They left the studio together at a leisurely pace and headed for the bus stop. It seemed as if there were more people on the street. When they reached the bus stop in silence, they stood next to each other and waited for the bus.

It was awkward for some reason.

Jensen put his hands in his pockets and caught a glimpse of Jamin. Wrapped up to his nose in a warm prickly scarf, he looked like a pompous, ruffled sparrow. He grinned, licked his lips, and twitched. The right bus was coming to the bus stop.

"Which one do you want to go to?" he asked, walking to the still-open door of the transport.

Jamin, hesitating, rushed after him.

"I'll take this one," he said. "I'll just get off at the stop later."

They both got on the bus and moved along the seats.

"I'll sit by the window," Jensen nodded clearly, finding the right seat, and flopped down near the ice-cold murky. Jamin sat down after him. His jacket was slightly pulled up, and he was missing half his face in it, as if mired in a thick snowdrift. He pulled his scarf down and sighed in relief.

The bus took a few more passengers, closed the doors, and moved forward.

"So you've been here all day on Fridays?" inquired Jensen and, putting his palms to the window, blew hot breath on them, warming them. The icy crust was parting, revealing a view of the dark streets of Pusan.

Jamin, after sending a few messages, put his phone away and nodded.

"Yes. Practice usually starts at ten o'clock."

"From ten in the morning?! You're some kind of cyborg. Does your teacher make you do that or...?"

"No," the guy cut off indifferently. "I'll do it myself."

Jensen arched an eyebrow.

"You're going to get yourself killed that way."

Jamin, hearing this, immediately bristled.

"I have to dance..."

"Until you pass out? Or what?" interrupted El. He patted the young man on the shoulder and continued. "Or do you have an engine built into your ass? You're wasting your youth in the gym. And I'm sure coach told you the same thing. Let's make a deal: if you don't have anything to do in the morning, come out for a run with me. Walking never hurt anybody. We'll run in the park, get something to eat. My brother told me a great place that makes juicy meat! And, since you're not going to class on Friday, that means you have the whole day free?"

Jamin nodded, unable to resist the boy's unflappable voice.

"Wonderful. You can come over and visit us, I don't think Du San would mind. Then you can walk me to school and go to your training sessions. I'll pop up there in the evening."

He continued to say something else, and leaned back on the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The backpack on his lap bounced sharply at every bump.

"And then..."

Jamin sat for a few more seconds, waiting for the phrase to continue, but it never came. Leaning over slightly, he glanced at the asleep Jensen. His expression softened, and the dimples on his cheeks disappeared.

"How could you be more tired than I am?" smiling slightly, Chom Jamin asked.

As the bus turned the corner, Jensen's heavy body tilted and his head was about to fall forward, colliding with the seat next to it, but Jamin immediately caught it and, coyly, rested his chin on his shoulder.

Jensen frowned in his sleep and exhaled hotly into his neck.

Clenching his fists tightly, Jamin turned away. The tips of his ears, reddened by the cold, suddenly turned even redder.

Ten minutes later, Jensen suddenly woke up, opened his eyes, peeled away from Jamin's shoulder, and looked out the window.

"Oh, I'm going out soon," he muttered, pulling the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. "Hey. How much longer do you have to go?"

The older boy looked at him sideways and shook his head.

"I got two more stops."

"Okay. Let me get out."

Jamin stood up from his chair and let Jensen pass him, but immediately got up and started rummaging through his bag. Jensen moved forward, but was immediately grabbed by the sleeve. Thin, delicate fingers gripped the corner of his shirt peeking out from under his jacket and gently pulled him back.

Jensen stared at the boy with sleepy eyes.

"What is it?"

"Money."

A cocky smirk appeared on Jensen's lips. He leaned forward and, lowering his voice, breathed slowly into Jemin's pink ear:

"Especially for you, the first shoot is free."

Quickly pulling away, he winked at him and, after paying the fare, sprinted out to the bus stop, immediately hurrying home.

Jamin, in prostration, faintly heard the bus door creak shut and the tires rustle in the snow.

Greenish strained eyes watched the window in which Jensen had disappeared.

The rough handle of the bag in his palms brought him to his senses. Jamin squeezed the warm scarf and hid the velvety ruddy cheeks with it.

***

By the time Jensen got home, everyone in the apartment had long since gone to sleep. He stepped quietly into the kitchen and slightly opened the refrigerator, peering curiously inside. Then he silently opened the door of the room, put his backpack beside the bed and stopped beside Hyun, who was able to wrap himself in a cocoon in his sleep, only the ruffled dark back of his head peeking out from under the soft down blanket. With a soft chuckle, he made his way to the bathroom and quickly washed his face, trying to do everything as quietly as possible.

The brush kept slipping out of his hands. Barely finishing brushing his teeth, he returned to the bedroom and, changing into his pajamas, lay down on the bed.

It sagged, creaked miserably, and fell silent.

A hard day was pressing his head into a vise. He wanted to relax. He took out his phone and headphones and, turning his face to the wall, scrolled lazily through the gallery.

A video caught his eye, tucked away in a lonely folder titled "Home."

His finger froze over the screen, refusing to move.

Swallowing heavily, Jensen pressed it and felt his hand tremble.

A melodious voice rang out in the headphones.

A woman's voice.

Two figures appeared on the screen against a clear orange kitchen. One was a teenager of fifteen, dressed in a wide white kitchen apron and a tiny chef's hat. He was chopping vegetables with a disgruntled face, muttering something to himself, and occasionally glancing at the tall woman standing nearby who was peppering the meat.

"Mom, why are we doing this?" howled the boy grudgingly when an onion fell into his hands. He wrinkled his nose and put it aside, looking at the beautiful woman in the red apron, which featured a character from some old cartoon.

The woman smiled softly and indulgently patted her son on the head.

"Imagine we're on some kind of cooking show. Isn't this fun?"

Mom.

Jensen bent over on the bed and clenched his thumb with his teeth, biting it so hard that a red mark appeared. His eyes were fixed on the laughing woman on the screen.

"Only kids do that, well!" grumbled the teenager.

"That's all right," she patted down a piece of meat in the spices, put it away in her plate, and smiled as she looked at her son. "Let's be kids, okay?"

"So? Do I have to...well...say something?" the teenager hesitated.

The woman laughed and pulled the cap over his eyes and kissed his temple.

"Imagine we're the coolest chefs in all of Korea and there's a lot of viewers watching us. Come on, say something!"

The teenager turned to the camera and, with his lips pressed together, timidly scratched his cheek with his fingers.

"Well...hello."

"Ahhahaha!" the woman hugged him tightly and kissed him on the forehead, clasping her eyes shut. "You're my confused little sunshine..."

The teenager began to recoil as his cheeks flushed from the squeeze. With loud squeals he ran out of the kitchen, and his mother, wiping her hands with a towel, laughing, moved to follow him.

The screen went out.

Jensen's eyes went glassy. After lying in a stupor for a few minutes, he violently pulled out the headphones and, tossing them aside, put the phone under his pillow.

He left a bright red salivating tooth mark on his finger.

Every word I heard from the video rattled in my head.

A sunny smile flashed before my eyes, facing the teenager.

Burying his face in the pillow, he pulled the blanket sharply over his head. The heat burned his skin.

Blinking, he slammed his eyes shut tightly. The corners turned red and his upper lashes got wet.

Outside the window a winter gusty wind picked up.