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Zook was not the kind of person who got jealous.
After they came back from the beach that day, he felt a loneliness. His friend had guessed about seventy percent of what was going on. In the fraternity, Zook had always backed Brad. At first, he simply thought the two of them were just genuinely close.
He didn’t know who said it to him:
“Zook, you’re not upset because of Brad, are you?”
Zook snapped out of his thoughts, turned his head toward the person, his lips parting as if to utter the syllable “I,” but instead he shook his head. His golden hair swung ahead of his head, scattering like countless strands of gold light.
“No. I’ve always thought the two of them were cool,” Zook said quickly. That was the truth. Back when many people didn’t want Schmidt to join, he had insisted on speaking up for him.
Alright, so maybe “disappointed” wasn’t the right word. When he got home, went back to his room, he saw the Lamborghini poster he and Brad had put up together. If it had been anyone else, he never would have done something like that—people might have called it stupid—but when he did it with Brad, he was happy. Yet the scene he’d witnessed on the beach still hadn’t left his mind.
He slumped onto the bed, feeling deeply let down. He didn’t even know why—just that there was this heavy, sinking sense of loss. It wasn’t that he was jealous of Schmidt. Schmidt was Brad’s buddy; as long as Brad was happy, he didn’t mind. But now, he didn’t like that image in his head. And then he remembered Brad telling him: “I’m just here to complete a mission. When it’s done, I’ll leave.”
Zook had never forgotten those words. He’d thought Brad was joking. They could obviously just keep hanging out like this, but now it seemed that might really be how it would end. So what were those posters for? And the lobster games they’d played together—what did those mean?
Zook didn’t know how to talk about it with the fraternity guys. Sure, everyone could tell the close relationship between their leader and Brad. But now it felt like heartbreak, like the tearing pain of a breakup. Brad was probably going to leave.
That night, Brad didn’t come to find him. Instead, Brad texted to say he had other things to do.
“You’re a cop, aren’t you? You’re a cop.” The realization hit Zook belatedly. He’d always felt he shared a kind of unspoken connection with Brad, while sometimes he found his peers stupid. Only with Brad could he feel understood, in sync.
Brad replied: “Yes.”
Zook thought, So what if I know he’s a cop? What does that have to do with having fun together? It doesn’t affect anything, right? Only… Brad was going to leave the university. How ridiculous that he’d once invited Brad to live with him, thinking they could keep this friendship for a lifetime.
Now he felt abandoned, a despair creeping in. He thought back to the initiation ceremony, to how he’d screamed for Brad. The more he remembered, the sadder he got. The happier the past had been, the more desolate he felt now. It even made him want to cry.
He couldn’t put into words exactly what it felt like to lose someone—just that now, sitting alone in his room with his phone in hand, he kept imagining what life without Brad would be like. He’d never been interested in college life, much less classes; only when playing football did he feel that sense of soul-level connection with Brad. It was like an invisible passage linking them, like constellations in the sky aligning to open some cosmic gateway and then they would merge as one complete being. Even with his eyes closed, what he saw was the other’s face.
There was nothing to say but “lost.” Maybe he should go out drinking. So he took a shower, flopped down on the bed, opened his laptop. The glow of the screen lit only his golden hair and face. He clicked on a video of him and Brad. He hit play; the short clip, no TV drama, just a moment, ended quickly, leaving a black screen.
In the reflection on that black screen, Zook saw his own gloomy face. He was so unhappy, but he didn’t want to be like some hysterical woman clinging to Brad. He’d heard his buddies say it countless times: some people can only walk a certain distance with you—when the time comes, you part ways. But right now, his heart hurt like it was dying, and he didn’t want to face that ending. So he shut the laptop, covered his eyes, and asked in his mind: Will you come back?
All night, his heart kept breaking. The grief clung to him like a ghost, wave after wave of stabbing pain like a tsunami crashing against his heart. He barely slept. The next day, he pulled himself together, grabbed his backpack, went to class—only to see Brad still sitting right in front of him.
When Zook entered, Brad greeted him as usual. Zook forced a smile, sat with his friends, Brad still right in front of him like before. Zook kept staring at the back of Brad’s head, wondering if maybe this was all he’d ever get. He’d thought that effort could get him everything. His mind drifted; he didn’t hear a thing in class. His lifeless hand rested on the desk. Brad turned and asked: “What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
Of course. That was all he could say, instead of throwing a fit like a woman. He bottled it all up, watching Brad from behind, thinking of their time together as if it were rewinding toward some terrible reversal. He was grown now; he wouldn’t cry in class, letting everyone know the man he loved was about to leave and that he’d once believed he could truly have Brad.
After class, Brad walked with him. Zook bit his lip, feeling a lump in his throat.
Brad sensed something off—a strange atmosphere between them. Zook’s mood was low, his head slightly bowed, his soft golden hair messier than usual, a bit frizzed. He didn’t look well. Brad thought for a moment, then asked: “Can I come over today?”
“Yeah.” Zook forced a small smile, glanced at Brad, then looked away.
Brad knew Zook was hurt; he’d never seen him like this before. With him, Zook was always either laughing or calm. Today he was calm too, but not with the listlessness of a sleepless night. It was something else. Brad guessed Zook knew he might not stay, and his own mind had been wrestling with what to do.
They went back to the room they’d once planned to share for life. Zook just set down his bag, lay on the bed, stared at the ceiling in silence. Brad sat beside him, looking at his expressionless face, his own head lowered, thoughts spilling over like beer foam from countless bottles opened at the fraternity. If it had been Schmidt, he wouldn’t have overthought it—how to start, what to say without hurting someone. But with Zook, he thought too much, and so sat there like a fool.
He didn’t realize how depressing the atmosphere was until Zook asked, “What do you want for dinner?”
“…Anything’s fine,” Brad finally said, daring to look at Zook’s hair spread over the bedsheet, like a man or woman struck down by Cupid’s arrow.
“…When are you leaving?” Zook asked after a pause.
“No mission for now. I’ll be here a while,” Brad said with a shrug.
Zook sighed.
“Will you come back after you leave?”
“Actually, I was thinking… if I don’t have a mission, I’d want to stay here.”
“Really?”
Brad looked at him. He remembered once saying Schmidt was clingy. Now he realized Zook might be the same. But Zook’s expression now was heartbreaking.
“You can leave if you want,” Zook said.
Inside, he’d already prepared himself to let go. This was just the countdown to the end of a happy illusion. Time was cruel like that—dragging you out of joy before you’d had time to savor it, and plunging you into the cold water of reality.
When Zook said it lightly, he’d already made up his mind. He meant it. Being with Brad was fun, but maybe it was just a brief gift from God—and now God wanted it back. If he kept clinging, would it end badly?
But he knew Brad was happy when they were together too. He even hoped Brad would remember the good times and choose not to leave. The contradiction felt like it was tearing him apart. All he could do now was wait for Brad’s decision.
Brad thought for a while. He couldn’t bear to see Zook so sad. Like many times before, when Zook wanted something from him, he hesitated but then gave in.
“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave school. If nothing else comes up, I’ll stay.”
Zook opened his mouth—maybe to question the truth of it—but said nothing. He just nodded.
“Let’s go find some people to hang out with. Mission’s over, hero.”
Brad stood, reached out a hand. Zook placed his own in it, and Brad pulled him up hard. Zook felt a strange sensation—he’d always known Brad was older. When they first met, he’d sensed it, but Brad’s college-boy cluelessness had made him dismiss the thought.
That night, he saw Brad laughing again, and thought maybe that was just who Brad was. The thought of Brad leaving had really shaken him. He’d spent so much time thinking about it, only to have it end like this—it felt like a waste. He should’ve just let things happen, saved himself the trouble. Now he didn’t know what the future held for them.
Fine. If that’s what Brad wanted, he’d go along with it.
He set his drink aside and walked toward Brad. Brad opened his arms—those strong hands had killed before, though Brad never wanted him to know. No wonder he was so good at football. Zook had thought it was just natural talent—maybe it was, maybe not. Who knew? As Brad said, when the two of them played together, it was so perfect it felt rehearsed—each move grasping the other’s intent flawlessly.
Brad had read somewhere that twins could have perfect telepathy. He and Zook weren’t twins, but this was the closest he’d ever come. And Zook saw right through him again.
“You spaced out. What were you thinking?”
“I was wondering if we might be twins.”
Zook burst into loud laughter, startling Brad. It was the first genuine laugh from him that night.
“So what if we’re not twins?”
Brad didn’t understand what was so funny, but Zook couldn’t stop laughing, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.
“Exactly because we’re not twins, it proves what we have is stronger than blood. You know? That thing beyond blood ties.” Zook spoke like a sorcerer, a hint of mystery in his gaze, something hidden there, like the wisdom of someone who had pored over many ancient texts.
He firmly believed there was some mysterious connection between them—unseen but undeniably real. And he could always feel it, especially through touch, when the resonance was strongest.
Zook had never found someone who fit him so perfectly. When he looked at Brad, there was only Brad—everyone else disappeared. Having only one person in his world felt good. He let Brad fill him completely, heart and soul.
Brad thought—Wasn’t it the same for him?
Before meeting Zook, he’d never found anyone who understood him so well. Even with people his own age, he often thought they were stupid—let alone someone younger.
“I never believed someone like that could exist in this world,” Brad said.
Zook looked at him.
“Since meeting you, I believe it now.”
Zook smiled, hugged him tightly. Brad hugged him back. He didn’t know why he’d never resisted Zook’s embraces—maybe the younger boy’s golden-retriever warmth felt like sunlight when he was disillusioned with school, bringing a sunset’s blazing warmth. Thankfully, it was all real, not a dream. Being with Zook even made up for the regret of never having gone to college. It felt like starting a new life, even though he hadn’t planned it.
As he’d said, college was just a mission—find the drug dealer, complete the task, leave. Like every mission before, with no loose ends, no lingering attachment. When it was done, you let go.
But now, he wished the mission could go on forever—so he and Zook could keep living this youthful dream, keep shouting and running at night, losing themselves in endless parties, finding endless joy.
Zook said: “Before I met you, I wasn’t looking forward to college at all. It was boring.”
“What about now?”
“Don’t ask me; you already know the answer.” Zook pulled him toward the center of the dance floor. The music was loud, almost broken; Brad couldn’t hear Zook anymore. He only saw his lips moving, saying something he couldn’t catch. They shouted in the music, fragments of words floating past,enough for the night. They tossed their reason aside again.
When the music ended, Brad’s ears hurt. Zook’s voice came through like a drugged hallucination, flickering in and out—and it felt good. Zook shook his arm, saying something Brad didn’t catch, both of them laughing without knowing why.
Later, they went home. Lying on Zook’s bed, the world quieted. Brad could hear his own heartbeat, steady and strong. Joy dripped away like the last water in a drain. Zook lay beside him, motionless, his hand at his side.
Without thinking, Brad reached out and took Zook’s hand.
Zook didn’t look at him—maybe too tired to move—but he did squeeze Brad’s hand back. Their first time holding hands. It felt strange. He’d never thought it would feel like this—like a schoolboy romance, the air tinged pink. Zook’s palm was warm, making Brad blush a little, but he didn’t let go.
“I like this feeling,” Zook said. “It’s like being in love.”
Brad wanted to say, Me too. But he was still mulling over Zook’s words. In love—hadn’t they already been mutually drawn to each other? Maybe Zook was just tired and talking nonsense. He often said unrealistic things. It fit the mindset of someone his age. So Brad didn’t dwell on it.
“I like it too,” he said. He’d wanted to hold Zook’s hand for a long time. Being with Zook had filled in past regrets. If only he’d met him earlier.
As he thought this, Zook let go, rolled over to face him. “Why didn’t you come here sooner?”
Zook had voiced his own thought. He too wished he’d met Zook earlier.
“Then why did you come to me so late?” Brad asked.
“Better late than never, right?” Zook smiled.
“That’s true,” Brad grinned. Suddenly these questions seemed silly, like small talk. Time always passed fastest with Zook. How had it already gotten so late?
With Zook, time sped up. For the first time, Brad wished it would slow down, so he could savor every moment. That way, when the next mission came, he could leave with a heart full of joy.
Only—he wasn’t ready for it to end. In his heart, because of Zook, the mission had been extended indefinitely.
“Want another drink?” Zook asked.
It was so late—if they drank more, they’d both wake up with hangovers. But Brad thought, Tomorrow’s too far away anyway, and nodded.
Zook got up. “I’ll get it.”
Brad watched him leave. When Zook came back, his golden hair a tousled mess, Brad sat up. Zook handed him the bottle, then brushed the hair from his eyes, smiling at him.
Brad had never imagined there would come a day when he couldn’t end a mission he’d already completed. Maybe it wasn’t finished at all. Maybe he just needed more—more time with Zook.
What else could he do?
Falling in love always happened without warning.