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A sizzling sauté pan can be heard from the speakers of Jihoon’s phone, and Jihoon does nothing but smile as he absentmindedly stares at his phone’s screen. Right then and there, he considers buying himself an iPad just for the sake of having a bigger screen for video calls like this.
Yeah, he thinks he should, so that he could stare at this beautiful man enclosed in a tiny screen—the bigger, the better, Jihoon giggles at his own thoughts. Because if he buys himself an iPad, he can see more of Mashiho, and the latter seems to be more real, like he’s just right beside him, even though Mashiho’s half a mile away from Jihoon.
“What are you cooking, Shiho-yah?” Jihoon asks, frowning a little because he can’t see Mashiho’s face. This is the problem with video calls, it doesn’t capture the whole view. Jihoon misses the times when the view from his own eyes always had Mashiho in it—now, he has no choice but to resort to this. Sometimes, Jihoon thinks he’s silly, because he’s actually thanking his mother for birthing him at a century like this. If he and Mashiho lived during the old times when video calls were like flying cars and walking buildings, he wouldn’t have survived being away from Mashiho this long.
Having video calls with your… erm… friend… whom you can’t physically be with at the moment can be a menace, but it’s better than nothing—it’s better than not having to see him at all. At times like this, he’s thankful that he can see Mashiho before and after work, in his bright bed shirt and shorts, cooking, cleaning, and just doing anything that he usually does when they’re together. Jihoon is content with this for now.
At least, his view still includes Mashiho, but only on a mini-ass screen.
“Kimchi fried rice, hyung!” He hears Mashiho say, voice a bit far from the other’s phone. Jihoon’s phone screen displays an empty kitchen, so he grabs the chance to get up from his seat and reach from his cupboard a pack of spicy ramen. He picks up his phone and sees Mashiho’s arm mincing some garlic, so Jihoon does the same. He first stands his phone against a bowl in front of him and grabs his knife and chopping board.
Jihoon’s mincing garlic and onions when a memory of Mashiho crosses his mind. Mashiho always gets angry when Jihoon uses a knife. He’d always say, “Hyung, you should never be near a knife! You talk too much when you cook, and when you talk, you always move your hands like this!”
Jihoon lets out a restrained laugh when a memory of Mashiho exaggeratingly flapping his hands with a silly face flashes before his eyes. After successfully making the older laugh, Mashiho grabbed the knife from Jihoon’s hand and said, “Now, let me do this. As we have agreed on, between the two of us, I am the better cook.”
“Plus, I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Mashiho’s cocky grin is the last one Jihoon sees before he snaps back to the present where he’s mincing onions. His screen displays a serious Mashiho watching him intently. The older can only laugh. Cute. He’s so cute.
“Yah! I’m getting better at this, you know. No need to supervise me,” Jihoon defends himself. Mashiho scoffs aloud, “Don’t get all cocky, hyung.” “Ramen again, haven’t you eaten that last night?” The younger unbelievably watches him as he starts placing the minced garlic and onions in the sauté pan. Jihoon grabs a small cooking pot and starts boiling some water as he goes, “It’s a different recipe this time, Shiho. I watched it on TV last night. There were these two guys who, apparently, don’t act like idols, and they try out different ramen recipes and stuff. I wanted to try one of theirs.”
Mashiho grabs a wooden spatula, eyebrows knitted closely together, lower lip jutting as he rambles, “You should try and eat real food, hyung. It’s not like you can’t cook a decent meal. Different recipes of instant ramen for a week doesn’t change anything.”
Jihoon should be heating up right now in embarrassment, but he isn’t. Being scolded by someone younger than him does seem off-putting, but their dynamic just simply works that way. Mashiho scolds him for this and that but Jihoon is aware that he’s only like that because he deeply cares for the older. At this moment, Jihoon can feel nothing but familiarity, a ghostly smile leaving his lips, his heart warming up like a fresh hot bowl of instant ramen.
He buries down the creeping feeling from his chest, the feeling that intensifies the more he looks at Mashiho through a tiny screen, the feeling that comes from his chest and infects every nook and cranny in his body. He can feel it tingling, wanting to come out, wanting to feel skin in the form of a Japanese guy.
This terrible feeling stays inside his throat, and Jihoon knows. He knows that he’ll only be relieved of the discomfort if he says it.
But he doesn’t. Jihoon doesn’t want to sound so needy, because this situation cannot be avoided, and he knows that he isn’t the only one having a hard time. He can see it, every time they work on some reports, Jihoon sometimes catches Mashiho looking at his screen—at him—with sad, longing eyes.
“Mashi?” He’d ask the younger, and Mashiho would jerk as if he’d come out from a trance, “Yeah, hyung? Sorry, I was thinking about something.”
Jihoon purses his lips, eyes focused as he waits for Mashiho to place down his bowl on a table. They always wait for each other to eat because now that they’re away from each other, eating together becomes an important event of the day. It’s like they cherish it more now.
He feels it again, the suffocating feeling—it’s a lot worse now, because Mashiho’s virtually in front of him. Jihoon loved patting Maashiho’s hair and nape before they start with their meals; it’s become his habit, more of his way of saying he adores him and thank him just for being there with him.
His palm reminds him of how soft Mashiho’s hair feels whenever he ruffles it with his fingers. He wants to feel it again, but he can’t. He can’t do anything about it, and all he can do is swallow the big lump in his throat. It’s funny, Jihoon thinks. He hasn’t even started eating, and yet he’s already choking. Ha!
“Let’s eat, hyung?” Mashiho invites him quietly, his voice soft—but not as soft when Jihoon hears it personally. Gosh, Jihoon wishes he could stop time just to slap himself hard. It’s not like they don’t do this often; in fact, they do this every single day, and yet today, it feels different.
He’s content with their situation, he’s sure he is. But he just can’t help but… but…
He just can’t help but miss him. A lot. Terribly. So much. It’s embarrassing, but it’s the truth.
He misses reaching for the younger’s plump, milky cheeks and pinching them. He misses seeing Mashiho’s wide eyes when he tastes the meal Jihoon prepared for him, “Wow, it tastes good!” He terribly misses the times when he can hug Mashiho anywhere, and laugh it off when the younger gets cranky. He misses barging into Mashiho’s room and waking him up for breakfast.
Jihoon finds himself not liking to go home these days. At first, he didn’t know why. But now, he’s certain why he hates going home. He’s used to going home and breathing in Mashiho’s comforting scent. Jihoon would always smell Mashiho’s body scent as soon as he’d close the door, and he’d be greeted with a much stronger smell as he’d walk to Mashiho’s room.
It was comforting, Mashiho’s scent. Jihoon’s been living with Mashiho for so long, that he now associates his smell with home. He’s home as long as Mashiho’s smell is within his senses. Now that Mashiho’s far away, his scent fades away. Now, his home doesn’t feel and literally doesn’t smell like one. Hence why he hates going home. For the meantime, that is.
Because home will always be where Mashiho is, and Jihoon realizes this just now.
He misses all of it, all of the days he’s with Mashiho. If only he knew beforehand that he’s going to be away from Mashiho and miss being with him, he could have annoyed the younger with more playful kisses on the cheeks and tight hugs. If he could. Of course.
It pains Jihoon that he feels like this; he can’t even tell Mashiho, let alone do something about it. He just wishes time could pass quickly—but days like this, where he stares at his phone to see Mashiho eating, his cheeks pink and full, hair messy and soft, time passes by ever so slowly.
A tear tries to escape his right eye, but he bows his head to hide it. He wants to say it. Come on, Jihoon, he tries to convince himself. It’s easy, just say, “Hey, I miss you.” Come on, your mom didn’t raise no shy mofo.
“Mashi, I—yeah, let’s eat.”
Few hours later…
They talk again before going to bed. Jihoon’s lying on his back, blanket reaching up to his chin as holds up his phone. The lights in his room are turned off, and the only source of light is his phone and from the window.
On Mashiho’s side, however, the lights are still turned on, and the camera of his phone is facing Mashiho’s drowsy face. With droopy eyes, Mashiho listens to Jihoon talking about what happened in his work today. He listens attentively, a grin reflects on his lips as Jihoon tells an unfunny joke.
“So, this lady came barging at my co-worker, and started yellin—no, more like whinin—no, not the right word either. Shrieking! Yes. Ha! She started shrieking right up his ear and—” Jihoon suddenly pauses when he catches a glimpse of Mashiho’s t-shirt.
That shirt does not belong to Mashiho, for sure. He’s certain. Because that’s his. That’s his shirt Mashiho’s wearing!
Jihoon stills, eyes and mouth wide as he’s unable to speak or breathe. He couldn’t believe his eyes! It’s the shirt he’s been trying to find for two months, and no wonder he couldn’t find it anywhere in his messy closet or his dirty laundry. Mashiho has it!
“Is… is that my shirt?” Jihoon asks carefully, and he sees Mashiho staring down at the shirt he’s wearing. His eyes widen in shock as he covers the shirt with his blanket. “Uh, hyung! I can explain.” Jihoon waits for Mashiho to speak, gulping nervously as he feels warm blood reaching his cheeks.
“I… uh… kinda stole it when I was leaving for Japan.”
“Why would you do that?” Jihoon asks in an instant. He couldn’t wait to hear Mashiho’s answer. He has a feeling, but he wants to hear it to be sure.
“Because… I knew I would miss you… Stealing a shirt from your closet seemed like a good remedy. I told myself I would wear it every time I miss you. Your closet is so messy, by the way. Remind me to clean it when I come home.”
Miss. Home. Miss. Home. Fuck, Jihoon has it bad.
Jihoon malfunctions. He stays impossibly still, staring at Mashiho through his screen. He looks utterly pretty curled up in ironed bed sheets and his shirt. Mashiho’s eyes are sparkling when Jihoon catches him staring right at the camera, as if he’s telling him that he misses Jihoon. That’s why he’s wearing the shirt. His shirt, Jihoon loves to point that out.
“Are you telling me you miss me today?” Jihoon asks, failing to hide the cocky voice he has. Of course, he knows. He just wants Mashiho to tell him directly. He’s been restraining himself to express his feelings, and now that Mashiho is trying to open up to him, why else would he hide it?
Mashiho opens his mouth, but closes it abruptly as he finds nothing right to say. He blinks hastily before he hides his face behind his blanket. Mashiho says something but it’s muffled because of the blanket. Jihoon calls him, “Shiho… I need you to tell me, baby. Do you miss me today?”
“It’s only been two months since we've been apart. I don’t… I don’t want to say it. I feel like I shouldn’t.” Mashiho buries himself underneath his sheets even more. Jihoon hides his face, laying it flat against his blanket. Both of them fail to see each other’s wide smile and flushed cheeks.
“A day, a month, a year—it doesn't matter. I miss you just the same,” Jihoon finally admits, the creeping feeling leaving off his chest. He feels light, as if he’s riding the clouds; Jihoon prefers this feeling over the previous one, he’s certain he does.
Mashiho removes the blanket from his face, his face red and glowing, eyes big and curious, “Really? You miss me, too?” “How could I not, Shiho?” Jihoon replies, voice soft and sweet. His eyes are the same, sweet and loving as his eyes catch pretty Mashiho on his screen.
“So, how often do you wear my shirt?” Jihoon teases, and he soon regrets asking it because Mashiho answers confidently, “Every night. I wash it in the morning, of course.”
“You miss me every night?”
“Every day and night. But I can’t wear your shirt at work, now can I?” Mashiho retorts back. They both laugh heartily, their hearts seem to connect, giving each other some energy that no one else but themselves can give.
Mashiho’s smile turns serious, his eyes thinking as if he’s weighing if what he’s about to do is the right thing or not. Screw it. Because Jihoon would love to hear it. They’ve never been this open to each other. It took them so long testing the waters, Jihoon can’t believe it took them half a mile and two months to realize their feelings.
“I miss you because I deeply care about you, hyung. I worry about my friends a lot, but it’s a different case when it’s you. I worry about you a lot. I think about you a lot. I have this feeling that’s been wanting to come out ever since I came here…”
Mashiho’s confessing! Jihoon, you prick!
“It’s like a virus. It stays the whole day until I open my phone to call you. It camps in my throat, and it’s uncomfortable. But it does get better when I see your face, when you tell me about your day, and when you talk to me to sleep. Sometimes, it gets worse, though. Like today. I look at you, and I feel it creeping out of my skin. It’s like it wants to touch you or something.”
Jihoon blushes even more, his ears red and eyes watering. “I miss you all the time. But today, hyung, I’m missing you a lot more.”
“Shiho, stop. You’re too much.” It’s Jihoon’s turn to hide under his blanket, but now, Mashiho doesn’t fail to see the smile escaping Jihoon’s lips. Mashiho mirrors it, smiling big until his eyes disappear.
“I didn’t want to bother you, so I didn’t tell you. But I’ve been feeling the same, Shiho. I didn’t know why before but now, I do. I know why this feeling tingles uncomfortably all over my body. It’s home that I’ve been missing a lot, baby. Home is you. I’m missing home terribly today.”
They both stare at the camera, smiling at each other as their eyes meet virtually, “Six months is too long, Shiho. I need to see you. I need to be with you. It’s sickening being away from you this long.”
Mashiho giggles, his eyes closing slowly as he tries his best to keep them open. “When I get back home, take me out on a proper date, yeah?” He says, his voice slurred and heavy.
Jihoon smirks, kissing the camera to kiss Mashiho good night. His heart flaps happily as he thinks of kissing Mashiho for real in four months time. He can’t wait for it. But now, he’s content with having to open their hearts to each other, he’s content with this for now.
“Yeah. Be ready. I won’t let you stay away from me again.”