10. A Hug from the Future
T he world is tilting, fading in and out as Yunho stumbles onto the bus and slumps into an empty seat, his cloudy gaze searching for a boy named Jo Wooju. His hands graze over the fabric next to him as he conjures up a memory of Wooju drifting off to sleep on his shoulder, mesmerizing him despite knowing it shouldn’t.
Yunho struggled to comprehend himself back then. He should have been dating girls like his father wanted him to, but he kept on looking at Wooju instead, and it seems like nothing has changed. I must be sick , he thinks. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol . But what if it’s not just the alcohol? What if there is something wrong with his heart?
Yunho steps off the bus half an hour later. He wanders around the isolated neighborhood, pausing at the sight of the narrow alley where he used to walk Wooju home.
He follows the shadows of their footsteps, his legs wobbling and ears ringing as the ghost of Wooju’s laughter slams into him hard.
Before Yunho knows it, he’s standing in front of Wooju’s door, rapping his knuckles against the faded grey wood and shouting, “You bastard, open this door!”
The door doesn’t budge.
After a few moments pass, it unbolts. Once again, the two old friends are face to face.
Surprise swims across Wooju’s face, but that’s not all Yunho sees despite his drunken state.
It doesn’t make sense, but there’s a hint of concern weaving its way into Wooju’s ocean-blue eyes.
And yet, Wooju’s voice turns glacial as the question escapes his mouth, “Are you drunk?”
“No,” mutters Yunho, shaking his head. “Not really. I have a high alcohol tolerance.” He needed alcohol to bring himself in front of his best friend’s door, though.
Wooju looks unimpressed.
“And I came here because?—”
“You are drunk,” Wooju interrupts.
“I said I’m not drunk!” Yunho raises his voice in protest, and as his emotions overwhelm him, he pushes Wooju inside the apartment.
Wooju winces as his back meets the wall. Yunho steps inside and corners him.
“Jo Wooju,” Yunho says through clenched teeth, his hand gripping the neckline of Wooju’s shirt. “Why won’t you smile at me?” His question sounds more like a brittle plea, a desperate request for Wooju to acknowledge him. “You’re Jo Wooju. You have the power to make every boy and girl love you. You’re supposed to smile at everyone you see. You should be surrounded by so many people that it becomes annoying. You’re supposed to be with me.”
Yunho feels Wooju’s body stiffen under his grasp, his heart pounding against his chest.
Wooju appears to be struggling to find his voice, until finally, he stammers, “What?”
“So why, why are you ignoring me?” Yunho’s eyes start to water as his grip on Wooju loosens. He gazes directly into Wooju’s eyes, his words tumbling out of his mouth without a break, like a rushing stream on a gloomy, rainy day, carrying a hint of hurt with them. “Why did you betray me like that?”
“What are you talking about?” Wooju demands, seemingly calm and collected. “What did I do to you?”
“I hated you,” Yunho admits, his voice breaking midway. “When I was alone, trapped in that cell for a sin I didn’t even commit, do you know who I kept thinking about the most?”
Wooju tilts his head.
“You,” Yunho continues. “I was dying inside, day by day, and you didn’t even call to make sure I was still breathing. Why?” His hand hovers inches from Wooju’s face, but he manages to restrain himself when he catches a glimpse of Wooju grimacing in pain. He suddenly feels terrible.
“Enough, Yunho.” Wooju dips his head and squeezes his right shoulder with his left hand, his body trembling a fraction as he averts his eyes. “Get out.”
Yunho yearns to lock himself away from Wooju, the epitome of his weakness. He wishes to scrape the sight of the boy’s pain from his memory, redirect his thoughts elsewhere, go home, and forget about today. He’s been trying to leave since he got here, but look at him now.
He’s the one who keeps coming back.
He’s the one who can’t resist Jo Wooju.
“Does your back hurt? Your shoulder? Let me see,” Yunho finds himself asking, his hand wavering in the air.
He tries again a second later, wanting nothing more but to examine the frail boy’s body so he can help him, but when Wooju waves a dismissive arm at him, a wrenching sensation twists in his chest. Yunho retracts immediately.
“Just go home.” Wooju hangs his head even lower, his bangs falling forward, concealing his now glassy eyes and clammy, porcelain skin. “Please.” The raven-haired boy pads toward the living room, his gait unsteady as his shoulder grazes against the taller man in his way.
Yunho draws Wooju back, but in doing so, he accidentally pulls the latter’s sweater down, exposing the blue and purple discolorations around Wooju’s shoulder.
Yunho narrows his eyes as he attempts to process the sight of both old and fresh bruises.
“What happened to you?”
“It’s nothing.” Wooju recoils, breath hitched. He fixes his shirt and covers himself up with his fidgety fingers. “Go home,” he says, swallowing hard, “Yunho.”
It can’t be. Is this why he’s always wearing sweaters?
With tears building behind his eyes, Yunho holds Wooju back and pulls him closer into a warm, protective embrace. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but just enough for Wooju to hear.
Wooju attempts to squirm out of the embrace, but Yunho’s grip on him is unyielding.
“I’m so sorry,” Yunho says again.
“Let go of me.”
“No.”
“Leave me alone. You’re just drunk.”
“I said no.” Yunho can only imagine the pain Wooju is enduring, the fear and loneliness he must be feeling without a friend by his side. “I’m not leaving you like this.”
Tears begin to stream from Wooju’s eyes, mild at first, but then they become uncontrollable. Wooju’s body shudders with each sob, and Yunho can’t do anything but listen to the boy’s tiny whimpers until it hurts him no more.
But it doesn’t stop.
“Get out of here. Just get out!” the raven-haired boy screams, twisting his body to extricate himself from the arms embracing him. “Leave me alone!”
It must be the alcohol because now Yunho is on the verge of breaking down with the boy, too. Like a wilted flower, abandoned by the sun and withering away.
Yunho wants to bombard the boy with questions, but instead, he mumbles the words, “Stop. I’m not letting you go.” His voice is as faint as a sigh as he tightens his arms around Wooju’s trembling body. “I’m your friend. Don’t push me away.” And he truly means it.
Yunho senses Wooju’s body tensing up.
“Friend?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
“It’s not a lie.”
“It hurts,” Wooju croaks out, his throat now sore from all the shouting as he presses his hands against his temples.
Without warning, Wooju’s knees buckle beneath him. He falls with Yunho still holding on to him.
They sink to the ground, surrendering to the chill of the floor beneath them for what feels like a long, long time.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Yunho hums, his voice gentle, slowly lulling Wooju into somnolence as he smooths the boy’s back with his long fingers. “I’m here now. You’ll be okay.” I’ve always been here.
Perhaps this is what Wooju needs. Perhaps he feels what Yunho feels, too. That ticklish feeling crawling beneath their skin, the kind of warmth that makes you want to just lie still in someone’s arms and relish the moment.
Just like with Yunho, it must have been a long time since Wooju has had any sleep. It also must have been a while since someone hugged him like this. Perhaps Wooju doesn’t want it to end. Perhaps neither of them do.
Can the future not come?
As the brightness of the sun streaming in through the windows rouses him from sleep, Yunho registers the soreness pulsing in his arms and neck.
Regret weaves within him for having fallen asleep sitting on a wooden stool next to Wooju’s bed, but his thoughts almost immediately shift to whether or not he should make breakfast for Wooju.
They’re not even friends anymore, are they? Why does it still matter to Yunho that Wooju looks like he hasn’t eaten for days? Why does he still care so much it hurts?
Wooju stirs as he gradually blinks his eyes open.
The two of them haven’t talked much. Wooju dozed off in Yunho’s comforting embrace last night, so Yunho, who wasn’t completely sober, had to carry the boy back to bed.
Today is another day, and Yunho has many questions waiting to be answered. Breakfast can wait.
“What happened to you?” Yunho starts as soon as Wooju meets his gaze.
Wooju sits up and says, “It’s nothing.”
Yunho clenches his jaw, trying his best to steady his heartbeat. “Was it Taehwan?”
Wooju sighs. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“Answer my question,” Yunho demands.
“No,” Wooju replies.
“No?”
“I got robbed on the way home yesterday.”
“You got robbed?” Yunho raises an eyebrow in disbelief. But then again, the neighborhood Wooju lives in is not the safest place to stay. “Did you go to the hospital?”
“No.”
“Obviously.” Yunho rolls his eyes. “Well, do you remember their faces?”
“Of course not,” Wooju says. “Why does it matter to you? It’s not like they’ll rob me again.”
“You idiot, you can draw their faces and have the cops look for them. You’re good at drawing, right? Make use of that hobby of yours and draw them.” Yunho makes it sound like an order. “I can help you find them, too.”
“Draw them?” Wooju pauses for a second. “How did you know drawing is my hobby?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re, like, drawing every day instead of eating lunch,” Yunho replies.
Surprisingly, Wooju smiles.
Yunho scowls. “Why are you smiling?”
I didn’t just confess that I’ve been paying too much attention to this guy, did I?
“Why not? Isn’t that what you wanted?” Wooju asks.
“Huh?” Yunho flushes.
“Last night, you were complaining that I don’t smile at you,” reminds Wooju, leaning in toward a flustered Yunho. “Or were you just too drunk to think straight? Were you talking about someone else?”
Yunho gulps. He recalls the night before—his shameless drunken confession and that hug. Embarrassed, he retreats and almost falls off the stool.
“Of course, it was for someone else. No drunk person thinks straight,” he mumbles, standing abruptly. “I’m going to cook porridge before I leave. You should eat some.”
“Wait.” Wooju grabs onto the hem of Yunho’s shirt and looks up to meet the latter’s confused gaze. “How did you know where I live?”
Yunho doesn’t answer.
“Ri Yunho, were you stalking me?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then,” Wooju pauses, his eyes downcast, seemingly disappointed. “Do you like me?”
“No,” Yunho abruptly denies as he struggles to make up a believable lie. “I got your address from someone.”
“Someone?” Wooju arches a quizzical eyebrow.
“Mr. Koh,” Yunho lies. “He wanted me to check if you were okay after what happened with Taehwan.”
“How nice of him,” says Wooju with a sad smile. “Tell him I’m okay when you see him, then.”
No other words follow. Yunho simply breaks away from Wooju’s grasp, moves to the kitchen, and cooks porridge. As soon as he’s done, he exits the apartment without saying goodbye. Not even a “see you tomorrow.”