life moves too fast! — lee anton
pairing # childhoodbff!anton x f!reader
yes. like what the title said, life feels like it's on a treadmill getting faster and faster per minute.
you’re finally in your last year of senior high with the boy you made friends with back in third grade when you both had no one to talk to. unexpectedly, you stayed each other’s best friends ever since the day you offered him a marshmallow while he was staring down at the floor, zoning out while your other classmates ran around and played. anton was a quiet boy, and you were a girl who talked all day, so it was basically a perfect pair.
twelve years later.. you still talk too much, and anton still remains as the best listener one could ever ask for—just as your boyfriend this time. you’ve gotten used to it all—a little too used to it. he’d pick you up before going to school everyday. he’d also pack for you a little snack so you wouldn’t go to school hungry—something he always told you was important.
you waited for him outside every dismissal, and you’d go do your daily convenience store run to get that yakult he always craves after classes.
you know the rhythm now, how his shoulder bumps into yours every time he’s about to say the dumbest joke he’s been thinking about for the past 5 minutes, how he always reserves the sidewalk for you to walk on, and how he always makes time to wipe off your sweat during physical ed.
but lately, everything feels like it’s slipping away from you. slowly, but definitely noticeable. college entrance results have been released—and while getting accepted into your dream schools should have been a moment of celebration, it doesn’t quite feel that way. your groupchat’s already discussing what their plans for the future are—some are going abroad, some prefer staying close to home, but anton hasn’t said where he’s going yet. and neither have you. all you can think about is the moment you’d have to part with the people who made your highschool all the better.
its funny, you think. how you used to believe growing up together meant staying together forever. but now, it feels like growing up is more like learning how to let go—let go of even those who once made you feel safest to pursue your own dreams. it’s hard. it feels unfair. but you’re starting to realize: it’s inevitable.
one day, while sitting in your room, you turn your head to watch him—head down, earphones in, neatly placing your clothes into a luggage. and all of a sudden, you’re reminded of how much time you spend with him everyday. and how by tomorrow, it’ll lessen. it just seems like a regular day to you as of now, but you have a feeling that you’ll miss seeing his face once you go your separate ways.
how do you say goodbye to someone you never planned on losing?
“hey.. do you think we’ll still talk everyday even if we aren’t in the same school—well.. country?”
“hmm..” he hums. “maybe. only if you still bring me my yakult through facetime.”
you laugh at his response—soft and short—but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “yeah. of course. i’d even smuggle it into my college dorm if i had to.”
but the silence that followed filled the air with something heavy. you both know that joke won’t fix anything. because even if you do promise, and even if he swears that he’ll call, it’s not for certain. there’ll be missed calls, unread replies, and slowly growing gaps between conversations. one day you’d go from talking everyday to talking every now and then. there’s something very different in your way now.
he’s applying to a university in the US.
and you’re aiming for the one in the opposite direction, in another country, thirteen hours away from him by plane.
no one’s said it yet, but maybe that’s what hurts most. how it’s so obvious that you’re running out of time but you’re still stuck pretending that everything’s going to stay this way for the next five years. how neither of you wants to speak the distance that’s coming into existence.
“i wish we had more time,” you finally sigh.
he doesn’t say anything for a moment. just stares ahead, eyes filled with a reminiscing look. “i keep remembering that day in third grade.”
you turn to look at him, still not meeting your eyes.
“that day you gave me a marshmallow.”
“i think about that often, too. you looked so sad.” you commented.
“i was,” he says. “but you never asked why. you just started talking about 20 different cloud shapes you’ve seen before.”
a small laugh slips from his mouth, almost bitter. “you made me feel like i didn’t owe you an explanation to be understood while still helping me cheer up.”
your throat tightens, “you still don’t.”
and finally, he looks at you. but not in the way that’s filled with silent jokes and everyday ease. it’s the one that kind of feels like a goodbye. even though he hasn’t said it. neither of you really want to say it.
“if we don’t end up in the same place..” he trails off, like he was trying to meticulously put the right words together to form what he wants to say. “will you.. still remember me the same?”
you blink once, twice, and then you nod—even if you felt your chest tighten from his words.
“i’ll remember everything. the walks, the yakults, the marshmallow. the way you always cared for me before you did for yourself.”
you pause, then add, “i just hope remembering won’t hurt too much later on.”
he doesn’t answer. just leans his head on his hands, eyes on the luggage ahead.
and for the first time, you sit in silence. not because you’ve finally run out of things to say, but maybe because you were too afraid to say them.
“will you still think of me when you’re surrounded by new people? new places?” you break the silence.
he looks at you slowly like the weight of your words made it harder to lift his head. “of course i will,” he says. but his voice wavers. like he knows that thinking about someone will never be the same as staying.
you try to smile. you really do. but it falls apart on your face before it even reaches your lips.
“promise?” you ask, and your voice cracks in the middle like something fragile breaking under pressure.
he opens his mouth—maybe to say yes or say your name, but nothing comes out. instead, he pulls you into a hug and presses a kiss to your forehead.
and it’s not the usual kind. not the lazy half-distracted type of hug you’re used to. this one is different. it feels like a memory being sealed.
you squeeze your eyes shut. because if you let yourself see anything now—his face, his sad eyes, the way his finger trembled slightly against your back—tears will come flowing out without plans of stopping. you’ll say something stupid. like don’t leave or stay, even if it means giving up on your dream. and you won’t.
because you love him too much to selfishly hold him back just so he can stay tied to you forever.
when you pull away, it’s slow. hesitant. like maybe if you do it gently enough, it won’t sting as bad.
it stings in the silence that follows. the way he won’t quite meet your eyes. in the way your hand lingers in the air after letting go of his.
“i don’t want to forget anything. i’m terrified that the memories that mean so much to me would turn into something so distant and unfamiliar.”
and you mean it. you don’t want to forget the mornings you waited by the curb, the way his hoodie always smelled like fabric softener, the times he’d silently hand you tissue when you pretended to not cry in class.
you don’t want to forget him.
“i hope the world is kind to you,” he says. “like how you were kind to me.”
it breaks you. completely. because that’s the thing you say when you want someone to be okay even when you aren’t there to see it.
you nod quickly, like doing so will prevent the tears from dropping. but one falls anyway. then another. and he reaches out to wipe them away, just like he always does.
but this time, he’s crying too.
neither of you can say anything after that. because what could you possibly say to make this easier? that would make it hurt less?
your voice is barely there when you ask, “when will i see you again?”
he flinches like the question physically pinched him, like he’s been trying not to think about it at all. which he was. he thought that maybe if he didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t hurt.
but you had to ask. you had to know—even if the answer might ruin you.
he opens his mouth, and for a second you think he’ll say something like soon or i’ll find you. something that will keep your heart from falling apart.
"i don’t know," he whispers, and his voice is wrecked. "and i hate that i don’t know."
“but if i could choose,” he pauses. “it’d be everyday. it’d be always.”
goodbye was never a part of your story. not back in third grade. not when he first sat next to you after you handed him your marshmallow, quiet and unsure if he was doing the right thing.
but here you are, standing on everything you’ve ever known, realizing that sometimes, people who feel most like home, aren’t always meant to stay.
they’re meant to be the chapter of a book you look back on when life gets too loud. the ache you feel in your chest when your favorite song comes on and you remember how they used to hum it under their breath with a smile. the name you’ll never say out loud for years, but a name you can never—and will never—forget.
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