moving day | Heeseung x Jay

twenty-one

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Heeseung's second year of med school starts in August.

He passed the first year with flying colors, but this second year is already more strenuous. Add that autumn signals the nearing of the close of the regular soccer season. Basically, Heeseung and Jay are both busy, and Jay hates it.

It had been different when they went to separate undergraduate universities, both of them excited to branch off and go their own paths yet keeping in contact. Now it's as if they're being cheated out of the system. They live together: They share groceries, vacuum together on the occasional weekend, and care for Halley, who, despite Heeseung insisting on taking full responsibility, has become a pet that Jay doesn't mind cleaning up after.

It's all strange—like Jay has bought a huge puzzle and is stuck only after outlining the corners. The pieces in the middle won't fit, clashing against each other like boats, or they're not placed in the right spot. It's infuriating, but Jay doesn't want to be dramatic since this is part of life. Sacrifices are made, and people can't always make time for each other.

Jay knows that their recent lack of correspondence isn't a result of any dissonance in their friendship. Heeseung is his pillar, and it simply feels like the building he resembles is under construction. Soon it'll be alright again, and Jay won't feel discontent slosh around his stomach when he or his best friend cancel on each other or say they're not able to do something.

The distance grows as if it'll soon be oceans away, and Jay can't see the finish line—he doesn't even know if there is one. It's frustrating on both ends, he's sure, even if the space and time apart aren't purposeful, and Jay wonders what it would be like if he and Heeseung weren't both occupied with their careers.

Right now, Heeseung is sitting to his left on the window seat of their kitchen table, his forehead wrinkled as he glowers at his computer with a so-you-have-chosen-death expression. His bowl of ramen, which they had ordered fifteen minutes ago, is sitting beside his laptop, its lip threatening to spill over onto the device with just a simple wrong swing.

You're just asking for trouble this way," Jay says, and he moves the ramen bowl away. "If you don't eat it now, it's gonna get cold. Nobody likes soggy noodles and cold soup. Isn't that assignment due in two weeks, anyway?"

"I have to get this done tonight. If I don't, I'll never finish it." Heeseung has to write an essay elaborating on his internship experience, and he is unsure of what to say so far. "Honestly, ask me to do anything science-related and I'll rock your world, but anything writing-based is not my thing. That's your area of expertise."

Jay nods, remembering how he'd loved writing for the school newspaper in high school and college. "It's not everyone's thing, but a lot of it is technique. Your grader will probably be subjective, regardless of how hard they try not to be, so strive for excellence in pathos or logos or ethos - whatever you're aiming for. Half the battle is sounding poised like you know what you're doing. Just hope that your professor isn't out to get you."

Heeseung clicks his mouse, most likely searching for synonyms for overused words. "Debatable, but we'll see. I haven't stressed this much over an essay since our college application essays in high school."

Jay processes this while slurping some of his own noodles. "Why're you so stressed about it?"

"Because," Heeseung huffs. "It's my professor's first impression of me. If it's bad, they'll develop a stigma of some sort."

"Not necessarily, but I get what you're saying." Jay thinks back to their college application essays. He'd been in his homeroom class waiting for words to formulate or for the bell to ring; whichever one came first.