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it was a summer like any other summer. it passed the way time only does when you are young -- slow as molasses but twice as sweet.
sometimes, hansol could have a week's worth of fun before breakfast. he had the freedom to escape to all his favorite places as long as he returned before dinnertime. he had just turned ten, you see, and got the gift of leniency alongside new tennis shoes.
the shoes cramped his toes -- his feet must have grown a little since the last time they’d gone into the city and had them measured -- but he didn’t really care. they were blue and yellow and had stars carved into the bottom so that with every step he took in the summer-caked dirt he left behind his own little constellation.
hansol loved the stars. he knew them by name the way some of the kids in his class knew basketball players or idol singers. and he was the luckiest boy in the entire world, because his dad knew everything about the stars and the solar system. and hansol didn’t even have to be sad that he moved away from his old school, with his friends and the yellow picnic tables, because the stars looked the same here in korea as they did in new york!
there was a curiosity inside of him that felt too big for his body. he wanted to learn everything about everything! and during the summer, his knowledge was no longer limited to the restricting topics his teacher seemed to drone on about, or the strange snickers he heard behind him whenever he spoke aloud, the new vocabulary in his father’s language still a little strange around the edges.
it was summer, and hansol didn’t have to worry about anything other than his mother’s exasperation as he typed the hundredth question he’d had today into the computer they all shared, curious curious curious. this and this and this, he read. he liked the sound of the keyboard -- click-clack-click -- and he liked the way the keys felt beneath his fingers, chunky and thick.
eventually, when his either his curiosity or his mother’s patience had reached their limit, hansol was off to the trees.
the world around him was full of sound -- some pleasant, like the keyboard, some less so -- but there, in the large expanse of forest behind his home, the world was just...quieter. a little sweeter. strange, in the best way possible, like something from the kind of stories his mother would tell him when he was sick.
the trees were tall things, older than he could begin to understand. he liked to press his palms to the bark and feel the ridges of them, solid and prickly against his skin. he walked between them and made up stories of his own. he spoke aloud and he didn’t have to worry about his accent or the way he blended his two languages together to make his own.
he was alone here -- his little sister was too young to care for this kind of play, yet -- but he never felt lonely. instead, he felt most like himself amongst the trees, as though there was something within them that he could find a kind of companion beside.
he’d stay outside all day if he could. he’d run inside and grab an orange off the kitchen table and sit on the forest floor and eat it piece by piece, savoring the sweetness. he’d bring a blanket and spread it out across the fallen leaves and read the latest installment of his favorite manga.
this was his time -- the time all other strange rules the rest of the world seemed to understand faded away into his own understanding -- and this was more precious to him than anything in the world.
one morning, his mother surprised him with a little picnic basket made up. she’d made him a sandwich, done up a little thermos of tea. and, in the middle of it, there was hansol's favorite of all -- two oranges, glistening in the heady summer sun.
hansol shoved one of his books underneath his arm and his feet into his shoes. he walked against the ground, leaving stars and the scent of citrus in his wake.
it was a beautiful day, the kind he had begun to take for granted. he was still too young to know that days like the one he stepped into then would one day be the stuff of nostalgia, the memories dripping with the taste of youth.
he sat on the sparse grass that grew between the thick roots of some of the greatest trees the forest had to offer. he sat carefully, a skill it seemed most other children had little care for.
he ate his sandwich quickly -- he couldn't help it, his mother had used his favorite bread and had remembered to cut it down the middle instead of diagonally -- which is it say it was absolutely perfect. the tea was warm when he drank it, not hot, and he felt a singular sort of joy rise up within him at the exactness of it.
he'd saved the oranges for last. he held them in his hands, savoring the rich color of them against all the green around him. he wanted to press them to his nose to smell them and so he did. he inhaled deeply -- this was one of his favorite smells, only just behind the scent of his dad's cologne on his wrists when he reached to tuck a strand of hansol's curled hair behind his ear or the smell of rain against pavement.
he drew them back from his face. he reached back towards the basket, to stash the second orange for later, and winced as one of the oranges slipped from his hold.
the orange slipped among the grass and leaves and, before he could reach to grab it, hansol watched as it began to roll away. he made a noise, startled and annoyed. his orange!
he tightened his hold on the remaining fruit and stood to his feet. he jogged after the thing, following it's movement as it darted between the trees. he was panting by the time it finally collided against a set of gnarled roots.
hansol exhaled gratefully. he took a few steps forward, then bent slightly and extended his hand...
his hand collided with someone else's. startled, he froze where he stood.
the hand that gripped the orange was around his size, but the fingers were longer and thinner than his own, pretty in a way he knew but couldn't describe.
hansol took a step back. his fingers squeezed the fruit in his hand nervously, as though he was sure whoever it was would take it from him. his gaze slowly rose from the pretty fingers to meet the eyes of a boy.
he was around hansol's age. his face was round in a way hansol's wasn't. softer, sweeter. his eyes were wide with surprise. they were darker than hansol's, almost black, and friendly. hansol liked the way this boy looked. he reminded him of a character from one of his books.
"who are you?" hansol asked.
the boy's brows furrowed. he dropped the orange from where he held it against his palm, a nervousness appearing in his eyes where there was friendliness just moments before.
ah, right. hansol spoke again, slipping into his father's language. "who are you?"
the boy's face cleared. he stood a little straighter. "seungkwan."
seungkwan. hansol liked the shapes his mouth made as he spoke it aloud. seung - kwan.
“you can have it,” hansol said. he pointed to the orange where it rested at the toes of the other boy’s shoes. “we can eat them together.”
the boy stared at hansol. he stared at the fruit. deciding something. then, he bent at the waist and palmed the thing, the fruit large against his fingers.
“i live here,” hansol said. he’d dug one of his fingernails at the top of the orange and was ripping the peel off in easy, precise movements.
“so do i,” the boy -- seungkwan -- said. he pointed towards the stretch of trees in front of them, thicker still. “just past there, with my grandma.”
hansol nodded. this was good. if the boy liked him enough, maybe they could be beneath the trees together. it seemed like a perfectly good way to spend the summer.
“you don’t go to my school,” hansol pointed out.
“probably not. my parents sent me here to go to a special school. my dad went when he was a kid. they still live back home, in jeju.”
hansol watched seungkwan’s fingers work at the fruit. he was messy, if it not a bit rushed. hansol wondered if they ate a lot of oranges in jeju. if so, he thought he might like to visit.
“i come here a lot,” hansol explained. “i like it because it’s quiet.”
seungkwan stuck another slice between his lips. “halmoni says i need to be quieter. i get in trouble at school a bit.” he looked up, a sheepish expression clouding his features. “i really love to sing.”
hansol nodded again. this was all very valuable information. he ate his orange methodically, piece by piece, because this was how he did it.
“i usually read after i eat,” he informed the boy. he held the book out in seungkwan’s direction, so that he could see the title.
“i don’t like to read,” seungkwan said. “it hurts my head.”
hansol shrugged. “you can sit here anyway, if you want.”
the boy looked at the roots, where hansol began to arrange himself comfortably, settling in to read a few chapters. “does it have to be very quiet when you read?”
hansol thought about this. he had long grown used to tucking himself into a corner somewhere on holidays, when his whole family crowded into the dining room, to read. he’d also been just fine reading while listening to his music via his headphones. “i can read while others talk or while listening to music,” he explained.
seungkwan nodded. his hair was longer than hansol’s, and a darker shade of brown. it fell into his eyes a bit, and he pushed it away constantly. hansol wasn’t sure if he registered the movement at all, or if it was automatic.
“can i sing?”
hansol considered this too. then, “yeah, that’s fine.”
seungkwan smiled at him then. it was a genuine thing, big and grateful. hansol felt himself smiling back instantly.
seungkwan opened his mouth and began to sing. it was a song hansol had heard plenty of times on the radio -- something undeniably korean, the sounds of it as comforting to him as the sound as his father’s voice on the phone -- but it sounded better coming from seungkwan than it had ever sounded from the speakers in his mother’s car.
hansol read the same page in his book over and over and over again, unable to process anything beside the rise and fall of seungkwan’s soft voice.
when the other boy was done, hansol began to clap. seungkwan turned to him then, a flush upon his cheeks, as though he’d been so into the song that he’d forgotten he had an audience.
seungkwan’s face seemed guarded. hansol recognized the expression, the subtle uptick of the boy’s lips that he could easilt flatten if needed. he wasn’t sure if hansol was poking fun at him with his applause or if he was genuine.
“you’re amazing,” hansol said, because it was the truth. “you should do that when you’re grown up. you know, like as a job.”
seungkwan shrugged. “halmoni says i’m too sensitive. that i’ll get hurt.”
hansol stared out in front of them. pretty soon, his mom would call him back. he’d have to eat dinner and listen to his parents talk about their days and he’d have to force his skin to fit him again. here, he could stretch and grown and exist larger than himself, like he was a god or a star.
“maybe you should do it anyway,” he said.
seungkwan shrugged. “maybe.” he leaned in a little closer. hansol could smell the oranges on his breath when he spoke. “how’s your book?”
hansol stared at the pages spread open on his lap. “it’s alright.” he looked back to seungkwan. “do you know any songs in english?”
seungkwan’s lips split into a smile. “lady gaga,” he said. “poker face.”
hansol nodded. he closed the book on his lap with a thud. “let’s hear it.”
when seungkwan began to sing this time, even the birds stopped their chirping, as though even they knew that the boy with the orange shirt and the long hair was something special.
hansol grinned.
this was the beginning.
hansol and seungkwan turned twelve. they grew taller and stranger, with limbs too long and voices too scratchy. their laughter echoed out against the trees as they told wild tales from their days at school. their words always seemed to break in the middle, and this sent a new wave of laughter out against the branches each time it happened.
their friendship seemed to be something so natural, so easy, that neither of them could believe that there was a time before they belonged to one another. when someone spoke of them, they said their names together -- hansolseungkwan -- seungkwanhansol.
the years passed quickly, as they seem to. there they were, at thirteen, sitting on the little couch in hansol’s room, thumbing through a book seungkwan’s mother sent and scribbling notes into the margins. there they were again, at fifteen, their faces turned towards each other’s as they shared the twin bed in seungkwan’s bedroom. they’d made a fuss about it, each pretending to hate the idea of closeness, and then once they’d fallen asleep, they pressed against each other like kittens, soft and sweet.
“i don’t know what i was thinking, wearing this,” seungkwan said. he was sixteen now, and was tugging at the hem of the thin t-shirt he’d thrown on once hansol mentioned the idea of popping into the forest for some fresh air. “i think i outgrew it.”
hansol stared at the thin sliver of skin visible. seungkwan’s fingers brushed against his stomach, long and thin, his nails making subtle indentations into the slight curve of his belly.
something inside of hansol began to burn. it was not like a forest fire, but rather like a row of candles being lit at an altar, an awed, fevered bout of understanding.
seungkwan turned to him, his lips parted to make some other complaint about his shirt or his hair or his grandma’s whining about both but, when he saw the look on hansol’s face, said nothing at all.
seungkwan stared at hansol. then, he moved his hands to his sides, as though allowing him to look. he smiled at hansol, wide and joyous.
this was also the beginning.
years later, it was summer again. june, to be exact.
they were in their forest, of course. seungkwan had brought one of the quilts he made, the blue and black one -- hansol’s favorite.
seungkwan sighed as he sat down, rubbing a hand at his hip. “bumped into one of the chairs at graduation,” he explained. “too many people.”
"i don't like people much," hansol said.
"you don't like me?"
hansol felt his cheeks burn a little hotter. "that's not what i said." he looked above them, at the gentle sway of the branches. "besides, you're not people. you're seungkwan."
his loud laughter echoed out among them. "i'm better then everyone, then?"
hansol nodded. "yes."
seungkwan stilled. he looked at hansol the way he always did when he was honest, as though he still wasn’t quite used to hearing the truth.
the leaves beneath them rustled with the wind. somewhere, a bird began to sing. it could have been ten years ago, but then again it could only be now -- seungkwan was taller, and his eyes, which were once softer around the edges, had hardened just slightly -- a telltale sign of a life that had not always been as kind as he was.
it was now, and hansol reached between them. he held out his hand. he waited. he was honest in this too -- he knew seungkwan had always known this. it was so easy to see how much he adored him. even seungkwan could not be surprised about this.
“i’m moving to the city,” seungkwan said. “they’re selling the house now that grandma’s gone.”
halmoni. hansol could still picture the sensation of her soft hands against his cheeks. her fingers always smelled of garlic.
“okay,” hansol said. seungkwan’s hand was still in his own. “i can take the train.”
seungkwan swallowed. his bottom lip quivered. “you hate the train.”
hansol quirked his head to the side. “you don’t want me to go to you?”
seungkwan shook his head. “it’s not that --"
“then i’ll take the train.”
“what if it’s not the same?”
seungkwan was visibly nervous now. hansol could feel the slick of his sweat where their palms met.
hansol leaned in a little closer. “it won’t be.”
“it doesn’t scare you?”
hansol watched seungkwan’s lips move around the words. he hated the city. he loved it. he supposed he hadn’t quite decided. you couldn’t see the stars as well -- but seungkwan would be there, and with him there, hansol didn’t need much else.
“i really like you,” he said. then, leaning a little closer. “what should i be scared of?”
seungkwan’s tongue darted between his lips. hansol followed the movement.
“you’re staring,” seungkwan said. “this is supposed to be a serious conversation.”
“okay,” hansol said. he thought of the first time they had met and how he had watched the juice from the orange he ate gather at the corners of his mouth. how beautiful it had been to learn all his preferences through one person.
“what are you thinking about?”
hansol shrugged. “you.”
seungkwan’s cheeks colored. “you can kiss me, you know. we’ve done it before.”
they had done it before. it was a chaste thing, more exploratory than anything. hansol didn’t want that this time. he wanted something more.
“i’ll visit you in the city,” he said. i love you, he meant.
“i’ll pick you up from the station. i’ll cook you something,” seungkwan said. this was: i love you too.
seungkwan’s gaze fell to hansol’s lips. they were chapped. he didn’t seem to mind.
“remember when you fell down that one summer and split your knee against the rocks near the creek?”
this was seungkwan. his voice was a little higher than hansol was used to.
“yes,” hansol said. it had hurt -- he cried.
“i know it’s strange, but i really wanted to kiss you then.”
hansol’s hand ghosted over his knee, as though feeling for the cut that had long scabbed over and healed. it’s funny -- he had remembered a strange expression across seungkwan’s face then. he thought he was scared of blood.
"want me to fall again?”
seungkwan looked at him incrediously. “i want you to kiss me.”
right. he could do that.
he took seungkwan’s face in his hands. his cheeks were warm to the touch, and soft, though he had lost most of the roundness there as he grew older.
his mouth was just as soft, plush as his cheeks. he tasted like the drink they’d shared, like sugar. seungkwan’s hands found his hair, and the skin between hansol’s shoulders pricked with something sacred.
“wow,” he said. he said it in english, and seungkwan laughed. the sound of it echoed.
seungkwan’s hand rested at his knees. hansol could feel his touch through his jeans. magic, he thought. all of it.
“what are you thinking now?” seungkwan asked.
“i should have done this ten years ago,” hansol said. he mourned each second he had lived without knowing what seungkwan tasted like.
seungkwan leaned in to kiss him again. he missed, kissing the skin to the side of hansol’s lips instead.
it was perfect. it was theirs. the moment stretched like their legs as they began to move together.
the trees shifted with them. together, hansol thought. the word echoed against his thoughts like a prayer -- one he knew would come true.
there was fate on his side when he dropped the orange to the ground all those years ago. he knew that now.
“what are you thinking?”
hansol blinked into the dying light. traced a finger down seungkwan’s neck the way he had always wanted to. “what my mother hadn’t packed me two oranges?”
seungkwan’s chest rose and fell with his breath. hansol watched it move with a reverance he was beginning to understand.
“i still would have found you,” he said.
hansol knew it was the truth.
he squeezed seungkwan’s hand in his own, grateful for the years anyway.