By the plexuses of fate

— On «5, 6, 7» you repeat the movements with your hands from the previous eight, and on «8» you do this, — Minho emphasizes his words with movements and demonstrates a somewhat aggressive sideways lunge. — We run through this routine first, then the entire dance twice and that's all for today. Minho moves from the center of the room to the corner, where he stands as an observer. He notices that Chaeryeong is still the best in choreography. He runs his gaze over the rest of the teens; mechanically brushes back his sweat-drenched bangs and rolls his eyes as the two girls closest to him falter and miss a few movements. Damn it, when Minho agreed to lead a group of teenagers at the peak of their hormonal surges. — Chaeryeong-ah, Yeji-ya, you're doing well, but don't let up. You still need to practice and practice again, to get to normal synchronization, — Minho sums up the lesson, and a discordant hum of disappointment sweeps through the dance studio. — But!.. I'm not finished yet. Minho looks around at again his students — yes, he leads a women's dance group. All the girls are still so green and young (the youngest barely turned fourteen), but, in fact, each one is talented. Minho sighs heavily, unbending his legs crossed under him — at the end of the lesson they always take a break, sitting right on the floor, and the teens share some news with Minho. — I'm going on vacation next week, so you'll be temporarily guided by Hyunjin-ssi, — he finally says, and this time the hum is even louder. Partly because that they will miss their harmful teacher, partly that they are so happy to the point of insanity, because there is an opinion in their dance studio that only Hyunjin can be more beautiful than Minho of all the teachers. Minho disagrees with this statement purely out of principle. — For how long? — Chaeryeong immediately jumps up and gets embarrassed, when her voice sounds too loud. Minho snorts affectionately. — I could only knock out three weeks, — sighs picturesquely. — But for you, it'll still be nine whole classes. Do you know what that means? No one responds, only whispers echo through the room, and Minho curls his lips into a grin. — It means that by the time I come back, the dance should be ready for stage, — he claps his hands, ignoring the startled gasps. — Of course, Hyunjin-ci will help you, but be ready that I'll judge you harshly. And now everyone is free to go! In particular, Minho is free to go. He locks the classroom behind the girls, takes a quick shower in the staff room, and then, with a light and fast-pounding heart, picks up a travel bag from his locker. Minho rarely returns home, to small hometown standing on the seashore, but waits for such occasions with sincere impatience. Minho is twenty-four, he is the best graduate of the choreography department of one of the most prestigious universities in Seoul. And Minho also teaches his skills in one of the most famous studios in the capital to guys, who are just as passionate about dancing as he is. Minho lives a wonderful well-off life of a man who is happy with his position, but he is completely alone. And it leaves its prints. It's not that Minho is burn to have a relationship, but everyone around him is so disgustingly in love that Minho suddenly gets into it. Chan, his best friend, is dating a lad four years younger than himself, Jeongin. Minho still remembers how two years ago, when those two first met, he and Changbin teased the older one with a «younger lover», but in fact it was something like «hyung, it's okay, just be careful». In the last couple of months, Changbin has been increasingly sticking his face into the phone with a completely moronic smile and does not answer questions, blushing (one day Chan witnesses a sleeping Changbin muttering something about «cute Yongbok-ie», and the picture eventually develops). Hyunjin generally travels to another city every weekend to visit his beloved, with whom he has not been able to introduce to the company for at least six months, but this is a dangerous zone — Hyunjin gets gloomy as soon as someone talks about this topic. In general, Minho sets himself a strange goal, probably: to start a relationship upon returning to Seoul. Chan teases that having a relationship is not the same as having a cat, so it is up to him to take care of Soonie, Doongie and Dori during Minho's departure. Honestly, only Jeongin tearfully promises to take care of those pets, but these are details. In fact, Minho decides to take such an important step partly because his spontaneous decision falls on his planned return home. For some reason, each of his trips to hometown gives a new turn in Minho's life: so he successfully passed the first session, then passed the qualifiers for the insanely prestigious competition in the third year, then successfully presented the final performance at the last one. There was also a successful job search and finding a good apartment to rent, but somewhere here Minho stopped believing in fate, and began to believe in himself. But now Minho mumbles a quiet «Home!» contentedly, sticks headphones in ears, and the train takes him towards the south coast. Then he shakes for another hour and a half, first on the train, then on the bus among sweaty people, because it's summer, and now familiar box-houses are flashing outside the window, interspersed with rare five-storey buildings. At the bus stop, he is greeted by a lingering «Minho-ya!» from his mother, a strong handshake from father and the feeling that something is really starting over.

***

Minho loves only one thing more than his hometown and the atmosphere of home comfort — the local beaches. At night. He habitually slips out of the house at eight in the evening, not forgetting to bring a blanket and tart black tea in a thermos. The clear blue sky begins to darken, then twitches with a light pinkish haze, and when Minho gets to the beach, it already turns into a rich purple. At the junction with the sea, the sky completely merges with the still water, and Minho freezes for a moment, imprinting this view on his eyelids. Then he throws off his backpack and shoes, placing them on the wooden walkway, and begins to dance. At first, a couple of steps, like in ballet (Minho tried, but he quickly stopped liking it). An awkward, warm-up wave of the arms, a quick turn around the axis — to make sure that there are no random spectators. A few more steps and Minho stops at the water's edge. He touches the light waves with his fingertips and forgets himself. The music is playing in Minho's head, and the body adjusts itself to a confused, non-existent rhythm. If Changbin had heard him, he would have had a stroke, but there is no Changbin and Chan here who understand the beats; there is no strict jury from the state scholarship competition evaluating the movement of every muscle; there is not a single casual glance. Therefore, Minho breathes, and when he stops after an infinity, he feels alive. Heart is pounding wildly, and legs are buckling, trembling from the load, but Minho smiles the stupidest smile of all, shakes himself up and trudges back home. Somewhere in the middle of the way, he hears a vaguely familiar: — Minho-ya! Is that you, boy? You've grown so much!.. Minho turns around, ready to endure a long polite conversation about nothing, and a woman of about sixty-five hurries to him — swarthy, squat and surprisingly agile for her age. She smiles broadly as comes closer and holds heavy bags in her hands. — Missis Han! — Minho recognizes the neighbor. — Hello, it's been a long time! He continues to smile, but a little on duty — despite the fact that Mrs. Han is one of their most adequate neighbors, Minho would still prefer to get home alone. — It's been so long since you've been here, Minho-ya! — The woman smiles and nods patronizingly when Minho (again out of politeness) offers to take the bags from her. — It seems like a year has passed, right?.. Mrs. Han is so a chatter-box. Minho has forgotten how to take in so much information at a time, which is dumped on him by a neighbor, and she mentions, seems, everything that could have happened in their small town — from a sudden outbreak of flu six months ago to the wedding of people whose names Minho does not even remember. But when the house is only a few meters away, Mrs. Han suddenly changes her face and stands on the spot. Minho looks at her questioningly, feeling his irritation rise, but the next words of the interlocutor make him freeze: — Minho-ya, I'm sorry for talking so much, but actually, I'd like to ask you for help. Minho tenses up and listens, nodding slowly. — You remember my grandson, Jisung, don't you? — Jisung?.. At first, nothing clicks in head. Minho frowns, trying to remember all the people with that name he has met (some kind of Jisung from the university stream flashes in his memory), and then he is blinded by a flash. Jisung. Han Jisung. Cheerful, bright, laughing at random — first as a boy, and then as a teenager coming from Seoul here, to the province, to his grandmother. A little ball of joy with chubby cheeks and eyes burning with curiosity about everything in this world. A kid two years younger than Minho, who follows the older one wherever he can; and Minho, who amusingly patronizes the newcomer. The last time they saw each other was a long time — about six years ago, when Minho was eighteen and he was in his senior year, and Jisung was sixteen. Then Minho moved to Seoul, and meeting a random person in a city of millions is as difficult as finding a needle in a haystack. — Yes, I remember, — Minho finally exhales. Mrs. Han looks at him intently and nods. — You see, something terrible happened to Jisung-ie recently, — she says, lowering her voice, although no one can hear them, — and now he doesn't look like his old self at all. I know you weren't very close, but maybe you can talk to him? We don't know what to do with him anymore!.. Mrs. Han shakes her head ruefully and sighs fitfully, calming down. — Really, Minho-ya, if it's not difficult for you, — she lowers her tone again. — If it's not difficult for you, can you visit him? Maybe he'll listen to you at least, — finishes in a whisper. — Of course I don't mind, — Minho replies doubtfully, — but I won't be back in Seoul until the end of the month. Can Jisung wait? Mrs. Han gives him a tired look. — He's here, Minho-ya. He's been living here for a year now. They say goodbye at the doorstep of the Han family, and Minho almost walks past his house in confusion. He makes himself a mug of scalding hot tea and, turning off the light in his room, watches the vague silhouettes in the windows opposite for a long time. Minho greets the morning with the gentle voice of his mother, the gentle rays of the sun and the unusual, but native smell of the sea. He has breakfast, for once taking his time, volunteers to wash the dishes and goes to work with mother — to their family cafe on the beach, which is quite popular with tourists. Minho even tries to help his parents with the delivery of orders, but his father quickly escorts him out of the kitchen, sending him for a walk. To pass the time until the evening — then he will go to the empty beach again — Minho decides to take a walk around the town. He puts on his headphones again and, dancing to light jazz, walks through the most significant places of his childhood; those that evoke his most vivid memories. First of all, he passes by the school, and, to be honest, this place does not cause any warm affection — Minho still sincerely considers the university to be his alma-mater. He passes several houses where, if he remembers correctly, his youthful friends live. Minho lost touch with them almost as soon as he moved to Seoul, and this was not surprising: in the end, either Minho would consider them losers, or they would consider him a stuck-up. In one of the courtyards where they played as children, toddlers of two or three years old are now busy; tired fathers look after the children, and Minho tremblingly recognizes one of his former friends in one of the young men. He leaves faster so that he won't be recognized. Minho will walk a couple of blocks. He passes through a deserted, dusty square in the center, on which there is an inactive fountain (a dozen years ago it was great to splash in it in the height of summer); goes around the same abandoned sports ground, where grass broke through the cracked asphalt — this place has never been used for its intended purpose, so it's not surprising that it it has fallen into disrepair. However, not the whole city is abandoned: Minho sees several new playgrounds during the walk, and also a recently laid out park with young sapling trees. The park looks very attractive, so Minho, as soon as he sees an empty bench in the shade, decides to take a break. He sits in the middle, hinting that he doesn't like the neighbors, and comes in to check the KakaoTalk: Hyunjin sent videos from classes with children, Chan complains that Jeongin is twists him around little finger again, and Jeongin shares a plan to get Chan out of city on the weekend. Somewhere between the last messages, there were «video reports» with Sunie, Doongie and Dori. Minho, grinning, answers everyone, and then looks up from the screen and freezes. He freezes because two guys appeared on the next bench about twenty meters away from him. Minho, to be honest, wouldn't have paid attention to them if one wasn't sitting in a wheelchair. Also — if he wasn't Jisung. Minho tenses up. It's not that he wasn't going to comply with Mrs. Han's request and see her grandson, but definitely not in the next week — after all, he came to rest, not to become a private psychologist, but… — What the, — Minho whispers to himself, squinting, and looks at the younger one. He settles down on the bench so that he can see what is happening next to him out of the corner of his eye. Jisung looks almost familiar — he has native hair color, the same naturally plump cheeks, a T-shirt stretched out at the shoulders, which makes him look fragile, and a cap worn backwards. Jisung doesn't seem unhappy or happy. Jisung looks like he's tired of living. He just is: sits with empty gaze buried in a book on his lap, absently beating an intricate rhythm with his fingers. Another guy is hanging around Jisung: with blond hair dyed, a loud low voice, with which he occasionally asks Jisung some questions and frowns, apparently receiving answers that do not suit him. The guy is often distracted by the phone; at these moments, the wrinkles on his face smooth out, a sincere smile blooms and eyes squint funny. Then Jisung seems to be a completely faded, lifeless spot against his background. The caregiver guy looks up and collides with Minho's gaze. He jerks his chin questioningly, but Minho just shakes head, gets ready and leaves. Jisung hasn't seen him, and Minho needs to think about it. In the evening, the sea is a little stormy, and Minho, who also feels troubled in his soul, does not come close to the water. For some reason, it seems that the gentle element yesterday can now bare its fangs and bite, along with the wave, take from the shore. Minho returns home earlier than usual. But two days later, he unexpectedly finds himself in front of the door to the Han family's house. Minho only thinks about what he's going to do when he presses the doorbell, so there's no turning back. Mrs. Han opens the door for him. — Who is th... Minho-ya, you came after all! Minho is embarrassed by how happy the elderly woman is at his arrival. He refuses tea, coffee and everything that goes with them and, taking off his shoes, asks to be taken to Jisung right away. — It's better not to ask him what happened, — Mrs. Han suddenly whispers advice. — If Jisung-ie wants to, he will tell you himself. Minho nods silently and gets under a suddenly probing gaze. However, it immediately disappears, becoming ordinary. — Jisung-ah! — a woman calls loudly, approaching one of the doors in the corridor. — You have a guest. Be respectful! She pulls the handle without waiting for an answer and pushes Minho inside. He, who is not ready for such a rapid change of events, finds himself alone with a startled and surprised Jisung. — Uh, hi, — Minho smiles uncertainly. — I don't know if you remember me, but I'm your neighbor on the right.… So, I decided to come in and say hello. Jisung's eyes widen in surprise, so funny that Minho can't help but snort. — Minho-hyung? — Jisung says incredulously, starting to smile timidly, and it's Minho's turn to be surprised. — It's great that you remember me, — he says carefully. Minho briefly looks around the room: it is small and dark — the windows are tightly curtained. Jisung is sitting on a wide single bed with his legs stretched out unnaturally straight; notebooks and pens are scattered randomly on the table, a plaid is rolled up in a wheelchair in the corner, and the door to the closet is ajar — that's all the dwelling. Jisung notices the older man's appraising gaze and is embarrassed, and then blushes completely, realizing that Minho has nowhere to sit. — Hyung, maybe I'll move over and you'll be on the bed? — gesturing funny, he panics and waves his hand in the direction of the stroller. — It's not difficult for me, really!.. Minho shakes his head hastily. — I can put a blanket on the floor and sit there, if you don't mind, — he suggests. Jisung, looking at him doubtfully, still agrees. Minho settles down at the foot of the bed, trying to keep a personal space between them, but doesn't help much — Jisung is noticeably nervous, although tries not to show it. Eventually, he pulls the blanket over his motionless legs and calms down, and Minho pretends not to pay attention to it. Now he tries not to lower his gaze below shoulders. The conversation doesn't stick right away, but Jisung manages to tell so much about himself with his facial expressions that Minho is scared of how much he sees. Jisung fidgets with his hoodie anxiously when Minho tries to gently bring the topic to his feet; he visibly lowers his shoulders when the unpleasant topic is transferred to another. While Minho tells something funny with a half-smile, defusing the situation, Jisung barely holds back laughter and bites his lip, but does not laugh fully: only some kind of gurgling, similar to giggling, breaks out of him twice. The awkwardness still persists, because Jisung seems afraid to say something wrong and restrains himself, but they are already a little more comfortable together. What Minho doesn't expect after half an hour is this timid Jisung: — Are you still dancing, Hyung? There is a little warmth in chest: either from the fact that the younger one touched such a reverently beloved part of his life, or from the fact that Jisung remembers. Minho nods slowly, and a whirlwind of memories immediately flashes before his eyes — from university, from street performances and club dance battles, even a few particularly vivid workouts with his wards girls and their last performance in front of the judges. — I teach mostly, — he finally says proudly. — Mm, I probably won't find my own performances, but I can show you a recording of one of the classes of the group that I lead. Do you want to? Jisung agrees, and Minho only realizes at the last moment, when the video has already been found, that he is going to demonstrate dancing people to the non-walking Jisung. Minho hesitates, and the younger one notices it. — I really want to watch, — Jisung says quietly. — I calmly look at the people around me, don't I, hyung?.. I've already learned that, don't worry. — I'm sorry, — and for the first time today, Minho is really uncomfortable. He turns on the latest video that Hyunjin sent him. The smiling faces of Chaeryeong and Yeji appear on the screen, giggling, waving at the camera and saying hello. Hyunjin's voice, feigning displeasure, is heard off-screen, commanding them to disperse to their positions, and the girls scatter to different sides of the hall. Despite the fact that this is the third time Minho has seen this record, he still re-notices all the flaws so that he can write about them to Hyunjin. He is so immersed in watching that somehow he doesn't even pay attention to Jisung, sitting next to. Therefore, when Minho turns to the younger one, he is amazed at how enthusiastically and sincerely someone else's eyes are burning. — You love them and your job so much, hyung, — Jisung suddenly exhales, still smiling, and Minho wants to poke him in the little dimples unimaginably badly. — How did you?.. Minho doesn't specify exactly what the «how» is, because everything is clear. Jisung just shrugs and hesitates a bit before answering: — Can see it in your eyes. The elder admits that Jisung may have read Minho's insecurities as easily today as Minho himself read someone else's awkwardness. That day he spends an hour in the Han's family, the next day he stays for another half for tea. Mrs. Han, seeing him off and meeting at the door, whispers thanks every time, and in the end Minho decides that there is not much to do in the town, and he is not so bored with the younger one. Therefore, two days turn into three, and those imperceptibly flow into a week, and Minho somehow does not immediately notice that now he can not imagine a single day of vacation without Jisung.

***

On the third day, Minho meets his namesake, Felix, the same caregiver guy Minho first saw Jisung with this summer. The youngers turn out to be the same age, and Felix is a real ray of sunshine who has learned to disperse the clouds over Jisung. In the presence of his companion, Jisung relaxes even more, laughs, jokes himself and, in general, becomes as much like himself as possible. Felix is funny: has a scattering of freckles on his cheeks, which he shyly covers up with concealer, although it still blurs under the scorching sun; he is terribly emotional for an unprepared Minho, loves dancing (they converge on this) and often texts with someone in the KakaoTalk, biting his lip. The three of them went out for a walk several times: either late in the morning, when the long-awake city quiets for a couple of hours, or after lunch, when the heat is such that no one is on the streets. At first, Minho doesn't pay attention to this, but then discovers that Jisung is terrified of cars. In fact, there is not much transport in their town. Of the public ones, there are only two minibuses going to different ends of the beach and from there to the outskirts through the center; several dozen private cars belonging to the families of those who often travel to large cities, and heavy trucks bringing food every few days. Jisung is afraid of them all. He freezes every time he hears the sound of an engine starting or the rustle of wheels; sometimes he is even frightened by the creak of a braking bicycle or the honk of a horn. At such moments, Felix immediately turns out to be in front of Jisung — he obscures the angle of view of the car and in a low whisper urges to breathe deeply and look only at him. They do not return home immediately after each such attack, but Minho notices how Felix begins to keep a closer eye on his ward. One day, Minho stays late into the evening, so waits for Felix while he helps Jisung with water treatments, and together they go down to the beaches. Felix actually rents a room for a penny on the other side of the city, but today some friend is coming to him, and Minho is going to look at parents before disappearing again for half the night on the beach. — Thanks for messing with us, hyung, — Felix suddenly says, and Minho raises his eyebrows questioningly. — It's just... that it can be difficult with Jisung, and you don't even know what's what.… I'm sorry, but psychologists say it's better if Jisung himself is ready to talk about his condition. Minho hums knowingly. In fact, he has his own assumptions: he has no doubt that the fear of cars is directly related to Jisung's injury, and what could be the reason for this? Only a traffic accident. — And has it happened before, that he opened up to someone himself? — Minho asks, already knowing the answer. — Not once this year, — Felix sighs. The silence is uncomfortable, and Minho, having come up with nothing better, is curious: — And how did you end up here? You're an out-of-towner, aren't you? — An out-of-towner, you could say that, — Felix agrees. — Actually, it all turned out strangely. I'm a visitant to Korea too, I'm from Australia, — Minho looks up in surprise, because Chan is too, — but I decided to go to study in my ethnic homeland, that's it. I wanted to go to sports or in idols, but somehow I ended up in psychology, — he laughs. — Otherwise I wouldn't be here. Felix shakes his head, thinking, and turns to face Minho, continuing to walk down the street backwards. — We had an internship in our third year, — he continues. — So, something like a bring-and-serve boy, no more, but my supervisor and I got along, so I was even allowed to sit at receptions. That's where I met Jisung. His parents were trying to figure out what to do next, and my supervisor just said that Jisung needed someone who would look after him, and in general, preferably a peer. And he looked at me, can you imagine?! So they talked me into it. I didn't want to drag it out so much at all, but here I am and on sabbatical for a little less than a year… Felix finishes rushed because they are already reaching the music-thundering nightclubs on the shore. Minho thanks junior with a nod for the story and winces, looking around at the sweaty crowd twitching to the beat a couple dozen meters away from them. — Is this where you want to go? — he asks, grimacing. Felix chuckles. — No, we're just going for a walk, — he smiles. — Seungmin-ie won't let me stay even if I want to! Minho chuckles, shaking his head. He is about to say goodbye and leave, but a figure separates from the shadow nearby and approaches them. An unknown boy flies up to Felix and shakes him by the shoulder; he silently bursts into a smile. The guy frowns and makes a quick gesture with fingers. Looking at the stranger in front of him, Minho snorts, but when, apparently, Seungmin raises his head, recognition flashes in his gaze, then disbelief and even fear. Seungmin grabs Felix by the sleeve and, without letting him get a word in, pulls him into the crowd. The puzzled Minho only hears a vague «Bye, hyung!» and he shrugs shoulders — you never know what's wrong with this Seungmin. He is now much more interested in Jisung than this strange situation, although Minho puts it in his head. That night, Minho dances somewhat absent-mindedly: the flapping of his arms is ridiculous, his feet get stuck in the sand, and even people pass by his shelter a couple of times, forcing to stop. But the sea is surprisingly peaceful: shimmers with moonlight, reflects random clusters of stars and radiates such serenity that all vague doubts inside Minho dissipate, leaving a haze of peace. A few days later, Minho receives files from Hyunjin with unfilled reports for the month, which significantly spoils the mood. Minho sincerely calls Hyunjin an asshole, because now he has a full day's work and he won't be able to meet with Jisung. Have to send tom a message about the cancellation of plans, and then, after a short thought, an offer to arrange a marathon of "Pirates of the Caribbean" tomorrow (Minho successfully digs up long-downloaded movies in some folder on his laptop). With a sigh, he puts down his phone so as not to be distracted, but it bursts into a ringing incoming message. Minho looks at the screen curiously. «I'm afraid we won't be able to meet tomorrow, hyung», — Jisung writes. «Why?» — Minho immediately dials. «Felix won't be with us» «Does this change anything? We can sit together» «Won't you be bored with me? I'm not a very good conversationalist» «Jisung-ah.» «?» «I'm coming tomorrow, and it's not up for discussion.» Minho thinks that his last message sounded too rude, but he doesn't have time to add anything because gets a message from Jisung: «All right, hyung <3» — and for some reason it warms with warmth. This time, Minho puts the phone away (out of reach of the outstretched hand) and really plunges into the reports, periodically grumbling at Hyunjin. He drops in on Jisung the next day at noon. Before that, Minho turns into a small shop with a faded, unchanged for years sign, and meticulously examines the shelves. He finds it difficult to dig out a vaguely familiar brand among the meager selection, takes three huge packs of chips with the most chemical flavors, a coke for Jisung and iced tea for himself, because he does not like soda. Mrs. Han, letting him into the house, suspiciously squints at the bulging backpack, but Minho, with the most serious face, assures her that there are gifts from mother. Minho has no regrets when he and Jisung, giggling conspiratorially, try to silently pour the chips into a plate. It's easy with Jisung. He is bright, catchy, knows thousands of funny and not so funny jokes, to which it does not matter how the listener reacts, the main thing is to tell. It's easy to get him emotional, especially to embarrass, and Minho says something with enviable frequency and diligence that makes Jisung's cheeks blush. Jisung laughs a lot, actually, but in the depths of his eyes there is confusion, horror and fear that he will be forgotten, that they will turn away when — now — he needs people around the most. Jisung's movements are stiff and awkward, and Minho, as the dance teacher, has an instinct to whack properly so that he doesn't shrink like that. But for now, they only need to overcome today's embarrassment. While Jisung fiddles with Minho's laptop, connecting speakers to it, Minho himself pulls the curtains to create semi-darkness. The speakers work every other time and spit sounds so that half of the words are not audible, but they continue to watch the movie like that, choking on giggles and rewinding the video every now and then. Minho can see that Jisung is uncomfortable. It is awkward to ask for help to be transferred to a chair and helped him to get to the toilet (each room has a small uncomfortable threshold); it is awkward to ask for a glass of cold lemon water from a carafe, although it is so hot that the throat dries up. Even Felix is treated with reluctance by Jisung on normal days, as if it offends one of them, let alone an almost stranger. In addition, Minho periodically makes mistakes — shakes Jisung's hip slightly, as he always does if wants to attract attention; almost lays head on his knees — this is usually in their company, but apparently not here. One day he actually says something about «easy going», and it seems to hit Jisung more than he wants to show. When the third movie comes to an end, Minho stretches out on the bed with a groan, first grabbing a pillow under him, and then completely sliding to the floor. He reaches for the curtains and pulls them back, amazed — it's already getting dark outside, the horizon is starting to turn gray, only to turn light pink soon. — You know what, — Minho says thoughtfully. — I have an idea. — What's the idea, hyung? — Jisung asks, not exactly interested, but with Minho's next words, his eyes turn into saucers: — Let's go to the beach. Jisung looks incredulous: what should he, a non-walker, and therefore a non-swimmer, do there? But Minho looks unexpectedly confident and pulls him towards himself, to the edge of the bed. — You'll like it, — he declares, and then, biting his lip, adds: — Well, or at least you'll find out one of my secrets that no one knows. Jisung sulks and grumbles that the secret could have been told at home, but anticipation lights up in his eyes. He lets his legs be wrapped in a plaid (so as not to have to worry about changing shorts into pants), puts on a hoodie because it can be cool by the water at night, and makes a pitiful face as an addition to Minho's persuasive power when they try to persuade his grandmother to let them go for a walk. Mrs. Han, after a while, still allows it, and Minho pushes Jisung's wheelchair down the street as fast as possible. They laugh like the crazy, and probably scare the elderly ajummas in the courtyards they sweep through. Insane joy floods them, and Minho smiles, smiles, smiles, listening to Jisung laughing next to him. His eyes burn with the same mischievous gleam that Minho is used to seeing, and from the realization that they are comfortable with each other, a wave of warmth rolls from his heart to his fingertips. And Jisung gets so carried away that he doesn't even pay attention to the car roaring on the next street. He doesn't ask where Minho is taking them, just turns his head around, looking at the coastal bars and clubs as if for the first time. Maybe Jisung really hasn't been to the beach enough to know the new places and remember the old ones, and the trembling in Minho's fingers feels stronger the closer they get to their destination. When he rolls the wheelchair onto the stages on the beach, Jisung falls silent and does not say a word until they reach the shore. — So... beautiful, — Jisung breathes out and can't find any more words, and Minho understands because he does too. The sun is just sinking to the horizon. The sea is calm again, which Minho considers a good sign; the waves are steadily rocking several fishing boats in the distance and a crowd of teenagers closer to the central beach. There is no one here; only a couple of birds are pacing at the edge of the surf and small rare pebbles rustle, mixing with the sand. — What kind of secret did you want to tell? — Jisung finally finds the power of speech. — Come on, hyung! — Actually, to show it, but this idea doesn't seem good to me anymore, — Minho replies nervously. He really begins to doubt, but, in fact, he tries more to whet someone else's curiosity. Jisung really immediately frowns and whines: — But, hyung, but you promised! And we're already here anyway!.. Minho laughs out loud, which makes Jisung shut up and puff out cheeks. After he stops laughing, he throws off his jacket, handing it to the younger, and, under a surprised look, takes off his sneakers with socks. — Minho-hyung, are you going to dance? — Jisung asks incredulously. — Why not, — Minho answers as nonchalantly as possible, although his own hamstrings begin to shake, as if before a graduation speech — after all, this is really his innermost secret. — I couldn't show you the video because I don't have it, right? Why not fix it? Jisung looks like he doesn't believe a word of it and knows what's going on in someone else's soul, but Minho shakes his head, shaking off the delusion. He walks away to the water, and the waves lick his feet; he memorizes — because has done this hundreds of times, trying to achieve the best result — brings his body into the right stance. Rush up, standing on tiptoe, and hug yourself, hugging. Fold your arms like a butterfly, lifting them from your stomach to your neck, and slowly drop down. Throw up your legs, splashing water, and get up, setting your body in motion again, seemingly chaotic at first glance, but in fact — verified to the smallest detail. Minho remembers perfectly well how painstakingly, piece by piece, he and Hyunjin once put together this performance. It was the second or third year, the first truly creative task, when there were no restrictions either in the choice of music or in the choice of style, and the curator looked with one eye for the only time during the entire preparation and set admission to the main test. It was a shame then; then, when they found themselves at the top of the rankings, second only to two teams, it was fun and causing damn burst with happiness. It's hard to stop, but he have to do it. Minho breathes heavily, pushing hair back from his forehead, and looks at Jisung; he has a piercing look again, stripping — not naked, but to the soul. While Minho impressively goes to the younger one, he has time to think: such an all-seeing and all-understanding Jisung scares him, but also enchants him with his mystery incredibly. Minho takes a step, another, and tries to figure out who Jisung has become for him in these two weeks: has he remained just a childhood friend, has he grown into a good friend, or has he risen another step higher — to one of the friends in the present, which Minho, in general, can only name Chan and his Jeongin, Changbin and Hyunjin. In silence, he takes jacket from Jisung's hands to lay it on the sand next to him and sit down, and squints at the sunset. — Is that the whole secret, hyung? — Jisung breaks the silence, chuckling. — I'll disappoint you: I knew it. — From where? — Minho asks in surprise, but does not turn his head — he is still thinking. Jisung, contrary to his tone, is embarrassed. — Honestly? I peeked when I used to come here on vacation,— he admits. — But I'm... glad you shared it. It's important to me. Minho smiles. If they had a blanket or at least a straw with them, he would even lie down, basking in the rays of the setting sun, but he can only unobtrusively lean on a wheelchair. He whispers: — Are you finally going to tell me, Jisung-ie? — Tell what, Hyung? — he asks tremblingly. Minho smiles. — Don't pretend to be a fool. A secret for a secret, okay? The silence is nervous, but Minho is not in a hurry — as he feels that some of the cards will be revealed today. And despite the fact that Jisung bleatingly tries: — But I knew your secret, didn't I?.. Minho remains adamant: — I'm guessing something, too. But it's more important to tell yourself, isn't it? Jisung gives up. Minho feels this on some emotional level, so he tries to convey a piece of his confidence by groping for someone else's palm and interlacing fingers. Jisung takes a deep breath, as if he's throwing himself into a pool, and says. He doesn't talk so much, in fact, as he gets confused in words and weighs phrases, and Minho listens patiently and squeezes his palm reassuringly in his own. — I had an accident a year ago. It's stupid, actually — it wasn't me who was driving, but my... friend. An ex-friend, apparently. He died on the spot then, and I stayed... stayed, as you can see. I... I remember how it was, hyung. Remember very clearly. I don't know why this happened, but I did not pass out immediately, and everything below the waist was crushed by debris. I was knocked out later because of the pain shock, but I... remember that feeling. It's like a high-rise fell on me, you know? Or as if I'd been cut open with a saw. The hand that Minho is holding starts to tremble noticeably. He suppresses the urge to turn around and hug Jisung to himself, tolerates — if let him talk, then to the end. — In general, the doctors say that I have the opportunity to recover. It's big opportunity, hyung... but I'm afraid. It's not going to be painless, but I... I was shaking all over for the first few weeks because I had nightmares and these feelings. I still hate remembering them, do you believe me? Because it makes you shiver. Because it seems like it's all coming back. Minho closes his eyes. Jisung's revelation does not turn out to be something out of the ordinary, as he expected. Everything that happened was just an accident that broke several lives. Jisung's feelings are mundane, human, and frightening, actually, because Minho himself doesn't even want to imagine how he would cope with such fear. Jisung is silent for a while, but that's not all. And it's true — he finally decides to take the last leap. — Tell me, hyung, do you think I'm a weakling now that I can't pull myself together and get back on my feet? But the question is unsettling. Minho turns around in surprise, meeting Jisung's gaze; he bites his lips and tries to smile with all his might. Minho frowns. — You're not weak, Jisung-ie, — he says confidently, and the younger one immediately deflates with relief — his shoulders are cramped and hunched. — You've overcome so much, and... thank you for telling. Do you hear? Thank you for trusting. Jisung nods shallowly, hides eyes. — But you're not strong,— Minho immediately presses, and the younger one flinches. — Because you will be really strong when you get up. You'll get back on your feet by yourself. Do you understand? You can be called strong only when you have not only experienced difficulties, but also overcome them. — You're like I'm a little kid, hyung,— Jisung says, sobbing. Minho gets up on his knees so that their faces are on the same level, and wipes a few hot tears from cheeks. — Let's make a deal again, Jisung-ie? — He offers softly. — When you get back on your feet, I'll tell you another secret; this time it's real. Not «if», but «when», do you understand me? Trust me, this secret will be worth it. Jisung finally lets go of himself, pulling Minho to him and burying his face in shoulder because he's not reach somewhere else. He cries; bitterly and, in fact, ugly, because no one can cry beautifully, but Minho thinks that it was not in vain that he promised to tell his half-formed secret. — All right, hyung, — an indistinct voice is heard. Because, Minho thinks, if he already feels these stupid butterflies in his stomach when he looks at a roaring, flushed Jisung, then by the time Jisung gets back on his feet… Minho is sure going to be wildly, deeply, and completely disgustingly in love.