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Hansol had really picked the rainiest day to do this. As if it wasn’t a hard enough thing to do.
The wind blew the rain under his quivering umbrella, rendering it pretty useless as his jeans and jacket got soaked. He cursed under his breath as he power-walked down the familiar street. He didn’t have time to notice how much it had changed in two years. The cafe at the corner was replaced by a boba tea place that people were running into to get away from the pounding rain. The ATM next to it was still there but now belonged to a different bank. Seoul was constantly changing, new places coming up to replace the old. But there were still things that had stayed the same: like the fact that you could see Namsan Tower in the distance from behind the municipal office down the road (or at least you could on a clearer day). Other familiar sights were the little dakgalbi place down an alley and the 7Eleven with the plastic tables outside where he had eaten many cups of ramyeon back in the day.
And of course, the apartment building where he had spent the better part of three years. He heaved a sigh as he rushed for cover into the building.
He had had break-ups before. There had been Bae Sooyoung in high school who had broken up with him three weeks after agreeing to be his girlfriend because their hagwon schedules were incompatible. At the time he had been devastated, as only a teenager who had never seen the world would be, and had dramatically blamed the Korean education system for his broken heart. When he developed a crush on Cha Hyerin in senior year, a mere six months after his “heartbreak” he realised it was really not that deep. Him and Hyerin had dated for much longer – almost all of his first semester at KNU – before breaking up because Hyerin had realised what he couldn’t get himself to admit just yet: that he wasn’t entirely straight. A drunken make-out session followed by a hasty hand-job from Kim Junsu from the film club at a dorm party made that sufficiently clear. But Hansol wouldn’t necessarily call admitting to Junsu that while he had inadvertently been Hansol’s bisexual awakening, he wasn’t interested in him like that, only for Junsu to not remember a single moment of their dalliance, a break-up. This wasn’t like any of those had been.
Hansol closed his dripping umbrella and violently shook the rain out of his hair with his fingers. He took in the building lobby he hadn’t been in for two years. Rows and rows of letterboxes lined the walls in front of the elevator. His eyes landed on the box labelled 317. A couple of papers peeked out through the open slit – a flyer for a hotpot restaurant, a garbage disposal notice and a bill. The name the bill was addressed to was written in red: Boo Seungkwan.
Hansol drew in a breath and called the elevator.
He remembered the day they had met – it had been raining then too. Hansol had decided to move into student housing in his second year of college because even though living with his dad was fun (not to mention, free), making the trek to campus everyday from Hongdae was becoming a pain. He had to carry his suitcase up the incline of two whole Seongbuk-gu streets in the rain. It took him so long that he missed lunch time at the dining hall. Suffice to say, when he finally made it to the dorms he wasn’t in the best mood and probably didn’t make a good impression on his roommate – Seungkwan. Seungkwan had been cheery and inviting, welcoming Hansol to the dorm, while Hansol had been grumpy and dismissive, barely managing a bow. When Seungkwan realised they were the same age, he happily suggested they be friends, but was met by a mumbled, less-than-enthused “ok” from Hansol as he unzipped his soaking wet suitcase. Hansol had groaned internally when Seungkwan’s smile dropped and he shuffled out of the room, looking annoyed. Great, not only was Hansol wet and hungry, he had been here less than five minutes and already managed to piss off his new roommate. Seungkwan had returned to the room twenty minutes later. He still wore the pout he had left with, but he had returned carrying a cup of steaming hot jjajangmyeon.
“None of the restaurants around were delivering in the rain,” he said flatly, setting the cup and a pair of chopsticks down on Hansol’s desk. “This is from the vending machine.”
“What’s this?” Hansol asked, puzzled.
“It’s jjajangmyeon,” Seungkwan said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. The pout didn’t leave his face. “It’s the first meal you’re supposed to eat when you move somewhere new. You know, for good luck.” Hansol blinked at him. Seungkwan shrugged before going back to his desk.
Before Hansol could even process the interaction his stomach let out a loud gurgle. Seungkwan snorted, immediately covering his mouth with his hand and pulling as straight a face as he could manage. Hansol couldn’t help but smile too. He murmured a quiet thanks and got a half-smile in return. As he tucked into the bowl of warm noodles, he knew: Seungkwan was special.
Over the next five years, he realised just how much. And he had spent the last two wondering how he had been stupid enough to let him go.
*
Hansol pressed number 3 in the elevator which jolted to life. He tapped his foot as it moved slowly upwards and he suddenly realised that he was gripping tightly onto the umbrella. He loosened his grip, telling himself that he needed to calm down.
It’s not like he hadn’t seen Seungkwan since the break-up. Sure, it had been almost an entirely clean break for the first six months – no contact at all. But that was more due to the fact that Hansol was literally across the world pursuing a gruelling masters programme that was determined to kick his ass. Who had time for heartbreak when you had Film Studies papers to write and shitty student short films to make all while living in a cramped New York City apartment with two roommates? When he had envisioned doing a MFA in Film at Tisch School of the Arts at NYU, he hadn’t anticipated how exhausting it would actually be.
Hansol had returned to Korea for a few weeks in the winter that year – the first time he would be back since the break-up. The first week or so was brutal. All the feelings of loss he had buried under assignments and classes simmered up to the surface as everything in Seoul reminded him of Seungkwan. He even had to be strategic with the hang-outs he planned with their common friends, Jeonghan complaining incredulously multiple times that they were stupid to have broken up in the first place. Ah, well.
The first time he actually interacted with Seungkwan post-break-up was when Soonyoung had added them both to a group chat to plan Mingyu’s birthday party. Hansol had messaged Soonyoung privately to say that he saw through his piss poor attempt to get him and Seungkwan to talk especially given Hansol wouldn’t even be in the country for Mingyu’s birthday. But that was when the ice had begun to thaw: with Hansol reacting with a thumbs up to a message from Seungkwan saying that he thought they should book a pension in Yangpyeong.
Three months later, Hansol had come back to Seoul for the summer and had been invited to Seokmin’s sister’s wedding, of which Seungkwan was the MC. Hansol’s heart had pounded hard enough in his chest that he had to loosen his collar when he saw Seungkwan up there on that podium, dressed smartly in a crisp black suit and a silver tie. His eyes crinkled with familiar joy with every joke he cracked. After the ceremony was over, Jihoon pestered Hansol to go over and say hello. “It’s been over a year!” he kept saying. Finally, he had to drag Hansol over there himself.
“Hyung!” Seungkwan had said excitedly as he drained the last of his champagne, before looking over to see Hansol trailing behind. He drew a deep breath, eyes fixed on Hansol but unreadable. “Hi, Hansol-ah.”
“Hi,” Hansol had managed, throat dry and hands clammy. “You were great up there,” he said. It was all he could afford to say through the nerves.
“Yeah, you really wowed the ahjummas and ahjussis in the crowd,” Jihoon added.
Seungkwan shrugged, “Eh, I’ve got more than enough wedding puns to go around.” Hansol chuckled and watched colour flood Seungkwan’s cheeks.
The group had gone out for beers after the wedding, using this as means to catch up, especially since Hansol was visiting. Him and Seungkwan had sat far from each other at the table, exchanging the odd glance or sharing a laugh at a joke. Although it didn’t feel as easy as it had been when they were together, he was glad that he could talk to Seungkwan again: as friends. Or something that looked vaguely like friends.
Ever since, they had exchanged a handful of texts – birthday wishes, New Year’s greetings, the odd meme here and there. Until Hansol had texted the group to say that he was moving back to Korea.
Hansol wouldn’t say it was part of the plan to move back right after NYU, but it certainly beat trying to make it in the cutthroat scene in LA, especially after the stories he’d heard. Even second AD gigs were hard to come by since COVID and the guild strikes, not unless you shopped your showreel all over the industry, begging for work. He’d even made the trip west, got a sublet in Burbank and tried his luck with the handful of contacts he’d made. No luck. After slumming it in New York, he had little desire to slum it in another US city, especially with no income. But unlike the US, Korean production houses were actually looking to hire. Plus it didn’t hurt that Hansol was bilingual. Yoon Sangmin, fresh off the success of his first international feature that premiered at Cannes, certainly thought so and was happy to hire Hansol as his assistant. So, back to Seoul it was.
Even though it had been well over two years since they broke up, Hansol’s stomach did a little flip when his phone lit up with Seungkwan’s message. Hey. Congrats on the job! I know I should have done this a while back, but since you’re moving back to Seoul I figured that it’s time I return your clothes that are still at my place. Let me know when and where I can give them back.
Hansol gulped. Their break-up had been sudden and final enough that there had been no room to tie up any loose ends – or so it felt like at the time. Hansol couldn’t even fully remember what he had left at Seungkwan’s house. Perhaps a t-shirt or two, maybe a few socks (Hansol got cold when he slept), a couple of pairs of shorts and a hoodie. Hansol remembered the hoodie in particular because it was Seungkwan’s favourite of his to wear.
Initially, Hansol’s instinct was to reply to Seungkwan and tell him that he didn’t need to return anything, that he could keep it or throw it out as he pleased. But that sounded harsher than he wanted it to. Instead he replied insisting that since it was his stuff, he would come by and pick it up, saving Seungkwan the trouble. Part of him wanted to do the mature thing people did when they broke up and take this as the final step to move on. While another part of him was just glad for the chance to see Seungkwan again.
A tiny, wistful and foolishly hopeful part.
*
Hansol set his wet umbrella in the umbrella stand outside the door and rang the doorbell. He made a hasty attempt to tame his wet hair while biting the inside of his cheek. He was nervous. It had been over two whole years and he was still nervous to see Seungkwan. Sure, there had been texting and hanging out in groups but this was different. No amount of time apart, no amount of self pep-talks on how this was the mature thing to do as amicable former lovers prepared you for seeing your ex-boyfriend again. At his apartment. Alone. On the rainiest day of the year. Just be cool, Hansol. Cool and collected.
The intercom speaker buzzed to life. “Yes?” came a familiar voice, garbled in static.
“Hi,” Hansol said. “It’s me. Hansol,” he added for good measure. You know, in case Seungkwan had forgotten what he sounded like.
“Hansol?” the voice sounded confused. “You’re here already?”
“Uh,” Hansol said, uncertainly. “Yeah? You said four o’clock, right?”
The door beeped and then clicked open, revealing a wide-eyed Seungkwan standing behind it. He looked like he had just got out of the shower, hair damp and flopping into his eyes. He was wearing basketball shorts and a sweatshirt. His cheeks were dusted pink and dewey, his mouth hung open in surprise. Hansol didn’t realise he was holding his breath.
“I said five,” Seungkwan said, eyes still wide.
“Oh.” Now Hansol was confused. Pulling out his phone he scrolled through his texts. Shit. Sounds good. I should be back from badminton by 4. See you about an hour or so after that? Hansol cursed again, out loud this time. “I’m sorry. Clearly I didn’t read the whole message.” Wow, way to be cool and collected.
Seungkwan smirked. “Hey, at least you got the date right.” His smirk widened into a smile.
Hansol rolled his eyes. “God, you’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Do you mean how you not only went to the wrong airport to pick me up when I was coming back from summer break after junior year, but also took the train out to Gimpo a whole week before my flight?”
“What can I say, Kwan-ah, I missed you.”
The words had already left his mouth before Hansol realised he said them. The laughter froze in Seungkwan’s eyes, then melted slowly into something else. The pink bloomed from his cheeks to cover his entire face and neck. Hansol was pretty sure he had gone red too.
“Um, I’m sorry. For, you know, showing up early,” he said, trying to salvage the moment. “I can come back later if you’d like–”
“No!” Seungkwan cut him off. “No, it’s just–” he heaved a sigh. “I didn’t expect you so early so I just put your clothes in the washing machine,” he said, abashedly.
It was Hansol’s turn to blink. Seungkwan spoke fast.
“You know, they’d been in a drawer for so long, I didn’t want them to smell musty when I gave them back, so I tossed them in the machine for a quick wash and dry cycle. They should be done in an hour or so if you’re OK to wait. It’s totally fine if you’re not, I could bring them over to you another time. I’m so sorry–”
“Seungkwan-ah,” Hansol said. “It’s alright, I can wait. If that’s OK with you, of course,” he added in a hurry.
His stomach pinched at the thought of his clothes being forgotten in a drawer for two years. But then again, what did he expect Seungkwan to do with them instead? He settled on just being glad Seungkwan hadn’t discarded them. Or worse, burned them.
“Trust you to wash my clothes before returning them,” he said with a snort.
Seungkwan rolled his eyes. “Sorry for being considerate and not giving them back smelling dank,” he said. Hansol chuckled as Seungkwan jerked his head inwards and opened the door. The whirring of the washing machine in the kitchen welcomed Hansol as he walked in.
Much like the neighbourhood, little had changed about Seungkwan’s apartment. The navy blue sectional couch that Hansol had helped Seungkwan carry from a second-hand sale in Ssangmun-dong up and then three flights of stairs sat against the wall opposite the TV. Hansol recognized the planters in the small balcony but the plants in them were different – clearly the monstera and fig leaf from two years ago hadn’t made it. The kitchen was small but convenient, with a small dinner table tucked against a wall. A hair towel lay strewn over the back of one of the two dining chairs.
Seungkwan snatched it off and hastily hid it behind his back. “Have a seat. I’ll make you some coffee,” he said.
Hansol sat down at one end of the couch on which he had spent almost every weekend for a couple of years. It wasn’t his usual spot – that was at the corner of the L shape where he could lay his legs out straight, with Seungkwan sprawled out on the other side with his head on Hansol’s lap.
It continued to rain outside with no sign of stopping any time soon. The plants danced under the violent spray that had made its way over the balcony railing. At least somebody was happy in this weather.
A gurgling sound came from the kitchen: Seungkwan’s ancient electric kettle, no doubt. He had had that thing since college when they would make cup ramyeon and tea in their dorm room. Hansol could also hear Seungkwan scuttling around in the kitchen, probably making a hasty job of cleaning up (as if Hansol had never seen this kitchen be a complete mess before).
A few minutes later, Seungkwan emerged with two large mugs and set one down on the coffee table in front of Hansol. Hansol could already smell it from where he was sitting.
“Is that Maxim Mocha Gold?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah, that's what you drink right?” Seungkwan said, taking a seat at the other end of the couch, diagonally opposite Hansol. “Unless you drink fancier coffee now since coming back from the States?”
“Please, I still ride hard for Mocha Gold,” Hansol said. “But you hate it!”
Ever since Hansol had known him, Seungkwan had been a snob about his coffee. He needed his Americano – iced or hot – from a particular coffee shop every single day, even as a broke college student. In turn, Seungkwan had always teased Hansol for his basic coffee opinions, specifically his preference for Maxim’s pre-mixed sachets – in Mocha Gold no less. A true caffeine tragedy, according to Seungkwan at least.
Seungkwan cleared his throat and looked down at his own cup. “I keep it stocked for guests,” he said. “You said it yourself, not everybody likes the bitter, watered down espresso shots I drink,” he added with a laugh.
Hansol smirked. “Can’t argue with that.”
For a few minutes, they sipped their coffees in silence. The only other sound was the rain, which still hadn’t slowed down. The awkwardness of this was not lost on Hansol – sitting as far away from each other as physically possible, waiting for laundry to get done. The last dregs of his longest relationship. Sigh.
“So,” Hansol said, maybe just to break the tension, “how are things at MNG?”
Seungkwan had gotten a job at MNG Entertainment as a junior vocal coach for idol trainees almost straight out of college. He had always wanted to be a performer, but according to him, realistically, this was the closest he could get to a well-paying job with a degree in musical theatre.
Seungkwan shrugged. “Can’t complain. They promoted me to an assistant programme director and the kids are great. So it’s going well, I suppose.”
“Assistant programme director, that’s huge! Congrats!” Hansol exclaimed, but Seungkwan just smiled sheepishly. Trust Seungkwan to downplay his own success. “So, have you worked with anybody famous?”
“Well, my first batch of trainees just debuted,” Seungkwan said. “So, they’re not famous yet . But they’re really good and I’m proud.”
“That’s great,” Hansol said, genuinely. He knew how much he cared about those kids. “Soon you’ll be able to say you trained global popstars.”
Seungkwan snorted. “Don’t tell them that, it’ll go to their heads.” He took another swig of his coffee. “Besides, I’m just a cog in the machine. It’s not as glamorous as living in New York City and directing films that do festival rounds.”
Hansol scoffed. “What’s the glamorous part? Living in a shared apartment the size of a shoebox and getting jostled around in the subway every day? Or sharing a co-directing credit with five other people on a film that somehow snuck its way into the student film programme of three film festivals even though it was thoroughly mid at best?”
Seungkwan’s smile faltered. Shit , Hansol thought. Too much?
“Is that why you moved back?” Seungkwan asked, seriously this time.
Hansol looked down at his mug. “Honestly, I’m making it sound a lot worse than it was. Forget I said that.” He looked up and pulled his lips into a smile. “New York was fine.” Seungkwan didn’t look entirely convinced.
“What about LA?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee. “Jeonghan hyung said you were there for a couple of months too.”
Hansol shrugged. “LA isn’t as fast-paced as New York but it’s still a rat-race.” He huffed a joyless laugh. “I found that out the hard way. I guess me being back here was meant to be.”
Seungkwan’s lips drew into a thin line, which Hansol recognized as irritation. A cold flush washed over him that he hoped Seungkwan didn’t catch on to. Was Seungkwan annoyed that Hansol had returned to Seoul? Was this act of returning his clothes more of a purge than it was for closure? Or was this all just Hansol’s overactive imagination?
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and glanced at his phone. 4:36pm. How had thirty six minutes simultaneously felt like the whole day and also somehow like he’d just got there?
The next couple of minutes might as well have been hours as awkward silence descended on them again. Seungkwan sipped his coffee quietly, holding his mug with both hands, thin fingers curled around it. His hair was now dry, falling messily into his eyes. It was longer than Hansol remembered. Hansol had the instinctive urge to run his fingers through it. He bit the inside of his cheek and tore his eyes away.
In all the time he had spent with Seungkwan – one year as his roommate and friend and five as his boyfriend – he didn’t remember a waking moment where they had been together in a room in silence. Whether it was sitting on the couch laughing their way through bad variety shows, Hansol forcing Seungkwan to watch all his favourite movies while translating the ones that were in English, going on dates to all the coffee shops in Hongdae for Seungkwan to try and rate their iced Americanos, long late night walks in Yeouido Park ending at their favourite tteokbeokki place by the river, or spending all day tangled up together in bed. Not to mention all the countless hours, day and night, they had spent talking – about anything and everything. Nothing had been off-limits. Nothing had felt too much.
Nothing, except this silence.
*
After they drained the last of their coffees in silence, Seungkwan collected their mugs and whisked them off to the kitchen sink.
Hansol’s gaze swept across the room. It was more or less like Hansol remembered it. Besides the plants in the balcony, the coffee table, the couch and the TV, there wasn’t much to the space. The entertainment unit was basic, one that Seungkwan had bought secondhand from Facebook Marketplace years ago. A few picture frames lined the top of it, with photos of his parents, sisters and dog. Hansol had met all of them over the handful of times he had visited Jeju with Seungkwan. They had been lovely and doting. Seungkwan’s mother was especially eager to stuff Hansol full of as much fresh seafood as he could eat. He wondered if he would ever see them again. Perhaps at one of Seungkwan’s sisters' weddings (if he was even invited, that is).
His gaze wandered further across the shelf, when he spotted something familiar. Covered in a thin film of dust and tucked towards the back was a snowglobe of Namsan Tower. The “snow” had settled to the bottom of the now yellowed liquid, and the colours of the tower had faded. But Hansol’s memory of the day he had bought it hadn’t.
It had been the last week before graduation and they were going to be leaving Seoul for the summer. Seungkwan insisted that they do something cheesy and romantic on their day off for once, instead of just going to the movies. For all the years Hansol had lived in Seoul, he had never actually been to the tower. They had done the whole tourist date thing – climbed to the top of the tower at sunset to see the evening lights and eat adorably decorated snacks at an overpriced cafe on the terrace. The whole thing was unlike anything Hansol would ever think to do himself. “Come on, Sollie, it’ll be fun!” Seungkwan had said with a pout. It didn’t take much convincing for Hansol to do whatever Seungkwan asked back then. They had watched the sun sink behind Seoul as they marvelled at how small everything looked from up there, Seungkwan’s arm snaking around Hansol’s. They had kissed as the tower lit up and the city lights flickered to life below them, and Hansol knew he was in trouble. Or maybe something else. Something dangerously close to love. He didn’t want to name the feeling, so instead he had taken the coward’s way out – he bought Seungkwan a snowglobe from the gift shop.
Lucky for Hansol, he wasn’t the only idiot in love. Seungkwan had clutched the glass orb to his chest and gazed up at him, misty-eyed, with a look that told Hansol that felt the same way. And now here that orb sat, tucked away beneath Seungkwan’s TV, a relic of what they had once had.
“Hey, the laundry is almost done,” Seungkwan said, peeking into the living room again. “I’ll grab a bag to pack the clothes into.”
Hansol turned to look at him. “Uh, yeah,” he said, his mouth dry. Seungkwan nodded and disappeared into the other room.
Hansol couldn’t help himself. The second Seungkwan disappeared behind the wall, Hansol got up from the coach and fished the snowglobe out of the back of the shelf. The red paint on the base of the globe had chipped in places and the glass looked slightly foggy. It looked all but forgotten, until Hansol flipped it over to read what was scribbled on the base.
Namsan will be ours forever, my dearest love
22.05.12
Hansol’s breath hitched. Seungkwan had never shown him this. It was a note from Seungkwan to himself – his own memory of that day. With his dearest love. Forever.
Except it wasn’t forever, was it?
Hansol’s throat tightened, and the visceral memory of being in this very room a little over two years ago flooded into him. He had done a good job of blocking out most of that night, but parts of it played back in his mind, like a damaged film reel. This can’t work forever, Sol-ah, you know that. You should go . Those weren’t all the words said, there were more, back and forth and back and forth for hours. Before they were both exhausted from the tears and pain. Before Hansol had slipped on his shoes, grabbed his jacket and walked out the door without looking back, no words left to say. Before he had gone home and spent a sleepless night crying and packing, before leaving for the US the next day. Before the heartbreak he had tried to forget for the next two years.
“Here you go,” Seungkwan’s voice came from the other room. Hansol hurriedly put the snowglobe back on the shelf and turned around. Seungkwan walked in, holding a plastic shopping bag full of clothes. The faint smell of detergent wafted in with him. “I hope it’s all in there."
“Thanks,” Hansol said, throat dry. “Seungkwan, I–”
“By the way,” Seungkwan said. “It sucks that you couldn’t stay on in the States, Hansol-ah. I’m sorry.”
Hansol blinked, mind and heart both racing. “Why?” he said. Suddenly, the room felt cold, like he was unwelcome. The plastic bag with the last vestiges of Hansol’s life in this house hung from Seungkwan’s hands.
Seungkwan stilled, eyes wide in confusion.
“Why are you sorry? I’m not,” Hansol found himself saying. It was like something had cracked inside him, causing everything he had buried to bubble up through the crevices.
“What are you talking about?” Seungkwan asked, brows drawn into a frown. “What–?”
“You told me to go, remember?” Hansol said, throwing caution to the wind. He watched as the colour drained from Seungkwan’s face and his confusion made way to shock. “So I did. But now I’m here and apparently it sucks.”
“Hansol, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Seungkwan said, his voice steady but simmering with hurt. “I just–”
“Just what?” Hansol asked, the lump in his throat growing bigger. He shouldn’t have come here today. He should have just kept his memories of Seungkwan and let him burn the rest. His chest tightened. “Just annoyed that you might run into me on the street now?”
“I never said that! What–?”
“Is that why you wanted to give my shit back? So you never have to see me again–?”
“I’m just sad, okay?!” Seungkwan said, his voice cracking. “I’m just fucking sad that you worked so hard to get there and that it didn’t work out! Did you really need me to spell that out for you?” Hansol’s mouth hung open. Anything else he could have said died in his throat.
Seungkwan ran a palm over his exasperated face. “You left with your big film dreams!” he said, incredulously. “You wanted to be the next Denis Villeneuve! Or Scorsese! Or Spielberg!”
Hansol stared at him. He wanted to say something, but his tongue was too dense to form words.
“For as long as I’ve known you, NYU was all you wanted, Hansol!” Seungkwan continued, his words blazing with anger. “And it was such a big deal for you to get in. It made you so happy –”
Suddenly, Hansol’s chest caved in with a sinking feeling that he knew where Seungkwan was going with this. The pit in his stomach widened and his throat ran dry again.
“So, I’m sorry for feeling bad that you had to give that up. Is that what you wanted to hear? ” He spat the last part, his eyes moist and filled with hurt. Hansol froze.
“Wait,” he said, quietly. “Do you think I came back because I had to?”
Seungkwan turned away, head bowed, hair hanging into his eyes. Hansol didn’t need to see the tears welling up in them to know they were there. “Don’t make me sound pathetic for caring, Hansol, please,” he said, wiping his eyes hastily with his sweatshirt sleeve. Then he whipped his head around back up to glare at Hansol. “And fuck you for implying I don’t!”
“Seungkwan, I–”
“You think I would let you back into my home, my life , if I never wanted to see you again?” Seungkwan demanded through tears. He waved his hands frantically between them. “You think I wanted this ? This bitter, sad end to us? You think I gave up–?” He stopped dead in the middle of the question, face going blank in horror.
A chill crawled down Hansol’s spine. A thousand thoughts rushed into his mind at once, enough to make him dizzy. He mirrored Seungkwan’s shock and reminded himself to breathe as his heart raced.
Slowly, he stepped forward until he was inches away from Seungkwan. His eyes wandered across Seungkwan’s face. His eyes were puffy, eyelashes wet and clumped together. His hair was tousled, messier than it was before. His cheeks were flushed pink and streaked with tears. Again, Hansol felt the inexplicable, unshakeable urge to cup his face in his hands, to soak in the heat from his skin, to hold him.
“Gave up what?” he asked flatly.
Seungkwan held his gaze and drew unsteady, shallow breaths. His eyes danced frantically between Hansol’s. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped.
Hansol asked him again, quietly this time. “What did you give up, Kwan-ah?”
Tears welled up in Seungkwan’s eyes, brows drooping at the ends again. He shook his head. “Don’t–” he managed, voice low, barely a whisper.
“Seungkwan,” Hansol said, holding his breath, “did you break up with me so I wouldn’t give up on NYU?” Seungkwan’s eyes clamped shut as tears rolled down his face.
Hansol’s heart pounded hard and fast as air rushed into his lungs. His skin was alight, tingling all over. He couldn’t name the feeling, but it somehow felt a lot like hope. He wanted to move, he wanted to talk, but his limbs were heavy and so was his tongue. Instead, Seungkwan spoke.
“I couldn’t ask you to stay with me, Sol-ah,” he said, voice fractured and squeaky. “Not when you’d got into your dream school. I couldn’t let you give that up for me.” He sniffed, wiping his face on his sweatshirt sleeve again. Even with swollen eyes and a nose that was now as red as his cheeks were, he was still so beautiful. “And I knew long distance would never work. You would always feel like you had to come back. And I couldn’t do that to you, Sollie, I couldn’t hold you back. I couldn–”
Hansol swallowed the words that his lips were about to form. With one hand on Seungkwan’s warm cheek and the other snaked around his waist, Hansol gave in to every impulse he had felt since the second Seungkwan had opened the door. Seungkwan’s lips were soft and yielding, kissing him back with as much, if not more of the longing Hansol felt coarse through him. His hand travelled from Seungkwan’s cheek to the back of his neck, cradling his head, running his fingers through his hair. Seungkwan’s hands found their way to Hansol’s shoulders and clung on for dear life.
“Sol-ah…” he breathed, breaking apart from Hansol, but still holding on to him. “I’m–”
“I didn’t come back because I had to,” Hansol said, before Seungkwan could get a word in. “I came back because as much as that place was my dream, every inch of this city reminds me of you. And even if I couldn’t be with you, at least you would be with me wherever I went.”
Seungkwan looked up at him, eyes filled with the same hope that now flooded Hansol’s body. A stray eyelash sat on his cheek and Hansol reached up to brush it away with the pad of his thumb.
“It’s not a dream if you aren’t part of it, Kwan-ah,” he said. He felt brave enough to manage a small smile – one which Seungkwan returned, albeit tearfully.
Hansol kissed him again, grabbing him by the waist this time. Seungkwan wrapped his arms around Hansol’s neck, cocking his neck to the side to deepen the kiss. A couple of seconds later he broke away from Hansol, giving him whiplash.
“Ugh, I was so determined to finally get over you, Chwe Hansol!” he said with a pout, hitting Hansol on the chest. “And you had to go and show up early!” Hansol grinned.
“Sorry to mess with your wash and dry cycle, Boo Seungkwan-ssi,” he said, brushing Seungkwan’s hair out of his eyes.
Suddenly, both their phones buzzed in their pockets. With one hand still around Seungkwan’s waist, he fished it out of his pocket with the other. Seungkwan did the same. “It’s a weather alert for the rain,” he said, brows furrowing.
Hansol pocketed his phone and wrapped his arm around Seungkwan again. “Looks like I’m going to have to stay a little longer than I thought,” he said. “Is that OK?”
Seungkwan smirked. “Sure,” he said. “Good thing you have a change of clothes here.”
Hansol smiled. “Yeah. They’re fresh out of the laundry too.”
He was so glad he read that text wrong.
*
As they lay coiled together naked between the sheets of Seungkwan’s bed, Hansol leaned forward to kiss Seungkwan’s shoulder. His eyes were heavy, the exhaustion of the day wearing down on him. Weathering a storm – both literal and emotional – plus a couple of hours of make-up sex could do that.
He was slowly drifting to sleep when Seungkwan said, quietly, “Sol-ah?”
“Hmm?”
“I have a confession.”
Hansol’s eyes opened to see Seungkwan look up at him sheepishly. “Okay?”
“Your sweatshirt wasn’t really sitting in a drawer for two years,” Seungkwan said in a small voice. “I’ve been wearing it to bed.” With that, he buried his face in the pillow. Hansol snorted, then burst into a full bellied laugh.
“Why’re you laughing?” Seungkwan protested, emerging from the pillow. “I didn’t want you to think I was some freak who wears his ex’s clothes so I washed it–”
“But you are some freak who wears his ex’s clothes,” Hansol said. Seungkwan’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped in mock horror. He picked up the pillow and hit Hansol with it in the face.
“ Ow! ”
“Feel free to sleep out in the rain tonight, wiseass!” Seungkwan said, hitting him again.
“Hey!” Hansol said, raising his hands in defeat. “At least you’re not the freak who moved back to Korea just to be in the same city as his ex."
Seungkwan held the pillow mid-air, smiled and then put it down. “Looks like we’re both freaks.”
“Mmhmm, absolute idiots.”
“Jeonghan hyung was right then.”
“When is he not?”
They both broke into giggles, mindless and joyous, and snuggled together in the bed they once shared and would now share again. Hansol could stay like this for a while, even – he thought, filled with optimism, hope, or some kind of certainty that bravely bloomed in his chest, he couldn’t be sure – forever.
***