Archive of Our Own

08/02/xx

"You think we can make the summer last forever?" Gyuvin asked, glancing over at Ricky, who was staring up at the sky, his fingers playing idly with the hem of his shirt.

Ricky shrugged, shaking his bangs out of his face. His hair had grown so long over the summer, but he was refusing to cut it until he really needed to. Not that Gyuvin was complaining, he liked Ricky’s bangs. And placing flowers in his hair and having them stay there was a nice bonus. 

"I dunno. Wouldn't it be boring if it lasted forever?”

Gyuvin frowned, rolling over onto his elbows to look up at Ricky. "No. It'd be perfect. Nothing ever has to change, then. We can go get ice cream every night, and play on the swings until you get sick–”

"I only get sick because you insist on spinning my swing in circles! That is not my fault!"

"I don't get sick, even when I spin over and over. I just think you're a baby." Gyuvin retorts, his voice sharp but playful. He loves teasing Ricky, it's funny to get a reaction out of the otherwise calm and sweet boy.

Ricky pushes Gyuvin back onto the grass, earning a laugh out of the younger boy. "Gyuvin, I'm literally older than you! I'm thirteen now! That's a big deal, I'm not a baby anymore!" But the pout on his lips defeats his entire purpose.

Gyuvin smiles, sitting up and smoothing out his hair, eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Yeah, sure, Rik. You're so mature. I mean, you're practically a grown-up now, right? I should be calling you hyung and everything."

Ricky scowls, but it doesn't last long. He tries to look serious, but the corners of his mouth twitch, betraying him. "I am, okay? you'll see when i'm older. I'll be like... really responsible." He moves closer to Gyuvin, as if the distance (that he pushed him to, by the way) was too much between them.

Gyuvin looks up at the sky, then down at where both their hands sat. He inches his hand closer silently, crossing his pinky overtop of Rickys. They sit in silence a bit longer.

It's a summer evening, the sky pretty shades of pink that Gyuvin would love to compare to Rickys face when he gets flustered so easily, or Ricky would say that it's the same colour as Gyuvin's bed sheets. But still, no one speaks.

The trees cast long shadows across the park. It's quiet except for the distant sound of kids riding their bikes or the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Gyuvin watches a bird fly by, his thoughts drifting like the clouds overhead.

"Do.. you really think things will be different when school starts?" Gyuvin asks, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the question is suddenly real. The nearing date of the ninth month weighing on his chest like no other.

Ricky doesn't answer right away, but he slides his hand closer under Gyuvin’s. he takes the hint and holds Rickys hand fully, the boys both sitting there for a moment longer. "yeah," Ricky says finally. "But I think... things always change, don't they?"

Gyuvin's heart sinks a little, but he smiles regardless. "Yeah. But... we won't change, right?" 

Ricky looks at Gyuvin, looking at his big shiny eyes, then down to the tip of his nose, so round and so cute. Then at the boys full pink lips, what a pretty boy you are, Kim Gyuvin, Ricky could say. But he won't. Instead, he settles for, "I don't know."

The younger boy hums, as if that's a sufficient answer. It really isn't, but is there anything that he'd rather hear? saying they will change would've been heartbreaking, saying they won't, well that would be lying. And Shim Ricky doesn't lie.

There's something in the way Ricky says it that makes Gyuvin's stomach twist, though. Like maybe he's already starting to accept that nothing can stay the same forever. And that hurts, a little. Or a lot. But he doesn't say anything more.

"We have until September, right?" Gyuvin says, trying to make it sound light, even though his chest feels tighter than it ever has before, but also like it's being ripped in half. "We'll figure it out before then."

Ricky nods, leaning his head on Gyuvins shoulder. Within the last few months Gyuvins grown taller than Ricky, and normally it'd upset him to acknowledge that the younger boy was taller than him, right now it was the last thing on his mind.

"Yeah. We've got time."

08/04/xx

"hi ms Shen! Can Ricky come out and play? I just–” Gyuvin starts excitedly, smiling bright at the woman he would consider his second mother, with the amount of time he spends at this house. He chooses not to think about how in less than a month, he won't be seeing the home he's come to know so well anymore.

She looks down at Gyuvin, an unfortunate frown on her face, "I'm sorry Gyuvin, not today. or at least until later, okay? My Quanrui's very busy getting ready for his new school."

Gyuvins face falls, but he tries to not show how disappointed he is. Unfortunately, he is a very easy boy to read. She places a hand on Gyuvins cheek, looking at him softly. "You can come check back around dinner, okay? I'll bake you two some desserts too, just in case."

He nods, stepping backwards. Gyuvin was quite upset. but it's okay! He'll just come back in a few hours, and his Ricky will be ready to play and they can go to the park with the sweets Ricky's mom made them and have fun until they need to go home for the night. "Oh, okay. Thank you." he bows his head, then waves and scurries off back towards his house.

It was a long and grueling five years five hours for Gyuvin to get through. He looked through his magazines, played with his legos for a bit, and then practiced on the new skateboard he'd gotten as an early birthday present. Until he fell and scraped his knee and cried to his mom for the remaining two hours.

"aah Gyuvin, I don't know if you should go back out with Ricky, I don't want you to fall again." Gyuvin’s mom said while dabbing at Gyuvins bloody knee with an alcohol pad. It hurt. A lot.

Gyuvin tried not to wince, but it stung more than he would like to admit. His face scrunching up as if it would make it hurt any less. "But Ricky's leaving in less than a month and I–”

"I know you want to see him a lot, but I don't know if it's the best idea."

He crosses his arms, looking away with a faux pout on his lips. Gyuvin has never looked more his age than he does right now. Defiant and pouty. The epitome of a twelve year old boy. If Ricky were here, he'd call Gyuvin a cutie. Which Gyuvin would shake his head at to avoid showing how red his ears had gotten at the small compliment.

Less than an hour later, Gyuvin was back standing on Ricky's doorstep, leaning more on his left leg than his right. his mom was right about how Gyuvin would still be hurting, but Gyuvin would rather see Ricky than care about getting better. Ricky helps him get better. Or maybe it's placebo.

This time, when Gyuvin rings the doorbell, it's Ricky who answers. He shouts (or tries to, curse his soft-spokenness. his voice cracks, whether that's because of puberty or not, who knows.) to his mom in the kitchen something in Mandarin, Gyuvin wishes he knew. Maybe when Ricky comes back, Gyuvin'll be fluent and impress the freak out of Ricky and his mom.

Ricky practically launches himself at Gyuvin, leaving the door open behind him as he steps outside briefly. He stands on Gyuvins shoes, as to not get his socks dirty as he wraps his arms around Gyuvin so tight he could pop. Gyuvin would argue he feels like that around Ricky, regardless of if he's holding him or not.

"I missed you."

"I missed you more."

"Not possible, dummy. Your brain is smaller than mine."

–

"Gyuvin for the last time I'm not getting on your stupid skateboard with you. Do you want us to die?" Ricky crosses his arms, shaking his bangs out of his eyes once more.

"If we die, then we spend forever together, I'm just saying it's not that bad of a deal!" Gyuvin replies, standing back on his skateboard, legs wobbling beneath him.

Ricky is still blissfully unaware of the multitude of bandaids under Gyuvins jeans, because if he knew, he wouldn't let Gyuvin get back on that stupid board. "Fine, but if you fall, I'm not catching you."

Gyuvin left out a playful ‘pfft’ , the sound carrying a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Yeah, sure. As if you'd ever let me get hurt. You love me too much." he stretches out the ‘too’ for longer than necessary. Ricky punches Gyuvin in the shoulder softly. nyang nyang punch!

"Mmm, yeah. Keep telling yourself that. Whatever," Ricky looks up towards the trees above him, but still watches as Gyuvin goes down the sidewalk out of the corner of his eye. He just has to make sure he's safe... even if he doesn't care. Well, maybe Ricky lies sometimes.

He glides down the sidewalk throughout the park smoothly, the grooves between each slab causing the board to shake a bit. Gyuvin sticks his tongue out, biting it between his lips to concentrate on staying upright. This is totally gonna impress Ricky, he just needs to make his way back around.

He cruises down the small hill, the wind blowing Gyuvin's bangs out of his face. He pushes off a bit more, the thrill coursing through him. Ricky's still pretending he isn't watching, but he is. Now sitting down on the grass, pretending he's so interested in the dandelion between his fingers.

Gyuvin leans slightly, turning the board to go around the slight bend in the sidewalk to go back up the hill. What Gyuvin doesn't expect is the little rocks underneath his wheels that cause him to shake out of his control. He'll keep his cool, gotta look good in front of Ricky, right?

Until he doesn't.

The board jerks out from under him, and with a short, surprised gasp, Gyuvin crashes onto the ground, his knee and elbow scraping against the pavement. Now he's ripped a hole in his new pair of jeans…

Gyuvin winces, rolling onto his back, staring up at the sky for a moment, almost dazed. It's the kind of fall that makes you feel stupid but also kind of makes you laugh because, well, he did it to himself. 

Ricky's immediate response is a breathless, "I told you!" as he rushes over to him, crouching beside Gyuvin. His voice has a bit of a snarky 'I told you so' in it, but it's drowned out by the soft panic beneath that Ricky is trying (and failing) so desperately to hide. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?" his hands hover over Gyuvin's knee, the blood beginning to bead to the top of Gyuvin's skin. 

Gyuvin, still lying flat, laughs weakly. "Yeah, I'm fine. just... I dunno. Those rocks are crazy, I didn't know they could do all that!" he grins through the pain, making sure to look up at Ricky with that same smile. "But hey, at least I didn't fall right in front of you. I made it look cool, right? Like... like Tony Hawk. or something."

Ricky narrows his eyes, looping his arms under Gyuvin to pull him up against him. "I don't think Tony Hawk falls on his skateboard, I think he's too good for that." Ricky inspects both the scrapes on Gyuvin's elbow and knee, wincing slightly at the overwhelming sight of blood. "You're gonna be fine? Or should I– should I go get your mom?"

"Please don't. I already fell once earlier," Gyuvin laughs sheepishly, gesturing towards his other knee. "It's just a scrape anyway, I'll look really cool when they heal as badass scars."

"Never say that again, first of all. And also, they won't scar. You just barely broke skin."

Before Gyuvin can say anything else, Rickys pulling off his hoodie and pressing the sleeve gently against Gyuvin's knee, muttering something about how he knew this would happen, and how annoying it'll be to have to explain to his mom why there's blood on his nice clothes. Gyuvin lets him fuss, watching as Ricky's brows furrow together in concentration, like stopping a little scrape from bleeding is the most important thing in the world.

"You're lucky you're cute," Ricky huffs, dabbing at the blood with as much care as possible. 

Gyuvin grins, wincing only slightly when the fabric of the sweater sticks to his skin uncomfortably. “You think I'm cute?"

"I think you're an idiot," Ricky corrects, but his voice is softer than before, almost fond. Gyuvin reaches up and tucks Ricky's bangs out of his face, ignoring the way his elbow stings when he moves. 

"Okay, but, like. Idiot in an endearing way, right?" Gyuvin asks.

Ricky exhales sharply, but he doesn't move Gyuvin's hands away. "Yeah, sure. In an endearing way."

Gyuvin beams at him, and Ricky sighs again. "Stay– Stay here. Hold on."

Ricky gets up quickly, jogging over to where he'd left his water bottle by the bench. He comes back and squirts out some of the water onto the sleeve of his sweater, going back to trying his best to clean the scrape on Gyuvin's knee.

“Okay, get up now." Ricky takes his sweater back, tying it around his waist. Pointedly ignoring the part of the sleeve that has Gyuvin's blood on it. Gross. He grabs Gyuvins hand, helping him to his feet. He ignores the way his skin feels all funny and tingly when their hands stay intertwined for a moment longer than necessary.

Ricky keeps his hand on Gyuvin’s arm as he helps him over to the park bench, moving slower than usual, like he’s afraid Gyuvin might trip over his own feet again. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, just hums when Gyuvin plops down onto the bench with a satisfied huff.

Gyuvin stretches his legs out in front of him, eyeing the scrape on his knee. It's already stopped bleeding, but Ricky still looks like he wants to go find a first aid kit or something.

“You're gonna stare a hole into my leg,” Gyuvin teases, leaning his head against Ricky’s shoulder. "I’m fine, you know.” 

“You say that now, but what if your leg gets infected and you die? How are you gonna be the next Tony Hawk then?” Ricky plays back, resting his head on top of Gyuvin’s ever so softly.

"I don’t wanna be the next anything. I wanna be the first,” Gyuvin says, kicking the backs of his shoes into the grass. “Kim Gyuvin, twelve, best skateboarder ever. It has a ring to it, right?”

Ricky hums, whether that's in agreement or not, Gyuvin isn’t sure. He'll choose to believe it is, though. Ricky always has his back, even if he won’t admit it.

The leaves shake above them, the wind sharper than it was the day before. Gyuvin could say that’s why he fell, but he’s not sure if Ricky’ll believe him. So instead, they sit in silence for a bit longer. It's nice, to have someone you can sit in silence with and not have it feel weird? That's all you need in a best friend. or something slightly more confusing.

It's no one's business if Ricky grabs Gyuvin’s hand and runs the pads of his fingers over top Gyuvins knuckles, the knuckles that always seem to be dry and cracked no matter the weather, and no matter how many times Ricky’ll put cream on them.

Ricky shifts a little, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Gyuvin can read him too well now, years of friendship under his belt. 

"I don’t like… seeing you get hurt.”

“Thanks, genius, I would hope you don’t.”

“Gyuvin, I'm being serious.”

“You’re being dramatic.” Gyuvin tilts his head slightly, not raising it from Ricky’s shoulder.

Ricky shakes his head, despite still resting on top of Gyuvin’s. His hair softly tickles the top of Gyuvin’s head. “I'm not,” he says, and it’s so matter-of-fact that Gyuvin stops himself from joking again.

“You’re always doing stupid things and laughing it off like it doesn’t matter, but–” Ricky pauses, licking his lips. “I don't know. It does matter.”

"I think turning thirteen turned you into a sappy old man,” Gyuvin laughs quietly, closing his eyes. “Plus, it’s just a scrape. I'll be okay.”

Ricky still doesn’t look convinced. “yeah,” he mutters, but there’s something strained in his voice. “Just… be more careful.”

Gyuvin keeps his eyes closed, listening to the rustling of the trees, the faint sound of kids playing on the other side of the park. Ricky’s shoulder is warm beneath him. Like the sand on the beach when it’s just the right temperature, not burning your feet, but welcoming you into it.

“You worry too much,” He murmurs, barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Ricky says again, so soft it’s almost lost to the breeze. "I know.”

Gyuvin’s still leaning into Ricky, eyes closed, like he could fall asleep like this if he really wanted to. And maybe he could. Maybe Ricky would let him. 

They sit there for longer than either of them would like to admit, somewhere along the way Gyuvin’s convinced he actually fell asleep for a bit. either Ricky didn’t notice, or didn’t care. He's betting on the second one. The sun shining so strongly through the leaves above them, warming both the top of their heads.

At some point, Gyuvin blinks his eyes open, stretching his arms above his head, his fingertips brushing against the bark of the tree behind them. He lets out a yawn, barely covering it with the back of his hand, and when he glances at Ricky, he’s already looking at him.  

“You were asleep,” Ricky says, confirming Gyuvin’s suspicion.  

Gyuvin rubs at his eyes, slouching against the bench again. “Was not.”  

Ricky just raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Gyuvin rolls his eyes.  

“Okay, maybe a little,” he mutters, reaching for Ricky’s hand again without thinking. His fingers are still rough and calloused, but Ricky doesn’t seem to mind, letting him tangle their hands together like it’s nothing.  

Like it’s normal. 

Gyuvin swings their hands between them. “What time is it?”  

Ricky shrugs, not checking. “Dunno. Doesn’t matter.”  

Gyuvin hums in agreement, resting his head against Ricky’s shoulder again. The sun has shifted, casting golden light across the grass, making everything feel warmer than it probably should.  

They're quiet for a little longer, Gyuvin listening to the sound of the wind, the occasional car passing in the distance, the faint laughter of kids still playing somewhere in the park.  

Ricky reaches up with the hand still entangled in Gyuvins, tucking his bangs out of his face, behind his ears. Gyuvin looks at Ricky like he’s the prettiest in the whole world, because Gyuvin knows he is.

“Gyuvin?”

he hums in response, rubbing his thumb over Rickys fingers. 

“Do you think I'd look silly blond? I've been considering it, but I'm not sure.”

Gyuvin sits up, staring at Ricky like he's a puzzle he’s lost a piece to. His Ricky? Blond? Sure, he’d look great with any hair colour– red, black, blond, (or the secret fourth option, bald.) But Gyuvin’s never thought about it. Does he have any reason to?

He tilts his head slightly, then pouts. "I think your black hair is perfect, but I think you’d look good blond too,” he forgets to add the part where he thinks Ricky is perfect in general. The boy is an amalgamation of all the stars in the sky, the flowers Gyuvin’s mom always buys, but he’s not allowed to touch because they’re too nice. 

Ricky nods, slowly blinking at Gyuvin before looking back out to the park ahead of them. “okay, i’ll think about it some more.”

Gyuvin smiles, resting his head back on Rickys shoulder. “You can’t change too much while you’re gone, how else will I recognize you when you come back?”

“I think you’d find me in any world, even if I was blond and blue eyed.”

“Well, that's because,” Gyuvin hesitates, a moment of silence.

“That's because you’re my best friend.”

08/07/xx

Ricky paces around his room, his nails pushed into the palms of his hand. He's convinced if he looked down there’d be blood pooling at the tip of his nails. The sun shines through his windows, despite his curtains best efforts, and it’s annoying him more with each passing minute. If he wanted it to be bright, he’d just go stand outside in his front yard. 

He sits down against his closet door, nearly falling backwards into it when he puts his whole weight against it. His room is warm, warmer than he’d like it to be. The sun’s insistent on infiltrating every corner of Ricky’s room, and it’s only making the pounding in his head that much worse.

It’s not like he wants to be home anyway, any time spent in his bedroom is a reminder of what's to come in less than a month, the impending doom of not coming home to here anymore. To not seeing Gyuvin every day, from the early morning hours, until he’s called home once again.

His room is eerily empty, most of his belongings tucked away into boxes. His bed, desk, and dresser are the three things remaining. Alongside a few trinkets thrown around atop said desk and dresser. A photo frame, a deer plush toy, and an old janky radio that Ricky had only asked for so he could play the CD Gyuvin made for him for his birthday a few years ago. 

If he looked too hard at any of the items, it’d bring tears to his eyes. So, Ricky looks away, resting his head on top of his knees. His headache felt like it was splitting his skull in half with a tiny mallet and chisel, medieval torture at best. And the painkillers he took weren’t doing much of anything.

He lets out a shaky breath, trying to push the thought of everything coming to an end out of his mind. He lifts his head up, only to tuck his chin into his knees. The room feels too big, too empty. It’s too quiet. It's like every inch of space is pressing against him, suffocating him with the wait of what’s coming.

He thinks of Gyuvin, how he’d been last night. his solid weight resting on Ricky’s shoulder, when he looked at Ricky, all wide-eyed and full of… something that Ricky can’t name. The smile on Gyuvin’s lips that when Ricky closes his eyes at night, it’s all he can see.

He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes, as if it’d do anything to change the tension in his skull, or the way he can’t seem to stop thinking about Gyuvin, even if he wanted to. The way his only fear about going to a new school is leaving Gyuvin behind, as if nothing else matters.

When he drops his hands down, his room’s still too bright, but the light feels almost mocking, like it doesn’t care that he’s spiralling. Doesn’t care that he doesn’t want to face what’s going to happen. 

If he squints, he can focus on the photo frame across the room from him. From far away, it doesn’t look like much. Ricky is thankful for once that his eyesight isn’t perfect. The one thing about him that Gyuvin would point out, as if he doesn’t need glasses too. It's funny how competitive he is.

Ricky keeps his gaze on the photo frame, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as the image gets clearer. the picture of him and Gyuvin from almost a year ago now; Gyuvin’s twelfth birthday, when they went to the beach together. The both of them striking stupidly dynamic poses as if they were anime characters. Gyuvin smiles so bright at the camera, while Ricky covers his face with one hand. 

He tilts his head, resting his cheek on his knee. He wants to hold onto that moment, thinking back on it. To freeze it in time, but Ricky knows he can’t. Nothing stays the same. Things change. And soon, Ricky won’t be there every day for Gyuvin. Won’t be there on the New Year, both of them staying up late to make stupid wishes for the year ahead, won’t be there for Gyuvin’s fourteenth birthday, which seems so far away now. 

The thought makes him clench his fists against his knees, his nails digging into his skin once more. The pain is a distraction, but it’s fleeting. Everything's fleeting.

Ricky stands up, not really knowing what he’s doing, and walks over to his desk. He looks at the deer plush toy, then the radio. the CD case with Gyuvin’s handwriting on it, a few doodles he’d left there, small scribbles on the corners of the paper. A drawing of both of them where their height difference is stupidly exaggerated for Gyuvin to be infinitely taller than Ricky. 

He wants to throw the whole room into a box and take it with him, to put Gyuvin in the box too. Or no, that feels inhumane. Ricky would carry Gyuvin around in his pocket, take him on all the adventures throughout Shanghai. Take him to all his classes, give him little pieces of chocolate throughout the day, and at night they’d watch bad movies together until Ricky falls asleep thinking of Gyuvin and how much the boy means to him.

The sound of a knock at the door breaks his thoughts. Ricky’s heart skips a beat. For a second, he wonders if it’s his mom, coming in to remind him of something stupid, something he really doesn’t care about. But the knock sounds just a bit too familiar. 

Before he even realizes it, he’s walking to the door, opening it slowly. Standing there, looking a little out of breath and holding his backpack, is Gyuvin. He's wearing Ricky’s favourite sweater, the one that always makes him look even younger than he really is, and his hair’s a little messy, like he’d just gotten out of bed a few minutes before.

“Your mom let me in–” Gyuvin says, his voice quieter than usual. It's strange, but Ricky doesn’t comment on it. “She said you have a killer headache, but I just got this new CD for that one band I was telling you about, and I couldn’t wait any longer.”

Ricky swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I don't think my mom would’ve said killer headache, but okay. What band was it again?”

Gyuvin steps inside without waiting for an invitation, and Ricky doesn’t stop him. He's kind of glad for the interruption, for the fact Gyuvin’s here, standing in his room, breaking up the silence that feels like it’s closing in on him.

“Wow, you never listen to me.” Gyuvin clicks his tongue, sitting down on Ricky’s bed and placing his bag on the floor, unzipping it to pull out a small plastic case– a black and red album cover. Ricky crosses his room silently, grabbing the CD player and bringing it over to his bed. He sits down next to Gyuvin, closer than necessary. 

“You know them! They made that one song you like. ‘I hope you had the time of your life~’, that one!” Gyuvin opens the jewel case, popping the CD out and holding it out to Ricky. He grabs it and places it in the CD player. Hearing it whir to life, the disc spinning over and over.

Ricky places the CD player on the ground, nodding. “Mmm, I think I remember that one. You have the CD for that album too, right?”

Gyuvin falls backward onto Rickys bed, stretching his arms out behind him. He hums, before pulling Ricky’s shoulder back, making him lay down beside him. “Yeah, I think I have all their CDs now.”

Ricky’s breath catches in his throat when Gyuvin’s fingers brush through his hair, he can hardly respond to what was just said, so he just nods softly. Barely. 

He doesn't know why he’s suddenly so aware of it, but the way Gyuvin’s fingers move through his hair feels like it’s making his whole body buzz with something that he doesn’t know how to explain. He lays there for a moment, eyes closed, trying to ignore the way his heart is beating a little too fast. Instead, he focuses on the soft hum of the CD player, the intense pop-punk melody of the song filling the room. It's like a distant echo of something simpler, something less complicated than the mess of thoughts in his head.

Gyuvin hums along with the song, his fingers still gently running through Ricky’s hair, and it’s comfortable, even though everything inside of Ricky is still tense. His headache seeming to melt out the top of his skull, whether that was Gyuvin’s doing somehow, or just a coincidence, he doesn’t know.

He blinks his eyes open, just in time to catch Gyuvin looking over at him, they make eye contact for a second before looking away. The wind blows through Rickys window, the sun shining on the small sliver of exposed skin where Ricky’s shirt had ridden up a bit.

“Hey, Rik,” Gyuvin says, breaking the silence. His voice is quiet and it’s uncharacteristic of Gyuvin. Like he’s hesitant about whatever he’s about to say. “I think… I think you’re more important to me than you think.”

Ricky shakes his head, his hand finding Gyuvins easily. He intertwines his fingers with Gyuvin’s easily, neither of them acknowledging it. “I think you’re thinking too hard, I can hear your brain working overtime in there.”

Gyuvin bites his lip, looking over at Ricky once more. Studying his face, the slope of his nose, the way his face is still so round despite all his protests that he’s more mature now. The pink tint that comes so naturally to his cheeks, the softness of his lips. “No, I'm serious,” he says, his voice just above a whisper, nearly being drowned out by the faint music from the CD player. “Like, you’re really important to me. More than, like, just friends. I guess.”

Ricky glances at their intertwined hands for a moment, before looking up at Gyuvin. His thumb brushes over Gyuvin’s fingers absentmindedly, trying to act casual, like the words aren’t playing on repeat in his mind for a reason he couldn’t begin to explain. “Yeah, I know. You're my best friend, too.” 

–

"I don’t get why you spend so much time making these,” Gyuvin mutters, flipping through the CD wallet that’s practically bursting at the seams. Each plastic sleeve holds a disc, some with marker-scrawled titles, others with hand-drawn covers that are smudged at the corners. “You could just listen to albums like a normal person.”

The page crinkles under his fingers as he pauses on one of the CDs. The title is written in lowercase Sharpie: cold hands. It has no tracklist, just three stickers of a cat, a deer, and a snowflake. Whatever that means, only Ricky could know.

Ricky doesn’t look up. "I don’t like listening to other people’s versions of feelings.”

Gyuvin tilts his head, nose scrunching a little. “You think yours are better? You turned thirteen and now you’re the king of emotions?”

“Shut up, I never said that,” Ricky mumbles. “Plus they’re not better, just… mine.”

He flips to another page. a spread of cryptically named CDs, sparsely decorated with stickers or small drawings. forgot the way home, softer than usual, not yet, warm soda. Gyuvin could ask what these meant, and Ricky would shrug his shoulders as if he had never seen them before. As if he wasn’t up all night on the family computer burning said CDs.

Gyuvin eyes the next disc, the title making him raise an eyebrow: your shoes in the hallway. He can’t help but let out a soft snort. “This one sounds deep,” he teases, pulling it out of the sleeve, flipping it between his fingers. “did you cry making this one, or what?”

As predicted, Ricky shrugs. Eyes still glued to the ceiling. “Not exactly crying. more like… I dunno. felt important to make,” he nods to himself, sitting up slowly.

Gyuvin snorts again, louder this time. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you’re an emotional genius now. Real brooding artist over here.” he flips the book closed and pushes it aside.

Gyuvin watches him for a moment, eyes softening. “It's just music, Rik,” he says, his voice a little less sharp than usual. "It’s just… whatever. Doesn’t have to be that deep.”

But it is to Ricky, it always is.

“Yeah, whatever,” Ricky mutters, his fingers trailing across the edge of the CD case in front of him. His lips pressed into a thin line as he flips it open, deliberately opening to a certain page. one CD in the top left corner, the page otherwise empty. keep the light on.

He doesn’t explain it, he never will.

Gyuvin looks over, peering up onto Rickys bed. He doesn’t press, instead, he pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them as he stares at the wall. He wonders if maybe he’s not getting it. Or maybe he’s trying too hard to. Either way, the silence settles around them like an old, worn blanket, soft but not always comforting.

“I dunno why you make all those if you never let anyone hear them,” Gyuvin finally says, his voice quieter now, like he’s trying to break through something that’s a little harder to reach. 

“It’ll lose the meaning if I share it,”

“Even with me?”

A pause.

Silence.

“Especially with you.”

08/10/xx

“You sure about this?” Ricky grins, spinning a basketball in his fingers, almost like he's showing off for fun. “You know you’re playing against the best, right?”

Gyuvin raises an eyebrow, clearly trying to act confident, even though the competitive spark in his eyes is hard to miss. “Please. I’m good, I don’t need to be the best,” he says with a smile, already getting into position. "I’ll still take you down.”

“Uh-huh, I sooo believe you,” Ricky teases, flicking the ball up and catching it again in one smooth motion.

Gyuvin rolls his eyes but smirks anyway, stepping up to the edge of the court. “Please, I'm practically a pro,” he says, hands on his hips, as if he’s some kind of basketball expert.

“A pro, huh? Alright, let’s see,” Ricky shoots back, tossing the ball into Gyuvin’s hands. He's a bit dramatic about it, but there’s something playful in his eyes.

Gyuvin takes the ball, dribbling it a few times, but when he looks up at Ricky, there's this mischievous look in his eyes. “But how about we make this interesting?”

Ricky raises an eyebrow, leaning against the fence, a casual, “How interesting?”

Gyuvin grins, a little devilish. “Loser buys the other a soda.”

“You're on,” Ricky says without hesitation, already shifting into his competitive mode. He's smiling, but it’s that sort of quiet, intense smile, like he knows he’s going to win.

They play, the ball bouncing, their sneakers skidding against the pavement, laughing and taunting each other along the way. It's less about winning and more about just having fun, however neither of them would admit that. Their competitive nature could kill a man.

After a while, they’re both out of breath, hands on their knees, trying to catch their breath. To Ricky's surprise, the game’s been pretty neck and neck, and neither of them want to admit the other might be better. Ricky leans back against the fence, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, looking at Gyuvin through half-lidded eyes. 

“Alright, alright,” Ricky says, still trying to act tough, but his grin is a little softer now, “We can both agree that I won, right? "’Cause we can agree I'm better than you?”

Gyuvin laughs, puffing his chest out like he’s the one who’s been carrying the whole game. "I mean, if you want to keep pretending that, sure,” he teases, giving Ricky a playful shove.

“Whatever,” Ricky says, rolling his eyes but still smirking. “you’re buying, loser.”

Ricky follows Gyuvin as they head towards the nearby convenience store, the soft thud of their sneakers echoing in the afternoon air. Gyuvin’s arm sways more than necessary, hitting Ricky’s every so often. annoying him on purpose, it’s a Gyuvin thing.

“So what's the plan for next time?” Gyuvin asks, the playful lilt to his voice betraying that he’s already plotting something. He shoots Ricky a side-eye, as if he’s already imagining his victory.

Ricky looks over, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Plan? I'm not worried. I already won, stupid. Your training’s not gonna help.”

“We'll see about that,” Gyuvin says with a wink, heading toward the door. "I’m gonna practice every day. Next time, you won’t stand a chance.”

Ricky follows him into the store, his smile fading slightly, watching Gyuvin with that familiar fondness. There's something about the way Gyuvin talks so confidently, as if he genuinely believes he’s gonna take him down. It's adorable. But there's something bittersweet in Ricky's chest that he can’t shake.

“Yeah, okay,” Ricky says, keeping his tone light, though the words feel like they’re stuck somewhere deep. "I’ll be ready for you. Whenever you think you can beat me.”

“Yep,” Gyuvin grins, already scanning the aisles for whatever junk food he’s going to grab to make up for his loss. “Give me a month. And I'm coming for you, Ricky.”

Ricky watches him for a moment longer, the smile on Gyuvin’s face lighting up his entire world. There’s a small, painful tug in his chest as the thought hits him. A month…

He won’t be here in a month.

Ricky swallows hard, shaking the thought off before it can settle too deeply in his mind. He doesn’t have the heart to say anything out loud, doesn’t want to ruin the mood, doesn’t want to make it weird. But the feeling sticks to him, like a weight that’s hard to ignore.

“You sure you’ll be ready?” Ricky asks, his voice lighter than he feels, trying to keep things casual. “I mean, I'll be doing my thing too. You’re not gonna just catch me slacking, you know?”

Gyuvin looks back at him, his grin a little more teasing now. “Oh, I'll definitely be ready. You better believe it.”

They walk around the store, grabbing snacks and laughing over the random stuff they throw in their basket. Ricky can’t help but keep glancing at Gyuvin, watching him talk, watching him laugh. He feels that familiar ache in his chest, the kind that comes from knowing something he doesn’t want to think about.

They pay (read: Gyuvin pays) for their snacks, and as they step outside, Gyuvin is already talking about all the ways he’s going to practice his shots, how he’s going to ‘surpass Ricky and leave him in the dust.’ Ricky nods along, forcing his smile to stay in place even as his mind drifts to thoughts of the future, the one he won’t be around for, the one where Gyuvin’s comparable to the likes of… like, Lebron James, or something, and Ricky won’t be there to witness it.

Gyuvin’s halfway through explaining some ridiculous plan about doing ‘three hundred pushups a day and drinking twelve energy drinks every morning.’ when Ricky finally laughs.

“What are you even training for, a basketball game or the apocalypse?”

Gyuvin grins like he’s just been waiting for that reaction. “Both. Gotta be ready for anything. You never know when you’ll need to outlive zombies and outplay the Shen Ricky.”

Ricky rolls his eyes but can’t hide the smile growing on his face, the corners of his lips twitching upward slightly more than he’d like them to. "I swear your brain is like, fried.”

“Thank you,” Gyuvin says proudly, like Ricky just gave him the highest compliment imaginable. “Anyway, you’re just jealous ‘cause my grindset is better.”

“Your grindset?” Ricky echoes, nearly dropping the box of strawberry pocky in his hand from how hard he laughs. “Gyuvin, you watched one motivational speech online and now you think you’re in a sports anime.”

Gyuvin gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d just been mortally wounded. “Take that back. You wish you were in a sports anime.”

“Oh my goddd,” Ricky groans, dragging a hand down his face, but he’s smiling so wide now it almost hurts. “You're actually the worst.”

“The worst winner, you mean,” Gyuvin fires back, already skipping ahead a little and spinning around to face Ricky as he walks backwards. “Get ready to cry when I break your ankles next game.”

Ricky narrows his eyes, pointing the pocky piece in his hands down at Gyuvins legs. “You're gonna break your own ankles if you keep walking like that.”

He shakes his head, “Nuh-uh, I’ve got anime protagonist plot armour,” Gyuvin says, holding up the convenience store bag like a trophy. “And mango jellies. I'm unstoppable.”

“You're annoying. That's what you are.” Ricky mutters, still grinning.

At the park, they sit down under the same tree as they always have, the one with their initials carved into it. They dump their snacks out on the grass like kids, sorting through them like they’re on some top-secret mission.

Gyuvin picks up a weird jelly snack with a suspicious color and sniffs it. “What do you think this is? poison?”

“Probably. Eat it,” Ricky says immediately.

Gyuvin gives him a look. “Wow. friendship.”

“Listen, if you die from it, I get all your basketball points,” Ricky shrugs.

“What points? We weren’t even keeping score!”

“Exactly. So technically, I win.”

Gyuvin lets out an offended noise and throws a gummy worm at him. It hits Ricky in the cheek with a sad little flop, and they both dissolve into another round of uncontrollable laughter.

Ricky looks down at the gummy worm, picking it up and inspecting it as if he didn’t know what it could possibly be. his lips pout, blinking up at Gyuvin with a look of faux sadness in his eyes. 

“This was a good one, Gyu. the strawberry-mango one…” Ricky falls backwards dramatically, covering his eyes with his arm. "I can’t believe you, you suck.”

“Even you don’t believe that,” Gyuvin smiles, shifting closer to Ricky. “C’mon, I'll eat it now anyway, not like it bothers me,”

“Wow, you really are gonna die. Don’t eat candy that’s fallen on the ground Gyuvin, it’s really gross.” Ricky looks up at Gyuvin, passing it to him anyway despite what he just said.

"I'm soooo sure that’ll happen. Prepare to get a funeral invitation in the mail soon,” Gyuvin deadpans, but there’s a giggle hiding under his words, barely held in.

The sun filters through the leaves, casting weird little patterns on their legs and bags of half-eaten snacks. They sit like that for a while, Ricky laid down next to Gyuvin, and if he moves closer to lay in Gyuvin’s lap that’s no one's business but his. Ricky’s hair was gonna be gross if he stayed on the grass any longer, that’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Gyuvin doesn’t say anything at first, just lets his fingers absentmindedly play with the edge of Ricky’s sleeve while Ricky rests in his lap. It's quiet, just the occasional chirp of birds and the faint rustling of wind through the branches. Every now and then, Ricky’s eyes flutter shut, like he’s on the verge of sleep, but not quite there.

Like he just wants to freeze time for a second, and stay here just like this.

“Hey,” Gyuvin says eventually, voice soft, “you’re gonna get an ugly tan line on your face.”

“Good,” Ricky mumbles, not opening his eyes. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing ever so slightly against Gyuvin’s thigh. “Then I'll always have a reminder of this moment. like a little souvenir. thanks.”

Gyuvin snorts. “What, you want a weird sunburn to remember me by? I could've just taken a picture, I'll bring my digicam next time.”

Ricky peeks up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You take the worst photos. I'm doing us both a favour.”

“Rude.” Gyuvin flicks his forehead lightly, but there’s no bite to it. His hand lingers for a moment after, brushing Ricky’s bangs slowly out of his eyes. It tickles Ricky’s face, his nose scrunching up briefly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Ricky murmurs, voice all quiet and raspy from the sun and the sugar and how sleepy he feels with Gyuvin’s hand still in his hair.

“Like what?” Gyuvin says, even softer. He's not teasing this time, he really doesn’t know.

“Like I'm gonna disappear.”

Gyuvin goes still, not all the way frozen, just a small pause, like a breath held between seconds.

"I’m not,” Ricky adds, and maybe that’s a lie, but it sounds real when he says it. “Not right now. So stop.”

Gyuvin doesn’t say anything. He just nods a little, like he’s promising something too big to say out loud. Instead, he cups his hand behind Ricky’s head, real gentle, like Ricky’s something fragile. Something worth protecting.

Ricky’s eyes fall shut again, lashes brushing his cheeks.

“You're warm,” he mumbles.

Gyuvin hums, like that’s all he needs to hear.

They stay like that. Ricky in his lap, Gyuvin’s hand in his hair, their pinkies still barely hooked from earlier like a promise they don’t know how to make yet.

Somewhere off in the distance, a kid shouts and a dog barks, but here under the tree, it’s like the world pressed pause just for them. Even the sun seems to hold still.

“You're gonna get bored of me,” Ricky says suddenly, almost like it slipped out. Like he didn’t mean to say it but it’s been sitting heavy in his chest all afternoon.

Gyuvin doesn’t react right away. just keeps carding his fingers through Ricky’s hair, like it’s something normal. something he does every day. maybe he wishes it was.

“That's the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Gyuvin says finally, voice low, not mean. “and you’ve said a lot of dumb things.”

“Thanks,” Ricky says flatly.

“You're welcome.” Gyuvin’s smiling now, Ricky can feel it, even without looking. “I'm serious though. I couldn't get bored of you if I tried.”

Ricky doesn’t answer. just nudges his cheek a little deeper into Gyuvin’s leg, like that might hide the way his throat’s gone tight.

He’s not gonna cry. He's not.

Gyuvin won’t push. He won’t ask why he went quiet. He just adjusts a little so Ricky can be more comfortable, and starts humming some dumb tune under his breath that Ricky knows is from that one anime they watched a few weeks back. The one Gyuvin pretended to hate but sat through all twelve episodes of.

And Ricky thinks, stupidly, that if this was a movie, he’d roll the credits right here.

Because it doesn’t get better than this.

Not really.

Not for him.

08/14/xx

If there was one thing Ricky knew for certain about himself, it was that he hated crowded places. Like, maybe more than anyone he knows.

And if there was one place that was almost designed entirely just to make him feel bad, it was a shopping mall on a late summer weekend, when everybody and their mother decided now was the time to go shopping as well. 

He could’ve said no when Gyuvin asked. He could’ve lied and told him he had something else to do, (he wouldn’t really be lying, he has a lot to do, he’d just rather spend his time with Gyuvin.) Ricky had the right to stay home, and waste away another beautiful day like any normal person would do.

But then Gyuvin pulled that dumb face he always does, all wide eyes and fake betrayal, lips pouted out so softly like Ricky just stole the first player spot on his new GameCube, and, well, it wouldn’t have really worked on Ricky if it was anyone else, but he has some tragic weakness for Gyuvin that gets stronger every day that he can’t seem to explain. or admit.

Gyuvin said they’d ‘only be there for an hour!’ and that he ‘only really needed a few things!’ and despite Ricky knowing Gyuvin for forever, he never seems to learn that that means nothing in Gyuvinland, and that an hour turns into four, and that a few things means he really doesn’t need anything, and he just likes to look at every single item in every single store.

It's not like Ricky doesn’t like shopping either, but when he can barely hear his own thoughts about which (almost identical) pair of black jeans looks better, that’s when it becomes a problem. There's not enough room for Ricky to walk around with his twelve bags like he usually does, the wait for his favourite milk tea place is atrociously long, and Ricky feels slightly more self-conscious being silly with Gyuvin with how many people there are around. 

For the first time maybe ever, Ricky didn’t feel too compelled to run off on his own while Gyuvin’s hunting around the record store, to go hide away in the aisles of his favourite clothing store. The one a bit too expensive for the majority of people to show up in, the one where Ricky was a platinum member. (on his mother’s card though, within the coming years he’s dreading the restart as a normal shopper.)

Instead, Ricky just stayed there, half-sitting on the ledge of a display, watching Gyuvin as he sifted through CD case after CD case like he was searching for hidden treasure. He dragged Ricky here under the guise of saying that there was a special limited edition CD of a new album he ‘just had to buy.’

“Gyuvin, are you sure they even have what you’re looking for?” Ricky knocked the heel of his shoe against the floor, tilting his head to look at Gyuvin who was crouched down with his face inches from the CD display. “We’ve been here for like… ever. And I think you’ve looked through every CD this place has.”

“You've just gotta trust me, it’s in here somewhere, Rik. I know it is. I called last night, they have it somewhere.” Gyuvin glances up at Ricky, his eyes shining in the dim lights of the record store. He has a zit right on the apple of his cheek that Ricky thinks just makes him look even more cute. It's unfair, ‘cause when Ricky breaks out, he crashes out beyond repair and doesn’t leave his room.

“You said that like… ten minutes ago,” Ricky pouts, crossing his arms like a kid who’d just been told he can’t have another strawberry soda. "I’m bored from just standing here, and you’re being boring too.”

“Wouldn’t be boring if you were looking for something yourself. They probably have something deep and brooding for you, go look in the dark corner with the burnt out lights,” Gyuvin smiles, pointing at the corner with a light that keeps flickering on and off, “That’s where they keep the Ricky-exclusive CDs. All sad and dumb just for you.”

Ricky lets out a dramatic groan, rolling his eyes as he looks over at the dim corner Gyuvin’s pointing to. The flickering light makes the whole thing look like some sort of haunted section of the store. Yeah, no thanks.

“You suck,” Ricky mutters under his breath, but he can’t help the small grin that tugs at his lips. “You don’t even know what I listen to, leave me alone.”

Gyuvin raises an eyebrow, looking back up at Ricky. “Yeah, ‘cause you never let me listen to your stupid CDs you make,” he teases, but there’s a playful edge to his voice, one that makes Ricky want to roll his eyes again, if only it wasn’t so impossible to stay annoyed at him.

Gyuvin pulls out a CD case from the stack in front of him, handing it over to Ricky. "I think you’d like this one, you should get it.”

The case feels cool and plasticy in Ricky’s hands, a little scratched up like it’s been flipped past a hundred times already. He flips it over, reading the tracklist on the back, a bunch of short, weird titles that sound like they could be the titles to the angsty poetry Ricky writes up in the middle of the night.

One of the songs is named after bones, another one’s called fake plastic something. Ricky doesn’t know what any of it really means, but just looking at it makes his heart hurt a bit.

He flips the case back around and stares at the cover. It's weird, a little creepy even. This washed out face, eyes closed like it's floating or drowning, maybe both. Ricky thinks it’s ugly. 

“You’re so annoying,” Ricky says, hugging the CD to his chest like Gyuvin didn’t just hand him something that he’ll play on loop for the next week or so. “You don’t even know what this is.”

Gyuvin just grins, lazy and proud. “Yeah, but it looks like it’s all about feeling sad and dramatic for no reason. You love that.”

Ricky scrunches his nose but he can’t even argue. mostly ‘cause Gyuvin’s right, he loves that way too much.

“...And the guy on the cover kinda looks like you when you’re asleep. Mouth open and dead in the face—”

“Hey!”

Gyuvin laughs, the sound way too loud for the tiny mall store, making a couple people glance over. Ricky shoves him in the arm, not hard enough to hurt but just enough to make Gyuvin wobble where he’s crouched.

“You're literally the worst person alive,” Ricky mumbles, cheeks burning. He hugs the CD closer like it’s some fragile little secret Gyuvin’s not allowed to laugh at. It's stupid but he already knows he’s gonna listen to it in bed tonight, headphones in, pretending he’s the main character of the saddest movie ever made.

Gyuvin stands up, stretching his arms over his head, looking way too pleased with himself for someone who just compared his best friend to a drowning mannequin. “Whatever, you’re welcome,” he says, flashing that annoying easy smile. “Now you have something to do when you’re being boring and hiding in your room.”

Ricky rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted at best. He tugs the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands and stares at Gyuvin for a second longer than he probably should. It’s just… annoying. How Gyuvin can always tell. How he gets it without even trying.

“‘m not boring,” Ricky says, but it comes out so soft he’s not even sure Gyuvin hears it.

Gyuvin ruffles Ricky’s hair like he’s a little kid, his hand lingering in Rickys hair for a moment before Ricky swats at his hand, but Gyuvin’s already laughing again, darting off deeper into the aisles of CDs and vinyls before Ricky can get revenge.

Ricky glares at his back, clutching the CD tighter. He hates him. Hates him so bad.

(Ricky has never loved anyone more in his life.)

He’s still fake pouting at the space Gyuvin disappeared into when he hears a sudden, sharp gasp from across the store.

“Ricky, Rik, I found it—!” Gyuvin practically yells, like he just uncovered buried treasure or something. A few people turn to look but he doesn’t even notice, holding up a CD above his head and waving it around like an idiot.

Ricky drags himself over, when he gets closer, Gyuvin’s almost vibrating with excitement. Clutching this shiny limited edition album like it’s the coolest thing he’s ever owned.

“Look! look, it’s got the bonus tracks and the weird sticker sheet and everything! They only made, like, a hundred of these!” Gyuvin says, shoving it in Ricky’s face like he’s gonna be able to tell the difference.

Ricky squints at it. It looks… the same as every other album Gyuvins into, but Gyuvin’s eyes are sparkling like it's Christmas morning, so he just hums and nods.

“Yeah. So sick,” he says, totally flat.

Gyuvin gasps like Ricky just told him the world was ending tomorrow. “So sick?” he repeats, horrified. “You're the biggest hater I've ever met in my life. This is musical history.”

Ricky raises an eyebrow, reaching for the CD. Gyuvin hands it over reluctantly, and watches as Ricky flips it over in his hands. “Musical history looks a lot like the last five CDs you’ve made me listen to.”

Gyuvin (unfortunately) laughs at that, unable to come up with a response. Ricky’s really not wrong, but he would never admit that.

They both walk over towards the counter, Gyuvin bumping into Ricky every few steps because he can’t seem to look up from the CD in his hands, admiring all the small details on the case. the way the spine of the CD has special illustrations alongside the album name, the way the song titles are printed in the handwriting of the lead vocalist.

Gyuvin very carefully places the case on the counter, as if it were made of glass. He smiles at the worker before looking over at Ricky, “C’mon, put yours up too.”

“Gyuvin I can pay for it myself—”

“I picked it out for you, it’s my treat. just do it.”

“You really don’t have to.” Ricky says as Gyuvin takes the CD out of his hands anyway, practically throwing it onto the counter in comparison to how he placed his own. Gyuvin digs through his small bag (Ricky loves to call it a purse, Gyuvin hates that he calls it that.) for his wallet as the cashier scans the both of them.

Ricky watches him, arms crossed but not really annoyed, just pretending to be. Gyuvin’s tongue is poking out a little in concentration as he flips through too many pockets. The wallet’s falling apart, Ricky notices, the zipper’s half broken and one corner is fraying a bit. The clear part where your ID is supposed to go instead has a photo of Gyuvin and Ricky together, maybe from five years ago. Did they really used to look like that? Weird…

The cashier tells them the total and Gyuvin finally pulls out a few crumpled bills, slapping them down triumphantly like he just won something. Ricky tries to hide his laugh behind his hand.

“What, did you rob a lemonade stand or something?”

“The riches of my people,” Gyuvin says with a straight face. “have some respect.”

Ricky rolls his eyes, picking back up the both of their CDs from the counter. The cashier tells them to have a good day and Gyuvin spins it back on them, even asking for a high-five. Ricky has never been more embarrassed to be in public with Gyuvin. (except maybe he has, like when Gyuvin clapped at the end of the premier of The Cat In The Hat when everyone else in the theatre hated it…)

They walk out of the store back into the expanse of the mall, it’s less busy now, considering Gyuvin spent over an hour looking for the limited edition CD. Ricky might be thankful for it now, but standing there and watching Gyuvin search through every individual display for it was maybe the most boring experience of his life.

“Do you’ve anything else you wanna get?” Gyuvin nudges Ricky’s side, snapping Ricky out of whatever thought he was in the middle of having.

Ricky just shakes his head, he didn’t need anything today. which is why he wanted to stay home. Why he nearly said no, and closed the door. but to be honest, he needed to spend time with Gyuvin, that’s why he’s here.

Gyuvin doesn’t push any further, but he heads towards the food court anyway. Ricky follows without thinking about it. There's nothing to think about.

They sit down near the back corner, because Gyuvin knows Ricky, and Gyuvin knows that Ricky is nothing but a people watcher. And maybe he was a bit too, but Ricky? he loved that like no other.

Countless hours have been spent sitting in the mall food court, or at the park, or at that small cafe near the beach, where they’ll sit and make up stories about people, what their life is like, what they’re gonna do today. A small silly habit, and nothing more to it.

Gyuvin stretches his legs out under the table, placing his bag down beside him. They should go get something to eat, but neither boy feels quite inclined to get up yet. The ambient mall noise settling around them comfortably. Ricky hooks his ankles around one of Gyuvin’s legs without looking.

They don’t talk much for a few minutes, just sitting there looking around at everything. The background noise hums around them: the rustle of food wrappers, someone arguing at a table too close, a baby crying somewhere far away like it’s echoing throughout the whole building.

Gyuvin leans back in his chair and watches a group of younger kids run past. “That one,” he says, pointing with his pinkie finger, "Is definitely on the run from the cops. Stole a chocolate bar from a convenience store. I can feel it.”

Ricky laughs. “You're so stupid.”

“Genius, actually. You don’t understand the vision.”

They laugh a little. It's quiet again. Ricky taps his fingers against his arm.

And then, Gyuvin says it. casually, but not really. “You’re leaving in like, what? Three weeks?”

Ricky doesn’t answer right away. just blinks slowly, eyes fixed on some couple standing near the escalator. the girl’s holding a drink up to the boy’s mouth, he takes a sip of whatever it is before giving her an enthusiastic thumbs up and smile. They look stupid, Ricky thinks. They also look like everything.

“Something like that,” he says finally.

“Oh.” Gyuvin’s voice is small. it’s not the first time Ricky’s said it out loud. But it doesn’t make it hurt any less. It's like naming it makes it more real. And if they didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t actually happen.

Ricky just hums, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. There's so much left to be said, but maybe it’s better left that way. How do you explain to your best friend you think you love him?

Gyuvin leans forward, pushing Rickys bangs back again. They can’t seem to stop falling in front of his face. Gyuvin tries again, holding his hand against the side of Rickys head, pinning the bangs there for a moment.

Ricky looks up at Gyuvin, their eyes locking for a moment before neither of them can seem to handle it anymore. Ricky looks away first, (he always does.) and Gyuvin sits back down. sorry. He thinks. Maybe he says it outloud. He doesn’t know.

Ricky stands up abruptly, fixing the way his shirt sits around his jeans. “I'm… I'm gonna get something to drink. I owe you for the CD, what d’you want?” 

Gyuvin looks around the food court as if they haven’t been here maybe a thousand times, pointing over towards where he knows Ricky’s heading anyway, “Surprise me. I picked something for you, it’s only fair.”

Ricky smiles a bit, but it doesn’t really seem to reach his eyes. “Okay, I'll be back.” he says so quietly, Gyuvin can barely hear him over the ambience of the mall around him.

He watches as Ricky walks away, watches Rickys hands as he moves them from down at his side to up in front of his chest. the way his hair slightly bounces as he walks. one step in front of the next. Gyuvin knows Ricky walks left foot first, a small habit that he’s not even sure Ricky himself knows about.

He’s sure that Ricky can feel him staring, if the way he glances back once or twice means anything. That, or he was just looking back at Gyuvin for his own reasons. Gyuvin doesn’t miss the way Ricky’s hands toy with his necklace as he waits in line.

Not long after, but what feels like a millennium to Gyuvin, Ricky’s back with three drinks in hand. Two for himself, and one for Gyuvin. He sets the tray back onto the table softly, picking up one of them and handing it to Gyuvin. 

“Melon-mango. New flavour, they said I had to try it, but I think you’d like it more.” 

Gyuvin takes the drink, their fingers brushing for half a second longer than they need to. He doesn’t mention it. Ricky shivers, whether that's from holding a cold cup or not, Gyuvin doesn’t wanna know.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip without thinking. “This is so good, you always pick the best ones.”

Ricky hums, sitting back down and immediately reaching for one of his own cups. "I didn’t pick it for you, the worker did. But thank you anyway,” he takes a sip of the first drink, the straw sitting in the corner of his mouth. "I think they raised their prices or something. This was stupidly expensive for just these.”

Gyuvin looks over at Ricky, placing his cup on the table. "It wouldn’t be as expensive if you just got one for yourself, what’s the need for two?” 

Ricky scrunches his nose at Gyuvin, as if he just asked the world’s dumbest question. “‘cause I like the options. Duh.”

Gyuvin snorts, kicking Ricky’s foot gently under the table. “Options,” he echoes, clearly unconvinced. “You have commitment issues even with drinks.”

Ricky sips dramatically from the one of two drinks he likes less, the corners of his mouth twitching downward a bit. “And yet I'm still sitting here with you, huh?”

Gyuvin rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t hide his smile. “Barely. I saw you looking for exits earlier. You’re just waiting for the right minute to make your escape.”

“Just scoping them out. In case you do something freaking stupid. Can’t be seen hanging out with a loser, now can I?”

Gyuvin groans into his hands, leaning back in his chair. “You’re one to talk, you’re a bigger loser than I am!”

“Big talk coming from the boy who nearly cried over a CD earlier,” 

Ricky looks smug, but it flickers again, like it always does. Like he’s only really holding it together for the sake of the bit. His thumb rubs circles into the condensation on his drink. He purposely doesn’t meet Gyuvin’s eyes when he says, a little softer, “But yeah. I wanted to sit here. With you.”

Gyuvin picks up his drink and takes another sip. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say thank you, because it would sound too serious. Too much like the feeling they’re both trying so desperately to pretend doesn’t exist.

Gyuvin taps his straw against the inside of the cup, watching the ice swirl around. “You’re the worst, by the way.”

“I know,” Ricky mumbles, still sipping the worse drink. He makes a face and switches to the better one. "I’m your worst, though.”

Gyuvin blinks at him. “Whatever that means,”

A pause.

“Weirdly nice, coming from you.”

“Don't get used to it,” Ricky says quickly, eyes flicking away again, towards the same couple by the escalator. They're gone now. replaced by a young group of teenage boys. Everything changes so fast, it’ll make Ricky dizzy if he thinks about it too long.

They sit there in silence once more, sipping on their drinks and looking around at the people around them. The mall is too loud and too quiet at the same time. The kind of noise you get used to, a hum in the back of your brain. There's an old woman yelling at her grandson a few tables away, and some song playing over the speakers that they’ve both heard before but can’t name.

"I’ll miss you, you know?” Gyuvin says after a beat.

Ricky looks up.

"I know.”

Gyuvin pouts, poking Ricky’s arm. “Not gonna say anything else?”

Ricky shakes his head, taking another sip of the better drink. It’s so sweet it hurts in the back corner of his mouth. He internally sighs at the concept of having a cavity, he’ll have to bring it up with his mom soon, but the dentist scares him more than he’d like to admit.

Gyuvin huffs when Ricky doesn’t say anything else and leans back in his chair again, letting it creak under his weight. Their table’s a little wobbly, whenever anyone walks by remotely close enough, it rattles just slightly. It worries Ricky every time because he's convinced his drinks are gonna fall over and spill everywhere.

The light flickers above them, and Gyuvin jumps a bit. He looks at Ricky as if to ask ‘you saw that too, right?’ and Ricky nods so small that it could’ve been nothing at all. Gyuvin stares at Ricky for a bit longer, his eyes tracing all over his face and hands. Ricky pretends he doesn’t notice, like it isn’t burning holes through his skin wherever Gyuvin’s eyes linger for a moment too long.

Ricky slides his chair closer to Gyuvin’s, wincing when it scrapes too loudly against the floor. His free hand reaching for Gyuvin’s, just to link their pinkies together. Anything more would cause the pit in Ricky’s heart to grow tenfold. 

“I think… I'll miss you too.”

08/17/xx

Ricky invited Gyuvin over for a sleepover. Usually it was Gyuvin standing on Ricky’s doorstep with a bag already packed telling Ricky that he was staying the night. No debate, no questions. This time, it was a bit different.

He knocked on Gyuvin’s front door, shifting his weight back and forth between both feet. The wait is killing him, more than it really should be. He knows Gyuvin’s home. He knows Gyuvin’ll throw himself into Ricky’s arms the moment he sees him. He knows they’ll walk back to Ricky’s house holding hands talking about their epic plans for the night. (the ones that won’t happen because Gyuvin always falls asleep too early.)

By the time Gyuvin opens the door, Ricky’s basically bitten his bottom lip raw, a bit of blood pooling on the plushest part of his lip. He sticks his tongue out to lick it away, but it comes back not long after anyway. 

Gyuvin’s standing there, wearing that shirt he got from one of his favourite band’s concerts two years ago. It barely fits him now, but he refuses to let it go. His hair is slightly disheveled as if he just woke up. And if Ricky had any sense of shame, he’d have ripped his eyes away from staring at Gyuvins slightly swollen lips and faintly glassy eyes a minute ago. Wait–

Had Gyuvin been crying?

Ricky opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing seems to come out. Gyuvin rubs at his eyes and fakes a yawn. As if Ricky could believe that. He's a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid.

“...You’re here early,” Gyuvin says, dropping his arms down at his sides. His fingers tap at the sides of his legs. He breathes ever so slightly out of his mouth, another sign he’d been crying.

Ricky blinks at Gyuvin real slow, all cat-like. The silence stretches between them, only being broken by the sound of faint traffic nearby or a bird chirping in the tree in Gyuvin’s front yard. 

Rickys hand ends up back at his bottom lip, picking at whatever skin is left. The ends of his nails tipped in the slightest bit of blood. He knows he should leave it alone, but he doesn’t.

“You still wanna come over?” Ricky asks. Soft, slightly muffled from his hand still pulling at his lip. And it’s not really a question, more like a reach. More like please just say yes so I don’t have to leave you like this.

Gyuvin nods. it’s small, like he’s trying not to move too much. Like his whole body is made of glass, like he’s something fragile.

“Lemme get my stuff,” he murmurs, voice cracking a little at the end. He turns before Ricky can ask any more questions and disappears back into his house. He leaves the door open, so Ricky peeks in slightly, looking at nothing in particular. Everything's still the same, Ricky nods as if he expected something different. His shoes are too difficult to untie and put back on, so he doesn’t go inside. Curse him for wearing hightop converse.

He waits. Stands there on the porch. The weight of it all hangs on his shoulder like a wet tshirt. Ricky scratches at the edge of a mosquito bite on his arm, then at nothing at all. He taps the toes of his shoes together once or twice. Anything to keep busy.

A few minutes later, Gyuvin comes back with a backpack slung over one shoulder and the collar of his shirt sitting just so his collar bone sticks out of the neckline. Ricky has to tear his eyes away before he burns holes through Gyuvin’s skin.

“You wanna talk about it?” Ricky suggests, but maybe it’s better if Gyuvin says he doesn’t want to. If Gyuvin cries, then Ricky cries. It's like a domino effect.

to Ricky’s relief, Gyuvin shakes his head. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand, before stepping out of the door and closing it behind him. “It's okay, I promise.”

Ricky just nods, he reaches for the hand Gyuvin didn’t just touch his gross snotty nose with, squeezing his hand gently. “Okay,” he smiles softly, a slow blink at Gyuvin. “I believe you.”

They walk down the steps of Gyuvin’s porch, shoulders bumping on the second and last step. Ricky thinks Gyuvin did it on purpose, but there’s no real way to tell. He chooses to not say anything.

“What's in the bag?” Ricky knocks Gyuvins shoulder this time, looking at the backpack loosely hanging from his shoulder. It looks stupidly full for just a one night thing.

Gyuvin raises his eyebrows, glancing at Ricky before looking back at the sidewalk ahead of them. “You make it sound like I'm a drug dealer,”

“Do not,”

“Do too!”

“Whatever. Just tell me what you’re bringing.”

Gyuvin smiles, rolling his shoulders back so the bag strap is back on fully. “Mmm, you’ll see. It's a surprise, okay? Get ready.”

“Am I gonna die tonight, be honest with me.” Ricky pouts, squeezing Gyuvin’s hand a bit tighter. His thumb runs over Gyuvin’s knuckles absentmindedly. 

Gyuvin rolls his eyes, and shakes his head. “I dunno. Guess you’ll find out, right?”

“You suck soooo bad.” Ricky says, sticking his tongue out at Gyuvin. 

Gyuvin hits Ricky with his shoulder, but since they’re holding hands they both trip slightly. They keep walking down the sidewalk, the sun just past its peak in the sky. It's so bright that Ricky has to squint slightly, the sun seeming to reflect off of every surface around them. 

The walk between Ricky and Gyuvin’s house is maybe ten minutes max. but considering how they usually race to see who can get to each other's house first, it’s typically only a five minute adventure. It's rare they enjoy the walk like this, especially with how quiet it is, Gyuvin isn’t talking Ricky’s ear off about something that Ricky knows absolutely nothing about.

Gyuvin kicks at a rock and misses, then tries again and gets it to skip across the sidewalk like it’s something worth winning at. Ricky watches the little pebble tumble into someone’s front yard and disappear into the grass. 

“You’re quiet,” Ricky says, not really accusing, just observing. It feels weird to be the one talking first. Gyuvin’s always got something to say, something Ricky can go off of.

Gyuvin shrugs. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing. Everything. Whatever,” Gyuvin mumbles, then swings their hands a little. “Like how summer feels fake right now, ‘cause it’s like it’s already ending even though it’s not.”

Ricky hums in agreement. “I think it's the way the sun looks,” he says. “like… warm and… I dunno. Like the end of summer or something.”

Gyuvin doesn’t respond right away. They pass the fence with the hole in it that leads to the park that they used to crawl through back when they were like nine and still small enough to fit. Ricky wonders if Gyuvin’s thinking about that too. 

“I was gonna bring my GameCube,” Gyuvin says finally, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “with that one game you don’t like, the one that’s based off that like… spy movie or whatever.”

"I hate that one,” Ricky says, but there’s no real bite to it.

“I know. that’s why I was gonna bring it,” Gyuvin grins.

Ricky snorts. “You're the worst.”

“Only for you.”

They reach Ricky’s driveway, the shade from the tree finally cutting through some of the heat. It's quieter here. Just birds and the distant sound of someone’s radio a few houses over.

“Do you think,” Gyuvin starts, tugging Ricky’s hand a little, “that if this summer just kept going, like forever, we’d still hang out like every day?”

Ricky blinks at him. The question’s too soft, tucked between a joke and the usual noise. “I think… yeah. Maybe not every day. But most days.”

Gyuvin nods, satisfied with that answer. “Yeah. Most days is good.”

Ricky smiles, small and endearing. “You're such a loser sometimes.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“What are you, ten?”

They head inside, the door creaking behind them. It smells like Ricky’s house, like laundry and something sweet, like maybe someone made cookies earlier and forgot to clean up. Gyuvin kicks his shoes off easily, meanwhile Ricky sits on the floor and starts untying his laces. 

Gyuvin drops his bag on the floor with a thud, looking down at Ricky. “You’re not gonna try to guess what’s in the bag?”

“Nope,” Ricky accentuates the ‘p’ with a pop! sound, pulling his left shoe off before working on the right. “You said it has to be a surprise. I'm keeping the suspense.”

Gyuvin puts his hand out for Ricky to grab once both shoes are off, Ricky grabs it and stands up without thinking about it. 

“Is it working? The suspense, I mean.”

Ricky walks over to the kitchen, Gyuvin trailing behind him like a sad puppy. “Yeah,” he says, opening the freezer and grabbing two popsicles. "It’s working.”

Gyuvin grins, grabbing the popsicle from Ricky’s hand. They sit on the couch, legs tangled, and pretend the afternoon isn’t slipping away through their fingers. Like it isn’t melting down the wooden stick of their matching lemon-lime popsicles. (they were the last ones in the box, neither of them are too happy about it.)

They eat in silence for a while, the tv on low but not really playing anything either of them are watching. Just noise. Gyuvin has a little drip of popsicle on his chin and Ricky doesn’t say anything about it, just keeps sneaking glances. It’s not even a cute drip, it’s just kinda gross. But still. Ricky feels like if he stares too long he’ll say something stupid.

“Do you think,” Ricky says, licking at the sticky mess on his own hand, “you’re gonna remember this?”

Gyuvin raises an eyebrow. “What, the popsicles?”

Ricky rolls his eyes. “No. Like, this summer. Us?”

Gyuvin shifts on the couch, untangling their legs only to twist them back up again. He's quiet for a second, which feels too long. Ricky thinks maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, maybe he’s being dramatic again.

“Yeah,” Gyuvin says finally. “duh. You’re like, my best friend. I'm not gonna forget that just ‘cause school starts again.”

Ricky looks down at his popsicle stick, almost clean now. He chews on the end a little. “You say that now. But when you get super cool and famous and everyone wants to be your friend and you’ll leave me behind—”

“Okay, ew, first of all.” Gyuvin cuts in, laughing. “What would I even be famous for?”

Ricky shrugs, still biting slightly at the end of the popsicle stick. “Dunno. maybe you’ll like… get scouted to be a k-pop idol or something.”

“As if I would ever do that.”

“You never know, maybe you have an epiphany or something where you realize you wanna sing and dance on a stage for your beloved fans.”

Gyuvin punches Rickys shoulder softly, smiling at him. “The only person I'd sing and dance for is you– next time I see you I'll have a whole song choreographed, get ready.”

They're both laughing now, too loud and echoing through the quiet house. The sound feels big and warm and alive, like maybe the sun doesn’t have to go down yet after all. Like maybe summer is never-ending as long as they stay in this moment forever.

Gyuvin leans his head on Ricky’s shoulder, still grinning, and says, “I'm serious though. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Ricky doesn’t say anything for a second, just rests his cheek on top of Gyuvin’s head and lets the silence hold them. It's soft. like a secret. Like they’re made of the world’s most fragile material. 

Gyuvin’s the first one to move. He shifts a little so he can reach his bag, dragging it across the carpet with a dramatic sigh like it’s weighed down with bricks. Ricky lifts his head but doesn’t say anything, just watches, curious. Like a cat.

“Okay,” Gyuvin says, unzipping it halfway. “you’re not allowed to laugh.”

Ricky’s mouth is already twitching. “You’re setting yourself up for failure here,”

Gyuvin presses a single finger to Rickys lips, Ricky ignores the way it makes him dizzy for a moment. “Shhh. Okay, so first off–” Gyuvin leans back to the bag, pulling out a rolled-up pair of socks and tosses them at Ricky. “Those are yours. You left them at my house like three weeks ago. They smell like my room now, so you’re welcome.”

“Soooo generous,” Ricky deadpans, unfolding him. “also these literally aren’t mine–”

“Well they aren’t mine. So I dunno who else’s they could be. Anyway," Gyuvin digs again, pulling out a plastic case that’s got that scratched up look of something second hand and way too loved. He hands it to Ricky without saying anything, just a little almost-smile on his face.

Ricky looks down at it. The cover art’s all moody and dramatic and kind of ugly. He already knows what it is even if the name’s a little blurry. His chest goes warm anyway, all soft and fuzzy in that weird, wordless way. He runs a thumb across the edge, not looking up. He flips it over in his hands, the tracklist in some big font with the band members' faces next to it. 

“I saw it at the store and thought of you,” Gyuvin says, kind of fast. “not ‘cause you really like them or anything. More like… because you said the lead singer sounds like he’s crying. and I figured that was on brand for you.”

Gyuvin scratches the back of his neck, looking at the CD in Ricky’s hands before looking back at his face. “and I dunno, you mentioned you liked the one song from this album the other day at the mall, so…”

Ricky nods, looking up at Gyuvin. their eyes meet for a second before Ricky has to look away. He always has to look away. “Is this their only album?”

Gyuvin hesitates before answering, looking around Ricky’s living room as if it’d have the answers to the question. "I think so, they’re kinda new. What's that album called? Take This To… something something. I dunno.”

"It’s a stupid name,” Ricky says, even though he’s still turning the case over in his hands like it’s something precious. He looks at it like he’s trying to memorize the whole thing.

Gyuvin hums, sitting back up on the couch next to Ricky. He flips the CD to the back, pointing at the fifth track. “I listened to it before I brought it here, I had to make sure it’s up to your standards.”

“I just don’t like bad music, I don't have high standards.”

“You do. It's okay to admit it.” Gyuvin smiles. “Anyway, this one was my favourite. Made me think of you.” he says it so casually like that one sentence couldn’t tear Rickys heart apart at the seams. like it doesn’t make him feel like he’s drowning in Gyuvin’s words. made me think of you. of you. Of You. 

Ricky nods, running his thumb over the plastic on the CD case. He doesn’t trust his voice with any words, if he opens his mouth he thinks he’ll regret it. He’ll say something stupid like ‘I think I love you.’ and that would just be crazy, right? Ricky doesn’t mean it.

It's nobody's business if Ricky’ll play track five over and over when Gyuvin leaves the next morning, if he overanalyzes the lyrics on a piece of paper until he drives himself mad. It means nothing, it really, really doesn’t mean anything. 

Ricky places the CD case on the top of his dresser next to the photo of him and Gyuvin, it sits there empty, the CD never leaving the radio player next to his bed. The three minutes and nine seconds ends, and Ricky loops it again, and again. (and one more time. just for good measure.)

08/22/xx

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” Gyuvin pouts, crossing his arms over his chest. "I’m not doing that! We're gonna get in so much trouble, and I'm gonna get grounded–”

“Well, first of all, that won't happen. Don't even worry about it.” Ricky’s grin widens, taking a sip of his soda. “And also, it’ll be fun… c’mon! You’ve gotta trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

Gyuvin stares at him, face scrunched up like he’s trying to figure out if some alien had come and replaced Ricky within the last ten minutes. “You've never done this before! There's no way you know what you’re doing. You’re crazy.”

“Nuh-uh, just picture it,” Ricky leans in, looking Gyuvin in the eye before looking out to the poster-filled walls of Gyuvin’s bedroom. “We sneak out, right? Nobody notices, we go to the store and get some snacks, and we take a walk around the neighbourhood. And I have another fun surprise too, but you don’t get’ta know that one unless you stop being a loser.” 

Gyuvin bites his lip, glancing at the window nervously. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t extremely enticing, but also, the idea of doing something that could get him banned from seeing Ricky for the last week he’s still here makes him sick to his stomach.

“This is so stupid, Ricky,” Gyuvin mutters, running a hand through his hair and looking around his room as if there’s something to save him from this situation. He keeps glancing at the window like it’s the portal to his doom, and he can’t quite shake the guilt that’s starting to creep in. “What if, like, I dunno… we do get caught and then–” He stops himself, a tight knot forming in his stomach.

Ricky watches him, his expression softening for a moment, but then back to his stupid grin that Gyuvin loves hates to see. “Look, we’ll be fine,” he reassures, shrugging as if the idea of getting in trouble is as harmless as a paper cut. “You'll bring your digicam, I have my CD player,” Ricky pauses, gesturing over at his small bag fallen over on the floor of Gyuvin’s bedroom, the contents spilling out slightly.

“Anyway, it’ll be a fun night. I promise. Nothing to worry about.” Ricky bats his eyelashes at Gyuvin, his eyes seemingly sparkling on command. Gyuvin can’t say no to that, how could he? When the prettiest boy in the world is sitting next to him, looking up at him like he has the world in his hands?

Gyuvin licks his lips, nodding slightly. “Okay, fine I guess. Whatever, you got me.”

Ricky smiles, knocking his shoulder against Gyuvin’s. “You could never say no to me,” he stands up abruptly, running his hand through his hair only for his bangs to fall back in the exact same spot as before. “c’mon, get up. Find your camera, we’ve got places to be.”

“We–we’re going now?” Gyuvin stutters, looking up at Ricky as he shoves everything back into his bag without much care. “Like… now, now? not gonna wait a bit?”

Ricky shakes his head without looking back at Gyuvin, zipping up his bag and putting it on his shoulder. “Where d’you keep your digicam? Just on your desk, right?” 

Gyuvin hums, still sitting on the floor. “Uh, yeah, somewhere around there I think.”

"It’d kill you to be specific, right?” Ricky jokes, turning to look at Gyuvin with his hands on his hips. he looks cute like this, his eyes squinted slightly to avoid his bangs poking him in the eye. he really should cut them soon, but everytime he even suggests it Gyuvin says soon, you can do it soon. not now. And Ricky can’t say no to Gyuvin, even if he really wants to.

Gyuvin watches him for a second too long. Ricky’s back is turned again, digging through the clutter on his desk, mumbling something under his breath about how Gyuvin’s room is a black hole of a mess. And maybe it is. He'll clean it one day, that day just… isn’t today.

“Found it.” Ricky says suddenly, holding the small camera up like a prize, a satisfied little grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “You've really gotta clean your room, KimGyu. This is gross.”

Gyuvin shrugs, a little delayed. “Yeah, whatever. You’re welcome to do it for me.”

“No thanks, I'm scared of what I'll find. Something gross, probably.”

“You’re just making that up, my room isn’t that bad.”

Ricky doesn’t comment on that, just brushes off the lens with the sleeve of his sweater and walks over to hand it to Gyuvin. He doesn’t sit down again, just kneels beside him, real close. It makes Gyuvin feel warm and weird and very, very aware suddenly of how small his room is.

Gyuvin’s heart is pounding so loud he’s sure Ricky can hear it too, and when Ricky looks at him like that, it’s almost confirmation that he can. But they don’t talk about it, they never do. When Gyuvin grabs the camera from Ricky, he purposely tries his hardest to make sure their fingers don’t accidentally brush each other's. He couldn’t handle that right now. 

Ricky’s eyes flick up to meet Gyuvin’s, all soft and messy like he’s about to say something huge. He shakes his head slightly, his bangs out of the way for a moment. “We should, um, go get our shoes. Yeah."

Gyuvin nods, sliding backwards a bit before standing up, offering Ricky his hand as if he needs the help to stand up. Force of habit. They sneak down the stairs of Gyuvin’s house, grabbing their shoes by the front door and carrying them back up to Gyuvin’s room.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Ricky asks, all quiet. Like he’s testing the air, his converse held in his left hand, they hit each other with every move he makes. “We don't have to go. I just, like, thought it’d be nice.”

Gyuvin nods without thinking. Then realizes Ricky is still staring at him, and he regrets every choice he’s ever made. “We’re going, yeah.” he mumbles, gripping the camera in one hand and his shoes in the other. "I already said yes.”

“I know,” Ricky says, “just checking. You looked kinda—” he pauses, smiling again, softer this time. “Like you were panicking or something, I dunno.”

Gyuvin snorts, unlocking his window and pushing it open hesitantly. "I think that’s just my face.”

“Mmm, maybe.”  Ricky shrugs, standing next to Gyuvin at the window. “You wanna go first? or you want me to show you how it’s done?”

“You go first, since you’re the pro here,” Gyuvin rolls his eyes, a small smile on his lips. “We're on the second floor, y’know. How're you planning to figure this one out?”

“You’ll see.”

Ricky leans out the window a bit, peering down with way too much confidence for someone who’s never done this before. It's like he’s seen it in a movie, and is convinced he can pull it off too. “Okay, yeah, the tree’s got good branches. Solid. This is gonna be fine.”

Gyuvin squints at him. “You say that like you’ve done this before.”

Ricky smiles. “Maybe I have.”

“Wait. Wait. Have you actually climbed this tree before? Like… to watch me sleep? Be honest.”

Ricky gasps like he’s offended, then grins way too fast. "I’m not answering that,”

“But also, you wish.” he says smugly, already halfway out the window, sneakers dangling from his wrist as he swings himself onto the nearest branch with surprising ease. “Okay, see? Totally safe. I'm like a cat. Or a ninja. Or both, I guess.”

“You're gonna fall and break your arm,” Gyuvin mutters, mostly to himself, but he’s also kind of in awe. Ricky looks stupidly cool for someone who is climbing a tree in striped socks.

Ricky reaches up once he’s stable, offering Gyuvin his hand. “Your turn, c’mon. I won't let you fall.”

Gyuvin hesitates at the windowsill, shoes hooked on his elbow, his small bag bouncing a little against his back. “this is such a bad idea.”

“Yeah,” Ricky says softly, still smiling. “But it’s our bad idea.”

it was your idea actually, not mine. Gyuvin could say, but he won’t. he just groans and takes Rickys hand anyway.

Their fingers tangle tight, no space left between them, and Ricky’s grip is steady and warm and sure. Gyuvin climbs out slowly and awkwardly, his knees hitting the windowsill and his free hand scrambling for balance, but Ricky doesn’t let go.

“You okay?” Ricky whispers, voice like a secret, like something meant just for him.

Gyuvin nods, barely. “Yeah.”

Ricky squeezes his hand once, gently. “Then let’s go.”

They climb slowly, Ricky leading the way, both of them ducking under branches and stepping carefully like the tree is a ladder only they know how to use. It creaks sometimes beneath their weight, the bark flaking off under their fingers, and Gyuvin holds his breath every time the leaves rustle too loud.

“You’re really bad at this,” Ricky whispers up to him.

“You're really annoying,” Gyuvin shoots back, one arm clinging to the tree like a lifeline. “And if I die, I'm haunting you forever.”

“Cute,” Ricky mutters, like it’s a compliment, and Gyuvin’s hands nearly give way from the spots they’re clinging to.

By the time they make it to the ground, their socks are full of twigs and leaves, and Gyuvin is breathing like he just finished a marathon. He lets go of Ricky’s hand only once they’re safely on the grass, the camera swinging against his chest again with a soft thud. The street is dark and quiet, nothing but yellow porch lights in the distance and the low hum of summer.

They sit on the grass for a moment, Gyuvin easily slips his shoes on and Ricky, Ricky and his hightop converse, takes maybe two minutes to put them both on and tie them up. Couldn’t be any less convenient if he tried.

“Are you sure you’re not gonna be cold? like, without a sweater or anything?” Ricky asks, looking up at Gyuvin as he pulls the knot on his left shoe.

Gyuvin blinks down at him, a pout forming on his lips. “Maybe should’ve mentioned that before we climbed out of my bedroom window,” he pulls Ricky to his feet without Ricky even putting his hand out first. "I’ll be fine, though. I guess. It’s summer, right?”

Ricky hums, holding onto Gyuvin’s hand for a moment longer before tugging his own sweater off without hesitation. 

Gyuvin immediately panics. “Wait, what are you doing—”

“Relax,” Ricky laughs, pushing the sweater into Gyuvins arms. “I'm not gonna die, but you look like you’re going to, like, any minute now.”

Gyuvin doesn’t move to take it. “You'll be cold. And also you’re dumb. You're always colder than me, so what sense does this make?”

Ricky just shakes his head, as if Gyuvin isn’t just being truthful. Ricky always is colder than Gyuvin, so it doesn’t make sense at all for him to be giving his sweater to Gyuvin. whatever, he’s just being nice, that’s what Ricky says in his head.

Gyuvin groans but finally gives in, grumbling as he pulls it over his head. It smells like Ricky. Which is so annoying. like sunscreen and dryer sheets and a tiny bit like the strawberry shampoo that Ricky pretends isn't his.

Ricky’s watching him. Obviously.

“What,” Gyuvin says flatly.

“Nothing.” Ricky’s smiling, real soft. Like it’s not even on purpose, just genuine from his heart. "It’s cute on you, the sweater.”

Gyuvin smiles bigger than really necessary, giving a cheesy thumbs-up with it. 

The wind rustles through the trees above them, and the way Ricky shivers doesn’t go unnoticed. Gyuvin kicks at a patch of grass, itchy at the spots where his pajama pants don’t quite cover. 

“Okay!” Ricky starts, cutting through whatever weird tension there just was in the air around them. “I actually have a reallyyyy cool plan for us. so I hope you’re ready.”

Gyuvin hums, pulling at the sleeves of the too-small sweater for him. Again, unfortunately Gyuvin outgrew Ricky within the past months, even though Ricky will never admit it.

“All your plans are lame. I doubt this one’s any different,” Gyuvin jokes, a smile creeping onto his face. “Plus, what’s there even to do? it’s like… so late.”

Ricky punches Gyuvin’s shoulder lightly, scrunching his nose at him. “Hey! I wouldn't call climbing out of your bedroom window lame, alright? You don’t know what I got up my sleeve anyway.” 

“You don’t have nothing up your sleeve! you’re wearing a t-shirt!” 

Ricky rolls his eyes, grabbing Gyuvin’s arm and pulling him behind him as he starts to walk out towards the street. His fingers rub over the exposed bone of Gyuvin’s wrist a few times subconsciously. “Whatever, you get what I mean. Let's go!”

Gyuvin stumbles forward slightly, his feet clipping against a root he didn’t know was there. “You should totally tell me where we’re going, by the way. It'd be really cool if you did.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Ricky replies, tugging on Gyuvin’s arm to bring him beside him rather than still trailing behind. “This is a trust exercise. I know what I'm doing.”

“You always say that!” Gyuvin complains. 

But he follows anyway. Their shoes scuff gently against the pavement, and everything smells like a late-August summer night. Like wet grass, warm concrete, and a little leftover charcoal from a barbecue somewhere nearby. The street’s mostly dark, but the sky is clear and wide and full of stars, and the occasional porch light flickers by as they pass rows of sleeping houses.

Their shadows stretch long behind them under the dim glow of a flickering street lamp. Gyuvin points at it and whispers, “The only time you could ever be taller than me.” with a stupid grin on his face.

Ricky shoves him gently. “Just you wait, one day I'll be taller than you.”

Gyuvin smiles, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. I'll have to see it to believe it.”

They pass the corner store that always looks slightly haunted, the light inside flickering every few seconds. Ricky walks closer to Gyuvin without mentioning it, tightening his grip around Gyuvin’s wrist enough to where it’s noticeable.

They cut through a side alley that leads into the back end of the neighbourhood, where the fences are more broken and there’s patches of untamed grass growing between the sidewalks. Gyuvin knows this way, but he’s never really walked it on purpose.

It's a little scary, kind of. And for Ricky who was scared walking past the store with the flickering light, he seems extremely brave now. Walking under the sidewalk with no street lamps above it, and cracks big enough you could fit your hand between them.

Ricky veers off the sidewalk at one point, pushing past a bush like he knows exactly where he’s going. “Shortcut.”

Gyuvin hesitates. “Shortcut to where.”

“You'll see,” Ricky sing-songs, his hand drifting down from his grip around Gyuvin’s wrist to his hand. There's a short moment where it feels like they’d both been electrocuted, something that neither of them could name, almost shooting through their veins, and striking them straight in the heart.

They walk through someone’s side yard (which they’re definitely not supposed to be in), then hop a low fence. Gyuvin lands wrong which makes Ricky laugh a bit louder than he should be for the time of night it is.

“So graceful,” Ricky says, hiding his smile behind the back of his hand. “you really landed that one.”

“Shut up before I turn around and go home.”

“You don’t even know how we got here, nice try.”

Gyuvin huffs, but smiles anyway. He's sweating a little now, partly from the walk, partly from the sweater, and partly because of the way Ricky pulls on his hand when the path gets steep or uneven.

Eventually they make it to the edge of a half-abandoned lot behind the elementary school. It's overgrown, with tall grass up to their knees and a few random trees scattered around. Ricky steps confidently through it, dodging prickly bushes like he’s done this a million times before. 

“We're almost there,” he says, tugging Gyuvin’s sleeve.

They weave between two big cedar trees, duck under some droopy branches, jump over fallen logs and big rocks, until Ricky stops abruptly, Gyuvin nearly running into the back of him.

“Ta-da,” he says quietly.

Gyuvin steps to the side and blinks, brushing a leaf out of his hair. “Uh, ta-da what.”

“You're so mean, Qubing.” Ricky gestures like he’s revealing some kind of hidden kingdom, instead, it’s just a little clearing.

The moonlight shines through a small gap in the trees, illuminating the space just enough so you wouldn’t trip over all the little roots, branches, and rocks scattered along the ground. 

“Mmm, still looks like nothing to me, I dunno, Rik.” Gyuvin softly elbows Ricky in the side, walking towards something that looks like it used to be a bench, now just left with the metal pieces sticking up, and the wood caved in. “Are you sure you didn’t take me here to kill me?”

Ricky scrunches his nose, slinging his bag off his shoulder, walking over to Gyuvin before dropping his bag gently near their feet. “You know I wouldn't do that,” Ricky puts his hands on Gyuvin’s shoulders, feeling the fabric of his Gyuvin’s sweater underneath his fingers that are definitely too cold to be actually feeling anything.

“Now sit, I don't wanna have to sit on the ground, and you’re wearing my sweater that I usually use to cover my butt, thank you.” Ricky pushes Gyuvin down, smiling at the sound of shock that leaves Gyuvin’s mouth. 

Gyuvin lands on the grass with a soft thud, dirt sticking to the back of his pajama pants. That'll be hard to explain to his mother, so maybe for the first time ever Gyuvin’ll have to do his own laundry. “Dude! What the hell,” he yelps, glaring up at Ricky, but his voice cracks halfway through like he’s more flustered than mad.

Ricky grins down at him, a hand coming up to cover how impossibly wide his smile keeps growing. “You're fine.” Before Gyuvin can get up, or even get the chance to complain again, Ricky drops onto his lap with the elegance of a spoiled house cat.

Gyuvin freezes, every muscle in his body going stiff. His brain blanks and it’s like his head fills with tv static, buzzing so loud he swears Ricky must be able to hear it too. his heart is starting to pound louder than it does when he and Ricky play basketball for hours on end, and he’s not quite sure how to explain what’s going on in his mind.

He can point out every detail of what he’s feeling; the weight on his thighs, the press of Ricky’s back leaning just barely against his chest, the unfortunately cold and slightly wet grass underneath him. 

“Uh…” Gyuvin’s mouth opens but nothing comes out. He closes his mouth, jaw locking tight. Metaphorically zipping it shut, locking it, and putting it in his pocket. Is that the rhyme everyone used to say when they’d tell a secret?

What's he even supposed to say? Get off me before I die? Stay here forever? Neither feels like the right answer, and both seem like they’d freak Ricky out a bit much.

Ricky glances over his shoulder, and Gyuvin nearly implodes. The moonlight catches in his hair, and he looks unfairly calm, like this isn’t affecting him nearly as much as it is Gyuvin. 

“You’re acting weird,” Ricky says after a moment, sounding slightly upset.  “If it's really a problem, I guess I can sit on the ground, but you’ll owe me a milkshake tomorrow. For the emotional torture it’ll put me through.”

Gyuvin couldn’t even laugh if he tried, which he does. It comes out dry and cracked, like the wheeze of an old dog toy. But the thought of Ricky leaving his lap makes Gyuvin’s stomach twist violently, like he’s about to tumble down a hill he didn’t know he was standing on. Panic surges up his throat, messy and immediate.

“No!” he blurts out, too fast, too loud. his ears burn, his heart feels like it's two seconds away from exploding, his fingers twitch loosely where they’re laid beside him. “No, it's okay. It’s– uh. it’s fine, really.”

Gyuvin wants to bite his tongue off the second the words leave his mouth, mentally cursing himself for sounding so stupid. Ricky blinks at him, tilting his head just slightly, like a curious cat, and for a second Gyuvin thinks he’s going to ask why.

Instead, Ricky just hums, and nods. leaning back onto Gyuvin some more, he rests his head on Gyuvin’s shoulder, closing his eyes with a deep exhale. Gyuvin feels every small move, and his stomach lurches like he’s on a never-ending rollercoaster.

“Don't move too much though,” Ricky mumbles, voice dipping a bit lower, his tone laced with sleepiness that Gyuvin isn’t too fond of. How are they gonna get back if Ricky’s asleep? He doesn't wanna think about it. “You're comfortable.”

Gyuvin’s mouth dries up, every nerve in his body sparking. Comfortable. The word bounces around in his skull like a DVD screensaver, lighting him up from the inside out until he swears he might actually explode. 

His pulse is still thundering in his ears when he feels Ricky shift against him. A lean forward, head lifting from his shoulder. Gyuvin nearly sighs in relief, except then Ricky’s hand reaches down, patting lazily around in the grass until it brushes against his bag.

“Wait– hold on,” Ricky mutters, his eyes practically closed but there’s determination in the way he drags the bag closer, the zipper catching under his fingers.

Gyuvin blinks, his hand absentmindedly coming up to hold Ricky’s waist, maybe to steady him so he doesn’t fall, maybe just because he wanted to. “What’re you doing?”

Ricky’s response is a faint smile, one corner of his mouth twitching up. “Walkman,”

Gyuvin watches as Ricky wrestles the bulky player out of his bag, movements clumsy and unhurried. He looks like he could fall asleep mid-reach, but still, he flips it open just to check, nodding once he sees the disc inside.

“Still there,” Ricky mumbles, as if the disc could disappear somehow from when he put it in there, until now. “been saving it.”

For maybe the five-hundredth time in the past five minutes, Gyuvin’s heart jumps, and his throat goes dry. Saving it? For what? For him?

Ricky doesn’t give him time to ask. He pushes one of his tangled up earbuds into Gyuvin’s hand, the other sliding into his own ear before he hits play. the faint whir of the disc spinning starts up, and then the music spills out, soft and comforting. Much like how Ricky described Gyuvin. It wraps around them both like a blanket.

Gyuvin doesn’t recognize the songs at all, but it takes him a moment to even focus on the music. He's too busy staring at Ricky, whose eyes are already half-shut again, his too-long bangs falling over his lashes.

Ricky hums low in his chest, just barely audible over the music. “Don’t… don’t laugh at the songs,” he murmurs, words slurring from exhaustion. "I hid it ‘cause… it’s like… embarrassing or somethin’.”

Gyuvins throat closes up so tight it almost hurts. Embarrassing? There's nothing embarrassing about this, about Ricky sitting on him like this is a common occurrence, about his sleepy voice curling soft around every word.

“I'm not–” Gyuvin’s voice cracks hard, betraying him. He swallows and tries again, quieter this time. His thumb rubs absent circles into Ricky’s side. “I'm not laughing.”

Ricky doesn’t open his eyes, but his mouth quirks, like he knows Gyuvin well enough. He'd like to think he knows Gyuvin too well, like he can feel every thought buzzing inside his head without him even saying it.

After a long stretch of silence, Ricky sighs a tiny sound, his hand coming up to fix the earbud slightly falling out of his ear. When his hand comes back down, he manages to tangle his fingers with Gyuvins, squeezing tight three times before dropping their joined hands on his own lap.

“Thought you’d… get it.”

“Get what?”

Ricky’s lashes flutter, turning his head more into Gyuvin’s chest. “The songs. They’re… I dunno. They're about you, I think.”

The words hit Gyuvin like a basketball to the chest, all air knocked out of him at once. His whole body seizes up, every nerve screaming, and for a second he forgets how to breathe. Maybe his palm starts sweating more in Ricky’s grip. He doesn’t wanna think about it.

Gyuvin nods as if it makes sense, his free hand coming to brush Ricky’s bangs out of his face, and consequentially, out of Gyuvin’s as well. “Me?”

Ricky smiles, as if it’s obvious. “Yeah. ‘cause you’re…” his words trail off, a quiet yawn escaping his lips despite his best abilities to hide it. as if Gyuvin couldn’t tell he was tired already. “Ah, I dunno. Forget about it. The songs are good though, right?”

Gyuvin can barely hear the music over the blood rushing in his ears, and the pounding in his chest. Good? the songs could be terrible, the worst thing he’s ever heard in his life, and it wouldn’t matter. Not when Ricky just said they were about him.

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re… they’re really good.”

Ricky hums again, satisfied, like that’s all he wanted to know. He moves himself in Gyuvin’s lap, tucking himself closer, their hands still linked and heavy in Ricky’s lap. Gyuvin’s thumb twitches, brushing over Ricky’s knuckles before he can stop it.

The music drifts on, something warm and achingly sweet, and maybe a bit too loud at times. Maybe Gyuvin winces when the instrumental gets too loud, but Ricky doesn’t flinch. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to hear these songs again without thinking of this exact moment, Ricky pressed against him, Ricky’s hair brushing his jaw, Ricky’s breath feathering across his collarbone. Ricky Ricky Ricky. 

“Gyuvin?” Ricky mumbles, voice so low it almost gets swallowed up by the static of the walkman.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t… don’t tell anyone, okay?”

Gyuvin’s heart cracks a little, like a tiny chip in porcelain. “About what?”

Ricky doesn’t answer right away. his head tips further against Gyuvin, heavy and trusting, like he knows Gyuvin won’t let him fall. like he knows Gyuvin would bend over backwards and make the world a safer place if Ricky wanted to fall asleep anywhere. “About the songs. About… y’know. Just. Don’t tell.”

Gyuvin stares straight ahead, eyes wide, chest burning, he really doesn’t need this sweater anymore. He feels like he’s sitting on the edge of a secret he isn’t supposed to know, like the ground beneath him might give out if he moves too much.

"I won’t,” he says quickly, as if to make sure Ricky believes him. “I swear, I won't.”

Ricky exhales, slow and soft, the kind of sound that slips right into Gyuvin’s bones and settles there. “Knew you wouldn’t.”

The next song comes in too loud, Ricky flinching this time. He reaches down with their still-linked hands to twist the volume wheel lower. The movement makes their fingers shift, palms slide against each other, and Gyuvin swears he can feel every ridge of Ricky’s skin like it’s been branded there.

“Too loud, sorry.” 

Gyuvin nods, but his throat is too dry to say anything. He doesn’t even care about the volume, he can’t hear the music properly anymore anyway. He drags his thumb back and forth over Ricky’s knuckles, ignoring the thundering heartbeat in his ears.

Ricky turns his head into Gyuvin’s chest some more, practically burying his face into the sweater. Gyuvin wants to shake him, to say do you realize what you’re doing to me? Do you feel this too? But his body won’t move. Not like he’d want to disturb sleepy Ricky anyway, that’s always a recipe for disaster.

He listens, and listens some more. If he focuses hard enough on the music, maybe it’ll calm down the hammering in his chest. If he focuses even more, Gyuvin realizes this is a song from the album he recommended to Ricky a week ago. More specifically, this is the song he told Ricky about specifically. ‘made me think of you.’ Is what he had said, and regretted after immediately. Though, if it made it onto the CD, Ricky mustn't have thought it was weird, right?

The air seems to get cooler around them, the moon starting its descent in the sky. The CD ends, whirring to a stop in the walkman. faint digital clicks before pure silence, if you ignore the whistle of the wind brushing through the trees, and the bugs buzzing in the bushes around them. The silence between them isn’t empty, it’s fragile. Fragile, like glass about to crack and give way to things that neither of them mean to say.

This one was my favourite, made me think of you.

The songs, they’re about you.

08/26/xx

The cheap fan stuck into the corner of Ricky’s room bothers him more with each passing minute, the blades seeming to buzz louder, and shake every so often. If it wasn’t swelteringly hot outside, Ricky would’ve unplugged it hours ago.

His room only seems to be emptier each day, his mom insisting that he has to pack more and more stuff lately. The countdown to September 1st looming above his head, and on his calendar pinned above his desk. Another day crossed off, and less time until the inevitable end of everything Ricky’s ever known.

He's bent over the desk, pen in hand, the nicest letter paper he could find in front of him. Ricky's tried starting three times already, ink blotted out, words crossed so violently the paper nearly tore. The letter stares back at him, half-finished sentences bleeding through the paper.

happy birthday kimgyu!!!

gosh, finally. you’re thirteen now! which is so weird to think about, but i feel like i’ve been thirteen for ages. you always said you’d catch up to me eventually, but i don’t think you realize i don’t care about stuff like that. i’d wait for you no matter what.

i can’t believe it’s already been another year, it all went by in the blink of an eye. these days it seems as if time is slipping through my fingers, and as i cross off another day on my calendar, it feels like i’m losing something I can’t get back.

i wish i could go back in time to earlier this summer, like when the only thing i had to worry about was you cheating in basketball. (which you totally did, BTW) i wanna go back to every day and relive it all. except the day we went to the beach and you got so much sand in your hair that you made me wash it out for you when we got back home…

all this to say, you’re really the most important thing to me, gyuvin. i don’t think there’s a world where i’m not meant to be yours your best friend. even if the universe tries to pull us apart, i think i’d still find my way back to you. it’s always you and me against the world.

happy birthday. i hope you know i’d give you everything if i could.

yours truly, with everlasting love,

kim ricky.

Ricky sets the pen down, his hand cramped from gripping it too tight. He blinks at the letter, and it blinks back at him. The page looks almost unreal in front of him, ink still a little wet where he pressed too hard. He reads it over once, twice, and his chest aches worse each time. It doesn't even feel like a birthday letter, it feels like something else that if Ricky admits it, he’d probably throw up all over his bedroom floor.

He folds it carefully, sharper than he means to, and slides it into the envelope beside him. He writes Gyuvin’s name across the front, big letters and with a little heart at the end. He fills it in with the pen as if it’ll make it mean more.

When he leans back, the envelope looks wrong sitting there on his desk. too small for everything inside, too soft for how heavy it feels in his chest. Ricky presses his thumb over Gyuvin’s name, smudging a little of the ink, and tells himself he’ll rewrite it later. He won’t.

the fan rattles again in the corner, air stuttering against his skin. Ricky slides the envelope under his pillow instead of leaving it out, like hiding it might make it easier to breathe, even though it really, really doesn’t.

For a long time he just sits there, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He tries to picture Gyuvin’s face opening the letter, trying to imagine whether he’d smile or laugh or look at him with that confused tilt of his head. The thought makes Ricky’s stomach twist violently, because no matter which way he imagines it, it still feels like too much.

He drops his forehead to his knees, a heavy sigh and maybe a sniffle of his nose. His chest feels too tight, the letter like a stone under his pillow, pinning him down.

The argument keeps replaying in his head, not because of the words themselves, but because of why it even happened. And Ricky knows exactly why.

The night they snuck out still lingers vividly in his memory; Ricky sitting in Gyuvin’s lap, their hands tangled, Ricky saying things he shouldn’t have, things that came out too soft, too much like a… like a… Ricky can’t even think of it or he’ll be sick. Too much for what him and Gyuvin are supposed to be. He hadn’t even realized how far he’d gone until the morning after, when Gyuvin smiled at him like nothing was wrong, and asked Ricky to burn him his own copy of the CD they shared. And then Ricky panicked.

He got cold with him, and asked to go home early. It was easier to pretend like it hadn’t meant anything than to let himself think about what it really felt like. but Gyuvin noticed, because he notices everything Ricky does, and one sharp word led to another until it spiraled into something that Ricky didn’t think was possible for him and Gyuvin.

He really didn't think they were capable of fighting like that. Bickering, sure. That's what half of their conversations end up being. stupid squabbles about who cheated in basketball or whose turn it was to buy snacks, that was normal. That was the essence of Kim Ricky and Shen Gyuvin. 

But raised voices, words that carried too much weight, silences that felt like cliffs between them, and a slammed door or two. That was different.

It was all his fault, and Ricky knew it too.

He remembers the way Gyuvin’s face fell, confusion turned into something else, hurt bleeding into his voice. The way he kept asking what was wrong, like he’d crawl inside Ricky’s brain if he could just to pull the truth out. The way his eyes by the end were reminiscent of the marbles Gyuvin keeps in a jar on his desk. Big, shiny, and beautifully glossed over. 

Ricky wanted to tell him, wanted to explain that the night before had felt too… everything. But the words clogged in his throat and all that came out was anger. Anger he didn’t know he had, anger he could never feel towards Gyuvin, it was all for himself, but it came spitting out at Gyuvin instead.

He hated himself for it the second it left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop. The look on Gyuvin’s face, the way his lips parted like he’d been slapped, the way his hands curled uselessly at his sides, burned behind Ricky’s eyes.

He hadn’t been angry at Gyuvin. Never at Gyuvin. It was himself, always himself. For leaning in too close that night, for whispering things he shouldn’t have, for sitting there in Gyuvin’s lap like it was the most natural place in the world. For wanting it.

And then for being too much of a coward to own up to it in the daylight.

So the words twisted on his tongue and came out wrong. Sharp where they should’ve been soft, final where he meant wait. Ricky saw the way it landed, like a brick between them, and still he didn’t take it back.

Now, sitting in his half-empty room, the echo of that slammed door feels louder than the fan buzzing in the corner. He keeps seeing Gyuvin’s face before it shut, wide-eyed and wet, like Ricky had torn his heart out of his chest, and ripped it apart in front of him.

His stomach turns. He presses his palms to his eyes until stars and colours bloom behind them, but it doesn’t block it out, nothing does. The letter under his pillow feels like proof of everything he can’t say out loud, proof that the fight wasn’t just about nothing, proof that Ricky is everything he’s terrified of being.

The fan rattles, rattles, rattles, too loud for the room. He presses his palms to his ears, wishing it could drown out the sound of Gyuvin’s voice replaying instead, the sharp edge when he asked, why are you being like this? The hurt when Ricky didn’t answer. The slam of the door when Ricky stormed out of Gyuvin’s bedroom, and down the stairs to his front door, leaving without saying goodbye.

He’d walked home without his shoes on, just carrying them in one hand, his bag in the other. By the time Ricky got home, he dropped his stuff at the door and walked to his room, slamming the door again. His mom asked him why he was home so early, but he couldn’t really hear it over the ringing in his ears.

If Ricky threw up multiple times that day, it was between him and the bathroom walls. 

—

The sweater Ricky gave him hasn’t moved in four days. It hangs on the back of his desk chair, thrown there the night they got back, and unmoved since. If it gets too close to falling off, Gyuvin’ll just barely pick it up and put it back on the chair.

It still smells faintly like Ricky, like detergent and artificial strawberries. The scent clings stubbornly despite his best efforts. Windows cracked wide, his mom fussing about leaving them open through the night, the sticky late-August air making everything in his room humid and unbearable. He'd thought maybe the smell would fade if he let the breeze roll through, it hasn’t. If anything, it’s sharper, stronger, and stupidly unavoidable.

He hates it. He hates that it follows him around his own room like a ghost, curling into the corners, soaking into his sheets. He hates that when he rolls onto his side at night, the sweater is the first thing he sees in the sliver of moonlight sneaking past his blinds. And he hates most of all that part of him doesn’t want it gone.

Because every time he stares too long, he remembers. Ricky’s hands pressing the fabric into his arms that night, the weight of his voice when he told him to keep it. Like it mattered. Like Ricky meant it.

Gyuvin hasn’t worn it since. not once. He can’t. The idea of putting it on makes his stomach twist up, like the sweater would burn against his skin, like it would tell the truth out loud. This is Ricky, this is Ricky, this is Ricky. But not wearing it feels just as bad. It sits there heavy, a reminder that something broke between them that neither of them knows how to fix.

He remembers the fight in flashes, like bruises blooming too fast. Ricky’s voice sharper than it’s ever been, his jaw locked so tight Gyuvin thought it might crack. The way his own voice cracked when he asked, what’d I even do? and got nothing back except silence and that awful look in Ricky’s eyes, like Gyuvin was the problem. Like all the things Ricky couldn’t say had curdled into anger and spilled out on him instead.

And then the door. Ricky leaving without even tying his shoes, without looking back.

Gyuvin had sat on the edge of his bed after, staring at the sweater like it had answers. He half-expected it to move, to get up and walk out after Ricky. It didn’t. It just stayed where it was, limp and accusing, like it knew better than him what Ricky was thinking.

Now, every day since, Gyuvin’s been doing this stupid dance, circling his room, pretending not to notice it, pretending not to feel the weight of it when he breathes. But he notices. He notices everything, especially when it comes to Ricky. And the sweater feels like it’s screaming at him, louder than Ricky ever did, louder than the slammed door.

He wants to throw it out the window. He wants to shove it deep into his closet. He wants to bury his face in it and never let go. He doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he just nudges it back onto the chair when it starts to fall, and goes back to pretending.

Gyuvin’s spent the past four days mulling over what it is he could’ve possibly done or said wrong that night, and no matter what he comes up with, it’s never his fault. He'd never admit it, because Ricky’s never in the wrong in his eyes. But maybe, just this once, he is. 

Gyuvin did everything Ricky told him to do, everything Ricky said. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Gyuvin listens too easily, bends too easily to Ricky’s every will. Maybe he’s too much for Ricky? But he’s never been a problem before. He doesn't get it, and he doesn’t think he ever will unless Ricky explains it. Which, knowing Ricky, won’t happen.

He even talked to his mom about it, and maybe cried to her about it a few times, too. While they sat and watched the same concert DVD over, and over, and over. Gosh, she must be tired of it by now. Gyuvin? not as much.

Gyuvin’s not tired of it, and he really doesn’t think he ever could be. He could probably watch it until the disc wore thin, until the images burned holes in the screen. Anything that filled the silence, that gave him something else to focus on besides the sweater on his chair and the ghost of Ricky’s voice rattling around in his head.

He always seems to catch himself reaching for the phone, thumbs itching to dial Ricky’s number, to hear him answer in that flat way of his that always softens once he realizes it’s Gyuvin. But he doesn’t call, he can’t. 

Gyuvin wonders if Ricky’s sitting in his half-empty room right now, thinking about him too. He wonders if Ricky regrets it, or if he’s already packed Gyuvin away like the posters on his walls, folded into boxes without much care.

If he showed up at Ricky’s door, what would happen? Gyuvin keeps turning it over in his mind, like a rock in his pocket that he can’t stop touching. He imagines Ricky’s mom smiling at him the same way she always does, asking if he’s hungry, asking if he’s staying for dinner, like nothing’s wrong. But then he pictures Ricky at the top of the stairs, frozen there. Maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all. Maybe he’d just turn around and close his bedroom door, leaving Gyuvin standing there like an idiot.

Gyuvin presses the heel of his palm to his eyes until the darkness blooms. He wants to believe Ricky wouldn’t do that. That he’d let him in, maybe even sit on the edge of the bed like they always do, knees touching, shoulders bumping, the quiet stretching into something bearable. He wants to believe Ricky would let him explain, even though he doesn’t know what he’s explaining.

The uncertainty of the situation is eating Gyuvin alive, to say the least. If Ricky was less dense and more willing to talk about his feelings, instead of locking it up and shutting down, and if he didn’t shut Gyuvin out as much–

No! That feels mean. Gyuvin doesn’t wanna be mean to Ricky ever. Even in his mind. He likes annoying Ricky, but that’s different. Gyuvin sighs and watches the credits roll on the concert, getting up to get a snack, by the time he gets back, the DVD menu is looping its background music, waiting for him to press play again. He does, of course he does.

His mom tells him to shut it off on maybe the third playback, and Gyuvin reluctantly agrees and goes up to his room, wallowing in his sadness, and the loud drums still echoing around his skull.

08/29/xx

Ricky sits on the edge of his bed, the home phone sitting next to him, the analog screen blinks at him twice, Ricky blinks back once. He’d pick it up, but whenever it’s in his hand it feels like it burns his skin. He's been staring at it for the past hour, looking at it next to the piece of paper with Gyuvin’s number written on it. Not like he could forget it, he knows it by heart. 

The envelope for Gyuvin sits underneath his pillow, corners bent, and the whole thing slightly indented from his head laying on top of it. He tells himself he’ll give it to Gyuvin tomorrow, that maybe magically overnight this whole ordeal will be erased from both of their memories, and everything will go back to the way it was.

The calendar stares back at him, August 30 circled in red. When Ricky looks at it too long it starts to look like blood running down his wall and it freaks him out, so he looks away. He looks away from the looming date of August 30, with a month of pain behind it.

He picks up the phone and ignores the burning sensation as it spreads down his fingers, crawling into his bloodstream and numbing his whole arm. His thumb shakes as it presses the sticky buttons in, a loud beep in response to each number.

He’s just calling to ask if Gyuvin’s home, that’s it. That's what he tells himself, anyway. Just to make sure he’s home, so he can make this all up to him today. Ricky isn’t sure he’d forgive himself if he was still fighting with Gyuvin into his birthday.

The ring feels endless, and louder than it usually is. Ricky chews the inside of his cheek, heart pounding in his ears. Part of him prays it goes to voicemail so he can hang up and tell himself he tried, but another part really wants to hear Gyuvin’s voice.

The ringing stops, replaced with the faint shuffle of movement before a voice answers, warm and familiar. It calms the rapid beating of his heart against his ribs, where it was threatening to break out of his chest.

“Hello?” Gyuvin’s mom.

His throat tightens instantly, despite the calming of his heart, his voice seeming to give out before Ricky even has a chance to use it. He's tempted to hang up, but his fingers are locked stiff around the phone. “...Hi, ms Kim. it’s, um.. it’s Ricky.”

Her tone brightens right away, like it always does when she hears him. “Ricky! Oh, sweetheart, how are you? We haven’t seen you in a few days. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, kind of. I was just wondering if… if Gyuvin’s home right now?”

There’s a pause, the sound of her adjusting the phone against her shoulder, and assumedly her looking up the stairs towards Gyuvin’s door. “He is, he’s upstairs in his room. Do you want me to get him for you?”

Ricky’s stomach lurches. He shakes his head even though she can’t see it, clutching the phone tighter until he’s convinced it’s two seconds away from crumbling in his hand. “No! I mean– no, it’s okay. Please don’t tell him I called.”

“Oh?” She sounds puzzled, but not unkind. Ricky’s heart breaks a bit at how nice she could possibly be, despite the fact Ricky’s not talking to her son for stupid reasons, though she wouldn’t really know that. “You sure? he’s been… Well, he’s been missing you, Ricky.”

that almost cracks him open, squeezing his eyes shut. He fights the wobble in his voice. "I just needed to know if he was home. That's all. Thank you, ms Kim!”

Her voice softens, like she knows better than to push. “You're welcome, sweetheart. You can come by anytime, you know that, right? The door’s always open.”

Ricky nods silently, the lump in his throat making it impossible to speak. He manages a faint, “Okay, thank you again,” before he hangs up.

The dial tone buzzes loud in his ear, louder than the fan in his room, louder than his own thoughts. Gyuvin was upstairs the whole time, just one shout away. And Ricky couldn’t do it.

He sets the phone down too gently, like if he slams it he’ll break along with it.

–

Ricky paced his room so hard his mom had to come ask him to stop because she could hear him from downstairs. She opened his door with an unimpressed look on her face, and her arms crossed softly across her chest. The phone still sat on his desk, the letter under his pillow, and Ricky thought if she looked too close she’d see it all written across his face.

Ricky’s ears burned hot, like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and maybe the way Ricky thought about Gyuvin was anything but what he was supposed to do. How he was supposed to feel about them being friends, or… whatever the hell they were. Ricky doesn’t think about it too hard too often, it makes his head hurt.

His mom lingered in the doorway a moment longer, her eyes narrowed just slightly, like she could see the storm in his head even if he never said a word. Ricky kept his gaze low, fingers tugging at the hem of his shorts, praying he wouldn’t ask anything else, because if she did, he wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth.

“You're gonna wear the floor out,” She said finally, a sigh tucked between the words. “Try to rest soon, hm? You look exhausted.”

Ricky nodded, quick and empty, and she closed the door behind her. The click was soft, but it felt louder than it should’ve, like it sealed him inside with the noise of his own thoughts.

He sat on the edge of his bed again, the phone still glowing faintly on his desk, the letter burning under his pillow. His chest squeezed tight when he thought of Gyuvin’s name written there in his messy handwriting, the heart next to it already smudged. It was all too much and not enough, the kind of thing that made him feel like he’d swallowed something sharp.

His head went straight back to Gyuvin. It always did. Gyuvin’s stupid smile, the sound of his laugh when he shoved Ricky’s shoulder too hard, the weight of him holding on when Ricky wanted to pull away. He thought about the fight again, and his stomach twisted, and he wanted to be sick.

Was it normal to think about your best friend this way? Was it normal for your chest to ache like you’d been punched just because of the way he looked at you? Ricky didn’t think so. He didn't think he was supposed to.

But he couldn’t stop. No matter how wrong it felt, no matter how much he tried to push it down, it kept coming back. Gyuvin in his head, Gyuvin in the smell of his shirts, Gyuvin in the red circle around August 30, glowing like a wound on the calendar.

Before he could talk himself out of it, push it off to tomorrow, and go to bed miserable and upset, Ricky stood up and walked out of his room. Like his body was on autopilot, and he was mindlessly following along. 

By the time he gets to the front door, Ricky’s expecting his mom to question where he’s going, especially with the time in the evening it is. He shoves his feet into his sneakers, pulling the laces tight but not bothering to tie them. Just like the night of their fight, the laces knock messily against the side of his shoes.

The door gave a tiny groan as Ricky eased it open, like it knew he wasn’t supposed to be leaving. He winced at the sound, holding his breath until the silence swallowed it back up. No footsteps from the kitchen, no voice calling his name. His mom hadn’t noticed, or maybe she had and decided not to stop him. 

The air outside hit him heavy, thick with the late-August heat, the kind that clung sticky to his skin. Cicadas hummed from somewhere in the trees, loud enough to fill the silence in his head but not loud enough to drown out the thud of his heart. He stepped onto the pavement, his shoelaces dragging and hitting against the rubber of his soles with every step.

He didn’t really have a plan, not one he could explain if someone asked. But the pull toward Gyuvin’s house felt magnetic, like every step was decided long before Ricky made it. His throat was dry, stomach twisted, but his legs kept moving.

Streetlamps threw long shadows across the sidewalk, stretching and warping with each movement. The familiar route felt strange in the dark, more so because he was alone too. Ricky doesn’t like walking alone, especially at night. Call him a loser, he doesn’t care. (he does.)

His fingers twitched at his sides, he didn’t know what he’d say if Gyuvin actually opened the door. ‘Sorry’ didn’t feel big enough, nothing did. What do you even say when you’re apologizing for… for… he can’t even say it outloud.

The walk dragged on longer than it should’ve and maybe that’s because Ricky walked slower than he usually does. He wasn't in a rush, quite the opposite of one, really. He counted his steps, tried to time them with the pounding of his heart, but it only made him more aware of how shaky his legs felt.

The porch light was on. Ricky froze at the end of the walkway, sneakers scuffing against the cracked cement. His stomach twisted so hard it made him want to turn around, but the sight of that soft yellow glow felt like another pull, a rope wrapped around him, tugging him closer to his impending doom. His feet carried him up the steps anyway, shoelaces dragging, soles squeaking faintly against the wood.

He raised his hand to knock, then dropped it again. Then raised it. Then dropped it. By the third time, he just did it quick, three knocks, sharp but not too loud. 

The seconds after felt unbearable, his ears filled with rushing static, he couldn’t hear the cicadas in the nearby bushes, or the overhead buzzing lights, his fingers curled tight against his palms. When the door finally swung open, Ricky’s breath caught.

Not Gyuvin, but his mom. He should’ve expected her, but still.

She blinked at him in mild surprise, her hair pulled back, soft lines of tiredness on her face. Her expression shifted almost instantly, though. Surprise melting into recognition, into something gentle.

“Ricky?” She asked, voice carrying that mix of warmth and concern only mom’s seemed to know how to balance. “It's late, sweetheart. Everything alright?”

Ricky’s throat worked around words that wouldn’t form. He nodded too quickly, then shook his head, then shrugged, hands shoved deep in his pockets like maybe they’d hide how badly they were shaking.

Her gaze softened more, and she stepped aside just slightly, like an invitation, though she didn’t say it outright. “Gyuvin’s upstairs,” she said, tone careful. “But he’s had… a rough week. You boys–” she stops, looking at him with the kind of quiet understanding that makes Ricky’s ears burn. “Do you want to come in?”

Ricky nods again, reaching a hand up to brush his bangs out of his eyes. He's really cutting it close with not cutting his hair before he leaves. Maybe he’ll do it the morning of, then he won’t have to worry about seeing himself with it for longer than he has to.

She steps aside fully, and retreats back into the house a bit more as Ricky sits down to pull off his shoes, at least he doesn’t have to worry about untying his laces. His movements are stiff like it’s the first time he’s ever come over, and more aware of the space he’s taking up.

The house smells the same as always, warm laundry, citrus-y candles, and sunlight no matter the time of day. Ricky swallows hard. It's the kind of smell that seeps into you, that makes you feel safe even when you don’t want to. Ricky thinks of Gyuvin the same way. 

He straightens back up, socked feet sinking into the rug by the doorway, and suddenly the house feels too big. Like he’s six years old again and coming over for the first time, and everything around him towers over him. 

The stairs creak underneath him as he walks up them slowly, holding onto the banister even though he doesn’t need it for balance. He lingers at the stop of the stairs, his eyes burning holes into Gyuvin’s door. The same lame posters and banner of Gyuvin’s name pinned to the wood, Ricky’s glad that no matter what, Gyuvin doesn’t seem to change. Ricky hopes he stays the same forever, because he can’t say the same about himself.

His hand hovers over the doorknob, usually the doors already open, and Gyuvin would’ve led him up with a grip on Ricky’s wrist and a smile on his face. Instead, the door is shut tight in front of him, with silence so strong behind it that Ricky can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears again.

Ricky’s fingers twitch, brush the cool metal of the knob, then retreat just as fast. He stares at it like maybe the wood will dissolve if he looks long enough, or maybe Gyuvin will feel his presence and open it for him.

After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Ricky knocks on the door softly, two light hits that are barely enough to be heard. His chest caves around the sound, and it feels like the world is ending.

For a moment, nothing. Ricky bites the inside of his cheek hard again, ready to walk back down the stairs, saying thank you to Gyuvin’s mom, before walking back home with his shoes in hand, for the second time this week. 

At some point of Ricky deep in thought, the door cracks open, enough for warm lamplight to leak into the hallway, and the boy-ish mess of Gyuvin’s room to be revealed to Ricky’s eyes. For once, Ricky’s glad Gyuvin doesn’t seem to possess the ability to clean his room, or keep it clean once his mom does it for him.

Gyuvin’s there, his hair messy like he’d had headphones on, and eyes rimmed red like he hasn’t slept properly in days. his nose slightly pink, and his lips bitten raw. Ricky’s heart hurts at the sight, but he doesn’t say anything. Gyuvin’s expression flickers, confusion first, then something that looks dangerously close to relief.

Gyuvin smiles awkwardly, his hand twisting the doorknob back and forth, and Ricky shakes his head to move his bangs out of the way. Any words he had planned melting out of his brain, leaving only the truth pressing hot against his throat. 

“Ah- can I… come in?” He whispers, not trusting to talk any louder than that.

Gyuvin blinks at him, like the question caught him off guard. Like Ricky would ask to just stay standing in his doorway, and not sit in the room that was part-time his room anyway. His grip on the doorknob falters, knuckles whitening, then loosening again.

“..Yeah,” he says finally, voice low and cracked. He steps back and opens the door slowly, rubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. “Of course.”

Ricky smiles politely but awkwardly, stepping into the room carefully like it might collapse under his weight. It smells like fabric softener and something faintly sweet, maybe the absurd amount of candy wrappers on the floor, or the mango candle half-burned and forgotten on his dresser. There are clothes on the floor, headphones tangled in the corner, and papers scattered across the desk like Gyuvin gave up halfway through cleaning. 

The mess is grounding, in a way. Ricky can’t decide if he wants to laugh or cry.

Gyuvin shuts the door behind him, leaning against it like he needs the support. His eyes trace over Ricky’s face quickly, before he looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Didn’t think you’d… come over,” he mutters, kicking some of the clothes on his floor into the corner, “Or I would've, y’know, cleaned up a bit.”

Ricky shakes his head fast, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. “No– no, it’s fine. It's good. It’s.. I dunno, it’s you.”

He regrets saying it the second it leaves his mouth, heat creeping up his neck, but Gyuvin just blinks at him. The silence stretches between them again, and Ricky shifts his weight from one foot to the other. socked toes curling against the hardwood floor, before he finally lowers himself onto the edge of Gyuvin’s bed. The blanket is messy and warm like Gyuvin had only just crawled out of it. Ricky’s hands press flat against his knees, grounding himself.

Gyuvin drags out his desk chair, flipping it around so the backrest faces Ricky, and drops into it, arms slung over the top. He spins the chair half an inch, restless energy buzzing in his legs, then stills again.

“So…” his voice is careful, like he’s overthinking every word before he says it. “Why are you here, Rik?”

Ricky stares at the floor for a long moment. The question doesn’t sting, he expected it, but the weight of Gyuvin sitting in front of him, asking it to him directly, makes his chest feel tight. He swallows, trying to force down the knot in his throat.

Ricky’s fingers run up his thighs to twist into the material of his shorts, "I… don’t know,” he says finally, voice thin. "I just–” he cuts himself off, throat closing around the words that sit at the forefront of his mind.

The silence hums between them, the quiet buzz of electricity running through the walls can be heard faintly. Ricky feels Gyuvin’s eyes on him, steady, waiting. It's unbearable.

“Gyuvin,” he blurts, before he can think better of it. His voice cracks, sharp in the quiet. “Am I a bad friend?”

Gyuvin’s head lifts a little, his eyes shining in the faint glow of his warm-toned lamp. His brows pinch, and for a second he doesn’t say anything, just looks at Ricky. Really looks at him, in a way that makes Ricky want to shrink into himself.

“What?”

A cool wind blows through Gyuvin’s open window, a cruel reminder of tomorrow’s tomorrow. Ricky shakes his head, bangs falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t brush them back this time. “Sorry, I don’t know why I asked that, I–”

Gyuvin spins back and forth slightly in his chair, his eyes studying Ricky with the same softness he’s had in them for years. Ricky doesn’t notice, he never has. 

"I don’t…” he pauses, thinking on his words. Ricky bites at the inside of his cheek again. "I don’t think you’re a bad friend. or a bad person.”

Ricky shrugs, scratching at the soft fabric of his shorts. “It feels like it, sometimes,” he mumbles, his nail catching on a loose string, getting stuck before he rips it sharp. 

Gyuvin watches the thread snap between Ricky’s fingers, the tiny sound of fabric tearing somehow louder than the hum of the lamp. For a second he thinks about reaching out, about stopping Ricky’s hands before he picks himself apart piece by piece, but he stays where he is, gripping the backrest of his chair until his knuckles ache.

“But it shouldn't, though,” Gyuvin says quietly. his voice soft again, low and steady like the way he used to talk to Ricky during class when they were supposed to be silently reading, or when Ricky would get sulky over a video game when Gyuvin won, so Gyuvin would have to be really nice to him for the next twenty-four hours. “Not with me, at least."

He slides the chair closer towards his bed, the wheels catching on a leg of a pair of jeans on the floor, before rolling closer than Gyuvin initially thought to. The gap between them shrinking, and Ricky feels it instantly. The air gets heavier, and it feels like there’s no room left to breathe without pulling Gyuvin into his lungs too. 

Gyuvin props his chin on his folded arms over the backrest, his knees almost brushing Ricky’s now. Up close, the lamplight makes every detail sharper, the redness around his eyes, the uneven bite marks in his bottom lip, the way his hair sticks up like he’s run his hands through it too many times. Ricky can’t look too long without something in him flinching.

“You don’t get it,” Gyuvin says, voice low, almost like he’s talking to himself. “You could disappear for weeks and I'd still…” he trails off, shakes his head like the thought’s too much to spill into the room.

Ricky’s throat feels scraped raw. “Still what?” he asks, even though he’s not sure he can handle the answer.

Gyuvin looks at him, and the chair wheels squeak as he leans closer, like closing that last bit of space is the only option left. “Still wait for you,” he says finally, shrugging faintly.

The words press into Ricky’s skin, hot, unbearable. He grips his knees harder, but it doesn’t keep him steady. “That’s stupid,” he mutters, his laugh breaking sharp at the edges. “You shouldn’t.”

Gyuvin tilts his head, that small almost-smile tugging at his lips again, but there’s nothing light in his eyes. “Yeah, well. I don't really care what you think I should do.”

And suddenly the space between them feels fragile, like one wrong move could shatter it completely. Ricky swallows, his bangs falling into his eyes again, and whispers, “Then what do you want to do?”

The silence stretches so thin it feels like it might snap, the hum of the lamp and the soft blow of wind through the open window. Gyuvin shifts in his chair, close enough that Ricky can see every small little detail under Gyuvin’s skin, the soft pink glow that wasn’t there moments before, the heavy eyebags sitting pretty below his eyes, and the scar on his chin that’s been there as long as Ricky can remember.

“If I asked you to kiss me, what would you say?”

And for a second, the world stops. Ricky’s breath catches so hard in his lungs, he nearly bursts into a coughing fit. He stares at Gyuvin as his heart slams so loud against his ribcage it drowns out everything else, and the words clog in his throat.

Ricky feels the weight of the question press down on him, heavier than anything he’s ever carried. It hangs in the air, trembling between them, and suddenly even breathing feels like too much. His fingers curl into the blanket beneath him, gripping tight, grounding himself so he doesn’t just fall apart right there.

When he finally manages to speak, his voice comes out small, cracked, like it barely survived the climb up his throat. "I would say… not yet.”

the words land like a stone dropped in water, rippling through the quiet.

Gyuvin blinks, once, slowly. his lips part, then press back together, his expression flickering through too many things at once, confusion, hurt, something close to relief, something heavier still. “Not yet?” he repeats, softer, like he’s trying to taste the shape of it.

Ricky nods, his chest burning, bangs slipping into his eyes again. “Not yet,” he says again, firmer this time even though his hands are shaking. “But.. not never.”

“Ah, okay. Okay, I can live with that.” Gyuvin smiles shakily, leaning back in the chair an inch. the wheels squeaking under the shift, and he stares at Ricky like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.

A short pause, and Gyuvin blinks at Ricky, Ricky blinks back. 

Gyuvin clears his throat, rolling his chair back an appropriate distance, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I don’t know why I asked that,” 

Gyuvin’s words hang in the air, flimsy as paper, like if he folds them small enough maybe they’ll disappear between the cracks in the floor. Ricky watches the motion of his hand dragging through his hair, the way his shoulders curve inward, the way his voice goes flat and thin on the apology.

He wants to say something, anything, but his throat feels locked up, strangled by the echo of the question. Kiss me. Not yet. Not never.

Instead, he forces out a laugh, sharp and awkward, a sound that feels like it cuts his own chest open. “Yeah, whatever. You always say stupid stuff,” Ricky mutters, but his voice comes out softer than he meant, too careful, like he’s tiptoeing around glass.

Gyuvin huffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess so.”

Silence again. But it’s different now, thicker, heavier, like the room itself knows they’ve crossed some line and are trying desperately to pretend they haven’t. Ricky stares down at the blanket, at the way his hands curl tight into the fabric, and thinks about how easy it would’ve been to just say yes.

So he swallows it all down until it tastes bitter.

Gyuvin spins the chair half an inch, then stills, his eyes fixed on the corner of the room like there’s something there only he can see. “We don't have to talk about it,” he says finally, voice barely more than a whisper.

Ricky exhales, shaky, relief and heartbreak twisted together until he can’t tell the difference. “Yeah,” he agrees. “we don’t.”

The door slams shut once again, metaphorically this time. 

The borrowed sweater lingers under the mess of Gyuvin’s blankets, half-hidden where Ricky didn’t see it when he left in a hurry.

08/30/xx

Gyuvin wakes up too early for his own liking, with a pit in his stomach from last night. Ricky left quickly not long after he showed up, and Gyuvin didn’t stop him. He watched as Ricky slipped out of his bedroom door, and slipped out of his grasp for what feels like the millionth time.

The memory clings to him like humidity, the soft click of the door, the way Ricky wouldn’t meet his eyes at the end, and the red at the tips of Ricky’s ears. Gyuvin drags a hand over his face, groaning into his palms. His room is dim, the curtains barely letting in the early, washed-out morning light. He can’t remember the last time he woke up this early on purpose.

He swallows against the burn crawling up his throat, sitting up in his bed. His bangs fall in his face but he doesn’t make an effort to brush them out of the way. The blanket falls from around his shoulders to pool at his waist, and Gyuvin feels a chill run down his spine from his ceiling fan above. 

if I asked you to kiss me–

Gyuvin squeezes his eyes shut. He wishes he could take the words back, shove them into his pillow and never let them out again. It was too much, too big, too everything. He should’ve waited, or he should’ve done something else, or maybe said nothing at all and told Ricky to go home the moment he saw him standing in front of his bedroom door.

But then Ricky said not yet. Not yet, but not never.

Gyuvin can’t tell if that makes it better or worse.

He squints at the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table, reading 7:04am, too early for Gyuvin’s parents to be awake, and he considers that a good thing. He swings his legs off the bed, feet hitting the wooden floor. The floor is cold, but burns anyway. He heads downstairs despite the pull he feels back towards his bed, and stands in his kitchen aimlessly. 

He opens the fridge to feel busy, looking at the cake his mom bought for him next to a container of sliced up fruit. He takes it out and sits on the floor in front of the fridge, picking delicately at each piece. He can’t stomach eating, but he can’t stomach not doing anything, either. 

Before Gyuvin knows it, his mom’s awake, moving around with a quietness that tells him she doesn’t know he’s up yet. He doesn’t wanna break the silence, so he doesn't. He stays curled on the kitchen floor, the cold tile pressing through his pajamas, the fridge humming softly behind him. The fruit sits untouched in his lap except for the few pieces he tore apart with his fingers. 

She comes into the kitchen humming something faint, and it takes Gyuvin out of whatever thought he was in the middle of having. The light from the windows stream in brighter now, a pale gold spilling over the counter and catching on the corners of boxes, and the stacks of plates left on the counter. Gyuvin doesn’t move, not even when she opens a cabinet directly above him.

He makes his presence known by clearing his throat softly, and his mom jumps, which makes Gyuvin smile for what feels like the first time in days. She backs up slowly and he stands up despite the aching in his knees, And when he looks at the clock on the wall he sees he’d been sitting there for almost two full hours. Huh.

She looks at him with concern, and Gyuvin doesn’t feel like he deserves concern. He doesn’t deserve to have someone feel bad for him, and he doesn’t like the way his mom tilts her head so slightly as if to look deeper into Gyuvin’s mind.

“Sorry, lost track of time,” he mumbles, before opening the fridge to put the remains of the fruit he tore up back in the fridge. He’s not sure if he’ll eat them later, but maybe someone else will. He turns back to face his mom and she’s standing there with her arms crossed, and a worried expression on her face, worse than just moments before.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Gyuvin picks at a loose thread on the bottom of his shirt to avoid looking his mom in the eye, because he can feel her gaze burning holes through his skin.

She steps closer and Gyuvin looks up hesitantly, forcing a small smile when she smiles at him.

“It's your birthday, am I not allowed to admire the birthday boy?” she says, and Gyuvin can’t help but smile again, looking back down to where his hands are still fidgeting with his shirt. “You’re thirteen now, that’s a big deal!”

"I guess,”

His mom tucks his bangs behind his ears and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, ruffling the back of his hair so as to not affect his bangs that are bound to fall back into his face if he moves an inch. “You're growing up so fast, y’know. I remember when you were thiiis tall.” she puts her hand to her hip, and Gyuvin rolls his eyes. “Happy birthday sweetheart,”

Gyuvin smiles, and walks back out to the living room, dropping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. he clicks the tv on with a heavy thumb, the familiar sound of the dvd player starting up already filling the room. he doesn’t even have to get up to change the disc in there, it’s the same DVD that’s been in there for the past week. 

The opening starts with the lead singer talking, before switching to the scenic shots of the concert venue, and the band members' names flashing on screen. Gyuvin sinks deeper into the couch cushions with a groan that comes from somewhere deep, somewhere exhausted. His mom wanders in from the kitchen, pausing when she sees what he’s watching.

There's a minute of silence, (minus the opening to the concert playing on the tv) and she huffs a little laugh. “Again?”

Gyuvin doesn’t look away from the screen, his eyes fixated on the red and black flashes across the screen. "It’s my birthday,”

She raises an eyebrow. "I know,” she says, voice warm but teasing. “and that is the only reason i’m not banning that DVD from the house.”

Gyuvin snorts before he can stop himself, burying half his face into the couch’s armrest. The concert crowd on the tv is screaming, lights flashing wildly across the stage, and he lets it wash over him, lets himself pretend this is just any morning. Any normal, boring morning where nothing happened last night and his heart isn’t trying to crawl out of his chest.

He gets about halfway through the set before his mom comes out with breakfast for Gyuvin that he didn’t ask for, but he accepts anyway. He sets it next to him on the couch and ignores it for the next five minutes as his favourite song plays. She lightheartedly scoffs when she comes back out twenty minutes later to see the plate untouched.

“So,” His mom starts, sitting on the armrest of the couch. “got any big plans for today, birthday boy?”

Gyuvin shakes his head, but doesn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. “No, not really.” 

“...Sny familiar faces coming over?” and Gyuvin can tell she’s talking about Ricky, and it makes him wince. It feels like his heart just got ripped out of his chest for a moment, only to be shoved right back in the next second. 

Gyuvin hums as if he’s thinking it over for a second, before deciding on, “I dunno, probably not.”

She frowns at that, and slides down next to Gyuvin on the couch, moving the untouched plate of food onto the table in front of them. She turns down the tv volume and Gyuvin pouts before he feels her hand on his shoulder, and he feels forced to look her in the eye.

His eyes keep wanting to glance back at the window, like if he looks enough times he’ll see a certain cat-like boy jump up the front steps and knock on the door, but he doesn’t give in. 

“Hey,” she says softly, pulling Gyuvin out of his thoughts. “look at me,”

He reluctantly looks her in the eye, and the soft look she gives him is enough to make him feel guilty. Guilty for something that he doesn’t even know what for. Guilty for feelings he doesn’t quite understand, nor could he put a name to.

There's a growing pit in Gyuvin’s stomach (completely unrelated to the fact he hasn’t eaten much more than a few picked-at pieces of fruit.) that he’s unable to explain, and the longer he sits the further it grows. His heart feels like it’s on fire, and his eyes feel like they’re about to give in to a flood of tears. But he sits with it. He always does.

He thinks his mom says something, but he can’t hear it over the low static buzzing in his ears, and the concert still faintly playing from the tv. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so worked up over this, but maybe it’s a combination of a bunch of things. a combination of things he’s ignored this whole summer, so he could live in ignorant bliss like he wishes he could forever. like if he ignores the impending end to everything he’s ever known for a bit longer, he can enjoy this moment fully. 

He blinks, and the room tilts around him. The edges blur like his brain can’t keep the present in focus, and every memory he’s ever made is trying to replay at once. His heart burns stronger, and his chest feels like it’s moments from caving in. His hands shake a little in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling, trying to grab onto something that he can keep in his grasp.

He stares straight at the tv without actually seeing it. The lead singer jumps, the camera pans, the crowd screams, and he feels sick. He feels sick over every emotion he’s ever felt, and every memory he’s ever made, forgotten, or never got to make. 

“–Gyuvin? you’re shaking.” His mom’s voice is so soft, it’s a miracle it made its way through Gyuvin’s thoughts at all. Her hand drops onto where his are shaking in his lap, and it burns once more.

“No ‘m not,” He mumbles, and his voice almost gives out in a pitiful way. His breath shudders, and every inhale feels too shallow, but too sharp at the same time. He can’t swallow the lump in his throat, can’t blink away the sting behind his eyes, and can’t get rid of the fire in his chest. His whole body feels like it’s running ahead of him, sprinting into panic while he’s stuck trying to keep up.

His mom squeezes his hand gently. “Honey,” she whispers, “look at me.”

He doesn't. He can’t look back. Gyuvin keeps staring at the tv, vision blurring until the bright stage lights smear into nothing. His chest squeezes painfully, like something huge is trying to crawl out. He isn’t hungry, not really. But there’s a hunger for something that maybe if he ignores it, it’ll go away. That's how it’s always been, and that’s how it’ll continue to be.

His breath shakes again, and his mom rubs slow circles between his shoulders. It's meant to calm him, but everything inside Gyuvin is spiralling and spiralling into something bigger, and the only thing that could save him is himself going back to the very first time he’d ever felt something like this and stopping it in that moment.

Gyuvin’s eyes stay somewhat focused on the tv, blurred by tears sitting in his eyes that refuse to fall. He knows what song is coming next, and of course he does. If he watched this DVD so many times and didn’t have it memorized, he wouldn’t be able to call himself the number one fan of the band, and all his room decor would be meaningless. He can feel the way the air in the room changes before that song starts, like the room braces itself for it.

He doesn’t wanna hear it today, he doesn’t wanna hear anything about it today.

The lead singer appears on screen, talking about his thoughts on the next song and Gyuvin feels his heart almost crack at the following guitar chords ringing out of the tv, soft and aching.

He shakes his head as if that’ll stop the band from playing on the tv, as if he could stop the dvd from ever existing. He doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to think, and doesn’t want to feel anything except maybe nothing at all. Gyuvin’s entire body feels like it’s about to snap under the weight of whatever this is. fear or sadness or longing or something worse, something that there’s not even a name for because Gyuvin’s the first to feel it.

His eyes quickly flicker back to the window, and focus on nothing out the window but a sun lit street and his own front yard. There's nothing new to be seen and he feels stupid for looking again. He feels stupid for hoping and he feels stupid for thinking there’d be a chance.

He looks back to the screen, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t keeping the window in the corner of his vision. Gyuvin’s mom is back to talking and trying to say something of importance to the boy, but it doesn’t even reach him this time. A chill runs down his spine despite the heat he’s feeling in his skin.

It's Gyuvin’s birthday, so it’s only right if he gets all of his wishes to come true today, just because of that reason. He closes his eyes and prays to a God he doesn’t believe in to let today go his way, despite a rocky start. His chest shakes as he inhales, and he opens his eyes as he breathes out. He feels slightly better, but maybe that’s because he’s putting focus on breathing properly now and unrelated to a metaphorical weight being lifted off his chest by a higher being.

He’d rather believe it was a God-given birthday wish rather than just a coincidence when just a minute later there’s a scurrying of footsteps up the outside stairs, and a short knock on the door with a particular rhythm he doesn’t think he could ever forget.

His mom stands up before him, but Gyuvin quickly follows, rushing over to the door before she can get there first to open it. There's something mean swirling around in Gyuvin’s chest right now, and he isn’t sure how to place it. He pushes it down and ignores it, grabbing his hand over the doorknob that feels colder than it should for the end-of-August weather.

He pulls the door open slowly, only peeking his head around the small opening, and his eyes widen at the sight. Not only is Ricky actually standing there and this isn’t some weird figment of his imagination or hallucination, but the boy before him is blond. Pale, pretty and blond.

Ricky blinks at him slowly, communicating everything and nothing from just the look he gives Gyuvin. He tries to smile but it falls through easily. Gyuvin pulls the door open fully, giving Ricky the room to step inside the house. Also because he’s sure if he left the door open any longer, his mother would quickly come scold him for letting all the cool air out of the house.

Gyuvin looks at Ricky, still unspeaking, as the boy sits down to untie his laces. His hands are shaking despite his best efforts, and Gyuvin feels nauseous seeing it. His heart is in a knot in a way you couldn’t easily untie with just your nails, and perhaps it’d become one you’d have to cut out. The only way to rid the ache is to remove it entirely. Gyuvin likes that idea.

Ricky mumbles something that Gyuvin doesn’t quite catch, but he hums in response anyway. He offers his hand out when Ricky’s done tying his shoes to help him stand up, but Ricky doesn’t take it and stands up on his own anyway. He walks through Gyuvin’s house with an air of confidence that could only be given if you’re really trying to make up for something else. He waves hi to Gyuvin’s mom, asks her how she is, and then rushes up the stairs towards Gyuvin’s bedroom.

“Let me know if you guys’ need anything,” his mom says quietly, pausing the concert dvd playing, cleaning up the food that Gyuvin didn’t eat, and returning to the kitchen. Gyuvin nods but his mom doesn’t see it, being gone ten seconds before already. He exhales shakily before heading up the stairs on uneven feet, and the balance of someone walking on a tightrope a million metres off the ground.

By the time he makes it up to his bedroom, Ricky’s sitting on the edge of Gyuvin’s bed, his hands resting in his lap with an envelope and his bag at his feet that Gyuvin didn’t notice he brought until now. The bag is rid of all the pins it’s usually adorned with, and that makes the knot in Gyuvin’s heart tug tighter at the ends. His breath catches before he closes the door behind him, standing on the floor in front of Ricky, rather than sitting on the bed next to him, or the desk chair across from him. 

"It’s your birthday,” Ricky says plainly.

Gyuvin nods, "It is,” he bites at the inside of his cheek before continuing. "I didn’t think you’d, y’know, remember.”

Ricky nods, “‘Of course I would. You're my best friend,” his fingers twitch around the envelope when he says ‘best friend’, and it makes Gyuvin’s heart stop for a second. He doesn’t know the meaning behind the hesitation behind that name, and he doesn’t want to know. It'd make him sick. “Happy birthday, Gyuvin.”

Gyuvin smiles, but it’s dull and nothing special. nothing like the normal smile that Ricky manages to get out of Gyuvin ever so easily. he stays where he’s standing and rocks back and forth on his heels. he can’t seem to keep eye contact with Ricky today, and it’s very apparent that Ricky knows too, because he clears his throat to get Gyuvin’s attention back on him.

“Thank you, Rik. Really," Gyuvin says. “I can't believe I'm finally thirteen. Y'know, I feel like a man.” 

An attempt to lighten the mood, and it gets a small smile out of Ricky, so Gyuvin counts it as a win. Anything positive from Ricky lately feels like a gift from God himself. Today's visit was really the best of them all, though.

Gyuvin looks at Ricky, and Ricky looks back at him. He's sitting on Gyuvin’s bed, not unlike the morning that they fought. It brings a bittersweet taste to his mouth, and he swallows it down and ignores it to the best he can. 

There's a heavy tension in the air that Gyuvin can’t bring himself to mention, and he knows Ricky better than he knows himself, so he assumes he won’t bring it up either. It weighs down on the both of them, so when Gyuvin sits next to Ricky on his bed, he can only hope it shares the weight of the dread in the air.

Ricky slowly leans his head onto Gyuvin’s shoulder, and Gyuvin follows suit and drops his own on top of Ricky’s. he breathes in the scent of Ricky’s strawberry shampoo that’s now trapped under the smell of hair bleach and chemical toners, but smiles nonetheless. Blond hair, blue eyed, Gyuvin would find Ricky no matter what. 

"I like that your room is still the same,” Ricky mumbles, though his eyes are almost fully closed. "I like that it never changes, it’s just– you. It’s really you.”

Gyuvin hums, but he doesn’t really know what to do with that. Surprisingly, turning thirteen doesn’t immediately give you all the world’s knowledge. 

“I don't know what I'd do if you, y’know, changed…” Ricky starts, and his hands curl into fists and back out where they’re sat in his lap. “Like, I don't think… I'd be able to handle it,”

“Is that selfish?”

Gyuvin sits up fully then, and turns to look at Ricky. Ricky sits up too, hesitantly looking back at him with the look that a dog gives when they’ve done something they shouldn’t. Guilt written all over his face.

Gyuvin grabs Ricky’s hands, holding both of them carefully in his own. Ricky’s hands were always softer than Gyuvin’s, no matter what. He isn’t sure how he does it, but it’s a point that Gyuvin could never forget. It's definitely because of Gyuvin’s lack of care for handcream, but he’ll deny that and decide that it’s just because Ricky’s a softhearted and perfect boy, with soft hands and perfect skin.

“I don't think that’s selfish,” Gyuvin says. “I don't think you’re capable of being selfish, Ricky. You do everything for others, it’s okay to want to have something to yourself.”

Ricky hesitates, and he worries his lip between his teeth before looking at Gyuvin with something comparable to fear in his eyes. Gyuvin doesn’t like that, and he wishes he could take it all out of Ricky, anything negative the boy has ever felt, and bury it far far away from him.

"I want you to myself, but I don’t think that’s fair–” Ricky starts, but cuts himself off. He pauses and thinks his words over, but all Gyuvin can hear ringing in his ears is I want you, and it’s not nice to Ricky to not listen to the other things he’s saying, but it’s the truth.

"I want you to myself, but it isn’t fair to you. I mean, you have a whole life ahead of yourself here, and I'm going away, and I just don’t think it’s fair to want you to stay the same for me. I couldn't bring myself to ask that of you. It's selfish.” 

Gyuvin blinks, but his thumb rubs over the back of Ricky’s hand reassuringly anyway, and he nods slowly, As if to string Ricky into talking more if he has anything to say. that pretty newly-blond head of his has too many thoughts, and Gyuvin’s always known that, but it feels different this time.

“I think it’s always been you, so I haven't thought about much else of anything, y’know? I mean, we’re still young, right? but I feel like I've wasted so much time worrying about if you even still wanna be friends with me– which is so silly because we’ve spent this whole summer together, I know– but it’s just–”

“I dunno, I just…” Ricky shakes his head, and his bangs don’t fall into his eyes this time. He untangles his hands from Gyuvin’s, and reaches for where he placed the envelope for Gyuvin beside him. “Read this, please.”

Gyuvin takes the envelope carefully, like it’s made of glass. He flips it around in his hands, and the back of it has his name written in large letters with a heart at the end. it’s filled in with pen, and slightly smudged around the corners. He flips it back around to ignore the pang in his heart at the sight. Ricky didn’t seal it fully, just placed a small sticker of a cat. Gyuvin smiles ever so slightly at it, and tries to pick around the sticker so as to not rip it in half. 

He unfolds the paper, and he can’t help but notice Ricky staring at him. His eyes wide like a cat, and tracking his face for every miniscule movement. He feels observed, but not watched. It's hard to explain, but it’s Ricky, so is it ever easy to explain?

He reads it quickly, but carefully, again. He seems to handle everything Ricky does lately with care. That scares him, for a boy who’s usually extraordinarily reckless, it’s different. A good different. He laughs at the line where Ricky accuses him of cheating in basketball, and he looks up and scrunches his nose at the boy. He gets a catty smile back that quickly fades back to a look of focus.

happy birthday. i hope you know i'd give you everything if i could.

Gyuvin’s heart drops, but in a way that doesn’t seem to end. He's never been skydiving, but he’s pretty sure this is what it’d feel like. His skin feels like it’s burning, but the aircon unit keeps blowing directly onto him, so he’s sure he isn't. He quickly folds the letter back up and puts it back into the envelope, placing it beside him again. Ricky looks at him with wide eyes that are sheened over with tears. Whether it’s from not blinking, or something else, Gyuvin’s sure he wouldn’t be able to take the latter as an answer.

Without asking, Gyuvin pulls Ricky into a hug so tight that he’s confident the boy can’t breathe properly. His fists curl into the fabric of Ricky’s thin shirt, and he hides his face in his neck. Ricky’s hands hover at his side for a second before grabbing around Gyuvin too, holding him back almost equally as tight.

There's something different about how Ricky hugs Gyuvin now, compared to how he usually does. Ricky’s hands don’t hang, they hold on. Even when Gyuvin scraped his arm terribly climbing a tree to get their frisbee that one time and cried for hours, when Ricky hugged him, his hands hung just above the boy. But now, his nails catch into the material of Gyuvin’s band shirt, and if it wasn’t Ricky, Gyuvin would ask him to be more careful with not ripping the flimsy material.

He isn’t gonna cry, and Gyuvin’s really praying he doesn’t start crying. He doesn’t want to cry, because that’s lame. That's what babies do, and Gyuvin’s thirteen now. He's not a baby anymore, and he’s a man. He can’t cry over something silly like a happy birthday letter.

But, said birthday letter also comes with the background information that his best friend is really leaving tomorrow, and they won’t see each other again for a long time. Gyuvin without Ricky, Ricky without Gyuvin. What a world to see. Whatever evil timeline they’ve landed in, Gyuvin would like a reshuffle. There's no world where Ricky should be anywhere where Gyuvin isn’t two feet behind him. Even better, right beside him, squished up to the boys’ side, sharing a popsicle again like they’re eight years old, sat outside the convenience store, or thirteen, sat in Gyuvin’s bed in each other's arms, holding on like the world is about to end. And maybe, just maybe, it is.

“I don't want you to go,” Gyuvin mumbles into Ricky’s neck, and he closes his eyes to prevent any tears from falling. “I really, really don’t want you to go. I don't care if it’s some one-in-a-million chance from this school or something stupid, I don't care. Ricky, you’re my– you’re my like… one in a million.”

On another day, Ricky would laugh at Gyuvin’s corny admittance of their friendship, and make fun of him for it for days on end. On this one, he can only nod and hug Gyuvin tighter, if that’s even possible.

Ricky feels suddenly sick, or sicker than he has for the past couple days. A weird swirling feeling in his stomach and a faint dizziness in his head. He shakes it off and reluctantly pulls away from Gyuvin’s embrace. 

“You know I can't stay though, right? Like, if I could…” Ricky trails off, his hands fidgeting with the hem of Gyuvin’s shirt instead of his own. His nail catches onto a loose thread, and Gyuvin looks down when he feels the pull, and gently separates Ricky’s hand from his shirt. He ignores the burning sensation where their skin touches, and looks back up at him.

“If I could, I would. ‘cause, like, Gyuvin, I think–”

Ricky swallows hard, the words backing up in his throat like they’ve hit a wall. His chest feels tight in a way that’s almost painful, and he feels like he could actually throw up if he thought about it too hard. Gyuvin’s still holding his wrist, and it makes it almost even worse, his wrist feels like it’s on fire, yet he doesn’t pull back from it.

"I think–” Ricky tries again, his voice quieter like he’s afraid of Gyuvin actually hearing what he’s trying to say. "I think I…”

He trails off, his jaw tightening. His eyes flick away for half a second, looking anywhere but Gyuvin’s face. If he looks too long he’s afraid of what he could say, or even do. There's a million and one thoughts in his head, and he’s afraid of all of them but one. The one that says run.

Instead, he sits.

Gyuvin doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t rush Ricky, either. He watches, eyes wide, and his hand rubs (what are supposed to be) comforting circles onto the part of Ricky’s wrist that sticks out so softly under pale skin. His face looks somewhat serious in a way that makes Ricky’s stomach sink, like he knows something, or at least suspects something.

“Ricky,” Gyuvin says softly, barely more than a breath. 

It hurts, and it hurts again. Ricky’s not sure how he’s even survived this long with all these feelings. They don’t even have a name, not really. He knows they’re Gyuvin’s, they belong to Gyuvin and that is enough for him to cherish them while also resenting them at the same time.

Ricky laughs, weak and quiet and slightly broken, shaking his head. "I’m being stupid,” he says immediately, trying to take back anything sitting between them. like he can ignore it and it’ll go away. "I’m just— it’s stupid. It's been a long like.. couple of days and i–”

Gyuvin shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Don't do that.”

“Don't make it nothing,” he continues, his voice still that same gentle tone that feels rather grating on Ricky’s ears because of how soft it is. How much he yearns to hear it, but hates it when it comes. “You were saying something.”

"I dont–” Ricky starts, then stops again, frustration flashing across his face and bubbling up inside him. He squeezes his eyes shut to will it away, pushing it down alongside his other feelings that can’t seem to stop resurfacing. "I don’t know how to say it without it changing things.”

Gyuvin’s thumb stills for a moment, before resuming its slow movement. “Things already changed,” he says quietly, and he says it so matter-of-factly that it makes Rickys eyes flash with something reminiscent of fear before they settle back to normal. “You feel it too, right?”

Ricky’s throat bobs, and he nods once before he can stop himself. He freezes like he’s just confessed to something irreversible, and his heart feels like it could slam its way out of his ribcage right now.

Gyuvin exhales, a shaky breath despite how strong he’s trying to be currently. “Okay,” he says, like he’s steadying himself just as much as he’s trying to steady Ricky. “Okay. Then just… say whatever it is. You don’t have to make it perfect. It's just… me. Y'know, Gyuvin."

Ricky’s heart aches and he resists the urge to shake his head, to shout out in Gyuvin’s face that the very problem is Gyuvin himself. That he wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t because of him specifically. Gyuvin’s looking at him like he’s something fragile, something he has to hold carefully. It makes it worse.

"I keep thinking about you,” Ricky blurts, the words tumbling out before he can really filter them a hundred times before he says them. “like all the time. and I try not to, but it doesn’t really work, and it’s–” he huffs out a sound that sounds like it’s supposed to be a laugh, but it comes out as something more pitiful. “It's stupid. I'm not trying to make it a thing. I just– I don't know how to turn it off.”

Gyuvin doesn’t interrupt, but his grip tightens again on Ricky’s wrist. and Ricky’s stomach twists, nausea flaring again, but he pushes through it because stopping now would only make it worse, it could only make it so much worse.

“When I think about leaving,” he continues, voice cracking despite his best efforts, "It’s not the place I'm scared of– honestly, I'm kinda excited to go, y’know– it’s you. it’s the idea that you’re gonna keep living and I won’t be there to see it. And I know that’s selfish, like it really, really is, but I don't know how to feel normal about it.”

Gyuvin nods, like everything Ricky’s said is working its way through the boy, and he sits in silence. It makes Ricky increasingly anxious, but Gyuvin’s thumb brushes softly over his wrist again and soothes it all down once more.

"I don’t think you’re supposed to feel normal about it,” he says finally. Gyuvin’s voice cracks on the last word, so he clears his throat and tries again. "I mean, I don’t– I don’t really feel ‘normal’ either.”

Ricky’s eyes widen before he can stop them, and he looks up at Gyuvin with something curious in his eyes. “you don’t?”

Gyuvin shrugs, but it’s not exactly casual, and the way his shoulders tense is obvious enough to Ricky that it makes him feel better about also feeling tense. Wallowing in sorrows together is better than alone, although Ricky would rather be anywhere but here in this moment.

“Everything's weird,” Gyuvin says, “Like… you’re leaving. And everyone keeps acting like that’s just a thing that happens and I'm supposed to just, like, accept it and move on, or something. Like, be fine about it.” His grip loosens around Ricky’s wrist, and tightens again, indecisive as he picks his next words. “And I'm just… not. like… like, really.”

“I keep thinking maybe if I don't say anything,” Gyuvin continues, words speeding up now, and his speech trips over itself. “then it won’t be real yet. Like if I don’t say how bad it feels, and I just ignore it, then it’s just–” he huffs out a frustrated breath. "I dunno, less bad.”

he shifts closer without fully thinking about it, knees knocking together again. 

“But it is bad, it’s bad without you all the time. whenever you’re not there it’s just like– I don’t know… but sometimes, sometimes even with you here it feels bad– not because of, like, you or anything! I think I'm just…” Gyuvin rambles himself into a corner, and when he cuts himself off, he feels Ricky’s hand on his knee, and he squeezes lightly to maybe help alleviate the situation, or maybe to get more out of him, Gyuvin isn’t sure which is Ricky’s intention.

“I just think… like, maybe I like you too much or something…” Gyuvin mumbles, and he says it with a hope of Ricky hearing it, and also a hope and a sliver of faith that maybe Ricky didn’t hear it and they won’t ever have to talk about it again. That things can go back to how they used to be and nothing is awkward and everything is perfectly fine and normal, where summer never ends and they can spend the rest of their days together. “Like, I say it all the time, but it feels… weirder in my chest lately. I dunno. I don't like it, ‘cause I don't really know what it means,”

Ricky looks up at Gyuvin, and there looks like there could be a billion stars in his eyes when Gyuvin looks back. It makes his chest hurt more, like there's a tight wrap around his ribs, squeezing him dry until there’s nothing left but a pile of cracked bones and a no longer beating heart.

“Ricky, I just…” Gyuvin starts the same way Ricky did just moments ago, and the meaning is all the same. The unspoken words that they know exactly what they are, but they still wouldn’t dare to breathe them aloud. "I think I like– like like you. Y'know? like in those stupid movies you make us watch when the girl and the boy–”

Ricky nods quickly but short, once, twice, three times. the same as always. He opens his mouth to say something, or anything, but it feels like his vocal cords are slashed, and only blood could come up and out. He’d try his best to speak his feelings, to tell Gyuvin what he really means, what he feels, yet instead he’d cough up blood all over the boys’ bed. That in and of itself means something, right? Maybe if he coughed up his heart he could hand it over to Gyuvin as a keepsake for when he leaves tomorrow, and Gyuvin would keep it safe in a box atop his dresser, with a lock and key just for him. Gyuvin would wear the key on a necklace to make sure it never got lost or into the wrong hands, and it would keep his heart beating no matter what.

“But it just feels weird, right? ‘cause it’s you ‘n me, and it’s like–” Gyuvin closes his eyes quickly because he feels tears threatening to spill over his lashline and if he cries now he fears he’ll never stop. "I didn’t want to ruin anything so if I ignored it all, maybe we can just be best friends forever, y’know?”   

Ricky can’t breathe. He really, really feels like he can’t breathe. He thinks for a second he might pass out, that he could honestly die in Gyuvin’s bed right now. and what a heavenly place to die that would be, but still. His ears are ringing so loudly it drowns out half of what Gyuvin is saying, and the other half is echoing in his head over and over again, slamming against the inside of his skull.

His hands are shaking. He hates that, he hates that his hands are shaking. He pulls his hand off Gyuvin’s knee like the boy is now made of fire, and too hot to touch. Gyuvin’s eyes are still closed, and his face slightly turned away now, like he’s bracing for impact. 

“I just– don’t wanna ruin anything,” Gyuvin says, “I didn't wanna ruin anything. I just… wanted it to stay us, y’know?”

Ricky nods solemnly, and his heart feels like it could break out of his ribcage at any moment, but as he always does, he puts his own needs secondary to Gyuvin’s, and pushes it all further down once more, stomping in down and down some more, hopefully to never rise up again.

“It'll always be just us, Gyuvin. it’ll… it’s always going to be you for me, I think.” Ricky voices trails off towards the end, and it’s then that Gyuvin turns back towards Ricky, and once his eyes are open, they’re teary and red, and looks like he’s two seconds from bursting into a flood of tears.

Gyuvin wants to grab Ricky’s hands, but when he tries, the blond pulls them backwards to sit under his thighs, for what reason, Gyuvin is unsure but he accepts it and continues nonetheless.

The tension has somewhat settled in the air from what it was before, and instead just sits heavy on them like a fatigue between them, like a massive glaze of honey is laid over top of everything, so you can’t help but move slowly through it. Ricky looks up at Gyuvin momentarily, before his eyes flick back down again. The ball of his foot dragging back and forth in tiny motions across Gyuvin’s floor.

Somewhere in the inbetween of them sitting in silence and both having their minds swallowed by a million thoughts per minute, Ricky’s arms end up tight around Gyuvin’s shoulder, and his face buried into the side of Gyuvin’s neck. as soon as Gyuvin processes what happens, he brings his arms up around Ricky’s waist too, the second hug of the day, and this one holds something more than the last one, yet not something either of the boys’ could put their finger on.

Ricky mumbles something into the junction where Gyuvin’s neck and shoulders meet, and in any other situation Gyuvin would complain about that tickling, but he doesn’t seem to have it in him now. Whatever it was that Ricky was saying, though, was unintelligible, and nothing more than the movement of his soft lips against Gyuvin’s skin. Gyuvin doesn’t complain.

“Did’ya hear me..?” Ricky mumbles, though this time a bit more audible when he pulls slightly out of Gyuvin’s orbit.

Gyuvin shakes his head lightly, his left hand tracing absent hearts into Ricky’s back. When he’s aware that’s what he was doing, he pauses for a moment before changing it to circles instead. “No, sorry,”

“Mmm, okay.”

Ricky slides out of Gyuvin’s grasp once more, and Gyuvin isn’t sure how he’s to handle this tomorrow, when he really can’t have Ricky within an arm’s reach anymore. But he swallows it all down, and tries to not let it eat at his heart any more than it already is.

“Gyuvin, can you…” Ricky starts, and it’s a classic case of Ricky starting his sentences, but pausing halfway through and reworking it. “could you kiss me, please?”

and in the moment, Gyuvin’s sure he could’ve died and went to heaven. Rather, hell, for all the sins he’s committed to get to this point. He isn’t even sure he believes in a place like that, but it seems somewhat fitting for a boy like him. For boys like them two, it’s only a fair punishment. 

“...Are you sure?”

Ricky nods slowly, and his foot is bouncing off the floor with little thumps every once in a while when his heel hits the floor too hard. He's nervous, and Ricky’s hardly ever nervous. Is it normal to feel this much? Like you’ve just handed your heart to another person and trusted them to keep it safe, knowing there’s a possibility it’ll get stomped into the floor and ground into nothing but blood and guts?

The sun beats through the curtains behind them, and when Ricky breaks eye contact with Gyuvin to look away, their shadows sit so close they’re joined as one. Perhaps an unfortunate consequence of them sitting almost attached at the hip, or a second underlying meaning that he doesn’t want to point out.

“I don't think I'll ever be more sure than right now,” Ricky adds, and it makes something vile in Gyuvin’s chest spin some more. Their eyes meet momentarily before Ricky looks away again, though he feels Gyuvin staring at the side of his head for a bit longer. and he’s staring at Ricky like if he looks away, he’ll miss it. like something will disappear if he blinks at the wrong time. The world could drop out beneath his feet if he even dared to sneak a glance anywhere else. and Ricky’s gaze is fixed somewhere else entirely, the random posters lazily taped to the wall, the stupid collectibles dotted around his room, anywhere but Gyuvin, and it’s almost worse, it’s definitely worse.

The room feels too quiet, too small, but also too big and loud at the same time. The sound of Ricky’s heartbeat feels like it echoes off the walls infinitely, and the sound of Gyuvin swallowing grates against his own ears.

“Okay,” Gyuvin says, his voice barely above a whisper. And it’s not very reassuring, and it’s not very anything at all, but it’s all he has left in him. 

Ricky nods again, small and quick like he’s afraid if he waits too long he’ll lose the courage, along with everything else he has to him. And that’s not too far from the truth, so he gets it over with quickly. So it won’t rot in his chest forever, a want that was never fulfilled and will poison him from the inside out.

It’s too quick for Gyuvin to really register, almost like it didn’t happen at all. But from some time from the last blink to the next, Ricky leaned forward, quick and a little clumsy, and pressed his lips to Gyuvin’s. The only proof he has that it actually happened and wasn’t a trick of his mind is Ricky’s abashed expression and the ghost of something warm and slightly strawberry and tangy on his lips.

Ricky’s hand comes up to his own mouth for a second, thumb brushing over his bottom lip like he’s checking if it was real too. Gyuvin’s eyes follow as Ricky’s nail pushes into the plush of his lip, before looking back to his eyes.

“Sorry,” Ricky mumbles behind his hand, “I just…”

"I thought if I didn’t just do it, It wouldn’t happen at all,” he continues, words starting to trip over each other. “and then it’d just… stay there. And I didn’t want it to stay there. I wanted to– I want to kiss you, Gyuvin.”

Gyuvin blinks, once, twice, and his lips part slightly like he’s about to say something, but instead nothing comes out. and Ricky notices, of course he does. His shoulders tense, the apology already sitting at the tip of his tongue again, ready to spill out a second time. or a third, or however many times he needs to apologize to get Gyuvin to forgive him for the terrible and irrevocable mistake of falling in love with kim Gyuvin.

Ricky reaches to pull Gyuvin’s hands back into his own, and despite the burning in his palms where their skin meets, he ignores it and holds tighter. he holds on like he’s wanting to crush all the bones in Gyuvin’s hand into tiny pieces, only to put them back together like a shattered ceramic dish. Ricky fears too much that Gyuvin would actually let him, so he reluctantly loosens his grip and turns his whole body to face Gyuvin, pulling his legs up onto the bed.

“Gyuvin, I think…” Ricky starts, and it already makes Gyuvin’s heart ache slightly in a weird way. The ceiling fan spins and spins above them, and the mechanical whirring grates on his ears the longer the silence stretches between them. "I think I've, like, gotten in your head too much this summer.”

He shuffles further backwards onto the bed, and despite the uncomfortable distance between their joined hands, Ricky doesn’t let go. 

“It's like I've had this… weird feeling about, y’know, us. And then maybe you got it from me and now we're both weird about it. But it's normal, right? It's not crazy? I feel like I'm kinda crazy because of you, Gyuvin. Do you know what that feels like?”  

Gyuvin wants to nod, and wants to let his heart spill out about everything he’s felt this summer, and even further going back. The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he’s felt like this for as long as he can really remember. Though the timeline is messy, there isn’t really a moment in his life where Gyuvin didn’t have only Ricky in his heart. His heart aches and his tongue is tied. His mouth stays shut.

Ricky laughs, because what else is there for him to do? His chest hurts and he feels like the world could end right now. Maybe it ended the moment he ended up back at Gyuvin’s front doorstep. Maybe it ended back a month ago now when Ricky’s mom told him what was what, and that everything he knew would be coming to an end now within the next two days. 

“See? that’s what I mean,” he says almost immediately, and his words come out quicker than he’s ever really spoken before, somewhat like he’s trying to outrun something. himself, or Gyuvin, he isn’t really sure. “You're not even saying anything. You usually say stuff, you always say stuff. Even when it’s dumb you still say it, but now you’re just not.”

He shifts again, pulling his knees closer to his chest and curling his shoulders in, like he’s trying to make himself smaller as if he could take up less space and make this whole thing seem less big than it really is.

“And it’s not even your fault, I don’t think,” Ricky keeps going, shaking his head a little. His bangs swish over his forehead, but they don’t fall into his eyes. “I think I just… I kept thinking about it too much. Like every time we were sitting together or– or when you were holding my hand or whatever. I just kept thinking about it and thinking about it and then it didn’t feel normal anymore.”

His grip tightens again around Gyuvin’s hand without him noticing. 

“Like it used to just be… us. Right? Like, it wasn’t weird before. It wasn't like–” Ricky cuts himself off, frowning, and trying to find his next word, “–Like this. I didn't feel like I was doing something wrong just by sitting next to you.”

He exhales shakily, and Gyuvin just blinks up at him the same way he always seems to do. Irritating.

“But then I started noticing everything. Like, everything. How close you sit. How you always touch me, even if it’s just like, your knee or your hand or whatever. And I started thinking about it too much and now I can’t not think about it and it’s annoying. It kills me, y’know? And I thought maybe if I just… if I did something about it, it would go away? Like if I just knew what it was then I wouldn’t feel so… stuck in my head all the time.”

He glances up at Gyuvin for a second, like he’s checking if he’s still there, and when their eyes meet for a moment Ricky feels something cold run down his spine while something Hot burns in his chest. He quickly looks back down at their hands.

“But it didn’t go away,” Ricky admits, quieter for half a second before his words start spilling again. "It just got worse, like now I'm thinking about it even more, which is stupid, because I literally just did it, so why am I still thinking about it? That doesn’t make any sense.”

His thumb rubs over Gyuvin’s knuckles, over and over, absently. The corner of Gyuvin’s lips turn upwards slightly at the motion.

“And I kept thinking, like, what if I made it weird for you? what if you weren’t even thinking about it like that and I just– I dunno. Put it in your head and now you’re stuck with it too and you didn’t even want that? ‘cause you said you didn’t wanna ruin anything, right? And I keep thinking about that. Like maybe I just ruined it anyway, even though I knew you didn’t want to, and I still did it because I–”

Ricky stops abruptly, like he ran into the edge of something he didn’t want to say out loud. His fingers tighten again briefly before loosening like he caught himself. 

“...I don’t know,” he finishes instead, his gaze fixed somewhere on the blanket now. “I just feel like I messed something up and I don't even know what it is yet, which is worse. And I keep thinking about when I leave, too, ‘cause like what if this is the last thing we do and then it’s just… this. And it’s weird forever and we don’t know how to fix it because we never see each other enough to fix it.”

His voice is quieter now, but the words don’t stop.

“And then what if you just forget about it? Or you don’t, and it just stays weird in your head every time you think about me. And then I'm just… that. Like the thing that made everything really weird before I left.”

He presses his lips together, like he’s trying to physically stop himself, but it doesn’t really work. "I don’t wanna be that,” he mutters. "I don’t wanna be something you have to, like, think around. and, y’know, I just… I just wanted to know what it felt like,” he admits, and it’s softer than anything he’s said so far. “With you. Not– not in a weird way. Just… you.”

Gyuvin doesn’t answer right away, nor does he feel like he even could. He just looks at him, and really looks. It's like he’s trying to piece Ricky back together from everything he just said. If he stares hard enough, maybe he can dig out the tiny part of Ricky that isn’t scared of this, or the other part that isn’t already halfway out the door with no plan to stay.

His throat tightens, and there's so much he wants to say but none of it seems to make any sense anyway, so there’s no point in Gyuvin struggling to get anything out. He glances down at where their hands are joined still, and for a moment it feels like maybe this was the whole purpose anyway. Ricky’s hand fits perfectly in his own, and there’s not a more perfect sight than the boy in front of him.

Ricky’s head is now resting on his knees, his free arm wrapped around his legs. He looks pitiful and small, but Gyuvin’s nonetheless endeared. He thinks he would pick Ricky up, put him in his pocket and they’d go on adventures around the world, if it were possible. a world tour, and they’d stop wherever Ricky wants to go. 

Gyuvin swallows, and shifts a little closer to lessen the strain between their outstretched arms, and also to sit up close to Ricky once again. Their shoulders brush when Ricky moves, and it’s like that was Gyuvin’s plan all along. “It wasn't weird, though,” he says, his voice low. “Not to me.”

it doesn’t fix anything, and Gyuvin knows that. It barely even answers what Ricky said. It's stupid, it’s small, but it’s the truth. the most Gyuvin can say out of the billion and three thoughts of tv static running through his mind. There's definitely better things to say, but Gyuvin’s not sure if he could make sense of any of it.

Ricky doesn’t look up right away, but his fingers twitch in Gyuvin’s hand, like he’s thinking about pulling away or holding on tighter, but can’t decide which would be worse. The worst thing he thinks he could do is just be here in the moment, and if he could run away to never be seen again, Ricky would probably take that chance.

“Okay,” Ricky says after a second. His voice so quiet unlike just a few moments ago, and it doesn’t quite sound like an agreement either, rather something to just put between them so it doesn’t stay completely empty. Gyuvin nods, but Ricky isn’t looking anyway.

The fan spins overhead, and the aircon seems to hum louder than usual. Somewhere outside, a car passes and tires hiss against the road. A dog barks, and a kid yells after it. Everything keeps moving, except for Ricky and Gyuvin. Gyuvin and Ricky against the world, and seriously this time. 

–

By the time the sun starts to dip through the curtains, Gyuvin and Ricky have settled comfortably back against the headboard of Gyuvin’s bed, with his laptop situated between them. The concert Gyuvin had been watching when Ricky showed up has migrated from the living room DVD player to his laptop, and they share a pair of wired headphones between them.

Ricky scrubbed through the first half of the concert, before settling on a song about halfway through. He hums along faintly to the intro and Gyuvin can’t help but smile at the cute act. It's cute to Gyuvin that, despite their varying tastes in music, Ricky still likes Gyuvin’s favourite band. Ricky likes Gyuvin, his brain provides as an afterthought.

“‘Sometimes I give myself the creeps’ I like that line,” Ricky mumbles. “that’s kinda how it feels to be me, y’know?”

Gyuvin’s first instinct is to roll his eyes, but he doesn’t feel like that’s fitting for the moment. Instead, he looks over at Ricky who’s back to mouthing along to the lyrics. Gyuvin stares at him for a moment too long, and his eyes glance down at his lips once or twice, before Ricky looks back at him with something pitiful in his eyes.

“Sorry, I don't think I meant to say that out loud.” Ricky shrugs, and leans his head on Gyuvin’s shoulder, despite the earbud pressing insistently further into his ear, and how uncomfortable it must be, he doesn’t move. 

It’s increasingly domestic, and it makes something burn bright between them both. Like there’s a flame catching onto both of their shirts, yet neither of them reach to put it out. The laptop fan whirs heavily, and the disc spins audibly too. Gyuvin thinks he's paying attention to everything but Ricky next to him, because he’d burn through his bedsheets if he did. 

“S’okay. I think he writes the lyrics to be relatable,” Gyuvin says quietly. " He's a great lyricist. I think you two would get along, y’know. Lots of thoughts in both of your brains. We should go to one of their concerts, one day. Maybe they’ll invite us backstage.”

Ricky nods, his cheek rubbing against Gyuvin’s shirt. “I like that plan.”

Everything sounds nicer when Ricky says it. Softer, kinder, and more like it could actually come true. Gyuvin’s sure Ricky’s a miracle maker, so he believes him when Ricky says that they’ll go to their concert one day. They'll be in the front row, jumping at the barricade and screaming their hearts out to songs with lyrics that don’t make any sense and way too much sense at the same time. They'll shout the lyrics into each other’s faces and the moment will feel like it’ll never end, him and Ricky could stay there forever until their ears ring and their feet ache.

Gyuvin’s free hand finds Ricky’s, and he laces their fingers together loosely. Maybe a show of affection or maybe just to have something to do with himself. Ricky squeezes Gyuvin’s hand tighter, but doesn’t say anything. They watch the lead singer jump around on stage, running back and forth from end to end. Ricky’s never been to a concert, but he’s sure this is the only one he’d wanna go to. 

“So, whenever they announce a concert near us, you’ll come with me, right?” Gyuvin asks, but as it leaves his mouth he realizes that there isn’t really a ‘near us’ after tomorrow. Rather a place near Ricky, and a place near Gyuvin. He doesn’t correct himself, though. He'll continue to live in blissful ignorance, and pretend there isn’t the world’s heaviest impending doom sitting on the calendar for tomorrow. Gosh, calling it tomorrow seems so much heavier than it should.

“Yeah, of course. I'd drop anything to go with you, you know that.” Ricky turns to look up at Gyuvin, and he looks so small from this angle. Gyuvin can’t help but smile a little bit. “There's nothing I wouldn't do to spend more time with you. I just think…”

“I think this world is a very cruel place, Gyuvin. I think there’s something above that wants to punish us. But it doesn’t matter, because I love you anyway.”

Gyuvin blinks at Ricky,

And Ricky blinks back.

“Ricky, I love you too.”

—

It's late into the evening when Gyuvin’s mom comes upstairs holding the phone in her hand, saying it’s time for Ricky to go home. Ricky freezes up next to Gyuvin, and nods slowly after an awkward couple of seconds. Gyuvin’s mom gives a weak smile before turning back around and closing the door gently. A moment goes by before Gyuvin can feel Ricky slightly shake beside him. He ignores it, and doesn’t turn to face Ricky out of fear.

It's unusual for Ricky to cry, so that’s why every time Ricky’s even teared up a bit today (like he did earlier, when the band in the concert DVD played his favourite song) Gyuvin feels his heart break into a million pieces. He's sure Ricky’s close to crying again now, so he doesn’t look over. Gyuvin’s hand finds Ricky’s again and he squeezes lightly, before looking up at the ceiling at the glow-in-the-dark but no-longer-glowing stars dotted around. The silence in the room is deafening, save for Ricky’s laboured breathing.

“You don’t have to go yet,” Gyuvin says as a statement, but it comes out sounding more like a question. Indirectly asking Ricky to stay longer when he knows that isn’t really a possibility.

“My mom’ll get mad, I probably should.” Ricky shrugs, and it sounds like he doesn’t care. He cares, Gyuvin knows he cares, Ricky knows he cares, but still. Maybe today is like any other day, Ricky goes home, Gyuvin gets all pouty, but he ends up on Ricky’s doorstep the very next day.

Gyuvin nods reluctantly, even though every part of him wants to say don’t. Don't go home, don’t leave, don’t let anything come between us and let’s keep living as we are. He keeps it all trapped behind his teeth where it hurts like a cavity after you’ve just eaten something sweet.

Ricky pulls his side of the headphones out of his ears, careful with the wire despite the way his hands shake slightly, which in turn pulls Gyuvin’s out too. Ricky closes Gyuvin’s laptop, and puts it off to the side. Gyuvin watches it all happen as if he’s watching it through a screen, rather than happening right in front of him. The room feels tainted, and also somehow much colder than it did just a moment ago.

Ricky brings his shirt collar up quickly to rub away at his eyes, and Gyuvin’s eyes snap to the now exposed skin for a moment before he feels guilty and looks away once more. When Ricky stands up from the bed, Gyuvin feels inclined to follow but he stays sitting, watching Ricky smooth his shirt down before he rocks back and forth on his feet nervously.

“Let me walk you home,” Gyuvin blurts out, louder than necessary. 

The room stays quiet as Ricky just stares back at Gyuvin with an expression that even Gyuvin can’t read, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to protest, but the words don’t come. Instead he just nods once and sticks his hand out for Gyuvin to grab. They head downstairs quietly after Gyuvin grabs a zip-up for himself, and one for Ricky to borrow for the walk back to his place.

They put on their shoes in silence, and Gyuvin lingers awkwardly above Ricky while he waits for Ricky to lace up his shoes again, shoulders curled in tight around himself to take up less space. Gyuvin’s mom looks up from where she’s sat in the living room and gives them both a soft look that makes something twist unpleasantly in Gyuvin’s stomach.

“Be careful, okay?” She says.

Gyuvin nods, and Ricky smiles politely and says “We will,” even though neither of them sound convinced. When Ricky’s done tying his shoes, Gyuvin puts his hand out for Ricky to grab to help stand up. This time he takes it, and they walk out into the night together, hand in hand.

Outside, the air is cooler than it has been the past couple nights, and Gyuvin enjoys it as much as he resents it. It's not cold enough to warrant the zip-up’s they’re both wearing, but enough that Ricky immediately steps a half-step closer to Gyuvin. He watches it out of the corner of his eye and pretends it was nothing.

The sky’s gone dark around the edges, the last bits of orange’s and pink’s melting into deep blue overhead while stars become more visible above them. The neighbourhood feels strangely quiet tonight, like the whole world knows something bad is going to happen tomorrow and decided to let them off easy for the one night. Their shoulders bump every few steps, but neither of them stray any further.

Gyuvin keeps trying to slow his walking unconsciously, dragging his feet just enough to stretch the trip out longer. Ricky notices, but he doesn’t say anything. He matches the pace and they stroll comfortably down the middle of the street, looking at the streetlights above them and listening to the bugs buzz in the air around them.

Their hands swing between them, small and absentminded, and neither one of them is sure who started it. Gyuvin looks over at Ricky, and Ricky’s already looking, but his eyes quickly turn away when he realizes Gyuvin’s noticed him staring. Ricky’s hair looks silver under the streetlights, rather than the warm blond it seemed in Gyuvin’s bedroom.

Gyuvin still isn’t used to it, and he wonders briefly if he’ll ever get used to anything again after tomorrow. “Your hair’s getting longer already,” he says quietly.

Ricky reaches up automatically with his free hand and touches the ends near the back of his neck. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. I think it looked shorter earlier,”

Ricky huffs out a tiny laugh, and Gyuvin feels like a bandaid’s been placed on his heart. “That was like… six hours ago.”

“Hair grows!”

“Not that fast, idiot.”

Gyuvin grins despite himself, and the conversation dies again after that. It’s not awkward, rather tired. Like both of them have already said too much and their mouths are finally catching up to it. Contrary to Ricky’s belief that Gyuvin can never shut up and he’ll always have something to say, he’s at a loss for words for maybe the first time in his life.

They make it to Ricky’s house quicker than they both realize, and the house looks exactly the same from the outside. For some reason, Gyuvin expected it to look different. It has to look different, because it feels weird. Extremely weird. They walk up to the door, and Ricky untangles his hand from Gyuvin’s before turning to face the boy, though his eyes drop down to his shoes quickly after.

"It looks, like, really weird in here. Don’t… freak out or anything.”

Gyuvin nods, but he knows deep down he’ll freak out anyway. Not outwardly, because he wouldn’t ever go against Ricky’s true wishes, but he knows himself. He thinks Ricky knows him too, so it was a silly ask in the first place anyway. And when Ricky pushes the front door open Gyuvin immediately feels a bit silly for feeling his stomach twist.

The house isn’t entirely empty, still most of the base furniture there, but all the wall decor and smaller things that made the house feel more like a home are gone. Boxes dotted around and stacked atop each other. Ricky’s already sat on the floor untying his shoes by the time Gyuvin’s initial shock wears off. He toes his own shoes off quickly, and waits for Ricky to stand back up.

“My mom… I dunno. She’s probably in her room or something. We can see her later.” Ricky mumbles, and it’s like any energy he had got sucked out of him the moment they walked through the door. Gyuvin feels similar, a draining source stealing any Anything from him. He feels something similar to miserable, but not as extreme.

Ricky starts up the stairs, and Gyuvin follows a step behind automatically. The house gets emptier the further into it Gyuvin gets, and it’s unsettling. It's creepy in a way that sends a chill down his spine. What used to be so familiar and second nature now feels like a new empty space, a vague memory of what used to be lingers in the forefront of his mind.

“Like, really. Don’t freak out, ‘kay?” Ricky says when they get to his bedroom door. It's slightly cracked open anyway, and Gyuvin fears for what’s to be revealed from behind the door. 

He nods, and Ricky pushes the door open wider, and Gyuvin stops in the frame. And oh, Ricky wasn’t really kidding. The room echoes around any sound, and the room feels hollow. Stripped down into something too bare to be Ricky’s. The last remaining bits of furniture that at least had some semblance of the room Gyuvin had grown to know are gone, and the posters gone too. There's pale rectangles behind where the sunlight never hit, and the closet where Ricky always had an excess amount of clothes hanging in is empty except for three things.

All that’s left is Ricky’s mattress on the floor pushed up against the wall, the radio that Ricky plays all his CDs on with a tangled pair of headphones plugged into it, and the framed photo of Gyuvin’s twelfth birthday sitting beside it all.

Ricky walks past everything like he doesn’t notice how awful it is, though you can see it on his face he’s more than unhappy to be here. “We sold my desk a couple days ago,” he says casually, toe nudging a box further against the wall so Gyuvin can walk around more. “The dresser went yesterday, too.”

Gyuvin crosses the room before he can think too hard about it and drops down onto the mattress. It's much further of a fall than he thought, so he lets out a quiet “oof-” which gets a giggle out of Ricky. Ricky follows suit and sits down next to Gyuvin carefully.

“Kinda ugly without all my stuff, huh?” he jokes weakly.

Gyuvin smiles, but it’s one without any heart. He looks around the room some more, and from down on the mattress the room seems even more daunting than it was standing. Like the room is haunted, Gyuvin swears he sees something in the corner before it darts away quickly.

Ricky swallows hard enough that Gyuvin hears it in the silence. “I used to think I'd live here forever.”

It hurts worse than anything else he’s said all night, because Gyuvin used to think so too. He used to think this room was permanent. That he’d keep showing up here after school forever, throwing himself onto Ricky’s bed while Ricky complained about him stealing all the blankets. That the posters would always stay crooked on the walls and the closet would always be overflowing and Ricky’s CDs would always be scattered all over the carpet.

That Ricky would always be here.

“I hate this,” Gyuvin mumbles, and his knees come up to his chest and his head rests atop his knees. It does nothing to aid the feeling of how big the room is, but maybe it’s fitting. If Gyuvin can shrink down enough, he’ll cease to exist and not have to worry about any of this anymore. Or maybe he can just shrink enough to fit into Ricky’s luggage and go with him, and not have to live in a constant state of longing for something he can’t ever seem to get back.

The room echoes around their every move, and it makes both of their skin crawl. Ricky reaches for the radio, and opens it to check what CD is in it. Whatever it must be, Ricky seems to be unhappy with it at the moment and stands up quickly to go rummaging through a nearby box. He pulls out his oh-so-familiar CD wallet that Gyuvin’s sure has only had more and more pages fill out since he’s seen it last. It looks heavier, and when Ricky flips through the pages it only confirms Gyuvin’s suspicion.

He pulls out one from somewhere in the later pages, and brings it over quickly to the radio. He switches it out with the CD currently in there and unplugs the headphones as well, watching the disc spin and whir before he turns the volume knob a tiny bit. Ricky sits back down next to Gyuvin, and this one is a new one that Gyuvin’s never heard before. Though that’s not shocking for Ricky and his tendency to gatekeep his CDs, he thought Ricky would pick a familiar one, not something new.

Ricky sits back down, before shifting on the mattress and laying down behind Gyuvin. He stares up at the ceiling as the first song fades in, and he pulls at Gyuvin’s arm to get him to lie down too. They end up in a not so different position than they were in Gyuvin’s bed, but this time without the headboard to be sat up against. Ricky’s head ends up resting on Gyuvin’s shoulder, and not before long does he migrate to Gyuvin’s chest. 

Gyuvin’s sure Ricky can hear his heart beating almost out of his chest, but he gives no sign of being uncomfortable. His free hand wraps around Ricky’s waist, and the way they’re lying feels so delicate that Gyuvin’s afraid any move he makes will catapult them out of it and somehow back into the fight they were in until earlier today.

The CD plays nothing but mellow tracks, which is unsurprising for Ricky, but it feels more tender in comparison to the other songs Gyuvin’s heard from Ricky’s library. His ears ring faintly, but the music makes it through anyway. He closes his eyes to listen harder, but the panic of forgetting this moment pops up bright in the front of his mind, so he opens his eyes not long after to look down at Ricky who looks half asleep already.

Ricky’s curtains are open, and Gyuvin turns his head to look out the window and is met with a sight of the moon straight through the glass. From what Gyuvin remembers from his brief interest in astronomy, it’s a last quarter moon. There was some important meaning with each phase, but he could never remember them all fully. He shakes it off and just stares blankly out the window, his eyes getting heavier the longer he stares.

He's not sure why he’s so tired when it’s still somewhat early into the night, but it feels fitting anyway. His hand moves absently up and down Ricky’s side, and Ricky hums so softly that Gyuvin’s sure he wouldn’t’ve heard it if he didn’t also feel it.

For a while, neither of them says anything. The CD keeps spinning softly in the background, each song bleeding gently into the next. Somewhere outside a car passes through the neighbourhood slow enough that its headlights drag across Ricky’s ceilings for a brief moment before disappearing again. The room settles back into darkness afterward, the small amount of moonlight spilling pale through the open curtains instead.

Gyuvin thinks this might be the quietest they’ve ever been together. It's not awkward, nor quiet. It’s just tired. Deeply tired, with an underlying miserable feeling. It's the kind of quiet that only happens when there’s nothing left to say that wouldn’t make things hurt worse. Not like either of them have anything to say, anyway, but still.

Ricky shifts slightly against his chest, nose brushing against the fabric of Gyuvin’s shirt. “Gyuvin,” he murmurs sleepily, and his voice is so soft, Gyuvin’s sure if the words were tangible, they’d be equivalent to candy floss.

“Mhm?”

And Ricky’s quiet long enough that Gyuvin almost thinks he fell asleep mid-sentence, he wouldn’t put it past him and is almost ready to forget Ricky said anything and go to sleep himself.

“Don't forget me, okay?”

Ricky’s eyes are still closed. His face looks soft with exhaustion, voice blurred around the edges with sleepiness, but there’s something painfully sincere in the way he says it. Like this is the thing that’s been haunting him underneath everything else. Not leaving itself, but becoming distant. Becoming blurry. Becoming something Gyuvin only remembers sometimes instead of all the time.

As if that could ever happen.

Gyuvin’s hand stills against Ricky’s side for a moment before he tightens his arm around him instinctively, pulling him closer.

“Never,” he says quietly.

The word leaves him too fast to even think about, because it’s true. There's no world where Gyuvin forgets Ricky. He thinks forgetting Ricky would be like forgetting how to breathe, or how to walk home, or what his own name sounds like. Impossible in a way that doesn’t even need considering.

Ricky hums softly at the answer. Maybe he’s satisfied with the answer, or maybe he doesn’t have the energy to nag Gyuvin more on it. The CD changes tracks with a faint click, and the room falls into silence as the next song starts quietly. Gyuvin’s eyes grow heavier by the second, every blink slower than the last. His hand slips past the zip-up Ricky’s still wearing, and underneath the hem of his shirt absentmindedly, resting warm against his stomach. The skin there is soft and warm underneath his palm, rising and falling steadily with each breath.

Ricky doesn’t comment on it, and if anything, he moves closer. Their legs tangle together above the sheets and blankets, messy and thoughtless from years of doing this exact thing over and over again. Sleepovers blurring together across summers and winters and weekends and school nights. Gyuvin suddenly can’t remember the first time they fell asleep beside each other like this.

He does, however, remember the first time he came over to Ricky’s house, and everything seemed so foreign. A new place to explore, and for little Gyuvin, everything was so big. He thinks back on it until it all but fades away in his head. The music grows fuzzier at the edges, and Ricky’s breathing evens out fully against his chest.

Gyuvin hopes to dream of Ricky and a never-ending summer, a container full of strawberries and the warm sun beating down on them. Ricky would lay his head in Gyuvin’s lap, and look up at him with the same snarky catty grin he’s always had. And if anyone came up to ask Gyuvin if he believed in heaven, he’d tell them of a boy named Shen Ricky.