Chapter Text
[MARCH 2035]
“Faster,” Ricky pants out.
His body is pressed against the glass window, his labored breathing slowly fogging his view of the bustling Shanghai street below him.
He’s cold. Naked from the waist down, and his silk shirt bunched up around his waist, leaving the cool air of the penthouse apartment to cut through his skin like knives.
The skin slapping on skin is echoing through the room, loud enough that Ricky can drown out the abandoned TV program that had been left playing as the night had become more heated.
“Ricky-ge,” The boy, Gangyu, behind him is breathing heavily, unrelenting in his pace, “Can I come, please?”
Gangyu is grasping on to his waist tightly, his large hands spreading across Ricky’s stomach tautly. He can feel Gangyu falling out of his rhythm, probably losing his edge now so close to coming, but is waiting for Ricky’s word, is always so eager to please.
“Go ahead.”
He stills and shudders inside him, the condom filling with hot liquid, his grip on Ricky’s waist finally loosening as the boy releases.
“Can, I?” Gangyu breathes out, wraps his hand around Ricky’s cock and starts tugging.
His hands are rough, not quite enough pressure on the tip where he needs it most, but he squeezes his eyes shut, lets out a stuttered moan and lets his cum splatter across the window and paint the skyline white.
“Thank you,” Gangyu sighs, startling a laugh out of Ricky at the absurdity of thanking him for such a thing.
He pulls out slowly, removes the condom and ties it seamlessly, Ricky drinking in his sweaty and fucked-out expression.
“You won’t be thanking me when you’re sore tomorrow,” Ricky quips, scowling in disgust when he looks down and realizes the mess they made, cum on the window and lube dripped all over the marbled floor.
“I won’t be. I’ve been doing extra conditioning.”
Gangyu is tall. He watches his lithe figure cross the room and open the linen closet, already knows where Ricky keeps his towels, and wipes himself of sweat and cum.
He still has that boyish charm to him despite being twenty-four, six years younger than Ricky, his brown hair flops messily across his forehead, has big, brown eyes that seem to somehow grow wider when Ricky says something especially bold. He likes teasing him, seeing how much he can push him before he snaps. It’s fun, easy, and Gangyu never asks for more than what Ricky offers him.
“Gimme that,” Ricky grabs the towel from Gangyu’s hand to wipe the floor and window.
The cleaners will come tomorrow, but cleaners are also known to be the first to talk.
“Are you not staying the night?” Ricky asks as he watches Gangyu pick his discarded clothes from the floor and begin dressing himself. He doesn’t wait for the answer however, crosses to his bedroom to find his own favorite robe to wrap himself in.
“No,” Gangyu calls out from across the apartment, “Have a schedule early in the morning.”
Gangyu is an idol, the Chinese entertainment industry being an unrelenting beast, so he’s almost constantly busy. Ricky misses it sometimes. Sees Gangyu performing at an award show or making an appearance with his group mates and aches a little. But then he sees the bruises on his knees and tiredness in his eyes and remembers why.
Ricky stares at himself in the mirror that sits across from his bed. He’s lost a bit of weight, his cheeks are sharper and the divots of his waist are more pronounced, especially with his robe fastened around him. He doesn’t look tired like Gangyu, doesn’t look sad or happy either, just looks like—him. He’s gotten so used to his reflection, used to his face in general, he sees it constantly on billboards and magazines, and yet he wishes he could see himself through someone else’s eyes, could see if they see the same monster.
“When will I see you again?” Gangyu had snuck up behind him, wrapped his arms around his waist and murmurs into his ear, makes Ricky jump a little bit.
“Depends,” Ricky replies, leans into the touch as Gangyu starts leaving wet kisses down Ricky’s neck, pulls him flush against him. “You’re the one with a busy schedule.”
“Mm,” Gangyu muffles, moves down to his collarbone, “I’ll make time for you next week ,Ricky-ge.”
“Sure, sure, just text me.” Ricky pulls out of Gangyu’s grasp and starts shuffling the boy towards the door. It’s already late, and they don’t have time to get lost in each other again.
As he’s leaving, Gangyu kisses him once on the mouth, smiles down at him brightly with a soft goodbye.
Maybe he’s getting in too deep with him.
The house is quiet without the younger boy’s presence. Even if he’s not speaking, Gangyu’s constant fidgeting and unkempt energy seemed to create a soft undercurrent of noise that Ricky had grown accustomed to.
Ricky sighs, searches for his phone, anything to distract him and stop the reeling thoughts.
The screen flashes open, and Ricky’s heart drops into his stomach, feels the phone slip from his hand and clatter to the floor, breaking the heavy silence.
No.
Ricky’s hands shake, tries to gulp down a breath of air as his lungs constrict. He places a hand on his ribs, adds pressure.
How did he end up on the ground?
The lights in the room feel too bright and the cold room is somehow stuffy.
Did he imagine it?
He crawls across the floor, manages to pick up his phone again and look properly. The notification is still there—an email—taunting, pulling, stabbing him in the stomach and twisting until blood splatters.
Even with a knife lodged and his ribs cracking open, he swipes to open it before it disappears.
It’s been a while since he’s read Korean, wills his eyes to stop blurring, waits for the words and the vocabulary to slowly come back to him.
FROM: [email protected]
DATE: March 11, 2025
SUBJECT: when i met you
ricky,
i found this website, it lets you write emails to people in the future. i thought it would be fun to send it to you ten years from now. can you pretend it’s just as romantic as sending a love letter? haha
i know we will still be together, but i will ask you questions anyways: do you still have dyed hair? what’s your favorite k-drama right now? do you still make me cut your food for you? i think i’ll know the answers but please turn and tell me anyways.
i was thinking about when i met you. i wish i had written it down then so i could remember exactly how it felt. you were wearing a mask and had the biggest eyes i had ever seen, i thought i was going to drown in them lol. i was so awkward i think? i didn’t know how to talk to you, but im so glad i did.
i think i will keep writing these to you. these are memories i don’t think i will ever forget, but just in case, i want it all written down. our love deserves to be expressed in every way and i’ll tell you again and again.
yours,
gyuvin
[SUMMER 2020]
“Do you want to eat?”
It’s asked earnestly and in English, the boy motioning eating with his hands while asking, his eyes wide, a mask covering the remainder of his face.
Ricky nods, picks himself off the practice room floor to follow the boy.
He had been introduced to him three days ago—Kim Gyuvin—sticking to the tip of his tongue among the sea of other words, still getting lost in the rapid-fire Korean that was spoken between the other trainees.
The hour is late, the sky turning a milky black as they had rehearsed so late into the night that they were the only two trainees left. It’s surprising that Gyuvin was still here. With monthly evaluations drawing near, everyone is on edge, especially Ricky, who knew the trainers were expecting a big improvement from his last abysmal performance. Gyuvin on the other hand was the newest trainee, exempt from the evaluation, and yet was practicing until dawn anyways. It was odd, and Ricky felt wary.
When they push outside the doors of the training building, they’re met with the sticky heat of summer, so repressive that the air feels heavy around them.
“Do you like…ice cream?” Gyuvin asks, still in English. He’s not sure where the boy got the idea he only speaks English, but he goes along with it, thankful that he’s wearing a mask to cover his smile.
“Yes…should we get some?”
“Yes!” Gyuvin says it excitedly, bounces on the balls of his feet as they make their way down the empty street towards the convenience store.
Inside the store, the clerk greets them, and Gyuvin bows, says hello in response, Ricky trailing after him.
Polite, he thinks.
They huddle over the ice cream freezer together, Gyuvin pointing and doing his best to translate each one into English, and Ricky wondering if he should tell him he understands enough to know, but his voice is soothing in a way that makes all the muscles in Ricky’s body relax after being tense for so long.
“We match,” Gyuvin says softly when they both pull the same strawberry-matcha ice creams from the freezer.
Ricky swipes the ice cream from Gyuvin’s hand and marches over to the clerk, leaves the boy in astonishment before he can realize what is happening.
“Just these two,” He says in his accented Korean, swipes his card before Gyuvin can protest.
Now Gyuvin is the one trailing after him, squawking that he could’ve paid, that Ricky didn’t need to do that, but Ricky ignores him, pushes back onto the street.
They wind their way away from the main road, sit side-by-side on the curb to eat.
Gyuvin removes his mask to eat, and it’s the first time Ricky has seen the boy’s face fully, the ice cream he was holding to take a bite of pausing mid-air.
He’s beautiful, in a way that Ricky knows he shouldn’t find boys beautiful. A soft, pink mouth and the sharp slope of his nose matching the warm, shining eyes of the boy so perfectly.
“Yummy!” Gyuvin comments as he chews, his eyes sparkling at the taste.
He’s entranced, eyes wandering to examine every plane of his face and body, calculating and memorizing each aspect.
Gyuvin turns to look at him, and his heart beats, beats, beats.
“Ricky!” Gyuvin’s eyes widen, circles a hand around Ricky’s wrist, feels his whole body set on fire at the gentle touch. “Your ice cream!”
Ricky follows Gyuvin’s gaze down to his hand, realizes that his ice cream had begun melting under the heat, dripping down his hand and onto his pants.
Hastily, Gyuvin shoves the rest of his popsicle into his mouth, Ricky frozen as Gyuvin sheds the flannel shirt he had been wearing and uses it to wipe Ricky’s hand and pants.
“Now your shirt and my pants will be dirty,” Ricky chides, shifts his ice cream to his other hand to lick the remaining stickiness off the back of his hand.
Gyuvin pauses, can feel his own gaze turning to study him, “Not going to thank me?”
“Should I?”
The small amount of Gyuvin that Ricky had learned (sweet, caring, polite) vanishes in a moment, a wicked grin replacing it, the new side making Ricky shiver despite the summer heat.
Gyuvin plucks the ice cream from Ricky’s hand, Ricky shouting a small “hey!” in protest when he sees Gyuvin take a huge bite.
“This can be my thanks,” Gyuvin says between mouthfuls, cheeks full and eyes forming into crescents.
Ricky stares and stares and stares. Feels blinded, and brightened, and set adrift all at the same time.
Summer melts into autumn, and autumn into winter, and Gyuvin melts into Ricky’s trainee life and sticks.
They fight a lot, about small things like when to turn on the air conditioning and how much ramen seasoning is the proper amount, and about big things like who deserves to debut and what is the right thing to do.
Yet still, they’re drawn together like magnets, laugh together until their bellies ache, join together to tease the other trainees, confront their insecurities in hushed tones.
Gyuvin is touchy, will slap his butt and tackle him into hugs, and Ricky always pushes him off a little too roughly, swallows down the lump in his throat every time he sees a glimmer of hurt in Gyuvin’s eye when he pulls away quickly and with finality.
Gyuvin it touchy with everyone, he tells himself, watches how he latches on Yujin’s back and won’t let go.
When they announce the lineup for Tempest, the mood of the trainees not chosen darken. Many of them leave, leading to a great trainee-dorm-reshuffling, people choosing new rooms with who they’re closest to and shedding the people they can’t stand.
In the rubble of it all, he ends up sharing a room with Gyuvin.
It starts new fights between them, how long Ricky takes in the shower, how Gyuvin will lay on Ricky’s bed when he’s still sweaty from practice.
In the darkness of their shared room, the truth always seeps out.
“Ricky,” Gyuvin whispers, “How much longer do you think we will have to wait?”
“I don’t know.”
It all feels a little hopeless, he feels like a soft peach who has plummeted from a tall tree and is now bruised, knows the more times he’s discarded, the less likely he’ll be eaten.
There’s movement across the room, Gyuvin padding across the floor and Ricky’s bed dips with Gyuvin’s weight.
Ricky is facing the wall, and when Gyuvin lays down next to him he doesn’t touch, keeps his distance, but he’s still there, can feel his warm body heat and his breath fanning on the back of his neck.
“Promise me, Ricky. Promise me we will debut together.”
“I promise.”
[MARCH 2035]
“Do you need anything? Coffee? Food?”
Ricky waves the PA off, feels the headache forming under his temples, an irritating throbbing that refuses to cease.
“I’m fine.”
The lights are incessantly bright, and the various movements of the crew shifting to get sets ready and cameras in place are obnoxiously loud, but Ricky knows if he slips on his sunglasses or headphones to block everything out, his manager, Xintong, will glare at him.
Xintong had found him in his apartment that morning, had dragged him out of bed and practically shoved him into the shower.
“You drank, didn’t you?”
When Ricky emerged from the shower, Xintong was lounged on his couch with his feet propped on the coffee table, entirely too comfortable in someone else’s home.
Of course he drank. How could he not. Xintong would be downing a shot too if he knew the ticking time bomb that was sitting on Ricky’s phone.
“What’re we doing today,” Ricky changes the subject, towels off his hair and shuffles his slippered feet across the floor.
“You have a photoshoot, remember?”
He doesn’t remember. Can barely remember the day of the week let alone what was next on his schedule, but he just nods to appease the man.
The hangover doesn’t set in until they arrive at the studio.
He’s nauseous, and his phone weighs down his pocket heavily, had even considered leaving the damn thing at home so he didn’t have to feel it pressed against his thigh.
The makeup artists had flurried around him, and Ricky did his best to be polite, smile and thank and be present.
(Despite the inner turmoil, he still had a pretty good reputation among Chinese celebrities. Known to be sweet and polite, caring of staff and people around him. Xintong probably knew the closest to the truth of what he really was, scraped his remains from the concrete and put him back together again too many times to count. He whispers to him now, “Just make it through spring runway season.”)
After all the chaos of fittings and styling, always came the worse part: the waiting.
Him and Xintong are shoved aside, “We will come get you when we’re ready for you,” as the production crew continues ironing out the finer details of the shoot.
Ricky knows what his job is. He makes things look pretty, clothes, bags, shoes, whatever is asked of him, he’s not part of the creative direction or the bigger picture, just a cog in the giant machine, so he obliges in waiting in his holding cell—even if it makes him go crazy.
He lounges on the sofa of the waiting room, considers checking his phone for the first time as it had been buzzing in his pocket throughout the morning. His blood still ran cold at the thought of another email notification popping up, so he keeps it tucked away, closes his eyes and tries to will himself to sleep for a few minutes so he can stop thinking.
Like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him, he hears the familiar name project from the screen of the news entertainment show that had been lowly playing in the background.
His eyes pop open and he sits up fully.
He should look away, had trained himself to block out everything to do with him for so long.
KIM GYUVIN AND LEE YOUNGSEO TO STAR IN NEW UPCOMING DRAMA ‘HOLDING PATTERN’.
The video accompanying the headline is Gyuvin at a premiere, his smile wide as cameras flash across his face.
“I’m going to smoke,” Ricky announces, slips on his jacket and takes long strides towards the exit before Xintong can say something in rebuttal.
He really shouldn’t smoke in his shooting outfit. The smell will cling to the fabric, and Xintong will give him the disapproving look he’s grown to know so well.
On the balcony outside, he pulls the familiar red Chunghwa box open and presses the cigarette to his mouth. Even as he takes a deep drag, his headache still won’t go away.
He feels like he’s been haunted. A small opening in that single email had ripped open the gates of hell and now a nasty demon was clinging to his back and feeding off his energy.
Or no—maybe it’s a demon that's been there all along, but the words on the screen had finally made its ugly head and sharp teeth visible to Ricky.
He couldn’t let it win. He pulls out his phone, takes a deep breath before unlocking it. Steels himself for the worst, but it’s not another haunting, just a barrage of texts from Gangyu.
Gangyu
gege
i left my jacket at your house :(
ill be in the area
are you home?
can i please come get it?
pleaseeeee
i guess you’re not home
ricky-ge answer me
The boy was persistent as always, Ricky clenches his cigarette between his teeth, types out an answer
Ricky
im not home
Gangyu
i noticed
Ricky
you can get it next week
Gangyu
noooo
it’s my favorite jacket
i can’t go without it that long
Ricky
i’ll send you money to buy a new one
Gangyu
noooo
it’s not the same, this one has been worn in
it has memories
Ricky
?
Gangyu
please im in the area
can you just give me your door code and i’ll grab it?
Ricky hesitates. Wasn’t giving him the door code going too far? Something you don’t share with casual lovers or flings?
His cigarette is all ash now.
It didn’t mean anything, he was reading too much into it.
Ricky
#0830
Gangyu
thank you!!
i promise i’ll only steal a few things!!
There’s another unread message below Gangyu’s thread, Ricky’s thumb hovering over it before pressing it open
Zhang Hao
Ricky…
I miss you…
Please call me soon.
[WINTER 2022]
“Let’s do it again!” Zhang Hao barks out.
The glass mirror is fogged and Ricky rests his hands on his knees, watches his sweat drip from his forehead and plop on the wood floor.
“Hao,” Ricky pants out, “I think if we go again, Ollie might actually die.”
Ollie is sprawled on the ground, his arm covering his eyes as his chest heaves up and down.
“I’m too young to die,” Ollie whines.
“We can’t rest yet,” Zhang Hao replies, grabs a towel and begins wiping the mirrors so they can all see the reflection of their sweaty and haggard faces.
The announcement of Boys Planet had sent shockwaves through the trainees, a fire lit in their bellies, no one more provoked than Zhang Hao, who had transformed from a sweet older brother figure to a war-hungry leader overnight.
Zhang Hao turns and looks at their state of exhaustion, softens a little bit. “Just one more time, and we will finish practice for today.”
Despite the deep tiredness in their bones, they all peel themselves off the floor, get into position to perform one more time, because ultimately, they all know that Zhang Hao is right, that this is their last chance, that they have to give everything they got.
They’re halfway through the dance when Ricky notices a reflection in the mirror, the familiar face peeking through the window of the practice room, a slight smile gracing his lips. They make eye contact, and Gyuvin smiles wider, blinding.
He falters in his movement, trips over his own feet, screws up the next bit of choreography and he mentally berates himself for messing up a dance he’s rehearsed now a hundred times.
When the dance concludes, Ricky frowns. Ollie races to the door, flings it open.
“Gyuvin! Stop spying on us! You’re the enemy!” Ollie shouts.
Gyuvin laughs, “I promise, I wasn’t! Why would I need to spy when I’m already on the winning team?”
They had been told about the “rivalry” concept by the staff, had taken it and ran with it immediately, playful bickering matches between the two teams now a commonplace in the practice room and the dorms.
“Why are you here?” Hao questions, as they had all bid goodbye to the other team hours ago.
“I need to talk to Ricky.”
Ricky freezes.
The remaining boys glance at each other, probably assuming they’ve gotten into one of their roommate quarrels that needs to be resolved, begin packing their things to leave the pair alone.
But they hadn’t fought recently. Did he do something to upset Gyuvin? His mind swirls with anxiety, but Gyuvin doesn’t seem mad, has his usual wide-eyed, angel-faced demeanor.
When all the boys leave, Gyuvin tugs on his arm, pulls him to sit on the floor with him facing each other.
“I think we need a strategy,” Gyuvin begins without preamble.
Ricky furrows his eyebrows, “A strategy?”
Gyuvin nods, “For the show. It’s not just about talent, it’s about personality too.”
Ricky knows this. Had seen countless survival programs where the most talented of the contestants had been overlooked in favor of someone who had won the opinion of the general public, but he isn’t sure what Gyuvin is getting at in their case.
“We should have a story. People like seeing someone they can root for,” Gyuvin explains.
“What kind of story?”
“They’ve already set us up with rivals, so we just go with that. That we’re enemies, that we’ve always been fighting each other. And then, as we get closer to the finale, we learn to work together, become best friends, someone they can root for. Together.”
It’s a true story to an extent. They’ve always been competitive with each other, would compare training scores and gloat when the other was ranked lower. And they’re best friends. Or, at least Ricky considers Gyuvin his best friend, he’s not sure where he stands in Gyuvin’s friend rankings. Even so, the fabricated story feels heavy in Ricky’s stomach.
Ricky shakes his head, “It’s too risky, we don’t even know what the show will edit out. We can’t depend on that.”
“But,” Gyuvin pouts.
“What if they paint me to be the villain? Just show me being mean to you? Never show us making up or working together? What then?”
Ricky sees the panic in Gyuvin’s eyes. He knows that Gyuvin was just grasping at straws, that they are all desperate to make it work, and his poorly laid plans are just a symptom of it.
“Gyuvin,” Ricky says seriously, grabs one of Gyuvin’s shaking hands. He doesn’t like to touch, but he knows the simple act will console the boy. “You’re talented. And good-looking. And you will make the whole world fall in love with you. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“I’m nothing special.” There’s wetness around Gyuvin’s eyes. “Not like you, you stand out among the crowd, everyone will take notice of you, will see how good you are.”
“You have to be confident in yourself, Gyub,” Ricky continues, squeezes Gyuvin’s hand, “Be confident in your abilities, be so good they can’t look the other way. We can’t guarantee anything, only ourselves.”
“Okay,” Gyuvin sniffles, “That’s our strategy then. Be so good they have to debut us both.”
“I promised you, remember?”
Gyuvin uses the sleeve of his hoodie to dry his tears, looks at him softly.
“I promise, too.”
Boys Planet is difficult.
It taxes on them—mentally, physically, emotionally.
People take notice of Gyuvin, just as Ricky predicted. They're charmed by his cute appearance, his earnestness in performing, smitten, just as Ricky is. He watches him rise up the ranks and stick.
People notice Ricky too, but not enough. He makes it to a high enough level to stay safe, but not high as he wants. Feels a chasm slowly growing between him and the upper ranks.
There’s too many Yuehua trainees up high, and they won’t debut all of us. He feels selfish thinking it, wishes he could be in one of their spots, but pushes it from his mind when he sees Yujin’s smile and Zhang Hao put his hand in his.
Zhang Hao rises up the ranks and popularity at an unparalleled speed, and Ricky can’t help but wonder if it has to do with his friendship with shining boy, Sung Hanbin. He’s different from the Hao he knows around Hanbin, a layer of polish that makes him look shiny and new. He’s envious a little bit, wonders if Gyuvin was on to something about creating a storyline to capture the audience when he watches the whole world in awe of the story of Hanbin and Zhang Hao. But it’s not contrived, that much Ricky can tell, Hao’s looks of admiration are too real.
Gyuvin is popular with the other trainees as well. His brightness and his affection are well spread, sees him talking with someone new each day. He wants to talk to Gyuvin too, drink up his energy and wrap himself in his warmth, but he doesn’t want to talk when others are around, doesn’t feel comfortable speaking freely in front of them.
So, they focus on themselves, practice until their legs ache and their heads are throbbing, Ricky cherishing the moments he gets with Gyuvin, so few and far between.
“We’re still in this together, right?” Gyuvin whispers to him when they happen to pass each other in the hall, a few weeks in. Gyuvin’s hand is on his elbow, gripping tightly.
“Of course,” Ricky replies, lowers his eyes to show he’s serious. Doesn’t let it show that he’s sick with worry, not for Gyuvin, but for himself. Gyuvin releases him.
Being on Zhang Hao’s team is Ricky’s saving grace.
He finally feels comfortable, free to be fully confident in his performance and show the audience what he’s truly made of.
“You did well,” Zhang Hao compliments, as they monitor their performance, pats him lovingly on the shoulder.
Debut feels like it’s on the tip of his tongue now, so close he can taste it.
Nights before the finale, they unravel.
Gyuvin slams into his room, cheeks wet and stricken, but he smiles when he sees Ricky.
“You’re in seventh!” It’s said happily, but Ricky knows that isn’t the whole truth.
He should be ecstatic, over the moon he’s done so well, but all he sees is Gyuvin’s pain. “I’m sorry.”
Gyuvin shakes his head, refuses to acknowledge the darkness seeping under the doorway and into the room.
“Let’s sneak out for a bit,” He offers, slips off his uniform and into something less noticeable.
They’ve been able to spend more time together in the last couple of weeks. With less trainees around, the dorm felt oddly empty and silent, but they weren’t pulled in as many directions, could find more moments with each other. Even so, it had been a while since they were alone together like this.
Sitting on the bank of the river, Ricky can see the sadness reflected in Gyuvin’s eyes, the worry, the fear, the stress.
“It’s going to be okay,” Gyuvin says, placating, if not to Ricky, to himself.
How had Gyuvin’s rank dropped so much? Ricky had been so focused on his own rank, he had never imagined they would be in opposite positions now.
(He knows he’s not safe either. That things can change rapidly in a matter of days.)
“What if we don’t debut together?”
The words hang violently in the air, crushing and heavy.
“Don’t say that,” Gyuvin cuts back.
There’s only three possibilities, and they all sting in different ways.
They both don’t debut—they return with their tails between their legs and their dreams bruised and battered, will take them a long time to pick up the pieces.
One of them debuts—they’re separated, the chasm grows so deep and angry that they forget they were even on level ground to begin with.
The both debut—and they’re closer than ever, so close he can taste him, but still not quite close enough.
“I’m just trying to think of all the possibilities,” Ricky explains.
“I don’t want to think about that.”
Gyuvin scoots closer to him, lays his head on his shoulder and takes a deep, stuttering breath. They let the silence wash over them, watching the gentle moving waves of the river and sit in each other’s presence.
Time drips slowly, until the streets are empty and the moon is bright in the sky, and Ricky is thankful for it, because deep down, he knows this may be their last moment like this.
“You promised,” Gyuvin says softly, “We both promised. So it’ll come true.”
It’s silly and naive, a promise meaning nothing in the face of the harsh reality. But he clings onto it anyways, grasps onto it so tightly he’s sure it will keep him afloat.
Gyuvin is called first.
Ricky feels relief flush over him, a smile unwittingly rising to his face as he watches his best friend walk towards the stage.
He calls for Ricky in his speech, tells him to come join him, and Ricky’s heartbeat roars in his ears.
You can do it, you promised.
When Ricky’s name is called, it doesn’t feel like he’s in his own body, feels like a vessel watching from above and floating through space and time.
He walks in a trance, gets through his speech with the crowd screaming in his ears and with no clue what words are actually falling out of his mouth.
Nothing feels real until he falls into Gyuvin’s tight embrace, his chin tucked on his shoulder, his soft smell of lavender laundry detergent and woody cologne.
“We did it,” He says gently, beams at him with the magnitude of the sun.
They sit in their seats, exchange small glances with smiles that don’t seem to leave no matter how hard Ricky tries to tamper it down.
Happiness has always been the best look on Gyuvin, and he looks magnificent, so light and free with every emotion clearly written on his face as they watch the remaining seats fill.
He feels courageous, brave, confident in a way he never has before, feels like if he wanted to, he could jump high enough to reach and brush the stars. There’s not much thought about what debuting truly means, about how the world as he knows it will be irrevocably changed. It doesn’t matter, because he can imagine a million scenarios of what it will be like, but nothing can replicate the real thing, the knowing that this is the now and everything in the past is the before, and now they must run blindly into the after.
After the show, they’re shuttled back to the dorm quickly, told that this is their one night to visit with their families before the hectic schedule begins. They had all packed before the finale, prepared to either leave the dorm in heartbreak or triumph, but there’s still a few remnants to stow away, a stray toothbrush here, a lone shoe there.
Ricky still hasn’t gotten to see Gyuvin without the cameras. Had been shunted into different vans and rushed to their rooms to vacate hurriedly. He wonders if they will have to wait until tomorrow to reunite, but he can’t stand it, he needs to see him now while his skin is still on fire and his head is still free.
Against his better judgment, he abandons his packing and slinks down the hall, prays that Gyuvin is alone in his room.
At the sound of the movement, Gyuvin whips his head towards him, eyes softening when he sees it’s Ricky.
Gyuvin stumbles from his seat on the ground, runs to Ricky and circles him in his arms again, embraces him so tightly that Ricky can’t breathe.
He can feel his shirt dampening with tears, his sweet Gyuvin, who is always so easy to cry.
“I’m so happy,” Gyuvin muffles through his sobs, doesn’t show any signs of letting Ricky go.
He wants to see Gyuvin’s face though, wants to see it clearly in his eyes that this is real, so he pulls back from Gyuvin’s arms, cups his cheeks in both hands and looks.
Gyuvin stares at him in shock, probably surprised at Ricky touching him, being affectionate, when all he’s ever done is push and bite and snarl.
“Me too,” Ricky breathes out.
The first time Ricky saw Gyuvin, he thought he was the most beautiful boy he had ever seen. But he looks even more beautiful like this, cheeks tear-stained, nose blushed, and lips bitten red.
Gyuvin eyes are watching him, trailing down from his eyes to his mouth to the large lump Ricky swallows in his throat.
Thump. thump. thump.
His heartbeat is so strong it reaches down his arms and legs, so strong it could shatter glass.
It’s bravery, or stupidity, but Ricky reaches down and grabs Gyuvin by the collar of his shirt and pulls him in to kiss him.
Gyuvin inhales sharply, mouth still and soft. Gyuvin pulls back.
Fuck.
“You?” Gyuvin chokes out, startled.
“Yeah,” Ricky says back.
Gyuvin cups his cheeks now, pulls Ricky ever closer and kisses him hungrily.
Ricky’s head is spinning, the high of everything getting to him, can’t unpack what is happening, just pushes into Gyuvin and lets their lips slide together perfectly and earnestly.
He never dared to imagine kissing Gyuvin, knew once he crossed that threshold it would be freefalling down a rabbit hole, but now with Gyuvin’s body pressed against him and his mouth bruising against him, he knows it’s so much worse.
When they pull apart, they stay close, foreheads and noses still brushing, heavy breaths intermingling.
“Time to go!” A staff yells through the door, shattering the delicate moment.
They scramble apart, a flurry of movement to pull apart from each other and gather their things, Ricky bolting to the door to go get his own suitcases.
“Wait,” Gyuvin calls, grabs Ricky’s wrist, waits until Ricky looks him in the eye, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ricky smiles widely, unashamed, “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
[MARCH 2035]
On the drive back from the photoshoot, his hangover resurfaces in full force.
Or maybe he’s just sick, it’s hard to tell at this point.
He tells Xintong to slow down on sharp turns, places his head between his knees and focuses on not throwing up.
(The photoshoot went well. The director had praised him, told him he only gets better with age, that he would be happy to work with him again. He had smiled politely, shook his hand and told him it was a pleasure to work with such a talented director. Ignored the snide glances of the wardrobe team attempting to steam out the smoke and ash clinging to the outfit he had worn.)
Xintong drops him off at his apartment, warns him to get his shit together, that they have more things to do tomorrow. But he softens a bit at the end, tells Ricky to get some rest.
When he walks inside, he’s thrown off immediately.
The blinds are left open, his slippers strewn across the floor, and there’s a paper tacked to his refrigerator.
Ricky sighs, remembers he gave permission to Gangyu to come and grab his jacket, and he had seemingly whipped his energy through the room like he always did.
Ricky strides over to the refrigerator and snatches the scrawled note from the door.
I got my jacket!
You need more fruit smoothies
I took the last one
-Gangyu
He opens the refrigerator, and sure enough, it’s been emptied, not only of smoothies, but almost all of Ricky’s food, Ricky shaking his head. He won’t ever scold the boy though. Can still recall what it was like to be so insatiably hungry but having to monitor every bite taken.
He throws the note away, draws the curtains, returns the slippers to their proper place. Going through the motions is easy. He’ll wipe off the remaining makeup, take a hot shower, wrap himself in pajamas and get the rest he knows he needs.
But now in the quietness of his house, it’s harder to ignore the burning in his chest.
He tosses and turns in his large bed, tries to block out the words that have been seared into his mind. It should be simple. He should delete the email, block the sender, pretend he never saw it.
But he’s never been as kind to himself as he is to others, and so against his better judgment, he opens an internet search, finds himself typing in the Hangul that he tried so hard to block from his mind.
Kim Gyuvin.
Most of the articles are uninteresting. Things he wishes he didn’t know but had inevitably found out about as Gyuvin had launched into worldwide stardom.
Kim Gyuvin stuns in latest appearance at Paris Fashion Week.
Will Kim Gyuvin be nominated at the Korean Drama Awards?
He pauses at the next one. Feels hot shame creep at the back of his neck, but he still doesn’t tap it, too scared to confront them even through a screen, even now.
Former ZEROBASEONE members Kim Gyuvin, Park Gunwook, and Han Yujin reunite in a recent selfie!
There’s tears pricking at his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. It’s been almost ten years. He’s had more than enough time to heal his shredded heart, has no right to cry.
He swipes over to the pictures tab instead, is flooded with hundreds of images of Gyuvin. Gyuvin in suits, in hoodies, in hanboks. Gyuvin with black hair, with his military buzz cut, with bangs.
He’s always been beautiful. A kind of look that doesn’t fade, just changes and morphs into another kind of beauty. He stops at one picture, one where he looks younger than all the more recent stills from his dramas and appearances. He recognizes it immediately, a shot from their debut album, his hair brown and flopping over his brow, his skin soft and glowing. It’s how he still thinks of Gyuvin, holds onto the memory of him so delicately. It hurts, all the way down, looking at the face he used to know better than his own, the eyes that he once thought would never darken in his presence.
There’s a moment where he considers stopping there, the pain is acute and stinging, but he knows he was looking for one thing in particular, tabs back over to the news tab. It’s too late to stop now.
He scrolls down, stops at the article he’s been dreading the most. The one he knew would pop up eventually but had been avoiding at all costs. Even with the words printed plainly on the screen, they still don’t feel real, a fabricated reality that Ricky must’ve dreamed up.
Actor Kim Gyuvin and his marriage to a non-celebrity. We wish the new couple well!
He clicks it open.