Yesterday (and Forever) [1/2]
Title: Yesterday (and Forever)
Fandom: BAP
Genre: Angst, TimeStop!AU
Rating: R
Warnings: Youngjae dying a lot ._.
Pairing: Daejae
Summary: Until Youngjae comes back, Daehyun’s stuck in the past, because every day becomes yesterday.
The world is a spray of crystal lights and rain droplets at the moment, only silence and shimmering sparks of the glow of streetlamps reflected on water, scattering into millions of liquid beads of silver and gold. Daehyun pauses to take in the view, to breathe in the dirty, familiar scent of city smog, mixed in with the fresh tang of falling rain washing the smog away. Fingers curling around the sidewalk railing, he fixes his gaze on the blinking lights in the city around him, watching the flashing fluorescent signs and listening to the hurried laughter and conversations of people rushing about the streets along with the blaring horns and swoosh of cars passing by. Seoul at night.
He takes a breath, then exhales softly. Beside him, Youngjae traces characters onto the railing, scratching at the worn metal as if he’s trying to engrave the secrets of his life into it. It’s midnight, yet the city is still alive during this blur of one day and another merging together, like a transfer from life to death and back again.
“You wanted to talk?”
Youngjae nods and there’s a moment of silence between them, something hinting at a dull sense of warning emerging in the back of Daehyun’s mind, wrapping its doubt around his thoughts and squeezing slightly, not tight enough to strangle but strong enough to choke.
“Just a question. Do you think actions or words are more powerful?”
“Actions, of course,” Daehyun answers immediately, then pauses. “Why?”
Youngjae stares at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, hesitant and reluctant for some reason, yet “Maybe actions aren’t always more powerful than words.”
Daehyun runs his fingers across the edge of the railing, delighting in the rough texture of the metal and how it scrapes lightly against his skin. Imperfections, one unnoticeable grain at a time, building up into something noticeable. We are strong united and weak divided. “I grew up learning that actions speak louder than words.”
“For everything?”
He hesitates, several scenarios flashing through his mind, but in the end, he can’t find anything relevant. “I guess. Unless you’re talking about using words as weapons when you can’t win with actions. But in the end, it all goes back to actions, doesn’t it? Words don’t mean anything in the long run. Lies and half-truths, they’re all words.”
“You can lie with your actions,” Youngjae offers, his tone slightly displeased for a reason Daehyun can’t quite pinpoint yet, but he doesn’t move away, just leans his head against Daehyun’s shoulder.
Daehyun plays with Youngjae’s hair, curling it around his fingers absentmindedly. “I suppose so,” he finally says quietly. “One could.”
“Do you think I’d lie?”
“About what?” Daehyun watches Youngjae carefully, like he has always done since childhood. Childhood brings a touch of nostalgia to Daehyun’s thoughts, something reminiscent of swimming with friends on hot summer days with sunlight reflecting in sparkles off of the cool, clear water, of boasting I’ll beat you even if I swim my worst stroke and you swim your best. There’s nothing left of childhood in Youngjae’s expression. “We’ve known each other since elementary school. I’d know if you were lying.”
“That’s the problem,” he thinks he hears Youngjae murmur, but the barely audible whisper is lost in the buzz and excitement of the city drowning out sorrows, because it’s better to be lost in the dizzying whirl of lights and fun than to face reality.
Somewhere between the lines of life and death there’s too far, like stuffing spilling out of burst seams because there’s too far, too much to take. Like the people in the late-night dramas who just step on the gas pedal over heartbreak in the gleam of streetlights on the highway, not really going anywhere but trying to speed along to nowhere as fast as they can.
“If I said I was leaving, would you think I’d be lying?” Youngjae’s voice is soft, almost emotionless, but something white hot clamps over Daehyun, sucking the air away from him. “If I actually did leave you, would you think I’d be lying?”
“Do you want it to be a lie?” Daehyun whispers eventually, his tongue numb in his mouth, fingers gripping the railing, knuckles paling.
“I don’t know what’s a lie and what’s true anymore.” Youngjae turns away and it’s like a gossamer curtain has fallen between them-nearly see-through but misty, cloudy, obscure because it’s hiding something Daehyun can’t find. “Being with you makes me feel sick in a way, because I can never tell the difference between lies and truth. Who are we? What are we? You say we’re together, but you never say anything even close to I like you. Yet you kiss me, hug me, and I don’t know understand anything. What’s true-your silence or your actions?”
“Youngjae-”
“So maybe this is a lie.” Like sand slipping through the spaces between his fingers, grains falling away, something he’ll never catch. Youngjae steps away and all Daehyun can do is watch motionlessly. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and realize it’s all a lie, so I’ll come back running for you. But that’ll just make me feel even more sick and I’ll never get anywhere, will I?”
Youngjae turns back to look at Daehyun, and the world is still spilled gold and silver melting together in blurred reflections and drops of diamonds.
“I fell too much in love with you,” Daehyun thinks he hears, but when he blinks, Youngjae is walking away, footsteps drowned out by the sound of the cars on the street. I love you gets stuck in his throat halfway through and he swallows it down, because Youngjae is right-he’s not sure about love yet, and it burns in his thoughts, because what is love when he’s never understood it?
“Youngjae,” he says again instead, and part of him starts moving forward, towards Youngjae who’s already stepped off the sidewalk and onto the street. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. It’s just a blind rush of fear and an urge to pull Youngjae back, not let him go, but he doesn’t know why. “Wait-”
But human life is fragile, fragile, fragile, cracked porcelain and so full of life and memories until one little thing stamps out the spark in a short puff of smoke. There’s a screech of brakes, a sickening crunch, a scream even. Blood splattered on the pavement like dark paint glimmering with headlights and swerving vehicles. Daehyun runs then, because he’s seen the limp body on the ground and fuckfuckfuck, it’s all a dream, a nightmare, just a bad dream I’ll wake up from.
Youngjae’s lifeless eyes seem to stare at him even when Daehyun closes his own.
-
Daehyun wakes up with a start, too hot and sticky under the bedcovers, breathing heavily as he turns around and stares at his clock. It’s five in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep again. He checks the date on the clock and it flashes at him in bright red letters March 2nd.
He sits up and closes his eyes, trying to get the images crowding his mind to disappear, telling himself it’s just a bad nightmare. He thinks of texting Youngjae but it’s only five in the morning on a weekend, and there’s no way Youngjae will respond, if he’s even alive, his mind helpfully supplies. Daehyun buries his face into his hands and tries to chase the thought away, eyes too bleary with sleep but too alert at the same time. It’s a weird sensation.
Nightmares are like shadows at night; they’re frightening and are always trailing behind you but when faced with light they fade quickly, until the dark descends again and they reappear. Daehyun dresses quickly and nearly rushes into the living room to turn on the lights. It’s still dark outside, lights blinking in the darkness, like city fireflies surrounded by cold steel buildings and lost dreams, lost chances.
Six in the morning comes quickly afterwards, and Daehyun clutches at a mug of coffee, wondering if he should text Youngjae just to imagine the look on Youngjae’s face when he wakes up too early in the morning. With the lights on, he’s starting to feel a lot better and less frightened, dismissing it all as a bad dream.
His phone vibrates just as he reaches for it, and he takes it out of his pocket. Sure enough, Youngjae has sent him a text: you’re probably sleeping right now but here’s your morning wake up call! can we meet today at nine? it’s the weekend. i want to go to the amusement park.
Daehyun can feel the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but at the same time, a hint of dread tugs at his mind, but he doesn’t know why. The thought of an amusement park reminds him of something vague and frightening, maybe something to do with his dream, but he’s forgotten most of his dream, only the fact that Youngjae had died-but they hadn’t been near an amusement park at all. At least, that’s what he remembers.
idiot, he texts back, then adds one of those stupid little cute emoticons with the overly dramatic face to make sure Youngjae knows he’s joking. It’s one of the things he’s always had bothering him. People in a relationship don’t have to overthink about avoiding accidentally insulting each other. i was just about to wake you up too. it’s the beginning of march. the weather is freezing. who in their right mind goes to an amusement park in the middle of winter?
He waits for a minute before Youngjae texts him back, and Daehyun is really smiling now, grinning at his screen like the actual idiot. Texting Youngjae has never failed to make him smile. He wonders in the back of his mind if he’s ever told Youngjae that, then shakes his head because it’s too embarrassing to admit.
why would the amusement be open then? i’ll meet you at nine? make sure to bundle up!
you’re weird. Daehyun stares up at the clock and grimaces. It’s only six thirty, and nine is too far away. He wants to get out as quickly as he can, to escape the last remnants of his nightmare, break away from its thin, grasping fingers trying to choke him down. can we meet now?
the amusement park opens at nine, silly. also, i want to talk to you.
Daehyun closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to stop the sudden panic seizing at him. i’ll buy you breakfast if you meet me downstairs at seven. save the talking for later tonight. i want to spend the day having fun, okay?
also, he types hesitantly, you’re cute when you text. thanks for making me smile. His thumb hovers over the send button, but something stops him and it’s much too cheesy, too embarrassing, too open. He erases the line and ends up with a lame see you there. Something feels missing, and he almost regrets it, but the thought of sending something so cheesy makes him cringe, even though it’s true.
He doesn’t wait for Youngjae’s reply. He knows he’ll come.
-
Daehyun hated crying, and it was probably the worst moment of his life at the time to be caught crying over how the others made fun of your stupid Busan accent by mimicking his tone and pretending they couldn’t understand a single word he said.
But this time, no one laughed at him. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to make the tears disappear and somehow look like his eyes weren’t puffy and red. “What do you want?” Defensive but slow, clumsy in pronunciation compared to the quick, sharp words of the others. He hated it.
The boy knelt down beside him and looked down at the ground so Daehyun could only see the top of his head. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Your accent isn’t bad.”
“Oh.” There was something of childhood reflected in the boy’s eyes when he looked up at Daehyun, and Daehyun had the urge to start crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He set his mouth and glared at the distance, eyes stinging. He hated crying. “Thanks. I guess.”
“I’m Youngjae,” the boy offered hesitantly, then paused when Daehyun didn’t react. “I’m ten. Are you ten?”
Daehyun doesn’t like talking about this memory. It’s a first meeting of sorts, a beginning, but he’s the one who’s supposed to protect Youngjae. He hates being thought of as weak, as someone who can be picked on.
Maybe that’s what stops him from understanding, what closes his mouth every time he wants to tell Youngjae thank you for everything. Every time he cares.
-
They say March enters a lion and leaves a lamb, and Daehyun thinks that’s exactly what the weather is like. Cloudy and cold, like winter, but there’s still a hint of spring mixed in between, traces of laughter and warmth brought on in the wind. March is a transition between death and life, flowers shaking off the frozen winter to greet the spring.
Youngjae is waiting for him at the foot of the steps of Daehyun’s apartment building, face half hidden in his scarf as he looks towards Daehyun. “You took your time. It’s already seven. I’ve been here for about fifteen minutes.” His voice is joking, but Daehyun feels a twinge of discomfort, because it’s like Youngjae’s trying too hard for something.
“I told you to meet me at seven,” he merely says, but he’s already automatically slung his arm around Youngjae’s shoulders. “What were you doing, awake at six in the morning?”
“Yongguk hyung called. Wanted to know if I had seen Junhong. What were you doing up at six in the morning?”
“Yongguk hyung should know where Junhong is. Isn’t Junhong like his robot or something?” It’s a struggle to get Youngjae to smile, words fighting the curl of his lips, but Daehyun succeeds eventually, and Youngjae laughs.
“You make lame jokes.” He doesn’t mention how Daehyun didn’t answer his question.
“You know it’s true.” They tend to ignore the things that cause them discomfort after a while, and Daehyun gets the feeling that it’s because they’re avoiding each other in a way. Youngjae shakes his head but he leans towards Daehyun a little more, fingers curling up, around Daehyun’s palm, because this is how life works. Nothing you say matches your actions. You pull away in words and draw together in touches.
They find a shop at the side of the road and sit down on the sidewalk, clutching at their food and staring off into the distance. The sky is a smoky gray like subdued hues of Prussian blue, wisps of dull monochrome, reminiscent of the calm before a storm. It’s cold.
“Do you ever wish you could turn back time?”
Always. “Depends.” I wouldn’t want to change meeting you. “Like maybe if we had met under different circumstances you wouldn’t be dragging me to an amusement parks and I’d be sleeping nicely in bed.”
Youngjae’s expression falls for a split second before Daehyun begins to panic and nudges him in the ribs. “I’m kidding, kidding. Why would I ever regret meeting you? I’d get lazy and sleep around all day long.” He realizes he never tells Youngjae anything, especially not about the nightmares he’s had. The ones that jerk him awake in the middle of the night, leaving him panting in fear, mouth dry, and unable to fall asleep again. Youngjae never asks why he has black and blue bruises under his eyes.
“You’re terrible.” But Youngjae smiles again and they sit together on the sidewalk, watching the horizon, waiting for unspoken dreams to come true. Smoke is intangible. So are dreams.
-
It started with Youngjae asking if it was okay and Daehyun nodding yes, don’t stop because nothing ever starts with love in reality, just tentative glances and hesitant words forming into something more like hands clasped together and sitting back to back in the summer air and wondering what it feels like to be in love.
Love was never something they took seriously because two little characters were not the same as clutching at each other and grasping for something physical, actions over words, not the same as when Daehyun pushed Youngjae against the mattress and whispered hoarsely in his ear I’m going to make you scream. Somehow they passed from friends to lovers to somewhere stuck in between, stumbling in spirals of confusion because love was merely something they didn’t understand, something fading away in their minds, worn out and forgotten.
At least, it was for Daehyun.
-
Youngjae demands that they go on each rollercoaster ride at least three times and Daehyun really doesn’t know what else he wants to do so he follows him around and tries not to scream too loudly when the wind rushes through his ears and makes his hair stand up.
They run over to the prize booths afterwards and Daehyun manages to win Youngjae a yellow stuffed bunny complete with a cheesy little flower and heart. Youngjae bursts out laughing, but he clings to the bunny and overall looks quite happy with it, so Daehyun lets the laugh slide. It’s still cold, the two of them muffled up in scarves and coats, but chasing each other in the cold when it’s stinging at your cheeks is better than sweltering in the hot summer sun, Daehyun realizes.
Lunch passes by quickly and the hours rush by until dusk alights upon the sky in scattered filters of speckled gray, not quite darkness yet. Time is a funny thing. It speeds up and slows down at all the wrong moments like a dysfunctional clockwork timepiece too rusty to work properly and set in some sporadic pattern.
They sit down on a bench next to each other, arms touching, the heat of their bodies warm against the cold of the incoming night. Youngjae heaves a quiet sigh and looks up at the sky, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the faded daylight. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”
“I should thank you,” Daehyun mumbles quietly, and he doesn’t think Youngjae hears but it’s a quiet, still night, something to keep frozen in time forever before the silence is shattered like glass mirrors refracting half-truths.
“You told me to save the talking for later. It’s later now. I need to talk to you.”
“Shh,” Daehyun hushes, turning away. “Don’t talk to me now. Save it for later. Please.” He’s trembling now, and he wonders if Youngjae can tell, because everything in his dream comes flashing back again and no, no, no don’t talk at all.
“But-”
Something snaps, a sudden crack of smoke, but smoke is intangible like dreams unspoken until Youngjae slumps forward and someone begins screaming because there’s blood all over Daehyun’s hands and Youngjae’s not breathing-it’s a nightmare all over again, rushing through Daehyun’s mind because someone’s aiming a gun at bystanders and the snap, crack, smoke repeat themselves over and over again, again, again, like Youngjae dying in his arms.
This time, he wakes up screaming.
1 | 2
Fandom: BAP
Genre: Angst, TimeStop!AU
Rating: R
Warnings: Youngjae dying a lot ._.
Pairing: Daejae
Summary: Until Youngjae comes back, Daehyun’s stuck in the past, because every day becomes yesterday.
The world is a spray of crystal lights and rain droplets at the moment, only silence and shimmering sparks of the glow of streetlamps reflected on water, scattering into millions of liquid beads of silver and gold. Daehyun pauses to take in the view, to breathe in the dirty, familiar scent of city smog, mixed in with the fresh tang of falling rain washing the smog away. Fingers curling around the sidewalk railing, he fixes his gaze on the blinking lights in the city around him, watching the flashing fluorescent signs and listening to the hurried laughter and conversations of people rushing about the streets along with the blaring horns and swoosh of cars passing by. Seoul at night.
He takes a breath, then exhales softly. Beside him, Youngjae traces characters onto the railing, scratching at the worn metal as if he’s trying to engrave the secrets of his life into it. It’s midnight, yet the city is still alive during this blur of one day and another merging together, like a transfer from life to death and back again.
“You wanted to talk?”
Youngjae nods and there’s a moment of silence between them, something hinting at a dull sense of warning emerging in the back of Daehyun’s mind, wrapping its doubt around his thoughts and squeezing slightly, not tight enough to strangle but strong enough to choke.
“Just a question. Do you think actions or words are more powerful?”
“Actions, of course,” Daehyun answers immediately, then pauses. “Why?”
Youngjae stares at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, hesitant and reluctant for some reason, yet “Maybe actions aren’t always more powerful than words.”
Daehyun runs his fingers across the edge of the railing, delighting in the rough texture of the metal and how it scrapes lightly against his skin. Imperfections, one unnoticeable grain at a time, building up into something noticeable. We are strong united and weak divided. “I grew up learning that actions speak louder than words.”
“For everything?”
He hesitates, several scenarios flashing through his mind, but in the end, he can’t find anything relevant. “I guess. Unless you’re talking about using words as weapons when you can’t win with actions. But in the end, it all goes back to actions, doesn’t it? Words don’t mean anything in the long run. Lies and half-truths, they’re all words.”
“You can lie with your actions,” Youngjae offers, his tone slightly displeased for a reason Daehyun can’t quite pinpoint yet, but he doesn’t move away, just leans his head against Daehyun’s shoulder.
Daehyun plays with Youngjae’s hair, curling it around his fingers absentmindedly. “I suppose so,” he finally says quietly. “One could.”
“Do you think I’d lie?”
“About what?” Daehyun watches Youngjae carefully, like he has always done since childhood. Childhood brings a touch of nostalgia to Daehyun’s thoughts, something reminiscent of swimming with friends on hot summer days with sunlight reflecting in sparkles off of the cool, clear water, of boasting I’ll beat you even if I swim my worst stroke and you swim your best. There’s nothing left of childhood in Youngjae’s expression. “We’ve known each other since elementary school. I’d know if you were lying.”
“That’s the problem,” he thinks he hears Youngjae murmur, but the barely audible whisper is lost in the buzz and excitement of the city drowning out sorrows, because it’s better to be lost in the dizzying whirl of lights and fun than to face reality.
Somewhere between the lines of life and death there’s too far, like stuffing spilling out of burst seams because there’s too far, too much to take. Like the people in the late-night dramas who just step on the gas pedal over heartbreak in the gleam of streetlights on the highway, not really going anywhere but trying to speed along to nowhere as fast as they can.
“If I said I was leaving, would you think I’d be lying?” Youngjae’s voice is soft, almost emotionless, but something white hot clamps over Daehyun, sucking the air away from him. “If I actually did leave you, would you think I’d be lying?”
“Do you want it to be a lie?” Daehyun whispers eventually, his tongue numb in his mouth, fingers gripping the railing, knuckles paling.
“I don’t know what’s a lie and what’s true anymore.” Youngjae turns away and it’s like a gossamer curtain has fallen between them-nearly see-through but misty, cloudy, obscure because it’s hiding something Daehyun can’t find. “Being with you makes me feel sick in a way, because I can never tell the difference between lies and truth. Who are we? What are we? You say we’re together, but you never say anything even close to I like you. Yet you kiss me, hug me, and I don’t know understand anything. What’s true-your silence or your actions?”
“Youngjae-”
“So maybe this is a lie.” Like sand slipping through the spaces between his fingers, grains falling away, something he’ll never catch. Youngjae steps away and all Daehyun can do is watch motionlessly. “Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow morning and realize it’s all a lie, so I’ll come back running for you. But that’ll just make me feel even more sick and I’ll never get anywhere, will I?”
Youngjae turns back to look at Daehyun, and the world is still spilled gold and silver melting together in blurred reflections and drops of diamonds.
“I fell too much in love with you,” Daehyun thinks he hears, but when he blinks, Youngjae is walking away, footsteps drowned out by the sound of the cars on the street. I love you gets stuck in his throat halfway through and he swallows it down, because Youngjae is right-he’s not sure about love yet, and it burns in his thoughts, because what is love when he’s never understood it?
“Youngjae,” he says again instead, and part of him starts moving forward, towards Youngjae who’s already stepped off the sidewalk and onto the street. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. It’s just a blind rush of fear and an urge to pull Youngjae back, not let him go, but he doesn’t know why. “Wait-”
But human life is fragile, fragile, fragile, cracked porcelain and so full of life and memories until one little thing stamps out the spark in a short puff of smoke. There’s a screech of brakes, a sickening crunch, a scream even. Blood splattered on the pavement like dark paint glimmering with headlights and swerving vehicles. Daehyun runs then, because he’s seen the limp body on the ground and fuckfuckfuck, it’s all a dream, a nightmare, just a bad dream I’ll wake up from.
Youngjae’s lifeless eyes seem to stare at him even when Daehyun closes his own.
-
Daehyun wakes up with a start, too hot and sticky under the bedcovers, breathing heavily as he turns around and stares at his clock. It’s five in the morning, but he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep again. He checks the date on the clock and it flashes at him in bright red letters March 2nd.
He sits up and closes his eyes, trying to get the images crowding his mind to disappear, telling himself it’s just a bad nightmare. He thinks of texting Youngjae but it’s only five in the morning on a weekend, and there’s no way Youngjae will respond, if he’s even alive, his mind helpfully supplies. Daehyun buries his face into his hands and tries to chase the thought away, eyes too bleary with sleep but too alert at the same time. It’s a weird sensation.
Nightmares are like shadows at night; they’re frightening and are always trailing behind you but when faced with light they fade quickly, until the dark descends again and they reappear. Daehyun dresses quickly and nearly rushes into the living room to turn on the lights. It’s still dark outside, lights blinking in the darkness, like city fireflies surrounded by cold steel buildings and lost dreams, lost chances.
Six in the morning comes quickly afterwards, and Daehyun clutches at a mug of coffee, wondering if he should text Youngjae just to imagine the look on Youngjae’s face when he wakes up too early in the morning. With the lights on, he’s starting to feel a lot better and less frightened, dismissing it all as a bad dream.
His phone vibrates just as he reaches for it, and he takes it out of his pocket. Sure enough, Youngjae has sent him a text: you’re probably sleeping right now but here’s your morning wake up call! can we meet today at nine? it’s the weekend. i want to go to the amusement park.
Daehyun can feel the hints of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but at the same time, a hint of dread tugs at his mind, but he doesn’t know why. The thought of an amusement park reminds him of something vague and frightening, maybe something to do with his dream, but he’s forgotten most of his dream, only the fact that Youngjae had died-but they hadn’t been near an amusement park at all. At least, that’s what he remembers.
idiot, he texts back, then adds one of those stupid little cute emoticons with the overly dramatic face to make sure Youngjae knows he’s joking. It’s one of the things he’s always had bothering him. People in a relationship don’t have to overthink about avoiding accidentally insulting each other. i was just about to wake you up too. it’s the beginning of march. the weather is freezing. who in their right mind goes to an amusement park in the middle of winter?
He waits for a minute before Youngjae texts him back, and Daehyun is really smiling now, grinning at his screen like the actual idiot. Texting Youngjae has never failed to make him smile. He wonders in the back of his mind if he’s ever told Youngjae that, then shakes his head because it’s too embarrassing to admit.
why would the amusement be open then? i’ll meet you at nine? make sure to bundle up!
you’re weird. Daehyun stares up at the clock and grimaces. It’s only six thirty, and nine is too far away. He wants to get out as quickly as he can, to escape the last remnants of his nightmare, break away from its thin, grasping fingers trying to choke him down. can we meet now?
the amusement park opens at nine, silly. also, i want to talk to you.
Daehyun closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to stop the sudden panic seizing at him. i’ll buy you breakfast if you meet me downstairs at seven. save the talking for later tonight. i want to spend the day having fun, okay?
also, he types hesitantly, you’re cute when you text. thanks for making me smile. His thumb hovers over the send button, but something stops him and it’s much too cheesy, too embarrassing, too open. He erases the line and ends up with a lame see you there. Something feels missing, and he almost regrets it, but the thought of sending something so cheesy makes him cringe, even though it’s true.
He doesn’t wait for Youngjae’s reply. He knows he’ll come.
-
Daehyun hated crying, and it was probably the worst moment of his life at the time to be caught crying over how the others made fun of your stupid Busan accent by mimicking his tone and pretending they couldn’t understand a single word he said.
But this time, no one laughed at him. He rubbed at his eyes furiously, trying to make the tears disappear and somehow look like his eyes weren’t puffy and red. “What do you want?” Defensive but slow, clumsy in pronunciation compared to the quick, sharp words of the others. He hated it.
The boy knelt down beside him and looked down at the ground so Daehyun could only see the top of his head. “I don’t think you’re stupid. Your accent isn’t bad.”
“Oh.” There was something of childhood reflected in the boy’s eyes when he looked up at Daehyun, and Daehyun had the urge to start crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time. He set his mouth and glared at the distance, eyes stinging. He hated crying. “Thanks. I guess.”
“I’m Youngjae,” the boy offered hesitantly, then paused when Daehyun didn’t react. “I’m ten. Are you ten?”
Daehyun doesn’t like talking about this memory. It’s a first meeting of sorts, a beginning, but he’s the one who’s supposed to protect Youngjae. He hates being thought of as weak, as someone who can be picked on.
Maybe that’s what stops him from understanding, what closes his mouth every time he wants to tell Youngjae thank you for everything. Every time he cares.
-
They say March enters a lion and leaves a lamb, and Daehyun thinks that’s exactly what the weather is like. Cloudy and cold, like winter, but there’s still a hint of spring mixed in between, traces of laughter and warmth brought on in the wind. March is a transition between death and life, flowers shaking off the frozen winter to greet the spring.
Youngjae is waiting for him at the foot of the steps of Daehyun’s apartment building, face half hidden in his scarf as he looks towards Daehyun. “You took your time. It’s already seven. I’ve been here for about fifteen minutes.” His voice is joking, but Daehyun feels a twinge of discomfort, because it’s like Youngjae’s trying too hard for something.
“I told you to meet me at seven,” he merely says, but he’s already automatically slung his arm around Youngjae’s shoulders. “What were you doing, awake at six in the morning?”
“Yongguk hyung called. Wanted to know if I had seen Junhong. What were you doing up at six in the morning?”
“Yongguk hyung should know where Junhong is. Isn’t Junhong like his robot or something?” It’s a struggle to get Youngjae to smile, words fighting the curl of his lips, but Daehyun succeeds eventually, and Youngjae laughs.
“You make lame jokes.” He doesn’t mention how Daehyun didn’t answer his question.
“You know it’s true.” They tend to ignore the things that cause them discomfort after a while, and Daehyun gets the feeling that it’s because they’re avoiding each other in a way. Youngjae shakes his head but he leans towards Daehyun a little more, fingers curling up, around Daehyun’s palm, because this is how life works. Nothing you say matches your actions. You pull away in words and draw together in touches.
They find a shop at the side of the road and sit down on the sidewalk, clutching at their food and staring off into the distance. The sky is a smoky gray like subdued hues of Prussian blue, wisps of dull monochrome, reminiscent of the calm before a storm. It’s cold.
“Do you ever wish you could turn back time?”
Always. “Depends.” I wouldn’t want to change meeting you. “Like maybe if we had met under different circumstances you wouldn’t be dragging me to an amusement parks and I’d be sleeping nicely in bed.”
Youngjae’s expression falls for a split second before Daehyun begins to panic and nudges him in the ribs. “I’m kidding, kidding. Why would I ever regret meeting you? I’d get lazy and sleep around all day long.” He realizes he never tells Youngjae anything, especially not about the nightmares he’s had. The ones that jerk him awake in the middle of the night, leaving him panting in fear, mouth dry, and unable to fall asleep again. Youngjae never asks why he has black and blue bruises under his eyes.
“You’re terrible.” But Youngjae smiles again and they sit together on the sidewalk, watching the horizon, waiting for unspoken dreams to come true. Smoke is intangible. So are dreams.
-
It started with Youngjae asking if it was okay and Daehyun nodding yes, don’t stop because nothing ever starts with love in reality, just tentative glances and hesitant words forming into something more like hands clasped together and sitting back to back in the summer air and wondering what it feels like to be in love.
Love was never something they took seriously because two little characters were not the same as clutching at each other and grasping for something physical, actions over words, not the same as when Daehyun pushed Youngjae against the mattress and whispered hoarsely in his ear I’m going to make you scream. Somehow they passed from friends to lovers to somewhere stuck in between, stumbling in spirals of confusion because love was merely something they didn’t understand, something fading away in their minds, worn out and forgotten.
At least, it was for Daehyun.
-
Youngjae demands that they go on each rollercoaster ride at least three times and Daehyun really doesn’t know what else he wants to do so he follows him around and tries not to scream too loudly when the wind rushes through his ears and makes his hair stand up.
They run over to the prize booths afterwards and Daehyun manages to win Youngjae a yellow stuffed bunny complete with a cheesy little flower and heart. Youngjae bursts out laughing, but he clings to the bunny and overall looks quite happy with it, so Daehyun lets the laugh slide. It’s still cold, the two of them muffled up in scarves and coats, but chasing each other in the cold when it’s stinging at your cheeks is better than sweltering in the hot summer sun, Daehyun realizes.
Lunch passes by quickly and the hours rush by until dusk alights upon the sky in scattered filters of speckled gray, not quite darkness yet. Time is a funny thing. It speeds up and slows down at all the wrong moments like a dysfunctional clockwork timepiece too rusty to work properly and set in some sporadic pattern.
They sit down on a bench next to each other, arms touching, the heat of their bodies warm against the cold of the incoming night. Youngjae heaves a quiet sigh and looks up at the sky, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the faded daylight. “Thanks for today. It was fun.”
“I should thank you,” Daehyun mumbles quietly, and he doesn’t think Youngjae hears but it’s a quiet, still night, something to keep frozen in time forever before the silence is shattered like glass mirrors refracting half-truths.
“You told me to save the talking for later. It’s later now. I need to talk to you.”
“Shh,” Daehyun hushes, turning away. “Don’t talk to me now. Save it for later. Please.” He’s trembling now, and he wonders if Youngjae can tell, because everything in his dream comes flashing back again and no, no, no don’t talk at all.
“But-”
Something snaps, a sudden crack of smoke, but smoke is intangible like dreams unspoken until Youngjae slumps forward and someone begins screaming because there’s blood all over Daehyun’s hands and Youngjae’s not breathing-it’s a nightmare all over again, rushing through Daehyun’s mind because someone’s aiming a gun at bystanders and the snap, crack, smoke repeat themselves over and over again, again, again, like Youngjae dying in his arms.
This time, he wakes up screaming.
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