(no subject)
<<
“Two caramel milkshakes please,” Minho told the woman behind the counter pleasantly.
“What size?” She jerked her thumb to the board behind her.
“Regular, thank you.”
The queue behind them shuffled and pressed Jonghyun against Minho. The younger boy, who towered over him, looked down at him with warm eyes.
“How’s your leg?”
“Fine.” Jonghyun ran a hand through his hair. It was probably a mess and, now that he thought about it, he probably had dirt on his face. He pawed at the cheek he thought had hit the ground, freezing when Minho’s hand swiped across the other.
“Wrong one,” he said with a small smile and turned back to the counter to take their drinks from the cashier. “Thank you!”
Jonghyun followed silently as Minho navigated his way through the crowd. It was time for breakfast and the diner was packed with people. Somehow though they managed to find a table for two, even if it was the one right next to the trashcans.
“This okay?” Minho asked, his eyes darting to them.
“I’m not a princess,” Jonghyun grumbled and slid into the seat closest to the bins just to make the point.
“You’re certainly dramatic enough to be one.” Minho sat in the other chair and pushed one milkshake towards him. “Try it, it’s good.”
Their skateboards waited patiently under their seats while Jonghyun picked it up and stuck the straw between his lips. He pulled the liquid up, his fingers slipping on the condensation that lined the plastic cup.
It was good. He made a pleased sound and sucked harder.
Minho stared at him. “You like it?”
Jonghyun nodded, still drinking.
“Good.” Minho cleared his throat. “Caramel is my favourite flavor.”
Jonghyun threw him a thumbs-up. When he finally released the straw, his milkshake was half gone.
Minho shook his head but he was smiling.
“I had a fight with my friend,” Jonghyun said suddenly. “My best friend.”
The smile disappeared. “What happened?” Minho stretched his legs and they bumped ankles for a brief second.
“He didn’t tell me something,” Jonghyun slid a finger up the side of his cup, “that I kind of thing is a big deal? I’m mad. So maybe it’s not so much of a fight,” he admitted.
“Did he kill someone?”
“No!” Jonghyun rolled his eyes. “It’s nothing dramatic.” He knew Minho was just teasing, but he really wanted to let this out. Normally he would have let it out to Kibum but that wasn’t an option right now. “He,” he hesitated, “he had sex and he didn’t tell me.”
Minho chewed his lip. “I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” he said finally.
“Yeah? How many people have you fucked then?” Jonghyun snapped. There was an awkward silence. “Actually, no. You don’t have to answer that,” he slumped in his seat, “I’m sorry.”
“None, actually,” Minho said coolly. “But I still don’t see why you’re upset. Unless you want to sleep with him, of course.”
Jonghyun stuck his tongue out. “As if. I just have this need to know everything about him, alright. Don’t ask me to explain it.” He shook his head. “Look at us, two virgins drinking caramel milkshakes and swapping feelings.” He snorted. “Real manly.”
Minho laughed. “Should I flex before my next sip?”
“You know what else,” Jonghyun sat up and Minho - bless him - was still interested. “My dad is a pain.”
“All parents are pains.” Minho shrugged.
“No, but, there’s this kid. My neighbor, to be precise, and he has this bloody ballet recital sometime and my dad is, like, peeing himself with excitement because wow, how posh and refined is that. Ballet. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo.” Minho laughed. “And he constantly goes around calling Taemin an artist or whatever and you know what? Taemin fucking hates ballet,” he ended with a satisfied thump to the tabletop.
“So will your dad once he has to sit through three hours of it.” Minho angled his straw and slurped up some foam. Jonghyun was struck by the urge to lean across the table and high-five him with his face. He blinked.
“Yeah,” he said and batted the conversation away from himself. “So how about you? Are you adjusting to the small town life alright?”
“It’s not that bad. Your park is,” Minho smiled sheepishly, “cute?”
Jonghyun raised his eyebrows.
“It’s no good for aerials,” Minho explained. “I miss that feeling.”
“It is kind of crap,” he agreed. “There’s an aerial ramp in town though, you should check it out. Not half bad either. The last mayor donated it, he was apparently quite the stuntman in his youth.”
“You should come with me.”
“If I’m free.” Jonghyun licked his lips.
“Of course.”
They finished their milkshakes in silence.
Jonghyun stood outside the shop, waiting for Minho to make his way out. He was getting a sandwich for his brother. It looked like it was about to rain.
“How are you getting home?”
Jonghyun turned around to see Minho staring at the sky.
“I was going to board but,” Jonghyun shook his leg, “I guess I’ll take the bus now. You?”
“I’ll board it.”
“Cool.”
Minho planted one foot on his skateboard, the unexpected weight rolling it forward a bit.
“Bye,” Jonghyun said awkwardly.
“Bye!” Minho echoed over his shoulder. “See you around.”
He was halfway down the street before Jonghyun remembered.
“Hey, I didn’t pay you for the milkshake!”
There was no answer.
Jonghyun took the money to the skate park the next day. The exact amount, painstakingly collected from around the house. It sang in his pocket as he boarded his way there.
He tired eyes squinted behind his sunglasses. It was a bright day. He hadn’t been able to sleep last night. There seemed to be an excess of thoughts in his mind lately. He owed Minho one milkshake’s worth - whatever that was - and it felt like all the money in the world would fall short. Jonghyun couldn’t Minho what he wanted.
It’s not like he was confused. He had known he was gay since he was eight. Hell, the world had probably known too. It was an unspoken thing in his house - more a fact than an elephant in the room, and he was grateful for that. But the same invisible something that held him back two years ago held him back today. It wasn’t outside him; he couldn’t march up to it and demand an explanation. He could only hold it carefully inside, hoping it would work up the courage to tell him the truth someday.
He weaved his way through the people on the sidewalk in a daze. He would pay Minho back today.
“Hey,” Yiyun shouted as he rolled into the park. He raised a hand back.
“Where’s Minho?” he asked the second she was within earshot. She raised her eyebrows.
“I heard he’s moved on to the vert ramp.”
“But that’s like an hour away.”
“Maybe he was getting bored.”
“Maybe,” Jonghyun said distractedly. “Did he call you?”
“No, is something up?” Yiyun frowned. “What did you do now? I thought I told you to be nice to him.”
“I was perfectly nice to him, alright.”
He boarded off towards the obstacle course and Yiyun followed him.
“You’re riding goofy,” she observed.
“Hurt my leg. No biggie. Do you think Minho’s good at aerial?”
Yiyun sighed. “Why don’t I just lend you my catalogue? Then you can wank off to him all day or draw on his face, whatever gets you off better.”
Jonghyun didn’t really know what got him off. He blinked. Why was he even taking her seriously? It was obviously a joke. His head throbbed with the force of his confusion. He missed Kibum. He needed someone he could talk to but his options were limited.
None of this would be happening if he was talking to Kibum, Jonghyun decided, peering out of the window of the bus that would take him to the aerial ramp on the other side of town. His board rattled against the legs of his seat. The man next to him scowled not so subtly.
But, he reasoned, it wasn’t right to keep someone else’s money. It’s different if they were a friend but Minho… wasn’t a friend. He was just a nice boy who had wiped his tears, bought him a milkshake and cheered him up.
A loud laugh cut through his dilemma. The girl in front of him clutched her friend. “You’re not serious!” she shrieked, then peered closely at her friend, then shrieked again. “Oh my God, you are!”
“We did kiss,” her friend said. Her eyelids were fluttering a lot. The man next to him scowled harder and muttered something that sounded like, “Kids these days.”
“What was it like?” the girl asked reverently.
“Wet.” Her friend scrunched up her nose and she laughed.
“I bet it was the good kind of wet!” she said and, apparently satisfied with that assessment, sat back in her seat. She was silent until her stop came, when she alighted from the bus with one last, thrilled giggle.
The man next to Jonghyun got off two stops later and Jonghyun the stop after that. It was a ten-minute skate to the aerial park and he entered it to the sounds of cheering. His eyes darted to the figure in the air - long-limbed, sun-kissed, his hair flowing out behind him like a flag. It was Minho. The muscles in his calves scrunched as he landed on the deck with a triumphant thwack.
The people around him clapped. Among them, unnoticed, stood Jonghyun: his eyes wide, his lips parted.
Minho didn’t get his money back that day.
“Where have you been?” His sister stopped him on the stairs leading up to their rooms. “Did you forget grandma was visiting today?”
He had. “I’m sorry,” he said dully.
She squinted at him. “Is everything okay?”
No I just went halfway across town to stare at some boy.
“Yeah.”
“Alright.” She shrugged. “Just stay out of mom’s way. She’s livid. I’ll bring your dinner to your room, tell her you’re sick or something.”
“Thanks, noona.”
He entered his room, shut the door and spread-eagled on his bed. The smell of it - the same lemon scented softener his mother had been using since he was 10 - was a welcome change from the events of the day. The scrape running down his leg sighed into the soft sheets.
He was still facedown in his pillow when his sister walked in, locking the door behind her. He didn’t look up.
“Talk,” she demanded. “What’s wrong?”
He grunted.
The bed dipped before his sister landed a hard slap on his back and he arched up with a loud, “Noona!”
“What the fuck?” He sat up, glaring.
“Don’t pull the sobby teenage girl routine on me, Kim Jonghyun, I invented that stuff.” She grabbed the edge of his collar and stared hard at his face. “Yup, definitely boy trouble.”
“Stop!” He shook out of her grip, his cheeks blazing. “I don’t want to talk to you about it, it’s embarrassing,” he mumbled.
“More embarrassing than pooping your pants in front of me?”
She had a point.
“It’s dumb too.” One hand behind his back, he tugged at the edge of his pillow. “There’s this boy - don’t roll your eyes - and I don’t know, he’s really… better?”
“He’s out of your league?” So Dam frowned.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Jonghyun, you’re a perfectly good ca-”
“And, you know, I don’t do this stuff. I can’t just like, like how long have I even known him but I think about him more than I think about people I’ve known for years, which is just fucked up. Plus he’s the competition! He skates too and he’s probably good as balls, I can’t be on his team. I’m supposed to be the better one!” he half-yelled and So Dam raised her eyebrows.
“All right,” she said slowly, “slow down there. I can tell you have a lot of, um, feelings about this boy - no, not those kind, hold on - even if you’re not willing to admit it,” she added emphatically, “you definitely have it bad. I don’t know if it’s the good bad or the bad bad but it’s something.” She pulled her legs up. “Boys are confusing.”
“I know.” Jonghyun groaned.
“But you’re one!” Her eyes lit up. “That should help. How do you feel about him?”
“Fuzzy,” Jonghyun said quietly.
“Aww-”
“Don’t.” He scowled. “I mean confused fuzzy. Radio silence fuzzy. Might throw up fuzzy.”
“And I thought I was complicated.” His sister sighed. “What about him is so fuzzy-making?”
Jonghyun climbed off the bed, a sudden thought striking movement into his legs, and teetered over to his desk. He pulled out the Kadence catalogue from the top shelf and flipped earnestly till he found he was looking for. He walked back to his sister and dropped it in her lap.
“This,” he said in a pained voice.
“Wow.”
“Yeah."
“Jjon-”
“We’re not fighting anymore,” he informed. “I’m sorry.”
Kibum let out a rush of air and Jonghyun’s chest ached. His friend sounded so relieved. The fight hadn’t been worth it.
“I was an idiot. So Dam told me.”
Kibum laughed. “I’ve always liked your sister.”
“You just like ganging up on me with her.” Jonghyun rolled his eyes. He stared at the ceiling of his room and it stared back at him, blank as ever. “How are you?” He rolled onto his stomach and listened to Kibum’s answer. He would tell him about Minho another time. Bit by bit the tension left his limbs and he fell asleep wrapped in familiarity.
He woke up to an empty house. There was a note on the fridge he wasn’t particularly fussed to read, not with the way his throat was screaming for water. He shoveled down some cereal and lazed around his room. When the clock brushed 3PM, he laced up his lucky sneakers and headed up town to the aerial park. This time, his pockets were empty.
The other boy was nowhere to be seen. Jonghyun worked his embarrassment of by circling around the park, getting some jumps in on the litter on the sidewalk. This wasn’t his favourite part of town. Around half an hour later a tall figure whizzed into his vision, brown eyes big and focused. Jonghyun boarded after him, tugging on the back of his shirt and surprising him.
Minho turned around clumsily. “What th- Hyung! I almost fell.”
“Buy me a milkshake.”
“I made up with my friend.” Jonghyun slid his milkshake closer. “I apologized.” A loud slurp and then, “I’m very mature,” he added.
Minho grinned. Their boards were stacked together under the table and they were surrounded by groups of chattering people. Big Burger’s always busy, Jonghyun mused. It should have been awkward, the silence that dominated their booth, but it wasn’t. It was nice and punctuated only by long, loud sips of caramel goodness.
“What school are you going to go?” Jonghyun asked suddenly. It had only just occurred to him.
“Minkyung noona’s,” Minho said.
“That’s mine!”
“She told me.” Minho angled his straw at the foam again. “It sounds alright.”
“It’s okay.” Jonghyun shrugged. “I’m not big on school.”
“I like school,” Minho said in a far off voice, like he was back in Seoul. “I had some good times at my old one.”
“Why did you move here?”
“Dad’s job. It wasn’t really a choice,” he said carefully and Jonghyun nodded.
“Well, you let me know if anyone troubles you. I’ll kick them in the shin.”
Minho laughed and Jonghyun smiled, pleased.
“Will do, hyung.”
They swapped stories from school after that, even as the sun slunk lower into the horizon and their milkshakes waned. Minho didn’t have that many, which confirmed Jonghyun’s suspicions of him being a bit of a goody two-skates. He was more talkative than Jonghyun had anticipated though, and louder too. It didn’t take long for their conversation to turn into a ruckus, Minho’s loud laugh earning them looks. Jonghyun positively basked in them. He lived to irritate.
In his defense, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do anyway. He was a teenager, which, by default, made a large chunk of his decisions inconsequential. It was summer and their sleepy town was even sleepier. Minho’s words kept echoing in his head - in time with his toothbrush over his teeth, his bread over his toast, his hand over his deck.
It’s not that far for me.
You are such a stalker, the Kibum in his head shrieked. He ignored him, knees clenched as he waited for the light to turn green. He hated red lights. They meant interruption, looking down at him with imperious monotony as if to say, will you desist, sir? Those were the few minutes of his days he knows he cannot board, no matter what, and it really got his (metaphorical) goat.
The sky rumbled above his bleached hair. His brain was bouncing off his skull, telling him he would regret this, but he boarded past the intersection down the road from his house, past the park fifteen minutes from his house - he boarded right to the other way of town. He knew where the aerial was so he used it as his X, pinning an invisible pin in it.
He turned on the spot, keeping it in the corner of his eye, and surveying the empty road that stretched before him. It was a Sunday afternoon. The air was thick with suspended static and his rib cage was painted with sweat. Maybe this was a stupid idea after all. But he hadn’t come this far for nothing.
He gathered the evidence in his head. Minho had lived in Seoul, which meant he was some sort of rich. Three streets away a house towered into the rapidly darkening sky. It looked expensive and Jonghyun set off towards it, wheels grating the gravel.
Four minutes later he swerved into the street and drifted past the imposing houses that lined it. Tall iron gates shuttered their driveways, patterns winding into them like a Van Gogh gone horribly wrong. He couldn’t imagine Minho living here.
He was staring up at the tallest house when the first drop of rain hit him, followed by another and another. In this unfamiliar terrain, his clumsy boarding couldn’t outstrip the storm and he was drenched by the time he found refuge in a small convenience store.
The AC was on full blast and he shivered, soaked right down to the soles of his shoes. It was stupid of him to have come here, but even as his board kept slipping out of his fingers, he couldn’t control his disappointment. Minho seemed as far away as he had ever been.
He took the coins out of his pocket with a sigh.
“You can’t keep acting like this forever,” So Dam said. Her hands were tight on the steering well and she sounded so frustrated. Jonghyun hung his head. “Stop acting like something happened, like you have an excuse. I can’t keep covering for you, lying for you, driving halfway across town for you.”
“Does something need to happen?” he said quietly.
“No, I just… I don’t know.” The rain drumming the car’s roof drowned her sigh out. The wipers were trying their best to keep it off the screen. Even then it was foolish to drive any faster. They inched along the way home, like the slow pump of the blood in Jonghyun’s veins, the morning’s adrenaline long gone.
“What is so scary,” So Dam said softly, “about him? When he’s been nothing but perfectly nice to you, what is it?”
“It’s not him.”
“Don’t you dare say it’s you, I will drive this car into a ditch. I did not come here for some cheesy movie dialogue.”
It pulled a laugh out of him, as much as he hated it.
“No.” He shook his head. “It’s… I want to, you know, be with him or whatever, drink milkshakes and board and stuff, but I don’t know how. I don’t know where to start. I know where I want to be and I know where I am, but the way there is scary. Like when I see him now,” he let out a frustrated noise and tipped his head back, “I feel like I could just… kiss him, you know? He’s right there. But I can’t. Even when we’re barely five inches apart, I feel like there’s a whole world between us. A whole other world where I have to buy him flowers and guess his feelings and not fuck things up and-”
“Whoa, slow down.” So Dam shook her head. “You are completely overthinking this. Jonghyun, it’s only as hard as you make it. No one is asking you to do any of that, least of all Minho. In fact, he’s made it pretty clear he likes you. You have it easy. You’re lucky.”
Jonghyun turned away and let his sister’s words sink in. Outside the streets were empty even as the rain went on. The sidewalk glistened with fresh water and the trees were shivering. It was beautiful.
“Can we have the radio on?” he asked finally.
So Dam smiled. “Of course.”
He started with a simple, “Hi.” A small smile on his lips, sneakers scuffing the ground.
“Hi,” Minho echoed. “You’re late.”
“Wasn’t it worth it?” Jonghyun huffed. Truth be told, he hadn’t bothered dressing up. It had taken enough out of him just to call Minho to the 180. It was still early and the air was crisp, cool, just the way he liked it. Fresh sunlight bounced off their calves and into the universe.
“We’ll find out,” Minho teased. “Was there anything special you wanted to do?”
“Yeah.” Jonghyun laughed. “Spy on the competition.”
“Spy away. It’s not going to get you very far.”
“We’ll see.”
The air between them was addictive, Jonghyun came to realize. Minho was always watching him, sometimes to win him, sometimes to defeat him, and he loved that it wasn’t all handholding. It was also the jarring sounds of metal on gravel, the tang of sweat and the undeniable attraction of staring into the eyes someone who wanted to wipe the ground with you. It was the kind of love two teenage boys would fall in and have the scrapes on their knees to prove it.
It felt like they had done a thousand runs when they finally tossed their boards to the side and collapsed on the asphalt.
“That,” Minho gasped, “was ridiculous.”
Jonghyun ignored him in favor of gulping in more air.
Minho rolled onto his stomach. “You’re good,” he said. “You’re really good.”
Jonghyun threw an arm across his eyes. The sun was higher now. “Not as good as you,” he groaned. “You’re going to whoop my ass. How did you do that,” he twisted his feet and flicked, “that thing at the end, holy Jesus.”
Minho laughed. “I can teach you. I’ve been lucky. Hanging around Kadence meant I got a lot of good advice.”
Jonghyun turned to look at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
“You’re on,” Jonghyun said and rolled back on his back.
They stayed there for a long time, letting the wind wash them clean.
“I wish I was you.” Jonghyun sat down on his board with a little huff. “I don’t even have enough leg to pull this move off. But you’re just,” he waved one hand.
Minho just stared at him. “That is the worst excuse ever.”
“It’s not, it’s a fact. Your legs are amazing.”
Minho crouched down with a smile. “You like them, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jonghyun said. “So?”
“Nothing.” The taller boy jumped to his feet. “I’m expecting you back in five.”
Jonghyun groaned.
As the days went by, their shadows stretched across the 180 long into the afternoon. The sun hung in the sky like an irritating parent, its gaze constant. Jonghyun shielded his eyes and frowned up at it. In the background Minho was a litany of grinding wheels and clacking edges. Sweat ran down his back, painting his shirt. Slowly but surely the weeks changed and Jonghyun, standing in that same spot, watched as the kids made their way back to the park.
Some came back with tales of far away. Some with chubbier cheeks courtesy grandma. The 180 throbbed with chatter as if someone had simply turned the volume up. Minho’s fan club was reinstated. Jonghyun watched forlornly from a corner.
“You’ve gotten better.” Yi Yun whistled. Her face was ruddier than ever from days spent on the beach.
“And you’ve gotten worse,” he hummed, balancing on an old piece of pipe.
She flipped him off and, suddenly, everything felt normal again. It was almost frightening. If it weren’t for the round of occasional applause on the other end, it would be like Minho had never been there. He adjusts his snapback and boards off towards the bowl, fast, faster, till his thoughts were a dull droning in the back of his skull, bouncing off into a thick bundle of neurons that trapped them like a spider web. He wanted Minho to be there. He wanted Minho to be everywhere. But nobody had been around to see what happened, in the early hours of the morning, before teenagers, before televisions - and if no one saw it, did it really happen?
No one saw the way Minho looked at him when he made a perfect landing. If they did, they would understand. Jonghyun was, after all, only human. Four limbs, two hundred and six bones, a bundle of nerves and, inside all that, a fragile, squishy little heart.
The skate off was officially scheduled for the last day of summer.
In an unspoken agreement they decided to practice separately. Minho went back uptown and Jonghyun got into another fistfight at the 180. His blood splattered on the asphalt, marking his territory.
He taped the neon yellow flyer to his ceiling, staring at it on all those nights he couldn’t sleep. Kibum came back to town, hair newly bleached and Jonghyun swallowed down a fresh wave of protests. It was time to grow up, he told the scabs on his knees. In a fit of inspiration he donated his snapbacks to the orphanage three streets away and regretted it almost immediately.
The day of the skate off dawned as sunny as any other. The sky was a potentially beautiful shade of blue; the contrast was just a tad too high. So Dam walked him to the park. It was a private one, owned by the local skating goods firm. They were the ones who organized the skate-off and made it an official big deal. Every year they would tape up a laminated poster detailing the origins of the skate-off. At its center was a picture of four lanky boys - their smiles wide and their hair scruffy. Jonghyun had been in love with them for as long as he could remember.
The metal gate was hanging off its hinges. Somehow that just added to the atmosphere. Things were about to get brutal. So Dam squeezed his shoulder.
“Registration’s over there,” Jonghyun said in a tight voice. As they made their way over, a few people nodded at him. Old hands, he suspected. Last time was still fresh in his mind. The displaced champion would probably be competing today. It’s Minho he should worry about, Jonghyun thought, scanning the modest crowd that milled about them. They were fifth in line.
So Dam filled in the brief form, tacking on a passport-size photo of him from three years ago. Jonghyun’s hands were stuffed in his pockets just to be sure.
“You’re number 27,” she informed him, pasting the hastily scribbled sticker onto his lucky t-shirt. “Minho’s 15,” she added and Jonghyun nodded. He would need to find a good spot then. “Are your friends coming?”
“Kibum is,” he said. “Maybe Yi Yun. Her mum’s being crabby.”
“You wanna warm up? I can find some things for you to jump over.” So Dam grinned.
“I already did. Kind of. I just want to relax for a bit. Can we find a place to sit?”
“Sure.” She grabbed his hand and led them across the park. The bowl was like a gaping wound in the ground and Jonghyun made sure to avoid it. Two tall platforms glared down from either end. They perched themselves in one corner, their backs to the sun and Jonghyun slipped on his headphones. His hand-me-down Walkman spun to life just as the girl in front of him went flying off her board. So Dam ran to help her.
There was still another hour till the skate-off started. He tapped out a frenzied rhythm on the tar and kept everyone at bay. Everyone from the 180 was here. Some ominously (Jae), some supportively. Some were there for Minho, who was impossible to miss and nowhere to be seen. Jonghyun closed his eyes, took a deep breath and raised the volume.
He didn’t watch Minho’s set, but the applause told him all he needed to know.
People were hanging off the safety rail like tourists at a zoo, like the bowl was a cage. It should have been intimidating but the truth was, Jonghyun loved an audience. The way they reacted to every move he made was addictive. That was one of the reasons he couldn’t wrench himself away from the skate park politics. He needed a reaction to keep him in place, to keep his mind from wandering and let his feet do the talking.
He entered from the east gate and eased down into the bowl. An experimental row of tic tacs earned him some laughs. The thrum in his legs had been near constant since last night.
He pushed off.
The wheels of his board went up the side without a sound, protesting only when he slammed them against the edge for a noseslide. Not the showiest trick, but not the easiest either. He went down again, hard flipped (somebody whistled) and celebrated with another tic tac (and a peace sign). The crowd liked it. He made eye contact and pretended to gear up, before sailing up the other side with a shrug, and they laughed again.
After that it was easy. He still had four minutes left and he built some speed, feet on ollie and launched into his set. He fakied back and forth for a while, working in another hard flip and a 180. Three minutes in his rhythm was tight and he did two more flips before whistling up one side, before landing on the ledge with an exaggerated flourish.
Past the cheering, the whistle went off and so did he.
He didn’t stick around for the results. What he wanted wasn’t really a prize. There was a ddukboki stand around the corner. He had seen it on his way there.
“It’s hot,” the man warned him, but he stuck it in his mouth anyway. It was a bad idea and steam scampered out of his mouth as soon as it dropped open. There was a large hand in front of him, before he even had time to think, and he instinctively rolled it out.
“Gross,” Minho said and Jonghyun froze. This couldn’t be happening. But it was. Minho threw the piece aside and inspected his hand with a slight grimace. It was shining with Jonghyun’s spit.
“I,” he breathed, “am so sorry, I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s fine, hyung.” Minho laughed. “You chose to preserve yourself. It happens.”
“What are you doing here?” Jonghyun asked with heated cheeks.
“I was looking for you,” Minho said plainly. “You did really well.”
“Oh.” Fresh blood pumped into his cheeks. “Thanks. You too. Did well, I mean.”
“I got your jacket,” Minho said, holding the familiar bundle of red up. “Your sister said you get cold without it. May I?”
The man was staring at them as Jonghyun turned and let Minho gently guide him into his jacket and God, if it wasn’t the most important moment of his life. It warmed him right down to the tips of his toes and Minho hadn’t even zipped him up yet.
“Thank you,” he said again.
“No big deal.” Minho shrugged and reached for a spare toothpick. “How about we eat now?”
Neither of them won. But when Jonghyun rose up on his tippy toes one evening and kissed Minho and Minho kissed him back, it sure felt like he had. It was far from perfect, a bit rough around the corners like their wind-pecked lips. But it was a silent agreement that even when his board took the ground out from under his feet, Minho would be there to catch him.
They liked to sit on top of the aerial and watch the sun go down.
“If only they'd had one of these, I would have kicked that boy’s ass,” Minho said ruefully staring into the sunset. His body angled away from Jonghyun, half expecting a smack on the arm. “Hey,” he tapped the other boy’s shoulder when none came, “what’s up?”
“This is it,” Jonghyun murmured, resting his head on Minho’s shoulder.
“What is ‘it’?”
“This is the end,” he explained, watching the sky turn pink. “We’ve kissed, we’re together now. All the people who were trying to get us together, who were rooting for us can zip up their coats and go home happy. They can close the book, toss the remote aside. It’s just you and me now.”
As the evening turned colder, Minho’s hand found his.
“You’re wrong. The story might be over, but we’re just beginning.”