"Seungmin," Jisung started as he set the heavy cardboard box down in the musty storage room, each step he took carefully calculated to dodge the cluttered mess of worn ice skates yet to be repaired and rink equipment used a thousand millennium ago now set to collect dust in the sketchy backroom. His friends gave him a gentle grunt of acknowledgement as he set his own box down on a stack of who-knows-what filled with trinkets and treasures of gold. He let out a heavy huff as he plopped himself down on the card box he carried, questioning as he tucked his burning cheeks into his gloved hands, "Does Jeongin hate me now or something?"

Delaying an answer, the other fished in the backpocket of his jeans. His grip pinched around the intrusion awkwardly bulging his pocket, a box cutter, one which he immediately clicked open upon grabbing, his finger pushing up the blade's sheathing mechanism. He proceeded to drive the heavy blade into the thick packaging tape tightly bundling the flaps of the box down for easy transportation. Jisung watched his friend's back as he sliced along the proper incision positioning with skill, the tape ripping with shrill pulls as the adhesive was brutally split apart. He yanked the packaging tape from the outer cardboard shell, each painful tear screaming like the reverberating echoes snapping underneath sheer covers of ice, the gummy cling ripping off  residual, flaky, brown dross from where the adhesive had been glued to on the box.

After wrestling the tape off the box and slapping the extra from hugging his hands, Seungmin pulled the flaps of the box open. As he inspected the interior items, he offered, "Not that I'm aware of. Why?"

"I don't know. He..." Jisung trailed off. His finger tapped a subtle rhythm against his cheekbone, the comforting vibrations on his skin from the motion lulling him into the deeper corners of his mind to think. To wonder. To guess, or ponder, he dove head first in the quietest and unvisited corners of the shelves miind. With a sigh, he dropped his head farther to the ground and combed his fingers through his air, "It doesn't feel like we get along anymore and I don't know what I did to upset him."

"You mean, him being a spiteful piece of shit?" Seungmin clarified. He refolded the flimsy flaps of the cardboard box to tightly shut as he told, "Don't bother."

"Why?"

"He's like that for a while now."

"Does he ever tell you what he's thinking or feeling? Because I don't understand him. I never do," Jisung finished combing his tensed fingers through the soft strands of his freshly washed hair, his nails raking clean his scalp in the areas his shampoo wasn't able to reach with painful drags on the driving canals between hairstrands. He proceeded to simply drop his head into his hands, his palms digging into the temples of his skull as he refocused to bore holes into the ground with his eyes. Then with the tips of his rubber covered toes hidden behind his dirty converse not even properly tied up, the fidgeting insanity of his limbs impossible to control as they scurried along the grout from the poorly tiled floors until it had been completely ripped up so he could squish the stained grime with the tips of his shoes.

On one hand it would be nice to understand Jeongin. They were friends. Actually, supposedly they were best friends. The closest people could be. The chosen family, linked arms glued together through thick and thin, the ones he would have spent hours on end talking with simply because he enjoyed their company. Even if that company was silence. Or watching the television together. They should have understood and tolerated one another. After all this time, from their adolescence into their young adult years, one would figure a best friend would be able to understand and sympathize with one of their closest friends.

Yet, on the other hand...

Jisung frowned to himself as he stomped on the grout, I don't know if I want to understand Jeongin. I don't know if I want to try to understand him.

"He doesn't tell me anything," Seungmin shrugged. He picked up the freshly concealed box, instead setting the solid object down on the cold tile floor with a resonant thud arguing with his every movement. With a breathy sigh, he sat down atop the box to be adjacent to Jisung as he explained,  "He's kept everything to himself. I can't remember the last time him and I had a decent conversation. Not since... You know."

He finished for him, "Since you rejected him in cold blood."

"Just not into guys. Or girls. Or anyone, for that matter. I have my video games. That is what matters."

Jisung quirked an eyebrow, his face tilting slightly up to chase his friend with a gentle smile. Though, he could practically feel the way it quirked and bent while existing promotly on his features. The gentleness turned sour, bitter, prodding and taunting, edging his friend with that teasing grin biting his friend with sharpened fangs and venom. He bit his tongue, shielding his words behind his sealed lips. He didn't need to say anything, he didn't need to stand at the highest podium and scream down to the level he thought the other stood on, his expression told in the absence of the words he retained. His jeering smile quivered with the half-hearted seriousness, each waving fluctuation yelling all the other needed to know about what was going on in his best friend's mind.

"I work three part-time jobs on top of the few college classes I'm failing. When I go home, I eat instant ramen and play League of Legends until I pass out, then do it all again," Seungmin interlocked his hands over his lap, the firm clap of his palms forcing a jolt through Jisung. He continued to complain, "Hello? Do I sound like I should be entertaining a relationship?"

"No, you don't sound like you should be in a relationship," Jisung agreed with him, a cheerful nod accompanying his words. With the small swell of something warm and bubbly in his chest, his gentle smile chased down the sharper taunt before returning to the original comfort he had prided himself on. With another swell, this time of something disgusting sitting on the numbed taste buds of his tongue, a metallic taste in his mouth, a knife driven into his gut and sliced up his sternum as he squeezed the flowering remains of his lungs through tearing coughs, a needle shoved into his spine so carefully he wouldn't have noticed it's presence had he not moved, the feeling enveloped him with another kind of warmth. A consuming warm. Heat, of an enrage he bit into his raised thumbnail placed between his teeth.

He chewed lightly on the habit, asking around the gnawed nail, "Him and Chan. How long?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows. When Jisung chose to continue chewing on his nail, he sighed, "I guess, something like, a little more than a month?"

"A little more than a month... A month? He hasn't told me for a little more than a month," Jisung scoffed around his nail. Hesitantly, he ripped the thumbnail from between the shredding clasps of his teeth, the sudden tug of putting his hand down into his lap leaving an impression on the end of his nail. He'd worry about cleaning up the broken edge later, for now, he continued to swallow down the bitter liquid drowning him out. Jisung curled his shoulders in, feeling as small as when he sat on the freezing ice of the rink alone,  "And he was the first one I went to with Minho."

Seungmin said, "Speaking of which, how are you and Minho?"

"Good. I think. Interacting, hanging out, talking, like friends do."

"Friends."

"Yeah, friends."

"So you tried to kiss him."

"Okay, now, I'm not sure what I tried to do, I might've tried to kiss him, I might've tried to just be close to him and he tried to kiss me," Jisung tried to defend himself with the explanation as his eyes snapped back to his friend. He tugged and fiddled with the splintered end of his nail as he tried to save himself from the accusation firstly, secondly to save himself from the sudden giddiness injected into his veins. An uncomfortably soft feeling, warming him in a different way than anything else. He coughed it off, pulling again at his broken nail as he forced his mind to go blank. And not remember Minho, or how soft his skin is, or how handsome he looks, or how good his cologne smells, or how gentle he is with him, or how blunt he was, or how his eyes seemed to look at him, and no one else, or how the older had tracked him down that day he wanted to hide away, or—

Jisung, He cut off his own thoughts. I swear if you don't stop yourself right there.

He argued back to himself, But he's Minho, he's incredible.

No. No. No. He's your friend, he sees you as a friend, He finalized.

Jisung shifted atop the card box box, his toes curling inside his shoes as he resigned himself to the painful admittance of, "Maybe Jeongin's right. Maybe I'm spending too much time goofing off when I should be practicing. I'm not that good, after all, I mean, I need it."

"You're going to listen to that? Practice skating because you're preparing your programs for international competition. Not because Jeongin says you need it," Seungmin comforted him. He unfurled his interlaced fingers, placing them to rest on the end of his knees as he stared his friend down with a serious look. A glare, it seemed more like than anything else. Threatening comfort. He did the best he could, with what he could. He was never one for comfort and soothing words. Of course, it wasn't the same as Minho, it couldn't be the same as Minho, but the thought was there regardless.

He shut his eyes as he realized.

Stop thinking about Minho. Now.

"Always realistic. Thank you," Jisung light hummed as he tried to toss the memories of the older from his mind. Carefully, he stood up from his seat on the cardboard box, "I should head out."

"Can you get that last package from the foyer?" Seungmin retorted, more than asked. He dug the ring of keys from his pocket and tossed them at Jisung who caught them easily, telling, "Same place. Remember to lock the door when you're done."

Jisung waved a lazy confirmation over his shoulder. He pressed the storage room door open with the pressure of his shoulder, afterwards using the inside blade of his feet to brake the furious closing of the weighted door. After ensuring the threshold was firmly secured, firmly locked down, not a molecule or atom able to slip through the cracks of the doorway, he leaned his upper back against the cool support draining into the sore of his muscles. He inhaled. Then exhaled. Finally able to breathe, and breathe deeply as he forced the air down to the muddy trenches of his stomach to dredge up what he ate for breakfast and diary through the nerves, freed from the suffocating loom of the oppressive dust clogging his nose with his each strangled breath inward inside the claustrophobic space of the storage room.

One breath, then two, four, eight, sixteen, he found a steady rhythm in his inhales and exhales as he stood alone out in the employee hallway of the ice rink until he was able to find the courage to press off from the comforting chill of the iron to find his own feet.

He stepped away, a light smile spreading on his features as he thought to himself, Seungmin always manages to make me feel better. In one way or another.

As he walked through the hallway to the main foyer, he spun the key ring on his fingers.

The old carpet crunched under the soles of his shoes.

The eerie quiet of the empty rink building occupied the ringing of his eardrums. At any moment, the lights could have started to flicker and the sketchy electricity failure wouldn't have been entirely out of place.

He rounded the corner.

Only to see the door to the locker was cracked open.

Jisung stopped spinning the keys, the sharp metal instead slamming into his palm as he gripped their jangling noise silent, Did I forget to close it this morning?

Quietly, he rolled his heels as he tried to keep his steps as mute as possible. His fingers reached for the golden knob, prepared to close the door with a tight shut. Possibly even lock it; The doorjamb had always been a tad funky on colder days. Something about the expanding and shrinking of space between molecules when the temperature rises or drops? Not that he ever paid attention in class, but practical application always is good for memorization.

It was when his palm met the cool metal of the doorknob, he heard the faint talking inside the locker room. Or, not talking, but these quiet, gentle whispers, muttered as if they didn't want prying ears to eavesdrop on the words they exchanged to one another. They were covert spies, exchanging integral information to succeed in their mission, or seeing as how it sounded like there were two voices poking around in the unknown space, a pair of bluebirds chirping on the telephone high wires buzzing with fervoured currents masking the details of the songs they exchanged. The second seemed to be more accurate at the moment, judging as how Jisung couldn't hear much else from the conversation besides the fact that one was currently happening within the room.

In the muffled blur, Jisung could slowly begin to decipher, finally understanding one of them muttering a silver promise of, "It's only us."

That...

He pulled his hand away from the doorknob.

That sounds like Jeongin.

Jisung pressed himself against the wall next to the doorway, and against his great reluctance to, peered inside.

Only to suck in a sharp inhale. He suffocated a strangled gasp behind his hand, his feet stumbling to carry him away from the locker room, stumbling to find his balance and to run, back down the same dark hallway, back to the storage room, without a single glance put on the final cardboard box he was supposed to have grabbed at the end of his journey.

In his wake, the door opened to an empty hallway.

"Something wrong?" Jeongin chased after, a hand landing on the older's shoulder as his other fixed the buttons on his own shirt.

"I thought someone was out here," Hyunjin glanced around the solitude of the building, his eyes narrowing as he took in the silence of the empty area. Something on the ground caught his eye. He crouched down.

Hyunjin snatched the key ring from the floor, before shutting the locker room door closed behind them.

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