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Yoo Joonghyuk was acting weird.
No, not that kind of weird where he distances himself from him, or the type of weird where he starts to scrutinize his entire existence when Kim Dokja walks over to his direction. It was the kind of strange where he suddenly clings to his side like gum on his shoe and practically demands him to read every single kind of stories a boy like him could imagine to him everyday at their freetime; there was definitely something very wrong with Yoo Joonghyuk — as his usual, sane self would've rathered keep a safe distance — their only physical contact being the usual hand-holding and occasional moments wherein he would lean his head onto Kim Dokja’s shoulder, never really laying his eyes on him.
But now, Yoo Joonghyuk was curled up beside him, latching on to his arms like a baby koala at their little corner.
“Hey.”
“Mn?”
“Go eat your food. It’s already our break time.”
Joonghyuk reluctantly let go of Kim Dokja, looking straight into his eyes.
“The food isn’t for me. It’s for you, hyung.”
Ah, yes. Yoo Joonghyuk also calls him hyung now. His brow raised.
“Y-you’re joking, right?” Kim Dokja attempted to laugh like it was funny, although Yoo Joonghyuk’s current expression was basically screaming a big fat no at his assumption.
“Huh. For me? Why? Have you eaten breakfast yet?” Kim Dokja started bombarding him with question after question, and Joonghyuk answered every single one of them obligingly with an impassive face. “Yes. Because you only eat the same damn crackers every single day, and it’s obvious that you consider that as your breakfast — and no, I already ate my breakfast, unlike someone.”
“Bastard!”
“It’s true, though.”
Kim Dokja chose not to argue with that. “But, like, why would you bring food for me of all people?”
There was a small pause. Yoo Joonghyuk looked like he was distracted briefly before turning back to Kim Dokja, murmuring something inaudible.
Said boy frowned, tilting his head. “W-what?”
“Nothing. Just–”
Yoo Joonghyuk stood up from the cold floor, running his hands through his hair before approaching his desk. He grabbed a lunch bag placed at the top of his table, before pushing the food to Kim Dokja’s hands. “—take it.”
“Eh? No!”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“No!”
“No.”
“Yes— wait, yah, Yoo Joonghyuk!”
He chased after the little boy, who was already running down the halls, heading to the school cafeteria.
‘This cheeky little bastard…’ Kim Dokja ran as fast as he could in an attempt to catch up with the boy. Of course, to no avail. He really needed to get better stamina soon. Yoo Joonghyuk’s tracks came to a halt, his eyes searching for a vacant table. He seemed to look at a maple tree perched outside the window a bit too long.
Kim Dokja mumbled incoherent words in mild annoyance with a pinched expression, which was promptly wiped off his face once Yoo Joonghyuk unravelled their lunchboxes, the delectable scent of eggs wafting in the air. A mouthwatering feast was revealed before him; Kim Dokja gawked at the omurice, topped with spring onions and demiglaze like a starved madman.
Out of the blue, a thought suddenly entered his mind.
“Don’t people usually pair this with… ketchup?” His nose wrinkled.
Joonghyuk blinked leisurely, locking eyes with the boy. “But you don’t like ketchup,” he murmured. Kim Dokja’s gaze softened with emotion, fingers tapping on the table rhythmically.
“You remembered.”
Deliberately, Yoo Joonghyuk took his hands, intertwining little hands with his. The former’s grip was so firm yet so gentle. “How could I not?”
He let out an airy chuckle, squeezing Joonghyuk’s hand. “Thank you,” he replied.
“Hn. Let’s eat?”
“Okay.”
As they chewed on their food, Kim Dokja took a glance at the boy and pushed a carton of Banana milk next to Yoo Joonghyuk’s lunch. “Do you want some? My mom earned extra cash from her part-time job yesterday, so…” he stammered, voice trailing off.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t quite like Banana milk, but for now, he’ll make it an exception.
Suddenly, Banana milk didn’t taste so bad.
Kim Dokja was currently having an existential crisis.
He was reading another fantasy book from Teacher Uriel’s collection in the corner of the classroom, never really acknowledging the fact that it was upside down. On his side, he can see Yoo Joonghyuk lying beside his small figure, embracing his arms with closed eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk looked appallingly peaceful. His face, usually contorted into a dark scowl, was indistinct during his slumber.
He put his book down, beginning to stroke Joonghyuk’s hair with a gentle, elaborate touch.
Subsequently, his eyes fluttered open, looking up at Dokja’s face; his eyes blinked with drowsiness.
“I’m sorry I-I just—”
“Keep doing that.”
Kim Dokja gawked at him. “What?”
“I said,” Yoo Joonghyuk breathed out, tightening his embrace. “Keep… doing that thing with your hand.” Kim Dokja stilled for a second before regaining his wits, placing a hand on the little boy's head once more.
Rubbing his scalp in lethargic moves, he opened his mouth skeptically before finally speaking. “Like this?” He probed.
“Mn,” Yoo Joonghyuk slurred with drowsy eyes.
Soon, sleep took over both of them. The children drift off to dreamland, confiding in each other's warmth.
Yoo Joonghyuk stood with a stiff posture in front of Uriel.
“Joonghyuk-ie?” What are you doing here?” She scanned the deserted classroom, her voice echoing throughout the corners of the room.
“Can I… talk to you about something?” He placed the book he borrowed from Uriel today. Kim Dokja, ever the devoted reader, finished reading the story in record time.
Uriel walked over to the student, crouching down, ruffling his hair.
He didn't really trust adults. Regardless, he knew that teacher Uriel was kind. If Kim Dokja was comfortable with her, then so was he. “Well,” he whispered, taking a seat on the nearest chair.
A beat. Uriel seemed to sense his hesitation.
“You don't have to force yourself to speak, alright?” she assured.
The little boy fixed his posture, his shoulders going rigid. “No, no, I want to know how I'll be able to tell this to Dokja-hyung.”
She opened her mouth, slowly, as if she was having second thoughts about talking. “Tell him what?”
With a deep sigh, he tried to speak with a confident tone, yet his voice seemed to falter.
“I-I'm leaving next week. For Canada.”
The blonde woman's head tilted to the side. “For vacation?” She questioned.
He shakes his head with a pained look on his face. “No. Father said we're leaving for good– I…” his breath hitched, avoiding Uriel's gaze. “I don't want to leave him,” he added.
“I don't want him to feel all alone again. I hate that.”
Uriel remained silent for a minute before she got up from her seat, rushing to her desk to grab something from her drawer.
“I'm sorry, Joonghyuk-ie, I can't do anything with you leaving Korea, but…” Uriel opened the compartment, revealing a… Bracelet maker?
“You said that you don't want him to feel alone, right?”
The little boy nodded. His fingers tapped on the table. “Yeah…”
“Then, let's make something that'll remind him of you.”
The following day, his mother talked to him on their way to daycare. “You have a friend in your class now, am I right?”
Doubtingly, he nodded, little hands gripping the chair's cushion until his knuckles went white. “Yes, mother.”
She clicked her tongue, eyes still fixated on the road. “Then, you have to tell him that you’re leaving now. Our flight is at 11 pm tonight.”
Yoo Joonghyuk's eyes went as wide as saucers. “What? I-I thought we were leaving next week!?” He gritted out.
The vehicle stopped at a red traffic light. His mother finally set her eyes on him.
She let out a shaky exhale. “I'm sorry, Joonghyuk, but we have no choice.” Pity laced her eyes.
Yoo Joonghyuk didn't need that pity. He only wanted to stay with Kim Dokja.
Kim Dokja…
The little boy greeted him with scrunched eyes. “Joonghyuk-ie!” He exclaimed. Yet, as soon as he saw Joonghyuk's gloomy expression, his smile faded.
“What happened?” He probed.
Yoo Joonghyuk ignored the prick in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Nothing, l-let's just go sit.”
It was definitely not ‘nothing’.
A feeling of dread crept up his spine, yet he kept silent. “... Okay.”
Unbeknownst to them, Uriel was staring at them from afar, fidgeting with her very own bracelet.
“Do you want to go to the swings?”
“Hm?”
It’s been a good minute since the bell rang, signalling the end of their class. Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja were currently sitting in the waiting area, where almost nothing but bags were seen since most of the kids waiting for their parents to pick them up usually ran to the playground.
Kim Dokja nodded. “Alright. But…” He whipped his head to the little boy’s direction. “Isn’t your mom going to pick you up anytime now?”
Yoo Joonghyuk shook his head, averting his gaze. “Mother let me stay here for a bit longer today. I– I have something to tell you.”
And, there it was, the anxiety that was slowly festering in Kim Dokja’s heart somehow managed to grow even bigger.
Yet, just like clockwork, he made a desperate attempt to brush it off.
To no avail.
As they walked together to the swing— no, it was actually their swing at this point — he watched as Yoo Joonghyuk swallowed a breath as if he was in pain.
Yoo Joonghyuk sat down on the left side. Kim Dokja sat on the right.
The latter bit back the lingering question on why Yoo Joonghyuk sat specifically on the left, when he usually hung out on the right, the same swing he was sitting on, the one with less rust than the other.
After a few minutes of imperceptibility, it was Joonghyuk who chose to break the silence.
“Dokja-yah…” he began. “I like you.”
A beat.
What…
“What?”
“I said, I like you. Do you like me too?”
This wasn’t part of the plan — confessing had never been a part of it. But, Yoo Joonghyuk really can’t help but say it for some reason. It might help alleviate the sadness he can’t ignore.
Yoo Joonghyuk’s grip on his yellow shorts was so strong that he couldn’t help but worry that the boy might bore holes into them.
Kim Dokja went hush, before prying his mouth open to say something, anything, looking straight into his eyes as if he was trying to read Joonghyuk. “Y-yes— I do.”
Joonghyuk’s stiff shoulders finally got to relax a bit. “But, why does it seem like you still want to say something?”
Amidst the noise around the playground, the silence that hung around them was unmistakable.
“I like you, but,” he bit his lips. Hard.
"I’m leaving. For good.”
It felt like a bucket of ice was thrown into Kim Dokja’s entire body.
He’s… Leaving?
The little boy glanced at his hands. Shaking. Palms sweaty. Bruises.
Kim Dokja's eyes slowly pooled with tears, threatening to fall down his face.
However, he didn't cry. Only remained still, unmoving, never blinking. Something bad happens every time he does; he learned it the hard way.
Suddenly, Yoo Joonghyuk held his hand, squeezing it gently, yet he felt oddly safe and secure nonetheless.
“You're going to leave me? Are we not gonna see each other anymore?”
His voice cracked in a way that crushed Yoo Joonghyuk’s heart. “Dokja. Dokja-hyung. Dokja-yah,” he called. He felt his hand shake as he pulled something out from his pocket.
The little boy stared at the object for a long time. “What's… What's that for?”
In his hand lay two braided bracelets — one black, one white. Both small, uneven, imperfect. Yet, just like their shared lunches, both were made by Yoo Joonghyuk; both were made with love.
A proof of adoration, a way of cherishing their bond — simple, but so special.
Yoo Joonghyuk approached him. “Teacher taught me how to do these. I know it looks bad, but…” he put one of the bracelets, the black one, on Kim Dokja's wrist. “Keep that, and I'll keep this one.” He put the white one on his.
They fit perfectly, like two pieces in a puzzle.
“And maybe– maybe that will remind you of me.”
He smiled. A rare, genuine one. “Maybe, it'll remind you that you're never alone. And that…”
Kim Dokja stared at the bracelet on their wrists.
“It's okay to cry. Right?”
His voice was reduced to a whisper. Weak, feeble. “Is it really…” he looked down at the floor.
His cheeks were wet. He felt someone embrace him — and it felt like home.
Yoo Joonghyuk let out a wet chuckle, nuzzling his head onto the boy. “I won't say goodbye, because we'll see each other again. Instead, I’ll say…”
A beat.
“See you later, Dokja-yah.”
Kim Dokja slapped the back of his head, not in anger, not in rage. “When you come back, make sure that you'll still drink the Banana milk that I’ll give you. Make sure that you'll still come and play—sit with me on this swing, on our swing.”
He let out a hum.
“Make sure t-that… That you'll still borrow teacher Uriel's books and read them together with me.”
Both their hands shook. Both their faces were streaked with remnants of tears, yet neither let go.
Neither couldn’t let go.
They couldn't.
“Make sure that… You still like me o-okay?”
Perhaps they didn't understand love very well yet. They weren’t adults just yet. Even so, during that time, it felt like they already knew it like the back of their hands, like they understood what the word ‘love’ was better than anyone.
And for them, love was each other. Love for Kim Dokja was Yoo Joonghyuk; love for Yoo Joonghyuk was Kim Dokja.
It was the latter who first let go of their hug. “I'll wait for you. So, make sure you come home, okay?”
The little boy quickly nodded. “I will.”
He ran to the waiting area where his backpack resided and quickly began searching for something, and fished out a really, really familiar book.
It was his favourite hardcover book, gifted by none other than his mother, and he handed it to Joonghyuk without an ounce of hesitation on his face.
“Hey, w-why…” Yoo Joonghyuk couldn't help but stutter in his words. Kim Dokja caressed its cover.
“My gift, for you.”
The wavy-haired boy stayed silent for a bit. “But it's your favourite book. It’s special to you.”
Kim Dokja merely shook his head. “It is, but you're more special to me, aren’t you? That's why I'm giving this to you.” He pushed the book into Joonghyuk’s arms.
Yoo Joonghyuk seemed absorbed in his thoughts for a while, eyes fixated on the sky. His lips then curled into a smile. “...Thank you.”
And, before he knew it, Kim Dokja walked closer and gave a chaste peck at Joonghyuk’s cheeks, before both of them went red. “Always.”
That was when Yoo Joonghyuk thought that, ah, I'll definitely come back and marry him when we grow up.
That day, Yoo Joonghyuk left the other side of the swing empty.