Red lights give Satoru a headache. His eyes strain to see in the otherwise darkened room, the people around him just a mass of blurry figures grinding and moving against each other like a human version of dogs in heat.

Red lights make Satoru dizzy, but the promise of what’s to come allows him to ignore it. The lights flicker and his vision fights with itself to focus. He barely registers the hand sliding up his pants when his eyes flutter shut, his drink teetering over the edge of his glass and threatening to spill on the expensive leather. It’s the least of his worries, though, because all that’s on his mind is you.

Does he regret how things ended? Yeah, maybe a little, but that’s just how things are. He can’t help his nature and he can’t give you the perfect loving boyfriend that you want. It just isn’t him. He does miss you, and if you took him back he wouldn’t complain, but he already knows what would be in store if you did. Screaming matches every night, leaving and not coming back until late the next day, fighting and making up over and over. And then sex. lots and lots of sex. His favorite part if he had to choose.

He’s not keen on hearing you scream at him while he’s nursing a hangover like he quite often is, and neither were your neighbors. Going on and on until the birds started to sing and your voice was coming out hoarse. The exhaustion was clear on your face, the resignation that this was never going to work. After a while he was just waiting for you to give up and finally walk out like you should have done a long time ago, until you actually did.

Not even a goodbye. A fuck you before driving off. Nothing. And that hurt more than anything else ever could. So does he miss you? Hell fucking yes. Would he do things differently this time around? He has no idea, and somehow that’s reason enough for him to know everything would go to shit if you two did start again. He just isn’t made to love, only made to hurt, and he has enough of something in his heart where he won’t make you go through that again.

He doesn't know why he’s here. Partying every night is nothing new to him and he’d probably be at this club tonight anyway, but the reason he is still has him pacing in his mind and wondering if he should just leave now before he fucks everything up like he usually does.

It’s not often you ask him for favors. He didn’t think he would ever hear you ask for anything ever again, so when you asked him to meet you at Le coït, the most expensive club in the city, he said yes.

Now he has one girl whispering in his ear and another slipping her fingers into his open dress shirt. His head lolls on the backrest of the couch, his legs spread wide inviting anyone interested to take their spot between them when he spots you. Hair fluffed out, eyes shadowed by dark eyeliner, and lips a deep scarlet red. You’re standing over him, looking down at him like a mother would look at her naughty child. He smirks. “Hey, doll.”

Looking over at him you can’t help but wonder if you made a mistake. After all, who calls their toxic ex over to them instead of running the opposite direction? He’s still as sexy as ever, and even more promiscuous after abandoning the facade of ever being faithful.

He sits up when you don’t respond, shrugging the two girls that were draped over him into either side of the couch. They roll their eyes before standing up and sneering at you on their way out. You roll your eyes, “Can’t you control your little hoochies?”

“Not my fucking problem.”

You send a glare his way and he just stares at you from under hooded eyes as if he’s examining, assessing how much you’ve changed over the last seven months. “I met you here. What the fuck else do you want?” He snaps, standing up to leer over you.

“I want you to act like you at least have a semblance of decency, and not be a dick for two seconds.” You grit, looking him in the eyes just long enough to see him laugh.

“But isn’t that what you liked best about me?”

You look down, the subject of your sharp look being the outline in his jeans. “Yeah,” you say sweetly.

He pauses, lost for words, until “What do you want?” He growls, lips pressed together tightly.

“Oh please,” you tease, “don’t act like I’m sneaking up on you and you didn’t practically jump at the chance to meet me.” Satoru rolls his eyes, his jaw clenching and the only thing he wants to do is keep fighting, especially if that means he gets to talk to you longer.

“I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“I- I want us to…” You stammer, and for a moment Satoru sees past the front you’ve put up and the girl he remembers. The one it was just too easy to make his own, following whatever he said until you finally put your foot down. “I want you to fuck me,” You grit, “At least to remind me of the one thing you always did right.”

He can’t help the laugh that leaves his throat. “Wow,” he grins, “You’ve seeked me out for a hookup?”

You shuffle your feet, switching your weight from one foot to the other. “If you’re gonna give me a hard time, I’ll pay you and you can act like you don’t want it just as much as me.”

“Pay me,” He huffs, “like I'm some whore on the street?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His eyes cut daggers into your own, but you don’t back down. He relinquished any power he had over you a long time ago.

“Fine.”

You shouldn’t, but you’re too pent up to care. When Satoru’s fingers slip under the waistband of your leather skirt, all you can think about is how good he’s going to make you feel. Your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers slide into his hair and grab. His mouth opens and a puff of air is visible in the smoke that leaves his mouth. You smirk, bringing him closer and pressing your lips together. A kiss much too tender for a causal hookup between two exes in one of the private rooms of a sex club, but Satoru fists your shirt and pulls you impossibly closer. His fingers dig into your hips as he kisses you like a man starved.

It’s sloppy, messy as ever as spit slicks your chin and you huff into his mouth, stepping backwards and tripping over the edge of the couch. You hate fucking on leather but Satoru loves it. His hand trails down past the hem of your skirt and trails along your bare skin, feather light touches that leave goosebumps in their wake and send a shiver up your spine. He pushes your legs down harshly, spreading them wide enough for him to slot himself between them. He hasn’t stopped kissing you and you can barely breathe, sliding your hand out of his hair and clawing at his back, gripping his silk shirt and tearing at it with your nails. You drag it upwards with an unspoken message of off off off.

He sneaks a hand over your neck and pushes your head upwards and into the couch. His breath ghosts over your skin, fruity and sweet from alcohol, before he sinks down and nips at your neck. You hear yourself moan before you register the harsh kisses he’s trailing along your neck, ripping open the white blouse you put on for the first time today and trailing kisses along your chest. He bites and sucks and licks over the marks he’s sure to have left before he finally pulls his shirt over his head.

You drag your fingers against his skin. You know the warm honey tone even if you can’t see it, the red lights casting a dark shadow over his features. His hair covers his eyes as he looks down at you, and you can’t even see the whites of his pupils from this angle. You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth, he’s like a devil clad in leather eating you from the inside out and making you his.

“You’re absolutely sinful,” he slurs, the movement of his spit slicked lips slowed by the lasting effects of whatever narcotics he’s spent his night taking. Satoru stares down at you— the way your hair fans out and your lashes flutter under his attention. Your lips are swollen and wet, open just wide enough for him to slip a finger inside. He does just that, slotting his thumb between your lips and pushing your top lip up, fighting the urge to drool over how plump they are. He can’t help but remember how full they look around his cock.

You moan around his finger, closing his lips around him when he allows, and suckle on his skin. The pleasure he gets from that alone has precum dribbling in his tight pants, the outline of his heavy cock visible to anyone who looked close enough. He shuts his eyes and sighs, slouching against you. Your legs bracket his waist and his crotch is right in front of your entrance. Your skirt rides up your waist so the view of your pussy and sopping panties is in plain sight, practically begging for pleasure.

He drags a ringed finger up your fold through your underwear, and your legs fight to close. You’re so sensitive from almost nothing at all, and a strangled moan leaves your mouth when he takes his thumb and pushes it against your clit, rubbing it through the fabric. The pleasure is muffled but still has you whimpering against him, crying out when he slots his lips against yours.

You break apart from the kiss and dart your tongue and swipe it across his lips. He hisses, his eyes snapping open and you lean closer and peck his lips, begging, “Just fuck me, please. A-and then we can go our separate ways just.. just—”

Breaths coming out ragged and sharp, Satoru cuts you off and smashes his lips against yours practically growling and ravenous as he pulls you impossibly closer. Your moans and whines leave your mouth like a garbled mess and Satoru doesn’t stop.

He pulls your underwear down leaving it dangling on your ankle as he creeps closer to your dripping cunt. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he sighs, and the cool air on your sensitive folds has your eyes fluttering shut.

Contrary to what you expect, he brings his fingers back against you, rubbing at your swollen nub as your eyes slip closed and you go slack against the sticky leather. A lusty haze settles over you like a dank fog seeping into your pores and taking over. Satoru’s fingers only speed up slightly, just enough to keep the arousal bubbling in your belly constant. Your hips jerk against him and you grind against his fingers, whining pitifully when it still isn’t enough.

“Wanna see you fuck yourself on my fingers and show me how badly you want to come,” Satoru groans in your ear and your hips stutter as a long whine spills from your lips. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, yes,” you slur, grabbing at his shoulders for support as you move your hips faster.

“Good girl.”

You whimper, and everything fades as you feel the knots in your stomach clench, your climax approaching steadily. You feel cum leak down your legs and onto the couch, but Satoru doesn’t stop. Only now does he speed up and your hips speed up with him. When the warmth leaves you and your hips shake, you cry out and Satoru finally stops, taking his wet fingers and putting them in his mouth.

Satoru groans at the taste, and almost loses his mind at the wet spot where you lay, your arousal still leaking down your legs. You felt his hands grab at your cheeks, massaging the flesh before leaning in and licking a stripe across your center. You yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders as he continued working on you, sucking dutifully on your clit and running his tongue up and down between your folds.

“Oh…”

Satoru pulls off and groans, “You taste so good.”

Your hand runs shakily through his hair, grabbing at the loose strands and pulling him up. “I want you to fuck me,” You groan, your lips wobbly and your eyes hazy where they meet his.

“Oh baby,” he tsks, “You still have some work to do, don’t you?” He pulls your hand from his hair and leans up, making quick work of unbuttoning his jeans and pulling them down. There’s a wet spot in his boxers from pre cum and his cock springs out when he pulls them down. You feel your mouth go dry, his cock clean and pretty just like him, flushed and wet at the tip. The red lights become second nature and you barely notice them when they bounce off his skin and he leans forward dragging you down by your ankles.

“Suck.” He commands, pushing your head forward and dragging his heavy length over your lips. Your whines are muffled when he shoves it inside and you gag, too heavy and too big and much too quick. Your lips wrap around him sucking gently, your tongue lapping against the tip. Pre cum coats your tongue and you sink down even further, your throat closing and your nose tickled by pubic hair.

Satoru groans from above you, your hair in a vice grip as he steadily pushes you on and off his cock. His mouth hangs open and his eyes flutter as you work on him sucking and kissing all over his pretty, flushed skin. You can’t help the moan that leaves your mouth and the vibrations against his sensitive crotch has him jerking against you.

“Fuck,” he moans, “You were made just for me.”

You sob in his hold, it comes out choked and watery but he smirks all the same before pulling you off and pushing you backwards. His biceps flex when he grabs your thighs and turns you over, your cheek pressed into the sticky cushion— your back arched and legs spread wide. He smooths his hand over your arch before pulling back and spreading you wide and slotting his dick inside with no warning.

He stretches you out so well, a moan punching its way out your throat as he buries himself in your tight heat. His fingers dig into your skin so hard you cry out in pain but he doesn’t let up, determined to have you walking home with bruises that spell out his name.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” He growls, thrusting into you particular harshly when you cry out. “Thinking you can just walk away from me?” He says it almost like he’s shocked. He pushes your head down into the cushion, and his dick pushes even deeper. When you reach a hand down you can feel the imprint where his tip lays as he thrusts in slow and deep.

Your cheek is amused against the chair and drool pools out your mouth. You can’t think past anything but full. You're so, so, full. Satoru always knows just what you need to feel good.

You can’t stop your moans as he thrusts in and out of your sopping wet pussy. The sound of his cock drilling in you and stirring your arousal is filthy and rings in your ears, but the shame isn’t enough to stop you from moving your hips back and meeting him thrust for thrust. You can feel your orgasm creeping up on you and Satoru’s as well as his thrust become sloppier and lose their rhythm.

Satoru groans and you feel his cum paint your walls. Your orgasm follows when he thrusts lazily into you, riding his orgasm and continuing to cum deep inside.You try to protest but your body racks with shivers and you can’t stop cumming. Satoru laughs above you and leaves a heavy smack on your ass, and you can feel the skin heat up under his touch. He pulls out and you feel the mixture of your release dribble down your front. Your hips are still stuck in the air, frozen, while your body continues to shake.

“I did a number on you huh, baby.” Satoru teases, before leaning down and leaving a lazy kiss against you. You’re too fucked out to reciprocate and the smirk that adorns Satoru’s face is borderline cruel. “I turned you into my own stupid slut, didn’t I?” He laughs, smoothing his hand through your hair.

“You know you can’t stay away for long.”

You never understood Hyunjin. Not after all those years when you were kids and especially not now. Not when you’d seen him cry every year on his birthday, not when he’d tried and failed to be friends with every newcomer in town, not when he’d stopped talking to you for days after you made fun of his dirt-caked sneakers (I’m sorry Hyunjin, I thought I’d earned that privilege!), and especially not when he’d left you, nineteen years old with not even a look back as he left to be something great while you were stuck being the younger version of your parents— a nobody.

You’d watched him grow up. You watched him mature from the young boy he was and into a man, and in turn he’d watched you as well. You were there when his voice deepened, when his mole started to fade— you were there when his eyebrows thickened and he lost all his baby fat. You were there when he had a huge growth spurt that left him hovering over you more often than not, even when you had always been the tallest. And in turn, he’d watched you. He was there when you decided to grow your hair out and also when you’d decided to cut it— he was there when you’d started to grow in your body and boys and girls started to take notice— he was there when you’d found something you loved, and he was there when your heart broke for the first time.

You were there to watch him bloom— standing by his side all the while as he did— knowing somewhere deep in your heart that he was meant for much more than the shoddy town you both had grown up in. It wasn’t horrible, no, you’d had a lot of fun growing up there. You never lacked fun, or something to do, or friends to make, but it wasn’t a place for flourishing.

It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where everyone went to the same spot to get alcohol, where everyone knew the best spot to get a fake ID; it was a place where the older generation couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a place in the city, where the docks still held old boats from the 70’s and the houses still held the same structure from years ago. It was a great town, one that held memories, but one that lacked growth.

You were there when Hyunjin flourished, when he grew so tall and bloomed so wide that he could no longer fit in your shoddy little town. When his wings spread so far that if he stayed he’d have to slouch a little— crouch down just to fit in. You were there when he found something he loved, when he found the one thing that made him happiest, when he found a dream to chase after.

You were there through his firsts— when he’d gotten his first job, his first rejection, when he’d gotten his first bad grade and his first perfect grade. You were there when the first argument with his parents turned into frequent ones. You were there during his drama lessons, during his practices, you were there when people would tell him he would never amount to anything— when people said he’d be a failure just like his parents— and you were also the one to stand up for him, throwing your first punch in his honor.

You never understood Hyunjin but you knew him. How he’d pick holes into his jeans when he was nervous, and dye his hair when he was really angry— how he’d sometimes just give you a hug, no warning and no words, just his warm embrace and for seemingly no reason at all, but you knew. You knew how he laughed when he was really happy, when he was being fake, when he laughed something small and sad. You knew what every twitch of his brows meant. You knew what he was trying to say when he’d look at you and his lips would quirk up for a split second— that was all you needed to know what he was trying to say without really saying it. You never understood your best friend, but you knew him. He was yours, and you were his. You didn’t need to understand because you knew. You were there.

You both liked to play the same video games, and every day after school you’d play before pulling out your homework. On the first day of school and every friday afterwards you’d both wear matching T-shirts— and whenever you’d manage to scrape up any money that was always what you spent it on. Something you both could match with. Weekends at the arcade in the next town over, going to the fair in the summer every single day until it closed for the year, swimming in the lake behind your house on the hottest summer days. Going to Mielle’s Diner like it was the best treat that your young minds could ever dream of. You both watched the same movies over and over again and would cry at the same exact parts. You’d read books together and yell at each other about them all the while, and watch whatever new drama was out — falling head over heels for the leads.

Now, the Hyunjin you see is a stranger. Twenty-six years to your twenty-four, he’s unrecognizable— in the way he dresses, in the way he talks, in the way he moves— even in the way he breathes. It’s clear that you no longer know Hwang Hyunjin from eight years ago. And of course that’s normal. After eight years you might not recognize what used to be your favorite song, or your childhood dog, your favorite TV show— if you hadn’t seen your parents in eight years you might not recognize them— but for you, someone who had always believed you and Hyunjin would be best friends forever— as childish as it was, looking at Hyunjin now feels like betrayal. Like heartbreak, one much worse than what made you stay all those years ago— it feels like coming home after a long day just to see your stuff thrown on the porch. It feels like going on a date expecting a proposal only to be broken up with. It feels like getting rejected from your dream school.

Seeing Hyunjin now isn’t familiar. You’ve seen him every once in a while on TV, in a magazine, in a cameo of your favorite show— but that wasn’t Hyunjin. Not your Hyunjin. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that used to throw rocks at your window and help you sneak out to go to karaoke. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that would always come to the diner where you worked and tip extra with the money he barely had. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that bought you your first pair of sneakers after fifteen years of hand-me-downs. That wasn’t the Hyunjin who’d rubbed your back and cried with you on the worst day of your life.

Yet, somehow, it is him. In the way he laughs, in the way he stands just a few inches taller than you, in the way his lips curve up and dimples form in a way you’d never seen before. It’s in the way he says “hey” and wraps you up in a hug like those eight years were really only eight seconds— as if he was just coming back from a week long vacation. It’s him in the way he brings warmth everywhere he goes, embracing you so tightly, so utterly comforting, that it feels like you’ve been rolled up inside a heated blanket on a cold, winter day. You’ve seen him every once in a while, on TV, in a magazine, and realized— that is him. It was him in an interview with dogs, cuddling and cooing at them for twenty minutes straight. It was him doing a tour of his home, books littered everywhere, canvases with the most intricate designs on his walls, it was him, when he still lit up at the sight of anything new— because those things don’t go away. Those old habits and interests that are ingrained so deep; so painfully deep, don’t just go away.

Seeing Hyunjin again is like finding a forgotten trinket in the back of your closet, like finding your favorite book or shirt after months— years, even— of thinking you’d lost it forever. It’s a sudden bout of nostalgia, a remembrance of something you used to love, something you cherished. But maybe the shirt doesn’t fit you anymore. Maybe the book doesn’t interest you. Seeing Hyunjin is like that— someone you used to love more than anyone; someone you used to cherish, but he’s a thing from the past, and eventually you’d always lose those items again. They’d lay in the darkness of the deepest corners of your closet, waiting for the chance to be found again or forgotten forever.

You don’t think seeing Hyunjin again is much different, except you’re the thing in the closet, and you’re fine with being forgotten.

You never understood Hyunjin. Not after all those years when you were kids and especially not now. Not when you’d seen him cry every year on his birthday, not when he’d tried and failed to be friends with every newcomer in town, not when he’d stopped talking to you for days after you made fun of his dirt-caked sneakers (I’m sorry Hyunjin, I thought I’d earned that privilege!), and especially not when he’d left you, nineteen years old with not even a look back as he left to be something great while you were stuck being the younger version of your parents— a nobody.

You’d watched him grow up. You watched him mature from the young boy he was and into a man, and in turn he’d watched you as well. You were there when his voice deepened, when his mole started to fade— you were there when his eyebrows thickened and he lost all his baby fat. You were there when he had a huge growth spurt that left him hovering over you more often than not, even when you had always been the tallest. And in turn, he’d watched you. He was there when you decided to grow your hair out and also when you’d decided to cut it— he was there when you’d started to grow in your body and boys and girls started to take notice— he was there when you’d found something you loved, and he was there when your heart broke for the first time.

You were there to watch him bloom— standing by his side all the while as he did— knowing somewhere deep in your heart that he was meant for much more than the shoddy town you both had grown up in. It wasn’t horrible, no, you’d had a lot of fun growing up there. You never lacked fun, or something to do, or friends to make, but it wasn’t a place for flourishing.

It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where everyone went to the same spot to get alcohol, where everyone knew the best spot to get a fake ID; it was a place where the older generation couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a place in the city, where the docks still held old boats from the 70’s and the houses still held the same structure from years ago. It was a great town, one that held memories, but one that lacked growth.

You were there when Hyunjin flourished, when he grew so tall and bloomed so wide that he could no longer fit in your shoddy little town. When his wings spread so far that if he stayed he’d have to slouch a little— crouch down just to fit in. You were there when he found something he loved, when he found the one thing that made him happiest, when he found a dream to chase after.

You were there through his firsts— when he’d gotten his first job, his first rejection, when he’d gotten his first bad grade and his first perfect grade. You were there when the first argument with his parents turned into frequent ones. You were there during his drama lessons, during his practices, you were there when people would tell him he would never amount to anything— when people said he’d be a failure just like his parents— and you were also the one to stand up for him, throwing your first punch in his honor.

You never understood Hyunjin but you knew him. How he’d pick holes into his jeans when he was nervous, and dye his hair when he was really angry— how he’d sometimes just give you a hug, no warning and no words, just his warm embrace and for seemingly no reason at all, but you knew. You knew how he laughed when he was really happy, when he was being fake, when he laughed something small and sad. You knew what every twitch of his brows meant. You knew what he was trying to say when he’d look at you and his lips would quirk up for a split second— that was all you needed to know what he was trying to say without really saying it. You never understood your best friend, but you knew him. He was yours, and you were his. You didn’t need to understand because you knew. You were there.

You both liked to play the same video games, and every day after school you’d play before pulling out your homework. On the first day of school and every friday afterwards you’d both wear matching T-shirts— and whenever you’d manage to scrape up any money that was always what you spent it on. Something you both could match with. Weekends at the arcade in the next town over, going to the fair in the summer every single day until it closed for the year, swimming in the lake behind your house on the hottest summer days. Going to Mielle’s Diner like it was the best treat that your young minds could ever dream of. You both watched the same movies over and over again and would cry at the same exact parts. You’d read books together and yell at each other about them all the while, and watch whatever new drama was out — falling head over heels for the leads.

Now, the Hyunjin you see is a stranger. Twenty-six years to your twenty-four, he’s unrecognizable— in the way he dresses, in the way he talks, in the way he moves— even in the way he breathes. It’s clear that you no longer know Hwang Hyunjin from eight years ago. And of course that’s normal. After eight years you might not recognize what used to be your favorite song, or your childhood dog, your favorite TV show— if you hadn’t seen your parents in eight years you might not recognize them— but for you, someone who had always believed you and Hyunjin would be best friends forever— as childish as it was, looking at Hyunjin now feels like betrayal. Like heartbreak, one much worse than what made you stay all those years ago— it feels like coming home after a long day just to see your stuff thrown on the porch. It feels like going on a date expecting a proposal only to be broken up with. It feels like getting rejected from your dream school.

Seeing Hyunjin now isn’t familiar. You’ve seen him every once in a while on TV, in a magazine, in a cameo of your favorite show— but that wasn’t Hyunjin. Not your Hyunjin. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that used to throw rocks at your window and help you sneak out to go to karaoke. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that would always come to the diner where you worked and tip extra with the money he barely had. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that bought you your first pair of sneakers after fifteen years of hand-me-downs. That wasn’t the Hyunjin who’d rubbed your back and cried with you on the worst day of your life.

Yet, somehow, it is him. In the way he laughs, in the way he stands just a few inches taller than you, in the way his lips curve up and dimples form in a way you’d never seen before. It’s in the way he says “hey” and wraps you up in a hug like those eight years were really only eight seconds— as if he was just coming back from a week long vacation. It’s him in the way he brings warmth everywhere he goes, embracing you so tightly, so utterly comforting, that it feels like you’ve been rolled up inside a heated blanket on a cold, winter day. You’ve seen him every once in a while, on TV, in a magazine, and realized— that is him. It was him in an interview with dogs, cuddling and cooing at them for twenty minutes straight. It was him doing a tour of his home, books littered everywhere, canvases with the most intricate designs on his walls, it was him, when he still lit up at the sight of anything new— because those things don’t go away. Those old habits and interests that are ingrained so deep; so painfully deep, don’t just go away.

Seeing Hyunjin again is like finding a forgotten trinket in the back of your closet, like finding your favorite book or shirt after months— years, even— of thinking you’d lost it forever. It’s a sudden bout of nostalgia, a remembrance of something you used to love, something you cherished. But maybe the shirt doesn’t fit you anymore. Maybe the book doesn’t interest you. Seeing Hyunjin is like that— someone you used to love more than anyone; someone you used to cherish, but he’s a thing from the past, and eventually you’d always lose those items again. They’d lay in the darkness of the deepest corners of your closet, waiting for the chance to be found again or forgotten forever.

You don’t think seeing Hyunjin again is much different, except you’re the thing in the closet, and you’re fine with being forgotten.

You never understood Hyunjin. Not after all those years when you were kids and especially not now. Not when you’d seen him cry every year on his birthday, not when he’d tried and failed to be friends with every newcomer in town, not when he’d stopped talking to you for days after you made fun of his dirt-caked sneakers (I’m sorry Hyunjin, I thought I’d earned that privilege!), and especially not when he’d left you, nineteen years old with not even a look back as he left to be something great while you were stuck being the younger version of your parents— a nobody.

You’d watched him grow up. You watched him mature from the young boy he was and into a man, and in turn he’d watched you as well. You were there when his voice deepened, when his mole started to fade— you were there when his eyebrows thickened and he lost all his baby fat. You were there when he had a huge growth spurt that left him hovering over you more often than not, even when you had always been the tallest. And in turn, he’d watched you. He was there when you decided to grow your hair out and also when you’d decided to cut it— he was there when you’d started to grow in your body and boys and girls started to take notice— he was there when you’d found something you loved, and he was there when your heart broke for the first time.

You were there to watch him bloom— standing by his side all the while as he did— knowing somewhere deep in your heart that he was meant for much more than the shoddy town you both had grown up in. It wasn’t horrible, no, you’d had a lot of fun growing up there. You never lacked fun, or something to do, or friends to make, but it wasn’t a place for flourishing.

It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where everyone went to the same spot to get alcohol, where everyone knew the best spot to get a fake ID; it was a place where the older generation couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a place in the city, where the docks still held old boats from the 70’s and the houses still held the same structure from years ago. It was a great town, one that held memories, but one that lacked growth.

You were there when Hyunjin flourished, when he grew so tall and bloomed so wide that he could no longer fit in your shoddy little town. When his wings spread so far that if he stayed he’d have to slouch a little— crouch down just to fit in. You were there when he found something he loved, when he found the one thing that made him happiest, when he found a dream to chase after.

You were there through his firsts— when he’d gotten his first job, his first rejection, when he’d gotten his first bad grade and his first perfect grade. You were there when the first argument with his parents turned into frequent ones. You were there during his drama lessons, during his practices, you were there when people would tell him he would never amount to anything— when people said he’d be a failure just like his parents— and you were also the one to stand up for him, throwing your first punch in his honor.

You never understood Hyunjin but you knew him. How he’d pick holes into his jeans when he was nervous, and dye his hair when he was really angry— how he’d sometimes just give you a hug, no warning and no words, just his warm embrace and for seemingly no reason at all, but you knew. You knew how he laughed when he was really happy, when he was being fake, when he laughed something small and sad. You knew what every twitch of his brows meant. You knew what he was trying to say when he’d look at you and his lips would quirk up for a split second— that was all you needed to know what he was trying to say without really saying it. You never understood your best friend, but you knew him. He was yours, and you were his. You didn’t need to understand because you knew. You were there.

You both liked to play the same video games, and every day after school you’d play before pulling out your homework. On the first day of school and every friday afterwards you’d both wear matching T-shirts— and whenever you’d manage to scrape up any money that was always what you spent it on. Something you both could match with. Weekends at the arcade in the next town over, going to the fair in the summer every single day until it closed for the year, swimming in the lake behind your house on the hottest summer days. Going to Mielle’s Diner like it was the best treat that your young minds could ever dream of. You both watched the same movies over and over again and would cry at the same exact parts. You’d read books together and yell at each other about them all the while, and watch whatever new drama was out — falling head over heels for the leads.

Now, the Hyunjin you see is a stranger. Twenty-six years to your twenty-four, he’s unrecognizable— in the way he dresses, in the way he talks, in the way he moves— even in the way he breathes. It’s clear that you no longer know Hwang Hyunjin from eight years ago. And of course that’s normal. After eight years you might not recognize what used to be your favorite song, or your childhood dog, your favorite TV show— if you hadn’t seen your parents in eight years you might not recognize them— but for you, someone who had always believed you and Hyunjin would be best friends forever— as childish as it was, looking at Hyunjin now feels like betrayal. Like heartbreak, one much worse than what made you stay all those years ago— it feels like coming home after a long day just to see your stuff thrown on the porch. It feels like going on a date expecting a proposal only to be broken up with. It feels like getting rejected from your dream school.

Seeing Hyunjin now isn’t familiar. You’ve seen him every once in a while on TV, in a magazine, in a cameo of your favorite show— but that wasn’t Hyunjin. Not your Hyunjin. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that used to throw rocks at your window and help you sneak out to go to karaoke. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that would always come to the diner where you worked and tip extra with the money he barely had. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that bought you your first pair of sneakers after fifteen years of hand-me-downs. That wasn’t the Hyunjin who’d rubbed your back and cried with you on the worst day of your life.

Yet, somehow, it is him. In the way he laughs, in the way he stands just a few inches taller than you, in the way his lips curve up and dimples form in a way you’d never seen before. It’s in the way he says “hey” and wraps you up in a hug like those eight years were really only eight seconds— as if he was just coming back from a week long vacation. It’s him in the way he brings warmth everywhere he goes, embracing you so tightly, so utterly comforting, that it feels like you’ve been rolled up inside a heated blanket on a cold, winter day. You’ve seen him every once in a while, on TV, in a magazine, and realized— that is him. It was him in an interview with dogs, cuddling and cooing at them for twenty minutes straight. It was him doing a tour of his home, books littered everywhere, canvases with the most intricate designs on his walls, it was him, when he still lit up at the sight of anything new— because those things don’t go away. Those old habits and interests that are ingrained so deep; so painfully deep, don’t just go away.

Seeing Hyunjin again is like finding a forgotten trinket in the back of your closet, like finding your favorite book or shirt after months— years, even— of thinking you’d lost it forever. It’s a sudden bout of nostalgia, a remembrance of something you used to love, something you cherished. But maybe the shirt doesn’t fit you anymore. Maybe the book doesn’t interest you. Seeing Hyunjin is like that— someone you used to love more than anyone; someone you used to cherish, but he’s a thing from the past, and eventually you’d always lose those items again. They’d lay in the darkness of the deepest corners of your closet, waiting for the chance to be found again or forgotten forever.

You don’t think seeing Hyunjin again is much different, except you’re the thing in the closet, and you’re fine with being forgotten.

You never understood Hyunjin. Not after all those years when you were kids and especially not now. Not when you’d seen him cry every year on his birthday, not when he’d tried and failed to be friends with every newcomer in town, not when he’d stopped talking to you for days after you made fun of his dirt-caked sneakers (I’m sorry Hyunjin, I thought I’d earned that privilege!), and especially not when he’d left you, nineteen years old with not even a look back as he left to be something great while you were stuck being the younger version of your parents— a nobody.

You’d watched him grow up. You watched him mature from the young boy he was and into a man, and in turn he’d watched you as well. You were there when his voice deepened, when his mole started to fade— you were there when his eyebrows thickened and he lost all his baby fat. You were there when he had a huge growth spurt that left him hovering over you more often than not, even when you had always been the tallest. And in turn, he’d watched you. He was there when you decided to grow your hair out and also when you’d decided to cut it— he was there when you’d started to grow in your body and boys and girls started to take notice— he was there when you’d found something you loved, and he was there when your heart broke for the first time.

You were there to watch him bloom— standing by his side all the while as he did— knowing somewhere deep in your heart that he was meant for much more than the shoddy town you both had grown up in. It wasn’t horrible, no, you’d had a lot of fun growing up there. You never lacked fun, or something to do, or friends to make, but it wasn’t a place for flourishing.

It was a place where everyone knew everyone, where everyone went to the same spot to get alcohol, where everyone knew the best spot to get a fake ID; it was a place where the older generation couldn’t fathom why anyone would want a place in the city, where the docks still held old boats from the 70’s and the houses still held the same structure from years ago. It was a great town, one that held memories, but one that lacked growth.

You were there when Hyunjin flourished, when he grew so tall and bloomed so wide that he could no longer fit in your shoddy little town. When his wings spread so far that if he stayed he’d have to slouch a little— crouch down just to fit in. You were there when he found something he loved, when he found the one thing that made him happiest, when he found a dream to chase after.

You were there through his firsts— when he’d gotten his first job, his first rejection, when he’d gotten his first bad grade and his first perfect grade. You were there when the first argument with his parents turned into frequent ones. You were there during his drama lessons, during his practices, you were there when people would tell him he would never amount to anything— when people said he’d be a failure just like his parents— and you were also the one to stand up for him, throwing your first punch in his honor.

You never understood Hyunjin but you knew him. How he’d pick holes into his jeans when he was nervous, and dye his hair when he was really angry— how he’d sometimes just give you a hug, no warning and no words, just his warm embrace and for seemingly no reason at all, but you knew. You knew how he laughed when he was really happy, when he was being fake, when he laughed something small and sad. You knew what every twitch of his brows meant. You knew what he was trying to say when he’d look at you and his lips would quirk up for a split second— that was all you needed to know what he was trying to say without really saying it. You never understood your best friend, but you knew him. He was yours, and you were his. You didn’t need to understand because you knew. You were there.

You both liked to play the same video games, and every day after school you’d play before pulling out your homework. On the first day of school and every friday afterwards you’d both wear matching T-shirts— and whenever you’d manage to scrape up any money that was always what you spent it on. Something you both could match with. Weekends at the arcade in the next town over, going to the fair in the summer every single day until it closed for the year, swimming in the lake behind your house on the hottest summer days. Going to Mielle’s Diner like it was the best treat that your young minds could ever dream of. You both watched the same movies over and over again and would cry at the same exact parts. You’d read books together and yell at each other about them all the while, and watch whatever new drama was out — falling head over heels for the leads.

Now, the Hyunjin you see is a stranger. Twenty-six years to your twenty-four, he’s unrecognizable— in the way he dresses, in the way he talks, in the way he moves— even in the way he breathes. It’s clear that you no longer know Hwang Hyunjin from eight years ago. And of course that’s normal. After eight years you might not recognize what used to be your favorite song, or your childhood dog, your favorite TV show— if you hadn’t seen your parents in eight years you might not recognize them— but for you, someone who had always believed you and Hyunjin would be best friends forever— as childish as it was, looking at Hyunjin now feels like betrayal. Like heartbreak, one much worse than what made you stay all those years ago— it feels like coming home after a long day just to see your stuff thrown on the porch. It feels like going on a date expecting a proposal only to be broken up with. It feels like getting rejected from your dream school.

Seeing Hyunjin now isn’t familiar. You’ve seen him every once in a while on TV, in a magazine, in a cameo of your favorite show— but that wasn’t Hyunjin. Not your Hyunjin. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that used to throw rocks at your window and help you sneak out to go to karaoke. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that would always come to the diner where you worked and tip extra with the money he barely had. That wasn’t the Hyunjin that bought you your first pair of sneakers after fifteen years of hand-me-downs. That wasn’t the Hyunjin who’d rubbed your back and cried with you on the worst day of your life.

Yet, somehow, it is him. In the way he laughs, in the way he stands just a few inches taller than you, in the way his lips curve up and dimples form in a way you’d never seen before. It’s in the way he says “hey” and wraps you up in a hug like those eight years were really only eight seconds— as if he was just coming back from a week long vacation. It’s him in the way he brings warmth everywhere he goes, embracing you so tightly, so utterly comforting, that it feels like you’ve been rolled up inside a heated blanket on a cold, winter day. You’ve seen him every once in a while, on TV, in a magazine, and realized— that is him. It was him in an interview with dogs, cuddling and cooing at them for twenty minutes straight. It was him doing a tour of his home, books littered everywhere, canvases with the most intricate designs on his walls, it was him, when he still lit up at the sight of anything new— because those things don’t go away. Those old habits and interests that are ingrained so deep; so painfully deep, don’t just go away.

Seeing Hyunjin again is like finding a forgotten trinket in the back of your closet, like finding your favorite book or shirt after months— years, even— of thinking you’d lost it forever. It’s a sudden bout of nostalgia, a remembrance of something you used to love, something you cherished. But maybe the shirt doesn’t fit you anymore. Maybe the book doesn’t interest you. Seeing Hyunjin is like that— someone you used to love more than anyone; someone you used to cherish, but he’s a thing from the past, and eventually you’d always lose those items again. They’d lay in the darkness of the deepest corners of your closet, waiting for the chance to be found again or forgotten forever.

You don’t think seeing Hyunjin again is much different, except you’re the thing in the closet, and you’re fine with being forgotten.

WHAT SUNSETS ARE MADE OF

— Chapter one — Chapter two (tbr)

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