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Blue blazer, black bag bouncing from where it was slung on his shoulder, black hair reflecting the afternoon glow of the sky making its way through the window as he runs across the hallway, leaving squeaks as Chan’s indoor shoes makes contact with the freshly polished floor, and Seungkwan peeking from the other doorway to shout “don’t run on the hallway, Chan!” was what Hansol watched as he stayed rooted to the floor, his hand not moving from where it was — hand slightly extended, holding a brown paper bag.
“Seriously, he’s the class president yet he’s the one breaking the rules?” Seungkwan mutters under his breath before turning to Hansol. “Hansolie, we need to move. Come on. After school duties.”
Hansol blinks, eyes still trained on the hallway, Chan completely gone from his sight.
“Hansolie?” Seungkwan calls, walking to where Hansol is. “Are you okay?”
“Uh…”
“Uh… what?” Seungkwan teases him. He examines Hansol before his face shifts into something, like he uncovered some top secret. “Did Channie give you chocolates, too?”
Hansol blinks again briefly looking at what Chan gave him before the latter excused himself and ran away. “Yeah,” he says, softly, and then he adds, “What do you mean, ‘too’?”
Seungkwan leans on the wall just beside the doorway, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s giving everyone in the class a piece. I think he gave some to our seniors, too.”
“Oh. He gave me a bag.”
“A bag?” Seungkwan repeats.
“Yeah,” Hansol’s voice falters off.
“Chan did? No way !” Seungkwan gasps. “He gave me one piece, he gave all of us one!”
Hansol gives Seungkwan half a shrug. “I guess he gave me all that was left?”
“No fair! I asked Chan for more. How much did he give you?”
Hansol opens the paper bag without a word, and he sees a clear plastic pouch with chocolates inside it, varying in shapes, each one sitting on a red cupcake liner. The pouch is neatly folded on the top and secured with staples, a red ribbon attached to where it was sealed.
Seungkwan leans forward to take a look at it.
“That’s not what he gave us.”
Hansol gives Seungkwan a puzzled look.
“Chan gave us those small chocolates wrapped in foil. The one you can buy at the supermarket! Why is yours so special?” Seungkwan stops as the last word leaves his mouth. He squints his eyes at Hansol, a teasing grin on his lips. “Ohhhh. I get it. I get it .”
Hansol closes the paper bag again. His face is heating up.
Seungkwan wiggles his eyebrows. “I bet Chan made that by himself.” He ohhhs , mischief evident in his tone. “Hansollie. Oh, Hansollie.”
Hansol blinks. Suddenly, his mind jumps back to where he was a few minutes ago: standing by the doorway with his heart strumming on his chest, Chan with flushed cheeks and ears, voice shy yet pleasant all the same, handing him the paper bag, muttering “Happy Valentine’s” before excusing himself and taking Hansol’s breath away with him as he runs.
Suddenly, the letter where he poured all the feelings he harbored towards Chan, which is folded into four and tucked in on the pocket of his gray slacks, edges lightly creased from the whole day Hansol spent taking it out and in his pocket, feels heavy and impossible to ignore.
His fingers gripped around the handle of the paper bag. His feet are itching to run, to chase after Chan. His heart is threatening to jump out of his chest the longer he stays there.
Hansol instantly turns to Seungkwan. “Kwan-ah. I need a favor from you.”
Seungkwan shoots him a knowing look. “Go! I can handle the cleaning all by myself.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
Hansol darts into the classroom to get his bag and out. He shoots Seungcheol a quick apology when he bumped into him as he turns to the staircase. His black shoes weren’t even properly put on when he stepped out of the building entrance. Time is ticking and Hansol has a newly found determination that he was trying to summon this whole day.
He dashes as he exits the gates, feet leading him to the route Chan takes when he goes home. His skin is tingling, his nerves are buzzing, his face feels hot against the chill breeze. He hopes Chan hasn’t gotten home yet.
“What does it mean to like someone?”
Hansol recalls his sister asking him when they got dragged by their father to a confectionery shop a few days ago, his father examining rows of displayed specially made pastries and cakes.
Maybe liking someone means watching them play table tennis inside the classroom, giggling by himself when Chan served in a comedic style.
Maybe it’s the buzz under his skin when he scoots over closer to Chan’s so they could share the workbook.
Maybe it’s the way his voice softens when they talk in hushed voices during classes.
Maybe it’s saying he wants to sit beside Chan during their seating arrangements when the latter was not present in the room. Maybe it’s excitedly patting the table beside him when Chan entered the room and asking where he was seated.
Maybe it’s hoping deep inside him that he will be placed in the same group as Chan’s during their school trip so he could spend more time with him, so that in Hansol’s head, he could spend the trip with his the boy he likes.
Maybe it’s sneaking glances towards Chan to admire him, only to be caught by the person, a smile making a way on his lips when Chan beams at him.
Maybe liking someone is eating tteokbokki by the store down the block. Maybe liking someone is putting his arm around their shoulders when they asked who wants to eat tteokbokki after class and offering to go with them.
Maybe liking someone means running after the boy he likes while the sun is setting down, to confess the admiration that has been growing in his chest for the past months.
He stops on his tracks when he spotted the familiar figure walking a few meters from him. His heart is loudly and quickly beating on his chest, but Hansol is pretty sure it’s not from the running alone.
“Chan-ah!”
Chan turns around on his heels, completely stunned to see Hansol there.
Catching his breath, Hansol walks towards where Chan was standing. Chan meets him in the middle, stopping a few steps from Hansol.
For a brief moment, Hansol feels embarrassed about his state. He’s probably sweaty from the running he did. He’s certain his hair is messy. But he completely forgets all of those when he could notice how nervous Chan is.
“Hyung. What are you doing here?” Chan asks.
Hansol inhales, and exhales slowly.
“Chan-ah.” Hansol puts his hand inside the pocket of his slacks, hand wrapping around the letter he can’t wait for another day to give to Chan. He steps forward. “I need to give you something.”