I stared at my phone as the bus came to a stop, allowing more passengers on. I was waiting for him to text me. He said he would when he met up with everyone else. Ten minutes is all he’d need, he said. He was just around the corner, he said. Now, twenty minutes had passed, and I received neither a single letter nor emoticon from him. 

My first thought was: maybe he got lost? 

He has the tendency to zone out for long periods of time. He’ll stare on at something, and yet nothing at all, getting lost in his — in all actuality, thoughtless — thoughts. But, surely, if I contacted him first, he’d take offense. 

“I’m not a child, I’m a twenty-one-year-old university student majoring in Computer science. I’m pretty sure I can follow directions as simple as ‘turn right at the intersection.’”

He’d say.

“Admittedly, I got lost for around 5 minutes after I passed the mall by the subway station, but I’m fine now. Really, I am.”

He’d sigh.

“Okay, should I just wait for you somewhere? I’m next to a coffee shop. I know you don’t drink coffee, but surely they sell something besides coffee. Surely, right? Anyway, I’ll see you soon.”

He’d eventually concede.

That’s Do Kyungsoo for you, the twenty-one-year-old university student majoring in Computer science with a knack for spacing out and refusing to admit he’s wrong. At the behest of his friends and family that he needed to start working out before all the food he’d inhale while in front of a computer began to build up, he took “Introduction to Modern Dance” this semester. And, by some rare, almost fateful coincidence, I was TA-ing for it at the behest of one of my professors.

In brief: He .

To extrapolate: He’s attended every single tutoring session so far this semester. 

It’d be a wonder if we didn’t become fast friends. 

It was a given that I wanted to meet my group of friends that existed outside of Sara, Jongin, and Sehun today at the get-together we have once every two weeks.

It was nearly impossible, really, as the bus took off, and I received a text message from him at long last. 

“Some tall guy with red hair keeps staring at me. Is that him? What should I do?”

And I texted:

“Stand up and wave him over, shame be damned.”

His reply was swift:

“Hell no.”

“You know what I love the most about being your friend?” Kyungsoo leaned back into his seat at my side, arms crossed against his chest, “You gleefully laugh at my pain, thoroughly enjoying every second of embarrassment you cause me.”

“It’s partly your fault.” I argued back, taking a sip of water to calm my still trembling throat.

“How so?”

“You make it easy, Mr. Pink Stockings.” I shrugged, bringing up the first day of class when he showed up in what he believed to be the “dress code.” Stockings dyed pink in the wash. Though, I’m not sure how much better white would have been. “They were my sister’s!” He still proclaims to this day. Once more, he was failing to make the situation any easier for himself. 

“In my opinion, you’ve got it easy.” 

Kyungsoo’s attention was diverted away from me, his eyes falling upon the “tall boy” who had been staring at him not long ago — all because of the beautifully accurate description of an uncomfortable-in-his-surroundings Kyungsoo looking like a “deer caught in headlights” to him earlier today. 

“She calls me Elf Boy,” he revealed, long fingers reaching up to tug at the top of his ears.

“Like the Lord of the Rings, kind of elf? Like Legolas who can single-handedly kill hoard upon hoard of goblins, kind of elf?” Kyungsoo set out to clarify, large eyes lighting up with child-like excitement. He nodded, and Kyungsoo scoffed, “Your argument is invalid. I’d take being an elf over being pictured in an eternal pair of pink stockings any day.”

“What’d I tell you?” I smiled his, Park Chanyeol’s, way. 

“Everything but the fact that your new friend’s got a way with words that almost rivals your own.” Chanyeol laughed, complimenting me in a twisted, roundabout kind of way. At least, I took it as a compliment. At least is truly the least I could do for myself. 

“Chanyeol!” A woman at the counter of the bistro finally yelled out, his order that set out to feed over eight people taking much longer to prepare than expected. With a smile and a gesture of his hand, he left Kyungsoo and I to ourselves while he retrieved our food.

“Well, aren’t you obvious?” Was the first thing Kyungsoo said as soon as Chanyeol was out of earshot of us.

Taking another sip of water, I shrugged for the second time, “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“So you’ll be busy all Summer, then?” Chanyeol asked before chewing down onto his club sandwich, ignoring the utensils provided to him by the woman at the counter — because who cuts their sandwich into neat little pieces with a knife and fork before eating it? 

Kyungsoo does, apparently. 

“That’s right,” he nodded, proceeding to delicately stab a stack of chicken, bread, lettuce, and a sauce I still didn’t know the name of — no matter how many get-togethers I had had at this place — right after. “There are local internships aplenty for my major.”

“We’ll be busy ourselves, won’t we?” I felt someone’s knee bump against mine, its owner being none other than Kim Jongin. I nodded, opting on dedicating my mouth to something much more inciting than talking: eating. He, seemingly understanding my sentiments, laughed and proceeded to explain himself since I wasn’t up to the task, “There’s a Dance Festival in New York a professor of ours recommended us to. We’ll be flying up there at the end of May.” 

We’d be trained under a number of dance companies during our stay, all culminating in a final performance at the festival itself. Jongin was beyond excited. I was just as. The fact that both of us put together could barely make it in any single english-speaking establishment we visited was besides the point. Because, according to Jongin, “Dance is a universal language.” 

To which I replied, “I hope the same can be said for hunger.” 

“That’s awesome,” was Chanyeol’s gut response. Completely and utterly sincere. As though it really was the epitome of “awesome.” As though Chanyeol’s definition of the word went even higher than that. Beyond that. So much greater than just that. 

Or, maybe I’m reading into that smile too much. Or, maybe “maybe” doesn’t matter.

At this point, by this day in the middle of April, during my fourth year at my university, I’ve stopped entertaining “maybes.” They’ve become too ambiguous, filled much too much to the brim with uncertainty, for my tastes. 

Either way, my preferences aside, my upcoming summer plans were, without a doubt, “awesome.”

“Says the guy who’s interning for multiple photography companies in the greater Seoul area.” Oh Sehun spoke up from beside him, stuffing his face shamelessly — Kyungsoo could really learn a thing or two from him. “You just graduated and people would gladly jump through rings of fire to hire you. Pretty ‘awesome’ if you ask me.” 

It’s one of Chanyeol’s strong points though: using words like “awesome” and “beautiful” so easily. Making the weight of the world on everyone’s shoulders feel lighter. Seeing the entire spectrum presented by each and every moment with only two eyes and a camera lens. 

Before I could defend him, reflexively and obviously, Kyungsoo interjected first. 

“Says the guy who’s my tag-along on my own internship.” 

The table shook and Sehun visibly winced, meaning Kyungsoo had delivered a proper kick to his shin for his wayward complaints. As Kyungsoo stared on at him, silently threatening to do it again, having no qualms about causing the younger boy pain, Sehun grinned through clenched teeth.

“And I couldn’t be happier to spend even more time with you than I’m already forced into.”

Sehun earned another hit for that, but his plight would be shelved for now, to be reexamined at a later time, as Baekhyun and Sara entered the small bistro. 

All smiles.

Hand in hand.

And nothing could have been more “awesome.”

“Who is she and what has she done with the real Sara?”

“My sentiments exactly,” I said with a laugh, watching my feet in their stride, one foot in front of the other. Wondering how much longer we’d, Chanyeol and I, be able to walk together like this. Wishing I could slow down time to make this moment last just a little bit longer. 

I slowed my steps instead, feigning innocence when he asked, “Tired?” with inquisitive eyes scanning over me in worry. 

Shaking my head, I diverted his attention back to our conversation, eager to distract him in any way, shape, or form, “Her precious Baekhyun — who, may I add, was the farthest thing from a priority for her just last Fall — decides he’s going to work for a public works contractor in England for the entire summer and she’s giving him all her thumbs up and more for him to leave.”

“Hold on for a little longer. We’ll get you home soon.” He ignored my words, hands stuffed in his pockets, messenger bag bouncing against his leg that peeked out from underneath his heavy jacket with every step — it was a cold Spring this year. “I’m just glad everything worked out for them, you know?” 

I nodded, agreeing completely, before clearing my throat, mumbling out a word of “thanks” to him for noticing the bags — that I thought you said wasn’t the least bit noticeable with the help of a little bottle of magic called BB cream, Sara — under my eyes. I had been busy lately. With this and that. With preparing for summer, graduation, and the like. I hadn’t been sleeping well. 

Though I certainly didn’t want him to know that. 

Because he’d feel bad for me, being who he is.

He’d walk me home, to my parent’s house where I was staying this weekend, like he was now — precisely because he felt bad, no doubt. Though Kyungsoo deciding he’d not walk me back instead played a large part in his decision to do so, I’m sure. Still, I didn’t want that. I didn’t want this. 

Pity is something I don’t need.

But he’s too good to help himself. 

Yet another bad quality that’s not bad in the least. 

“Suho got the lunch shift at the station today of all days.” He suddenly said after a long period of silence that wasn’t awkward in the least, “You, Sehun, and Jongin asked me why he couldn’t come earlier, but then Baekhyun said something funny and the topic of conversation kind of derailed itself.”

The way we all met forgettably unforgettable Kim Suho, a police officer at the station right behind the traditional market, squished between a restaurant and the same ice cream parlor Chanyeol adored, this past January couldn’t have been more ridiculous. He took to us and us to him almost immediately. In the end, we only got a stern lecture for our, admittedly, juvenile misgiving. Usually, being the upstanding, fatherly twenty-five year old that he was, he paid for our food whenever we’d get together. 

Thus the reason Jongin and Sehun complained as Chanyeol proposed to divvy up the bill for today. 

“I figured as much. He wouldn’t miss our biweekly meetings,” I put hand quotes around the latter two words, saying the phrase in the monotone, business-like fashion Suho always used when he said it — and, honestly, he’s the only one who says it, “for the world.” 

“It’s the highlight of his every-other-week.”

We laughed, too blinded by the street lights to make eye contact while doing so. 

“It was nice meeting the infamous Kyungsoo though. He was a lot funnier than you made him out to be.” He added, pursing his lips as though he wasn’t sure whether Kyungsoo’s humor was funny, or if he didn’t understand it to such an absurd amount that it inevitably became so.

“Wasn’t he? Besides the fact that he keeps tight reins on Sehun’s predisposition to act like a five-year-old,” I pointed his way, “his words, not mine,” and he laughed again, “he’s pretty swell in his own right.”

“I know you laughed when Baekhyun asked you, but you’re really not dating him?” He asked this in too light a manner for me to take him seriously. 

“Believe me, I’ve tried,” I threw my hands into the air, huffing out, “His standards are unexplainably high.”

He believed me for a single second. For a brief moment, he thought this was just another confession I was spilling onto him — my personal psychologist. I could tell from the way his feet slowed and he looked at me head on, despite the blinding lights that surrounded us.

“I’m joking.” I spoke shakily, fighting against the urge to apologize for doing this to him for the umpteenth time, even though I hadn’t chased after Kyungsoo affections at all, “About the first part, at least.”

I was too busy chasing someone else. 

And he was standing still, coming to a stop in his stride, right there. Tall and proud, all the colors the world over in his eyes, smiling, he said, “Well, I wish I were joking when I say that we have arrived, safe and sound, at your humble abode.” 

“Well, lookie here, we have!” I exclaimed in mock surprise as I glanced over my shoulder, much to his own amusement.

“See you in two weeks,” he waved from a place a few feet in front of me, “if I’m not too busy doing other, much more important, things anyway.”

I know he wasn’t serious, but my eyes felt like crying reflexively. 

“I’m joking.” He said before I could, noticing my eyes in that way I didn’t want him to again.

“About the first part, at least.” He laughed. 

“Believe me when I say you’re a priority in the life of this humble intern.” He joked again, much to my own displeasure.

But I was okay with that statement, even if he didn’t provide an explanation as to why. I was okay with that single claim alone, taking all I could get. 

“And you in mine.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else, words I never heard and couldn’t even begin to imagine as I interrupted him, blurting it out at the prospect of the short distance that would separate us until we met again, two weeks later. At the long distance of an entire summer close at hand.

“I like you.” 

His smile went crooked, as though an eraser had smudged it sideways. The seconds I counted as I waited for a reaction, for a twitch or flinch of any kind, were too numerous to enumerate. I didn’t feel brave or shameless. I felt like running away. 

But I was too scared to move. 

Because until I had said it, I didn’t consider the possibility that I’d be rejected.

That he’d say he didn’t feel the same way. That, after everything, I had destroyed the one relationship I had sealed away because I knew I would eventually. But, most of all, I feared his next word. That single, empty, “I’d rather not address your statement, so I’ll just apathetically agree with you,” response.

“Okay.”

I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t say it was “okay” too — because it wasn’t. I was just stuck there as he stood in front of me. There was just nothing I could do. Just, nothing.  Just, saying and doing something I can’t remember anymore. And then he just smiled down at me, an unchangeable expression that carved itself onto my own face.

And that was that.

I didn’t see him for two more seasons after that. Until Winter came and I thought about him again — a memory almost lost to me. Until I could barely feel the hole in my chest — gaping with a shredded rim. 

I said goodbye to him, never expecting to meet him again.

But, quite obviously, I did. 

Let me tell you about that future time, let me skip the order of things just this once, because I’m afraid if I stop talking about him, stop thinking about him for even a single moment as I did then, it’d be like he was never here to begin with.

A/N: Even though this chapter turned out differently than I thought it would by the end of it, I feel like it transitions quite nicely into what happens in the next. Inpsired by Gumi's Donut Hole. I'll see you all again soon!