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For seventeen years, Jinhwan built crystal castles out of his dreams, broke them with his own fingers, and built them again — and it rounded as a circle until Jinhwan gave up and left his tries for gathering dust on the surface of small shards. Castles crumble, as do dreams, and childhood disappears somewhere in the attic of his last house. There is no time for your own fairy tales and gently nurtured hopes, when your parents, to your surprise, are getting older with you, and your older sister should get married in the next six months.
And Jinhwan, actually, should grow up too.
So, when the first ironed suit, patent leather shoes, and cheap bitter coffee appeared instead of the untidy multi-colored sneakers, the almost broken skate he bought when he was ten, and the microphone (Jinhwan once dreamed about singer life), Jinhwan wasn't afraid. He just took the red rose-patterned denim he bought when he was twelve — "That's a lucky denim, mom!" — and hides the 'MADE' album in his briefcase (because no one throws diamonds away).
And warm Jeju is replaced by cloudy Seoul.
Following the sudden appearance of reality in Jinhwan's life and getting into the university for a management major, there, unfortunately, happened two-almost-friends or, to be easier — dumb & even dumber asses (Jinhwan calls them like that and, ironically, they always respond). His major was merged with marketing in the first year, and the rapprochement of the guys happened faster than Jinhwan expected, and somehow even became stronger. Jiwon and Junhoe usually fight like a cat and a dog, then staring awkwardly on the different sides, and Jinhwan genuinely doesn't know what to do with these kids.
"You're such a dumbass, to be honest," once Junhoe told this to Jiwon during lunch, sitting on an uncomfortable chair in a coffee shop near the university. Jinhwan bursted out laughing, either because Junhoe is actually spilling the tea, or because he doesn't notice even his own mistakes.
"Oh, that's terrible," Jiwon sighed mockingly. "Koo Junhoe was created for bullying me."
Jiwon gives his sleep time hours for games, buys energy drinks even often than he breathes, and laughs insanely loud, pulling Jinhwan out at three A.M. in his pajama for a pack of ramen, and Junhoe is just the opposite of him. And they wouldn't have even started talking with each other if it wasn't for Jinhwan, but that's not the main point — there's something about their short glances at each other that Jinhwan noticed even on the first day of studying.
But they are too inconsiderate to each other (or to themselves?) and Jinhwan leaves it by its way, allowing fate to guide the future itself.
So he just silently pats Junhoe on the head and takes a sip of the light beer he hates — as this cold city with its stupid university — and listens to Jiwon's last night story about the League of Legends game.
And it becomes (for a second) much easier to live.
When the nineteenth year crossed the threshold in Kim Jinhwan's life, Junhoe and Jiwon had already grown a head taller than the elder, changed their jobs several times and still had been so awkward and stupid. And Jinhwan has more and more responsibilities, a job as an assistant in the company of his relative, a hole instead of feelings, and an empty apartment of his aunt with whom the relationship is even colder than the weather in January.
At the sister's wedding, Jinhwan cried. He cried for a really long time, boyishly and bashfully, but something in his heart was hurted this day — for the first time he realized that he had grown up. He will no longer be the youngest in the family, he will not be able to enjoy games and carelessness in peace, and the whole life is right on his little hands now. Although it had been a long time since Jinhwan had felt himself as a kid in the heart — he hadn't felt himself at all, — it was difficult (and even disappointing) to realize.
"You're getting more serious day after day," mother sighs sadly, patting her younger son on the back with special tenderness. Jinhwan nods silently, smiling a little, and gives his mother a gentle hug before walking out of his parents' house to back down the cold steps of Seoul.
The black-ironed suit still seems ridiculous on his own body, and the miserable pathos of adults was pointless. And sometimes Jinhwan allows himself, just for a second, to stop and look at himself in the mirror, gently running the fingers over his reflection. For a moment, he can smell his mother's orange pie again, the frozen sea and the cold wind off the shore at the beginning of winter, when he came home after school, and the raindrops waltzed with the falling snowflakes.
But Jinhwan pulls his fingers away and everything looks exactly the same again — his aunt's narrow apartment, in which every corner is filled with icy loneliness, an uncertain future together with a gnawing sense of duty and responsibility to the family. So he forgets the moment of his weakness and goes back to his blank room, full of the same empty feelings.
"I hope you remember who you are, don't you, Jinani?" mother whispers for a second before Jinhwan's back disappears through the door. But he was able to hear (and felt a slight trembling on his fingers).
Jinhwan hasn't grown (in any plans) for two years of university, and the third year — to all the joy and deep despair — is becoming the last, Jiwon and Junhoe finally have learned how to say to each other "How are you?" and the first item from the list of Jinhwan's problems has already been crossed out. Autumn smells like the dust that covers Jinhwan's room in the parents' house and tastes like mint gum after a cup of bitter coffee. The weather is getting dim by the day, and Jinhwan realizes that he seems to hate the cold.
"It's like you're in a constant existential crisis," Jiwon says as he finishes his second cup of chocolate shake.
"Wow, did you just notice it only now?"
Jiwon giggles and slaps his friend on the shoulder for a second then continues quite seriously.
"Man, you can't do this all the time. You need some diversion," Jiwon looks away philosophically and rubs his sharp cheekbone thoughtfully. "What about the party?"
"To make me already collapse as skeleton there before my time? No, thanks. If you don't wanna bury me right in your yard, of course," Jinhwan rolls his eyes.
"For your attention, you're the first one who starts offer some shit at nights, like remember that time with Mino's car.. or when you've drunk almost a case of light beer's cans, which, by the way, you hate," Jiwon stubbornly ignores Jinhwan's burning gaze. "But it's not the point. I'll pick you up on Thursday."
"And where is my right to choose?"
"At the same place as my future," Jinhwan raises an eyebrow in a question to Jiwon's amused grin. "In my hands, babe."
Jinhwan really tried to (not) spill his ice americano on other's hoodie.
But Jiwon always keeps his promises, and this time wasn't an exception. He arrives at exactly seven in the evening, pulls Jinhwan out of bed, and even somehow convinced Junhoe to come too — boy is standing in the hallway, holding a new bottle of whiskey very contentedly. In such moments, Jinhwan really hates his friends, probably more than his life and this crappy apartment, but still grabs his orange hoodie and leaves the house.
The party is going as all the typical parties — cheap alcohol, a bunch of students who have fewer thoughts about their future than the number of brain cells, and this loud music kills Jinhwan's sensitive ears with the poor quality of the wireless speakers. Now he'd like to go back to his soft and warm bed, just listen to H.E.R's songs, cover himself with a wool blanket from all the problems and finally take a nap, but he just pulls a smile and drinks a second shot.
Junhoe sits on the couch, looking despondently at the floor after his third shot, and Jinhwan already knows that his mind full of philosophical thoughts about everything — and, especially, about his feelings, — stroking the younger's tousled hair and smiling softly at the sad gaze in his friend's eyes. While Jiwon sings to Beyonce's karaoke songs very enthusiastic, off-key on every high note, talks with some sophomore girls, openly flirting, and laughs loudly, almost happily. He lives a restless but stable life in such an empty city, and Jinhwan even wondering how he's doing this; but what, actually, Jiwon doesn't do good?
Jinhwan doesn't find an answer to this either, but Junhoe answers instead.
"It's not about the city, hyung," Junhoe said one day, opening the second can of beer while Jiwon went to buy another pack of L&M at the store. Jinhwan raised his head off the table, focusing his gaze on the younger, who is quite confident at his words. "It's just how Jiwon being like this on his own. He doesn't need a certain place to be happy. He is the happiness by himself."
Jinhwan, of course, teased the younger with a mocking, "Oh, do you really think so?" and received a gloomy look in return, but his mind was caught by Junhoe's words.
(actually, he is pretty acknowledge about how Junhoe is more sensitive than he seems)
But emotions bypass Jinhwan every time he tries to catch them as the little butterflies in a hot summer — one established rule in Jinhwan's head reminds him of itself at such moments. "You don't want any troubles? Then don't use your feelings," or the typical psychological rejection due to a simple understanding of one truth:
Jinhwan's feelings won't do anything good for him.
When Jinhwan got tired of the loud screams, the intoxicating smell of alcohol, and the weight of Junhoe's heavy embrace, he steps out of the smoky apartment, leans against the cold metal surface of the door, and exhales in relief. Until he meets someone's gaze on his figure in front of him.
"Kinda loud in your place," the guy's voice is hoarse but sounds very soothing, and Jinhwan feels his tiredness through just one soft sigh. He wants to apologize but realizes that, in general, this is not his apartment (and not even his city).
"The owner passed out after the first shot, but I'll try to negotiate," Jinhwan sighs quietly. He hopes he doesn't look the way he thinks he does — it's not cool to show up sweaty, red-faced, and with big gray eyebags full of all his tiredness in front of strangers, — and awkwardly brushes off his too-long bangs, trying to hide his worried look. The guy grines in a kind way, but still doesn't go into his apartment, and looks understanding in some way, so Jinhwan just unconsciously breaks out. "Do you believe me?"
The boy's eyes sharpened as it's something burning inside his agate pupils, and Jinhwan mentally curses himself for his momentary weakness; he grabs the iron handle with his warm palms, turns it slowly, but doesn't look away — as if waiting for something, no matter how stupid it sounds.
"I don't even believe myself," the guy smiles widely looking at Jinhwan's frozen look. "But I'll try."
Jinhwan can still smell the air filled with cheap alcohol and the noxious smoke of the cigarettes, but it kinda becomes (for a second) easier to breathe.
He forgets to warn the noisy students about the loud music as well as to take care of the drunken Junhoe and Jiwon, and he surprisingly finds himself on the roof of a random house, watching the night sky with a (kind of pretty) stranger.
The stranger's name is Hanbin and his hands are cold, but Jinhwan finds them in some sense soft. Not like his aunt's apartment or the sneering laughter of others; his hands reminded Jinhwan of autumn nights in Jeju under a warm blanket in his parents' house and a cup of tea in his hands, as he gently drawn meaningless patterns with his finger on the fogged window and quietly thought about everything — and, especially, how a moment can turn into the eternity.
Hanbin is silent most of the time, looks deeply at the sky, and Jinhwan doesn't even feel awkward about it — they share this space with each other, carrying dialogues with themselves, and, maybe, only this night becomes a little witness of this moment.
"Did you know that eyes tell you about a person more than words?" Hanbin whispers, turning to his new acquaintance.
It may be incredible or delightful, but there is something special and exciting about it — in this look of Hanbin. It's gentle, soft and stringy, but even thrilling to the shiver. Jinhwan holds the railing tightly with both hands, but for some reason, he feels like he has fallen straight from the fifteenth floor of this building, unable to look away. It plays Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" in Jinhwan's head and he thinks about falling snowflakes, a wet winter, and his mother's orange pie. Something that doesn't fit with the whole situation, but Jinhwan somehow feels warm, really warm.
"And what do you see in them?"
"I wish you could've seen it by yourself," Hanbin signs, almost delightfully, but with a hint of sentimental upset. Jinhwan silently asks, "What are you talking about?" but Hanbin doesn't say anything. He touches slightly Jinhwan's face with his thumb, stroking the small mole under his eye, and watching the sparks in the boy's pupils, getting a little bit excited by every touch. "And wish even more you could feel it."
Jinhwan doesn't know what he feels. The trembling in his limbs worries him, but he puts everything on the back burner because all he can think about right now is Hanbin and his sincere gazes — as if he knows and understands everything, — and Jinhwan is even afraid for a moment. But he doesn't ask him to move away.
There's something about Hanbin that makes Jinhwan stop.
(but whether this is good or bad, he doesn't really know)
"I don't know what it is," Jinhwan says. "But I hope I will."
"You'll feel it."
Jinhwan smiles back. And even thinks that, maybe, there is something in Hanbin's fingers that makes the moment turn into an eternity.
But Jinhwan returns to the party apartment in the early morning when dawn slowly covered the sleepy city with the orange-gold sunlight and Jiwon and Junhoe fell fast asleep on the filthy sofa.
And everything falls into place.
Winter in Seoul is filled with mud, wet snowflakes, and a stuffy subway imbued with the same frozen people. Jinhwan corrects his dark blue spiky scarf, which makes it not only so hard to breathe — even hard to think, — he exhales wearily and leans his head against the foggy window. People always rush for some reason. But Jinhwan closes his eyes and (for a second) everything becomes quiet.
When it's becoming easier to breathe, Jinhwan wakes up and rubs his sleepy eyes. There are still two stops left, but the road seems slower and slower — Jinhwan has time to count the remaining money, all the days before the holidays, and how many times he got mad during the day.
In winter, Seoul isn't cold at all, but it's too shivering of the emptiness.
"How's the Christmas mood?"
A familiar voice interrupts Jinhwan's thoughts and he turns to the right, mentally hoping it's not another annoying colleague or stupid student from his university. But the stranger's smile on the lips — still the same soft and understanding — confuses Jinhwan's fears, causing only pleasant amazement.
"I don't... I don't know," Jinhwan sighs lost, and pulls the blue scarf down with his fingers. Two months passed, and he pushed away (almost) all the dreamy thoughts of that warm night, leaving only a slight feeling of someone's touch of cold fingertips on his cheek. "I forgot about Christmas, to be honest."
"Why?" Hanbin taps his fingers on the window, counting out his own rhythm, and looks at the guy with genuine interest.
"Hadn't time for it," Jinhwan says with a wry smile. "But what's so magical about it? Not in Christmas, but in this... this city, this weather, this place, with these people."
Hanbin listens intently, without interrupting, and he feels a slight tremor in the other's voice. Jinhwan leans his head against the cold window again, looking carefully and closely as if just a little more and Hanbin will disappear — or the moment when Jinhwan being able to talk with someone very honestly and comfortable will disappear once again.
"If you have magic in yourself then any place will be appropriate," Hanbin smiles softly. "You have it inside, Jinhwan. Just trust yourself."
"I have trust issues and problems with understanding my own feelings. I'm not sure of anything these weeks."
Hanbin bursts out laughing.
"Well, I think I'm probably too."
There's announcing of Jinhwan's stop, and he lets out a slight disappointed sigh. Again he's going back to his cramped room, will sit up until midnight with exam preparation and work papers, and spend the morning in a crowded subway. Jinhwan's personal "groundhog day" with the only exception from the movie, it will never end. But he looks into Hanbin's eyes, catches something light and peaceful in the gaze, cuts into his stranger's beautiful smile, and even decides.
"Write me your number. I should send you my wishes for Merry Christmas at least."
Hanbin chuckles.
"And don't forget to send a sticker at the end."
The subway arrives at the stop, Jinhwan wraps a scarf around himself against the abrupt winter wind and hears the crunch of a thin layer of snow under his shoes, but still holds his phone with frozen fingers, typing rapidly on the almost broken screen:
«Only selected people can get stickers from me. Take your time, Mr. — Jinhwan»
But when the champagne in the glass is reaching its bottom, the festive family dinner is slowly ending, and small wet snowflakes are still falling outside the window — the kind of snowflakes that only fall at the end of December, — he grabs his phone and sends a brief "Merry Christmas" to one number with a light movement.
And attaches a sticker with a funny monkey.
«He looks a bit like you. Don't you think so, Mr? — Jinhwan»
When Jinhwan is entering the world of Morpheus without feeling a slight vibration under his fingers, and the snow is stopping to fall, only shines like a silver blanket covering the small house of the Kim family, he gets a response:
«Bet two dollars that we don't look even similar. But... Merry Christmas, Kim Jinan. Be happy. — Hanbin»
Jinhwan is highly tired. He has walked only part of his way, consisting of wide thickets, constant rain, and sticky sand under his feet — after all, Jinhwan clears the path of life by himself, — but the path ahead seems too far, and it's becoming even more difficult to walk. Now he has a degree with a major that he's not really interested in, Junhoe and Jiwon are still fighting, and his own smile on the face seems sincere this much so Jinhwan (for a short second) even believes himself.
"Great mouse pad," Junhoe sighs, tossing the document somewhere back in Jiwon's car. Jinhwan rolls his eyes and holds up a diploma, scolding something like, "Junhoe, it's not just useless shit, education is important," and then wincing at his own words. "Yes, yes, hyung. Bobby, can you stop somewhere? I want some shots."
"No prob," Jiwon smiles joyfully as he turns the steering wheel to the left, and Jinhwan thinks that he's the only person in this mired world who can truly and sincerely smile even on such "celebrations". "I love you guys, you know that?"
Jinhwan nods and smiles softly at his best friend's reflection in the car mirror. "We love you too, sunshine."
Junhoe snorts.
"Ew. I like only alcohol, " he ignores Jinhwan's reproachful look. "Oh, and money. And will love you both if someone pays for me today."
"Wow," Jinhwan sighs. "You should change your priorities, Junhoe-ya."
But still, Jinhwan's paying for his friend at the bar, habitually patting the top of his head when Junhoe looked too sad again under the influence of alcohol, and his thoughts were louder than deafening music. And he never asks Junhoe why he's being like this only when he's drunk — the answer seems to be at hand.
(maybe he's just a little in love)
"Junhoe shouldn't drink too much," Jiwon grumbles, dragging the drunk guy into the car after a long graduation party. Of course, he will spend the night with friends: Jiwon and Jinhwan agreed to rent an apartment together right after when the elder again couldn't stand the stress of his aunt's last apartment. "And why is he always so sad when he's drunk? We can't even shut him up in real life."
Jinhwan laughs too loud for the night silence between them.
"We all have reasons to be sad, Jiwon. And Junhoe's reasons are probably even louder than him."
In the middle of May, the wind is a little bit cold and piercing, just like that special autumn night — but, for some reason, Jinhwan's heart doesn't have that warmth, — he grabs the edges of his shirt sleeves and feels a wave of goosebumps on his skin. Jiwon silently puts Junhoe in the back seat (and also silently covers him with his jacket), starts the car, and he's lost in the thought for longer than usual.
And Jinhwan wonders, what is going on usually in Jiwon's mind? In Junhoe's mind? He isn't used to see how Jiwon frowns to the wrinkles between his brows because of the complicated monologue in his head. He isn't used to see how Junhoe grabbing the edge of Jinhwan's jacket, looking too pleading and weak. He isn't used to hear Jiwon's hoarse worried voice at two in the morning saying, "What should I do, hyung? What should I do in the future? Who should've I become?". He isn't used to hug Junhoe so tightly until his shuddering shoulders are replacing by peaceful breathing.
He isn't used to see them as real.
(or was so used with it that he almost forgot about himself?)
"You know what's interesting, hyung?" told Jiwon as the younger one is fast asleep on the bed in Jiwon's room, and he is spreading out the old sofa. Jinhwan stops in front of his room, turns to face the friend, and watches curiously. "It's hard to read other people's minds. But yours, especially."
"What are you talking about?"
"Good night, hyung," Jiwon smiles softly. "Just don't forget that you can always... always trust your reasons, too."
And when Jiwon's silhouette disappears through the bathroom door and Junhoe's snoring brings the frozen boy back to reality, Jinhwan somehow feels that autumn warmth on his fingertips again.
Jinhwan's still working in the company of his relative (already in the position of junior manager, but, for some reason, still serves coffee), Jiwon's disappearing all the days on a part-time jobs, and Junhoe has gone until the fall to visit his grandmother. The apartment seems unusually empty, and Jinhwan notices for the first time that it has become (for a second) harder to breathe without his friends around for the entire month. July is too slow, sickly sweet and cloying, like Jiwon's favorite sugar marmalades, and the frequent rain is even more exhausting. Jinhwan doesn't like the rain in Seoul; everything reminds of coldness.
But when the rain finally ends along with the hours of work, Jinhwan is feeling a slight vibration on his hand.
«The rain just ended. Can you keep me company somewhere? — Hanbin»
Jinhwan is pleasantly surprised.
«If it's not an abandoned place, a graveyard or a horror movie, I'm all yours. Send the address, kkk. — Jinhwan»
When Jinhwan comes to a small alley full of wide puddles and tall trees, he is freezing in mild confusion. Hanbin's still the same Hanbin, with a stretched purple hoodie, a cute ridiculous band-aid on his cheek, and round glasses that habitually slip on his nose. He waves his hand, smiling happily and kindly, and Jinhwan, for a second, forgets all his stress after work.
"Why did you decide to go to a place like this?" Jinhwan asks, but Hanbin silently drags him by the sleeve of his jacket down the narrow path.
Jinhwan's patent leather shoes are soiled with wet mud, and his jacket is wet by the falling raindrops from the leaves of the trees. The path comes to an end and Jinhwan sighs in exciting delightful as he notices a small and narrow field full of different flowers. The sun's rays beat through the rain clouds, warming the ground, and Jinhwan feels something especially beautiful for the first time in Seoul.
"After the rain, this field gets even more beautiful," Hanbin lets the guy's jacket sleeve down and pulls out a camera from his bag, while Jinhwan carefully looks at the landscape that has appeared. "I thought you might like it, too."
"I like it. More than anything," Jinhwan sighs softly as he approaches the flower buds. The petals are wet by the rain, but they shine beautifully from the sun's rays, and Jinhwan gently runs them by fingertips over the smooth surface. The camera's sounds reflect by the echo, and the guy turns to Hanbin. "Are you a photographer?"
"Right," Jinhwan watches the boy's concentration with interest. "I'm earning on it, but love it as a hobby even more. And I like floristry."
"You know about flowers well?" Jinhwan asks in wonder. The whole Hanbin is all unpredictability (and, for some reason, every time he manages to cause Jinhwan in pleasant perplexity).
"A little. For example, the mallow is a symbol of the desire for sublimity, the embodiment of dreams and joy. And cornflowers — is grace and loyalty," Hanbin runs his fingers through the petals of blue flowers. "But my favorite flowers are dahlias."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you later," Hanbin captures the young, barely opened flower buds on the camera. And he exhales admiringly, but not with enthusiasm — it is something warmer, softer, and more accurate, invisible. "What would you like to be, Jinhwan?"
"What about you?" Jinhwan plays along jokingly and flirty, running off to the nearest tree. Hanbin chuckles, raising an eyebrow and points the camera at the little guy, who was distracted by the wet leaves of a tree. "I want to hear your answer first."
"I want to be the wind," Jinhwan turns in confuse at the boy's words and hears a click from the camera. Hanbin moves the camera away and calls Jinhwan over, grabbing his hand. "It's free, different, unpredictable. And always here."
He brings Jinhwan's hand to the flowers but keeping their fingers a little bit away from the petals. A breath of wind gently wraps around the guys' fingers, leaving a slight chill on their skin, and Jinhwan turns to the guy in amazement, catching a soft smile on his lips in response. Hanbin's fingers disappear from Jinhwan's palm, and he has a momentary thought that Hanbin's cold fingers were wrapping around his skin as the wind — barely visible, suddenly, but still leaving warmth somewhere deep in the heart.
"I want to be stability," Jinhwan exhales, running his fingers through the rare dried flowers in the glade of young cornflowers. The petals of the cornflowers slowly fall to the wet ground, crumbling into dust. "To know that the ground under the feet won't go anywhere, to know that there is a place to go, there is someone to love. Work in a steady job, see the family, work again. Stability, Hanbin, stability."
"Do you really want to live like this?"
Hanbin doesn't look at the lush flower buds this time. He looks directly into Jinhwan's eyes, at his soft awkward smile but not out of happiness or joy (which, someday, Hanbin would like to catch again) — out of his own sadness, melancholy. Or, maybe, even bitterness.
"I..." Jinhwan opens his mouth, but he can't continue. He knows the answer is "yes", but the feeling of dried petals still cares the pads of his fingers — a meaningless comparison, but he will feel himself like them if he continues.
Hanbin understands everything without words.
The next day Jinhwan wakes up in the same order — a cold bed, closed curtains, tasteless breakfast and oppressive loneliness in an empty apartment. But the white mallow bud is still fragrant, standing in a glass full of cold water, and Jinhwan touches its petals.
Hanbin doesn't look like stability at all.
But Jinhwan's still smiling for some reason.
Junhoe returns with falling bright yellow leaves, the smell of wood, and the warmth of knitted things — this kind that his grandmother knitted even for Jinhwan and Jiwon because "they're good boys if they take care of my grandson," ignoring Junhoe's grumbling. Jiwon looks much happier than usual, even though they still fight every other second, and Jinhwan remembers the feeling of warmth on his fingertips again. With friends, it seems much easier to pass the difficulties (and breathe too).
"I'm surprised that you two have been able to get along without me," Junhoe grins smugly, crossing his legs as usual. He drinks the cold cocoa that Jiwon almost burned twenty minutes ago — Jinhwan, fortunately, took everything on his phone, — and winces every time he takes a sip, but for some reason, he finishes it anyway.
"It'd been the best two months in my life," Jiwon mocks lazily scratching on the couch. However, no one but Jinhwan knows that in reality he spent the entire two months on several work-outs to save up for a trip in California to visit his parents and prepare a gift for his little nephew (with whom is still awkward, but Jiwon probably loves him even more than life).
"You're disgustingly bad at lying," Junhoe rolls his eyes. "But you know what? These two months haven't been as boring as I expected. At least, I think I've even figured myself out."
"We should thank Grandma Koo for finding your brains," Jinhwan kicks a laughing Jiwon in the side. "Okay, okay, what happened there?"
"Have you ever heard that dreams will roundly ruin you up at some point in your life?"
Everyone's quiet in the room for a moment, watching Junhoe's serious expression. He takes a deep breath, swallowing the last sip of sickly sweet cocoa, and then looks around at his two best friends (Jinhwan, for some reason, felt a slight tickle under his ribs).
"What do you mean?" Jiwon clears his throat.
"Exactly this," he doesn't look away. "If you don't fulfill them, you will slowly die of your own misery. And what is the difference — to die of failure or die of not trying?"
Junhoe always reminded him of spring. Maybe it was because of his sudden impulses or unexpected warmth in the heart, like in the beginning of March after a long cold winter when you notice the stray stems of flowers from under the melting layer of snow, or the first bright rays of the sun on a cold morning, but there is something delightfully common between spring and Junhoe.
Jinhwan thinks about the beginning.
"Only to die of failure."
Own voice seemed too unfamiliar at the moment.
(or maybe it was just permanently silenced?)
But Junhoe's approval nod makes him think about what he was dragging to the bottom of his thoughts, and Jiwon's happy laugh (for a second) covers all his worries.
Autumn is unusually calm — as if time has become an old art film from the 60s with a peaceful arrangement and the absence of meaningless conversations. It's still cold and dusty in Seoul, but Jinhwan is starting to prefer wearing more warm clothes and drinking more of the sweet lattes that replace espresso cups (he only loves in winter).
"Autumn is my favorite time of year," this time Hanbin comes without his usual glasses, band-aid, and hoodie. He's wearing a rumpled beige shirt and his hair is brushed, and there are scattered notes on his fingers written in a black paste. Jinhwan freezes for a couple of seconds (because of the notes or the boy's beauty, he doesn't know). "Have you ever thought about how autumn is pleasantly calm?"
"Constantly," he takes a sip from the cup of warm latte and pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to the edges of his fingers. "You look like autumn."
"Am I pleasantly calm?" Hanbin winks playfully.
"With you pleasantly calm."
The laughter is replaced by a soft shy smile in response.
(and Jinhwan notices for the first time that Hanbin's dimples look too much adorable to the sparks in his eyes)
"What did you dream about as a child, Jinhwan?" Hanbin rests his chin on the fist and looks curiously at the boy, who is leaning back wearily on his chair.
"It's stupid, but I've always wanted to sing," he's laughing lightly. "I still can do it a little, but it's a shame to even think about it."
"I dreamed of rapping. I still make it sometimes," Hanbin smiles widely at the older's surprised look. He bursts out laughing, crinkling the wrinkles under his eyes, and Hanbin is glad inside that he was able to make the guy laugh. "I even had a video from my childhood where I rapped and said the phrase "Wait for me, GD."
"God, I'd love to see that," Jinhwan laughs, almost out of breath. "But you know what? I think it's really cool. If there is talent and desire then everything becomes possible."
"Then why don't you do it?"
Hanbin's question unsettled Jinhwan. He stares at the boy for a couple of seconds, then looks down at the floor, nervously tugging at the sleeve of his gray hoodie. Jinhwan's least favorite theme — or rather, Jinhwan's scariest theme. Hanbin didn't know him well enough to try to say anything, but his inner intuition felt that he wouldn't answer that question. And maybe he shouldn't need to answer.
(but his heart still demanded to ask, to try to find out, to hear, and — even shivering of too unfamiliar feeling like this — to help him)
Hanbin puts a palm on Jinhwan's hand, feeling guilty, and the words of apology are almost out when Jinhwan's voice breaks the awkward silence between them.
"I'm afraid, Hanbin," he exhales softly, and Hanbin freezes for a few seconds. "I'm afraid to start believing my dreams. I don't even know what I'd like to do. But I'm afraid to sacrifice my time and let down my family's expectations. I'm afraid of it, Hanbin."
"I understand," Hanbin soothingly strokes Jinhwan's palm with his thumb. "It's scary, yes, but... until you try it, you won't be able to taste the full happiness in your life, Jinan, do you hear me? Even if it doesn't work out, I'll be there for you. But the most important thing is that you have yourself. And only you can make yourself happy."
Jinhwan raises his head uncertainly, meeting the other's gaze. Confessing to other person about what was unbearably scary to think about even alone was much easier than he thought. Or it was the special presence of Kim Hanbin, whose eyes are full of confidence, understanding, and this kind of strength — the strength that Jinhwan was never sufficed, — and the cold of his fingers warms him more than any stability.
"Hanbin," Jinhwan breathes, grabbing his hand. "Are you really happy?"
"I don't know. But I'm learning to be."
The films come to the ending credits and the autumn leaves are buried under the first fallen layer of snow, which melted the next December day. Barely able to take a short vacation to his parent house, Jinhwan feels more alive and smiles even more again, and the suffocating dust disappears from the guy's room in the house. There are still wet snowflakes and warm nights in Jeju, but Jinhwan feels himself much more mature (or bitterly sentimental).
"How's work going?" the mother's gentle voice interrupts his own thoughts, and Jinhwan awkwardly brushes off his tangled hair. The house is filled with the smell of spices — cinnamon with sugar and a slight aroma of ginger, like Christmas Eve.
"I don't know, mom," he winces tiredly. "But probably good."
Mother holds her worried gaze for a second longer and stops from peeling an orange. Jinhwan is lost in his thoughts again — about everything but his feelings, — and he takes the woman's hand gently, pulling out the most sincere smile he can do right now.
"Eyes are telling about a person more than words," the mother sighs, smiling back. "And sometimes it's better to trust your eyes, Jinani."
"What are you talking about, mom?"
"Don't be afraid to start, even if it leads to something bad," she continues to peel an orange while Jinhwan looks at her confusingly. "The main thing is your happiness. Right?"
Jinhwan didn't dare to answer.
(and the smell of the favorite orange pie somehow, for a second, made it easier to breathe again)
When the night in Seoul is beginning to fall earlier and the air is covering the delicate skin with a winter frost, Jinhwan suddenly quits his job. Maybe it's because of the constant stress and total disrespect for him, but something has changed in Jinhwan since those conversations. He wondered if it was worth his time, and, maybe, he couldn't find the answer, but for a long time he felt himself almost free. But feelings are still closed-door, Jiwon has gone to stay with his family for a couple of months, and when Jinhwan spent his evenings alone again, he suddenly gets a call from Junhoe.
"Hyung, did you know thoughts are much worse than reality?"
His voice sounds drunk and his words are broken, but this is the first time Jinhwan heard him so-
Happy?
"I want to die of failure, hyung," he mumbles, almost laughing. Jinhwan anxiously grabs the phone leaving the house at the same time. "And I don't want to worry myself every time. I'll do it, Jinhwan."
"What will you do? Junhoe, where are you? Tell me the address."
"I think I love Jiwon, hyung," Jinhwan stops at the elevator door without pressing the button. "And I hate my job. Yeah, I'm a loser, but I still want to be happy. Even though it sounds silly."
Jinhwan laughs sincerely to the wrinkles.
"You admitted it," he exhales, almost admiringly. "You're doing great, Junhoe. And you're not a loser. You're braver than you think."
"I know, hyung," he laughs back. "But I still wanna someone's hugs and soothing bedtime conversations. So you probably should pick me up."
"I'll be soon."
The long beeps ring in the ears, but Jinhwan leans against the mirror in the elevator and smiles foolishly, giggling.
And, after all, it has something magical about — just make it.
Jinhwan is almost twenty-one, he still has issues with trust and understanding his own feelings, and the favorite album 'MADE' lies on the table next to his bed. Jiwon and Junhoe fight noisily, and then, being afraid to cross each other's gaze, they look awkwardly at the opposite sides of table and only Jinhwan notices the gently holding fingers under it. And the old denim jacket with the red rose still fits on his shoulders — to Jinhwan's sadness, — and Seoul is as cloudy and restless as it was in the first day of his arrival.
Time stretches and stops at the same time; he is a child and an adult in one person. Everything is contradictory — his words and actions, principles and decisions, feelings and thoughts. But for some reason, Hanbin still looks at him with a faint admiration, a note of sad sentimentality, and slightly visible caring.
Jinhwan thinks that, maybe, not only the seasons can spin round and round.
"There's something in your gaze," Jinhwan gets goosebumps from the abrupt wind as Hanbin takes photos of the snow trees by their alley. "I never can catch it."
"Not everything can be described by words," he says, a soft grin forming on his lips, and he moves the camera away, turning to the frozen guy. Jinhwan looks adorable with a wide-down coat and the same long blue wool scarf, but this time with a smile on his face. "Did I tell you why dahlias are my favorite flowers?"
"No, Mr." Jinhwan sticks out his tongue, teasing. "What about your magical reticence in secrets?"
"Sometimes the truth comes out," he exhales, a little embarrassed. "Dahlias are the symbol of freedom and firmness, Jinhwan. I think that's exactly what makes me really happy."
Jinhwan smiles back softly, without looking away. An unknown feeling constantly arises between them — something mixed with a shy awkwardness, a warm understanding, and a wish to be silent-silent-silent, only carefully learning each other by imperceptible movements and quiet whispers. And Jinhwan thinks Hanbin doesn't just have these firmness and freedom — he's the personification of it.
"I love orange pies," Jinhwan stifles a laugh, but he speaks with all the sincerity in his words, carefully holding Hanbin's cold palms. "You should try them in Jeju. That's where they taste best."
"Do they make you happier?"
"Yeah," he exhales quickly, feeling the warm steam from his own breath, and holds onto the other's hand tighter, warming himself. "And maybe not only them. Lately, I've started to see more things that make me happy."
"I'll try them."
Hanbin's smile is still as soft and understanding as it was on that autumn night. But the field is surrounded by small snowdrifts, shining from the bright sunlight — and Jinhwan wonders how nature can make such miracles: the glow of flower petals after rain is completely different from the winter glow but just as the same beautiful. It's not the frozen sea and cold air off the coast in Jeju, but Jinhwan still feels a pleasant warmth on his fingertips.
"You look like winter, Jinani."
"Why?" Jinhwan asks in surprise, intertwining his fingers with Hanbin's cold fingers.
Hanbin gently touches the small mole under the boy's eye, stroking it with his thumb, and Jinhwan gets goosebumps but he can't look away. And Hanbin's mind is spinning about how winter in Jeju is probably just as cozy and contradictory as tenderly special to the shivering, and he whispers a soft "You'll feel it" on Jinhwan's lips, smiling widely in response.
And this is the first time Jinhwan feels in himself how a moment can turn into an eternity.