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Time is relative. That’s what they always say.
11:10 p.m., Incheon International Airport
Juyeon was three minutes too late. His first mistake was being too stubborn when his roommates nagged at him to leave already. “I’ll be fine, the train is punctual as it has been,” he argued; unbeknownst to him was the unavailability of seats in the car he ended up seeing first. The doors made a suction sound as it closed. The train, like all scheduled transportation, never waits.
Upon the denial of his entry to board, his shoulders sank down as he just missed a flight to the city of love. Sure, his finances were stable enough to book another but this was the last thing he needed today.
He crouched down and leaned his head against the glass window. The view frustrated him even more because it was as if the moon was staring at his face in mockery.
A minute passed. Across from him was a silhouette of someone mimicking his position--shoulders slumped, head down, and a sullen pout painted on his face. He, too, has missed his flight.
“Missed boarding?” he asked in hopes of striking up a conversation to distract him from the overpowering thoughts clouding his mind. He looked up at him, lowered the hood from his head, and nodded.
“You, too, I assume?” he cocked his head to the side to feign innocence when he already knew the answer to his own question. Juyeon wouldn’t look so vulnerable if he made it to his flight.
“Mhm, guess we’re on the same boat,” he chuckled.
“Plane,” he retorted, earning a breathy laugh from the boy.
“Not when we both failed to board.”
He unconsciously looked at his watch as a force of habit.
“Make a wish.”
“What for?” he blinked back at him, unsure of what he meant exactly.
“Just do it. Now,” he commanded, making sure the clock’s hands don’t tick faster than they should.
Their wishes were one and the same--to catch the next flight.
02:34 a.m.
In the past five hours, they have accomplished nothing.
Not that there is a need for productivity in the airport but both souls were restless; and the airport was enormous. The possibilities were infinite.
Although their stomachs were still partially full from the coffee and bread they impulsively bought from the mini mart, they couldn't help craving for the delicacies the closed restaurants served. As they paced further, the hallway appeared to be endless. Lights were dimly-lit or brightly white but there were no in-betweens.
“You went through a Tumblr phase?” he snorted.
“You didn’t?” Juyeon dramatically exclaimed, wholeheartedly offended.
“I had a social life, you know?” the younger boy teased, happy to rile him up further. He found him cuter like this.
“I did too! I just-”
“Was a loser who had nothing better to do than scroll through a self-projection platform filled with painfully cliche posts?” his mouth was unruly, for sure but he never lied. Changmin’s truth accurately resonated with him as it did anyone. Juyeon was charmed.
05:49 a.m.
The view was the only thing that shut them both up. In front of them was a mirage of hues of blue, pink, and purple with rays of a soft golden light peeking through the thickest of clouds. 24 Hours by Sky Ferreira softly played from behind--all thanks to the pocket-sized JBL speaker Juyeon brought in his carry-on.
This is comfortable. Neither of them had the guts to admit it, though.
“What did you wish for?” Juyeon asked, eyes fixed upon the dusk rising at the horizon. His eyes reflected the morning rays, shining just as bright as the sun did.
Changmin smirked to himself, aware of the curiosity he has, yet again, inflicted onto a man.
“It won’t come true if I tell,” a ghost of a smile still on his face.
“You amaze me,” he spoke, glancing at his side, eyes now fixated on the Scorpio.
“That is because?” he challenged.
“You operate on logic and rationality and yet you believe in a timestamp and its power to grant you a wish,” he shook his head in amusement.
“I’m only optimistic and dreamy; not my fault you care more about the uglier side of things,” he pointed.
“Optimistic and dreamy is a more sophisticated way of saying you are naive” he chuckled.
Just as he was about to refute the younger’s ridiculous claims, both their phones lit up as it pinged with a notification from Korean Air.
Their flight schedules changed.
09:28 a.m.
Breakfast sandwiches in hand, they were once again, roaming the halls of the airport that never seems to transform into something else. Both their rescheduled flights departed at 23:20. The gates close ten minutes prior.
There was a bitterness to the coffee they were drinking, the black liquid sitting in front of them both.
“It’s half empty,” Juyeon stated; the ice a witness to the debate about to unfold in front of it.
“In your eyes, maybe,” Changmin squinted at the drink, failing to acknowledge the change in atmosphere.
“Okay, then, tell me. Why isn’t the glass half-empty?”
“It’s a Starbucks cup.”
“Just answer the question,” he urged. The genuine curiosity in his eye was so endearing that he actually mustered the patience to tell him all the reasons why hope is the most beautiful, intangible thing that can be held.
11:10 a.m.
“You really are the posterboy for all the hopeless romantics,” he held back a laugh but smiled anyway. His smile was enchanting, almost addicting.
“Doesn’t the thought of finding love in a city branded entirely by it excite you?”
Changmin has seen this look before. The look of hope.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured quietly.
“Why should I?”
Juyeon sensed he wouldn't do what he asked so he gently brushed his hands over his eyes in an attempt to get him to shut them.
“Make a wish.”
5:05 p.m.
“Six hours and six minutes.”
His breath hitched. Has it been that long? Why does it seem like it isn’t enough? Why does it feel like it is his glass that is half-fucking-empty?
“All good there?” a hand waved gently in front of his face, bringing his back to reality. Right. Here it is. Reality.
The aftertaste of coffee still lingering on his tongue. Bitter.
“Yeah, just… sleepy,” he lied through his teeth.
“I can lend you a pil-”
“No! It’s fine. Thank you,” he beamed. He’s not going to miss the last few hours he gets to spend with Juyeon.
“You sure?” he asked. His eyes scanned his face swiftly, still unable to see any trace of vulnerability. His lips pursed.
“Mhm, sunset’s pretty,” his eyes were already affixed on the beautiful sky.
“There is truly no greater artwork than the sky,” he marveled in awe. It was vivid. The colors blended seamlessly into each other. Bright, colorful, pretty and yet such a tragic end for a day so perfect. A sight not any post he had seen on Tumblr can capture.
Juyeon looked down at his wristwatch, the seconds passing by in a haste. He wishes the hands would tick slower, that the world would somehow revolve leisurely, and that the day would end later.
They were both afraid. They knew that, and yet, radio silence.
11:05 p.m.
The wheels of their luggage rolling against the marble tiles, the hushed conversations between the jetlagged and sleep-deprived, and the advertisements faintly playing in the background made enough noise to mask both their shaky breaths and beating hearts.
“I’ve read a post on Tumblr,” Juyeon paused, anticipating a reaction from him. He merely smiled.
“And?”
“It said that the airport has seen more sincere kisses than wedding halls,” he shrugged. The white light of the boarding gates’ signages shine directly on the pair.
“Are you suggesting we kiss?” the shorter boy raised his left brow, fighting the urge to smirk at the tall boy.
“Maybe,” he replied nonchalantly.
Two minutes until the boarding gates close.
“So kiss me,” he responded, eyes glinting with hope.
Juyeon tilted Changmin’s chin upwards, careful with his hands on his pretty face. He stared into his eyes, basking in the beauty of it.
One minute.
Juyeon leaned in, as the latter closed his eyes...
11:10 p.m.
Instead of lips, arms started touching them; aggression faintly enforced as the ground staff nudged the two toward the gates. They could not stand yet another pair of passengers unable to board their respective planes.
Fuck.
Juyeon’s eyes lost it. They lost their sparkle, their gleam, their glint of hope.
Changmin’s eyebrows were furrowed, unable to process the situation.
Juyeon’s second mistake, staring right into his eyes. Maybe if he just kissed him right then and there, things would have been different.
11:11 p.m.
Just as Juyeon wished to see him again did Changmin close his eyes in defeat.
Time isn’t relative. Time is cruel and unforgiving.
Changmin should have known that airplanes, just like every scheduled transportation, never wait.
Not when the glass is half-full, not in the name of love.
Not even at 11:11.