that feels like he’s scanning your soul. Like he’s weighing it against a feather, just like in that legend from Ancient Egypt. “I think he’d be just your type.”
“What the fuck do you even know about my type?” Taerae snaps back. “I don’t even have a type.”
It’s served on a silver plate. It’s the perfect assist. Now, of course, Matthew will start enumerating the complete list of failures in Taerae’s love life. “You really do.”
Taerae shouldn’t cut him this much slack. He shouldn’t allow Matthew to make fun of him like this. “Oh, sorry, dear Professor,” he still says. “Care to explain what my type would be like, then?”
“Well, you like them big.” Matthew starts.
“Jesus Christ ,” Taerae counters.
“In height!” Yeah, surely where he was heading. Also, it’s a lie. Taerae doesn’t give two fucks about how tall people are. “And strong. You like them strong.”
“I think you’re projecting,” Taerae replies. And he’s quite honest, too. He really doesn’t have a type. He doesn’t date enough to have a type. Sure, he texts people. People text back. They set up dates. Taerae tends to bail on them last minute. Exactly what happened today, additionally, but he’s not going to share this with Matthew.
“What would I be projecting? Me liking big men? I do.” Matthew is so insufferable when he tries to one up Taerae with his open mindedness. Good for him, he likes everyone. Taerae doesn’t. He’s the opposite, he likes no one. They all bore him. They all want him for sex only. And, maybe, Taerae doesn’t want to be wanted for just sex.
“You so want me to say you’re right. It’s a bit pathetic,” Taerae shoots. “Tall, strong, then what more? National athlete? Olympic medalist?”
“Oh, do you want to date an athlete? I can find you one.” Is he stupid? Is he saying this just to rile Taerae up? He doesn’t want an athlete. He doesn’t want a nurse. He just- he wants someone who sees him. Even if Taerae is really good at hiding, he needs a man who can still see through him. Who can go beyond all the layers of snarkiness, of sarcasm, of detachedness that he puts on.
“Instead of this ridiculous attempt at matchmaking,” Taerae begins, before he thinks any better of it. What he says next is a is possibly the most stupid thing that could come out of his mouth. “Why didn’t you ask your girlfriend to come keep me company instead of wasting my time?”
“Hyewon is not my girlfriend,” Matthew protests. Isn’t she, though? Taerae is pretty sure they’ve been going out for long enough to be considered official. And he’s also pretty sure that she thinks she’s Matthew’s girlfriend. See, this is why this was stupid. Because now Taerae has to dig deeper. He has to ask more questions. And there’s never any good outcome when he does.
“Why isn’t she? You like her, why don’t you-”
“Because.” And that’s it? “Also, if you didn’t want to be here, you could’ve just said so.” Taerae tries to interject, but it’s evident how Matthew’s mood has soured just after one ill-placed question. He knows he’s been stupid, okay? But it’s also true that Matthew doesn’t usually act like this with the people he likes. He cherishes them. He’s different from Taerae, he would never Insta-DM anyone like Taerae just DM-ed that guy from the chemistry department. Sorry, I won’t make it today. (It should be noted, however, that the reply had just been a dreadful combination of emojis: a crying face, praying hands, three eggplants. Taerae won’t regret this.) Matthew is sweet, he’s caring. And he’s also quite upset, because he’s going on, with a frown on his face. “I mean, it’s not like you’re my only friend. Not by any means. So, if this was such a bother you could just tell me and I would have asked someone else. I think they’d all be happy to step in, if I asked.”
Sure . But Taerae is glad he could be the one. He really is. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he says. Matthew scoffs. His face contracts into a grimace. “Does it hurt? Are you okay?”
“If I were fucking okay, I wouldn’t be at the hospital.” Is Taerae ever going to be able to say the right thing? Or are they destined to chew each other out like this forever?
“Do I have to alert someone?” He makes to step outside, but Matthew’s chuckle stops him. He turns to see him smiling, even if he’s still frowning a bit. He looks a bit pale, too.
“You’re cute when you worry,” Matthew — the idiot — says. “Unless you’re not worried and you’re just trying to see the hot nurse I mentioned.”
It takes such a big effort not to flip him off. Taerae doesn’t give a fuck about hot nurses. He doesn’t care about anyone right now. He wouldn’t have preferred to be anywhere else either. And he knows he can’t say this. He can’t go and simply say that he wants to be here, with Matthew, in this stupidly hot hospital room. Because this, for some reason, is more important. It matters more than dates, more than his love life. Maybe Taerae doesn't care about love, it might as well be. And he surely doesn’t care about love from the people who he tries to date, seeing how dumb they actually are. Which might imply that, after all, he could have a type: dumb men, stupid men.
Just like Matthew is stupid, because he doesn’t get his questions, because he doesn’t drink enough not to end up hospitalized for it, because he texts Taerae instead of his girlfriend. And, if Taerae dares to think about it, liking someone like Matthew wouldn’t be hard at all.
Not that he likes Matthew. What a weird thought, ludicrous even. Just someone similar would be cool. Maybe. “Do I need to call someone or not?”
Matthew smiles, again. “Can you just sit down? We can just chat until this passes.”
Spring 2025
It’s safe to say that Matthew doesn’t expect Hanbin not to show up, when it’s Hanbin who invited him to get coffee together. His text had been straight to the point: Mashu, why don’t we go grab coffee later? Pick a spot! So, it takes Matthew quite a long time to figure out why Hanbin isn’t anywhere to be seen and Hao is instead sitting at a table with his phone in his hands. Matthew comes up with a few creative interpretations — Hanbin had a problem and he’d be sorry to cancel on Matthew so he sent his boyfriend, Hanbin left Hao to hold a place for him and is running an errand — before it clicks that Hanbin never texted him. It was just Hanbin’s phone. In Zhang Hao’s hands. Because that’s the level of commitment they have to each other.
“Did you think I wouldn’t meet with you if you texted me with your own phone?” Matthew asks, then.
Hao takes a sip of whatever monstrously tall drink he’s gotten. “I needed to talk to the version of you that would have wanted to talk to Hanbin,” he says. It doesn’t make much sense, it’s a convoluted reply from a person who’s never too direct, in Matthew’s experience. “Do you understand what I mean?”
“No,” Matthew honestly admits. “Sometimes you speak like a fortune teller.”
Hao smirks, then he sets down his glass and he sighs. “I’m going to tell you something that will probably upset you,” he begins again. “And if I told you to come talk to me, you would have foreseen this. So you would have still met with me, but you would have already been upset. Preemptively so. But you’re never, almost never, upset with Hanbin, so I had to make you believe you’d be seeing him.”
It’s a complicated line of thought, it’s something that only a person like Hao could come up with. Hao, who’s clever and intelligent and works as a university lecturer. Hao, who’s patient and enduring but who draws clear lines with no fear. “Why do you think I’d be upset with you? You’re my friend too, hyung.”
Hao’s smile is always beautiful. It’s easy to see why anyone would fall in love with him. “I wasn’t nice to you the last time we spoke one on one,” Hao confesses. Matthew doesn’t have as clear a memory of that night as Hao seems to have. There was a lot of beer involved. And tears, on Matthew’s side. He remembers Hanbin calling a taxi for him, walking him to the car and saying, quietly, You know he’s not really mad at you, right? All this time, Matthew had thought this had to do with Taerae (how many of their friends could be angry with him?), but this new meeting with Hao is enlightening: maybe it was Hao who got upset with him.
“What was it about, again?” Matthew thinks it’s high time he starts tidying up some of the mess he’s accumulated in these last few months.
Hao laughs. It’s deep and rich and it’s weird, because Matthew has no idea what's funny about the situation. “Oh, Matthew,” Hao sighs. “I straight up told you that I was at my limit because you kept being at our place, crying about Taerae and the whole Taerae-related drama, looking for Hanbin as a shoulder to cry on. And, literally, you were always there.” Ah. It makes sense, in retrospect. “I would leave my office and come back home, looking forward to relaxing and forgetting every single irritating thing about my day, and you’d be there. And, honestly, you were within your right to be there. But the problem was that whenever you left, Hanbin would-” He stops.
Matthew is frowning, now. It might be the first time he’s hearing something not one-hundred-percent positive about Hanbin from Hao. “Yes, go on.”
Another sigh. “Vent about it with me. Matthew, he cares too much about things, you know that. And… And he chose the line of work he did, okay. He wanted to be a counselor and it’s good that he does, but I also want my lover, when we’re home.” Hao sighs one more time, it’s clearly final, by the way he straightens up and smiles. “So. That’s why I told you what I told you that one time. Now we’re all obviously past it, right? We’re all so much more balanced.”
“Did you talk about all this with Hanbin?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking, Matthew knows it’s not his place. He’s aware they’re a solid pair, too. Neither of them faces relationships the way Matthew does, they’re pragmatic, they face things head-on, they trust each other.
“Yes,” Hao’s quick to answer. “It might seem strange, but he’s always the first one I talk to.” Why would it be strange? Matthew wants to ask, because it’s literally anything but strange. They’re together, they live together. They’re surely going to get married in the near future. It’s perfectly sensible that they rely on each other like this. His questions and observations are cut short by Hao, who goes on. “Anyway I actually lured you out to ask you something.”
Every time Hao asks a question, in Matthew’s experience, — a question so important that requires a coffee date and not a simple text — it has the potential to be life changing. Like that one time, a few years back, when he asked about PhD courses in Korea, because he wanted to stay in this country. And that other time, soon after that first time, when he asked a few of them if they thought Hanbin would say no to moving in together. Or the first absurdly impactful question he asked Matthew,and only Matthew, when he was a freshman: Are you looking for a roommate, perhaps?
This time, the question isn’t any easier. “It’s about Kim Taerae,” Hao starts. “And about you. I saw you chatting together the other night. Does this mean you’re ready to make up with him for real? To give it another shot?”
Matthew wishes he knew. And he also wishes the same question hadn’t been swimming through his head for too long. He misses Taerae. He missed Taerae, all this time. Every single day. Six months of missing him, of feeling like, by losing him, he lost a big part of himself, too.
Talking to Taerae again made it all the more evident: he isn’t over it, not at all. It’s too easy to think back to all the fun they had together. The times when they would go shopping together, bickering over what to make for dinner. The many nights spent gaming together or watching some niche movie one of them had discovered from someone else. The dinners they hosted with all their friends pushed together in their living room, blissfully blind to the atrocities that had just happened in their kitchen before they showed up. Taerae is the protagonist of all of Matthew’s happy memories from the past four years, or so it feels like.
At the same time, it’s Taerae who hurt him like this. And, sure, it can be a one-time thing. But what if he gets hurt again? What if this breaks him so bad that he doesn’t get back up from it, and he’s forever a phantom of himself?
“What if it all repeats itself?” Matthew asks Hao. He hasn’t confessed this to anyone, but this has actually been eating at him. Of course he wants to get closer to Taerae again. But not at the cost of suffering that much, or worse, again.
Hao has many qualities, in Matthew’s opinion. The highest one is that he never belittles any issue that’s presented to him. He ponders the question Matthew asked, looks at the time on his phone and he slouches back in his chair. “Well, it doesn’t have to end the same way,” he says. “The situation is different to start with, and this alone should warrant that things won’t be identical to six months ago.” That’s a very valid point, yet Matthew is still restless. “The biggest difference is that you’re not living together now. And you haven’t been living together for a while. The time you’ve spent apart might have given you — both of you — some perspective, too. Don’t you think?”
Perspective. What an interesting word. It’s distance that allows people to gain perspective on things, but… “On what? I mean, the perspective. What would I need perspective on?”
Hao raises both eyebrows, staring Matthew right in the eye. There was a time, once, when Matthew would joke that Hanbin had picked a boyfriend that was too similar to him, almost eerily similar. There are things in which they’re uncannily alike, it’s true. And there are things, like what’s happening now, in which they’re complete opposites. Because if Hanbin was sitting opposite Matthew right now, he would change the topic, he would steer the conversation in another direction and bring Matthew to laugh about something silly. And Matthew would still understand that he’d be doing this to protect him, to avoid hurting him more. Hao, instead, drops his smile and says: “About why you were so hurt about it.”
As Matthew walks home — the sun is setting down, there’s hordes of young people going out, Matthew feels like he’s the only one walking in the opposite direction — he finds that he never really answered Hao’s question. It’s one he’s answered countless times in the last few months. Why did you not want to talk to him anymore? Why did you yell at him like that? Why don’t you want to see Taerae hyung? And the answer he’s always given is simple, straightforward, truthful: because Taerae doesn’t want him around as a friend anymore.
That’s a valid reason to be hurt — your best friend not wanting you as his friend.
For the better part of six months (almost seven now) Matthew has been telling this to everyone who asked. And why would he want to be friends again with Taerae, if this is true? Except, there’s the distinct possibility that Hao is right. After all, it’s unusual that he isn’t. Which means, it’s possible that Hao is correct and Matthew needs to examine the fight he had with Taerae under a different light.
Did Taerae ever state he didn’t want him around as a friend? Or was that Matthew’s extrapolation? (With Taerae, though, one always has to read between the lines, Matthew tries to argue for himself.) Did Matthew lie to himself all this time?
“I think it’s better if we don’t renew the lease together,” Taerae had said. He was making dinner, Matthew remembers it too clearly. “I think it would be better if we lived apart for a while.” Just revisiting this memory has Matthew’s stomach churning. “I think I need to learn how it is to be Taerae-without-Matthew, you know?”
All Matthew knew then, all he knows now, is that Taerae didn’t want him around. He remembers it stinging so bad he yelled out all his rage, all his pain, right in Taerae’s face. He has no idea what he said to him, can’t recall the words he used. He knows he slammed the door behind himself. He knows Taerae ran after him, for the first two flights of stairs. Six months later, Matthew still thinks that there was a solid ground to feel this upset. He just has trouble putting a name to it.
November 2024
It’s sunny outside and it feels like a personal offence for Taerae. It should be awful weather. That way, he would be vindicated in his gloomy mood. In his unhappiness. In the pain that has spread through him since two days ago and hasn’t let him go. He doesn’t want to be home — not alone, at least — and going out feels like a hurdle too high to pass. Can’t he just not exist right now?
He hasn’t slept much, but he hasn’t been fully awake either. Everything is just numb. He didn’t think Mattew would… Sure, there was no way he would take it well, but this? Taerae should have known. He had the ways to know, he should have predicted it better. But coming up with his request was already too much for him, he clearly lost some important elements along the way. He never got to tell Matthew the whole of it. Taerae hoped he would ask. And maybe he wouldn’t have the guts to tell him, but he would have tried.
He has considered texting him the whole truth. It would feel dirty, though, after the way Matthew yelled. After the way he left. Traitor. Being called that hurt more than the rest, bastard, asshole, they were all deserved. But traitor ? If Taerae had been honest since the start, wouldn’t he have been even more of a traitor? What kind of an awful friend has he been all this time?
His phone vibrates on the floor. How did it even get there? The cartoon image of a black cat is dominating the screen: 지웅 형.
“Hello?” Taerae picks up, even though he doesn’t really want to talk. But, you know, when you all live in a big city without any family close-by, you need to rely on people and you need people to rely on you, even when you don’t really feel like being too friendly.
“Ah, Kim Taerae!” Jiwoong doesn’t sound like he’s in immediate danger. “I think you really need a walk in the park.” What ? “And I know you’ll say no or try to find an excuse, so I’m literally on your doorstep. Won’t you let me in?”
The issue with Kim Jiwoong is that he’s sunshine personified. This also applies to Matthew, theoretically, but living with him for years has taught Taerae that there’s a lot of clouds to him. And a storm that exploded two nights ago. Jiwoong, instead, is always quiet and smiles, silly jokes and peaceful conversation. He’s sitting on a kitchen’s chair with a book in his hands when Taerae comes out of his room, washed and dressed to go out. “Did I take so long to get ready that you had to resort to reading?”
Jiwoong smiles at him, obviously. “I wanted to go on with this, the book club’s deadline is soon,” he replies.
“Since when do you attend a book club?” Taerae is putting his coat on, Jiwoong is copying him. As long as the conversation stays on this level, Taerae will do just fine.
“It would be nice if we created a book club for ourselves, too,” Jiwoong mentions. It stings. With everything that’s just happened, Taerae doesn’t think he’ll get to be friends with the other guys. They’ll all pick Matthew, if they have to. And, since it’s Taerae’s fault, he’ll have to let them go.
“You’re like the only one who reads,” he still replies. “At least it was easy to give you birthday presents.”
Jiwoong giggles. “Why was ?” He asks, still laughing. “I still want your present next month,” he adds. Damn, he’s funny. Is there any virtue this man lacks? Life must be easier when you’re Kim Jiwoong. When you don’t ruin everything you touch the way Taerae does.
They walk to the park, and then within the park. All throughout this, Jiwoong tells Taerae about the rehearsals he just started with his company. He tells him about how he wants to make some changes to the script but he’s uncertain about how they’ll be received from the rest of the cast. He tells Taerae about the old lady who lives opposite him and who keeps trying to convince him to go on a blind date with her granddaughter. (Taerae objects that the lady should have just pushed him to meet her grandson, instead. Jiwoong argues that he’s perfectly fine being single. He doesn’t need anyone right now. Taerae believes it’s a lie. At the same time, in the many years he’s known Jiwoong, he’s never dated anyone. An island of placitude among the turbulence of twenty-something’s dating lives.) He tells Taerae about the cat shelter he’s been eyeing to volunteer at, how he doesn’t feel ready to adopt a cat just yet but he still wants some feline company in his life.
While he talks, acting as Taerae’s personal podcast, Taerae takes a look at the people in the park. There’s plenty of people. It’s almost impossible to be actually alone in Seoul. Too many people live in this city. A group of high school students is having a sort of picnic. Shouldn’t they be in some academy or anything? What day of the week is it? A couple is walking a curly dog, in the opposite direction from Jiwoong and Taerae. The dog yaps when they cross paths. Jiwoong pauses briefly in his chatting to comment on how cute the dog looks. Of all the people around them, no one looks unhappy. It makes Taerae wonder if the unhappy people just stay home, holed up to avoid all these other people who seem to be so innately happy . Are there people, instead, who are just disguising their true thoughts, hiding their suffering behind a smiling mask? Isn’t Taerae doing the exact same?
The next thing he notices is people playing frisbee. It makes him stop dead in his tracks. Jiwoong frowns slightly. If he’s saying something, Taerae cannot hear it. There are three frisbee guys. They’re too far to understand if any of them is tall enough to look like Gyuvin. Surely, the scene is too familiar. How many Sundays were spent like this, in the last three years? Taerae sitting on the grass, chatting away with Hao and Ricky, Jiwoong close to them with a book or a notebook, Gunwook always studying even at the park, Yujin nibbling at something — and Matthew playing frisbee with Hanbin and Gyuvin. Do you have some water, maybe? And of course Taerae would have water for Matthew. Of fucking course. So why did he ever think that letting Matthew believe Taerae hated him was a good idea?
“Should we get some hot choco?” Jiwoong steers him towards a café. They order something, but Taerae is literally going on autopilot. He has no idea what he’s buying, his drink is sweet and it’s not something he would have ordered consciously. It takes such a big effort not to crumple to the ground and stay there. How can he go on?
Yet, Jiwoong sits both of them down, and carefully starts talking again. “I’m so grateful you agreed to come for a stroll with me, today.” It doesn’t make sense. It’s not what happened, not at all. “I really needed to do this and I knew I could count on you.”
Taerae doesn’t have the energy to structure his answer any better. “The others would have been happy as well.”
“But I like talking to you,” Jiwoong shrugs. It’s kind of life changing, because Taerae still believes that he’s not losing Matthew only, but the other seven, too. “And I like the way you listen to me talk, and I like that we don’t have to do much when it’s just us. Some of the other guys are a bit hyperactive.” Oh .
“I don’t bring much to the conversation.” Taerae isn’t usually this moody. He’s not sunshine incarnate, but he’s not such a killjoy either.
“Nah,” Jiwoong dismisses it. “I’d like to hear about your choir thing, to be honest.”
Ah. The choir thing. It’s a university project Taerae’s been following even after graduation. One of those initiatives where students from different departments are pulled together for a random artistic purpose. Taerae tells Jiwoong that he’s been helping the director coordinating the choir, that it’s a good thing to occupy his time with while he keeps looking for a full-time job. “It’s not too easy working as a producer full-time,” he says. “These days, it feels like they want to hire these teenagers as producers and there’s not any room left for those of us who got a whole degree.”
Jiwoong hums quietly. “But you’re good, so it’s only a matter of time.” He speaks with such confidence, it’s like he actually knows the future and he’s simply sharing it with Taerae. “Have you been writing something these days?”
Taerae sighs. “Not these days,” he admits. “But I was working on some ballads, they’re always a sell-out, the last ones I wrote were sold so fast.”
“Ha!” Jiwoong smiles, happy. “So you see that you’re talented! If I ever wanted to do a musical with my company, would you-”
“Yes,” Taerae doesn’t even let him finish. “God, wouldn’t it be fun?”
Jiwoong’s smile widens, then dies. “And did you talk to your sister?” What? “I know you’re not too close to your parents, but did you tell your sister, at least?”
Oh, so he’s going for it. Finally. Taerae had been wondering if they’d ever address the elephant in the room. “Not yet,” he confesses. “I will need to, since I’ll have to go back to her place for a while.”
“Is it definitive, then? Don’t you think Matthew will come around?” It makes Taerae laugh. If he’d heard what Matthew said to him, he wouldn’t be asking that.
“I fucked up big time,” he says. It’s the first time he’s saying this out loud.
Jiwoong sighs. “It’s not your fault.” Does he even believe this? How can he know? “I know it must be hard-”
“Hard?” Taerae doesn’t want to interrupt him, it’s just that words come out of his mouth on their own. “It’s so painful . He just — he left. And it’s my fault. It is. And I don’t deserve anyone’s pity, not even yours.” Is he laughing or crying? He doesn’t think he’s cried once since Matthew left. “But he thinks I hate him, and maybe he’s right, because why would I have done that if I didn’t hate him? If I didn’t hate myself?”
Jiwoong, obviously, doesn’t say anything. He’s horrified. “You don’t hate him,” he whispers. “That’s something anyone could see. You…”
“Whatever,” Taerae cuts short. “I fucked up. I ruined everything. If there was any hope I just killed it.” Okay, now he’s crying. The tears on his cheeks sting, hot and abundant and ridiculous. He has no right to be this upset, when it’s all his fault.
Jiwoong lays a hand on top of Taerae’s. It’s a bit cold, but Taerae has so many more problems right now. “Taerae, we all fuck up sometimes.” Yeah, never Jiwoong, though. So it lands a bit flat. “And when there’s all this emotion involved, we’re bound to make some mistakes.”
“No, but you don’t understand,” Taerae sobs. They all think that when he says it’s his fault he only means about the fight. It goes way further than that. His wrongdoings are much more long-lasting. If he went to a church and vomited it all out to a priest, would he be absolved? Would God’s love — all-encompassing, in his mom’s words, all-forgiving — falter in front of this? “I did him so wrong.”
“How can loving someone be wrong?” Jiwoong asks. “It hurts when we love. But, you can’t do anyone wrong by loving them, Taerae.”
He’s frozen. His heart is pounding behind his ribs. Because he’s never told anyone, so how can Jiwoong know? He’s done the best job of hiding it. He’s kept this to himself for years . And if Jiwoong knew, why didn’t he say so sooner? Why leave Taerae on his own all this time? And Taerae can’t even feel relieved that he doesn’t have to bear this burden alone anymore. What’s the point of having a confidante now that he’s already destroyed everything? The only thing he can say, before tears take over again, is a stupidly empty “Oh, hyung, it’s so unfair.”