Chapter Text
Jake was hiding in Jay’s car, holding a slow-burning joint in his hands and waiting for the hot Sacramento air to cool. It wouldn’t be for another few hours until he could finally go home, free from the yellow grasslands of St. Peter’s school. He told himself he wouldn’t skip class today, but by 8 a.m., his headache was borderline abusive and he didn’t have it in him to pretend to care about geography, so he walked out while Sister Barbara was talking and headed out to the parking lot.
He texted Jay, only asking if he had any edibles on him, but Jay knew how he got so he decided to walk out of math to find him. Jay was Jake’s dealer, therapist, friend, and on some occasions, even his tutor. It was nonsensical to him, though — if anything, it should’ve been Jake that tutored him. He was smarter. His brain worked faster than everybody else’s, but he was always too high and too careless to make anything of himself.
Jake was trying to numb his senses as much as he could. He felt the prickling in his skull, slow and languid, yet annoying all the same. He knew what it was like to break a bone and suffer an ankle injury. He was well aware of the throbbing that could only be eased with bags of ice and Aspirin. For two years now, though, the only injury he had to endure was a chronic, never-ending headache. He used a variety of things to aid the pain. Weed, alcohol, coke, Sunoo.
Kim Sunoo was probably the worst thing that ever happened to him. He knew it. Everyone knew it. But he was the only thing that helped him stay together, even if he was also frequently the one picking at the thread and letting him come undone. They had a strange relationship, but he patched him up, free of judgment.
With Jay, it was different. Jay was company on the slow days, but more often than not, he was the shadow that walked alongside him. They were a packaged deal. Wherever they went, they went together. Jay knew him better than anyone else. He analyzed him, observed him like he was on a petri dish under a microscope, and trudged beside him like a ghost. Whenever Jake looked behind his shoulder, Jay was always there.
Jake stares out the window, squinting as he spots the sun on the horizon. “You talked to Jungwon, yet?”
“Fuck that, man,” Jay cursed, shaking his head.
“You always say that.”
“Some petty bullshit came up a few nights ago,” Jay’s voice is cool, icy. “Hasn’t talked to me since.”
“I’d bet my left lung it’s probably your fault he got pissed,” Jake takes another huff of his joint before passing it over to Jay, “Just apologize.”
Jay shakes his head again, lips sucking on the white parchment for a few seconds before he moves it away and hands it back to its rightful owner. “Nah, man. All this fighting’s annoying. I’m tired of it.”
In his dazed state, Jake finds it in him to laugh, “Yeah, you say that now, and then you’ll end up calling him.”
“Fuck’s it to you,” Jay watches him with careful eyes, “And you can’t say shit when you and Sunoo keep going back and forth.”
“That’s different. We’re not dating."
“Might as well be, man.”
“But we’re not,” Jake says, matter-of-factly, and then he takes another long huff off his joint before blowing the smoke out.
Jay rolls his eyes, as if to say, Whatever. He knew better than to push.
“How’s everything with your mom?”
Jake whips his head to the window, wanting to avoid Jay’s eyes now. Talk about a lack of tact. He shrugs, but he can feel the slow prickling of something painful in his abdomen. “She’s good.”
“Yeah? ‘Cause I was thinking of giving you some shit. You could sell it, make some quick cash, pay off the rent for the month.”
Jake turns to him now, irises burning. The ache in his head comes back. He throws it back against the cool leather of Jay’s seats and sighs. “She’d just ask where I’m getting the money from.”
“Tell her it’s from your job, duh.”
“You think she’s going to believe I came up with $2k in four days? At my lousy ass job?” Jake takes his fingers and rubs them against the heat of his skin. He rolls his thumb over his eyebrows. Once, twice.
“I don’t know, man. Just make something up,” Jay takes the joint from his hands, “If you want the money, I got you.”
Jake runs it over in his mind. It wouldn’t be the first time he helped Jay out. He’d have to be more careful this time, considering he just had a run-in with the cops a few weeks ago, but he really did need the money.
Jay pulls out a bag from his pocket and places it on his thigh.
“Aspirin,” He says, before putting the joint back up to his lips, “It’ll help with the headache.”
“Aspirin doesn’t do shit for my fucking headache,” Jake opens his eyes, careful to avoid the harsh sun rays, “You got valium?”
“Don’t you have that shit at home later?”
Jake remembers. His aunt had just died. It was his aunt from his dad’s side, and even though he wasn’t really in the picture anymore, someone had dropped by an invitation to her funeral a few weeks ago, anyway. They hadn’t shown up, but Jake’s mom took it upon herself to host a novena, or a nine-day period of prayer to mourn the passing of a loved one. It was an old-school catholic tradition, one his mom was still keenly passionate about. Tonight would be the first day, and he’d probably be thrown out of the house if he showed up high in front of his entire family.
“Yeah. Pain in the ass to deal with this shit, you know? Like, I didn’t even really know her. Why the fuck does this shit have to be at my house?”
Jay turns to look at him, “But, tough shit anyway, though. Cardiac arrest is a horrible way to go.”
“Better than getting run over.”
“Who the fuck do you know that’s gotten run over?”
“Peter? The guy who was riding a scooter and then got crushed, like, four days ago? You haven’t read that shit?” Jake puts the joint back in between his lips.
“No. How the fuck do you know this guy?”
“I don’t–” He sucks in a delicate, yet long, breath, and then exhales, “I read it in the paper. Sister Margaret has a fuckton of newspapers in her office.”
“How’d that go, by the way? Do you have detention for like, forever?” Jay extends his hand, and Jake passes the joint again.
“No. I just have to pass out the communion wafers for a month.”
“That’s not too bad. Could be worse. Last time I got caught smoking, I had to clean up behind the bleachers. Nasty shit goes down back there.”
Jake gives him a side grin, “Yeah, you should know.”
“Fucking gross. As if I’d do it anywhere near the field. That whole place smells rank.”
“Whatever,” Jake turns back to the window, “Just apologize to Jungwon and stop being such a big baby. You’ll regret it in a few days.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ll see.”
There’s a pause of silence. Jake is busy looking out the window, observing whoever’s class is on the field for gym, and Jay is trying to huff up the last bit of their scrawny joint.
Then, the silence is filled again.
“So? Are you helping me? I can give you a small stash.”
Jake turns back to him again. He contemplates, only for a moment, and then his mind drifts back to the stress his mom’s been under the last few weeks, dealing with all this family shit and other mysterious expenses she won’t tell him about.
He nods. “Yeah. Sure. I need the money, man.”
“Your mom needs the money,” Jay corrects him, “You can’t smoke any of this shit? Got it?”
“I won’t.”
“I’m serious, dude.”
“Yeah, I know. I won’t. I swear.”
Maybe Jake means it. He doesn't know yet. Depends on how his headache fans out.
_____
When Jake gets home, everything looks exactly as it did before he left this morning. The fan is still on, and there’s an unhealthy amount of dust swirling in his apartment. His pajamas are still on the couch, and his trash is still scattered amongst the coffee table. He sets his backpack down on his unclean carpet and makes his way through his mess.
There are shoes, paper bags, and joggers scattered all over the floor, along with the ashes of his blunt that must’ve fallen out when he lit up last night. Like always, his apartment smells like chlorine and cat litter, and he doesn't even have a cat.
He goes to open up the window in his kitchen and unplugs the microwave. Shit. That’ll probably go into the light bill.
He rips off his uniform shirt and grabs the t-shirt on the dining table, throwing it on with ease. Outside, there is nothing but the sound of his windpipes and the music streaming in from the apartment a few doors down. Jazz plays through the speakers, and sunlight cascades in through the large, barred windows, reflecting on the green paint on the walls.
His mom hadn’t come home yet. She must be working overtime again.
He walks down his hallway and into his room, wondering if there’ll be any signs of his older brother. As usual, his room is still unfurnished, and there’s no sign of his bags.
He “moved out” a few weeks ago, claiming he had a job lined up in San Francisco, but Jake knew how it typically went. He’d leave, then come back and mooch off of them until he found the energy to get up and go again. He was a lot like their dad in that way.
He heads into his bedroom to grab his job uniform and sees there’s a note taped to the outside of his window. Gift from the landlord, most likely.
He grabs it, slipping his hand past the metal bars, and then retreats back inside the apartment.
Sim,
You have two days before I put the eviction notice on your door. Tell your mom.
Sam.
Fucking Sam and his stupid rules. It’s as if he already knew they didn’t have this month’s rent. Would it be surprising? Not really. But this whole ‘leaving him notes’ thing was unnecessary. As if they didn’t already know they were behind on basically every fucking bill that existed.
The problem with poverty was that it was relentless. It accumulated like a bad virus, soaking up under the skin. Pretty much everyone stuck at the bottom of the hole was unable to get out, unless they exerted extreme trepidation. Because if you grew up in poverty and somehow made it out, it was only that much easier to fall back in and start the hopeless cycle all over again.
Jake’s mom was an RN at a local community clinic, but no matter how many hours she put in, her checks always came out smaller than expected. Jake started working as soon as he could lift up enough heavy boxes to get a job at a local stocking company, but even with his mom working an overnight hotel job, they could barely make ends meet. Jake had offered to take up another job. He knew a few guys who worked at a warehouse overnight, but his mom had refused.
It was a monthly argument by this point. He would offer to work more hours or get another job, and his mom would scream at him and tell him his only responsibility was to go to school, but he didn’t go anyway. She knew that, but maybe it was easier to pretend she didn’t. Maybe it was less stressful to pretend she didn’t smell the weed when she walked in through the door, or like she hadn’t already found the stash of pills in his sock drawer. That’s what a lot of Jake’s life was – pretending.
He turns the shower on and watches the clock. He only had about an hour until he had to be in for his shift, but he knew he had to watch how long he showered, too. Measuring his water usage was a normal part of his day. He takes twenty minutes before hopping out and slipping into the last round of his clean clothes.
He opens up his medicine cabinet and digs out two Advils and swallows them down with the last bit of his warm Dr. Pepper. Then, he grabs one of the hoodies off his floor, swings his backpack over his shoulders, and heads back out, making sure everything is unplugged this time.
___
Jake was a line cook, but not a very good one.
Ryujin, a girl from homeroom, Freshman year, had been the one to tell him about the job. She was working at the old movie theatre a few blocks down when he had gone in with Sunoo to watch a matinee viewing of probably the worst movie he’s ever seen. One conversation led to another, and now here he was, dousing himself in oil and hash brown fumes.
Araceli’s Diner was named after the owner – Araceli – but she had died a few years ago and now the entire restaurant was managed by some wack job named Erick who got hired by the city. Jake never met Araceli, but he’s sure she probably would’ve been a lot better at managing this place than this Erick guy.
He was forty, with the kind of awkward smile that you’d think about avoiding for life, and he always finished a cup of coffee and then swallowed down a handful of breath mints. Jake was pretty sure he was a gigolo, but it wasn’t really his place to ask for confirmation. Ryujin didn’t seem to know anything about him other than the fact that she occasionally saw him working at a hot dog stand near the baseball stadium.
He was busy frying up some unseasoned eggs when Ryujin popped her face back in through the tiny window.
“How long until those chocolate pancakes are done? The kid over by the jukebox is crying out of hunger and his parents keep asking me to come back here and see if they’re ready.”
Jake looked over to the side of his grill, where the sides of his pancakes were slowly starting to burn. Aw, fuck. He takes his spatula with one hand and flips using his wrist, careful not to make too much movement. He’s been here long enough to know that severe arm movement could lead to an unholy cramp that could last for weeks and render his arms basically useless.
He quickly plates two onto a clean plate and hands it over, uncaring if they looked decent. As long as they were cooked, right?
“Thanks,” Ryujin says, before heaving out a sigh and taking the plate with her.
He goes back to his eggs, and with one hand, squeezes out more pancake batter onto the grill. The sizzle overwhelms his ears, and it syncs to the thumping in his head. Those Advils’ had only worked for a solid four hours, and now he was coming up on the last bit of the seventh hour of his shift and his head was starting to resemble a drum line.
He had no choice but to push through the pain, though. Tony and Jericho, two of the other cooks, had called off due to both getting sick. Quite convenient that they both got sick at the same time.
Ryujin pops back in, sweat dripping down her brow.
Jake sighs, “I just started working on the other pancakes, alright. Give me like five.”
“No. I’m here to free you. Look at table seven–”
Jake follows her pointer finger and then, he spots him.
“Is that–?”
Ryujin nods her head voraciously, “Lee Heeseung from middle school? Yup, that’s him. In the flesh. God, he looks even cuter now that he’s older.”
“Stop fawning over him. You’re supposed to take his order.”
Ryujin gives him an incredulous look. “No, I know you’re just as shocked as I am. This guy basically fell off the map and boom! Now he’s back.”
Jake moves his pan away from the heat and runs a sweaty hand over his forehead, “You’re acting like he’s a hometown legend. He’s just a kinda geeky kid we went to middle school with. No big deal.”
“It’s not often you run into people who come back to live in this shitty ass city. Might as well marvel while you can.”
“Can’t marvel. I’m working, you should be too.”
“Are you even gay? How’re you not drooling over this guy?”
Jake chooses to turn away from her and his sight goes back to his workstation and the ungodly amounts of grease coating just about everything he puts his hands on. He looks off at the small clock at the end of the room. Only thirty-minutes left and then he gets to go home and scrub the smell of breakfast off of his skin until he turns pink.
Yet, despite the smell of sausage links and pancake batter wafting up his nose, Jake does take another solitary moment to look back out at the guy sitting in the seventh table, the whole booth to himself. He was taller, that’s for sure, and he wasn’t wearing glasses anymore.
His hair was cut in a messy semi-mullet, with an undercut peeking through. He had two silver circlets hanging off his earlobe and even from here, Jake could see the rings on his fingers.
Truth be told, Jake was drooling over the guy. How could he not?
The first time Jake had laid his eyes on Lee Heeseung was in the sixth grade.
Heeseung was lankier, with a rounded face. He had a wide smile bigger than heaven and a laugh that erupted through empty hallways. It was the kind of laugh that made the world light up a little bit if he directed it your way. The kind of laugh that made you giddy and high on life, like serotonin bliss.
Back then, Jake hadn’t really made much of him. They barely crossed paths because they were both in separate classes, but Jake knew of him. He was in the school’s small lit-book club, in the soccer team, in the track team, and on occasion, he sang with the school choir for recitals. He was a superstar in everyone’s eyes, and even at that age, Jake wasn’t dumb enough to feign indifference.
Heeseung had his first kiss in the sixth grade, with a girl from two classes down. People only found out because they got caught by a teacher in the back of the volleyball court, the two hiding behind a thin brick wall. Heeseung was kind of immortalized after that – the first boy to get his first kiss on the playground.
By the time they were in the eighth grade, Heeseung was starting to grow more into his features, little by little, and he was taking more interest in girls in their grade. Stories ranged from him being caught with his hand up a girl’s shirt, or him being caught with his hand up her thigh. The stories varied. After a while, his exploits became something like a myth.
And then, in the dead of winter, he just disappeared. Lee Heeseung had never missed a day of class, and all of a sudden, he was gone for two weeks straight. Gone, just like that.
Had he and Heeseung ever had a single conversation? No. But Jake knew what social circle he ran with, and he followed along with the stories too. Had he ever heard Heeseung publicly confess to any of those stories being straight-baloney? Also no. But judging by the way he looks now, he doesn’t doubt at least some of them were true.
Jake goes back to flipping pancakes and plating eggs, and only occasionally, does he glance back to table seven. He knows Ryujin keeps ogling at him, but he doesn't exactly blame her.
He looks back up at the clock sometime later and sees the large hand hit the bolded 12 at the top. Shift’s over.
He unwraps his apron with routine precision and hangs it up in one quick swoop. He turns towards the rest of the kitchen, gives them a wave, and then he’s grabbing his stuff from the tiny lockers in the back. He hated that the break room was A) smaller than a public restroom, and B) so close to the kitchens. The smell of potatoes and sauteed mushrooms followed him home because the grease stuck to his belongings like the aroma of weed.
He leaves through the backdoor and right as he’s stepping out into the cool night breeze, he pulls out a small pre rolled joint he’d been saving in the small pocket of his backpack, lights up, and pops it into his mouth.
He walks over to the bus stop at the end of the street and it’s only until he’s mere feet away that he realizes Heeseung is sitting there, waiting for the bus too.
Fuck.
Jake remembers the moments he had caught Heeseung’s eye back in middle school. Sometimes, in the lunchroom, when he was walking by. Sometimes, at the neighborhood record store he used to loiter around. But never has there been a moment so potent as when he laid his eyes on Heeseung outside the tiny diner of their small part of the city, under a shifting navy blue sky.
He takes a long drag of his joint and sits next to him, trying not to draw attention to himself. Jesus Fuck. There’s ketchup on his collar and he smells like bacon and he has enough sweat on his forehead to drench a towel.
“Hey,” Heeseung says, cutting the sound of inner city cars driving past them.
Jake gives him a timid, awkward, smile and he takes another huff of his joint. “Hey.”
Okay. Kill him.
Jake’s eyes were itching with fatigue and he was dying for sleep and a shower, but he still had to pass by their local grocer and pick up some food for his midnight cravings later.
“You work there?” Heeseung asks, finger pointing back to the diner.
Jake thinks he’s getting punked. “Uh. Yeah, dude. Can’t you smell the hot grease on me?”
Heeseung gives him that sweet, dazzling smile. “Right, yeah. I can. Just didn’t want to assume.”
There’s another long pause. And then Heeseung speaks again.
“I swear I’ve seen you before. I just can’t remember from where – yeah, yeah – I definitely know you.”
Jake feels hot smoke fill his mouth and then he coughs and lets it out, “Yeah. We, uh, went to the same middle school.”
“Oh! Yeah! I remember you now,” He flashes him another smile, “I don’t really remember your name or anything, but definitely your face.”
Jake gives him a hasty nod. He should end this conversation, for his and Heeseung’s sake. His exhaustion is starting to build up now that his attention isn’t focused on cooking eight things at once.
They go back to the quiet, the two of them waiting for the city bus that only ever smells like piss at this time of night. And then, for God knows what reason, Jake breaks the silence again.
“Where’d you move to?” He asks, speaking past the smoke.
Heeseung registers the question. “To the bay. My parents got divorced and my dad moved out there.”
“Oh, shit. How was that?” Jake asks, turning his head now, but making sure he didn’t blow hot smoke into Heeseung's face.
“Boring,” Heeseung smiles again, and then his eyes look off at the joint in Jake’s hands.
“You smoke?” Jake drawls.
“Occasionally.”
“Want some?”
Heeseung doesn't exactly make any reaction, but Jake passes the joint over anyway. It’s not like his judgement was wrong. Heeseung grabs it with delicate fingers and then puts the paper in between his lips.
And then he’s handing it back and coughing out a lung. “Fuck. I haven’t – I haven’t smoked in months. My mom doesn’t let me.”
“She’s correct in that,” Jake says, “This shit is straight up poison.”
“Is that why you’re smoking it?”
“I’m a bit of a self-deprecating prick, Heeseung,” He cracks a soft grin, but his joke doesn’t really land. He had forgotten that only he and Jay shared this douchebag-esque humor.
“Shit, sorry.” He quickly apologizes. “I’m a bit vulgar. I didn’t mean that. I just–”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” Heeseung gently laughs.
Jake takes another hit, and then he passes it back. Heeseung accepts it again.
“Do you smoke a lot?” Heeseung speaks around the joint.
Jake nods. “It’s a bad habit.”
“There are worse things you could be doing.”
“What? Like, heroin?”
Heeseung turns to him, a bit stunned, “Yeah. I guess. I meant pills, though. Weed is recreational. It’s legal in 24 states. So, kind of safe.”
Jake’s mind flutters back to the bags of drugs sitting at the bottom of his backpack. It’d be kind of strange if he dumps his substance abuse problem on this random guy from middle school, so he just nods along.
“Yeah. True.”
“Do you go to the local high school? Uh. What’s it called–”
“--Natomas? Nah. I go to St. Peter’s. The all-grades catholic school up the road from there.”
“No way. You go to school with a bunch of kindergarteners?”
Jake nods, “Technically. But I never see them though. Their building is closer to the church.”
Heeseung nods in understanding, and then from around the corner, the two of them spot the familiar white glimmer of the city bus.
Jake, a bit saddened, smokes the last bit of his joint, and then he pinches the ember and stomps it out on the concrete.
The bus comes to a rolling stop and he takes out the two crumpled up dollars in his pockets. Heeseung takes out his wired headphones and puts them in his ears before following behind him, with a city bus card.
Jake takes one of the seats in the back, and he rests his forehead against the cold windows. Only a few stops until he could go home and snuggle up in the mess of his brother’s bedroom, a room the two of them shared once upon a time.
When Jake gets home, he sees the familiar yellow light in his kitchen turned on. He’d forgotten his family was meeting at his house tonight. He slips his hoodie over his uniform and hopes the cologne on the fabric can hide the scent of weed still on him.
He kicks the door open and sees his entire family gathered around the kitchen and the living room. All his shit is gone, and was probably thrown into his room haphazardly, and it doesn’t smell like cat piss, surprisingly, but like food instead.
He looks around the room and spots his cousins, and some uncles he hasn’t seen in years. The whole room is mid-way through the ‘Our Father’ prayer, so he gives everyone a quick wave and then he heads down the hallway and into his room. Sure enough, his mess was in there, littered all over his floor and atop his bed.
His mom comes in after him, and she closes the door. The sound of prayer becomes a muffled hum.
“You look a mess,” She states, and then points at the mess of his room, “The way you had this house earlier – Jake, that’s just disgusting. You have to clean up after yourself, especially for the next two weeks.”
He shrugs off his backpack and lets it land on the floor, “My bad.”
His mom has her hair up in a slick-back ponytail, which she probably did in a rush, and the familiar dark purple hue under her eyes shines under his shitty bedroom light. She had a few bits of concealer, but her mascara was a little runny, and the eyeshadow on the corners of her eyes had melted off.
“Did you talk to Sam?”
“He left me a note. Says he’ll put the eviction note on the door in two days.” Jake nearly winces as the words come out of his mouth.
“Oh,” His mom drags a sweaty hand down the side of her jeans, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll probably go down to the Money Tree tomorrow… Get the rest of the rent. Can you make me a check tomorrow morning and hand it in?”
Jake nods, but he keeps his eye on the floor, as if he’s not really listening. Although he is, and his heart is kind of breaking a bit.
“Okay. We’ll be done with the uh – service soon. You can pop in and get some food. Shower first. You smell like hot oil.”
And then she’s gone, leaving him behind in his room. The door handle makes a crunch sound as she walks off, and he makes a mental note to finally tell Sam about the broken door knobs throughout the apartment, and the closet door that fell off its hinges a few nights ago.
He leans back against his mattress, eyes finding the dusty light bulb overhead. The plastic diffuser on his ceiling had broken a few months ago, and now there was only the singular burning fluorescent yellow bulb.
He needs to make the rest of the rent by tomorrow, before his mom has a chance to head down to the Money Tree in the afternoon. If she took out another loan and was unable to pay it back, they weren’t going to have enough to pay the electric bill and it would probably be cut off again, like last month. Two months ago, it had been the water bill.
He makes another mental note to thank Jay for the opportunity to make some quick cash.
He turns to his side. A few minutes of sleeping wouldn’t hurt.
__
He wakes up to the sound of someone banging on his door.
He runs a hand over his face and groans, stretching his arms out to the ceiling and then returning them back to his side.
The banging resumes.
Who the fuck–
He gets out of bed and heads down the hallway. His apartment is empty and the aroma of last night’s kimchi jjigae has practically stained his walls.
He grabs the front door and opens it with one sweep while letting out a yawn.
Behind the door is none other than Sam, the landlord.
“Morning, Sim,” He smiles, yellow teeth in full view, “Something about a leak?”
“Uh?”
“Your mom said there was a leak.”
“Oh.”
He yawns again and moves out the way, making space for Sam to walk in. Fuck, what time was it?
He closes the door and the sunlight is gone. Thank God. He was tired of squinting.
He follows Sam to the bathroom and sure enough, there’s a bucket on the floor and the consistent sound of a single droplet a second coming down from above. He looks up at the damp stain on the ceiling.
“I thought the upstairs apartment was empty?” Jake asks, dragging his finger over the water stain.
Sam stands up on the toilet, his skinny body practically looking like a Twizzler stick as he sticks his hands out to pull down the plastic ceiling.
“You got new neighbors as of a month ago. How haven’t you noticed?”
“I’m never home, Sam, remember?” He scratches at his skin, yawning again, “That’s why you leave notes on my window.”
“Oh yeah. You think your mom has the rent already?”
“I’ll drop it off sometime later, alright. After school.”
“Jake,” Sam looks down at him, “It’s 4:15.”
Shit.
“Aw fuck–”
He runs into his bedroom and pulls out a pair of joggers from his floor and throws them on. He discards his smelly uniform shirt and settles for nothing but a hoodie, which he’ll probably regret later, considering it looks like the sun is out and burning today.
His mom was probably already at the Money Tree.
He slips on his shoes and grabs his bag.
“See you, Sam. Lock up when you’re done.” And then he’s out the door and running towards the bus stop.
How the fuck was he supposed to make the money now? He reaches down into his pockets and realizes he had forgotten to grab his phone. Jesus, he was a mess.
Fuck the bus.
He starts speed walking down the road, feeling the glare of the sun over his head. He needed to make the check and make up enough money for his mom’s overarching debt. How much was it this time? He tries to think back to the last few payments she’s missed.
There was the car payment. The monthly-payment she still had to make for her window replacement after someone had smashed it in a few weeks ago. Then, there was the past-due bill from another loan service uptown. That was what - $4k? Shit. How the fuck was he going to cough that up? The electric bill was overdue by about a month now, so maybe the bucket of water from the leak might be useful as he scraps something together.
Where is he supposed to sell? And quickly enough that he can have something for later, at least. Where is he supposed to go? Think, Jake. Think.
He walks down to the park where he had his first-kiss and finds that it’s unbearably empty. Ironic how it’s only ever ‘full’ when kids are supposed to be at school.
Where the fuck does Jay even sell? He traces back through his memories.
After church, in the lunchroom, during passing periods… Fuck. This was going to be harder than Jake thought.
Not knowing what else to do, he calls Jungwon. Jay’s kind of serious about them talking, especially, when they’re both mad at each other, but Jake considers this a special case.
“Yo.”
“Jungwon, hey. It’s Jake. Are you still on the school’s softball team?”
“Uh. Yeah. why?”
“I have like $2k worth of drugs I need gone by tonight.”
“Don’t tell me Jay gave them to you…”
“I need the money, Jungwon.”
There’s a brief moment of silence. And then he speaks again, “You can’t sell anything to my team, dude. But if you walk by my parent’s restaurant, there’s usually always people willing to buy around there. Just don’t get caught.”
“Fucking, duh. Thanks man.”
There’s a sick kind of art to selling drugs. Jake only knows of it because Jay’s been doing it since they were in middle school. It’s a certain kind of devotion and determination that seems tragic, in retrospect. Jay isn’t really into any of the hard stuff, but he knows someone who gets him pills and LSD and shit. Real highschool shit, basically.
Jake’s never known where Jay gets it from, but he knows it kind of runs in his family. His uncle went to jail for it for like a year and he has a few cousins in juvie ‘cause of it. With that kind of record, Jay’s always been careful about how he manages to get things done.
His dad wanted him to be an engineer, but a few years of working for a construction company made him give up on that dream fairly quickly. No one believes in any kind of hope around here.
Jake decides to fish out the last five bucks in his pocket and take the bus to Jungwon’s family restaurant. Yang Noodles sold the best ramen in town, in Jake’s opinion, but he hasn’t gone since Jungwon’s parents found out he smoked weed. They used to talk to his mom, back when she went to church, and Jake wanted to avoid his mother confronting him about his exploits by any means necessary.
Yang Noodles was across the street from a tire shop that was burnt to the ground about four years ago. The burnt concrete still stands, with a crooked fucked-up sign still surrounded by yellow caution tape. Jake used to want to work there when he was younger, and then the whole place got incinerated along with his dreams of a better life. Tragic, right? That sort of self-deprecation is what Jake’s known for.
He hops off the bus and hands the bus driver his crumpled up bill and then finds himself in front of a familiar beat-up street.
Jay always tells him not to hang around when selling shit. It made cops suspicious. So Jake decided to take a nice stroll around the neighborhood. Eventually, he saw some kids he recognized from school walking past.
What does Jay do in these scenarios? Open his mouth.
“Hey, man. How’s it? You’re in Mrs. Lang’s chemistry class, right?” He goes up to someone wearing a black crew neck and instantly regrets it because the guy smells like straight up shit, but whatever.
He manages to get $400 off of that strategy alone.
The sun hangs high in the sky, cooking his skin despite his best attempts at protecting himself from the heat. At this rate, he’ll have to hide at his shitty diner and use up their stinky AC.
Just as he manages to get another hundred from the kids walking up the street, his headache returns in full-swing. It starts kind of cottony, at the front of his head, and running down to his eyelids. And then it spreads to the back of skull and down his neck, thumping and throbbing like taking a power drill to the head.
He finds his way to his workplace and finds Ryujin behind the counter with a soda can in her hand and her apron stained with ketchup.
He sits down in front of her, half-expecting her to say something snarky and add to his pessimism, but she just looks past him instead.
“You’re not working today.”
“I almost wish I was,” He turns his head and finds the person she’s looking at. Lee Heeseung. “Might as well go out there and ask for his number.”
“What if he’s gay?” Ryujin adds, stuffing straws into her pocket.
Jake looks back at her. “Everyone’s basically gay nowadays. You’re looking at a 50-50 chance.”
“What are you doing here, Jake?”
He reaches behind the counter and pulls out a stack of napkins. “I need money, and I came to see if I could hog the AC before I get back on the street. Do you have an aspirin, by the way?”
“I have an aspirin in my bookbag, and. Dude. You’re selling again? What am I supposed to do if you get arrested? You’re like the only person I can stand in this joint.”
He shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing.”
“That honestly only makes me sadder,” She finishes stuffing her pockets and then she’s moving away towards the back. “Wait here.”
Heeseung finally walks in and he takes a seat at the same booth from yesterday. Jake almost looks over and waves, but Ryujin comes back before he can act on it.
“Here,” She hands him an aspirin and then a wad of cash, “And here.”
“What the fuck Ryujin–”
“Chill out. It’s only like $800. You can pay me back later.”
“I don’t need your money–”
“I think it’s great you’re friends with Jay and all, but selling his shit isn’t the right way to go about it, Jaehyun.”
“Since when are you so concerned about the shit I do?” He doesn’t mean to sound so bitter, but it’s kind of been his thing for months now.
“I know you’re kind of like a prick but I think of you like a friend, even if you don’t consider me one, and I wouldn’t want my friend to end up in jail because he just needs cash.”
“I’m not a charity case.”
“I didn’t mean it like that…”
“Woe is me, so I’m fucking poor. So is everyone else in this stupid city. I didn’t know my desperation leaked like a faucet,” Jake hands her back her cash.
She sighs. “Do you really hate yourself so much you look at the rest of the world like a garbage dump?”
“The rest of the world is a garbage dump,” He corrects, “It’s not my fucking fault that’s how it is.”
“Yeah. I guess nothing is ever your fault. Is it?” She stuffs her money into her pocket and looks Jake up and down. But Jake’s kind of used to the disappointing glance. “Let me ask you something, Jake. As fucked up as your life is, do you see yourself living like this for the rest of your life?”
“What?”
“Do you ever see yourself free from doing shit like this?”
“Not really, no.”
“And that’s the world’s fault?”
“Why are you lecturing me?”
“Because I think you might grow up to be a bitter old man living in his own misery and that kind of makes me sad.”
“Now you’re pitying me?”
“A little bit, yeah.”
“Here’s a tip, Ryujin. Don’t pity your friends. No matter how fucked they may seem.” He gets up off his chair and turns around, not necessarily expecting her to say anything.
But she says something anyway. “Get over yourself, Jake. Honest to God.”
And then he’s gone, and it’s only after he’s outside and waiting for the bus that he realizes Heeseung was watching them the entire time.
He finds his way to the bus spot, feeling like shit, and he digs around his pockets for a loose joint. He finds nothing but a cigarette and he considers it apt for his lack of self-esteem and ambition. Maybe Ryujin was right. He always knew he was a little bit of a dickhead, but he’s starting to hit a new low, even for him.
He stuffs the cigarette into his mouth and he feels the sun disappear from beside him. He turns, squinting, and finds Heeseung looking down at him.
“Dude, you’re, like, freakishly tall,” Jake says, breathing around his cigarette.
Heeseung cracks a smile, “Hello to you too.”
He takes a seat beside him and the sun returns. It hits Jake in the shoulder, and then it cascades down to his ribs. He breathes slowly, taking in the warmth for a few seconds. And then Heeseung talks.
“So, uh, how’s it going?” Wow. Sheesh. This guy is a bit awkward.
Jake turns in his direction, “It’s fine, dude. I know you heard everything that went on in there.”
Heeseung’s hands stick together, “Yeah. Shit. I didn’t mean to, really–”
“It’s fine.” Jake declares, wanting to end this conversation already.
“You sound like you need a drink. Or five.”
Jake finds his eyes again. Does he look that gross for real?
"What? Do you have a secret bottle of vodka lying around or something?” Jake had meant it as an unfunny tort, but Heeseung’s eyes suddenly fill with something foreign and Jake thinks he just hit the nail on the head without thinking. “Wait, seriously?”
“The bottle’s not mine. It’s my dad’s,” Heeseung clarifies, “But he’s out of town.”
“And you’re suggesting…?”
“Yeah. If you’re up for it.”
And well, Jake always is.
__
Heeseung is, as it turns out, fucking loaded.
They walked up a few blocks into a residential neighborhood. Somewhere past the curving suburban roads and past the trail of similarly built beige houses sat a cream and butter yellow colored house with a clay-tiled roof and a palm tree in the driveway.
There was a glass block window facing the sun and reflecting back a vivid technicolor, and solar-powered yard lights were lined down the cement driveway. Here, the earth didn’t smell like gasoline and dog shit.
“I didn’t know you were rich.” Jake comments, bluntly.
“I’m not,” Heeseung opens the front-door and the fresh smell of AC cooling wafts up Jake’s nose, “My dad is.”
“Same fucking thing, dude. You live with him don’t you?”
“He looks at me like a freeloader, technically, so no. Not the same thing.”
“Harsh.” Jake steps in, finding instant comfort in the circulating fresh air and Lysol smell.
“Here, c'mon. We can go up to my room.”
Jake follows Heeseung up the wooden stairs and down a narrow hallway into a basic, half-empty room. There was nothing but Heeseung’s bed, a plaid duvet sitting on top of it, and a black desk with a TV and a playstation.
“Woah, cool. You have all this stuff? I don’t even have a TV anymore.”
Heeseung stares at him, “Yeah, man. I just have a pretty regular room. Anyway, uh. I’ll go get the bottle, stay here.”
“Actually–” Jake pulls out his bag of shit, “I have like, some stuff. I don’t have a joint, and I don’t know if you’ve done PCP, but it gets you like, really, high. So I don’t know if you want to like– do that.”
Fucking hell. Why was he rambling all of a sudden?
Jake didn’t expect his spiel to work, but the neverending headache is coming back and there’s a little ache in his chest and he thought the cigarette would scratch the bug in his arteries but it didn’t, so when Heeseung nods, Jake almost lets out a sigh of relief. Thank fuck.
“Okay. Cool. So you just dissolve it in some water and there you go.” Jake hands him one of the pills and he calculates the cost in his head so he can pay Jay for it later. Easier said than done, of course, but Jake doesn’t register what’s going on as something peculiar.
He’s been to parties where this was the only atmosphere. Nothing but drinks and drugs and the occasional vomit on the floor fucking up his shoes. He’s blacked out on someone’s lawn, nearly threw up his lungs in someone’s nasty ass bathroom, and broken a curtain rod whilst high off a blunt in some girl’s living room. He doesn’t really have much in him to be embarrassed, but something about giving Heeseung a PCP pill makes him feel exposed.
He stops. Turns to face the boy beside him, and sighs, “Wait. This is fucked. Seriously, dude, this shit is like way strong it’s probably better if you–”
Heesung looks up at him, skin soft and tan under the hot sun. He shakes his head, “No. I want to.”
In two seconds, Jake realizes two things. (1) this is seriously a nice ass house and the AC is so crisp he can’t feel himself sweat when his body heats up like a lighter, and (2) there’s a certain lilt in Heeseung’s voice that kind of made something in Jake’s stomach twist and turn and sink, and now it’s stuck there, and he’s about to consume a stupid drug and all he’s praying for, really, is that he doesn’t do anything stupid himself.
He hands Heeseung the pill and sighs, “Okay, man. Up to you.”
“Oh. Shit. We need water, right?”
Before Jake can say anything, Heeseung gets up and storms down the steps. Jake remains inside, his eyes wandering around Heeseung’s bare room. It makes whatever was pooling in his stomach freeze over, if only for a moment, and before he can be too thankful about it, Heeseung returns with two water bottles.
Jake opens his bottle up, choosing not to wait for Heeseung, and he dips the pill in. Slowly, it fizzles out. Fissures of white powder spread throughout the warm water bottle, turning it the color of salt.
Jake turns and watches as Heeseung does the same. For a moment, they’re both silently holding their breaths, and then Jake shakes the bottle (once, twice) and then sips. Heeseung follows.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and turns to Jake, “That wasn’t so bad.”
Jake grins. “Just wait ‘till you feel this shit, man.”
“How long does it take to hit?”
Jake shrugs, “Don’t know. Maybe an hour, maybe less. I never really check.”
Heeseung’s eyes turn to the playstation, and then back to Jake. He points at his game set-up with a flimsy finger, “Wanna play in the meantime?”
Jake’s grin widens.
When the pill hits, Jake has to lay down.
He lays back, feeling Heeseung’s warm covers under him, and takes a deep breath in, then breathes out. The world feels a little crooked, not all the way there. The walls, for one, look too high, and when Heeseung lays next to him, everything feels too hot. He knows his eyes are low, he can feel his droopy eyelids.
Something akin to a tickle spreads through his skin, up, down, then up again. A small pinprick of numbness here, a small pinprick of numbness there. He keeps on breathing, focusing on the ceiling, and outside, the world is the color pink. He almost laughs. Almost. But then he remembers where he is, and who he’s here with.
He turns his head to the side, catching sight of Heeseung looking up at the ceiling, a feeling of bliss on his face.
Jake raises an eyebrow, “Feels good, huh?”
Heeseung nods, slowly, and then gulps. He licks at his lips. Once, twice. Jake does the same.
“It feels… kind of trippy,” Heeseung admits, “Like I’m floating.”
“It’s the best kind of high,” Jake assures him, “You won’t wake up feeling like shit.”
“I’ve never done this before.”
“I fucking figured.”
“But it’s nice,” Heeseung drawls, “Feels nice.”
Jake sits up, suddenly, feeling just the tiniest bit of whiplash. His head is slightly spinning once he’s all the way up, but it fades just as quick as it comes. “Hey. Don’t fucking fall asleep on me, dude.”
“What the fuck do I then?”
“Let’s keep playing.”
“But–”
Jake grabs Heeseung’s arm and he pulls him up, a little too forcefully in Jake’s opinion, but he does have poor muscle coordination in his defense.
“How do you feel?” Jake asks, eyeing Heeseung as he watches the boy adapt to his surroundings now that he’s upright.
“Like if a bubble just went, pop. Everything is quiet.”
Jake knows what he means. The first time he got high, he was pretty sure he was going insane, solely because he was able to go hours without a single thought creeping into the forefront of his mind. Weed was the perfect anxiety killer, but it did make him a bit stupid, in retrospect.
Jake laughs, “Alright, man.”
Heeseung gently turns to look out the window, and when his gaze returns to Jake, the brunette almost laughs at the sight of Heeseung’s droopy eyelids.
“Are you not going home?” Heeseung asks.
“Oh. shit. I mean, I can–”
“No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, ‘cause, like, it’s getting late,” Heeseung clarifies, his words coming out a bit slower than before, like he’s thinking of what word to say next.
Jake nods, “Oh. Yeah, I mean. I don’t need to be home, but I can leave…”
Heeseung places a warm hand over Jake’s, and then just as quickly removes it, as if hit with a sudden lightning strike.
“Oh. No, you don’t have to go. Shit. Sorry,” Heeseung looks up at the ceiling, “This shit makes me feel whacky.”
“It’s probably better if you laid down–”
Jake places his hands on Heeseung’s shoulders, in an attempt to push him down, and once Heeseung begins to lean, he grips onto Jake’s elbows and takes him along with him. It’s very awkward, and they both have the slowest reaction times to blame for the chorus of painful groans. When Heeseung’s back hits his covers, Jake suddenly realizes he’s on top of him.
He feels his cheeks heat up. The room lacks oxygen, all of a sudden.
In all his life, Jake had never seen a hotter sight. He had seen plenty of pretty things in life. Pretty sunsets, pretty rivers, pretty girls, pretty girls in his bed – but never has a gangly, tall, brown-haired boy with his lips slightly pouted and plump from an excessive amount of cotton-mouth induced licking, has ever looked prettier.
“Uhhhh…”
Heeseung moves before Jake can think about it. He lets go of Jake’s elbows and moves to the side.
“Woah. What the fuck.” He huffs out.
“You sure you’re good, man?”
Was Jake good? He could feel his blood pumping an obscene amount inside of his ribcage, and by extension, felt his heartbeat at a dangerous pace. Being high didn’t make his heartbeat fare any better.
“Yeah, sorry. I just– everything’s so slow.”
“I know you’re like, dying, over there, but the rumors about you in middle school were so true.”
Heeseung looks at him with his eyebrows creased. “What?”
“You totally kissed Jared Altmann in the 8th grade, right?”
By the look on Heeseung’s face, Jake knows he’s fucked this up. Ah shit.
There he goes… being a total dickhead.
“I mean– not that I– not that anyone said–”
Heeseung suddenly bursts out laughing. The sound is a little fuzzy and Heeseung seems skittish, but Jake finds it in him to giggle. The room kind of bursts with color.
“Wasn’t Jared,” Heeseung clarifies, “It was Connor.”
“No way, the weird kid with the glasses? Oh my God!”
Heeseung kept laughing, as if the memory suddenly resurfaced for him. Jake looks down at him, smiling like an idiot, because he now knows Heeseung enough for this. Not that they were friends, or anything. But only a few days ago, Jake merely wondered if all those myths were true, and now he has confirmation.
“He totally planted one on me, by the way,” Heeseung adds, covering his mouth with his hand as he keeps laughing.
“Wait. So does that mean you’re, what? Not gay?”
Heeseung looks at Jake with furrowed eyebrows, “Are you twelve?”
“I admit I am a little bit stuck in arrested development,” Jake laughs.
Heeseung playfully rolls his eyes, “Yes, you idiot, I am gay. But bi might be the politically correct term.”
“Does that mean you’re technically that weirdo’s first kiss?”
Heeseung thinks for a moment, seriously contemplating. “I guess.”
“Did he just like–”
Heeseung sat up straight again. He stands in front of Jake, eyelids heavy, and lips still seriously dehydrated.
“No, he just–” And because Heeseung isn’t thinking straight, he grabs the sides of Jake’s face and pulls in.
A wet smack echoes throughout the room and if Jake was in his right mind, he probably would’ve cringed so hard his bones would’ve shriveled up and decayed. Instead, he laughs, right over Heeseung’s lips.
Heeseung pulls his face back and grins, “See! That’s horrible, isn’t it?”
Jake licks his lips, “Totally.”
Heeseung plunges his body back on his mattress, soft laughs still escaping through his mouth. All Jake can think is thank God for the drugs. He might, seriously, have to pray during morning service now.
“Now, imagine being twelve and going through that shit,” Heeseung tacks on, laughing so hard his shoulders shake and a cough and some drool slip past his mouth. He wipes his mouth again and Jake is kind of embarrassed at how much he stares at the scene. “All these years later, and now, you’re telling me someone was talking about it?”
“Hey, man, word about you got around quick.”
“Never understood that,” Heeseung sits up again. He faces Jake again, and for a moment, Jake thinks he’s going to kiss him again, but Heeseung puts his fingers in front of his face and starts to exasperate. “I kissed three girls in middle school. Since then, I’m up to 5.”
“That’s way more than me, man–”
“When was your first kiss, Jakey? Last week?”
Jake knows Heeseung is just teasing, so he chooses to play along, suddenly enjoying the warmth in the atmosphere. “I was in the ninth grade, actually, and I had braces.”
“Oh, gross.”
Jake laughs, “I drank in an insane amount of spit, dude!”
Heeseung continues laughing and Jake joins him on the bed. His body feels weightless, like a feather in the wind, and everything is suddenly made more livid. The sun was fully setting and the color had made its way past Heeseung’s bedroom window to his face.
Under the soft orange glow, Heeseung looks so soft, it reminds Jake that he’s high and at a stranger's house. He’s about to say something – probably something stupid – but once again, Heeseung manages to shut him up.
“Do you wanna–”
Jake doesn’t know anything, suddenly. He doesn’t know what time it is, and he doesn't know how much money he has in his bag, and his mom is probably waiting on him at home because his family is praying, but all he can think about is this one question, and how much he doesn't know the answer to it.
He feels twelve.
Heeseung seems to be waiting. Jesus, fuck. How many seconds have passed?
Before Jake can rattle his brain for a single moment longer, he closes his eyes and goes for it. He wants to pull away, at least for his own sanity, but something in his chest is bursting, and bursting, and alive with technicolor. The room is getting darker, and yet, all he sees is light.
Heeseung kisses him back with ease, tongue slotting in between his mouth with a careful trepidation, as if he’s unsure about everything but still reaching anyway. They both start slow, gentle.
Jake feels himself tense as he registers what’s happening, but Heeseung is quick to place a warm hand on his shoulder, in an effort to calm him. Jake gives in, and he positions his body better to avoid that weird ache in his lower back.
His mouth is wet. His eyes are closed. Everything’s alight. Something akin to a lightning strike makes its way down Jake’s spine, curling his body hair and spreading goosebumps over the skin.
They pull away, reaching for breath and somehow failing to grasp it, and if Jake thought this was a bad idea, Heeseung shows no indication of such a thought. It makes Jake feel better about himself. He tries to think of things to say, but no words come up. He’s stuck in a maze, listless, wordless, feeling the breeze on his skin.
A heartbeat passes. Then another. Jake is sure he’s ruined it now, for real, and he’s so stuck in this weirdly strange liminal space that he doesn’t move. He just waits, like an idiot.
“That definitely beats the kiss with Connor.”
Jake looks down at him, unsure of himself, “Does it?”
Heeseung nods. “Well, for one, you can actually kiss.”
“That’s good – I mean, I’m glad – I mean–” Jake licks his lips. “I don’t know what I mean.”
“Yeah, fair enough.”
“So?”
“So…”
It happens in a painful second, but Jake leans down again, careful and slow, still trying to get used to it. He feels the sensation of Heeseung’s lips about as shocking as an electric fryer to his skin, but Heeseung gladly takes over. He pushes Jake’s body down, just a bit, and places his hands on his waist, right above his shirt fabric, steadying him. It’s really all feeling and pure instinct, but Jake starts losing track of where he begins and where Heeseung ends and vice versa, and everything is colliding inside of his brain.
Everything, all at once.