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Junhong really really likes Youngjae. And he knows he shouldn’t. He knows it doesn’t make much sense to fall in love with the freaking spirit of winter, but it’s not like he had much choice in the matter. Liking someone like that is just a natural effect of knowing them practically all your life and hanging out with them for long periods of time every year and sharing all your hopes and dreams and innermost thoughts with them, isn’t it? Especially if they also happen to be really cool and funny and smart and totally gorgeous?
Then again, maybe it isn’t. Or maybe he’s just not pretty or funny or cool enough, because as far as he can tell, Youngjae doesn’t seem to like him back. At least, not like that. Youngjae likes him, but he doesn’t like-like him. They’re just friends.
Of course, it’s not like Junhong’s ever had the courage to let Youngjae know how he feels. But how would he even do that? Hi Youngjae, I know you’re the personification of winter and you have a duty to spread your season over the earth and all, but I really like you and I was wondering if maybe you’d go out with me? Yeah, that sounds smooth.
He doesn’t even remember when he first started to like Youngjae as more than a friend. Sometime around when he started high school? Middle school, maybe? Who knows. The fact of the matter is that he’s in his final year of high school, just turned eighteen, and he’s still hung up on a guy who literally melts in the springtime.
Which is not the problem, not at all. Junhong’s always accepted that he can only see Youngjae in the winter, that Youngjae doesn’t really exist on the human plane of existence any other time of the year, and he’s okay with that. The two of them have always made the most of their time together, and Junhong wouldn’t trade a second of it.
The problem is that his parents want him to start thinking about university, and that could mean leaving here. Potentially, leaving Youngjae. Junhong’s never been clear on how the whole personification of winter thing actually works, or how far Youngjae is allowed to go. They’ve gone on little trips together before, but the farthest they’ve been is Incheon. What if he goes to university in Busan or somewhere crazy like that? Would Youngjae come with him? Would it destroy the entire ecosystem if he did? Throw the atmosphere into chaos? Spin the whole world off its axis?
And the thing is, Junhong would stay for Youngjae. He cares about him that much. He’d stay there, get a job or something, whatever he had to do. If Youngjae can’t come with him, then Junhong will stay with him.
If that’s what Youngjae wants, at least. There is that whole thing where he’s never so much as hinted at returning Junhong’s feelings.
But if he waits much longer to talk to Youngjae about it, if he waits much longer to confess, he might miss his chance altogether. Winter is already almost over. No time like the present.
--
Junhong gets out of school and heads straight for the park, his usual meeting place with Youngjae. They’d first met there, when Junhong was a little kid in his first year of grade school. Youngjae had been little then, too, a “fledgling frost,” as he’d called himself. He’d made a tiny cloud that hovered over Junhong’s head, sprinkling snow on him. He’d told him that he’d never shown anyone his winter magic before, except the other seasons, but he wanted to show Junhong because he liked the way he looked. “Cute and honest,” he’d said. And every day of every winter after that, they’d been thick as thieves.
People used to worry about it--Junhong disappearing for hours at a time, even if it was raining or snowing--especially his family, who were always afraid he’d been kidnapped or buried in a blizzard. But he was always home by his curfew, looking no worse for wear, and he assured his friends that he was just really busy, not blowing them off.
By now everyone’s used to his cold-weather disappearing act and accepts it as an odd quirk. His friends figure he just really hates the cold, and he’s never bothered to correct them on it. His family assumes he’s out with a friend, and they’re not wrong, so he doesn’t go into detail. Besides the fact that no one would believe him anyway, he doesn’t want to violate Youngjae’s privacy. Winter may be a public thing, but Youngjae isn’t.
He reaches the park in a matter of minutes, the only person silly enough to risk his life by running on icy sidewalks. His short, rapid breaths look like smoke in the air. The run warmed him up, though, and he feels invigorated by it all: the run, the chill, the thought of seeing Youngjae.
He finds the winter spirit at the playground, sitting on a swing, sans coat as always. People are always confused when they see a young man walking around in the snow or rain without a jacket or so much as a scarf on, and Youngjae finds it amusing.
Youngjae raises his head as Junhong walks up, and Junhong immediately tucks his face into the scarf wound round his neck, hoping to hide the flush in his cheeks that’s taken on a whole new meaning. Seeing Youngjae is a rush, no matter how often it happens. Everything about him is just so… what’s that exam word they just learned… ethereal. His teeth sparkle like freshly fallen snow as he smiles. His skin glimmers like early morning frost on a windowpane. His white-blond hair shines like the surface of an icy pond.
God, he’s pretty. Like, a thousand times out of Junhong’s league pretty. Like whoa.
Youngjae hops off the swing and opens his arms, and Junhong steps into his embrace. Hugs are something Junhong has always insisted upon, ever since they were small. Because Youngjae doesn’t touch anyone, not even the other seasons, really. Because everything he touches ends up frostbitten. And that has always seemed so lonely to Junhong, even though he isn’t one for skinship himself. So for a full minute, every time they meet, Junhong hugs Youngjae. Tight. Youngjae used to argue, but not anymore.
When the minute is up, they pull apart and Junhong brushes off the thin layer of ice that’s collected on the front of his coat. Youngjae gives him quick kiss on the cheek--a relatively new habit he’d started sometime over the last few years, once again citing Junhong’s cuteness. Junhong doesn’t mind. He actually quite likes it. The quick chill, coupled with the touch of Youngjae’s freaking lips, send a thrill through him every time.
They sit down on the swings together, neither speaking just yet. They’ve reached that point in their relationship, where they don’t have to say anything in order to feel comfortable. They can just be in each other’s presence, and it’s enough. Junhong likes watching Youngjae when he’s not looking. He’s learned a lot about him that way, he thinks, learned all his little facial quirks.
Junhong watches Youngjae now, taking in profile, the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. He shivers and winds his scarf tighter. It’s a favorite of his, a present from Youngjae. He’d shown up at Junhong’s house one Christmas eve when Junhong was in middle school, and frozen all the pipes. While everyone else ran around like frightened hens, trying to find a way to fix them, he slipped outside, and there was Youngjae, with a box in his hands. A plain old shoebox with a crumpled bow on top, and inside was this scarf, all beautiful and blue. It was obviously handmade: the ends were knitted crookedly, and it was lumpy in some places and holey in others. Junhong hadn’t cared, though. It was the greatest present ever. That and watching his uncles try to thaw the pipes by wrapping them in their socks.
“How was school?” Youngjae eventually asks.
Junhong shrugs. “Boring,” he says. He pushes off, setting himself on a gentle swing. “I’d rather have spent the day with you.”
The corner of Youngjae’s mouth quirks up. “You mean you’re not endlessly interested in algebra and the water cycle?”
Junhongs sticks his tongue out at him. “We learned the water cycle in the third grade. Besides, they were wrong about that, so who says they aren’t wrong about everything else? Maybe pi is a terminating decimal.”
This gets a laugh out of Youngjae, and Junhong is pleased. Youngjae’s laugh is super weird, and Junhong gets a kick out of it every time.
“So, what are we doing today?”
Youngjae doesn’t respond, and Junhong stops swinging. Youngjae’s face is tight, withdrawn. He’s clearly upset about something.
“Youngjae? Are you okay?” He’s been acting weird for weeks, being quieter than usual, not wanting to do much. Junhong’s worried.
Youngjae gets up from the swing, running a hand through his hair. Junhong’s never seen him like this before, so tense.
“Youngjae?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
Junhong’s stomach sinks, like a rock in water. Somehow, this sounds like the start of a breakup, which doesn’t make sense because they’re not a couple, but he can’t shake the sudden feeling of dread that washes over him.
“About what?”
Youngjae turns his head, but doesn’t look at Junhong, can’t meet his eyes. “I’m going away.”
For the first time today, Junhong feels the cold. It seeps through his thick coat, under his skin, into his bones. He knows what Youngjae is saying, but it can’t be what he’s saying. It can’t be.
“You mean, like on a trip?” Junhong asks. His voice is high and thin, and doesn’t sound like his own. His throat hurts.
Youngjae finally looks at him, look him straight in the eye, and while he looks sad, he’s not as sad as Junhong. Junhong knows he’s not. Because Junhong loves Youngjae, and Youngjae is leaving him.
“I’m not going to see you anymore. It’s time I stopped trying to be human and focused on my job.”
“But why?” Junhong cries. Tears slip out and he swallows hard, forcing himself to keep talking. “Why do you have to stop seeing me? Look, it’s winter right now!” He gestures to the snow on the ground and the ice on the swingset. “You’ve always made winter happen, and you’ve always been my friend. Why do you have to stop now?”
“Because!” Youngjae snaps. He rakes his hair with his hands. “Because it’s time. You’ll be going off to university soon, and you’ll be meeting new people and making new friends--”
“I have other friends now!” Junhong insists. “That’s never stopped us from being friends!”
“It’s not just that, Junhong.”
Youngjae looks so distressed, and Junhong wishes he could make him smile again, but he can’t stop crying. He’s never felt so awful before. He can’t articulate himself.
“Junhong, you’re human,” Youngjae says. He stoops down and takes Junhong’s hands in his. Junhong’s gloves are next to useless against Youngjae’s icy touch. “I’m not. You’re going to keep going to new places, to keep changing. You’ll keep growing older. I won’t.”
Junhong sniffles and swipes at his nose, confused. “But you’ve always changed. You age like I do.”
“But I won’t anymore,” Youngjae explains. His voice is shaking. “This is it for me. For the next century, the next millennium, I’ll stay like this. You’ll grow old and I’ll stay young… and then you’ll die.”
“But I don’t care!” Junhong springs to his feet. A tear slips from Youngjae’s eye as he looks up at him. “I just want to stay with you. I don’t care if I grow old!”
“But I do!” Youngjae’s on his feet now, too. “I care, Junhong!”
“So what, you don’t want to see me get old? Is that it?”
“I don’t want to see you die!”
That stops Junhong. He doesn’t know how to respond. Because that--that’s a legitimate thing. What if their roles were reversed? Could he watch Youngjae grow old and die?
Youngjae backs away from him, shaking his head, and Junhong finds he can’t move. It’s like something has caught hold of his tongue, and he can’t say anything, can’t call Youngjae back, can’t beg him to stay.
He’s remembering, suddenly, this time when he was a kid, ten, maybe eleven years old. It was late December, almost January. The two of them had been out playing all day, and it had started to grow dark.
“I have to go home now,” Junhong had said. “My mom will worry if I’m out too late.”
Youngjae’s smile had slipped away, replaced by an unreadable expression. “What’s that like?” he’d asked. Junhong hadn’t understood.
“Don’t you have a home to go to?” he’s asked.
“No,” Youngjae had said. “No home. A castle to live in, but no people to live with. I see the other seasons sometimes… but usually, I’m alone. Except when I’m with you.”
Junhong had been so sad for Youngjae. He’d even cried. Youngjae had assured him it was okay.
“It’s not a bad life,” he’d said. “Making winter happen is important, and I’m proud to carry the responsibility. But I think I’d give it up. If someone else could take my place, and I could have someone to come home to, someone who loved me, I’d give it all up.”
Junhong hadn’t grasped the full meaning of Youngjae’s words then, or the deep emotion behind them, and he hadn’t known what to say to make Youngjae feel better. He’d forgotten about that somber time entirely until now. Now he knows what to say, and it’s too late. Youngjae’s already melting into the wind.
“You deserve a normal life, Junhong, and all you’ll get with me is heartache. I won’t do that to you.” His tears freeze as they roll off his cheeks. “I care about you too much.”
“Youngjae,” Junhong says, finding his voice. “Youngjae, wait--”
But he’s gone. One second he’s standing there in front of him, and the next he’s gone. He didn’t even say goodbye.
“Youngjae!” Junhong yells, and he starts crying anew, shouting into the sky as snow starts to fall. “Youngjae!”
But Youngjae doesn’t answer, and Junhong’s left alone as the world grows colder and turns white around him.
--
It’s pointless, but Junhong doesn’t stop going to the park. He still goes after school, every day, hoping that Youngjae will change his mind. He hopes that he’ll see him on the swings, whipping up a flurry of snowflakes for kicks, maybe building a snowman to make Junhong laugh.
But winter drags on, cold as ever, and Youngjae doesn’t appear. Junhong doesn’t know what to do without him. Winter has always been Youngjae-time. Everyone knew that in the winter, he’d be gone from the time school let out to his curfew, and no one even questioned it anymore. His mom had actually been worried when he’d come home early one day, wondering if he was sick.
He’d gotten so used to their routine that now he flounders without it. He doesn’t know how to spend his time.
Eventually, though, he accepts that Youngjae really isn’t coming back. He doesn’t move on, exactly, because he does still love Youngjae, and misses Youngjae like crazy, and everything reminds him of Youngjae--no, he doesn’t move on, but he stops going to the park. He learns to treat winter like any other season. He hangs out with his friends during his free time, just like he would at any other time of the year. He goes to after-school academy. He comes home early and spends time with his family.
In this way, the long weeks of winter pass by. It’s slow, and it’s excruciating, but it’s his life now. A normal life. It’s not bad, either. He loves his family. He’s got good friends. He doesn’t want for anything. But it still feels like it could be better. Maybe he’s just selfish.
In any case, winter eventually gives way to spring. The snow melts away, warm rain washing away any trace of white. The days get warmer and plants start to wake up again, flowers opening their faces to the sun.
End-of-term exams are coming up, and Junhong is at school, studying with his friend Jongup. He gnaws on the end of his pencil. Calculus is a terrible, awful subject, and he wants to sue whoever thought it up.
“How was your Christmas?” Jongup asks after Junhong tosses his book aside in frustration.
“Christmas was months ago, Jongup.” Jongup is a great friend, but sometimes Junhong wonders what’s going on in his head.
Jongup is undeterred by Junhong’s lackluster response, however, and launches into a description of all the new movies he’d received. All of them, much to Junhong’s displeasure, somehow involve ice. It’s like the world is out to torture him or something.
“No offense, Jongup, but can we stop talking about this please?” Junhong retrieves his book from the floor and straightens out the bent pages. “I don’t want to think about winter for a while.”
“Are you okay, Junhong?” Jongup asks. “You’ve been different lately.”
“Different?”
Jongup nods. “Sad, somehow. Did something happen?” He looks concerned, and Junhong feels a twinge of guilt. Jongup is Junhong’s closest friend (not counting Youngjae), and while Jongup’s never pushed him or asked questions about his winter activities (because he’s good like that), Junhong has always felt guiltiest about keeping secrets from him.
“Yeah, something happened,” Junhong says. Already he feels lighter. Maybe that’s what he needed all along, to share this with someone.
“You can talk to me about it,” Jongup assures him. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”
And because it’s Jongup, Junhong believes him. “You have to swear.”
Jongup crosses his heart, and Junhong tells him everything. He tells him about Youngjae, how he’s the spirit of winter or whatever, how they met when they were kids, how they’d been friends ever since. He tells him about falling in love with Youngjae, about being too scared to tell him. He tells him about Youngjae leaving.
“I felt so lost without him, at first,” Junhong continues, “but I picked up, I guess. I’m better now.”
“But you’re still sad,” Jongup points out.
Junhong shrugs. “I still love him. And I miss him.”
“Well, you know what you have to do, don’t you?” Jongup says, closing his own textbook and setting it aside.
Junhong has no clue what he’s supposed to do. He tells Jongup as much. Jongup smiles gently, like it’s so obvious. On anyone else, it would be patronizing.
“You have to talk to the moon.”
If Junhong had any expectations about what Jongup would say, they were certainly not that.
“You want me to talk,” Junhong repeats slowly, “to the moon?” Perhaps he'd misheard, or it’s a metaphor for something.
“See, in Rise of the Guardians, right, Jack Frost gets his power from the Man in the Moon. The moon talks to the guardians. He gives them their jobs. Maybe if you talk to the moon, it’ll tell you how to talk to Youngjae.”
That is definitely one of the weirdest things Junhong has ever heard come out of Jongup’s mouth, but he looks so happy and proud of himself that Junhong can’t stand to burst his bubble.
“Sure. Talk to the moon. What have I got to lose, anyway?” Only his dignity and pride, but who cares about that stuff, really? He’s only eighteen. It’s not like he has a fabulous reputation to uphold.
Jongup beams and reopens his textbook. “So, the answer to number seventeen. Is it E=mc2?”
This is the guy Junhong’s taking love advice from. What could go wrong?
--
On Jongup’s advice, Junhong waits for a night when the moon is full. He also waits until his parents have gone to bed, because that’s one conversation he doesn’t care to have. Junhong, honey, do you want to talk someone? I’ve heard of this lovely doctor… No thanks.
He goes into the backyard and looks up into the sky. A few measly rainclouds scoot by overhead, but otherwise the night is clear and starry, with nothing obstructing his view of the moon. He takes a deep breath.
“So, hey,” he begins. He feels incredibly stupid. The moon does not have a man living in it. It’s a big rock in space. Even if something were living there, it’s definitely a rabbit, and rabbits don’t talk. They’ve got chapssalddeok to pound out.
Still, he clears his throat and tries again.
“Hi, moon. Um, I don’t know if you can hear me from up there, but I heard you’re the one to talk to. I’m sort of in love with winter. The person. The personification? The winter spirit? I don’t know what you call him, but the deal is that I love him and I need to talk to him so I can tell him that. So if you know how to get a hold of him and can pass on the message, that would be totally awesome.”
“Who the heck are you talking to?”
Junhong doesn’t shriek. Much. He whirls around, looking for the source of the voice.
The voice, it seems, belongs to a tall, thin man standing near Junhong’s back fence. He’s dressed to kill in a pale pink suit with a flower-print tie and a marigold in the lapel, and his pretty face is wearing an expression of serious judgment. Junhong can’t blame him.
“I was talking to the moon,” he admits.
“Talking to the moon,” the man repeats, deadpan. “You do realize it’s a dead hunk of space rock, right?”
“I know that.”
Pink-Suit (as Junhong now thinks of him) rubs his temples in a long-suffering manner. “This has to be a joke. You can’t be the right guy.”
“Right guy for what?” Junhong asks. This is probably not an appropriate response to a stranger creeping into your backyard at night, but there’s something about him. He’s almost familiar.
“Nothing.” Pink-Suit turns to Junhong’s mom’s rosebush, which is covered in buds, but no open flowers yet. He taps one of them, and it opens up, as if to greet him.
Junhong narrows his eyes suspiciously.
“I’m Himchan,” Pink-Suit says, facing him again. “Why are you talking to space rock?”
Junhong sighs. Well. He’s already embarrassed himself. Might as well see it through. “It was my friend’s idea. I’m trying to reach someone.”
“And you thought they’d answer via space rock?”
“The person I’m trying to reach isn’t exactly available.”
Pink-Suit--or rather, Himchan--snorts. “There are things called cell phones, I hear, and long-distance calling.”
“I don’t think he has a phone,” Junhong explains. “He’s not exactly human, either.”
Himchan raises a well-manicured eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not just crazy?”
“Are you sure you’re not Spring?” Junhong shoots back.
Himchan snatches his hand away from the rosebush. “Don’t be silly,” he says quickly. “Spring is a season. It’s an arbitrary name given to a certain part of the year. It’s not even the same in every country.”
“Right. That’s a very convincing argument.” Junhong is sure this man is a season. It explains all the flowers, and the vague sense of familiarity he feels. He’s got to be the personification of spring.
“I was just passing through the neighborhood and heard someone talking to themselves,” Himchan insists. He crosses his arms. “So, this unavailable nonhuman you want to talk to so badly. Who is it?”
Junhong considers. This Himchan knows Youngjae. He’s sure of it. But are they friends? Why is he here? How much should Junhong reveal?
“He’s someone I love.”
Himchan snorts again. It’s not an attractive habit. “You’re just a kid. What do you know about love?”
“Are you an expert then, just because you’re older than me?” Junhong snaps. Spring or not, he’s starting to get annoyed by Himchan’s superior tone.
“Not because I’m older, no.” Himchan smirks and doesn’t say anything else. Junhong gets the feeling he’s waiting for him to tell him something, some story to prove he knows what love is. He thinks back on all the times he had with Youngjae, all the good memories. One in particular swims to the surface of is consciousness.
“This guy I love--Youngjae--he’s winter,” Junhong says. “I don’t know what the right term is, but he makes winter happen. There was this time he made it snow so hard school was cancelled. It wasn’t something he did a lot, because he thought school was important, but he wanted to make that day special. We went to the beach at Incheon. He bought me a scarf.” Junhong pauses, the memory too much for a moment. He takes a deep breath before continuing.
“And then he froze a wave for me. A whole wave, frozen solid. It was amazing. I was literally walking on water. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I couldn’t stop smiling. And when I looked at him, he was smiling too. He was happy because I was happy. And the fact that he was happy made me even happier. Does that make any sense?”
Himchan looks confused. “No. Not really.”
Junhong tried to clarify. “It was this endless cycle of happiness. Me being happy made him happy. Him being happy made me happy. Get it? I think that’s love. Just being happy by being with that other person.”
Himchan nodded thoughtfully, more to himself than to Junhong. “That’s an interesting way to look at it. But things change, you know. People change. No one can stay happy forever.”
“I don’t need forever,” Junhong says. “Being happy right now would be enough for me.” He feels tears threatening to spill out, and he turns away.
Himchan approaches him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “The thing about winter,” he says gently, much nicer than he’s been so far, “is that it’s a really lonely time of the year. In spring and summer, people are always out and about, enjoying the weather. Even autumn’s just warm enough for people to go on walks, looking at the leaves and all that crap. But usually people stay indoors during winter. Yeah, they think snow is pretty and kids like getting days off from school, but for the most part they talk about how much they hate the cold, how much they can’t wait for warmer days.” His hand slips from Junhong’s shoulder. “Youngjae needs someone who won’t get tired of him, who won’t ever want to leave him for warmer days. Can you really be that person?”
Junhong spins around, but Himchan is gone. “Wait!” Junhong yells into the night. “Let me talk to him!”
He doesn’t get an answer, but his mother’s roses are all in full bloom.
--
Spring unfolds and wraps up without further incidents, and with the exception of end-of-term and entrance exams, it’s disappointingly uneventful. His graduation comes and goes with him barely noticing, and before he knows it summer is here, his first summer as a non-student. He still hasn’t decided whether he’s going to university. He doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life.
He goes for a walk one day. It’s the middle of July, and the sun is hot and bright in the sky. He passes the park, where people are playing volleyball in the shade and lazing about on blankets, with picnics set out. Children chase after a man with an ice cream cart.
He’s never seen this many people out when it’s snowing. Himchan was right: people love the warmer seasons, but winter is lonely. His heart aches for Youngjae.
He’s broken from his train of thought by the sudden appearance of a guy in a hideous Hawaiian-print shirt and flip-flops. He’s holding a clipboard. Junhong wonders if he’s a con artist.
“Kid, would you mind answering a few questions?” he asks, grinning. He reminds Junhong of the salesman who tried to sell his dad an overpriced luxury car a few years ago.
“What kind of questions?” Junhong asks. He makes a mental note not to give out his real name.
“It’s just a survey.” The grin widens. The guy is really tan and speaks with a slight satoori. His hair is a sort of toasty golden brown. He seems to emanate warmth. Junhong wonders if he’s another season, maybe even Summer.
“Sure,” he decides. “I’ll answer your questions.”
“Fantastic!” He flips a page on his clipboard. “Okay, what’s your favorite season?”
If that isn’t a dead giveaway, Junhong doesn’t know what is. But he plays along. “Winter’s nice.”
“Okay, but how do you really feel about winter? Would you marry winter if you could?” He stands really close to Junhong and claps an arm around his shoulders. His skin is practically burning. Junhong thinks he might get a sunburn from being so close. “Wouldn’t you get tired of winter? He’s not that great. Summer’s totally better, don’t you think? Summer’s the best.”
Junhong wriggles out of the guy’s grip. “You just called winter a he.”
“Psh, what? No I didn’t.”
Junhong raises an eyebrow. “And your clipboard is blank.”
“You’re making that up.”
Junhong sighs. He’s not really in the mood to argue. “What’s your name, summer?” he asks.
“Daehyun,” the guy replies. He then immediately looks like he wants to kick himself. “Crap, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. I mean, I’m not summer. You know you’ve got great cheeks?”
Junhong waves away Daehyun’s sad attempts to reclaim the conversation. “Listen, Daehyun, will you do me a favor? Just tell Youngjae I miss him.” He starts to walk away.
“Even if it hurts him?” Daehyun calls after him. Junhong stops and looks back at him. He’s not smiling anymore. Instead, he looks rather serious.
“Look, Junhong, Youngjae’s my best friend,” Daehyun states. “I don’t want to see him get hurt. So if this is just a stupid high school crush, then you should let it go now. There’s still time before winter comes. You can make sure no one gets hurt.”
“What do I have to do to prove that I really love him?” Junhong demands. “If he doesn’t want to see me, if he doesn’t want to be my friend anymore, then fine. I won’t push it. But I’m tired of you seasons trying to make it sound like I don’t care about him. So what do I have to do to prove it?”
Daehyun shrugs. “Stick around. Maybe you’ll figure it out.”
And just as quickly as he appeared, he disappears, and a gust of war air breezes past Junhong. He wonders if it’s a seasonal thing, never quite giving out the whole story or being helpful at all.
Two seasons have passed, though, and there are two more to come. Maybe Autumn will reveal himself to Junhong as well. And if he sees all of the other seasons, then maybe there’s a chance he’ll see Youngjae again.
At this point, it’s all he has to hope for.
--
Autumn lumbers in in its usual unrushed way. The air gets a touch chillier. Then the leaves begin to change, from firm and lively green to brilliant shades of red and orange that crunch underfoot, and later to wisps of papery brown.
Students go back to school, weighed down by heavy backpacks full of books. Elderly couples hold hands while they stroll down the sidewalk. People rush to work, as usual.
Junhong wanders. He didn’t go off to university. He’d decided to take Daehyun’s words seriously, so here he is, sticking around, trying to figure it out.
He wanders because he’s trying to find the spirit of Autumn. He doesn’t want to wait for Autumn to come to him, because what if he’s not like the others? What if he doesn’t care about Youngjae and he doesn’t care meet Junhong? He’ll search for Autumn himself and make him talk to him.
The problem, of course, is that Junhong has no idea what the spirit of Autumn might look like. It could be anyone, from the old man on the corner to the little girl running down the block. For all he knows, Autumn might not take a human form at all. Maybe it’s a bear.
He can’t give up, though. He’s afraid this is all a test, that if he doesn’t pass the inspection of all four seasons, he’ll never see Youngjae again. He’s afraid that maybe he’s already failed.
He walks around so much that his legs are becoming the most muscular part of his body. His parents are concerned for him, but nothing they say can help him. Not even Jongup, who comes home from school on the weekends, who knows what’s wrong, can console him. There’s nothing that can be done. He has to find Autumn.
--
The spirit of Autumn doesn’t show up until his season is almost over, when Junhong is about ready to throw in the towel and to give in to despair. He’s not wandering when Autumn finds him. Instead, he’s at the park, sitting in a swing. He rocks himself gently, toes in the wood chips. He’s too tall for the damn thing, has been for a long time, and he’s avoided this swingset all year long, but for some reason they felt like the most comforting place today.
“Junhong?”
Autumn turns out to be a sleepy-looking man with dark hair, a wide mouth, and a deep voice, dressed in a loose brown t-shirt and baggy jeans. His walk is slow and his demeanor is calm, relaxed. Junhong thinks bear wasn’t too far off.
“That’s me.”
“I’m Yongguk.” He hands Junhong a plain shoebox with a crumpled bow on it. “This is for you.”
Junhong jumps up and snatches the box. “Where did you get this?” he demands.
“He said it was supposed to be a Christmas present, but I don’t know if that will happen,” Yongguk says. He sits in the vacated swing and tilts his head. “I thought a birthday present would be just as good.”
“My birthday was last month,” Junhong says, but he rips the lid off anyway. Inside is a hat, handmade and blue. It matches his scarf.
Tears spring to his eyes. “Youngjae,” he whispers. “He still cares?”
Yongguk yawns sleepily, reminding Junhong again of a bear, preparing for hibernation. “Can I ask you something, Junhong?”
Junhong clutches the hat and its box to his chest. “Anything.”
“What do you think love is?” He sounds genuinely curious.
Junhong thinks about it. He wants to give the right answer. He doesn’t want to fail this test, if that’s what it is. “I think… I think love is happiness. Caring about someone no matter what. Never leaving them. Sacrificing everything for them, if you have to.” He looks down at the hat in his hands, and he remembers what Himchan and Daehyun said, about winter being lonely, about not letting anyone get hurt. He remembers Youngjae crying at the thought of him dying.
“But I also think that love is knowing when to let go. Not being dependent on someone for your whole existence.” He realizes as he says it that this is kind of the exact opposite of how he’s been acting all year, but it’s the truth. “I think it’s more important to want someone than to need them. Because they make your life better, not make your life for you.” He’s probably not making much sense.
“I know I’m young, and I don’t know much about love or the world or any of that, but I know myself and I know Youngjae,” he concludes. “At least, I know parts of him. And I want to get to know him better. But if that’s not what he wants, and being with me would hurt him, then I can accept that. But I’d still like the chance to tell him how I feel. And to say goodbye. Even if it’s selfish.”
Yongguk looks at him thoughtfully. “You’re an interesting kid, Junhong.” He hauls himself to his feet and yawns again, scratching his stomach. “And I agree with you.” He picks a leaf up off the ground. It’s still mostly green, but when he holds it up, it changes to red. He hands to Junhong.
“Thanks,” Junhong says. He tucks it into the box with the hat.
“A reminder,” Yongguk says. “That everything changes. Everything gets ready to go to sleep in autumn. Winter keeps it all safe until spring wakes it up again.” His body crumbles away to a pile of leaves, starting at his feet and traveling up to his head.
“I’ll tell Youngjae what you said,” he promises, and then Yongguk, like the others, is gone.
Junhong feels better than he has in a long time. Maybe it’s because Yongguk was so nice. Maybe it’s just the close proximity to winter. But for the first time in a year, Junhong doesn’t feel lost or floundering. No matter what happens, he knows it’ll work out.
--
The calendar tells him the first day of winter isn’t until late December, but Junhong knows better. He’s at the swings again when winter rolls in. He’s wearing the scarf and hat that Youngjae made him, as well as a coat, gloves, and boots. Youngjae is, as usual, not wearing a coat or so much as a scarf. Every step he takes forms a new patch of ice on the ground. Little flurries of snow flit in the air around him. And he’s so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at him.
He stops just shy of the swings, hesitant, but Junhong gets up and hugs him, the same as before. Youngjae tenses momentarily before sinking into it, returning the embrace. Even through all his layers of clothing, Junhong can feel the cold, but he doesn’t care.
”You’ve got strange friends,” he tells him.
Youngjae chuckles and pulls away. “I told you to go to university,” he says.
Junhong gives him a tired smile. “You also said you wouldn’t come see me anymore.”
Youngjae sighs. “I wanted you to live a normal life.”
“But you didn’t stop to consider how I felt,” Junhong points out. He sits back down in the swing. Youngjae follows suit, taking the one next to him.
“And how do you feel?” he asks quietly.
Junhong takes a deep breath and lets it out. It looks like smoke in the air. Last year, confessing his feelings to Youngjae had seemed like the scariest thing in the world. He feels so much older now.
“I love you, Youngjae.” The four words are so easy to say. He feels silly for never saying them before. It’s such a simple truth.
Youngjae grips the chains of the swing tightly. Ice spreads from his clenched fists, spreading up the chain and across the entire set. “And you can handle the person you love only being near you for a small part of the year? You can handle never being able to touch the one you love for a few seconds at a time? You can handle being in love with winter?”
“Yes,” Junhong replies. “I can. I want to be the person you come home to.”
Youngjae stiffens at the words, and more ice spreads from his fists.
“But if that’s not what you want,” Junhong goes on, “it’s okay. I’m not trying to force myself on you or guilt you into accepting my feelings. I just wanted you to know.”
He gets up and starts to walk away, but he only makes it a few steps before something knocks into him from behind. Arms wrap around his middle and cold seeps through his coat. He turns around.
“Youngjae, what are you--”
Youngjae cuts him off. “That’s exactly what I want,” he says. His eyes shine. “It is, Junhong, of course it is, but I don’t want to take your life from you.”
Junhong cups Youngjae’s face in his hand, ignoring the cold that penetrates his glove. “You’re not, Youngjae,” he assures him. “And even if you were, I wouldn’t care. I’d give it up for you.”
Youngjae laughs, his expression a mix of emotions. “I love you,” he says.
“I love you too,” Junhong says. And then he kisses him. It’s short, and sweet, and very cold, and totally amazing. Junhong thinks that frostbite could be totally worth it, if he can feel that electric sensation every day.
Youngjae, as always, breaks it off, forever worried about making Junhong cold. “How is this going to work?” he asks. “I mean, I’m still winter. You’re still a human. And friendship is different from dating--”
“We’ll figure it out,” Junhong says. “For now, that’s all we can do.”
They kiss again, and for now, it’s enough.
--
Hyosung glares down into a pool of clear water. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask me for help?” she huffs. “I am Mother Nature. You’d think more people would come to me, but no. They’d rather talk to a hunk of dead space rock.”
Her companions exchange glances and giggle behind their hands, but don’t comment. They all know she’s happy with the way things turned out. They also know she’s not going to leave it like this. She’s going to help them whether they ask for it or not, and they’ll just have to deal.