THE SUMMER OF 1984

I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND ²

(And please, say to me
You'll let me hold your hand
I'll let me hold your hand
I wanna hold your hand)

I WANT TO HOLD YOUR HAND.

"Ramones, The Clash, David Bowie, The Buzzcocks, U2— Sex Pistols!" Hongjoong looks enthralled, utterly fascinated, and spellbound as he sifts through San's vinyl collection.

"Sex Pistols was an art project, a glorified boyband of wannabes— the design product of Malcolm McLaren," San says, leaning back on his right elbow, scratching under his chin.

"Oh, shut it you killjoy, God Save The Queen saved me from myself. My mom hated it and won't let me play it when she's home. But then again, she rarely is, so it doesn't make much of a difference."

San doesn't answer, taken aback from Hongjoong's sudden confession. He wonders if he should say something, but Hongjoong beats him to it.

"Anyway, my dad bought me Purple Rain on vinyl. He always buys me things whenever I visit. I think he feels guilty for not being around much."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, divorced parents aren't all that bad."

San wants to ask about it more, but Hongjoong flashes him a wild grin as he walks over two the record player, and the familiar voice of Johnny Rotten fills the room.

Hongjoong turns to him with yet another smile that makes San weak to the knees. Hongjoong mouths every word and dances around like no one's watching.

But San is, and he watches in amazement.

San laughs at him, and Hongjoong laughs too. Nothing matters outside the bedroom they're in, and San wishes once again that Hongjoong wouldn't have to leave.

"I can't believe you listen to this crap," San groans.

"But you still own their whole discography," Hongjoong points out.

"It's my brother's!" San protests. "He gave them to me when he left for college."

"I'll have you know I used to have a mullet, and I would gel it into spikes. You should've seen it."

San snorts. "No way."

"Oh, yeah, mom was furious— grounded me for a week, too."

"But you don't look punk."

"I don't look punk?" Hongjoong repeats, faking offense by clutching his chest and raising his eyebrows in mock outrage.

"No," San smirks, enjoying Hongjoong's scandalized reaction, even if it was fake.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes before tackling him to the ground, pinning him to the carpet. Hovering over him, Hongjoong has a visible blush on his cheeks from laughing and dancing. Red locks are dipping into San's face, tickling his cheeks.

Hongjoong looks like a flower in bloom, but his beauty is more than skin deep.

They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, San hasn't believed it until now. Because when he looks at Hongjoong, it's like he's watching his soul through the fire burning in his eyes.