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“I’m looking right at it? Are you sure?”
“You should be.”
“And it’s… supposed to be a bear?”
“Yes.”
Thirteen-year-old Gi-hun squints into the telescope, trying his best to use his imagination. Sang-woo crosses his legs next to him, watching as his friend tries to be as careful as possible with his equipment. He can see Gi-hun’s tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in frustration, before the older boy flops back down into a sitting position on the floor with a huff.
“..I can’t see it. I can’t!”
“It’s okay.”
“How can you see it? I want to see it too.”
“I don’t know, you just have to focus and not lose them.” Sang-woo pushes his small glasses frames up his nose.
“I can’t believe you’re half-blind and can see it better than I can! How is that fair?!” Gi-hun expresses wildly with his hands. His oversized Dooly the Dinosaur t-shirt has a stain of who-knows-what at the hem of it.
Sang-woo chuckles at Gi-hun’s exasperation. He sits up on his knees and shuffles quietly over to the scope, taking Gi-hun’s place and peeking into it himself. A breeze blows over the small balcony they have it set up on. It wasn’t the best telescope, but it’s not like either of them had anything to compare it to. It was Sang-woo’s twelfth birthday gift. His party consisted of his mother, his closest family members, and Gi-hun. Gi-hun got him nothing but a plushie and a card, but Sang-woo remembers the plushie well. A year or so ago, the older boy jumped around in triumph for a whole minute after winning it in a claw machine – hugged the squid tight to his chest and vowed to never lose it. Sang-woo watched and clapped his hands with a grin on his face.
Sang-woo now clutches it in the corner of his elbow as they inspect the night sky together.
“What is it, again? Urs- Ursula?”
“Ursa Major.”
“Ursa Major! I was close!”
“You were, hyung.”
Sang-woo traces The Big Dipper with his eyes intently before sitting back with Gi-hun. He sets the squid in his lap and looks up at the sky in full. Gi-hun yawns and rests his weight on his arms planted on the floor behind his back.
“You read too many books. I can’t keep up with you.”
Sang-woo’s lips twitch with a smile.
“In school, or on the battlefield.”
Gi-hun grabs a pillow and hits Sang-woo with it playfully, making sure to be mindful of his glasses. Sang-woo giggles and puts his arms up in defense.
“Our scores are even right now, you bastard!”
“Calm down, and put my mom’s pillow down!”
Gi-hun pouts and sets it down gently, not wanting to disappoint Sang-woo’s mother in the slightest. Speak of the angel, and she’s poking her head into the room where they’re having their sleepover.
“What’s that about my pillows?”
The boys snap their heads around to the sound of her voice and place their hands in their laps innocently.
“Nothing, Eomma.”
“Being gentle with them!”
The woman chuckles softly at the two of them.
“You better be. It’s getting late. Close that door and start going to sleep, okay? I don’t need either of you getting sick.”
The boys nod and stand to close up the balcony before settling into their respective sleeping bags, which are worn and well-used.
“Thank you. Goodnight, you two!”
“Night.”
“Night!”
Once Sang-woo’s mother leaves, they both let a few moments of silence pass. The darkness of the room swallows them up and leaves them to focus on the crickets.
Eventually, Gi-hun sits straight up and turns to face where Sang-woo lays. Sang-woo feels the birthday social exhaustion in his limbs and stays in his sleeping bag, but turns on his side where Gi-hun is looking at him. Grinning at him.
“What?”
Gi-hun shrugs, rocks side-to-side slowly.
“Remember the campground?”
“Of course.”
“And the bunk beds?”
“It wasn’t very long ago, hyung.”
“I know.”
Silence washes over them again. Gi-hun looks over to the balcony doors, a small smile remaining on his face.
“I wish we had that telescope while we were there. Maybe I would’ve been able to see the bear better, huh? Where the skies are clearer?”
Sang-woo watches the moonlight trace the lines of Gi-hun’s face. He was thinning out a bit, lately. Visibly older, taller. Growing into his skin. He looks nice. He doesn’t blame some of the girls in their grade for finding him cute. It’s strange, though, to hear what they say after Sang-woo’s known him since he was chubby and stupid. It doesn’t feel like they know what they’re talking about.
“You’ll see it someday, hyung.”
The other boy turns to face him again, long curls bouncing with the motion. The expression on his face screams nothing short of hopeful.
“I will. Just like you.” He slightly raises a fist with conviction. “And I’ll study even more constellations, even more than you. And we’ll see who can’t keep up then!”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Whatever.”
Gi-hun finally settles into his sleeping bag, grabbing Sang-woo’s mother’s pillow and keeping his arms underneath it as he places his head down. Him and Sang-woo still face each other, but Gi-hun closes his eyes.
Sang-woo’s own eyes flicker down to the squid in his arms. He traces his finger over one of the marble eyeballs.
“Hyung?”
“Mm?”
Sang-woo spaces out as he stares at the squid.
“Do you think we’ll stay friends through high school?”
Gi-hun’s eyes flutter open and he squints, studying Sang-woo’s face. He adjusts his head on the pillow so that he can look at him better.
“What’s making you think about that?”
“Just answer.”
Gi-hun clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and sits up to look Sang-woo in the eyes.
“People always say that thing to scare people, about breaking apart in high school. If we just promise to stick together, we’ll be fine. We don’t have to be like everybody else. We’re best friends.”
Sang-woo’s eyes trace Gi-hun’s determined expression as he speaks so passionately. Gi-hun does this sometimes, where he talks as if he has experience. As if he knows what he’s doing, when he’s only a little over a year older than the other. Sang-woo wishes he could be so sure about things like that sometimes. So blindly optimistic. But the sureness in Gi-hun’s voice brings him comfort anyway. Before he can let anything else bubble up in his throat, he nods up at Gi-hun in agreement.
“You’re right.”
He releases one of his arms from inside the sleeping bag and reaches out his pinkie finger.
“We stick together.”
Gi-hun’s close-mouthed smile reaches all the way up to his ears as he takes Sang-woo’s pinkie finger with his own.
“Promise?”
“Yes, hyung. Promise.”
“You still can’t fucking-”
“I am trying my best, okay, I swear!”
“Oh my go-”
Gi-hun pulls away from the telescope and takes another swig of the soju bottle in his hand. Sang-woo is chuckling next to him, both equally as flushed and tipsy as the other.
“I don’t think drinking more will help you, here.”
“No, you listen!” Gi-hun points his hand in Sang-woo’s face with the bottle dangling from his fingers. “There’s a strategy here. If I get dizzy enough, maybe it’ll all blur together and be perfect-”
“Jagiya.”
“Whaaaat?”
Sang-woo scoffs and takes another sip of his own soju, sitting with his legs to the side and watching Gi-hun once again try his best to find the constellation. Their apartment was small, but didn’t feel suffocating in the slightest. They each had just enough space for one another. Sure, they survived by the skin of their teeth, but it was easier together than alone. Not perfect. Still a big mess. They try their best, anyway.
When they were apartment hunting, they never let a balcony escape their requirement list. No balcony, no deal.
Sang-woo feels his blinking begin to slow, and he gazes at Gi-hun’s frustrated babblings with increased relaxation. It’s been a long day, but Gi-hun still insisted they drink and carry through with their tradition. This time, it was Sang-woo’s thirty-fifth birthday, and his circle of people celebrating has grown significantly smaller over the decades. Not that he minds at all. That’s how life goes. He’s too old for a party anyway.
Gi-hun’s gift was a dinner more expensive than usual, while wearing something nicer than usual. And a card, of course. Sang-woo was pleased. It was hard for Sang-woo to find any semblance of joy or contentment for a very long time. But Gi-hun had this tendency to make everything make sense.
He rubs his eyes under his glasses and gently places a hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder.
“Come on, give it a rest. You’re surely going to break it again.”
“Ohhh, come on, I broke that thing ages ago! How many times do I have to say sorry?”
“You don’t. Just don’t break this one, too.”
“Agghhhh..”
Gi-hun reluctantly lets go of the telescope and sits with Sang-woo, closer than they ever dared to get as kids. He sways with the force of it, a satiated smile making his face glow.
Sang-woo sets his bottle down and leans into Gi-hun’s side tiredly. He feels Gi-hun’s slow breath against the top of his hair, the ghost of lips at his forehead. It feels like one of those meditation metronomes that lulls you to sleep. Gi-hun’s hand comes around his shoulders and squeezes him gently. His eyes go back to the stars.
“Tell me about the one you like. The one nobody knows.”
Sang-woo lets out a half-chuckle half-scoff. He shivers a little, his pajamas not nearly thick enough to keep him toasty outside.
“Fornax. The Chemical Furnace. Named after a chemist.”
“A chemist. So cool.”
Sang-woo just laughs through his nose and tilts his head into the crook of Gi-hun’s neck.
“You’re so easily pleased.”
“I just like it when you talk about things I have no idea about!”
“Mm.” Sang-woo presses a kiss behind Gi-hun’s ear. He thinks about how much smaller the man’s neck used to look. It’s funny how he never really noticed how thick it got. Like staring at bread while it bakes, or trying to watch the moon move through the night. You never see it in motion. You just blink, and it’s new. He brings a hand up to sluggishly trace the moles there.
Gi-hun shivers under Sang-woo’s fingers, only slightly ticklish. Gi-hun knows that if he touched the other man in the same spot, Sang-woo would curl into a ball and use every single limb to try and push his lover away. It was nice, knowing things about each other like that. But it was nothing new. Gi-hun’s known that since elementary school.
“We should sleep soon. Can we?” Sang-woo pulls away from their embrace and looks up at Gi-hun with a face that isn’t intentionally pleading, he swears. He’s just genuinely tired. He knows that Gi-hun’s heart clenches in his chest, though, when his shoulders hike up and the redness of his face intensifies. All these years, and Gi-hun’s still like a teenager. Just with wrinkles and aching joints.
Despite those aching joints, he nods and gets to his feet, helping Sang-woo up in tow. He’ll pick up the bottles in the morning. If he were stable enough to carry his boyfriend like a prince, he absolutely would. Instead, he keeps Sang-woo’s sleepy frame glued into his shoulder as he shuts the balcony doors and guides him to their shared bedroom. He keeps the warm lamplight on as they slip under the duvet and face each other in bed.
Gi-hun’s grinning at him again. Sang-woo’s eyes struggle to stay open.
“What now?”
The curly-headed man leans in and presses a chaste kiss to Sang-woo’s soju-tasting lips.
“Middle age suits you.” He brings his hands up to gently remove Sang-woo’s glasses and reach behind him to place them on the bedside table.
Sang-woo’s face twitches with the compliment and he’s left with only a small smile. He really was nearing the middle, wasn’t he? The middle of his life, and nothing has gone remotely according to plan.
But things were still good.
They stuck together, like Gi-hun promised they would. And things just… worked out.
Once Gi-hun settles back into bed, Sang-woo brings a hand up to hold his slightly hollow cheek. He brings their faces in again for a firmer kiss. It’s warm and comfortable, like the reassurance of blind hope. It’s promises and days spent as kids, tearing each other apart in competitive sport. It’s days spent camping, laughing it up by the fireplace.
Once they pull apart, Gi-hun’s eyes are tracing Sang-woo’s face earnestly.
“I love you, jagiya. Happy birthday.”
Sang-woo’s face feels warm as the corners of his mouth lift.
“I love you too.”
And they rest.
All he can do is stare at it. Because what else is there to do? There it is.
A great bear.
It’s Sang-woo’s forty-seventh birthday, he has forty-five billion won in his possession, and there it is.
Sixty stars. He sees it.
Gi-hun clutches the stuffed squid to his chest, and heads back inside. He closes the balcony doors, and goes to the bedroom.
And there’s no laughter.
No hand at the back of his neck.
No glasses on the nightstand.
No obscure constellation that only someone like Sang-woo would hold any significance to.
No mother to check on him.
Just crickets, and rain.
Gi-hun goes to sleep.