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III/IV (2/2)

gentle bones jongbuttbutt 313190K 2023-11-02

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“You still remember those favours you owe me? Yeah great I’ll meet you at your apartment tomorrow okay? Dress your best. Like your ultimate best. Okay bye.”

Youngjae is terrible at phonecalls, that’s what Daehyun has learnt. And he regrets ever saying that he owes him favours because he’s sure Youngjae would milk him dry.

He waits for Youngjae at the foot of his apartment anyway, in a suit he hasn’t worn in years, and he finds himself face to face with Youngjae in a suit, half-laughing at him, half musing because wow you’re really here. “Of course I’m here,” Daehyun retorts because he isn’t used to wearing a tie very much and it’s making him snappy.

“Where are we going?” Daehyun panics when Youngjae ushers them both into a taxi and the boy tells the man an address he’s not too familiar with. But Youngjae shushes him and tells him it’s something important and Daehyun wonders what could be that important then he realises they’re dressed for-

“A wedding.” Daehyun nearly shouts, he’s confused and Youngjae tugging at his sleeves to hurry up isn’t helping. They walk past a sign that says ‘Yoo Youngwon & Han Ji Min’ in the most elaborate font possible. “You’re joking right?” The cab is still there, the man is counting his money and Daehyun has just enough time to hop back on and drive as far away from here as he wants.

“My brother is getting married.” Youngjae smiles as he signs the guestbook and places the invitation card in his hands addressed to Yoo Youngjae and a guest. “My parents wanted for me to bring a girl. Like that’s ever gonna happen.” Youngjae laughs and drags Daehyun off to where his parents were standing at the flower arch and greeting guests.

“Mom. Dad.” Youngjae greets, the air of defiance lingering in the weight of his words as he takes in his parents disapproval.

“Oh Youngjae, it’s you.” His mother says, but she focuses her attention instead on Daehyun who’s attempting to shrink himself behind Youngjae. “And who’s this?” she says, as her husband purses her lips into a fine line so much so that they disappear into his cheeks.

“This,” Youngjae pulls Daehyun forward and the brunette is now shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. “This is Daehyun.” He says simply and tells his parents that they have to take their seats soon.

“You brought me here to spite your parents?” Daehyun hisses when they’re sitting near the isles and Youngjae is wearing a smug expression on his face that he just wants to wipe clean.

“There’s sort of a party after, it’ll be fun.” Youngjae smiles and ruffles Daehyun’s hair, marvelling in his annoyance because Daehyun had been up especially early to fix his hair. He’s quiet for most of the ceremony, especially so when the groom sees him and looks at him then at Youngjae then at him incredulously and he just wants to disappear into the bathrooms forever. But he stays to watch Youngwon roll his eyes when Youngjae jokingly leans into Daehyun’s shoulder and snuggles up to him.

“He dragged you into this?” They’re at the party, the whole club was theirs and Youngwon had found them in the club and now he’s attempting to shout past the music. Daehyun nods vigorously and Youngjae almost looks betrayed.

“Well, since you’re here just try and have fun.” He pats Daehyun on his shoulder and Daehyun congratulates him on his wedding. Youngjae laughs at him after.

“What? It’s a normal thing to say at weddings.”

“Yes, but marriage is a curse. You should tell my brother to enjoy himself while it lasts.” Youngjae laughs, it sounds bright even past the heavy beats and distorted melodies.

He drags Daehyun to the dance floor somewhere in the middle of the night when they’re both buzzing after their fourth drinks when Youngjae is starting to find everything funny and Daehyun is too high to care about the strange stares they were getting from the other guests. When the music changes to something slower, Youngjae pulls Daehyun towards the bar but Daehyun stays rooted to the ground like he just thought of something. “We could dance,” he says and the words feel disjointed as they slip past his lips because he’s seeing the club convex and concave and burst into a myriad of colours. And Youngjae smiles, okay, he says softly, okay, he repeats as he stumbles towards Daehyun. They’re rocking back and forth awkwardly and they have stepped out of sync with the music but it doesn’t matter to either of them. “If you lean back, I’ll catch you.” Daehyun says as the song neared its end and Youngjae does just that and it feels funny but he’s laughing again and Daehyun just smiles because there’s that strange tugging at his heart again and he’s not too sure if it’s the alcohol. But he feels it again when they’re on their way home after dancing the whole night and Daehyun thanks Youngjae because really, he had fun and Youngjae is looking at him with that same mix of awe and leftover epinephrine.

And he feels it the next morning in the form of a headache and a text from Youngjae reminding him that he should probably take an Advil and have some soup.

It’s nine when Daehyun holds Himchan’s hand and leads him to the train station to catch the last train to Busan. It’s cold out and Daehyun should probably be studying for the test he has in a few days but they’re in the train and Himchan is trying to find the right words to describe the world as it passes his window in sheets of monochrome.

It’s past midnight and they’re on the beach, the wind is tearing at their skin and the waves come dangerously close to their bare feet.

“This is crazy.” Himchan laughs because his voice comes in stammers. He’s shivering from the cold dampness of the sand beneath his feet and Daehyun wraps his jacket over the both of them. They walk away from the shore and they stop when the water comes mid-way up their calves. Himchan looks at Daehyun and sees the first time they met.

“Daehyun,” he whispers and Daehyun hums a response. It’s quiet save for the gentle pull of the waves but they hear fireworks hidden in one another’s chests. “Just wanted to know it’s you.”

It is. Of course it is.

And Himchan forgets about the cold that’s seeping into his bones. They write the date in the sand. But Himchan was 21 and he doesn’t look back. He doesn’t see the waves flooding over the digits in the sand.

Youngjae has a strange fervour for claiming his favours in the most unconventional way possible. “We have to get drunk by noon. So drink up.” Youngjae chides as he orders another shot and pushes it towards Daehyun. And Daehyun obliges because bad ideas are always the best somehow.

“I’m all for doing stupid things but why are we doing this again?”

“I don’t know. It’s an experience I guess.” There’s a sliver of a sly smile on Youngjae’s lips and Daehyun just shakes his head and toys with the shot glass in his hand.

A man walks into the bar and Daehyun is about to tell Youngjae a pointless unfunny joke about a bald man who walks into a bar when the man starts shouting his orders at the waitress.

“Excuse me sir, but you don’t talk to people like that.” Youngjae stands to his feet and nearly knocks over the bar stool in the process and he’s trying to keep his balance as he walks towards the man. Fuck, Daehyun thinks because of all the people Youngjae chooses to pick a fight with he had to choose the biggest one.

The man shouts something incoherent at Youngjae but his posture remains defiant. His shoulders tense and his nose in the air and Daehyun thinks it’s adorable really. Stupid, yes. But adorable. Daehyun is on his feet when the man is about to stand and soon his hand is grabbing the collar of his shirt and he thanks whatever god there is up there that the last shot gave him just enough courage. And the man sits, leaving a very happy Youngjae trailing behind him back to their seats.

“You were great,” Youngjae is beaming now, “never knew you had it in you.”

Youngjae grabs Daehyun’s arm before he can continue and pulls him out the bar. “I feel like the defenders of justice right now. Like we could go off and solve crimes and avenge the weak and you could kill them all with your bare hands.” He’s literally bouncing and his hair slaps against his forehead.

“But for now I wanna play some Bingo.”

They arrive at the Bingo place and Daehyun thinks he’s probably never seen so many old people in one place before. “Why are we playing this game?” Daehyun bows awkwardly at the various people giving them awed looks.

“Because the nice old man who was admitted yesterday told me I should try it sometime. He said he goes with his wife sometimes. Did you know it’s apparently a very popular game amongst couples?”

Daehyun looks at Youngjae but he has his eyes trained on his card and Daehyun tries not to think much of anything Youngjae is saying because he’s evidently high from the way he shouts Bingo too loudly even when he has only two numbers marked out on his card.

The next time they go out they’re at the museum and Daehyun tries not to laugh when Youngjae squints his eyes and bends too far towards the exhibit to try and read what’s displayed. They’re on a museum date, as Youngjae calls it. And one part of Daehyun wants to reach out to hold Youngjae’s hand as they wander through the exhibits. And another part of him takes a hard fall when Youngjae asks him if he knew stag beetles have only one mate for life and that they would die after mating. Tragically beautiful isn’t it? They’re not even allowed to love any other beetle, they’d just die after loving one.

“I just fucking wanna be a beetle right now.” Youngjae says when they’re sitting on a bench in the textile and fabric exhibit (no one is usually there). “But then we wouldn’t have met if we really were stag beetles, would we.” He smiles and there’s a certain sadness behind that smile and Daehyun wants to do something, anything. But all he does is nod because it wouldn’t be right.

Yeah. Daehyun sighs. Pretty fucking tragic.

Himchan's stumbles across his favourite piece of writing on a forum review. He filters through the comments on the small, unimpressive cafe in Paris and he sees it- the mass of words and spaces under the string of words in itallics-

le temps des amoureux.

Lover's time. The man in the writing sits at the cafe, back turned towards the door and fingers tracing the warmth of his coffee cup. The smell clings to the threads of his shirt and he watches as the world passes before him behind the window. He presses the cup against his lips and the coffee burns his tongue. He cringes at the pain and he's reminded of the barbwire chain his wife has coiled around his heart when she left him. He sees her standing at the door, suitcase shabbily packed, face twisted in anger and disappointment and the realisation that their thirty years of marriage has boiled down to this moment. He lets her leave- he can no longer do anything to keep her. He remembers the vow he took in the chapel and thinks that maybe words weren't enough to carry their love that far.

Because time is erosive and people aren't made to last.

He takes another sip and he's young again, the ache in his bones has been lifted and his lungs aren't tattered by the winds. It's his wedding and he's dancing with his new wife. She has one end of her dress in her hand and her other hand on his shoulder and she's smiling at him. Even then she had something hidden behind her eyes that he couldn't read. He never did manage to figure out what it was until the day she left. The polka accelerates into a chorus of hot trumpets and saxes and he hasn't met his wife to be. He's watching as the girl dances like a fox around his chair and he's mesmerised. He takes her to his place that night and lets her stay the night. He wonders if that means anything- then again maybe not. Maybe it had been the second, third, fourth times that mattered.

He takes another sip and he hears the drawl of carnival music. The most beautiful girl he has ever seen is standing in front of him, her eyes as clear as the skies and she's holding his hand tight as they make their way through the throngs of people. She's wearing his school pin on her blouse and he feels dizzy. They kiss on the pier, with their legs hanging over the edge, the carnival screams behind them but it's quiet for a while and he feels the same potent silence in the café. When they pull apart he thinks maybe he can never find another person to love as much. Because people aren't made to last and he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. And in that moment, somewhere between first-kiss-nervousness and teenage infatuation, time freezes and she's here with him in the unseeming café. He's the scrawny boy who lives a little down the street and she's his first love- the only girl he's ever loved. She's laughing at something he did and he feels the same warmth burning in his chest. Time stops and the café waits in baited breath as he reaches out to hold her hand.

He does-

And this time he doesn't let go.

“What are you doing?” Himchan returns home to see Daehyun sitting on the ground in his balcony. He’s hollowing his cheeks and the light of the cigarette burns vivid orange. He coughs when he exhales and attempts to hide his cigarette when he sees Himchan but Himchan snatches the cigarette from his hand before he does something stupid. And it’s only then does he notice how tired Daehyun looks past the blurring trails of smoke. His breathing is shallow and he’s trying to retain the taste of nicotine on his tongue. “I’m sorry,” Daehyun’s smile is a sad one and Himchan feels his heart break.

“Oh Daehyun.” Himchan kneels in front of him, “oh baby. It doesn’t work like this.” He says and feels something inside him crumble irreversibly and he thinks it would be easy to end this, feel his body shatter as it hits the ground fourteen floors below. But he pulls Daehyun into a hug, and he sinks into the feeling but he feels himself teetering on the edge of something he cannot comprehend.

“I just want to remember again.” Daehyun sighs.

And he reminds himself just that when he’s kissing Himchan and their breathing clashes with the quietness of dusk and Himchan has to remind himself it’s dusk because he feels the sun burning behind his lids. Daehyun has him against the wall and Himchan’s hands are in his hair because Daehyun is leaving bruising purple marks from his neck down to his collarbone and it’s getting hard to stand on his feet. Daehyun tastes blood on his tongue when they pull apart to breathe and he wonders if they’ve always been this tactile and volatile. If they’ve always crashed and burned this violently. They’re bare to the skin now and Daehyun feels claustrophobic. He tries to connect the space between the void but all he sees is a path.

Daehyun closes his eyes and his body stiffens and Himchan tries to remember how they got this far in the first place. “Daehyun you don’t have to-“

I’m sorry. Daehyun apologises again and again and Himchan leaves red crescent marks on his wrist with pressure from his nails. He thinks about the things Youngjae had said to him and he would be glad to trade the notion of growing old with a quick and painless death in his sleep. The familiarity of skin on skin fades from the room and they’re standing amidst the backdrop of another forcast of winds and rain.

Daehyun.

And Daehyun doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know who he is anymore. He feels the trees growing in on him and they block out the limited amount of light coming from the streetlights behind the blinds.

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