right where it starts and ends (sehun/tao, pg-13, 9300w)
Title: Right Where It Starts and Ends
Pairing: Sehun/Tao
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9300
Summary: A friendship born on paper takes its first steps.
Warning: Brief mention of offscreen youth suicide.
I.
There’s a notecard bearing a strange name taped to his desk when Sehun slides into his assigned seat in class 5-3 after lunch on Monday. He doesn’t pay it much mind, choosing instead to sneak his GameBoy out of his lunchbox and get in a few more minutes of Pokémon Emerald beneath the desk as the rest of the class trickles in. His teacher spots him and confiscates it, cuffing him gently on the shoulder before strolling to her desk and tucking it away in one of the drawers.
“You can get it after school,” Ms. Kwon says, her lips quirking upward at his forlorn expression. She steps aside to close the door just as the last few stragglers slip through and race to their seats, then turns to face the class with her hands clasped.
“Everyone’s here, so let’s get started,” she says. “Each of you should have a card taped to your desk. Does everyone have one?”
Sehun chimes in with the rest of the class. “Yes!”
“Each card has a different name on it. That name is the name of your new English pen pal,” Ms. Kwon continues.
“Are they from America?” a girl in the back called Soojung asks with not a little skepticism in her voice.
“No,” Ms. Kwon replies. “A friend of mine from university teaches English at a school in Qingdao, in China. Now, since you’ve only been learning English for a couple of years, we thought it might be too hard to communicate with a student from an English-speaking country, but we’d really love for you to get some practice in. So…” She claps her hands together twice. “We thought it would be great if our classes could write to each other.”
“What should we write about?” Sehun asks, flicking the corner of the notecard.
“Whatever you want, whatever you feel comfortable writing about,” she responds. “Simple sentences are fine. Your letters don’t have to be long. I wrote some sample topics on the board.”
At this, she moves toward the chalkboard and gestures to the list of words neatly printed under the heading “Topics”: family, hobbies, house, favorite things, pets, your personality and looks.
“So, maybe for your first letter, you should tell your new friend about you,” she adds, tapping the last item on the list. “Because I think the first question they will have about you is ‘Who are you?’”
Sehun chews on his lower lip. Who am I? he wonders, doodling aimlessly on the edge of the notecard with his pencil.
“So get out a piece of paper, and let’s work on our first drafts!” the teacher says, folding her hands behind her back expectantly.
Nobody moves.
“Come on!” She claps her hands three times, loudly, and the students jolt into action, pulling out notebooks and pencils as she turns to the board, drawing a mock-up of a letter with a heading and closing for them to copy for their own letters.
Sehun flips his notebook open to the first blank page and writes the date in the corner, then Dear Huang Zitao. He chews on the end of his pencil in thought. Who am I?
My name is Oh Sehun.
He re-reads the sentence, checking the spelling, and smiles at what he considers huge progress.
I am your new pen pal. I am 11 years old. I live Seoul, South Korea. I has mom, dad, and big brother.
He knows there are definitely mistakes in there somewhere, but their letters won’t be graded, so he doesn’t bother to ask for help. Besides, it’s not like this Huang Zitao will be much better at English than he is, if they’re both in fifth grade.
I like TV. I like dogs. Do you like animals? I want dog. Mom and dad says said no. I was sad. When I am older, I has will have dog!
Sehun’s hand aches from erasing and rewriting words (and sometimes whole sentences, when his teacher walks by to check on his progress and comments on his messy handwriting), so he works on a conclusion.
English is hard. I stop now. I want to see your letter. Please write soon.
He squints at the board, copying Ms. Kwon’s wording.
Sincerly
Sincerely,
Oh Sehun
The bell rings not long after he’s finished, and Ms. Kwon collects their papers.
“Tomorrow you’ll rewrite your letter and put it on nice paper,” she shouts over the kerfuffle of 40 fifth graders shuffling papers and sneaking toward the door for their break time. “If you can, try to bring a picture of yourself to put in the envelope with your letter, so your pen pal can see what you look like!”
Sehun remembers what his school ID photo looks like and cringes internally as he slides out of his seat and wanders out of the classroom, making his way to the water fountain down the hall. Maybe his mom will let him raid the family photo collection for a less awkward picture of himself. He shrugs, putting it out of his mind to enjoy the ten minutes of rest before the torture of math class.
✈
Three weeks after Ms. Kwon sends off the packet of letters to China, she comes in with an equally large packet bearing unfamiliar postage stamps. She waves it around with a grin on her face.
“Look what’s here!” she says, unfastening the metal clasp at the back of the envelope and pulling out a hefty stack of letters in different colored envelopes. “Your letters from your pen pals in China!”
She splits the pile in half. “Jongin-ah, Jinri-yah, pass these out, please.”
Jongin clambers out of the chair next to Sehun and eagerly accepts the pile, Jinri doing the same on the other side of the room. Sehun follows them both around the classroom with his eyes, kicking his feet against the legs of his desk until Jongin stops in front of his desk and flips through the pile.
“Sehunnie…” Jongin murmurs, pulling out a blue envelope and handing it to Sehun. “This one’s yours.”
“Thanks,” Sehun says absently, examining the envelope as Jongin moves on to another student. It’s nothing special, but he notices his name is written in English and Chinese characters on the front (which he finds pretty impressive considering he can’t even write his own name in Chinese characters yet, let alone anyone else’s).
He carefully removes the panda sticker sealing the envelope and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Another piece of paper falls out from inside, and Sehun realizes it’s a photo. He picks it up and turns it over to see a small boy with sleepy eyes and close-cropped black hair. He’s wearing some kind of martial arts uniform, and he’s got a goofy smile on his face, like he was laughing when the picture was taken. He looks friendly. Sehun schools the smile curling his own lips away and replaces the photo on the desk so he can unfold the letter, reading slowly:
Dear Oh Sehun,
Hello! My name is Huang Zitao. I live in Qingdao, Shandong, China. It’s close to the sea. Have you ever been to China?
I am 11 years old. I live with my grandparents. My mother and father work in Beijing. Sometimes I see them on the weekends.
I go to a language school, so this is my fifth year learning English. But my favorite subject is P.E. Also, I learn Wushu after school. (I’m wearing my uniform in the picture I sent to you!) It is really fun. What do you like to do?
It is almost time for lunch, so I will stop writing. I hope your letter comes soon!
Sincerely,
Huang Zitao
P.S. My friends just call me Tao. You can call me Tao, too, since we are friends now. ^u^
Sehun stares at the paper. He was wrong - Huang Zitao is most definitely better at English than Sehun is. Sehun actually has to circle the words he doesn’t recognize so he can look them up in his English dictionary before he replies to Zitao’s - Tao’s - letter.
“If you’re finished reading, we can use this class to work on a reply to your pen pal,” Ms. Kwon calls out to the class, strolling back up the aisle toward the chalkboard.
Sehun fumbles in his desk for a clean sheet of paper and sharpens his pencil before frantically waving down his teacher for help. If he’s going to write again, it’s going to look as good as Tao’s letter. It is, Sehun tells himself as he brandishes the letter at Ms. Kwon with wide eyes, a matter of national pride.
✈
Sehun’s class continues writing to their Chinese pen pals for the remainder of the school year, and it doesn’t occur to Sehun that they’d ever be stopping until his teacher tells the class that they’ll be writing their final letters this week.
“Why are we stopping?” Sehun asks, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.
“Well, you’ll all be going on to sixth grade next year, and you’ll be in different classes,” Ms. Kwon explains. “It would be complicated.” She pauses for a moment. “I suppose you could give your home address to your pen pal, if you wanted to keep writing outside of school.”
Sehun blinks. “Oh,” he says, feeling a little stupid. “That’s a good idea.”
Ms. Kwon smiles and clasps her hands, directing the students to get out pencils and paper and start composing their letters.
Sehun likes these days, when they don’t have to hear lectures about complicated grammatical structures and listen to weird dialogues that don’t make any sense. Writing is hard, but there’s a purpose to it. He’s learning more writing these letters than he has sitting listlessly in class, trying to make himself remember lists of vocabulary words that he doesn’t know how to use.
Of course, getting to know Tao is the best part of the whole project. Sehun has friends in school, like Jongin and Jinri and Soojung, and a couple of the sixth grade boys, Byun Baekhyun and Park Chanyeol, who’d taken him under their wing when he was getting shoved around by some of the bigger kids earlier in the year. But they’d be going to middle school next year, and Sehun’s classmates could be in different homerooms next year. Tao may live in a different country, but there’s a constantness to his presence in Sehun’s life despite the fact that their friendship only exists on paper.
He wants to tell Tao everything; the only thing that keeps him from doing just that is the language barrier. But Tao doesn’t tease him for his poor phrasing or bad spelling; a gentle request for clarification here and there is all the criticism Sehun faces. Writing to Tao has done more for his confidence than any high test grade ever could.
Dear Tao, Sehun writes, scribbling down a list of things that have happened since his last letter to Tao: Jongin’s birthday was a week earlier, so Sehun had gone to his house for a little party; Christmas had come and gone without much fanfare, but it was a day off from school, so he put it down anyway; and the Lunar New Year isn’t far off, something he’s sure Tao is looking forward to as well.
Sehun carefully copies his home address near the bottom of the paper. I hope you still want to write to me, he adds at the end before signing off. I will wait for your letter. Happy new year!
He glances over the paper, checking it for errors, making sure his address is legible and the post code is correct, before neatly rewriting it on stationery. He passes it to his teacher at the end of class, hoping that Tao likes writing to Sehun as much as Sehun likes writing to Tao.
✈
When Sehun’s mom comes into his bedroom a month later with an envelope pinched between two fingers, asking him who exactly he knows in China, Sehun knows the feeling is mutual.
II.
Sehun stares at the wall in his room, looking at the stacks of boxes his life has been so neatly piled into. His clothes are folded into two suitcases; posters are rolled into a large tube; books and CDs are organized and placed into a stack of old Shin Ramen boxes. Only a few remnants of his childhood remain: the comforter on his bed, the desk his parents had bought for him to study at just before he started middle school, a few framed photos hung on the wall. Everything else is ready to be loaded up into a van his parents have rented for this momentous occasion--their youngest son heading off to college.
The only possession Sehun hasn’t found a place for is his lockbox, which he’d pulled from beneath his bed after his mom told him to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Kyunggi University was in Suwon, not terribly far outside of Seoul, but Sehun didn’t really want to deal with a three-hour round-trip train ride just to pick up something he’d forgotten.
He opens the first drawer of his desk to grab the key for the box--another thing he’d nearly forgotten--and slams it shut once he’s found it, flopping back onto his bed. He unlocks the box and flips open the lid, taking stock of its contents: his passport, bankbook, and old student ID cards sit in a pile in one corner of the box.
The rest of it is taken up by envelopes, all slit open at the top and organized by date of receipt. They all bear the same return address in Shandong, China, the same address Sehun has been sending letters to for eight years. The only thing that’s changed has been the handwriting, growing less childlike with every year that passes.
Sehun checks his watch and sees that he’s still got an hour before dinner. The rest of the room is packed; it’s not like anyone will care if he takes a break, so he pulls out the envelopes and starts flipping through them. It’s been a while since he’s re-read some of these; these days, he and Tao mainly stick to e-mail and Skype, but they still try to write once a month if possible.
Sehun peers at the date stamp on one of the envelopes and pulls out the letter inside, spilling confetti all over himself in the process. He smiles to himself and scoops the little foil pieces into a pile on the bed absently as he reads.
Dear Sehun,
Happy 13th birthday!!! I hope the confetti doesn’t make a big mess. And I hope you get this letter in time for your birthday. I know China Post can be slow sometimes.
It’s springtime! Is it warm in Korea yet? The weather is improving here, but it’s still cold at night. I can't wait to go to the beach again. Do you like swimming? I love going to the pool and jumping off the diving board. It's scary but I think it's fun.
We're learning about biology in school right now, and how the human body works. We just finished the excretory system... everyone made lots of poop jokes, it was funny. What are you doing in school right now? What's your favorite subject? How is your English class? I think your teacher must be better this year, your writing has improved a lot! (It wasn't bad before, though!! I think you just seem more comfortable using English these days. I'm happy for you. ^^ I'm glad we can talk about more things now.)
I think by the time I get your next letter it will be my birthday. (May 3rd, remember? Don't forget!) I hope you will send me a very expensive and fancy present!!!
Just kidding!!!
Write back soon!
Your friend,
Tao
Sehun folds the letter up and slides it back into the envelope, carefully sprinkling the confetti back into the envelope as well. He had sent Tao a birthday present a month later, Sehun remembers, thinking of how he'd packaged the little tae kwon do figurine in bubble wrap and a cardboard box and given it to the lady at the post office with some of his pocket money he'd reserved for postage. It was the first time he'd ever sent anything that wasn't a simple letter, and Sehun remembers feeling a little nervous about it, wondering whether Tao would like it, even though the little figure was performing a Korean martial art rather than a Chinese one.
He peeks into the next envelope in the stack and pulls out a picture of Tao holding the figure and mimicking its pose, and remembers how much lighter his chest had felt after reading that letter and how he'd laughed at Tao's concern over getting Sehun nothing but a messy envelope full of confetti for his birthday. He'd vowed to do better next year, and he had, sending Sehun a mix CD of upbeat Mandarin pop tracks to use for dance practice, remembering that Sehun had just started hip-hop classes at Jongin's behest. He'd listened to that CD until he'd practically wore it out, in spite of not understanding much of what was being sung. A few months later, Sehun had sent him a DVD of a short dance routine he and Jongin had choreographed to one of the tracks, and the excitement in Tao's next letter made all the hours of practice and sweat and frustration worth it.
Sehun skips through a year's worth of letters, looking for some of the ones they'd wrote in middle school. As they'd grown older, Sehun and Tao had gradually moved toward electronic forms of communication--e-mail at first, and upon receiving their own smart phones early in high school (Tao had gotten an iPhone for his 16th birthday, and Sehun got his brother's hand-me-down Samsung Galaxy 1.0, much to his dismay), KakaoTalk.
But in spite of technological advancements, they'd continued to send letters through the post. None of Sehun's friends had kept in touch with their pen pals from that year in school, and some of them had definitely teased him about his devotion to such an antiquated tradition, but Jongin had confided in him once after tagging along to the post office with him on the way to their after-school arts hagwon when they were fifteen, expressing mild envy over Sehun's relationship with Tao. It was cool, he'd said, fidgeting in his chair while he and Sehun waited for the screen to blink Sehun's number in line, that he and Tao had managed to find so much in common. I wish mine had bothered to get to know me like Tao did with you.
Well, you have me, at least, Sehun had remarked, and Jongin had smiled.
But Tao's your best friend, Jongin had pointed out, and that was really the first time he'd really considered the idea. He’d always believed that your best friend was the person you spent the most time with, the one you saw all the time. For Sehun, that person was Jongin. But the person who knew all his secrets, the person who shared everything with him, the person who really knew Oh Sehun… that was Tao.
Sehun slid another letter out of its envelope.
Dear Sehun,
Sometimes I really wish we could see each other all the time. Writing letters seems so hard and useless when you’re sad and I just want you to feel better.
I’m scared about high school, too. So much studying, so many kids who give up because they can’t handle it all…
Sehun folds the paper, his chest twisting at how hysterical with worry he was when he wrote the letter Tao was referencing in that letter. A student at a middle school in the same neighborhood as his own had thrown herself from her parents’ high-rise apartment building the week before; the news media had suggested it was a result of the stressful school life students in South Korea were expected to succeed in, the catalyst being a rejection from a prestigious private high school. Sehun wasn’t a very diligent student as far as his parents and teachers were concerned, and would never get worked up about school enough to take his own life, but the incident rattled him for weeks. Tao was the only person he’d told about his anxiety, the only one he’d trusted not to judge him for losing sleep over a girl he didn’t even know.
It reminds him of another time, and Sehun thumbs past another few letters, searching for a more recent one. He takes it out of the envelope, trying to be careful with the paper; it’s more worn from creasing than many of the others, despite the fact that it’s only about a year old. The words are so familiar by this point that Sehun can almost recite them by heart.
Dear Sehun,
I don’t even know why I’m sending you this letter. Part of me hopes it gets lost in the mail, or that you throw it out by accident, or one of Jongin’s dogs eats it. (I know your mom would never let them into your house, but I thought about it.)
I’m writing this letter because I can’t tell you face to face about it. I don’t want to cry in front of you. I don’t want to see your face when I say the words because I’m scared that your eyes will turn dark and your smile will fade and you will hate me. I couldn’t take that. If you don’t respond to this letter, then I’ll know. I won’t lie and say it won’t hurt me, but it won’t destroy me.
I’m stalling. So here it goes.
Sehun, I’m gay.
It feels weird to write that down for the first time. I haven’t told anyone yet. Not because I’m not sure--I am, I have been for a couple of years now--but becuse who can I tell? My grandparents? My parents? My friends at school? The only reason I’m telling you now is because I’m sort of seeing somebody and I feel like I should be able to tell my best friend about it. It’s too hard to lie to everyone. I don’t want to lie to you.
His name is Yifan, but his English name is Kevin. He’s Chinese, but he moved here from Canada because of his dad’s job. He joined the basketball team when he came to my school, so I got to know him that way. He’s… really nice. I don’t really know if he’s my boyfriend yet, but I know he likes me, and I like him. I don’t know what will happen. I just like spending time with him.
I don’t know what else to say, so I guess I’ll end it here. I hope I’ll hear from you again, but if I don’t, then that’s okay, too.
Thank you for everything.
Your best friend,
Tao
That letter had caused a little rift between them, but not because of Tao’s confession; it was more because of his lack of faith in Sehun’s ability to see past it and still care about him. Sehun still remembers e-mailing him after he’d read the letter, eyes flicking back toward the shaky handwriting and ink smudges. (Had he been crying? Sehun had always wondered.)
Got your most recent letter. It’s going to take too long to get my reply in the mail. I want to Skype. Please don’t be nervous. I just want to talk.
Tao had refused to turn on his webcam until Sehun had promised he still wanted to be his friend. Only then was Sehun permitted to see his pale, drawn face and bloodshot eyes.
My grandparents think I’m dying, he’d croaked.
You look like you’re dying, Sehun had replied, daring to laugh a little. What’d you tell them?
I blamed it on the yellow dust.
It was a good conversation, Sehun thinks. They’d talked about Yifan, and Sehun had asked a lot of questions about how Tao had realized he liked Yifan, or more curiously, how Tao had realized Yifan was interested in him. He could understand why someone would like Tao--he was bright, funny, sincere, and loyal, and he acted much cuter than any guy who could kill you with a well-placed kick to the skull had any right to. If he were Yifan, he’d probably like Tao, too.
They’d said goodbye to each other that night, their bond even stronger. It was a learning experience for Sehun; he’d never known anyone who was gay. In hindsight, Sehun supposes there were probably some gay kids at his school, but it’s not like that was an acceptable topic of conversation at the lunch table.
He reads through the letter again, scanning the section where Tao writes about Yifan. Sehun had never really had feelings for anyone before, boy or girl. He remembers being scared of Jung Soojung in elementary school, though, and isn’t sure if it was because she was pretty or because she was bossy.
She’d kissed him, once, after his group of friends had gone out to celebrate their graduation and had too much soju for their lightweight bodies to handle. She’d sidled up to him at the club they’d snuck into at 1 a.m., and then they were dancing, and then her hand was on his face and she was kissing him. He’d kissed back for a few seconds, more gently than she was probably expecting, and then smoothed her hair back and excused himself to the restroom. He’d stared at himself in the mirror, wiped her sticky nude lipgloss from his mouth with the back of his hand, and hid in one of the stalls to text Tao. When he didn’t respond quickly enough, Sehun had feigned illness--drank too much, he’d shouted to Jongin over the thumping bass--and climbed into the first cab that drove by.
He hasn’t seen her since that night, and isn’t sure if she’d told anyone about it, but he hasn’t told anyone besides Tao, who hadn’t been that helpful.
Do you like her? he’d asked, and when Sehun had responded with a noncommittal shrug, he’d laughed. I’m guessing that’s a no. Did it feel nice, at least?
It felt weird. And sticky. Sehun’s nose had wrinkled. Lip gloss is so stupid.
You’ll like it when you find the right person, Tao had assured him, laughing at Sehun squinting at him accusatorily. Yes, I am speaking from experience.
Tao and Yifan had kissed before. The realization made Sehun feel weirder than he’d anticipated. He’d wondered whether they’d gone further than that… and then felt weird for wondering about the vagaries of Tao’s sex life. There was a line, Sehun had reminded himself. He shouldn’t get too close to it.
Sehun shakes himself back to reality when his mom shouts down the hallway. “Sehun-ah, come set the table, and that room of yours better be packed!”
He gives the letter one last look before folding it back up and slipping it into its ragged envelope, piling them all carefully into his box, and locking it. He tucks the keys into his pocket and leaves the box on his bed. He’s not done reading yet.
III.
Sehun tosses aside his PSP and fumbles for his laptop when he hears the tell-tale Skype alert and sees one of Tao’s selcas lighting up his screen. He clicks the answer button and carries the computer from his desk to his bed, flopping down onto it while Tao’s pixelated face comes into clearer view.
“Hiiiii,” Tao says, waving at the camera.
“You sound excited about something,” Sehun says warily, although a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Big news?”
Tao frowns at him. “How did you know?”
Sehun shrugs. “You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets, I can see everything right there on your face.” He grins. “Come on, what is it?”
“Well,” Tao says, propping his chin on his hands with a smirk, “it turns out I’m not the worst at keeping secrets, because I managed to keep one from you for three months!”
“Oh really,” Sehun drawls, lifting an eyebrow. “And what secret is that?”
“I’m coming to Korea!”
Sehun’s heart stalls for a second. “What?”
Tao laughs. “You should see your face right now. I’m coming to Korea!”
Sehun drags a hand through his hair, eyebrows inching toward his hairline. “For-- for fun, or--”
“School,” Tao finishes for him. “My grandparents wanted me to go to America, but I think my English is good enough already, and I wanted to try a new language. And the biology program was good enough that my grandparents agreed to let me go for a year.”
“A whole year?” Sehun bites his lower lip in an attempt to not smile too widely. “You’re gonna come visit me, right?”
“Sehun,” Tao says gently. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but… duh.
“Shut up,” Sehun whines, flapping his hands. “I’m excited, we get to hang out! Where are you studying?”
“Seoul National University,” Tao says. “I actually applied to Kyunggi, too, but my grandparents wouldn’t pay for me to go to Korea unless it meant I was going to ‘the best school there.’” He makes a face, lifting his hands to make air quotes, before his expression morphs into one of mild panic. “Not that Kyunggi isn’t a good school! I just--”
“I know what you meant,” Sehun laughs. “Please, my parents wish I had the suneung scores to get into SNU. If you’re in a SKY school, you’re set for life. But I like Kyunggi.”
“I know you do,” Tao says. “I really wanted to go there, honestly, but I didn’t want to pressure you, either. Like, I didn’t know if it would be weird…”
“Why would it be weird?” Sehun’s eyebrows furrow together. His chest feels funny. “You’re my best friend. I would love for you to come to Kyunggi.”
“Really?” Tao says, his voice going a little breathy. He sniffs, ducking out of the frame, and Sehun bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god, are you crying?”
“Shut up!” Tao yells thickly, returning to his computer with a tissue and dabbing at his eyes with it.
“You’re so cute.” Sehun grins, covering his mouth with one hand. “I can’t believe you’re coming here.”
“We’ve known each other for…” Tao drops the tissue so he can count on his fingers. “Nine years? Nine years. And we’re meeting in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Sehun’s eyes widen yet again. “That soon?”
“That is when the new semester starts, genius,” Tao snickers.
“You better be nice to me or I’m not buying you any food when you get here,” Sehun says, pouting. “I know where all the best restaurants are in Seoul, you know.”
Tao’s expression immediately melts into one of contrition, and he makes a show of bowing his head. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. He rests his chin on his hands again and sits still for a moment, just looking into the camera.
Sehun bobs his head from side to side, thinking Tao’s internet has been disconnected. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” Tao says, smiling. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Sehun folds his arms and rests them against the edge of his laptop, letting his head droop a little bit.
Tao sighs; happily, Sehun thinks. “I just can’t believe I’m going to see you. Finally. For real.”
Sehun’s stomach jumps, even as he smiles. “I can’t wait.”
✈
Two weeks isn’t very much time at all, Sehun thinks as he slouches down in his seat on the train the Friday after Tao had arrived in Korea. His flight came in on Tuesday; Sehun had contemplated going to meet him at the airport, but as he was traveling with other students from his program and would be meeting his program liaison, it seemed a little inconvenient. Instead, they’d arranged to meet later in the week, after Tao’s orientation was over and he was settled in at his apartment. Tao wouldn’t have minded living in a goshiwon or hasukjib for the duration of his stay, but his grandparents wouldn’t hear of it, and set him up in a one-room apartment near SNU. How they managed that without speaking Korean or going to Seoul to meet with an estate agent was beyond Sehun, but he figured it might have had something to do with Tao’s parents being involved in international business.
Sehun glances up at the LED board blinking the name of the next stop on Line 1. It takes about an hour to get from Suwon to SNU Station, but Sehun finds himself too distracted to count the stops. His heart keeps throbbing every time he thinks of getting off the train at Seouldae, imagining what he’ll see. He knows what Tao looks like, knows that he’s tall, but there’s a difference between seeing someone over a webcam hundreds of miles away and seeing him face to face, knowing he really exists. It makes Sehun’s stomach twist with anxiety; not dread, just nervousness. Should he hug Tao? Shake hands? Bow? What do you even say when you meet your best friend after nine years of correspondence? “Hi, I’m Sehun?”
Sehun rolls his eyes at himself even as he picks at a snag in the pattern on his thick wool sweater. You’re going to say hi, and then you’re going to just… talk like you always do, he reminds himself. Idiot.
He gets so caught up in stressing himself out that he nearly misses the transfer to Line 4 at Geumjeong, frantically pushing his way out of the doors before they close again. Every tall guy with shaggy black hair looks like Tao when Sehun’s this preoccupied, even though there’s no logical reason for him to be this far out on Line 1 when they’re meeting in (Sehun glances at his watch) 30 minutes. He trains his eyes on the floor instead, glancing up only long enough to follow the thick sky-blue stripe pointing the way to the Line 4 trains.
Several stops and a transfer to Line 2 later, Sehun stuffs his hands in his pockets and slowly makes his way up the steps from the platform of Seouldae Station. His heart keeps doing this awful swelling thing that makes him think he’s going to choke or maybe puke up a lung right there in front of God and fifteen ahjummas.
But he doesn’t. He slaps his T-money card down against the reader on the metal barrier and passes through, making a beeline for a column to lean against before daring to look up and search for Tao.
It only takes him about five seconds of scanning the area before he sees someone who could be Tao from the back, a young man with a bright blue beanie pulled down over messy black hair. Sehun lifts his eyebrows with mild interest, and the words leave his mouth without much thought. “Tao-yah!”
The affectionate ending feels natural, feels right, and Sehun can’t even be bothered to feel self-conscious about it when Tao turns around and his face splits into that familiar, pretty--beautiful, even--smile that Sehun’s seen so many times but looks a thousand times brighter in person.
Sehun starts walking toward him, but Tao moves faster. Sehun can see what he’s wearing better now: a tight black shirt, its long sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms and a few bracelets knotted around his right wrist, and dark fitted jeans. But he doesn’t have long to look before Tao is on him, flinging his arms around Sehun’s shoulders without preamble and crushing him in a hug, half-burying his face in Sehun’s neck. It’s an intimate gesture, and Sehun’s torn between wanting to return it and panicking a little about how many people are watching them. He reminds himself that he’ll probably never see any of the people in this station again and allows himself to sink into Tao’s hold for a few moments, slowly wrapping his arms around Tao’s shoulders for a lazy squeeze. He smells warm and clean, his cologne wavering somewhere between spicy and fresh. It’s comfortable. It’s right.
Sehun’s barely had a chance to enjoy it when Tao wriggles out of his embrace and pulls back, keeping his hands on Sehun’s shoulders to get a good look at him.
“You’re taller than I expected,” Tao says, and it takes Sehun a moment to realize he’s speaking Korean.
“I told you I was 184 centimeters!” Sehun says, smacking Tao on the arm with a grin.
“I just thought you were embellishing,” Tao grins in response, almost giddy.
Sehun chews on his lower lip to keep from smiling so widely; it’s making his cheeks hurt. He points to the subway exit and turns, slinging an arm around Tao’s shoulders. “So,” he says, glancing at Tao out of the corner of his eye, “when were you going to tell me you can speak Korean?”
Tao laughs. “You’re going to hate me. I started taking it as an elective at the end of high school.”
“Are you telling me you made me speak English to you for all these years when you could speak Korean perfectly fine?” Sehun’s jaw drops, and he withdraws his arm from Tao’s shoulders. “This friendship is over.”
“Nooooo,” Tao whines, jerking Sehun back toward him, fingers clutching in the chunky knit of his sweater and kneading as they walk up toward street level. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been studying really hard.” Sehun watches his mouth curl around the words, a smile working its way across his own lips unbidden as he listens to familiar words in an unfamiliar accent. “It’s partly what helped me get into SNU. And…” Tao looks a little sheepish here. “I wanted to impress you a little.”
Sehun’s heart seems to swell in his chest. “You don’t need to impress me,” he says, rubbing Tao’s back as they clear the subway entrance and glance around to get their bearings.
“I think we go this way,” Tao says, craning his head and pointing over his shoulder, around the corner. “There’s a BBQ place on a side street down here, someone told me about it.”
“I think I know the place you’re talking about,” Sehun says, following Tao. “I have some friends who go to SNU, I hang out around here once in a while.”
“Friends?” Tao inquires with arched eyebrows. “You should introduce me, I want to meet your friends!”
Sehun nods. “We could do that.” Shockingly, Baekhyun had received amazing suneung scores and weaseled his way into SNU, and likewise, Chanyeol was across the river at Yonsei, both in their third year. Jongin’s spectacular dance portfolio had won him a spot at SeoulArts. It was just Sehun outside of the city, at a less prestigious school, but he didn’t mind it; it had given him a chance to meet new people, to be different from the Oh Sehun he was in grade school. “My friend Baekhyun would love you. He collects cute people, I swear.”
Tao shoots a sidelong glance at Sehun, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You just said I was cute.”
“Did not,” Sehun retorts, although he smiles, blithely ignoring the fluttering sensation in his chest.
“Sure,” Tao snorts, turning left at the nearest side street and stopping suddenly to look at a storefront. “Oh. Here it is.” He points at the sign, which (disturbingly) features a laughing pig standing next to a sizzling grill. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Sehun replies, following Tao through the doorway, which jingles behind them as it closes. He flags down a waitress, who gestures toward one of the tables in the back; the restaurant is fairly busy this evening.
“Isn’t the older person supposed to pour the water?” Tao says, watching Sehun fill the cups and gather the place settings.
“I guess, but you’re a guest and this is your first time having Korean barbeque in Korea,” Sehun says. “I’m trying to be a good friend.”
“Actually…” Tao bites his lip. “Our program advisor took us out for barbeque the first night after we all arrived. So it’s really my second time.”
“Whatever,” Sehun says, passing Tao a pair of flat metal chopsticks and a large spoon. “This is your official first time, because you’re with me, and I’m special.”
Tao laughs, taking the utensils with two hands. “Like you’d ever let me forget that.”
A waitress interrupts them to take their order--two servings of samgyeopsal, two servings of wang galbi, and a bottle of soju--and unload a tray of side dishes onto their table.
“Kimchi?” Sehun holds out the bowl to Tao with a grin as one of the waitstaff brings over the charcoal for their grill, gingerly laying a grate over the glowing embers.
“I think I’ll stick with these,” Tao says, gesturing to a dish containing slices of thick, pink pickles. “Kimchi tastes better after you fry it.”
“Agreed,” Sehun says, taking the plates of raw meat handed to him when the waitress returns. Sehun immediately gets to grilling, slapping the huge slabs of galbi onto the grate and poking at it periodically with the tongs.
The food cooks quickly, with Tao making fun of Sehun’s awkward method of cutting the meat, and Sehun carefully apportioning bits of meat, kimchi, and onions for each of them, showing Tao how to roll a proper lettuce wrap.
“Your mouth is bigger than it looks,” Tao comments, impressed, after Sehun crams a sizable lettuce wrap into it. Sehun nearly chokes upon thinking about how suggestive it sounds, and busies himself with feeding Tao pieces of pickle from his own chopsticks instead.
After they’ve finished, paid, and loosened their belts a little, Tao leads Sehun down toward the university to walk around and digest their dinner. Tao holds on to the inside of Sehun’s elbow, and Sehun can see that his neck is a little pink from the soju they’d drank.
“My tongue is still all spicy,” Tao complains, so Sehun drags him into the next GS25 they come upon and starts rifling through the deep freezer.
He settles on a Bravo cone before turning to Tao. “What do you want?”
“I like red bean,” Tao says, pointing at one of the popsicles in the case, and Sehun grabs it for him, paying for both like it’s nothing.
“Oooh, you are loaded,” Tao snickers as they walk back onto the street, happily enjoying their ice cream. “Look at you, throwing around money on me.”
“Shut up,” Sehun laughs, punching Tao in the arm. “Eat the ice cream.”
They stroll around some more, Sehun listening to Tao translate the Korean splashed onto signs and storefronts with giddy enthusiasm.
“We’re not far from my apartment, actually,” Tao says, checking one of the signs on a side street. “Want to come see it?”
“Sure,” Sehun says thickly, cramming the last bit of waffle cone into his mouth and forcing himself to remain calm as Tao leads him down the road.
✈
Sehun follows Tao the three flights of stairs up to his apartment, which is fairly sparsely decorated. With the exception of textbooks scattered across his desk, his wushu stick mounted on the wall, and a couple of takeout menus stuck to the fridge with magnets, it’s pretty empty.
“We should go to Myeongdong next weekend, get you some posters and lights and stuff,” Sehun says, glancing around. “This place doesn’t have nearly as much personality as its resident does.”
“I’d like that,” Tao says, leaning over to straighten the pillows on his bed. He sits down, watching Sehun poke around the room.
Sehun steps toward the desk, eyeing Tao’s textbooks: some in English, most in Korean, a few language textbooks, but mostly biology and chemistry; Tao was studying to be a physical therapist.
There’s another large book sitting on the side of the desk, and Sehun reaches for it, holding it to his chest before sitting down on the bed beside Tao. “What is this, a photo album?”
Tao’s eyes go wide. “No, don’t worry about that, it’s nothing--”
But Sehun’s already flipping it open, batting Tao’s hands away with a well-placed elbow. The cover falls back on his lap to reveal the first letter Sehun had ever written to Tao, on the day in fifth grade when he’d seen the name Huang Zitao for the first time. He looks at the clumsy English letters, the blocky hangeul of his name written at the bottom of the page, the picture of Sehun wearing an obnoxious grin pasted carefully alongside the paper.
“That’s enough looking,” Tao says, and Sehun can tell he’s nervous. He tugs the book out of Sehun’s hands and makes to shove it in his desk drawer, but Sehun’s quicker, blocking the desk and pulling the book out of Tao’s hands.
He clutches it to his chest, staring at Tao’s red face with what he assumes is a stubborn expression on his own face. “I want to see my letters,” is all he says, gently pushing Tao away so he can sit down on the bed again.
He opens the book once more and flips to the second page. It’s the next letter, on a different sheet of stationery, with fewer mistakes this time (Thank you, Ms. Kwon, Sehun thinks wryly) but the handwriting is just as terrible. Sehun keeps flipping pages, stopping to look at pictures here and there. Some of the pages have stickers and weird little drawings, others with paint and comments scribbled into the margins.
“I can’t believe you kept all this stuff,” Sehun murmurs, turning the pages to see at his own face grinning back at him, his stupid middle school graduation photo, a picture of his family on vacation in Thailand right before his brother went off to university. He wrinkles his nose to stay the pricking sensation in the corners of his eyes.
“I put them together a couple of months ago,” Tao says suddenly, breaking the silence. His Korean falters a little, and he switches to English. “I was always nervous I’d misplace one or two of them. They can’t go anywhere if they’re glued into a book.”
“I wish I’d thought of that,” Sehun says enviously. “I’m not very creative, though. Mine are all in a lockbox under my bed in the dorm, with my passport and my bankbooks, all that important stuff.”
“You think my letters are important?” Tao smiles, his eyes a bit glassy.
Sehun nudges at his shoulder. “Of course. I mean… obviously you think mine are, too, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He peers curiously at Tao. “Why did you keep all of this stuff, anyway? It’s hardly classic literature.”
Tao covers his face and stands up, walking across the room. He shifts between folding his arms and covering his face, and settles for peering between his fingers instead. “This is not how I envisioned this conversation happening,” he whispers, his fingernails digging into his cheeks.
Sehun closes the book. “What do you mean?” he says, mildly alarmed. “Are you okay? You didn’t make this book because you’re dying or anything, right?”
Tao laughs behind his hands, his breath hitching. He sounds like he’s about to cry. “No, I’m not dying. I’m just scared.”
Sehun pushes the book off of his lap onto the bed and stands up. Tao backs into the wall reflexively.
“Now you’re freaking me out,” Sehun says, and he can hear just a hint of a tremor in his own voice. “Tao. Tao, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Tao laughs again, but this time Sehun doesn’t see the humor in it. “What’s wrong is that I’m about to destroy the only real friendship I’ve ever had. What’s wrong is that I’m in love with my best friend and he’s finding out about it the first night we’ve ever met.”
Time almost seems to stop in that moment as Sehun replays the words in his head. I’m in love with my best friend.
He looks at Tao, standing against the wall with his hands over his face, curled in on himself, shoulders shaking. I’m in love with my best friend. Sehun walks across the room, heart hammering in his chest as he takes slow, tentative steps toward Tao. He hesitates for a moment, but finally he reaches out and wraps his arms around Tao’s waist, settling his chin on Tao’s shoulder.
“Don’t-- what are you--” Tao sputters, but Sehun cuts him off.
“Shut up,” Sehun says softly, squeezing Tao a little more tightly.
“But didn’t you hear--”
“I said stop.” Sehun turns his face in toward Tao’s neck and lets his fingers curl into the material of Tao’s shirt. “If you really think saying that would ruin our friendship, then you don’t know me very well.”
“But it changes things,” Tao whispers, even as he lowers his hands from his face to Sehun’s shoulders. “You’re not-- you don’t--”
“I’m not what?” Sehun pulls back so he can look Tao in the eye. “Gay?”
Tao chews on his lower lip, eyes glassy and scared. Sehun resists the urge to fling his arms around his neck and hold him so he never has to see that look on his face ever again. “I don’t know what I am,” he says instead, fingertips kneading compulsively at Tao’s back as he readies himself for what he’s about to say, “but I know that you’re my best friend, and--and that I love you.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Tao says in a strained voice, pain in his eyes.
“I do mean it,” Sehun says. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I’ve known for a few years that our friendship isn’t entirely… platonic, I guess.” He offers Tao a wry smile.
“How long?” Tao says, his hands still settled tamely on Sehun’s shoulders.
“Since you came out to me,” Sehun says. “I can’t pretend I never thought about you liking me that way, or that I was never jealous of that guy from your basketball team--”
“Yifan-ge?” Tao laughs, sucking his lips in to mask his smile when Sehun’s expression sours. “You know we broke up last year--”
“Whatever, it’s in the past, who cares, but seriously don’t speak his name to me,” Sehun sputters, schooling his expression into one of relative composure.
“That’s so not fair,” Tao laughs again, and Sehun’s chest feels lighter seeing his expression light up. “I didn’t say a thing when you let that girl kiss you after your graduation party thing.”
“Soojungie?” Sehun snorts, giggling when Tao’s mouth twists sullenly. “Aw, come on, it was really the soju--”
“I’m just kidding,” Tao says, squeezing Sehun’s arms. His expression turns solemn once more. “You--you’ve thought about it, though? Us?”
“Yeah,” Sehun says, absolutely certain his face is beet red at this point. “And I know that we really only just met, but I’ve known you for longer than almost anyone else in my life, and--” He sucks in a breath. “I want to try. I’m scared, but I want to.”
Tao’s smile couldn’t be more beautiful than it is now, Sehun thinks. “Me too,” Tao says, his arms finally sliding around Sehun’s waist, fingers linking tentatively at the small of his back. “We’ll take it slow. You’re important to me, you know?” He smiles. “I don’t want to scare you off.”
“Who says I won’t scare you off first?” Sehun says stubbornly, leaning in again to hug Tao, who finally lets himself relax into Sehun’s hold. Being here with him feels comfortable--like this was always meant to happen.
“I love you,” Tao says, and Sehun’s heart leaps when he realizes Tao had switched to Korean again.
“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asks suddenly, pulling away from Tao again.
Tao looks at him curiously. “Yeah. What do you need it for?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sehun smiles and relinquishes his hold on Tao’s shirt, turning to grab a pen off Tao’s desk. Tao hands him the paper, and Sehun sits down at the desk, scribbling furiously with one arm blocking Tao’s eyes from the paper.
When he’s finished, he flips it over and goes digging in Tao’s desk drawers (“Hey, that’s private,” Tao laughs, still watching Sehun with a puzzled expression on his face) until he finds a glue stick. Sehun uncaps it, hurriedly smearing it all over the back of the paper before reaching for Tao’s scrapbook. He flips to the first empty page, near the back of the book, and carefully aligns the piece of paper with the edges of the page, smoothing down the corners and admiring his handiwork before passing the book to Tao.
Tao leans over the desk to read Sehun’s final letter, his bemused expression slowly morphing into a smile that makes his whole body seem like it’s vibrating.
“Don’t forget the postscript,” Sehun reminds him with a sly grin.
Tao laughs loudly before tugging Sehun out of the chair and into his arms once more, but this time Tao slides his hand around the back of Sehun’s neck and all Sehun remembers is the feel of Tao’s lips pressed against his own, and Sehun thinks that’s all the reply he’ll ever need.
✈
Dear Tao,
Today my best friend told me he was in love with me. Between you and me, I think I could be in love with him, too.
P.S. I bet he’s a pretty good kisser.
✈
Author’s Note: This fic was written for miss_aztec57 for the ohunlimited fic challenge, based on the following prompt: When Sehun is younger, his school organises to match them up with a penpal in China. Most of the students stop writing after a year or so, but Sehun becomes close to his penpal, and they continue to write to each other all the time. (preferably Sehun/Tao, but any is fine! and also I want them eventually to meet in person!) I apologize for it being a bit rushed, particularly in the middle, but I don’t do particularly well with deadlines, unfortunately.
The title comes from the Phoenix song “Love Like a Sunset (Pt. 2),” which is a really gorgeous, atmospheric track and I highly recommend the entire album (Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix) to anyone who likes alternative rock/pop music.
I would like to dedicate this fic to all of my friends in faraway places, my online “pen pals,” some of whom I’ve known for over ten years. I love all of you, and I’m glad you came into my life. ♥
Pairing: Sehun/Tao
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 9300
Summary: A friendship born on paper takes its first steps.
Warning: Brief mention of offscreen youth suicide.
I.
There’s a notecard bearing a strange name taped to his desk when Sehun slides into his assigned seat in class 5-3 after lunch on Monday. He doesn’t pay it much mind, choosing instead to sneak his GameBoy out of his lunchbox and get in a few more minutes of Pokémon Emerald beneath the desk as the rest of the class trickles in. His teacher spots him and confiscates it, cuffing him gently on the shoulder before strolling to her desk and tucking it away in one of the drawers.
“You can get it after school,” Ms. Kwon says, her lips quirking upward at his forlorn expression. She steps aside to close the door just as the last few stragglers slip through and race to their seats, then turns to face the class with her hands clasped.
“Everyone’s here, so let’s get started,” she says. “Each of you should have a card taped to your desk. Does everyone have one?”
Sehun chimes in with the rest of the class. “Yes!”
“Each card has a different name on it. That name is the name of your new English pen pal,” Ms. Kwon continues.
“Are they from America?” a girl in the back called Soojung asks with not a little skepticism in her voice.
“No,” Ms. Kwon replies. “A friend of mine from university teaches English at a school in Qingdao, in China. Now, since you’ve only been learning English for a couple of years, we thought it might be too hard to communicate with a student from an English-speaking country, but we’d really love for you to get some practice in. So…” She claps her hands together twice. “We thought it would be great if our classes could write to each other.”
“What should we write about?” Sehun asks, flicking the corner of the notecard.
“Whatever you want, whatever you feel comfortable writing about,” she responds. “Simple sentences are fine. Your letters don’t have to be long. I wrote some sample topics on the board.”
At this, she moves toward the chalkboard and gestures to the list of words neatly printed under the heading “Topics”: family, hobbies, house, favorite things, pets, your personality and looks.
“So, maybe for your first letter, you should tell your new friend about you,” she adds, tapping the last item on the list. “Because I think the first question they will have about you is ‘Who are you?’”
Sehun chews on his lower lip. Who am I? he wonders, doodling aimlessly on the edge of the notecard with his pencil.
“So get out a piece of paper, and let’s work on our first drafts!” the teacher says, folding her hands behind her back expectantly.
Nobody moves.
“Come on!” She claps her hands three times, loudly, and the students jolt into action, pulling out notebooks and pencils as she turns to the board, drawing a mock-up of a letter with a heading and closing for them to copy for their own letters.
Sehun flips his notebook open to the first blank page and writes the date in the corner, then Dear Huang Zitao. He chews on the end of his pencil in thought. Who am I?
My name is Oh Sehun.
He re-reads the sentence, checking the spelling, and smiles at what he considers huge progress.
I am your new pen pal. I am 11 years old. I live Seoul, South Korea. I has mom, dad, and big brother.
He knows there are definitely mistakes in there somewhere, but their letters won’t be graded, so he doesn’t bother to ask for help. Besides, it’s not like this Huang Zitao will be much better at English than he is, if they’re both in fifth grade.
I like TV. I like dogs. Do you like animals? I want dog. Mom and dad says said no. I was sad. When I am older, I has will have dog!
Sehun’s hand aches from erasing and rewriting words (and sometimes whole sentences, when his teacher walks by to check on his progress and comments on his messy handwriting), so he works on a conclusion.
English is hard. I stop now. I want to see your letter. Please write soon.
He squints at the board, copying Ms. Kwon’s wording.
Sincerly
Sincerely,
Oh Sehun
The bell rings not long after he’s finished, and Ms. Kwon collects their papers.
“Tomorrow you’ll rewrite your letter and put it on nice paper,” she shouts over the kerfuffle of 40 fifth graders shuffling papers and sneaking toward the door for their break time. “If you can, try to bring a picture of yourself to put in the envelope with your letter, so your pen pal can see what you look like!”
Sehun remembers what his school ID photo looks like and cringes internally as he slides out of his seat and wanders out of the classroom, making his way to the water fountain down the hall. Maybe his mom will let him raid the family photo collection for a less awkward picture of himself. He shrugs, putting it out of his mind to enjoy the ten minutes of rest before the torture of math class.
✈
Three weeks after Ms. Kwon sends off the packet of letters to China, she comes in with an equally large packet bearing unfamiliar postage stamps. She waves it around with a grin on her face.
“Look what’s here!” she says, unfastening the metal clasp at the back of the envelope and pulling out a hefty stack of letters in different colored envelopes. “Your letters from your pen pals in China!”
She splits the pile in half. “Jongin-ah, Jinri-yah, pass these out, please.”
Jongin clambers out of the chair next to Sehun and eagerly accepts the pile, Jinri doing the same on the other side of the room. Sehun follows them both around the classroom with his eyes, kicking his feet against the legs of his desk until Jongin stops in front of his desk and flips through the pile.
“Sehunnie…” Jongin murmurs, pulling out a blue envelope and handing it to Sehun. “This one’s yours.”
“Thanks,” Sehun says absently, examining the envelope as Jongin moves on to another student. It’s nothing special, but he notices his name is written in English and Chinese characters on the front (which he finds pretty impressive considering he can’t even write his own name in Chinese characters yet, let alone anyone else’s).
He carefully removes the panda sticker sealing the envelope and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Another piece of paper falls out from inside, and Sehun realizes it’s a photo. He picks it up and turns it over to see a small boy with sleepy eyes and close-cropped black hair. He’s wearing some kind of martial arts uniform, and he’s got a goofy smile on his face, like he was laughing when the picture was taken. He looks friendly. Sehun schools the smile curling his own lips away and replaces the photo on the desk so he can unfold the letter, reading slowly:
Dear Oh Sehun,
Hello! My name is Huang Zitao. I live in Qingdao, Shandong, China. It’s close to the sea. Have you ever been to China?
I am 11 years old. I live with my grandparents. My mother and father work in Beijing. Sometimes I see them on the weekends.
I go to a language school, so this is my fifth year learning English. But my favorite subject is P.E. Also, I learn Wushu after school. (I’m wearing my uniform in the picture I sent to you!) It is really fun. What do you like to do?
It is almost time for lunch, so I will stop writing. I hope your letter comes soon!
Sincerely,
Huang Zitao
P.S. My friends just call me Tao. You can call me Tao, too, since we are friends now. ^u^
Sehun stares at the paper. He was wrong - Huang Zitao is most definitely better at English than Sehun is. Sehun actually has to circle the words he doesn’t recognize so he can look them up in his English dictionary before he replies to Zitao’s - Tao’s - letter.
“If you’re finished reading, we can use this class to work on a reply to your pen pal,” Ms. Kwon calls out to the class, strolling back up the aisle toward the chalkboard.
Sehun fumbles in his desk for a clean sheet of paper and sharpens his pencil before frantically waving down his teacher for help. If he’s going to write again, it’s going to look as good as Tao’s letter. It is, Sehun tells himself as he brandishes the letter at Ms. Kwon with wide eyes, a matter of national pride.
✈
Sehun’s class continues writing to their Chinese pen pals for the remainder of the school year, and it doesn’t occur to Sehun that they’d ever be stopping until his teacher tells the class that they’ll be writing their final letters this week.
“Why are we stopping?” Sehun asks, his stomach twisting uncomfortably.
“Well, you’ll all be going on to sixth grade next year, and you’ll be in different classes,” Ms. Kwon explains. “It would be complicated.” She pauses for a moment. “I suppose you could give your home address to your pen pal, if you wanted to keep writing outside of school.”
Sehun blinks. “Oh,” he says, feeling a little stupid. “That’s a good idea.”
Ms. Kwon smiles and clasps her hands, directing the students to get out pencils and paper and start composing their letters.
Sehun likes these days, when they don’t have to hear lectures about complicated grammatical structures and listen to weird dialogues that don’t make any sense. Writing is hard, but there’s a purpose to it. He’s learning more writing these letters than he has sitting listlessly in class, trying to make himself remember lists of vocabulary words that he doesn’t know how to use.
Of course, getting to know Tao is the best part of the whole project. Sehun has friends in school, like Jongin and Jinri and Soojung, and a couple of the sixth grade boys, Byun Baekhyun and Park Chanyeol, who’d taken him under their wing when he was getting shoved around by some of the bigger kids earlier in the year. But they’d be going to middle school next year, and Sehun’s classmates could be in different homerooms next year. Tao may live in a different country, but there’s a constantness to his presence in Sehun’s life despite the fact that their friendship only exists on paper.
He wants to tell Tao everything; the only thing that keeps him from doing just that is the language barrier. But Tao doesn’t tease him for his poor phrasing or bad spelling; a gentle request for clarification here and there is all the criticism Sehun faces. Writing to Tao has done more for his confidence than any high test grade ever could.
Dear Tao, Sehun writes, scribbling down a list of things that have happened since his last letter to Tao: Jongin’s birthday was a week earlier, so Sehun had gone to his house for a little party; Christmas had come and gone without much fanfare, but it was a day off from school, so he put it down anyway; and the Lunar New Year isn’t far off, something he’s sure Tao is looking forward to as well.
Sehun carefully copies his home address near the bottom of the paper. I hope you still want to write to me, he adds at the end before signing off. I will wait for your letter. Happy new year!
He glances over the paper, checking it for errors, making sure his address is legible and the post code is correct, before neatly rewriting it on stationery. He passes it to his teacher at the end of class, hoping that Tao likes writing to Sehun as much as Sehun likes writing to Tao.
✈
When Sehun’s mom comes into his bedroom a month later with an envelope pinched between two fingers, asking him who exactly he knows in China, Sehun knows the feeling is mutual.
II.
Sehun stares at the wall in his room, looking at the stacks of boxes his life has been so neatly piled into. His clothes are folded into two suitcases; posters are rolled into a large tube; books and CDs are organized and placed into a stack of old Shin Ramen boxes. Only a few remnants of his childhood remain: the comforter on his bed, the desk his parents had bought for him to study at just before he started middle school, a few framed photos hung on the wall. Everything else is ready to be loaded up into a van his parents have rented for this momentous occasion--their youngest son heading off to college.
The only possession Sehun hasn’t found a place for is his lockbox, which he’d pulled from beneath his bed after his mom told him to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. Kyunggi University was in Suwon, not terribly far outside of Seoul, but Sehun didn’t really want to deal with a three-hour round-trip train ride just to pick up something he’d forgotten.
He opens the first drawer of his desk to grab the key for the box--another thing he’d nearly forgotten--and slams it shut once he’s found it, flopping back onto his bed. He unlocks the box and flips open the lid, taking stock of its contents: his passport, bankbook, and old student ID cards sit in a pile in one corner of the box.
The rest of it is taken up by envelopes, all slit open at the top and organized by date of receipt. They all bear the same return address in Shandong, China, the same address Sehun has been sending letters to for eight years. The only thing that’s changed has been the handwriting, growing less childlike with every year that passes.
Sehun checks his watch and sees that he’s still got an hour before dinner. The rest of the room is packed; it’s not like anyone will care if he takes a break, so he pulls out the envelopes and starts flipping through them. It’s been a while since he’s re-read some of these; these days, he and Tao mainly stick to e-mail and Skype, but they still try to write once a month if possible.
Sehun peers at the date stamp on one of the envelopes and pulls out the letter inside, spilling confetti all over himself in the process. He smiles to himself and scoops the little foil pieces into a pile on the bed absently as he reads.
Dear Sehun,
Happy 13th birthday!!! I hope the confetti doesn’t make a big mess. And I hope you get this letter in time for your birthday. I know China Post can be slow sometimes.
It’s springtime! Is it warm in Korea yet? The weather is improving here, but it’s still cold at night. I can't wait to go to the beach again. Do you like swimming? I love going to the pool and jumping off the diving board. It's scary but I think it's fun.
We're learning about biology in school right now, and how the human body works. We just finished the excretory system... everyone made lots of poop jokes, it was funny. What are you doing in school right now? What's your favorite subject? How is your English class? I think your teacher must be better this year, your writing has improved a lot! (It wasn't bad before, though!! I think you just seem more comfortable using English these days. I'm happy for you. ^^ I'm glad we can talk about more things now.)
I think by the time I get your next letter it will be my birthday. (May 3rd, remember? Don't forget!) I hope you will send me a very expensive and fancy present!!!
Just kidding!!!
Write back soon!
Your friend,
Tao
Sehun folds the letter up and slides it back into the envelope, carefully sprinkling the confetti back into the envelope as well. He had sent Tao a birthday present a month later, Sehun remembers, thinking of how he'd packaged the little tae kwon do figurine in bubble wrap and a cardboard box and given it to the lady at the post office with some of his pocket money he'd reserved for postage. It was the first time he'd ever sent anything that wasn't a simple letter, and Sehun remembers feeling a little nervous about it, wondering whether Tao would like it, even though the little figure was performing a Korean martial art rather than a Chinese one.
He peeks into the next envelope in the stack and pulls out a picture of Tao holding the figure and mimicking its pose, and remembers how much lighter his chest had felt after reading that letter and how he'd laughed at Tao's concern over getting Sehun nothing but a messy envelope full of confetti for his birthday. He'd vowed to do better next year, and he had, sending Sehun a mix CD of upbeat Mandarin pop tracks to use for dance practice, remembering that Sehun had just started hip-hop classes at Jongin's behest. He'd listened to that CD until he'd practically wore it out, in spite of not understanding much of what was being sung. A few months later, Sehun had sent him a DVD of a short dance routine he and Jongin had choreographed to one of the tracks, and the excitement in Tao's next letter made all the hours of practice and sweat and frustration worth it.
Sehun skips through a year's worth of letters, looking for some of the ones they'd wrote in middle school. As they'd grown older, Sehun and Tao had gradually moved toward electronic forms of communication--e-mail at first, and upon receiving their own smart phones early in high school (Tao had gotten an iPhone for his 16th birthday, and Sehun got his brother's hand-me-down Samsung Galaxy 1.0, much to his dismay), KakaoTalk.
But in spite of technological advancements, they'd continued to send letters through the post. None of Sehun's friends had kept in touch with their pen pals from that year in school, and some of them had definitely teased him about his devotion to such an antiquated tradition, but Jongin had confided in him once after tagging along to the post office with him on the way to their after-school arts hagwon when they were fifteen, expressing mild envy over Sehun's relationship with Tao. It was cool, he'd said, fidgeting in his chair while he and Sehun waited for the screen to blink Sehun's number in line, that he and Tao had managed to find so much in common. I wish mine had bothered to get to know me like Tao did with you.
Well, you have me, at least, Sehun had remarked, and Jongin had smiled.
But Tao's your best friend, Jongin had pointed out, and that was really the first time he'd really considered the idea. He’d always believed that your best friend was the person you spent the most time with, the one you saw all the time. For Sehun, that person was Jongin. But the person who knew all his secrets, the person who shared everything with him, the person who really knew Oh Sehun… that was Tao.
Sehun slid another letter out of its envelope.
Dear Sehun,
Sometimes I really wish we could see each other all the time. Writing letters seems so hard and useless when you’re sad and I just want you to feel better.
I’m scared about high school, too. So much studying, so many kids who give up because they can’t handle it all…
Sehun folds the paper, his chest twisting at how hysterical with worry he was when he wrote the letter Tao was referencing in that letter. A student at a middle school in the same neighborhood as his own had thrown herself from her parents’ high-rise apartment building the week before; the news media had suggested it was a result of the stressful school life students in South Korea were expected to succeed in, the catalyst being a rejection from a prestigious private high school. Sehun wasn’t a very diligent student as far as his parents and teachers were concerned, and would never get worked up about school enough to take his own life, but the incident rattled him for weeks. Tao was the only person he’d told about his anxiety, the only one he’d trusted not to judge him for losing sleep over a girl he didn’t even know.
It reminds him of another time, and Sehun thumbs past another few letters, searching for a more recent one. He takes it out of the envelope, trying to be careful with the paper; it’s more worn from creasing than many of the others, despite the fact that it’s only about a year old. The words are so familiar by this point that Sehun can almost recite them by heart.
Dear Sehun,
I don’t even know why I’m sending you this letter. Part of me hopes it gets lost in the mail, or that you throw it out by accident, or one of Jongin’s dogs eats it. (I know your mom would never let them into your house, but I thought about it.)
I’m writing this letter because I can’t tell you face to face about it. I don’t want to cry in front of you. I don’t want to see your face when I say the words because I’m scared that your eyes will turn dark and your smile will fade and you will hate me. I couldn’t take that. If you don’t respond to this letter, then I’ll know. I won’t lie and say it won’t hurt me, but it won’t destroy me.
I’m stalling. So here it goes.
Sehun, I’m gay.
It feels weird to write that down for the first time. I haven’t told anyone yet. Not because I’m not sure--I am, I have been for a couple of years now--but becuse who can I tell? My grandparents? My parents? My friends at school? The only reason I’m telling you now is because I’m sort of seeing somebody and I feel like I should be able to tell my best friend about it. It’s too hard to lie to everyone. I don’t want to lie to you.
His name is Yifan, but his English name is Kevin. He’s Chinese, but he moved here from Canada because of his dad’s job. He joined the basketball team when he came to my school, so I got to know him that way. He’s… really nice. I don’t really know if he’s my boyfriend yet, but I know he likes me, and I like him. I don’t know what will happen. I just like spending time with him.
I don’t know what else to say, so I guess I’ll end it here. I hope I’ll hear from you again, but if I don’t, then that’s okay, too.
Thank you for everything.
Your best friend,
Tao
That letter had caused a little rift between them, but not because of Tao’s confession; it was more because of his lack of faith in Sehun’s ability to see past it and still care about him. Sehun still remembers e-mailing him after he’d read the letter, eyes flicking back toward the shaky handwriting and ink smudges. (Had he been crying? Sehun had always wondered.)
Got your most recent letter. It’s going to take too long to get my reply in the mail. I want to Skype. Please don’t be nervous. I just want to talk.
Tao had refused to turn on his webcam until Sehun had promised he still wanted to be his friend. Only then was Sehun permitted to see his pale, drawn face and bloodshot eyes.
My grandparents think I’m dying, he’d croaked.
You look like you’re dying, Sehun had replied, daring to laugh a little. What’d you tell them?
I blamed it on the yellow dust.
It was a good conversation, Sehun thinks. They’d talked about Yifan, and Sehun had asked a lot of questions about how Tao had realized he liked Yifan, or more curiously, how Tao had realized Yifan was interested in him. He could understand why someone would like Tao--he was bright, funny, sincere, and loyal, and he acted much cuter than any guy who could kill you with a well-placed kick to the skull had any right to. If he were Yifan, he’d probably like Tao, too.
They’d said goodbye to each other that night, their bond even stronger. It was a learning experience for Sehun; he’d never known anyone who was gay. In hindsight, Sehun supposes there were probably some gay kids at his school, but it’s not like that was an acceptable topic of conversation at the lunch table.
He reads through the letter again, scanning the section where Tao writes about Yifan. Sehun had never really had feelings for anyone before, boy or girl. He remembers being scared of Jung Soojung in elementary school, though, and isn’t sure if it was because she was pretty or because she was bossy.
She’d kissed him, once, after his group of friends had gone out to celebrate their graduation and had too much soju for their lightweight bodies to handle. She’d sidled up to him at the club they’d snuck into at 1 a.m., and then they were dancing, and then her hand was on his face and she was kissing him. He’d kissed back for a few seconds, more gently than she was probably expecting, and then smoothed her hair back and excused himself to the restroom. He’d stared at himself in the mirror, wiped her sticky nude lipgloss from his mouth with the back of his hand, and hid in one of the stalls to text Tao. When he didn’t respond quickly enough, Sehun had feigned illness--drank too much, he’d shouted to Jongin over the thumping bass--and climbed into the first cab that drove by.
He hasn’t seen her since that night, and isn’t sure if she’d told anyone about it, but he hasn’t told anyone besides Tao, who hadn’t been that helpful.
Do you like her? he’d asked, and when Sehun had responded with a noncommittal shrug, he’d laughed. I’m guessing that’s a no. Did it feel nice, at least?
It felt weird. And sticky. Sehun’s nose had wrinkled. Lip gloss is so stupid.
You’ll like it when you find the right person, Tao had assured him, laughing at Sehun squinting at him accusatorily. Yes, I am speaking from experience.
Tao and Yifan had kissed before. The realization made Sehun feel weirder than he’d anticipated. He’d wondered whether they’d gone further than that… and then felt weird for wondering about the vagaries of Tao’s sex life. There was a line, Sehun had reminded himself. He shouldn’t get too close to it.
Sehun shakes himself back to reality when his mom shouts down the hallway. “Sehun-ah, come set the table, and that room of yours better be packed!”
He gives the letter one last look before folding it back up and slipping it into its ragged envelope, piling them all carefully into his box, and locking it. He tucks the keys into his pocket and leaves the box on his bed. He’s not done reading yet.
III.
Sehun tosses aside his PSP and fumbles for his laptop when he hears the tell-tale Skype alert and sees one of Tao’s selcas lighting up his screen. He clicks the answer button and carries the computer from his desk to his bed, flopping down onto it while Tao’s pixelated face comes into clearer view.
“Hiiiii,” Tao says, waving at the camera.
“You sound excited about something,” Sehun says warily, although a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Big news?”
Tao frowns at him. “How did you know?”
Sehun shrugs. “You’re literally the worst at keeping secrets, I can see everything right there on your face.” He grins. “Come on, what is it?”
“Well,” Tao says, propping his chin on his hands with a smirk, “it turns out I’m not the worst at keeping secrets, because I managed to keep one from you for three months!”
“Oh really,” Sehun drawls, lifting an eyebrow. “And what secret is that?”
“I’m coming to Korea!”
Sehun’s heart stalls for a second. “What?”
Tao laughs. “You should see your face right now. I’m coming to Korea!”
Sehun drags a hand through his hair, eyebrows inching toward his hairline. “For-- for fun, or--”
“School,” Tao finishes for him. “My grandparents wanted me to go to America, but I think my English is good enough already, and I wanted to try a new language. And the biology program was good enough that my grandparents agreed to let me go for a year.”
“A whole year?” Sehun bites his lower lip in an attempt to not smile too widely. “You’re gonna come visit me, right?”
“Sehun,” Tao says gently. “I mean this in the most loving way possible, but… duh.
“Shut up,” Sehun whines, flapping his hands. “I’m excited, we get to hang out! Where are you studying?”
“Seoul National University,” Tao says. “I actually applied to Kyunggi, too, but my grandparents wouldn’t pay for me to go to Korea unless it meant I was going to ‘the best school there.’” He makes a face, lifting his hands to make air quotes, before his expression morphs into one of mild panic. “Not that Kyunggi isn’t a good school! I just--”
“I know what you meant,” Sehun laughs. “Please, my parents wish I had the suneung scores to get into SNU. If you’re in a SKY school, you’re set for life. But I like Kyunggi.”
“I know you do,” Tao says. “I really wanted to go there, honestly, but I didn’t want to pressure you, either. Like, I didn’t know if it would be weird…”
“Why would it be weird?” Sehun’s eyebrows furrow together. His chest feels funny. “You’re my best friend. I would love for you to come to Kyunggi.”
“Really?” Tao says, his voice going a little breathy. He sniffs, ducking out of the frame, and Sehun bursts out laughing.
“Oh my god, are you crying?”
“Shut up!” Tao yells thickly, returning to his computer with a tissue and dabbing at his eyes with it.
“You’re so cute.” Sehun grins, covering his mouth with one hand. “I can’t believe you’re coming here.”
“We’ve known each other for…” Tao drops the tissue so he can count on his fingers. “Nine years? Nine years. And we’re meeting in two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” Sehun’s eyes widen yet again. “That soon?”
“That is when the new semester starts, genius,” Tao snickers.
“You better be nice to me or I’m not buying you any food when you get here,” Sehun says, pouting. “I know where all the best restaurants are in Seoul, you know.”
Tao’s expression immediately melts into one of contrition, and he makes a show of bowing his head. “Sorry, sorry,” he laughs. He rests his chin on his hands again and sits still for a moment, just looking into the camera.
Sehun bobs his head from side to side, thinking Tao’s internet has been disconnected. “You still there?”
“Yeah,” Tao says, smiling. “I was just thinking.”
“About what?” Sehun folds his arms and rests them against the edge of his laptop, letting his head droop a little bit.
Tao sighs; happily, Sehun thinks. “I just can’t believe I’m going to see you. Finally. For real.”
Sehun’s stomach jumps, even as he smiles. “I can’t wait.”
✈
Two weeks isn’t very much time at all, Sehun thinks as he slouches down in his seat on the train the Friday after Tao had arrived in Korea. His flight came in on Tuesday; Sehun had contemplated going to meet him at the airport, but as he was traveling with other students from his program and would be meeting his program liaison, it seemed a little inconvenient. Instead, they’d arranged to meet later in the week, after Tao’s orientation was over and he was settled in at his apartment. Tao wouldn’t have minded living in a goshiwon or hasukjib for the duration of his stay, but his grandparents wouldn’t hear of it, and set him up in a one-room apartment near SNU. How they managed that without speaking Korean or going to Seoul to meet with an estate agent was beyond Sehun, but he figured it might have had something to do with Tao’s parents being involved in international business.
Sehun glances up at the LED board blinking the name of the next stop on Line 1. It takes about an hour to get from Suwon to SNU Station, but Sehun finds himself too distracted to count the stops. His heart keeps throbbing every time he thinks of getting off the train at Seouldae, imagining what he’ll see. He knows what Tao looks like, knows that he’s tall, but there’s a difference between seeing someone over a webcam hundreds of miles away and seeing him face to face, knowing he really exists. It makes Sehun’s stomach twist with anxiety; not dread, just nervousness. Should he hug Tao? Shake hands? Bow? What do you even say when you meet your best friend after nine years of correspondence? “Hi, I’m Sehun?”
Sehun rolls his eyes at himself even as he picks at a snag in the pattern on his thick wool sweater. You’re going to say hi, and then you’re going to just… talk like you always do, he reminds himself. Idiot.
He gets so caught up in stressing himself out that he nearly misses the transfer to Line 4 at Geumjeong, frantically pushing his way out of the doors before they close again. Every tall guy with shaggy black hair looks like Tao when Sehun’s this preoccupied, even though there’s no logical reason for him to be this far out on Line 1 when they’re meeting in (Sehun glances at his watch) 30 minutes. He trains his eyes on the floor instead, glancing up only long enough to follow the thick sky-blue stripe pointing the way to the Line 4 trains.
Several stops and a transfer to Line 2 later, Sehun stuffs his hands in his pockets and slowly makes his way up the steps from the platform of Seouldae Station. His heart keeps doing this awful swelling thing that makes him think he’s going to choke or maybe puke up a lung right there in front of God and fifteen ahjummas.
But he doesn’t. He slaps his T-money card down against the reader on the metal barrier and passes through, making a beeline for a column to lean against before daring to look up and search for Tao.
It only takes him about five seconds of scanning the area before he sees someone who could be Tao from the back, a young man with a bright blue beanie pulled down over messy black hair. Sehun lifts his eyebrows with mild interest, and the words leave his mouth without much thought. “Tao-yah!”
The affectionate ending feels natural, feels right, and Sehun can’t even be bothered to feel self-conscious about it when Tao turns around and his face splits into that familiar, pretty--beautiful, even--smile that Sehun’s seen so many times but looks a thousand times brighter in person.
Sehun starts walking toward him, but Tao moves faster. Sehun can see what he’s wearing better now: a tight black shirt, its long sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms and a few bracelets knotted around his right wrist, and dark fitted jeans. But he doesn’t have long to look before Tao is on him, flinging his arms around Sehun’s shoulders without preamble and crushing him in a hug, half-burying his face in Sehun’s neck. It’s an intimate gesture, and Sehun’s torn between wanting to return it and panicking a little about how many people are watching them. He reminds himself that he’ll probably never see any of the people in this station again and allows himself to sink into Tao’s hold for a few moments, slowly wrapping his arms around Tao’s shoulders for a lazy squeeze. He smells warm and clean, his cologne wavering somewhere between spicy and fresh. It’s comfortable. It’s right.
Sehun’s barely had a chance to enjoy it when Tao wriggles out of his embrace and pulls back, keeping his hands on Sehun’s shoulders to get a good look at him.
“You’re taller than I expected,” Tao says, and it takes Sehun a moment to realize he’s speaking Korean.
“I told you I was 184 centimeters!” Sehun says, smacking Tao on the arm with a grin.
“I just thought you were embellishing,” Tao grins in response, almost giddy.
Sehun chews on his lower lip to keep from smiling so widely; it’s making his cheeks hurt. He points to the subway exit and turns, slinging an arm around Tao’s shoulders. “So,” he says, glancing at Tao out of the corner of his eye, “when were you going to tell me you can speak Korean?”
Tao laughs. “You’re going to hate me. I started taking it as an elective at the end of high school.”
“Are you telling me you made me speak English to you for all these years when you could speak Korean perfectly fine?” Sehun’s jaw drops, and he withdraws his arm from Tao’s shoulders. “This friendship is over.”
“Nooooo,” Tao whines, jerking Sehun back toward him, fingers clutching in the chunky knit of his sweater and kneading as they walk up toward street level. “I wanted to surprise you. I’ve been studying really hard.” Sehun watches his mouth curl around the words, a smile working its way across his own lips unbidden as he listens to familiar words in an unfamiliar accent. “It’s partly what helped me get into SNU. And…” Tao looks a little sheepish here. “I wanted to impress you a little.”
Sehun’s heart seems to swell in his chest. “You don’t need to impress me,” he says, rubbing Tao’s back as they clear the subway entrance and glance around to get their bearings.
“I think we go this way,” Tao says, craning his head and pointing over his shoulder, around the corner. “There’s a BBQ place on a side street down here, someone told me about it.”
“I think I know the place you’re talking about,” Sehun says, following Tao. “I have some friends who go to SNU, I hang out around here once in a while.”
“Friends?” Tao inquires with arched eyebrows. “You should introduce me, I want to meet your friends!”
Sehun nods. “We could do that.” Shockingly, Baekhyun had received amazing suneung scores and weaseled his way into SNU, and likewise, Chanyeol was across the river at Yonsei, both in their third year. Jongin’s spectacular dance portfolio had won him a spot at SeoulArts. It was just Sehun outside of the city, at a less prestigious school, but he didn’t mind it; it had given him a chance to meet new people, to be different from the Oh Sehun he was in grade school. “My friend Baekhyun would love you. He collects cute people, I swear.”
Tao shoots a sidelong glance at Sehun, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “You just said I was cute.”
“Did not,” Sehun retorts, although he smiles, blithely ignoring the fluttering sensation in his chest.
“Sure,” Tao snorts, turning left at the nearest side street and stopping suddenly to look at a storefront. “Oh. Here it is.” He points at the sign, which (disturbingly) features a laughing pig standing next to a sizzling grill. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” Sehun replies, following Tao through the doorway, which jingles behind them as it closes. He flags down a waitress, who gestures toward one of the tables in the back; the restaurant is fairly busy this evening.
“Isn’t the older person supposed to pour the water?” Tao says, watching Sehun fill the cups and gather the place settings.
“I guess, but you’re a guest and this is your first time having Korean barbeque in Korea,” Sehun says. “I’m trying to be a good friend.”
“Actually…” Tao bites his lip. “Our program advisor took us out for barbeque the first night after we all arrived. So it’s really my second time.”
“Whatever,” Sehun says, passing Tao a pair of flat metal chopsticks and a large spoon. “This is your official first time, because you’re with me, and I’m special.”
Tao laughs, taking the utensils with two hands. “Like you’d ever let me forget that.”
A waitress interrupts them to take their order--two servings of samgyeopsal, two servings of wang galbi, and a bottle of soju--and unload a tray of side dishes onto their table.
“Kimchi?” Sehun holds out the bowl to Tao with a grin as one of the waitstaff brings over the charcoal for their grill, gingerly laying a grate over the glowing embers.
“I think I’ll stick with these,” Tao says, gesturing to a dish containing slices of thick, pink pickles. “Kimchi tastes better after you fry it.”
“Agreed,” Sehun says, taking the plates of raw meat handed to him when the waitress returns. Sehun immediately gets to grilling, slapping the huge slabs of galbi onto the grate and poking at it periodically with the tongs.
The food cooks quickly, with Tao making fun of Sehun’s awkward method of cutting the meat, and Sehun carefully apportioning bits of meat, kimchi, and onions for each of them, showing Tao how to roll a proper lettuce wrap.
“Your mouth is bigger than it looks,” Tao comments, impressed, after Sehun crams a sizable lettuce wrap into it. Sehun nearly chokes upon thinking about how suggestive it sounds, and busies himself with feeding Tao pieces of pickle from his own chopsticks instead.
After they’ve finished, paid, and loosened their belts a little, Tao leads Sehun down toward the university to walk around and digest their dinner. Tao holds on to the inside of Sehun’s elbow, and Sehun can see that his neck is a little pink from the soju they’d drank.
“My tongue is still all spicy,” Tao complains, so Sehun drags him into the next GS25 they come upon and starts rifling through the deep freezer.
He settles on a Bravo cone before turning to Tao. “What do you want?”
“I like red bean,” Tao says, pointing at one of the popsicles in the case, and Sehun grabs it for him, paying for both like it’s nothing.
“Oooh, you are loaded,” Tao snickers as they walk back onto the street, happily enjoying their ice cream. “Look at you, throwing around money on me.”
“Shut up,” Sehun laughs, punching Tao in the arm. “Eat the ice cream.”
They stroll around some more, Sehun listening to Tao translate the Korean splashed onto signs and storefronts with giddy enthusiasm.
“We’re not far from my apartment, actually,” Tao says, checking one of the signs on a side street. “Want to come see it?”
“Sure,” Sehun says thickly, cramming the last bit of waffle cone into his mouth and forcing himself to remain calm as Tao leads him down the road.
✈
Sehun follows Tao the three flights of stairs up to his apartment, which is fairly sparsely decorated. With the exception of textbooks scattered across his desk, his wushu stick mounted on the wall, and a couple of takeout menus stuck to the fridge with magnets, it’s pretty empty.
“We should go to Myeongdong next weekend, get you some posters and lights and stuff,” Sehun says, glancing around. “This place doesn’t have nearly as much personality as its resident does.”
“I’d like that,” Tao says, leaning over to straighten the pillows on his bed. He sits down, watching Sehun poke around the room.
Sehun steps toward the desk, eyeing Tao’s textbooks: some in English, most in Korean, a few language textbooks, but mostly biology and chemistry; Tao was studying to be a physical therapist.
There’s another large book sitting on the side of the desk, and Sehun reaches for it, holding it to his chest before sitting down on the bed beside Tao. “What is this, a photo album?”
Tao’s eyes go wide. “No, don’t worry about that, it’s nothing--”
But Sehun’s already flipping it open, batting Tao’s hands away with a well-placed elbow. The cover falls back on his lap to reveal the first letter Sehun had ever written to Tao, on the day in fifth grade when he’d seen the name Huang Zitao for the first time. He looks at the clumsy English letters, the blocky hangeul of his name written at the bottom of the page, the picture of Sehun wearing an obnoxious grin pasted carefully alongside the paper.
“That’s enough looking,” Tao says, and Sehun can tell he’s nervous. He tugs the book out of Sehun’s hands and makes to shove it in his desk drawer, but Sehun’s quicker, blocking the desk and pulling the book out of Tao’s hands.
He clutches it to his chest, staring at Tao’s red face with what he assumes is a stubborn expression on his own face. “I want to see my letters,” is all he says, gently pushing Tao away so he can sit down on the bed again.
He opens the book once more and flips to the second page. It’s the next letter, on a different sheet of stationery, with fewer mistakes this time (Thank you, Ms. Kwon, Sehun thinks wryly) but the handwriting is just as terrible. Sehun keeps flipping pages, stopping to look at pictures here and there. Some of the pages have stickers and weird little drawings, others with paint and comments scribbled into the margins.
“I can’t believe you kept all this stuff,” Sehun murmurs, turning the pages to see at his own face grinning back at him, his stupid middle school graduation photo, a picture of his family on vacation in Thailand right before his brother went off to university. He wrinkles his nose to stay the pricking sensation in the corners of his eyes.
“I put them together a couple of months ago,” Tao says suddenly, breaking the silence. His Korean falters a little, and he switches to English. “I was always nervous I’d misplace one or two of them. They can’t go anywhere if they’re glued into a book.”
“I wish I’d thought of that,” Sehun says enviously. “I’m not very creative, though. Mine are all in a lockbox under my bed in the dorm, with my passport and my bankbooks, all that important stuff.”
“You think my letters are important?” Tao smiles, his eyes a bit glassy.
Sehun nudges at his shoulder. “Of course. I mean… obviously you think mine are, too, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He peers curiously at Tao. “Why did you keep all of this stuff, anyway? It’s hardly classic literature.”
Tao covers his face and stands up, walking across the room. He shifts between folding his arms and covering his face, and settles for peering between his fingers instead. “This is not how I envisioned this conversation happening,” he whispers, his fingernails digging into his cheeks.
Sehun closes the book. “What do you mean?” he says, mildly alarmed. “Are you okay? You didn’t make this book because you’re dying or anything, right?”
Tao laughs behind his hands, his breath hitching. He sounds like he’s about to cry. “No, I’m not dying. I’m just scared.”
Sehun pushes the book off of his lap onto the bed and stands up. Tao backs into the wall reflexively.
“Now you’re freaking me out,” Sehun says, and he can hear just a hint of a tremor in his own voice. “Tao. Tao, what’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Tao laughs again, but this time Sehun doesn’t see the humor in it. “What’s wrong is that I’m about to destroy the only real friendship I’ve ever had. What’s wrong is that I’m in love with my best friend and he’s finding out about it the first night we’ve ever met.”
Time almost seems to stop in that moment as Sehun replays the words in his head. I’m in love with my best friend.
He looks at Tao, standing against the wall with his hands over his face, curled in on himself, shoulders shaking. I’m in love with my best friend. Sehun walks across the room, heart hammering in his chest as he takes slow, tentative steps toward Tao. He hesitates for a moment, but finally he reaches out and wraps his arms around Tao’s waist, settling his chin on Tao’s shoulder.
“Don’t-- what are you--” Tao sputters, but Sehun cuts him off.
“Shut up,” Sehun says softly, squeezing Tao a little more tightly.
“But didn’t you hear--”
“I said stop.” Sehun turns his face in toward Tao’s neck and lets his fingers curl into the material of Tao’s shirt. “If you really think saying that would ruin our friendship, then you don’t know me very well.”
“But it changes things,” Tao whispers, even as he lowers his hands from his face to Sehun’s shoulders. “You’re not-- you don’t--”
“I’m not what?” Sehun pulls back so he can look Tao in the eye. “Gay?”
Tao chews on his lower lip, eyes glassy and scared. Sehun resists the urge to fling his arms around his neck and hold him so he never has to see that look on his face ever again. “I don’t know what I am,” he says instead, fingertips kneading compulsively at Tao’s back as he readies himself for what he’s about to say, “but I know that you’re my best friend, and--and that I love you.”
“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” Tao says in a strained voice, pain in his eyes.
“I do mean it,” Sehun says. “I don’t know if I’m in love with you, but I’ve known for a few years that our friendship isn’t entirely… platonic, I guess.” He offers Tao a wry smile.
“How long?” Tao says, his hands still settled tamely on Sehun’s shoulders.
“Since you came out to me,” Sehun says. “I can’t pretend I never thought about you liking me that way, or that I was never jealous of that guy from your basketball team--”
“Yifan-ge?” Tao laughs, sucking his lips in to mask his smile when Sehun’s expression sours. “You know we broke up last year--”
“Whatever, it’s in the past, who cares, but seriously don’t speak his name to me,” Sehun sputters, schooling his expression into one of relative composure.
“That’s so not fair,” Tao laughs again, and Sehun’s chest feels lighter seeing his expression light up. “I didn’t say a thing when you let that girl kiss you after your graduation party thing.”
“Soojungie?” Sehun snorts, giggling when Tao’s mouth twists sullenly. “Aw, come on, it was really the soju--”
“I’m just kidding,” Tao says, squeezing Sehun’s arms. His expression turns solemn once more. “You--you’ve thought about it, though? Us?”
“Yeah,” Sehun says, absolutely certain his face is beet red at this point. “And I know that we really only just met, but I’ve known you for longer than almost anyone else in my life, and--” He sucks in a breath. “I want to try. I’m scared, but I want to.”
Tao’s smile couldn’t be more beautiful than it is now, Sehun thinks. “Me too,” Tao says, his arms finally sliding around Sehun’s waist, fingers linking tentatively at the small of his back. “We’ll take it slow. You’re important to me, you know?” He smiles. “I don’t want to scare you off.”
“Who says I won’t scare you off first?” Sehun says stubbornly, leaning in again to hug Tao, who finally lets himself relax into Sehun’s hold. Being here with him feels comfortable--like this was always meant to happen.
“I love you,” Tao says, and Sehun’s heart leaps when he realizes Tao had switched to Korean again.
“Do you have a piece of paper?” he asks suddenly, pulling away from Tao again.
Tao looks at him curiously. “Yeah. What do you need it for?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sehun smiles and relinquishes his hold on Tao’s shirt, turning to grab a pen off Tao’s desk. Tao hands him the paper, and Sehun sits down at the desk, scribbling furiously with one arm blocking Tao’s eyes from the paper.
When he’s finished, he flips it over and goes digging in Tao’s desk drawers (“Hey, that’s private,” Tao laughs, still watching Sehun with a puzzled expression on his face) until he finds a glue stick. Sehun uncaps it, hurriedly smearing it all over the back of the paper before reaching for Tao’s scrapbook. He flips to the first empty page, near the back of the book, and carefully aligns the piece of paper with the edges of the page, smoothing down the corners and admiring his handiwork before passing the book to Tao.
Tao leans over the desk to read Sehun’s final letter, his bemused expression slowly morphing into a smile that makes his whole body seem like it’s vibrating.
“Don’t forget the postscript,” Sehun reminds him with a sly grin.
Tao laughs loudly before tugging Sehun out of the chair and into his arms once more, but this time Tao slides his hand around the back of Sehun’s neck and all Sehun remembers is the feel of Tao’s lips pressed against his own, and Sehun thinks that’s all the reply he’ll ever need.
✈
Dear Tao,
Today my best friend told me he was in love with me. Between you and me, I think I could be in love with him, too.
P.S. I bet he’s a pretty good kisser.
✈
Author’s Note: This fic was written for miss_aztec57 for the ohunlimited fic challenge, based on the following prompt: When Sehun is younger, his school organises to match them up with a penpal in China. Most of the students stop writing after a year or so, but Sehun becomes close to his penpal, and they continue to write to each other all the time. (preferably Sehun/Tao, but any is fine! and also I want them eventually to meet in person!) I apologize for it being a bit rushed, particularly in the middle, but I don’t do particularly well with deadlines, unfortunately.
The title comes from the Phoenix song “Love Like a Sunset (Pt. 2),” which is a really gorgeous, atmospheric track and I highly recommend the entire album (Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix) to anyone who likes alternative rock/pop music.
I would like to dedicate this fic to all of my friends in faraway places, my online “pen pals,” some of whom I’ve known for over ten years. I love all of you, and I’m glad you came into my life. ♥