i only stick with you, (because there are no others).

❝ wounds can heal over time, but not this one. not when you have came back into my life. help me heal. ❞

or,

martin edwards and kim juhoon used to be childhood friends, but with their new university room allotment, they have to adjust, and slowly grow into eachother's company again.

✴︎ ๋࣭ ⭑

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1: i'm going back to 505..

Chapter Text

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

˚ 　 . 　 ⁺ 　∿　i stick with you, (because there are no others).　 𓂂　　○

a maju fic.

⋆

٠ ࣪⭑

disclaimer ; this is a work of fiction and this means nothing to the actual idols.

cw : underage smoking, language, and innuedo.

٠࣪⭑

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

Summer, 2014.

The playground was loud in the way only a playground could be.

Children screamed as though the concept of an indoor voice had never been invented. Swings squeaked rhythmically, rust protesting against metal every few seconds. Somewhere beyond the fence, a dog barked with relentless determination, apparently engaged in a personal war against the entire neighborhood.

The sun hung high over Seoul, turning the rubber flooring beneath the playground equipment warm enough to fry an egg if someone was stupid enough to try. A few exhausted parents sat beneath the shade of nearby trees, scrolling through their phones while pretending to supervise.

Kim Juhoon sat on a wooden bench.

At six years old, he already looked vaguely disappointed by the world.

His dark hair fell neatly across his forehead. His legs swung slightly above the ground because the bench was still a little too tall for him. Resting on his lap was a thick dinosaur encyclopedia that was very obviously not intended for a first grader.

Most children his age enjoyed cartoons.

Juhoon enjoyed reading about prehistoric extinction events.

His mother called him gifted.

His father called him disciplined.

His homeroom teacher called him unusually mature.

Martin Edwards Park called him a nerd.

The title depended entirely on who was speaking.

Juhoon carefully turned a page.

"According to current evidence," he read quietly to himself, "the Tyrannosaurus Rex possessed one of the strongest bite forces among terrestrial animals."

He nodded.

That seemed reasonable.

Above him came a loud yell.

"JUHOON!"

Juhoon looked up.

Martin was hanging upside down from the monkey bars.

Again.

His legs were hooked around one of the bars while the rest of him dangled freely toward the ground.

His black hair hung upside down.

His face was bright red.

He looked ridiculous.

"Look at me!"

"I am."

Martin grinned.

"No, like really look."

Juhoon stared for three seconds.

"I looked."

Martin seemed satisfied.

"Cool."

Juhoon returned to his book.

This arrangement had existed for almost a year now.

Martin did something questionable.

Juhoon observed.

Sometimes he intervened.

Most of the time he simply waited for consequences to arrive naturally.

The consequences usually arrived very quickly.

A few moments passed peacefully.

Then came another shout.

"JUHOON!"

He sighed.

Looked up again.

Martin was now attempting to swing between bars using only one hand.

"Do you think monkeys get dizzy?"

"What?"

"Monkeys."

Martin swung dramatically.

"Do they get dizzy?"

Juhoon considered this.

"I don't know."

"Hm."

Martin swung again.

"I think they probably don't."

"Okay."

"Because if they did, evolution would've fixed it."

Juhoon blinked.

Martin was six.

Where had he even heard the word evolution?

Before he could ask, Martin had already moved on to something else.

Now he was singing.

Not a real song.

Just random words.

"Banana monkey superhero dinosaur pizzaaaa..."

His voice echoed through the playground.

Several nearby children looked concerned.

Juhoon returned to reading.

There were some battles not worth fighting.

A warm breeze stirred the pages of his book.

For a few minutes everything remained peaceful.

Normal.

Predictable.

Then Martin shouted the four words that would later become infamous throughout their entire friendship.

"JUHOON-AH, LOOK AT THIS."

Juhoon looked up automatically.

A mistake.

A terrible mistake.

Martin had somehow climbed onto the highest section of the monkey bars.

One hand was holding the metal.

The other was spread dramatically outward.

For balance, apparently.

Or perhaps for theatrical effect.

With Martin, it was difficult to tell.

His grin widened.

"Watch this."

"No."

"Watch."

"No."

Martin attempted something that was probably intended to be a spin.

Instead, his hand slipped.

The world paused.

For one horrible second, everything became strangely silent.

Even the playground seemed to hold its breath.

Martin's eyes widened.

Juhoon's eyes widened.

Gravity, unfortunately, remained committed to its responsibilities.

Martin fell.

There was a loud thump.

A beat of silence.

Then:

"AAAAHHHHH!"

And that wasn't an exaggeration.

Half the playground turned.

A nearby toddler started crying in sympathy.

Martin sat on the ground clutching his knee.

You would have thought a medieval knight had struck him down during battle.

The injury itself was barely larger than a coin.

A tiny scrape.

A little blood.

Nothing serious.

Martin reacted as though he had suffered catastrophic organ failure.

"MY LEG!"

Juhoon stared.

"Your leg is still there."

"IT HURTS!"

"It got scraped."

"I'M DYING!"

"You aren't."

Martin continued screaming.

Several concerned adults looked over.

One mother actually stood up.

Juhoon raised a hand.

"It's okay."

The mother sat back down.

Apparently there was something reassuring about a six-year-old saying it's okay.

Juhoon closed his dinosaur encyclopedia.

Carefully slid a bookmark between the pages.

Then stood.

His parents had packed him an emergency pouch before leaving the house.

Because Kim parents believed preparation was not merely important.

Preparation was a lifestyle.

The pouch contained enough medical supplies to survive a minor apocalypse.

Wet wipes.

Bandages.

Antiseptic.

Tissues.

Even hand sanitizer.

Juhoon knelt beside Martin.

The younger boy was still making sounds that resembled a dying ambulance.

"Stop moving."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I can't."

"You can."

Martin sniffled.

"...Okay."

Juhoon pulled out a wet wipe.

Carefully cleaned the scrape.

Martin winced dramatically.

Then came the antiseptic.

The moment it touched his knee, Martin nearly ascended into another dimension.

"OWWWWW!"

"It disinfects it."

"IT STINGS!"

"It's supposed to."

"WHY?"

Juhoon considered the question.

"I don't know."

Martin stared at him.

"You don't know?"

"No."

"Oh."

The honesty somehow made him calmer.

Juhoon carefully finished cleaning the scrape.

Then he opened a small box of bandages.

Most were plain.

One wasn't.

It had a green triceratops on it.

Juhoon immediately selected that one.

Obviously.

He pressed it gently over the scrape.

"There."

Martin looked down.

Sniffled.

Examined the dinosaur.

The crying slowed.

Then stopped completely.

A miracle.

He stared at the bandage.

Then at Juhoon.

Then back at the bandage.

His expression became increasingly awestruck.

"It's a dinosaur."

"Yes."

"A triceratops."

"Yes."

Martin looked genuinely touched.

Like Juhoon had personally gifted him a winning lottery ticket.

For several moments neither spoke.

The breeze drifted through the playground.

Children laughed somewhere behind them.

Then Juhoon remembered something.

He opened his dinosaur encyclopedia.

Carefully reached between two pages.

Pulled out a sticker.

Spider-Man.

Bright red and blue.

Slightly bent at one corner.

He handed it over.

Martin stared.

His mouth slowly fell open.

"No way."

Juhoon shrugged.

"I had two."

Martin accepted it with both hands.

Like receiving a sacred relic.

Like archaeologists had just uncovered an ancient treasure.

Like the sticker contained the answers to the universe.

His eyes sparkled.

Juhoon suspected Spider-Man could probably convince Martin to commit tax fraud if asked politely.

A long silence followed.

Martin stared at the sticker.

Then at the bandage.

Then at Juhoon.

Something seemed to click inside his head.

His expression became unexpectedly serious.

Very serious.

The kind of seriousness only children could achieve.

The type that felt completely genuine despite being attached to the world's smallest face.

"We're best friends now."

Juhoon blinked.

"We were already friends."

Martin immediately shook his head.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

He pointed dramatically.

His finger nearly poked Juhoon's nose.

"You were just friend."

"Just friend."

"Yeah."

Martin nodded solemnly.

"Now you're best friend."

The declaration hung in the air.

Simple.

Certain.

As unquestionable as gravity.

As unquestionable as summer.

Juhoon stared at him.

Then laughed.

A real laugh.

Bright and clear.

The sound surprised even him.

Martin immediately grinned.

Mission accomplished.

"Okay."

That was all.

One word.

One tiny acceptance.

And just like that, his fate was sealed.

Neither of them knew it.

Neither could possibly know.

They were only six.

The future still stretched endlessly ahead of them.

Filled with years they couldn't imagine yet.

Filled with songs not yet written.

Promises not yet made.

Heartbreaks not yet survived.

For now, there was only a playground.

A dinosaur bandage.

A Spider-Man sticker.

And two boys sitting together beneath the summer sun.

Martin climbed onto the bench beside him.

Immediately began showing the bandage to every passing child.

"Look."

Nobody looked.

"LOOK."

A boy glanced over.

"Cool."

Martin beamed as though he'd received national recognition.

Meanwhile, Juhoon reopened his encyclopedia.

He turned to the page he'd left off.

Martin leaned closer.

"What are you reading?"

"Dinosaurs."

"I know that."

Juhoon pointed to an illustration.

"This one had feathers."

Martin gasped.

"No way."

"Yes."

"Like a chicken?"

"Kind of."

Martin looked horrified.

"A dinosaur chicken."

"Maybe."

"That's so stupid."

Juhoon nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah."

Martin considered this for several seconds.

Then burst out laughing.

Soon Juhoon was laughing too.

The dog beyond the fence barked again.

The swings continued squeaking.

The afternoon sunlight stretched lazily across the playground.

And somewhere between dinosaur facts and Spider-Man stickers, between scraped knees and impossible promises, something small and important quietly began.

The beginning rarely announces itself.

Sometimes it arrives looking like destiny.

Sometimes it arrives looking like tragedy.

And sometimes, it arrives as a loud little boy falling off monkey bars while his future best friend patches him back together.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Summer, 2016.

Heat settled over Seoul like a curse.

The air outside seemed to have given up entirely. Not a single leaf moved on the trees beyond the apartment window. The sky was a violent shade of blue, cloudless and merciless, while sunlight poured through the glass in thick golden slabs that made everything look hotter than it already was.

The air conditioner in Martin's apartment was working.

Technically.

In practice, it sounded like it was fighting for its life.

Every few minutes it made a noise resembling a dying lawnmower before reluctantly producing a weak stream of cool air.

It was not enough.

Nothing was enough.

Not on a day like this.

Martin lay upside down on the living room floor.

His legs were hanging off the couch.

His head rested against the carpet.

His arms were spread dramatically beside him.

He looked like a fallen warrior after a particularly disappointing battle.

Beside him, Juhoon lay in almost the exact same position.

The difference was that Juhoon somehow managed to look dignified while doing it.

They stared silently at the ceiling.

A fan rotated above them.

Slowly.

Mockingly.

Neither boy had spoken for almost ten minutes.

This was unusual.

Martin was physically incapable of being quiet under normal circumstances.

The heat had temporarily defeated him.

Finally, Martin groaned.

It was the kind of groan usually heard from people paying taxes.

"I think I'm melting."

Juhoon blinked slowly.

"Okay."

"I think my organs are melting."

"That's probably not happening."

Martin turned his head.

"How do you know?"

Juhoon considered this.

"I don't."

"Exactly."

The conversation died immediately.

A tragic victim of the temperature.

Three minutes passed.

Martin groaned again.

Juhoon groaned too.

Not because he was suffering quite as dramatically.

Mostly because it felt appropriate.

The living room fell silent once more.

Then footsteps approached.

Martin's father appeared in the doorway carrying a glass of iced coffee.

He stopped.

Looked at the boys.

Looked at the ceiling.

Looked back at the boys.

The scene spoke for itself.

"Wow."

Neither child moved.

"That bad?"

Martin let out another miserable groan.

Juhoon contributed one of his own.

Mr. Edwards nodded.

"Yeah, okay."

Then he disappeared.

The boys continued staring at the ceiling.

Martin spoke.

"Do you think we're dying?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"You ask that a lot."

Before Martin could answer, footsteps returned.

Mr. Edwards walked back into the room carrying an old laptop.

Immediately, both boys sat up.

Martin narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"What is that?"

"A cure."

"A cure?"

"A temporary one."

Mr. Edwards dropped onto the couch.

The laptop landed on the coffee table.

Martin crawled forward immediately.

Juhoon followed.

Unlike Martin, who approached most situations like an excited golden retriever, Juhoon looked cautiously curious.

Mr. Edwards opened the laptop.

The screen flickered to life.

A few clicks followed.

A program began downloading.

Martin leaned so close his nose almost touched the screen.

"What is it?"

"Music software."

Martin's eyes widened.

"Like songs?"

"Like making songs."

Silence.

Then:

"WE CAN MAKE SONGS?"

Juhoon visibly sat up straighter.

Mr. Edwards smiled.

"Sure."

"What if we're bad?"

"You will be."

"Okay."

"That's part of it."

The download finished.

A strange looking interface filled the screen.

Neither boy understood a single thing they were looking at.

There were buttons.

Tracks.

Windows.

Numbers.

Knobs.

Patterns.

Enough confusing symbols to launch a rocket into orbit.

Mr. Edwards stood.

"Have fun."

Then he left.

Just like that.

No instructions.

No guidance.

Simply abandoned two eight year olds in front of digital music software.

History would later prove this to be a terrible idea.

For approximately five seconds, neither moved.

Then Martin clicked something.

A drum sound exploded from the speakers.

Both boys screamed.

Then immediately started laughing.

Martin clicked it again.

BOOM.

Again.

BOOM.

Again.

BOOM.

Again.

BOOM.

Juhoon covered his ears.

"Stop."

"No."

BOOM.

"Martin."

BOOM.

"Martin."

BOOM.

"This is awesome."

"It sounds like construction."

"It sounds like music."

"It doesn't."

Martin clicked another button.

A piano appeared.

Another click.

A bass sound.

Another click.

Something resembling an alien being attacked by bees.

Both boys froze.

The alien noise played again.

Then again.

For reasons neither could explain, it became the funniest thing they'd ever heard.

Martin collapsed sideways laughing.

Juhoon nearly dropped the mouse.

The noise continued.

WEEEEEOOOONK.

"I'm crying."

"It's so stupid."

"Play it again."

Juhoon played it again.

Ten minutes later, things had somehow become even worse.

The project file now contained..

Three unrelated drum loops.

One piano.

A bassline that sounded drunk.

The alien noise.

And approximately seventeen accidental mistakes.

Martin loved every second.

The idea that sounds could simply appear from nowhere fascinated him.

He clicked buttons endlessly.

Experimented with everything.

Pressed things he definitely wasn't supposed to press.

Whenever a new sound appeared, he reacted as though witnessing magic.

Meanwhile, something strange happened beside him.

Juhoon started figuring things out.

At first it was small.

A pattern here.

A shortcut there.

An understanding of how loops connected.

Then twenty minutes passed.

Suddenly he was dragging notes into place.

Adjusting timings.

Changing instruments.

Actually making things sound better.

Martin stared.

"How do you know how to do that?"

Juhoon shrugged.

"I don't know."

"You do."

"I kind of guessed."

"What."

Juhoon clicked another button.

A simple melody played.

Martin's jaw dropped.

The melody wasn't amazing.

It wasn't revolutionary.

But unlike everything else they'd made so far, it actually sounded intentional.

Martin looked genuinely offended.

"Why are you good at everything?"

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

Juhoon ignored him.

Martin dramatically flopped onto the carpet.

"This is discrimination."

"Against who?"

"Me."

"Okay."

Martin pointed accusingly.

"You don't even look surprised."

"I guessed you'd say that."

"This friendship is becoming toxic."

Juhoon nodded.

"Probably."

Martin immediately started laughing.

An idea suddenly appeared in his head.

Dangerous.

Powerful.

World changing.

At least according to Martin.

"We should make a real song."

Juhoon glanced up.

"A real song?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"I don't know."

That had never stopped Martin before.

So they began.

The first song.

Or at least their interpretation of one.

Martin handled the important responsibilities.

Which meant making random noises.

And shouting suggestions.

And being aggressively enthusiastic.

Juhoon handled the actual work.

The melody slowly grew.

A few piano notes.

Then more.

Then a strange bassline.

Then drums.

Martin insisted the drums needed to be louder.

Juhoon disagreed.

Martin won.

The drums became louder.

Tragically louder.

Then came vocals.

A decision that should never have been approved.

Martin grabbed a hairbrush.

His chosen microphone.

Juhoon did not stop him.

This would prove to be a mistake.

Martin cleared his throat dramatically.

Then began singing.

The result sounded less like music and more like someone being chased.

His lyrics consisted almost entirely of things he could see around him.

"THE COUCHHHHHH."

Beat.

"THE FANNNNNN."

Beat.

"THE AIR CONDITIONERRRRRRR."

Juhoon laughed so hard he accidentally hit the wrong key.

The piano suddenly sounded possessed.

Martin pointed excitedly.

"KEEP THAT."

"No."

"KEEP IT."

Against all logic, they kept it.

Then Martin began beatboxing.

Terribly.

Then making fake guitar noises.

Then pretending to be a rockstar.

Then yelling random words.

At one point he simply screamed "DINOSAUR" into the recording, like the annoying little pig from Peppa Pig that he mocked.

Neither knew why.

Neither removed it.

The song continued growing.

Getting worse.

Then somehow getting better.

Then immediately getting worse again.

When they finally finished, both boys stared at the screen.

Sweaty.

Exhausted.

Proud.

The track was barely two minutes long.

Objectively, it was awful.

The drums were too loud.

The bass was fighting for its life.

The vocals sounded criminal.

The dinosaur scream appeared three separate times.

It was possibly the worst song ever created.

Martin pressed play.

The speakers erupted.

The boys listened.

And listened.

By the end, Martin looked emotional.

Juhoon looked emotional too.

Not because the song was good.

Because they had made it.

Together.

Martin wiped away an imaginary tear.

"Jju."

Juhoon blinked.

"What?"

"Jju."

"What does that mean?"

Martin pointed at him.

"You."

"My name is Juhoon."

"Yeah, but Jju is shorter."

"By one syllable."

"It's cooler."

Juhoon stared.

Martin stared back.

The nickname settled into existence.

Completely uninvited.

Entirely permanent.

"...Okay."

Martin grinned.

"Cool."

Twenty minutes later they dragged Mr. Edwards into the living room.

He sat down.

The boys stood beside the laptop.

Straight-backed.

Serious.

Waiting.

Like respected composers unveiling a masterpiece.

Martin pressed play.

The song began.

The couch lyric arrived.

Then the fan lyric.

Then the dinosaur scream.

Then the fake guitar noises.

Then the alien sound.

Then another dinosaur scream.

Mr. Edwards' expression underwent several complicated emotions.

Confusion.

Concern.

Pride.

Suppressed laughter.

A spiritual crisis.

The song ended.

Silence filled the room.

Martin and Juhoon stared at him expectantly.

Waiting for judgment.

Waiting for glory.

Waiting for history.

He pressed his lips together.

Very carefully.

Very bravely.

Then he nodded.

"Hm."

Martin leaned forward.

"Hm what?"

Mr. Edwards looked at them.

"It certainly exists."

The boys gasped.

A compliment.

A huge one.

They immediately started celebrating.

Mr. Edwards finally lost the battle.

He laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch.

The boys didn't even care.

Because he was laughing.

Which obviously meant he loved it.

That evening, long after the sun began sinking beyond the apartment buildings, the song continued playing.

Again.

And again.

The boys sat on the floor laughing every time Martin's dinosaur scream appeared.

Neither got tired of it.

Neither wanted to stop.

Outside, summer slowly drifted toward evening.

Inside, hidden among terrible vocals and broken rhythms and accidental melodies, two futures quietly took shape.

A producer.

A medicine student.

Two best friends.

And one catastrophically awful song that, to them, sounded perfect.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Spring, 2019.

The night felt strange.

Not bad.

Not good.

Just strange.

Like the world had shifted slightly to the left without telling anyone.

Outside, rain tapped softly against Martin's bedroom window. The city beyond the glass glowed in distant oranges and whites, apartment buildings stacked against the darkness like illuminated shoeboxes. Somewhere below, a car passed through wet streets. The sound faded almost immediately.

Inside, everything was quiet.

Far too quiet.

That alone should have worried Juhoon.

Martin was rarely quiet.

At eleven years old, Martin possessed the remarkable ability to generate noise from absolutely nothing. Silence generally meant one of two things.

Either he was asleep.

Or something was wrong.

Unfortunately, he was very much awake.

The sleepover had begun normally.

Pizza boxes still sat abandoned on the floor.

A basketball rested near the desk after a brief and deeply unsuccessful attempt to play indoors.

They had spent an hour arguing over whether a Tyrannosaurus Rex could defeat a tank.

Martin maintained that dinosaurs could defeat almost anything through confidence alone.

Juhoon maintained that Martin was stupid.

Martin had accepted this as a compliment.

Normal.

Everything had been normal.

Yet now, close to midnight, Martin sat cross-legged beside him on the bed, staring at the laptop screen without actually looking at it.

The room was illuminated only by the pale blue glow of the monitor.

It painted shadows beneath their eyes.

Made everything feel softer.

Further away.

Juhoon noticed immediately.

Because he always noticed.

That was the problem.

Or perhaps it was the gift.

Sometimes those were the same thing.

Martin wasn't fidgeting.

Wasn't talking.

Wasn't humming.

Wasn't making sound effects for absolutely no reason.

He was simply staring.

Thinking.

Juhoon closed the dinosaur article he'd been reading.

Not because he'd finished it.

Because Martin was being weird.

And Martin being weird usually required intervention.

"You've been quiet."

Martin didn't answer immediately.

The rain continued tapping against the window.

The laptop fan hummed softly.

A distant siren wailed somewhere beyond the apartment building.

Eventually Martin spoke.

"Yeah."

A pause.

Then:

"I guess."

Juhoon narrowed his eyes.

That wasn't a real answer.

"Why?"

Martin picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

The movement looked nervous.

Juhoon didn't like that.

Martin wasn't supposed to look nervous.

Martin was supposed to jump off furniture and suffer the consequences later.

The silence stretched.

Then stretched longer.

Until finally, he spoke.

"My family is moving."

The words settled softly between them.

Juhoon blinked.

"Oh."

Moving.

That wasn't unusual.

People moved all the time.

Maybe another apartment.

Maybe a different district.

A slightly longer bus ride.

Annoying.

But manageable.

He nodded.

"Where?"

Martin swallowed.

The hesitation lasted only a second.

But it felt strangely heavy.

"Canada."

Everything stopped.

Not literally.

The rain still fell.

The laptop still hummed.

The city still existed.

But something inside Juhoon stalled.

Canada.

Not another apartment.

Not another neighborhood.

Not another school district.

Canada.

The country Martin's father came from.

The place half his relatives lived.

The place across an ocean.

Across continents.

Across everything.

The word landed like a brick thrown through a window.

For a moment Juhoon simply stared.

Certain he'd misunderstood.

"You mean..."

Martin looked away.

"We're moving to Ottawa."

The room suddenly felt colder.

The rain sounded louder.

The laptop screen seemed too bright.

Too blue.

Too artificial.

Juhoon knew what Ottawa was.

He read a lot.

Sometimes too much.

Enough to know that Ottawa was not nearby.

Enough to know that you couldn't take a bus there.

Or a train.

Or ask your parents to drive you.

The distance felt impossible.

His chest tightened.

A strange feeling.

One he couldn't name.

Children often feel emotions long before they learn the vocabulary necessary to describe them.

All Juhoon knew was that something hurt.

"When?"

His voice sounded smaller than usual.

Martin looked down.

"A month."

A month.

Thirty-one days.

Four weeks.

An amount of time that had always sounded enormous.

Until now.

Now it sounded horrifyingly short.

"Oh."

That was all Juhoon said.

Just oh.

Because what else was there?

How was an eleven-year-old supposed to respond to losing the person who occupied nearly every corner of his childhood?

There wasn't a guidebook for that.

No dinosaur encyclopedia chapter titled What To Do When Your Best Friend Is Moving Across The Planet.

The silence returned.

This one felt different.

Fragile.

Like thin ice.

Eventually Juhoon asked:

"Why?"

"My dad got offered work there."

"Oh."

"And my grandparents and cousins live there."

"Oh."

"My mom thought it'd be good."

"Oh."

Martin sighed.

"You keep saying oh."

Juhoon shrugged.

"What else am I supposed to say?"

Martin didn't answer.

Because he didn't know either.

Neither of them did.

They were eleven.

Not philosophers.

Not adults.

Just children sitting in a dark room trying to understand something too large for them.

The rain continued outside.

Soft.

Endless.

A few minutes passed.

Then Martin quietly asked,

"Are you mad?"

The question startled him.

Juhoon looked over.

Martin was staring at the floor.

Suddenly looking much younger than eleven.

"You think I'm mad at you?"

"A little."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

Martin rubbed the back of his neck.

"You do that thing."

"What thing?"

"The thing where you get quiet."

Juhoon considered this.

Fair.

He did do that.

Martin always noticed too.

Apparently their friendship was built entirely upon mutual surveillance.

"I'm not mad."

"Really?"

"Really."

A pause.

Then, the dark haired boy finally spoke.

"I hate it though."

The honesty slipped out before he could stop it.

Martin looked relieved.

Oddly relieved.

As though hearing that was somehow better.

"Me too."

Neither said anything for a while.

Then Martin flopped backward onto the bed.

Juhoon followed a moment later.

Soon they were lying side by side beneath the glow of the laptop screen.

Shoulders touching.

The familiar comfort of it.

Neither moved away.

Neither ever did.

Their hands eventually found each other somewhere between conversations.

Not dramatic.

Not deliberate.

Just natural.

The way children hold onto things they don't want to lose.

Their fingers intertwined.

Neither commented on it.

The night stretched onward.

And because neither knew how to say I'm scared of losing you, they talked about everything else instead.

Dinosaurs.

Obviously.

That conversation lasted twenty minutes.

Martin still refused to accept feathered dinosaurs.

Juhoon continued presenting evidence.

Neither convinced the other.

Then school.

Teachers.

Homework.

The annoying kid in math class.

Basketball.

Martin claimed he could dunk someday.

Juhoon immediately called him delusional.

Martin called him a hater.

Future careers.

Martin wanted to make music.

Not just play it.

Make it.

Create songs people could listen to.

Songs that stayed inside people's heads.

Juhoon wanted to be a doctor.

Or maybe a writer.

Or maybe both.

Martin insisted that sounded impossible.

Juhoon insisted he'd figure it out.

Eventually they began discussing aliens.

Because of course they did.

"Statistically they probably exist."

"Statistically you're annoying."

"That's not how statistics work."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Martin sighed dramatically.

"You're so smart."

"You say that like it's a disease."

"It kind of is."

The conversation drifted.

Hours passed.

The city outside slowly grew quieter.

Rain became mist.

Cars disappeared.

The night deepened.

Still neither slept.

Eventually Martin sat up.

An idea clearly forming.

Dangerous.

Usually life-changing.

"What if we make a song?"

Juhoon immediately laughed.

"The last one sounded like a hostage situation."

"It had artistic value."

"It had dinosaur screaming."

"It had emotion."

"It had crimes."

Martin grinned.

"Come on."

And because Martin had never once accepted defeat in his entire life, they opened FL Studio.

Again.

The familiar software glowed on the screen.

Comforting now.

Almost nostalgic.

A strange thought for two eleven-year-olds.

They worked for hours.

Martin handled lyrics.

A horrifying decision.

Juhoon handled most of the actual music.

A much safer one.

The resulting song was somehow slightly better than their previous efforts.

Which wasn't saying much.

Martin insisted on recording a dramatic spoken-word section.

Juhoon nearly deleted it.

Martin physically stopped him.

A compromise was reached.

The spoken-word section survived.

Barely.

At three in the morning they finally finished.

The file needed a name.

This led to another argument.

"What about Final Song?"

"No."

"Best Song Ever?"

"No."

"Canada Sucks?"

Martin laughed.

Then stopped laughing.

A brief shadow crossed his face.

Juhoon immediately regretted it.

Fortunately Martin recovered first.

"What about..."

He thought for a moment.

Then grinned.

"'DO NOT DELETE OR WE CRY.'"

Juhoon stared.

"That's stupid."

"Exactly."

A beat.

Then..

"It works."

So they saved it.

DO_NOT_DELETE_OR_WE_CRY_FINAL_FINAL_REAL_THIS_TIME.

A masterpiece.

The fucking Beethoven's Ninth Symphony of the twenty-first century.

Both the title and the disaster contained within it.

The laptop remained open between them.

The finished song sitting safely in its folder.

Neither spoke for a while.

Then Martin quietly said..

"We'll still make songs."

Juhoon looked over.

"Yeah."

"I'll send you files."

"Okay."

"You can add stuff."

"Okay."

"We'll still talk every day."

"Okay."

"We'll call."

"Okay."

"We'll text."

"Okay."

"Nothing's gonna change."

The words hung in the darkness.

Soft.

Hopeful.

Heartbreaking.

Because they believed them.

That was the cruelest part.

Neither was lying.

Neither was making promises they intended to break.

Children possess an extraordinary faith in forever.

They genuinely believed friendship could outrun oceans.

That time zones were inconveniences.

That distance was temporary.

That love, in all its forms, was enough.

Maybe it should have been.

The rain finally stopped sometime before dawn.

The city remained asleep.

The room glowed faintly blue.

Martin yawned.

Juhoon yawned too.

Their intertwined hands remained exactly where they were.

Neither noticed when sleep finally arrived.

Or perhaps they did.

Perhaps they simply pretended not to.

Because morning would come eventually.

And with it, the countdown.

One month.

Thirty-one days.

Four weeks.

An entire lifetime.

And nowhere near enough.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

The Last Month

At first, they thought a month was a long time.

Thirty-one days.

Four weeks.

Seven hundred and forty-four hours.

An amount so enormous that it seemed impossible to reach the end of it.

Then the days started moving.

And suddenly time became a thief.

The first week disappeared before either of them noticed.

Spring settled over Seoul in soft greens and pale sunlight. Cherry blossoms bloomed recklessly across sidewalks and parks, scattering petals into the wind like confetti from a celebration neither boy wanted to attend.

Every morning, Martin woke up one day closer to leaving.

Every morning, Juhoon woke up pretending not to count.

Neither talked about it much.

Instead, they became experts at avoiding the obvious.

Which, unfortunately, is what children do best.

So they filled every available second.

Every hour.

Every minute.

Every moment they could steal.

The bike rides came first.

Martin had somehow convinced himself that speed solved emotional problems.

This theory remained unsupported by science.

Yet every afternoon they flew down neighborhood streets on their bicycles, racing through narrow roads lined with convenience stores and apartment buildings, their laughter echoing behind them.

Martin never rode normally.

He stood on the pedals.

Lifted his hands off the handlebars.

Attempted tricks he had absolutely no business attempting.

Nearly crashed into a mailbox.

Actually crashed into a bush.

Declared the bush responsible.

Juhoon watched from the side of the road.

"You hit it."

"The bush moved."

"The bush was a plant."

"It was hostile."

"It was photosynthesizing."

Martin pointed dramatically.

"Exactly."

Juhoon nearly fell off his bicycle laughing.

The next day they visited an arcade.

A terrible financial decision.

Mostly because Martin possessed the competitive instincts of a Victorian duelist.

He refused to lose.

Especially against Juhoon.

Unfortunately, Juhoon was annoyingly good at almost everything.

By the third basketball machine game, Martin had become convinced the machine itself favored Juhoon.

"This is corruption."

"You missed."

"The hoop moved."

"The hoop is attached to the machine."

"Then the machine moved."

Juhoon handed him another token.

"Try again."

Martin narrowed his eyes.

"You sound smug."

"I am."

The fourth attempt somehow went worse.

The fifth ended with Martin accidentally throwing the ball backward.

Juhoon laughed so hard he had to sit down.

Martin spent the next ten minutes pretending not to be offended.

The prize tickets they won collectively amounted to almost nothing.

A plastic dinosaur.

Three lollipops.

A pencil shaped like a banana.

Martin declared them rich.

Juhoon allowed this delusion.

The corner stores became routine.

Neither needed anything.

That was never the point.

The old owner eventually stopped asking if they planned on buying something.

They always did.

Eventually.

Usually.

Sometimes.

Martin would spend fifteen minutes debating snacks like he was selecting a future spouse.

Juhoon would stand beside him reading drink labels.

Martin would hold up Cheetos.

"What about these?"

"No."

Another bag.

"These?"

"No."

Another.

"No."

"Do you like anything?"

"Water."

"You're unbelievable."

They always left carrying armfuls of snacks anyway.

Neither remembered half of what they'd bought.

The receipt usually looked concerning.

The shared earphones became their own kind of ritual.

One earbud each.

Shoulders brushing together on buses.

Park benches.

Playgrounds.

Apartment stairwells.

Everywhere.

Martin talked through half the songs.

Juhoon complained every time.

Martin ignored him.

Naturally.

"Listen to this part."

"I am."

"No, like actually listen."

"I am literally listening."

"No, emotionally."

Juhoon turned slowly.

"What does that mean?"

Martin didn't know.

He never knew.

He simply felt things first and figured them out later.

Sometimes not at all.

The songs became memories before they became nostalgia.

Certain melodies attached themselves permanently to specific afternoons.

Specific conversations.

Specific moments.

Years later neither would be able to hear some tracks without remembering exactly where they had been standing.

The human brain is cruel that way.

Music becomes a time machine when you least expect it.

The songs continued too.

Not good songs.

Never good songs.

But theirs.

That mattered more.

Martin filled folders with ridiculous file names.

JUHOON_STOP_DELETING_MY_MASTERPIECES.

DINOSAUR_CORE_FINAL.

ACTUAL_AWESUM_MUSIC_V4.

NOT_CLICKBAIT_SONG.

Every project contained questionable decisions.

Every project contained laughter.

Every project contained two boys trying desperately to leave pieces of themselves behind for the future.

Neither understood that yet.

One evening, Martin's older sister walked into the room during recording.

A mistake.

A terrible mistake.

Martin had just finished singing.

Very dramatically.

Very badly.

The silence afterward lasted exactly two seconds.

Then his noona started laughing.

Not polite laughter.

Not restrained laughter.

The kind of laughter that folds people in half.

Martin looked horrified.

"Noona!"

She pointed at the speakers.

"What was that?"

"It was art."

"It sounded like a cat experiencing taxes."

Juhoon immediately fell over laughing.

Martin looked betrayed.

"You too?"

"You sounded kind of terrible."

His noona high-fived Juhoon.

Martin nearly disowned both of them.

The turtle arrived three weeks before the move.

A tiny thing.

Small enough to fit comfortably in Juhoon's hands.

His parents had surprised him after months of pleading.

Martin immediately became obsessed.

The turtle spent its first hour being stared at.

The second hour being admired.

The third hour being subjected to increasingly terrible naming suggestions.

"Godzilla."

"No."

"Tank, like the My Little Pony turtle!"

"No."

"Megatron the ninth."

"No."

"Destroyer Of Worlds."

"No."

Martin sighed dramatically.

"You're no fun."

The turtle blinked slowly.

Judgmentally.

Juhoon stared down at it.

Then smiled slightly.

A rare smile.

Small and genuine.

"What about Choco?"

Martin paused.

The turtle continued existing.

Quietly.

Peacefully.

Unlike the two children holding him.

"...Choco."

"Yeah."

Martin considered it.

Then nodded.

"Okay."

The name stuck.

Just like that.

As simple as breathing.

Years later, Choco would still be there.

A tiny survivor carrying pieces of a childhood neither boy managed to keep.

The football matches happened whenever the weather allowed.

The local field became theirs.

Martin ran like a man possessed.

Juhoon ran like someone who actually knew what he was doing.

The difference mattered.

A lot.

Martin scored dramatically.

Celebrated dramatically.

Lost dramatically.

Everything about him operated at maximum volume.

One afternoon he tripped over absolutely nothing.

The grass itself seemed confused.

Juhoon stood over him.

"You okay?"

Martin remained face-down.

"I've been murdered."

"By what?"

"The ground."

"The ground?"

"It attacked first."

Juhoon offered a hand.

Martin took it.

Neither let go immediately.

The moment passed quietly.

Like most important moments do.

The sticker trading happened during the final two weeks.

Neither had fully outgrown collecting them.

They simply pretended they had.

Martin still carried random stickers everywhere.

Spider-Man.

Bands.

Dinosaurs.

Cartoons.

Random nonsense.

His collection looked like several unrelated hobbies had collided violently.

Juhoon's collection was significantly more organized.

Naturally.

One afternoon Martin handed over an entire sheet of dinosaur stickers.

Juhoon accepted them without comment.

Three seconds later Martin received a Spider-Man sheet in return.

Neither acknowledged the exchange.

Some things didn't require discussion.

Then came the friendship bracelets.

Perhaps the most dangerous development of all.

Martin discovered bracelet-making through a craft kit his sister had abandoned.

Immediately, he became unbearable.

Every available surface soon contained embroidery thread.

The apartment looked like a rainbow had exploded.

Martin sat cross-legged on the floor concentrating so intensely one would think he was performing surgery.

Juhoon watched from the couch.

Suspicious.

"What are you doing?"

"A secret."

"It's bracelets."

"It's a surprise bracelet."

"That's still a bracelet."

Martin pointed.

"Stop ruining the magic."

The first bracelet looked terrible.

The second looked worse.

The third accidentally tied itself into a knot that appeared mathematically impossible.

The fourth succeeded.

Mostly.

Blue thread.

Green thread.

A little uneven.

A little messy.

Entirely sincere.

Martin shoved it into Juhoon's hands.

"There."

Juhoon stared at it.

"It's ugly."

Martin gasped.

"It's handmade."

"It looks like it fought somebody."

"It has character."

Juhoon looked away to hide his smile.

"I guess."

"You're wearing it."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Five minutes later it was around his wrist.

Martin looked victorious.

Juhoon pretended not to notice.

The bracelet remained there.

Day after day.

The final week arrived too quickly.

Then the final few days.

The scenes became shorter.

Smaller.

Faster.

Like pages turning.

A bicycle ride.

A football match.

A convenience store.

Another song.

Another sunset.

Another shared pair of earphones.

Another laugh.

Another memory.

Another day gone forever.

Soon the apartment contained moving boxes.

Then more moving boxes.

Then even more.

Martin's room slowly began disappearing.

Posters vanished.

Books disappeared.

Shelves emptied.

The evidence accumulated quietly.

Proof.

Evidence.

Confirmation.

The move was real.

No amount of pretending could change that.

The final three days passed in a blur.

The final two disappeared entirely.

Then suddenly there was only one left.

One day.

Twenty-four hours.

One final sleep.

One final sunrise.

One final goodbye waiting patiently at the end of it all.

Neither talked about it.

Not really.

Because talking about endings makes them real.

And neither boy was ready for reality.

Not yet.

Not when there was still one more day left.

Not when they could still pretend time wasn't running out.

Not when tomorrow hadn't arrived.

Yet.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Incheon Airport,

Age Eleven.

The day arrived anyway.

It turned out that time did not care about promises.

Or denial.

Or eleven-year-old boys who desperately wished the world would wait a little longer.

The morning came grey and quiet.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles over a house after all the laughter has already happened.

Martin woke up before his alarm.

Juhoon did too.

Neither texted first.

Neither knew what to say.

What exactly was there to say?

Good morning.

See you later.

Don't leave.

The first two were easy.

The third one sat heavily in their throats.

Unspoken.

The drive to Incheon Airport felt strangely short.

Everything felt strangely short now.

Roads they had travelled hundreds of times seemed compressed somehow.

The city blurred past the car windows.

Apartment buildings.

Traffic lights.

Restaurants.

Convenience stores.

Normal things.

Ordinary things.

The world continuing exactly as it always had.

As if it wasn't ending.

As if something enormous wasn't happening.

Juhoon sat beside his parents in silence.

The friendship bracelet Martin had made rested around his wrist.

Blue thread.

Green thread.

Slightly crooked.

Poorly tied.

Perfect.

His fingers kept brushing against it unconsciously.

Over and over.

Like touching proof.

Like making sure it was still there.

Across the city, Martin sat in another car.

A suitcase pressed against his knee.

His headphones around his neck.

His stomach twisted into knots.

His mother talked softly with his father.

His older sister scrolled through her phone.

Nobody forced conversation.

Nobody filled the silence.

Even Martin couldn't manage it.

Which should have terrified everyone.

Because Martin Edwards Park was rarely quiet.

Martin could hold conversations with walls.

Martin could argue with furniture.

Martin could create entire debates with himself and somehow lose.

But now he simply stared out the window.

Watching Seoul disappear one traffic light at a time.

He hated it.

The leaving.

The distance.

The uncertainty.

The fact that every kilometre carried him farther from somewhere that felt like home.

Farther from someone who felt like home.

The airport was busy.

Of course it was.

Airports always were.

People rushing everywhere.

Suitcases rolling across polished floors.

Children crying.

Flight announcements echoing overhead.

Languages blending together into an endless stream of noise.

Life moving forward.

Always forward.

Never backward.

Martin hated that too.

By the time Juhoon arrived, the Edwards-Park family was already waiting near the check-in area.

For a moment, neither boy moved.

They simply stared at each other across the crowd.

Because seeing someone at an airport is different.

Different from hearing they're leaving.

Different from knowing they're leaving.

Different from understanding they're leaving.

The suitcases made it real.

The departure screens made it real.

The airport itself seemed built specifically to remind people that goodbyes existed.

Martin looked smaller somehow.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

The way children sometimes do when they're trying very hard to be brave.

Juhoon looked exactly the same.

Which was somehow worse.

Because Martin knew him.

Knew every expression.

Every tiny shift in his face.

The slight tension in his shoulders.

The way he pressed his lips together when upset.

The way he blinked more often when trying not to cry.

Martin noticed immediately.

Because he always noticed too.

Not as quietly as Juhoon did.

Not as carefully.

But he noticed.

They met in the middle.

Neither spoke at first.

Neither seemed capable.

Then Martin managed:

"Hi."

Juhoon nodded.

"Hi."

A terrible conversation.

Possibly one of the worst in human history.

Six years of friendship.

Reduced to one syllable.

The tragedy.

Martin laughed weakly.

Juhoon laughed too.

And somehow that made everything worse.

Because now both of them remembered every other laugh.

Every bike ride.

Every stupid song.

Every sticker.

Every dinosaur fact.

Every summer afternoon.

Every moment that had led here.

Martin's sister appeared behind him.

Immediately ruining the emotional atmosphere.

"Wow."

Martin groaned.

"Noona."

She pointed between them.

"You both look like someone died."

"We're fine."

"You are absolutely not fine."

"We're totally fine."

His noona looked toward Juhoon.

"He's about to cry."

Juhoon immediately looked offended.

"I'm not."

"You literally are."

"I'm not."

"You have tears in your eyes."

Juhoon froze.

His betrayal had come from his own face.

Martin laughed.

Actually laughed.

A real laugh.

Then he looked at Juhoon's eyes.

And stopped laughing.

Because his own vision suddenly became blurry.

Oh.

Right.

That.

The crying.

Apparently they were doing that now.

Wonderful.

Martin rubbed furiously at his eyes.

"Dude."

"What?"

"You started it."

"I didn't."

"You did."

"I literally didn't."

"You looked sad."

"You looked sad first."

"Did not."

"Did too."

Martin pointed dramatically.

Even now.

Even here.

Even while actively falling apart.

"You infected me."

Juhoon stared at him.

Then barked out a laugh that immediately dissolved into something suspiciously close to a sob.

And that was it.

The final collapse.

The complete failure of emotional composure.

Neither recovered.

Not remotely.

Children have many strengths.

Dignified goodbyes are not among them.

The boarding announcement came far too soon.

Martin's father quietly informed them it was time.

The words landed like stones.

Time.

Such a small word.

Such a cruel one.

For a second nobody moved.

The crowd continued around them.

People walked past.

Flights departed.

Life continued.

Yet their tiny corner of the airport felt frozen.

Like a photograph.

Like the entire world had narrowed down to two eleven-year-old boys standing in front of each other.

Martin swallowed.

Juhoon looked down.

Neither trusted themselves to speak.

Then Martin stepped forward.

And hugged him.

Immediately.

Violently.

Like physical force alone could stop geography.

Juhoon hugged him back just as hard.

The impact nearly knocked both of them off balance.

Neither cared.

The hug became ridiculous almost instantly.

Too tight.

Too desperate.

Too long.

Exactly right.

Martin buried his face in Juhoon's shoulder.

Juhoon clung to the back of his jacket.

Neither seemed interested in letting go.

Ever.

Potentially for the rest of human history.

Martin's father checked his watch once.

Then quietly looked away.

His mother looked emotional.

His sister was openly crying.

Nobody interrupted.

Some moments deserve witnesses.

Not interference.

"I'll call you."

Martin's voice cracked.

"I know."

"Every day."

"Okay."

"And text."

"Okay."

"And video call."

"Okay."

"And send songs."

"Okay."

"And visit."

"Okay."

"And you'll visit too."

"Okay."

"And we'll still make music."

"Obviously."

"And you'll answer your messages."

Juhoon snorted.

Even through tears.

"That's your condition?"

"It's important."

"It is not."

"It absolutely is."

Juhoon laughed again.

Then cried harder.

Which seemed unfair.

Martin wasn't doing much better.

His face was completely red now.

A disaster.

An emotional catastrophe.

The worst possible state for someone whose entire personality revolved around being annoying.

"Don't forget me."

The words slipped out quietly.

Accidentally.

The most honest thing Martin had said all day.

Juhoon pulled back slightly.

Just enough to look at him.

As if the idea itself was ridiculous.

As if forgetting Martin was comparable to forgetting gravity.

Or breathing.

Or the existence of dinosaurs.

"I won't."

Martin nodded.

Satisfied.

Because eleven-year-olds believe promises.

Completely.

With every part of themselves.

No cynicism.

No hesitation.

Just certainty.

The pure, fearless certainty of people who haven't yet learned what distance can do.

What silence can do.

What growing up can do.

Juhoon made his own promise.

"You better not forget me either."

Martin looked horrified.

"As if."

"You might."

"I literally won't."

"You could."

"Jju."

His voice became scandalized.

Deeply offended.

"I still have the Spider-Man sticker."

Juhoon blinked.

"You do?"

"Obviously."

"You still have it?"

"Obviously."

"Why?"

Martin stared.

"Because you gave it to me."

Simple.

Immediate.

Certain.

Juhoon looked away quickly.

His eyes burned again.

The final boarding call echoed overhead.

Nobody could ignore it this time.

Not even Martin.

Not even Juhoon.

The moment had arrived.

The actual goodbye.

The real one.

The terrible one.

The one neither of them had prepared for.

Slowly.

Reluctantly.

They let go.

It felt wrong.

Like removing a cast too early.

Like tearing apart something that hadn't finished healing.

Martin grabbed his suitcase.

His family began moving toward security.

Five steps.

Then he turned around.

And waved.

Juhoon waved back.

Ten more steps.

Martin turned around again.

Waved again.

His eyes were red.

His smile wobbled.

Juhoon's smile looked exactly the same.

Fifteen more steps.

Martin turned around a third time.

Because apparently two times wasn't enough.

Because apparently he needed one final look.

One final confirmation.

One final memory.

He raised both hands this time.

Grinning through tears.

Juhoon laughed.

Actually laughed.

The sound carried across the airport.

Martin smiled wider.

Then security swallowed him.

The crowd shifted.

People moved.

The hallway emptied.

And suddenly he was gone.

Just like that.

One moment there.

The next moment absent.

A magic trick nobody wanted.

Juhoon remained standing exactly where he was.

Minutes passed.

People brushed around him.

Suitcases rolled past.

Announcements continued overhead.

Yet he didn't move.

Because part of him still expected Martin to appear again.

One more wave.

One more joke.

One more conversation.

One more minute.

But airports aren't built for miracles.

Only departures.

Eventually his mother touched his shoulder gently.

"Juhoon-ah."

He nodded.

But his eyes remained fixed on the hallway.

The empty hallway.

The hallway Martin had disappeared into.

As though staring hard enough might somehow reverse everything.

It didn't.

Nothing happened.

The hallway remained empty.

The airport remained loud.

The world continued spinning.

Slowly, Juhoon looked down.

His hand tightened around his wrist.

Around blue thread.

Around green thread.

Around a slightly crooked friendship bracelet.

Still there.

Still warm.

Still stubbornly real.

Long after the boy who made it had vanished from sight.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Present Day,

Seoul,

Age Nineteen.

The subway rattled beneath Seoul like a second circulatory system, endless veins of steel carrying thousands of people toward thousands of different futures, and Kim Juhoon sat among them with a turtle carrier balanced carefully on his lap, one hand resting absentmindedly over the plastic lid as if Choco might suddenly develop ambitions and attempt an escape.

The train lurched.

Nobody reacted.

Everyone here had mastered the art of existing in public while pretending nobody else existed.

A woman in a beige coat slept against the window.

Two students in matching university hoodies were arguing quietly over something on a tablet.

An elderly man scrolled through the news.

A little girl stared directly at Juhoon's turtle for nearly thirty seconds before her mother gently turned her around.

Choco blinked once.

Then continued being a turtle.

Which was, admittedly, his greatest talent.

Juhoon looked down at his phone.

Three unread messages.

All from Seonghyeon.

Of course.

The boy had somehow evolved beyond ordinary human conversation. He communicated the way waterfalls worked.

Constantly.

Without mercy.

Without interruption.

Nothing like the quiet “judgemental” boy he seemed like at first to most.

hyeon

i think keonho is genuinely evil

Juhoon stared.

Typed.

what did he do this time?

Three dots appeared instantly.

As if Seonghyeon had been waiting with his phone already open.

Which, honestly, was entirely possible.

hyeon

stole my açai bowl 💔

buy another one..

hyeon

IT WASN'T ABOUT THE AÇAI BOWL

IT WAS THE PRINCIPLE

he looked me in the eyes and took it..

then said "finders keepers"

Juhoon looked out the window briefly.

Dark tunnel walls flashed past.

The reflection staring back at him looked older than he felt.

Or maybe younger.

He wasn't sure anymore.

University had a strange way of making everyone feel simultaneously seventeen and seventy.

His phone vibrated again.

hyeon

and then

AND THEN

hyeon

he fed me a spoonful afterwards, with a stupid ass smile on his face.

so i couldn't stay mad

i hate him

sounds difficult.

hyeon

you're not taking this seriously

i'm devastated

hyeon

thank you

A pause.

Then,

hyeon

also he says hi

tell him i said okay

hyeon

okay isn't a greeting

it is now

hyeon

you are impossible asf

Juhoon smiled faintly.

Just a little.

The kind of smile that barely counted.

The kind that appeared for half a second before disappearing again.

His cousin was eighteen and somehow possessed enough energy to power a small nation.

Meanwhile Juhoon had spent most of his life behaving like a middle aged man trapped inside increasingly younger bodies.

The train slowed.

Another station.

More passengers.

More footsteps.

More conversations dissolving into white noise.

His phone buzzed again.

hyeon

btw

hyeon

how's moving day going??

Juhoon glanced down at Choco.

The turtle was currently attempting to stare through solid plastic.

A visionary.

fine

hyeon

fine means disaster 🫩

hyeon

fine means you're carrying seventeen boxes by yourself

only twelve

A typing bubble.

Then:

hyeon

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

language

hyeon

you swear more than i do

that's different.

hyeon

how??

i'm older

hyeon

that isn't how profanity works

well, it is now

hyeon

sure hyung ㅋㅋㅋ

Juhoon locked his phone for a moment.

The train continued moving.

Outside the window, tunnels occasionally opened into brief glimpses of sunlight before swallowing the tracks again.

His reflection drifted across the glass.

Dark hair.

Dark eyes.

Pale skin.

The bracelet still wrapped around his wrist beneath the sleeve of his hoodie.

Old thread.

Slightly faded.

Still there.

His parents hated it.

Thought it looked childish.

Worn out.

Cheap.

They had suggested replacing it dozens of times over the years.

Juhoon always said no.

Not because it was particularly valuable.

Not because it was expensive.

Not because it even looked good.

It was simply his.

Some things became impossible to remove after enough time.

Like old habits.

Like scars.

Like memories.

His playlist shifted.

The next song loaded automatically.

For half a second he didn't register it.

Then the opening guitar began.

Heart-Shaped Box.

And immediately.

Without permission.

Without warning.

A memory resurfaced.

Eleven years old.

A phone vibrating endlessly on his desk while he attempted to study.

Notification.

Like a digital hostage situation.

He could practically see the messages.

idiot 🦔

LISTEN TO THIS !!

juhoon!!

jju 😒

jjutie patootie

kim jju

kim juhoon

LISTEN TO IT !!

Juhoon had ignored the messages for almost ten minutes.

Which, in Martin Time, was apparently equivalent to abandoning a loved one at sea.

Another memory.

Martin sending voice messages.

Long ones.

Mostly incoherent.

Mostly screaming.

"Dude the guitar part is SO GOOD."

Five seconds later.

"Actually wait no.. listen to the whole thing."

Another message.

"No seriously."

Another.

"If you don't listen to it I'm going to die."

Another.

"Jju."

Another.

"Jju."

Another.

"Jju."

Another.

"Jju."

Another.

"Answer me."

Another.

"I'm outside your house."

That one had actually been true.

Juhoon remembered opening his curtains to discover Martin standing beneath his window holding a phone above his head like a man protesting government corruption.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

Then settled.

The memory faded as quickly as it had appeared.

The train continued forward.

Nirvana played softly through his earbuds.

Juhoon looked out the window instead.

Because some memories felt like touching bruises.

Not painful exactly.

Just tender.

There had been a time when Martin occupied an absurd amount of space in his life.

The way weather occupied space.

The way gravity occupied space.

The way breathing occupied space.

Constant.

Expected.

Automatic.

Then one day he wasn't there anymore.

And eventually life had adjusted around the absence.

Not perfectly.

But adequately.

Like a city rebuilding around an old crater.

The messages had continued for a while.

Calls.

Texts.

Photos.

Voice notes.

Then less.

Distance was strange.

People always imagined relationships ending dramatically.

Huge fights.

Shouting.

Doors slamming.

Tears.

Reality was usually quieter.

Sometimes people simply drifted apart so slowly that neither person noticed until they were already oceans away.

Juhoon hadn't spoken to Martin in six years.

Six.

An entire geological era.

Long enough for children to become adults.

Long enough for voices to deepen.

Faces to change.

Lives to rearrange themselves completely.

Long enough that sometimes he genuinely forgot Martin existed.

Mostly.

The song continued.

He looked back down at his phone.

New messages.

Of course.

hyeon

ARE YOU IGNORING ME

wow

okay

i see how it is

i was listening to music

hyeon

fake cousin

devastating

hyeon

anyway

i have important news

Juhoon sighed.

Whenever Seonghyeon announced important news, there was roughly a thirty percent chance it actually mattered.

hyeon

keonho got banned from the campus convenience store for a week

Juhoon blinked.

how

hyeon

he climbed into the freezer

why tf?

hyeon

he wanted to see if he could fit

could he?

hyeon

yeah

impressive

hyeon

YOU'RE ENCOURAGING HIM 💀

i'm admiring commitment.

hyeon

unbelievable

The train announcement chimed overhead.

Next stop.

His stop.

Finally.

He stood carefully.

Picked up Choco's carrier.

Adjusted the strap of his backpack.

The bracelet slipped slightly down his wrist.

For some reason his chest felt oddly heavy today.

Not bad.

Not exactly sad.

Just thoughtful.

Like the city itself had wrapped itself in overcast skies and somehow transferred the mood directly into his bloodstream.

Maybe moving out was affecting him more than he wanted to admit.

This was the first time he would be living away from home.

Away from expectations.

Away from routines that had governed every hour of every day.

For years his life had been carefully scheduled.

Study.

Exercise.

Classes.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Now things felt uncertain.

Uncertainty had never been his favorite thing.

The train doors opened.

A flood of people spilled onto the platform.

Juhoon followed.

Choco continued existing.

The station smelled faintly of coffee and metal.

Students hurried past carrying luggage.

Parents followed behind them.

Everyone looked equally overwhelmed.

The beginning of university always resembled controlled chaos.

Young adults pretending they knew what they were doing.

Parents pretending they weren't worried.

Nobody convincing anyone.

His phone buzzed again.

hyeon

did you get there?

almost.

hyeon

finally

i was starting to think you'd died

dramatic

hyeon

runs in the family 😭

unfortunate

hyeon

very

A pause.

Then another message.

hyeon

good luck today hyung

The text sat there quietly.

Simple.

Genuine.

Juhoon stared at it for a second.

Then typed back.

thanks, good luck at high school

The station exit opened ahead.

Sunlight spilled through the glass doors.

Seoul stretched beyond them.

Busy streets.

Towering buildings.

Traffic.

Life moving relentlessly forward.

He stepped outside.

Warm air brushed against his face.

For a moment he stood there.

One hand holding Choco's carrier.

One hand gripping his phone.

The campus wasn't far.

A short walk.

Just a few minutes.

Another beginning.

His phone vibrated one final time.

hyeon

send pictures

if your roommate is ugly i want to know immediately

Juhoon snorted.

Actually snorted.

A rare event.

i'll keep you updated

hyeon

thank you

godspeed soldier

Juhoon locked the screen.

Slipped the phone into his pocket.

Adjusted the carrier again.

Then started walking.

The university buildings rose in the distance.

New dorm.

New classes.

New people.

A completely ordinary day.

At least, that was what he thought.

Because fate had always possessed a cruel sense of humor.

And at that exact moment, somewhere else in Seoul, another nineteen year old was carrying his own luggage toward the exact same destination.

Toward the exact same building.

Toward the exact same room.

Toward Room 505.

Toward six years of silence.

Toward a Spider Man sticker still hidden inside a phone case.

Toward a bracelet still wrapped around somebody else's wrist.

Toward a promise neither of them had managed to keep.

And neither of them knew it yet.

But fate was already sprinting toward them at full speed.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

Present Day

Somewhere Between Incheon and Seoul

Martin Edwards Park had been awake for approximately twenty-two hours.

This fact meant absolutely nothing.

Because Martin Edwards Park had also consumed enough airport coffee to legally qualify as a weather phenomenon.

The moment he stepped out of Incheon International Airport, dragging two suitcases, one guitar case, a backpack, and what remained of his dignity after a twelve hour flight, he felt something settle strangely inside his chest.

Home.

Not exactly.

Not completely.

But close enough to make his throat tighten unexpectedly.

Korea looked different than it did in his memories.

Bigger.

Faster.

Sharper around the edges.

Or maybe he was the thing that had changed.

He was nineteen now.

Nineteen sounded older than it felt.

Nineteen sounded like someone who understood taxes and relationships and how to cook more than three meals.

Martin understood none of those things.

He had eaten pretzels for dinner three nights ago.

He had cried over a guitar tone last month.

And he still occasionally walked into doorframes.

Clearly adulthood had arrived at the wrong address.

His phone vibrated.

James.

jjami 🍮

MARTIN

LANDING CONFIRMED???

MARTIN ARE YOU ALIVE??? 🙏🏻

Martin immediately typed back.

yes

unfortunately🫩

Three dots appeared.

Then,

jjami 🍮

good

I'm outside

Try not to die before I get there. 😅

Martin grinned.

Some things never changed.

Five years ago, James had been a profile picture and a username.

Now he was one of Martin's closest friends, and drummer.

Life was weird.

The universe had a tendency to throw strangers together and then act surprised when they became important.

Martin adjusted the guitar case on his shoulder and began weaving through the crowd.

Tourists.

Families.

Businessmen.

Sleep deprived students.

Children moving with the speed and unpredictability of loose shopping carts.

The airport smelled like coffee and expensive perfume and recycled air.

His exhaustion sat heavily behind his eyes.

His body wanted sleep.

His brain wanted stimulation.

His soul wanted Korean barbecue.

A complicated emotional state.

Then he spotted James.

Or rather, James spotted him first.

Because James was approximately six feet tall and impossible to miss.

The older man stood beside a dark sedan, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the cloudy weather, one hand shoved into a jacket pocket.

His dyed hair caught the afternoon light.

For one brief second he genuinely looked cool.

Then he raised both arms and started windmilling them aggressively.

The illusion shattered instantly.

"MARTIN!"

Several pedestrians turned.

Martin laughed.

"JAMES!"

They met halfway.

James immediately pulled him into a crushing hug.

Martin nearly dropped his guitar.

"Ow."

"Good to see you too."

"I think you fractured something."

"Excellent."

They separated.

James looked him up and down.

"Jesus Christ."

"What?"

"You're taller."

"You say this every year."

"Because every year you're taller."

"I haven't grown since sixteen, I'm just 6'3 like that."

"Liar."

"I literally haven't."

James narrowed his eyes.

Martin narrowed his back.

They stared.

Neither blinked.

Finally James sighed.

"Fine."

"I win."

"You always say that."

"Because I'm usually right."

"You study medicine."

"Exactly."

"I don't think that's how medicine works."

James grabbed one suitcase.

"It does now."

Martin followed him toward the car.

The vehicle itself looked normal.

What happened once they entered it was anything but.

The moment the doors shut, James connected his phone to the dashboard.

Immediately,

A voice exploded through the speakers.

"FINALLY."

Martin winced.

"Oh my God."

"Keonho?"

"Duh."

A dramatic gasp echoed through the car.

"That's Ahn Keonho to you."

"No."

"Fair."

Martin laughed despite himself.

The video call occupied half the dashboard screen.

Keonho's face appeared.

Honey toned skin.

Messy dark hair.

The expression of someone who had never experienced a single peaceful thought.

"Hi."

"You look terrible."

"I just got off a twelve hour flight."

"You still look terrible."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

James started the engine.

A mistake.

Immediately.

Instantly.

Without warning.

The car jerked forward.

Martin grabbed the dashboard.

"JAMES."

"What?"

"WHY DID IT MOVE LIKE THAT?"

"I drove."

"Poorly."

"It was one movement."

"I saw my ancestors."

James rolled his eyes.

Keonho cackled so hard he nearly disappeared from frame.

The ride began.

The chaos followed immediately.

Because apparently none of them possessed the ability to conduct a conversation normally.

"What seat are you getting?" Keonho asked.

"Dorm room."

"Yeah."

"No clue."

"Maybe your roommate will be hot."

James nearly drove into another lane laughing.

Martin groaned.

"Can we not?"

"Why?"

"Because normal people don't start conversations like that."

"Normal people are boring."

"Good point."

"Exactly."

James pointed dramatically.

"He's learning."

"I hate both of you."

"No you don't."

Unfortunately.

That was true.

Traffic crawled around them.

Seoul stretched endlessly outside the windows.

Towering buildings.

Neon signs.

Crowded sidewalks.

Everything moving simultaneously.

Martin found himself staring out the glass between conversations.

There was something surreal about finally being here.

For years Korea had existed in two versions.

The real country.

And the country inside his memories.

The second version had always been smaller.

Warmer.

Filled with playgrounds and bicycles and summer afternoons and a boy with dark eyes reading dinosaur books.

The real version looked different.

The real version had moved on.

Just like he had.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The thought vanished before it could settle.

Keonho started talking again.

"You better come to practice next week."

"I literally moved countries for practice."

"Good."

"We've been waiting forever."

"James keeps bullying me."

"I don't bully you."

"You absolutely do."

"I mentor you."

"You called me genetically unfortunate."

"You were being annoying."

Keonho looked offended.

"Those things aren't connected."

James and Martin laughed simultaneously.

"See?" James said.

"Even Martin agrees."

"Martin is biased."

"I literally just got here."

"Exactly."

The conversation shifted again.

University.

Classes.

Schedules.

Future plans.

The terrifying realization that they were all technically adults.

Martin slouched deeper into his seat.

"I still don't understand how this happened."

"How what happened?" James asked.

"We became adults."

"We didn't."

"True."

"We just got older."

"That's worse."

"Much worse."

Keonho nodded.

"Yesterday I bought vitamins voluntarily."

Silence.

Martin stared.

James stared.

"What?"

"You bought vitamins?"

"Yeah."

"Without being forced?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus."

"I know."

"You're thirty years old now."

"I'M EIGHTEEN."

"Mentally thirty."

"Shut up."

The call dissolved into laughter again.

It always did.

Some friendships operated like machinery.

Careful.

Precise.

Others operated like someone had thrown silverware into a washing machine.

This one belonged firmly in the second category.

Twenty minutes later the topic shifted again.

Cortis.

Their band.

The thing that had somehow started as a joke and gradually become important.

Martin leaned forward immediately.

"Did you finish the bass track?"

Keonho looked offended.

"Of course I finished the bass track."

"You forgot last time."

"I was busy."

"You were playing Valorant."

"I was multitasking."

"That's not multitasking."

"It is spiritually."

James snorted.

"He's got you there."

"No he doesn't."

"He kind of does."

Martin groaned.

The conversation devolved.

As usual.

Music.

Practice schedules.

Upcoming performances.

Song ideas.

James complaining that musicians were impossible.

Musicians complaining that medical students were impossible.

Nobody reaching a conclusion.

The perfect friendship ecosystem.

At some point Keonho suddenly vanished from frame.

A loud rustling followed.

Then,

A small brown and cream blur appeared.

Cookie.

The chihuahua.

Martin immediately sat up.

"COOKIE."

The dog blinked.

Keonho held him dramatically toward the camera.

Cookie looked deeply unimpressed by existence.

Martin adored him instantly.

James smiled.

"There's the real star."

"Exactly."

"He's carrying this band."

Cookie sneezed.

Martin gasped.

"OH MY GOD."

"He's so cute."

"He's literally just sitting there."

"LOOK AT HIM."

Cookie continued doing absolutely nothing.

The entire car ride stopped for approximately three minutes while they collectively admired a dog.

Humanity's finest achievement.

Eventually Martin pulled out his phone.

Opened Twitter.

Snapped a picture.

James trying to drive.

Poorly.

A screenshot of Keonho on speaker.

Cookie visible on screen.

The caption practically wrote itself.

He posted it.

Almost immediately.

Likes started appearing.

Friends.

Mutuals.

Band followers.

And Keonho.

The internet never slept.

Neither did musicians.

Another forty minutes passed.

The city unfolded around them.

The conversation drifted lazily.

Food.

Dorms.

Life.

Swimming competitions.

Keonho's latest disaster.

James' latest exam.

Martin's upcoming classes.

For the first time since boarding the plane, he felt himself relax.

The exhaustion remained.

But excitement began pushing through it.

A new country.

A new university.

New opportunities.

New music.

New people.

A fresh start.

Then, casually.

Accidentally.

The universe cleared its throat.

Keonho glanced away from the camera.

"Hold on."

"What?" Martin asked.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"Seonghyeon texted me."

"Oh."

"He's annoying."

"You're dating."

"Exactly."

James laughed.

"Fair."

Keonho looked down at his phone.

"He was talking to his cousin earlier."

Martin nodded absently.

"Oh."

"Apparently his cousin's moving into dorms today too."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

Neither of them cared.

Not even slightly.

The conversation immediately continued.

"So anyway," James said.

"The important question."

"What?"

"Korean barbecue this week?"

"Obviously."

"Good."

"Obviously."

"Good."

And just like that, the moment passed.

Gone.

Forgotten.

Discarded.

A single sentence dissolving into the noise of a thousand others.

Seonghyeon was talking to his cousin earlier.

That was all.

Nothing special.

Nothing memorable.

Certainly not the sentence that had just connected two entirely separate lives for half a second.

Certainly not the sentence that involved Kim Juhoon.

Certainly not the sentence that should have made the universe start laughing.

Because somewhere else in Seoul, Juhoon will arrive at the exact same university.

The exact same dorm building.

The exact same floor.

And neither boy knew it.

Neither boy realized that six years of silence were rapidly approaching their expiration date.

Neither boy realized that fate had already stopped jogging.

It was sprinting now.

And it was getting closer with every passing minute.

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖

The dorm building looked exactly like every university brochure had promised and exactly like every university student secretly complained about.

Functional.

Compact.

Slightly depressing in a way that screamed educational funding.

Martin stood outside the entrance with one hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase while James balanced a box of audio equipment against his hip, both of them staring up at the building as though it might suddenly reveal whether adulthood was worth all the paperwork.

The answer appeared to be no.

A group of students pushed past them.

Someone was carrying a rice cooker.

Someone else was carrying a suspiciously large plush shark.

A third student looked like he hadn't slept since the invention of electricity.

University.

Beautiful.

James adjusted his grip on the box.

"You ready?"

"No."

"Good."

"That wasn't encouraging."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

Martin sighed dramatically.

"I leave Canada and immediately get bullied."

"You got bullied in Canada too."

"True."

They entered the building.

The elevator ride consisted mostly of Martin staring at his reflection in the mirrored wall and wondering if he looked like a normal university student or if he looked like someone who had accidentally wandered into higher education while searching for a concert venue.

The answer, unfortunately, was both.

The doors opened.

Fifth floor.

A long hallway stretched ahead.

White walls.

Grey flooring.

The distant sound of someone moving furniture.

The smell of fresh paint mixed with instant noodles.

A strangely comforting combination.

Martin checked the room number.

505.

His room.

His home.

At least for now.

The realization settled strangely inside his chest.

For years life had felt temporary.

School semesters.

Rental houses.

Practice rooms.

Flights.

Everything ending before it could fully begin.

This felt different.

Not permanent.

But close enough to trick his heart into hoping.

Room 505 waited at the end of the corridor.

James helped him drag everything inside.

The door swung open.

Martin stopped.

The room wasn't huge.

It wasn't impressive.

It wasn't even particularly pretty.

But it was theirs.

Two beds stood against opposite walls.

Two desks.

Two wardrobes.

A shared couch squeezed beneath the window.

A tiny refrigerator tucked awkwardly into the corner.

And beyond a glass door, a narrow balcony overlooking a slice of Seoul.

The afternoon sunlight spilled across the floorboards.

Warm.

Quiet.

Waiting.

For a brief moment Martin simply stood there.

Taking it in.

James dropped the box.

"Well."

"It exists."

"It does."

"That's exciting."

"It really isn't."

"You're impossible."

Martin laughed.

Somewhere below the building, traffic hummed through the city.

Life continuing.

Unbothered by the fact that his entire world had just shifted.

Funny how that worked.

James stretched his arms overhead.

"I'm leaving before you make me unpack."

"You helped me move countries."

"Exactly."

"So help me unpack."

"No."

"Coward."

"Absolutely."

Martin rolled his eyes.

His phone buzzed.

Immediately.

Predictably.

Inevitably.

Keonho.

kono 🖕🏻

martin hyung

WHEN R U FREE

kbbq this weekend

u james me hyeon

NO EXCUSES 😡😡😡😡😡

A second message arrived.

Then a third.

Then seven more.

The emojis multiplied like bacteria.

Martin stared.

Sighed.

Then typed back.

you text like a middle aged facebook mom

Immediately.

The typing bubble appeared.

kono 🖕🏻

DIE

Martin grinned.

❤️

kono 🖕🏻

🤬🤬🤬🤬🤬

🫶🏻

kono 🖕🏻

STOP

never

kono 🖕🏻

I'M TELLING HYEON

tell him ur stealing his açai bowls again

Several seconds passed.

Then,

kono 🖕🏻

THAT'S BETWEEN ME AND GOD

Martin laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone.

James looked over.

"Keonho?"

"Unfortunately."

"Tell him I said his bass timing sucks."

Martin immediately copied and pasted the message.

The response arrived within seconds.

kono 🖕🏻

TELL JAMES HIS DRIVING SUCKS

James looked deeply offended.

"How dare he."

"He has a point."

"Get out."

"I live here."

"Damn. Tell Keonho I’m not funding his açai bowls anymore.”

no more açai for you - jjami hyung

kono 🖕🏻

The conversation continued for another minute before James finally checked the time and groaned.

"I actually have responsibilities."

"What a loser."

"I have class tomorrow."

"Still a loser."

James pointed accusingly.

"You say that now."

"I'll say it tomorrow too."

"You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

James laughed.

Then pulled him into a quick hug.

The kind men often pretended not to need.

The kind that happened anyway.

"Welcome to Korea, idiot."

Martin smiled.

"Thanks."

"Try not to get arrested."

"No promises."

"You concern me."

"I know."

With one final wave, James disappeared into the hallway.

The door clicked shut.

And suddenly.

For the first time all day.

Silence.

Real silence.

Not airport silence.

Not car silence.

Not conversation silence.

The kind that arrived when you were finally alone with your own thoughts.

Martin stood in the middle of the room.

Listening.

Nothing.

Just the distant hum of air conditioning.

Traffic beyond the window.

His own breathing.

The room felt larger somehow.

Or maybe loneliness always made spaces feel bigger.

He shook the thought away immediately.

No.

Not loneliness.

Just adjustment.

There was a difference.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Martin dropped onto the couch.

Exhaled.

Then immediately stood again because sitting still had never been one of his strengths.

Instead he moved toward one of the desks.

The one closest to the balcony.

Sunlight spilled across its surface.

Perfect.

His desk.

His territory.

His natural habitat.

Within minutes he had begun unpacking.

Laptop.

Audio interface.

Headphones.

Hard drives.

USB cables that somehow reproduced when left unsupervised.

A collection of notebooks filled with half-finished lyrics.

Stickers.

Pens.

Tiny pieces of a life packed into boxes.

The familiar rhythm soothed him.

Organizing.

Arranging.

Creating order from chaos.

Music had always done that.

When everything else felt uncertain.

Music made sense.

A chord either worked or it didn't.

A melody either felt right or it didn't.

Human beings were infinitely more complicated.

Songs were honest.

Eventually he opened his laptop.

The familiar startup screen glowed against the quiet room.

A beat loaded automatically.

One he'd been working on before the flight.

Rough.

Incomplete.

Promising.

Martin slipped on his headphones.

Adjusted the volume.

Pressed play.

The room vanished.

The world narrowed.

Drums.

Bass.

Melody.

Layers unfolding beneath his fingertips.

His exhaustion faded into the background.

This was familiar.

Safe.

A language he'd spoken for most of his life.

The cursor moved.

He adjusted a transition.

Tweaked a synth.

Changed a drum pattern.

Minutes disappeared.

Maybe thirty.

Maybe forty.

Time worked differently around musicians.

Then.

A sound.

The faint click of a door handle.

Martin barely noticed at first.

Probably his roommate.

Right.

The roommate.

Some random stranger.

The thought drifted lazily through his mind.

He removed one headphone.

The door opened.

Martin looked up.

Prepared to smile.

Prepared to introduce himself.

Prepared to do the normal social interaction thing.

Something casual.

Something cool.

Something like:

Hey, I'm Martin.

Instead.

Nothing happened.

The sentence never arrived.

Because standing in the doorway was not a stranger.

Not even close.

For one suspended second his brain simply refused to process what his eyes were seeing.

The figure stood frozen beneath the fluorescent hallway light.

Tall, but not too tall.

Lean.

Dark brown hair falling slightly into his eyes.

A black hoodie.

A duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

A small turtle carrier balanced carefully in one hand.

Older.

Obviously older.

Six years older.

His face sharper.

His shoulders broader.

His features matured by time.

And yet.

Martin knew him instantly.

The way people recognize their own reflection.

The way you recognize a song after hearing only three notes.

Some things simply became part of your bones.

And standing in the doorway was one of those things.

Kim Juhoon.

The turtle carrier slipped slightly.

Not enough to fall.

Enough to reveal shock.

Pure.

Undeniable.

Shock.

Their eyes met.

And the world stopped.

Not metaphorically.

Not poetically.

Stopped.

Everything.

The traffic outside.

The distant voices in the hallway.

The music still playing softly through Martin's headphones.

Gone.

Silenced.

There were moments in life that arrived gradually.

And there were moments that arrived like car crashes.

This was the second kind.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Martin felt absurdly aware of everything.

His heartbeat.

The sunlight on the floor.

The weight of the headphones around his neck.

The fact that he hadn't seen this person in six years.

Six years.

Long enough for children to become adults.

Long enough for friendships to become memories.

Long enough for promises to gather dust.

And yet.

There he was.

Real.

Not a memory.

Not a photograph.

Not an old message buried somewhere in a forgotten chat history.

Real.

Standing ten feet away.

Juhoon's expression looked almost identical to the one Martin imagined his own must have been.

Disbelief.

Recognition.

Something dangerously close to panic.

The turtle shifted inside the carrier.

Neither noticed.

Martin's gaze dropped.

Accidentally.

Involuntarily.

Toward Juhoon's wrist.

And there.

Still wrapped around it.

Slightly faded.

A little worn from years of use.

The friendship bracelet.

The one Martin had made when they were children.

The one he never thought he'd see again.

His breath caught.

Across the room.

Juhoon's eyes flickered downward too.

Toward Martin's phone sitting beside the laptop.

Toward the clear case.

Toward the faded Spider-Man sticker tucked carefully inside.

Another relic.

Another ghost.

Another impossible thing.

Silence stretched.

Heavy.

Fragile.

Six years of missed conversations crowded the space between them.

Every text that was never sent.

Every call that was never made.

Every birthday.

Every bad day.

Every achievement.

Every failure.

Every version of themselves that the other had never met.

All of it suddenly standing in Room 505.

Waiting.

The realization arrived slowly.

Then all at once.

Like a wave breaking.

Like a match catching fire.

Like fate finally deciding it had waited long enough.

Martin knew.

Juhoon knew.

And at the exact same moment.

The truth landed.

Not strangers.

Not memories.

Not former friends.

Roommates.

The realization hit both of them at exactly the same time.

And then.

Everything changed.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

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