𝒐𝒐𝒐. "I didn't write this to forget who I am as a person nor did I write it for money out of desperation. I wrote this because I know, one day, someone will find this story in the corner of a library, squeezed between forgotten stories with a dus...
Park Seonghwa. December 19th, 1980. | Friday, 3:15 PM. WARNING: Explicit content, death.
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Gently shutting his locker, Seonghwa jumps back from a certain blonde male standing by his side. Hongjoong smiles, nervous and small, holding a wrapped box in his hands. "Oh," Seonghwa swallows, taking a step back. It's almost been a month since he's last spoken to Hongjoong, and he was surprised the blonde hadn't chased him down and hounded him with questions — which he was grateful for. "Is there something I can help you with?"
"I have a gift for you," Hongjoong holds the box out towards Seonghwa. "Wooyoung and I made it for you. If you don't like it, you can give it to Changho's little sisters o-or you could throw it out. Merry early Christmas, Blondie."
Seonghwa takes the box from Hongjoong's hands, careful not to press too hard into the fragile box. He goes to open his mouth — not completely sure of what he wanted to say, but he didn't have to worry as Hongjoong ran off. Seonghwa huffs, lightly pressing his lips into a thin line before looking down at the blue and yellow wrapping. Picking at the tape, his purse lips form in a small smile from the homemade necklace in a box Hongjoong's mom most likely has.
The necklace wasn't the best, crafted with a cheap dough, poorly shaped into a heart, and painted with colors that would stain the palm of his hands. The gift was small, something that could have been easily replaced with something more expensive, but to Seonghwa; it was the most valuable thing to him. There was a small note inside of the box, written in Hongjoong's handwriting along with three-sentence writing from Wooyoung.
He smiles, carefully placing the necklace back into the box and sealing it shut. It didn't hit Seonghwa that Wooyoung and Hongjoong collectively made it together for him, especially since he's been ignoring the blonde. Mustering up the courage to move from the lockers, he jogs down the halls towards the exit.
"So," Hongjoong swings his arms, a slight bump to his step as his eyes stare up at the gloomy sky. After the day Hongjoong surprised Wooyoung with the presents, the black-haired male has been a bit nicer to him. They have small conversations here and there without a single argument — and without a fuss from the younger, and Hongjoong's more than grateful. Of course, he wants to bring up the past and, of course, he wants to apologize and tell Wooyoung the full truth, but he's afraid the younger male will only shut him out and never speak to him again.
"Did you give the King his gift?" Wooyoung mutters, pulling his hood over his flushed ears, shivering from the cold. Hongjoong hums with a short nod, keeping his eyes forward, too timid to look at Wooyoung. "Kay."
"I hope he likes it," Hongjoong says, rubbing his sore shoulder, pleased that he won't have baseball practice until they return to school. "The heart didn't come right — what if he throws it away?"
