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The perpetual downwards spiral of Park Sunghoon’s life all started with a text message.

From: Mother
Get the fuck out of my house and don’t you dare even think about speaking to me or your sister ever again!

It was in the middle of the most inconspicuous day, a Tuesday at that, while he was at work tending to a group of tourists. He was employed at an art gallery (if you could even call it that) located in the heart of his minuscule countryside town. Many would call such a place primitive, art for bumpkins even (which Sunghoon had heard often), but he had pride in his town and its creatives. Every piece that decorated the simple wall showcased the love, the passion and the vitality of a small collective that city folk would never understand: the adoration in the reeds blowing in the wind, the familial bond in an apple tree, the strength in the depictions of the rocky terrain of the mountains. Even if they were far from the sprawling horizon of skyscrapers, they still had talent to showcase, messages to spread, people to talk about and art that deserved to be seen. It was amazing, in its own right, that such a place could even exist here. The town was fortunate, hell he was fortunate, to have access to this resource— to surround himself with the beautiful works of young and old as a constant reminder that he is human. That they were all human.

His job was simple— to watch over the display and make sure the few guests that mill about don’t damage anything (with the added bonus of spitting out his favorite facts every once in a while). When a particular tourist wandered in front of the apples, he found his mouth moving far faster than he could catch up with. “The artist is a mother of nine children.” He begins, catching the viewer off guard. “See the way the branch at the top here is bending and the fibers are pulling apart? It’s meant to symbolize the struggle and the burden of raising such a large family on limited resources…” Sunghoon laments with pouted lips. “But notice how all the apples are in perfect condition, free of bruises. The artist sees herself as this branch, giving life to her children despite the pain it may cause her. As long as they are healthy, that is all that matters.” The tears that collected in his lashes were impossible to ignore if not for the bright smile on his face. Without knowing better, he’s sure the person he’s talking to just thinks he’s so moved by the work. The darker reality of his own situation stirs in his stomach.

He knows his mother has always worked hard for them. With a husband in the city sending back scraps for them, she always made do. She always picked up the slack. She always loved more to fill the gaps. He will never forget those summer moments of youth, lighting fireworks and running around the yard with his mother and sister— laughing and screeching in joy as the sparks littered the dirt foundation. Of laying in the field, soft grasses tickling their skin, as they pointed out the shapes in the clouds. Everything was fine, everything was beautiful. That was until Sunghoon grew into someone she questioned. At first, she chocked the feminine behavior up to being raised by her alone, a single mother in her own right. He had no firm hand in his life, no masculinity to keep him in line and no male role models to strive towards. He had always befriended girls and his mother could even excuse that as he had grown only with his sister. But, then he showed no interest in those girls. He didn’t want to court them, to romance them, he wanted to fit in with them.

A firm line in the sand was drawn that day.

He was just a teenager when he was dragged to the shaman for the first time. She circled him, inspected him, scrutinized the way he carried himself and deemed him to be possessed. She was convinced, wholeheartedly, that a female spirit shared his bones. That they were one. His mother was flabbergasted and demanded to know how they could fix this, how they could change the outcome of fate that was so wrongfully disposed upon her son, but the shaman refused. There was to be no exorcism, no freeing of this ghoul from his skin, as she was his guiding force. His light in the dark. This was something his mother just had to accept. As a spiritual woman herself, it was hard to fight against these words. She knew they came from a trusted deity and she had no right to deny the decree. So, instead, she had to live with it. Live with it and hope it would never manifest into something evil. Something she couldn’t possibly agree with.

Unfortunately for her, her son ultimately turned out to be gay. Queer in every sense of the word. He hid it from her dutifully, repressed his every urge to respect himself and instead was a shell of what he knew he could be for her sake. He had succeeded for so long, but it was inevitable that she’d find out. Dig his dirty secret from the depths of his closet. Part of him expected this, knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but his fight or flight shot him into denial. As he masked at work, tried to pretend he hadn’t read what he just read, he became a perfect cog in a machine. Made his need to satisfy his guests outweigh the carnal desire to yell his misfortunes at the top of his lungs, scream for help. Surely this couldn’t be happening, surely there had to be some sort of mistake. But the moment his phone pinged with another message, he knew this was the end. There was no recovering from this.

From: Mother

Your things are outside the gate. You will not be spreading that homosexual disease to the rest of us. Goodbye, Sunghoon.

His mouth was dry, his hands were clammy and his knees felt no more useful than jelly. What on Earth was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? He had, with no opportunity of defense, been thrown into the streets with nothing to his name. Nothing to house him, nothing to feed him, nothing to keep him alive. For his defeatist mentality, this was the end for him. The end of his legacy that had barely begun. He had never even gotten a taste of love first, the feeling of lips on his own, the curling of hands intertwined. For some reason, that fact alone was what broke the floodgate. As he locked up the gallery for the final time, tears outpoured from his swollen eyes. Sobs wracked his shoulders. Mist clouded his vision.

He was full of love, overwhelmingly so, from head to toe. It filled him to the brim and spilled out in every interaction he has ever had (in his life thus far, purely platonic and familial). But he had always wished, prayed, to be held like he was precious. Like he meant something. Be told that he was loved and cherished just as he was. Have a kiss placed on his forehead after a long day. Have a body, warm and safe, next to him as he slept. It had all felt like a dream so far and now maybe that’s all it would ever be.

A dream that would never come true.

A love that would never be found.

Shaky hands dug his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts to look for anybody to help him. Anybody to save him in this moment. He had nearly gotten through half the alphabet, ready to give up, when he saw him: Kim Sunoo. He had been his only male acquaintance in the town some time ago, one who had left for the city the moment he was able. University has been his savior, one that Sunghoon avoided like the plague. He knew it was foolish to stick by this town, to seek comfort and familiarity in what these walls offered him, but now he realized it had been a prison all along.

Maybe Sunoo could set him free.

When he dialed those numbers, he didn’t expect an answer at all, let alone one so quick. “Hello?” A small voice rung through the receiver, tinny and metallic. “Sunghoon?”

“H-“ Sunghoon squeaked, clearing his voice of the hoarseness of his own sorrow. “Hey. Um. This is going to sound weird…”

“Mm…?” The voice urged him.

“You haven’t heard from me in so long and I’m so sorry for calling out of the blue…” Sunghoon found himself rambling.

“Sunghoon, get on with it.” Sunoo snapped, impatient, but there was no real malice behind it.

“I was kicked out.” Sunghoon blurts out almost immediately, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. “She, um, my mom. She found out I was…”

“Gay?” Sunoo rightfully guessed and Sunghoon bit his lip. Hard. His heart was pounding so harshly in his chest he thought it might explode. Was he that obvious? Was he not doing nearly as well to cover it up as he thought he had been? “Welcome to the club.”

“I’ve never said it out loud or told anyone…” He admits, head feeling heavy as he sinks to the ground. The debris that gathers on his slacks (that he would normally turn his nose up at) feels strangely comforting. “I never thought I would have to.”

“S’okay.” Sunoo coddles, tone warm even through the speaker. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

“It’s fine.” Sunghoon exhales, tears clouding his eyes once more.

“It’s not though.” The younger asserts. “It’s not okay.”

“It’s not.” Sunghoon mumbles in agreement.

“Why don’t you come to Seoul?” Sunoo pipes up. “It’s not perfect, but there’s accepting places here.”

“I am scared.” He admits, fiddling with the hem of his pant leg. “I’ve never been outside my home before. Everything out there seems so large… and I am so small.”

“I’m shorter than you and I’m doing just fine.” Sunoo jests and it’s enough to lighten the atmosphere, pulling a snort from Sunghoon.

“Can I just… do that though? Is it that easy?” The older breathes out a sigh. “I have no where to stay.”

“Just stay with me.” Sunoo offers. “I don’t have a second bedroom, but I have a perfectly good couch.”

“Sunoo…” Sunghoon presses his cheek to the cold earth. “You barely know me…”

“So?” Sunoo scoffs. “You called me. You need help. Why would I sit here and ignore that?”

“But…”

“But nothing, hyung.” The younger asserts. “I know how you’re feeling and what you’re going through right now. Just let me help you like I wish someone would’ve helped me.”

“Thank you, Sunoo…” He murmurs, defeated entirely by Sunoo’s generosity— the arms of a community outstretched to him that he has never experienced before.

“Get on the bus. I’ll meet you at the station.” And he can hear the smile in Sunoo’s voice.

“Okay.” Sunghoon’s wobbly tone doesn’t go unnoticed.

“It’ll be okay.” Sunoo hums. “I’ll see you soon.” The dial tone then buzzes in his ear, indicating the other has hung up.

Sunghoon lays there in silence for a good minute, feeling the world embrace him from below. He could give up here, he could make it so easy, let the grave beneath him pull him under and end this suffering. Entombed in his own grief, in his own cowardice. Simply accept the cards that have been dealt to him and fold.

Or, he could get up. He could stand on his own two feet and run. Run to Sunoo, run to the unknown, run to the illusion of safety. But that’s where his fears lie, in the uncertain of what is to be. He cannot feel comfortable without routine, without knowing his surroundings and every possible threat that exists. And in a city as big as Seoul, monitoring that for himself just isn’t realistic.

But, maybe it was time to be uncomfortable. It’s not like he has any other choice that makes any sense whatsoever.

Hauling himself up was a task in and of itself, body feeling like cinderblocks cemented to the ground. His muscles ached, his spirit was dampened, his throat was immensely tight with strain and his eyes were so sore it was hard to keep them open. Everything hurt, god it hurt him so bad, but he kept moving, even if every step was more painful than the last.

And just like that, it was autopilot. He didn’t even have to think about where he needed to go, what he was doing, because he was soon on his street. Every blade of grass, every crack in the asphalt, every fiber in the wind carried a story that had been with him his whole life. The corner where his sister had fallen and twisted her ankle so Sunghoon carried her home, laughing the whole way about her clumsiness (mixed with genuine worry). The corner store they frequented in the summer to use their box fan, tongues lapped out like dogs as they regulated their temperatures. The snow filled alleys in the winter they prided themselves in making the first footsteps in, noses cold and rosy as they raced there. The games they played, the friends they made, the bugs they chased, the days they took for granted. Or, well, he took for granted. The lump in his throat was getting harder and harder to swallow as he took it all in— the home he would never return to.

Outside the gate, as she had so graciously promised, lied his things. The sight brought him to tears once more, stinging the puffy skin so abused by wipes of his sleeve. How was it so easy? So easy to pack up everything of his into such neat little bags? So easy to compact his life into nothing but a suitcase? He couldn’t help the bitter laugh that follows. Was it that simple to forget him? Like everything he had ever been was so inconsequential. Small. His place there had never held much significance from the beginning once the room is empty. Like it’s that effortless to remove every trace of him ever having existed between those walls. And it kills him, inside and out, to imagine his sister helping his mother pack it all away. Shove it out of sight and out of mind.

The stages of grief hit him like a whirlwind, socking his gut with a force unexpected. The tears soon gave way for despair, for rage simmering under his skin. He needed a firm hug as bad as he needed to sink his fist through drywall. He had never been violent, always docile, warm and caring, so this was a first and scared him more than anything. These urges that felt impossible to ignore. With a huff, he slung the duffle over his shoulder, pushed his arms into his backpack and pedaled the broken wheels of his luggage over the unforgiving road. He briefly wonders what his neighbors must be thinking watching him stomp away with all his things. Wonders if they know about him, wonders if they disapprove of him and his choices, wonders if they already sent him to the gallows in their minds, wonders if he’s become public enemy number one.

Maybe it was better to think of himself like that. Think of himself as nothing more than the dust on their uncleaned shelves, the cobwebs in their rafters. Unimportant. Overlooked. Then he couldn’t reminisce on it fondly, couldn’t hold the ties long since severed. Maybe it would help him move on through all of this to just believe he’s forgotten.

He only hopes, sincerely hopes, he exists as a constant reminder for his mother. He hopes he’s a mosquito bite on her flesh that will never stop itching, that will never go away for as long as she lives. It’s only what she so rightfully deserves. Throwing away her only son over something so (in the grand scheme of things) trivial. Choosing a path of what she deems to be righteous over her own creation, her own life she brought into this world. One she should’ve loved unconditionally.

A flurry of movement, of fur, dashes by him and it’s enough to break him free of his delusional stupor. It’s a neighborhood dog, a stray one he knows, chasing after his prey with his teeth bared. His snarl is borderline feral and part of Sunghoon wonders how such an animal can be so upset, so blinded with rage. Sharp teeth, menacing barking, the light completely gone from his once gentle brown eyes. It was scary. Sunghoon was so scared.

In that moment he decided to run, run towards the bus stop, if not for the wounded shriek of a bird. He knew what had happened, he knew the fate that had occurred just out of his sight, but the trembling terror in him could not help but turn. Could not help but look. There was blood soaking the dog’s maw, an explosion of feathers in his wake. And just like that, he was gone, scurrying away from the crime scene he left behind.

Sunghoon approached, watching the marsh tit’s chubby chest struggle for a breath, tiny beak wide open and eyes blown. He scooped the small creature up, watching the last moments of her life pass, staining his palms with violence. He suddenly couldn’t speak, couldn’t articulate, couldn’t sob out the words bubbling up in his chest. He somehow saw himself here, saw his own reflection in the glassy pools of those eyes. He couldn’t help the bile that rose in his throat, the vomit that spilled on the ground next to him.

His stomach was sufficiently emptied.

He was a husk.

He carried the innocent bird all the way to his destination cupped so carefully, so gently, in his palm. She had long since passed, even becoming stiff in his hand, but he refused to let her stay there. Refused to let her rot away in the unforgiving sun of tomorrow dried in a puddle of her own blood for everyone to see. For everyone to point and lament, to turn their noses up at the smell of her corpse. She deserved privacy, she deserved a proper burial.

Placing her on the ground, he dug his fingers into the hard earth, pushing aside the dirt. It was putrid the way it clung to his perfectly groomed nails, sunk deep beneath them— compacted and firm. But, he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Once the indent was sufficient enough, he placed her inside, covering her body with the loose terrain. As she disappeared before his eyes, he felt himself leaving. Felt him leaving himself behind.

The Park Sunghoon he knew was dead.

And as he stepped onto the bus covered in mud, hands crusted over with gore and debris, tear tracks streaking his round cheeks and puke on his lips, he didn’t notice the stares boring into the side of his head.

——

“I’m going to say this in the most respectful way possible…” Sunoo practically shouted.

The busy Seoul terminal bustled around them, businessmen and travelers alike trying to find their place in this early morning crowd. They pushed past them, between them and all around. It was overstimulating in a way that had Sunghoon huddling closer to the much shorter boy who looped his arm through his own and held him at a safe distance. A respectable one. Like he stunk.

“…You look and smell like shit.” He snorts, dragging him along this sea of people, wading through like he had done it his whole life. It would almost be respectable, admirable even, if he weren’t insulting him right to his face.

“Wow, thanks.” Sunghoon remarks dryly, face pulled into a grimace as a bystander gives him just about the meanest mug he’s ever seen.

“It’s totally understandable considering the evening you had, but…” Sunoo pinched his nose with his free hand for extra mocking effect. “Pee-yew, sister.”

“So much for first impressions.” Sunghoon pulls his mouth into a fine line. He wishes he had been more aware, been more conscious of anything other than his emotional breakdown so he could have at least cleaned up.

“Believe me, these people have seen worse.” Sunoo successfully pulls them through to the other side, the whooshing of vehicles driving by and sounds of the city waking up after a long night chorusing through the air. “They won’t even remember you.”

“Good to know.”

Sunoo waved down their taxi and unceremoniously shoved him into the backseat, packed in tight with his baggage. Surely it was to cover him up, make this seem less bad than it really was, but the driver still eyed him. A silent apology lingered on his tongue, heat smothered the tips of his ears in embarrassment and he couldn’t stop looking at his own reflection in the rearview mirror. Sunoo rattles off his address and they’re off.

Sunghoon sinks himself more and more into the cushy seat which, in turn, makes him feel even more guilty. Like he’s pushing his stench deep into the fabric, so much so that it might be unsalvageable. Even after cleaning, the subtle notes of it would exist forever. It makes him cringe.

“He probably thinks I’m homeless.” He whispers to Sunoo, shame boiling up in his system.

“Well aren’t you?” Sunoo cocks a brow in return.

Ouch.

He supposes he needed to get used to this. Used to Sunoo’s bluntness he remembers even from when they were children. It’s something he had momentarily shaken off after their heartfelt exchange on the phone, thinking perhaps he had grown more somber with age. Unfortunately it was the reason they had not been terribly close growing up, even though there was a silent sense of camaraderie for their unspoken identities. Sunghoon had always been quiet, mindful and polite. He hardly ever spoke his mind and let himself become the biggest pushover for social gratification.

Sunoo couldn’t be more opposite. There was a complete and total lack of a filter from his brain to his mouth, but that somehow made him refreshing. At least you knew he was always being honest, even if that honesty was better kept silent. Though, truly, Sunghoon couldn’t help but admire that about him— that he was so confident and sure of himself that he didn’t need a filter. He lived so authentically to himself and never masked his intentions or his beliefs. There was no doubt that he was Kim Sunoo and that he did everything earnestly. Sunghoon hopes, with time, he’ll be able to learn that too.

Sunghoon turned his attention, instead, to the cityscape flying by them from the window. Somehow it wasn’t what he imagined, wasn’t what people romanticized it to be. Rather than being colorful, vibrant and full of life, it seemed rather mundane, terribly gray and far too noisy. He scrunched his nose up at the thought. Maybe it will grow on him, become something more enticing, but its first impression has been terribly lackluster. Though, he supposes, his own appearance hasn’t been much to offer either. With time, surely, they’ll both show more impressive sides.

The painfully straight business streets soon turn to winding residential backroads. Between homes, apartments and every step in between, they were practically glued at the foundation. If you told him every block was actually just one big building he would foolishly believe you without thinking too much about it.

How different the city truly was.

The taxi rolled to a stop and the unpleasant middle aged man offered a grunt, an announcement of their arrival and a threat to get out as soon as possible. This, at least, Sunghoon could understand. Following behind Sunoo, he clumsily made his way out, bags clattering to the pavement beneath them with surprisingly little noise. He barely had time to gather his wits about them when the car zoomed off.

“He really wanted us out of there.” Sunghoon muses, mostly to himself.

“They’re all like that.” Sunoo reassures with a dismissive flair of his hand. “Don’t worry too much.”

Sunghoon stood there awkwardly with his bags, shuffling from foot to foot as he waited for some kind of affirmation that this was really happening, that this was really okay. Sunoo stood at the unlocked door, holding it open with a speculative look.

“What- do I have to invite you in?” Sunoo barks out a sudden laugh. “Are you a vampire, hyung?”

“No!” Sunghoon whines high in his throat as his hands swirl around miserably to try and convey his feelings. “I just need to know…” He sighs loud, frustrated. “Are you sure?”

“Sunghoon… you are already here.” Sunoo asserts, propping the door onto his hip as he crosses his arms. “Honestly, if I had changed my mind, I never would have been at the station to meet you in the first place.”

“Fair enough.”

“Now, come on! You desperately need a shower.”

——

Sunghoon was learning quickly with Sunoo it was always go go go.

When he had emerged from the shower, finally clean of the layer of filth that had accumulated on him, Sunoo was instantly in his face and harassing him. It was kind of intimidating, really. Even though he was smaller than him, his personality was much, much larger.

“So…” Sunoo drawled, digging a playful elbow into Sunghoon’s ribs. “What kind of men do you like?”

Sunghoon practically doubles over in a wheeze (having had choked on his own spit). He clutches his stomach, voice barely a breath. “What?!”

“You heard me.” Sunoo swells into a pout.

“I don’t…” Sunghoon clamps his mouth shut, finding himself stumbling over his words so easily. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Come on.” Sunoo coaxed. “We both know that’s not true. What have you fantasized about?”

“I…” And Sunoo is leaning forward, trying to find his line of sight no matter how many times he looks away. “Someone kind? I don’t know.”

“That’s boring, hyung.” The younger chastises with a click of his tongue, pushing at Sunghoon’s forearm with barely any force. “There’s got to be more to it than that.”

“If you’re so confident, what do you like then?” Sunghoon huffs, throwing himself into the safety of the couch cushions.

“Desperate men.” Sunoo answers confidently, like it’s the most normal thing to say. “Men who fall over themselves to please me.” He strides towards the older, pouncing on him. Through relentless tickling and a laughing fit worthy of a purpled face, Sunghoon surrenders, kicking his feet and squealing all the way.

“I just never thought it was possible…” He admits through puffs of air, chest heaving. “That this would even be an option… that I could even consider what I liked.”

“Then lets go out tonight.” Sunoo supplies. “You can explore your options in a safe place.”

Sunghoon considered himself an introvert, a homebody, he would much rather curl up in bed with a warm drink and binge a shitty show than go out, party or partake in any activities of the night. The idea of putting himself in that kind of scenario or even having the opportunity to meet a man made his skin crawl, made him absolutely nauseous. These kind of things just didn’t happen for him. They couldn’t. They shouldn’t. He doesn’t know anything about flirting, about mingling and definitely not about dancing. He was about to look like a total fool.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea…” Sunghoon twiddles with his thumbs. “I would only embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean?” Sunoo drags it out in exasperation. “You’re hot, hyung. Even if you do the lamest thing known to man, these boys will eat it up.”

“Don’t say it like that.” He covers his face, barely concealing how beet red it has become.

“Come on, just try it once!” Sunoo starts shaking him. “If it doesn’t go well, we can never do it again. At least you can say you tried.”

“Ugh.” Sunghoon hated to admit it, truly, but Sunoo was so convincing. It was hard to ignore just how much sense he was making even though the prospect was absolutely terrifying. “Fine.”

The smile that pulled from Sunoo was absolutely dazzling, teeth on full display and eyes dipped into delightful crescents. Who knew the idea of seeing Sunghoon suffer was all it took?

“I’m picking your outfit.” Sunoo sing-songs as he stands up, giddy as he prances about the living room. “You can wear my clothes.”

“Absolutely not.” Sunghoon points a finger in his direction, waving it about. “They will not fit me!”

“Duh?” Sunoo looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “That’s literally the whole point! Show off a little midriff.” He shakes his hips. “Leave nothing to the imagination.”

“You are insufferable.” Sunghoon groans, falling back dramatically into the couch.

“I’m like your fairy godmother.” Sunoo does a little twirl, shouting over his shoulder as he retreats into his room. “You can thank me later!”

“I will do nothing of the sort!” He bellows after him, but he knows it fell on deaf ears.

Even though he is primarily filled with dread, mind a hellish scape as he maps out every possible outcome of tonight, he still feels a small spark of something indescribable. Was it anticipation? Maybe even excitement? It was hard to tell. It all felt like a confusing concoction of fried nerves and complex emotions swirling in his gut. Hell, he hadn’t even been able to process anything from the last twenty-four hours and he was diving head first into something completely new.

Just what had he gotten himself into?

Or, more appropriately, what had Sunoo gotten him into?

Before he knew it, Sunoo was emerging from his room with arms full of all sorts of fabrics. Sunghoon saw everything from print to leather to latex to glitter and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Surely… surely this was not what he was meant to choose from. Before he could form a thought, an opinion even, all of it was being thrown onto his sprawled body. It was surprisingly heavy, all things considered. Perhaps this was the pain of beauty he had heard so much about.

“I can’t decide.” Sunoo nibbles on the skin at the tip of his forefinger. “You would look so good in anything.” The younger paces back in forth in front of him, stalking him as though he were some piece of meat to put on a mantle.

“How about a little ball cap moment?” He muses, thinking out loud Sunghoon supposes, and a black baseball hat is dumped on his head. Sticking his tongue out in concentration, Sunoo moves it every which way to find the best angle before ultimately giving up and tossing it across the room. “Ugh.” He inspects the pile all haphazardly littered amongst Sunghoon’s limbs and suddenly gasps.

“This for sure!” He squeals, settling a pair of frames on the bridge of Sunghoon’s nose. They were glasses, thin-banded and stylish, sitting snug on his face. “Oh my gosh.” And he’s clapping his hands as if it’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “It’s giving nerd, it’s giving loser, it’s giving lovable dork.”

“Half of those sound like insults.” Sunghoon groans.

“They’re all compliments.” Sunoo is cheesing, mischievous he knows. “This is going to be so easy! They’re going to jump your bones.”

“I didn’t ask for that!” Sunghoon protests, but Sunoo completely ignores him, laying out his outfit piece by piece.

“I just realized, I never asked and only assumed…” Sunoo trails off, lips pursed as he holds up different tops to Sunghoon’s torso to visualize them. “You are a bottom, right?”

“I…” And if Sunghoon was astounded before, he was completely dumbfounded now. “What does that even mean?”

“Well, to put it simply, do you want someone in you or do you want to be in someone else?” Sunghoon can tell Sunoo tamed down the explanation greatly, but it still set his skin on fire.

“I… you…? I don’t…” Sunghoon stammers. “In… me? I guess…” He admits weakly, sounding more like a church mouse than a human.

“I knew it.” Sunoo nods his head like it was the only correct answer. “I know sisterhood when I see it.” Through it all, Sunoo had been expertly crafting the ensemble of his doom consisting of a tight white shirt he was utterly convinced wouldn’t fit him, an oversized leather jacket (“Cunty.” Sunoo had remarked) and a pair of mid-thigh denim. “I’m going to curl that hair of yours and you’re going to look perfect.”

As much as this was a whole lot, Sunoo being so attentive to him and wanting him to look his best made something warm bloom in his chest. “Thanks, Sunoo.”

“Anytime, hyung.” And Sunghoon really believed his words.

The sappiness of the eye contact, of the shared smiles and contented demeanor was shattered when another figure entered the room. He waltzed in like he owned the place, holding his head high as though this were a common occurrence. That thought alone made Sunghoon shudder.

“And who is this diva?” The man squawked in a gimmicky sort of tone, gesturing towards Sunghoon. He’s quite tall, at least compared to Sunoo, with shoulder-length choppy brown hair. It framed his face in a messy yet elegant sort of way, like every piece was painstakingly put in its place to appear effortless. If he didn’t know any better, he’s sure he would think he was a girl from behind.

“Beomgyu! Finally you’re here.” Sunoo practically leaps to his feet, running over to embrace the boy. “This is Sunghoon.” He adds an extra comment under his breath, but Sunghoon still picks up on it. “Baby gay.”

“What a cutie.” Beomgyu coos, approaching Sunghoon to squish his cheeks together. “Oh, this world is going to destroy you.”

“Beomgyu’s going to do our makeup!” Sunoo announces before Sunghoon even has the time to think about what he was just told.

“You can do makeup?” But it comes out garbled, slurred by Beomgyu’s hands still firmly pushing into his flesh.

“Not at all.” He deadpans and Sunghoon can only gawk at him.

“Then why-“

“Trust me, Sunghoon.” Sunoo insists, yanking on Beomgyu’s shirt to pull him back into his arms. “This guys better than 80% of the twinks in Itaewon.”

“That’s really not saying a lot.” Beomgyu half whispers, half shouts to Sunghoon, grimacing as Sunoo smacks him upside the head.

Oh, Sunghoon truly was destined for doom.

——

It had long since slipped into the night, moon high in the sky as they wander the neon streets of Itaewon. This area, this vibe, felt more like the descriptions of the city he had heard about all along. The colorful atmosphere, the illusion of fun, the echo of laughter through the alley— Sunghoon can see why people enjoy this life. He wants to indulge in it himself, wants to truly appreciate and observe his surroundings, but his belly is full of cheap takeout which makes everything about twice as nauseating and thrice as un-enticing.

Overall, the night is not looking promising.

His face is slathered in tasteful makeup (“The pomegranate look is so popular right now.” Sunoo had said), his stomach is upset and his hands are firmly grasped between two overprotective boys. Everything about it made him feel entirely out of his element and spelled out, in clear letters, an absolute recipe for disaster. There was many people milling about, loitering in front of clubs or simply strolling like them, but none dared to approach the dangerous and lethal force that was Sunoo and Beomgyu. Sunghoon was thankful for that at the very least.

“I will not let anything happen to you tonight.” Beomgyu assures him from one side. “Scouts honor.” Somehow Sunghoon highly doubts he’s qualified to claim that.

“Unless, of course, it’s a canon moment.” Sunoo pipes up. “Then we simply cannot interfere.”

“What does that mean?” Sunghoon looks between the two of them.

“Like an un-slimy, unproblematic guy gets handsy.” Beomgyu clarifies. “As long as you don’t seem in distress, I hardly see a reason to interfere.”

“Likewise.” Sunoo hums and Sunghoon swears he has whiplash from the sheer amount of times he has whipped his neck to-and-fro. He wants to reach up, relieve the ache by rubbing a bit of pressure into the muscle, but his hands are held ironclad to his side.

“Even if I’m enjoying it, help me.” Sunghoon complains and the other two can only laugh at him. What— is this a comedy set? Did he miss the memo that he was performing a stand-up routine?

Maybe he is the joke.

Getting into the desired club is easy, Sunoo’s flirtatious smile and “regular” status a shining gold star on their resumes. The bouncer barely batted an eyelash before letting them just walk right in, wordless jab of his thumb his ease of approval. They’re barely through the threshold when the pounding of Sunghoon’s heart starts to rival that of the bass of the song reverberating off the walls. He knows his hands start to sweat, feeling unbearably clammy, but neither Sunoo nor Beomgyu say a thing.

The flashing lights are the first thing Sunghoon notices as they press in, pulsing in time with the DJ’s setlist (which, for one, were all upbeat songs he’s never heard in his life). The colors were beautiful, all sorts of pinks and purples and blues, but they made it intensely difficult to focus. He’d seen plenty of movies like this before, depicting party scenes of all kinds, but how did they always make it look so easy? The atmosphere was incredibly dizzying, offsetting him from even walking properly as they made their way to a bar top table. This piqued the interest of a few men as they passed, Sunghoon physically feeling the way their gazes raked over his body.

“You haven’t even had a drink yet and you’re already drunk.” Beomgyu teases, poking at his ribcage with surprising force.

“It’s hard to see in front of me.” Sunghoon whines, wiggling away from the jabs. “How do you guys do this?”

“Practice.”

“Lots of it.”

They look at him with an equal amount of intensity, a wordless suggestion that this, truly, wasn’t going to be his only time at the club. Clutching his stomach, he fears for what kind of animal the future will shape him to be at the hands of these two.

“Shots?” Beomgyu suggests and Sunoo erupts into a gleeful cheer.

“Call!” The shortest dashes off towards the bar.

“Once you get a drink in your system, you’ll feel much better.” Beomgyu shouts over the music, slinging an arm around Sunghoon and pulling him down towards his height.

“I highly doubt that.” Sunghoon huffs, making no effort to allow his voice to be heard.

As they stand around waiting for Sunoo’s return, Sunghoon finds his eyes wandering about the interior. The walls are shiny, polished, some kind of mirrored material that allows the lights to reflect every which way. He suspects this is why his depth perception is all out of whack, the building resembling one of those funhouse mirror mazes. His lips briefly tugs upwards as he thinks about running through one at the fair with his sister, bruising their noses one too many times as they ran straight into the wall. Or how they could barely stand up straight when they got out, leaning on each other’s frames for support. He could almost feel it, really, with the warmth of Beomgyu’s body still clinging to him. It made everything more vivid. Lifelike. But, he had to accept that that was gone. That life was gone. He would never see his sister again.

The smile was gone as fast as it came, expression drooping downwards. His new reality couldn’t be more different, his world turned on its axis. He went from a painfully repressed country boy who spent most of his days peacefully to a naive and intimidated beanpole in the middle of a gay club about to wear a bib of his own vomit if he wasn’t careful. How lovely. The more he wants to dwell on it, the more he deems it useless. This, everything this was, was absolutely not the place nor the time to be diving into his psyche. He just had to keep pushing, pushing it down until it was unnoticeable. Gone. A forgotten pressure deep in his bones that never resurfaces. Buried beneath the soil of his turmoil.

“Sunghoon!” And the voice feels like nothing more than tinnitus, ringing deep in his ear and successfully dampening his senses.

“Earth to Sunghoon!” Two hands clap directly in front of his face and he finally snaps to it, fully present as the loud music and the smell of sweat seeps back into his pores.

“Sorry.” He cups his neck sheepishly, eying the two pairs of round worried looks he receives in return. “Just thinking.”

“You still stare off into space as much as you used to before.” Sunoo jokes, holding out a comically small cup to the older.

“It’s so silly.” Sunghoon takes it into his hands, laughter bubbling up in his system. “It’s so so tiny.”

“That’s because it’s strong.” Beomgyu winks, holding his own glass up. “You only need a little bit to get you going.”

They collectively clink them all together and as the two sink theirs down their gullets, Sunghoon hesitates for a moment. He, admittedly, caught a whiff of the drink as he brought it close and it smelled like rubbing alcohol which, to him, was completely unappetizing. He cannot imagine how anyone would drink something like this let alone voluntarily. But, as the two sent theirs down, the peer pressure sets in and he finds himself tipping it back into his awaiting mouth. It burns everything— his tongue, his nose, his throat. It’s an absolute chore to swallow the bitter liquid down around his gags, but he manages. He instantly breaks out into a fit of coughs, banging his fist on the table for some relief. He hears a chuckle behind him and a hand smoothing against his spine.

“You did so good.” Sunoo coos, clutching onto him. “So proud of you.”

Sunghoon would never admit the heat the words brought to his face. He doesn’t know the last time someone praised him so earnestly and it made his head spin.

“I think we stole his shot virginity, Sunoo.” Beomgyu pipes up, a giggle in his words.

The drink must have gone straight through his system, because Sunghoon swears he’s seeing double. Swears Beomgyu’s voice dropped a few octaves. Or maybe he really was the devil, the voice rather suited him.

“Now we need to get his other virginity taken.” Sunoo sing-songs, dragging them off to the dance floor before Sunghoon even has time to protest (and, quite frankly, he’s not even sure that he could in this moment).

Sunoo and Beomgyu start moving to an invisible rhythm, movements so natural Sunghoon’s convinced they were born with it. Sunghoon wants to cater to them, to find some enjoyment in this moment, but somehow the noise has reached such a peak that he can barely hear it at all. His mind is numb from the shot, the club is shaking on its own and instead of finding a way to dance through it, he’s just trying to keep his balance. He must look so disturbingly awkward and out of place amongst the crowd.

When the stiffness of his limbs finally starts to warm up, Beomgyu grabs his hands and starts to move him himself. Their arms are swinging about (resembling spaghetti more than anything else) and he starts to understand the appeal. The appeal of being unapologetically free without a care in the world. Without stopping to think how others might perceive him or his actions. All he sees is two heads of hair bouncing up and down, so much joy on their faces that you might think they’ve never known a day of pain. The smile that lights up his own might be the most genuine he’s ever had.

So, he partakes.

Partakes in a life he once deemed reckless, irresponsible and unthinkable for someone like him. Partakes in this momentary happiness that makes him forget about everything else.

Even though the music is but a buzz under his skin, he mimics the actions of the others. His shoulders dip, his hips roll and his arms flow to the beat. Through his movements, he starts to realize how tight the assemblage of gays truly was. He feels the ghost of groins, of legs, of hair and as much as the lightness of it, the tickling of a feather, was sensual, it made him wholly claustrophobic. The shiny walls, the strained flesh, it was all closing in on him. When he finally bumped his whole rear into something hard (Sunoo and Beomgyu acting innocent as they looked away) he turned on his heel to face his culprit.

Despite the fact that they had quite literally brushed together, Sunghoon still wasn’t expecting the other to be this close. Their heights were similar, completely on par, and their eyes met on an equal level to prove it. The man had big bright eyes, a small yet angular face, a high nose and— wow, he was scarily beautiful. Sunghoon knew he was staring, knew it was obvious, but it felt like time slowed, the world moving around them in tandem yet they were there solid. Rooted. It’s only when his gaze drops to his mouth that Sunghoon’s nose turns up in disgust. It was shiny, messy with either alcohol, slobber or barf and this man had the nerve to curl it up into a smirk.

“Hey.” He murmurs, wavy hair shimmering under the lights. Sunghoon felt bile rise in his throat.

“You…” He starts, pushing the other’s chest with his index. “You sticky-stained, slackjawed screwball!” He can’t help the way his voice raises an octave, thick accent betraying his new city boy image. “Use a napkin! That’s gross!” He scolds and the man’s eyes somehow get even bigger, rounder, like a deer caught in the headlights. “And for godssakes stop looking so smug and attractive!”

Despite the music still blasting, everyone around them seems to still their dancing, all too focused on the bizarre exchange. Sunghoon is thoroughly embarrassed, flushed all the way down to his neck and wobbling backwards.

“That sounded way harsher than I meant.” Sunghoon’s voice is small and he feels himself nearly topple over, a steadying hand gripping his bicep to keep him upright. “That shot was too much.” The whine he makes is all too similar to a wounded animal.

“No worries.” The other uses the sleeve of his free hand to wipe his mouth clean, chuckling sheepishly. “It… it was kind of gross, you’re right.”

Sunoo is quick to approach (an effort to minimize the damage, he knows), looping his arm through Sunghoon’s and rubbing his free hand across his chest. The man gets the memo and slides his own hand free of its grip, flexing the fingers by his side.

“So sorry.” Sunoo purrs. “Our friend here is really drunk.”

“Seems he likes to take it out on hot people.” Beomgyu chimes in.

“I could…” The man trails off, his eyes never leaving Sunghoon’s. “Get you some water?”

“He would love that.” Sunoo rushes to answer before Sunghoon can, beaming brightly. “We’ll be at a table over there.” Sunoo vaguely gestures off to the side, a skip in his step, and the stranger seems to understand, making his own way over to the bar. Even as his form retreats, it’s hard for the man to stop stealing glances their way. Whether he was entranced or simply making sure they weren’t making a hasty exit, Sunghoon will never know.

“He must be really desperate.” Beomgyu snorts, pulling out a chair for Sunghoon to sit on. “You just screamed in his face and now he’s waiting on you hand and foot.”

“Desperate men are the best kind, I told you.” Sunoo laughs, high and light like bells and Sunghoon still doesn’t understand his point.

Now sitting, zen and in his element, he cannot believe the utter fool he has become. What in the hell did he just do? Sure, a dirty mouth is gross, but he could have just ignored it? It’s not like he was going to kiss him— was he going to kiss him? He lands two firm hands on his own cheeks, feeling shockingly cool in contrast against his fevered skin.

He thought he could handle this, he really did. It’s been his dream since childhood— to express himself as he was, to love how he wanted. He never thought it would ever be possible and now that it stood right in front of him, quite literally, he realized he was scared. He was trembling. He had been told so many times, straightforward and sub-textually, verbally and physically, that everything he felt was wrong. Oh so wrong. It was not only a crime, not only an embarrassment but disgusting. Deplorable. Shameful. And as much as he wanted to let go of his inhibitions and just feel, it felt like there was a barrier to break, a wall to climb, before he could even consider such things.

“For you.” The man murmured, shy grin on his face as he hands the glass of water to Sunghoon. Their fingers brush in the exchange and shivers wrack down his entire core. He, initially, hadn’t even noticed him approaching but now his body physically yearned for him, a magnetic force drawing Sunghoon to the other. For another touch. But those eyes, big and warm, stopped him in his tracks. The wall was just too much.

“Thank you.” Sunghoon’s voice is just as quiet— like the exchange is intimate, like no one else would ever hear it. And, logically, they never would from the booming of the bass all around them. After a beat, he brings the glass to his lips and gulps it down, the hydration helping to keep him upright in his seat.

“I’m Heeseung, by the way.” The other says and his voice is husky, ticklish. Sunghoon decides he loves to listen to it. “Lee Heeseung.”

“Park Sunghoon.” He offers in return, lips pulled into a small smile.

“Sunghoon.” And he loves the way Heeseung’s mouth forms the word. Loves how he makes it seem so beautiful, so precious. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m new in town.” Sunghoon holds the cup between his hands, fingers drumming on the exterior. “I haven’t even been here a full day yet.”

“And you’re already making your Itaewon debut?” Heeseung cocks a brow and Sunghoon feels the shame start to prickle at his skin.

“I’m a repressed baby gay.” He looks down, avoiding eye contact, and shrugs his shoulders, repeating the rhetoric and jargon Sunoo had used to describe him in hopes Heeseung would understand. Instead, he laughs. Laughs so joyfully it has Sunghoon tittering along nervously.

“That’s adorable.” He says through vibrations of his shoulders, chuckles interrupting his words. “But, you have to be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” Sunghoon tilts his head like a dog.

“Well…” Heeseung leans across the table, the proximity once again oh-so-intimidating. “People around here will take advantage of that.” His voice is but a whisper. “So, don’t tell anyone that so easily. They’ll eat you alive.”

“Oh.” And Sunghoon’s face is burning, red hot and rivaling a tomato at this rate. He’s grateful for the genuine advice, but a complicated slurry of emotions stirs in his gut. Half of him is petrified for his own safety and relieved, out of everyone, he blurted out his weaknesses to Heeseung. Even though they quite literally have known each other for minutes, he feels safe. Secure. But maybe that’s part of Sunghoon’s naivety to this world. The other half of him is intrigued. What would Heeseung look like in that scenario? Would it be like those videos he wish he never saw— eyes half lidded, throwing him around like a doll? Would Heeseung devour him? The flush reaches the tips of his ears and he crosses his legs to will himself, with every fiber of his being, to not allow the blood to rush south. “Well… thank you.” He blurts out, eternally thankful for the limited lighting.

“Pleasures all mine.” And Sunghoon can’t help but feel that he’s genuine. “Feeling better?”

“A bit.” Sunghoon muses, embarrassment settled hard on his bones. “I’m not much of a drinker and I don’t know that I want to be.”

“Totally fair.” Heeseung validates him and it feels nice. Nice to not have to mask to a new identity or force himself to behave as others do for social acceptance. “It’s not for everyone.” He hums, hand outstretching towards Sunghoon. “Would you… like to dance some more?” The implication lights him on fire.

“Okay.” He agrees smoothly, easily, but when he gets to his feet, the nausea hits him like a truck. He buckles over and spews onto the floor, remnants of the takeout he knew was a mistake decorating the tips of his shoes. He hears shouts from around him, but everything is drowned out by the throbbing in his ears.

He’s gone as easily as he came, a mere heap on the ground in the mess he made.

——

Getting a job had been surprisingly simple.

Sunghoon had the unique timing of arriving directly in the middle of a semester, the heat of midterms raging on, so local students of all levels had no time to take up part-time work. A lot of positions were up for grabs— cafés, supermarkets, restaurants, you name it. But, for whatever reason, the convenience store on the corner near Sunoo’s apartment just sounded the easiest. The most appealing. No long commutes, no huge commitments and everything was casual. He didn’t need to worry about using pretty language to earn tips or the brawn to carry heavy trays.

He just had to exist.

It reminded him of his old gallery position in that way. He had to do a lot of people watching. People of all shapes, of all backgrounds, of all emotions— all funneling into his workplace for a nightly pick-me-up. And instead of being surrounded by art, he was stuck smack dab in the center of colorful plastic packaging and mascots galore. It was an art in its own right, everything bartering for the attention of hungry consumers to buy their products. He went from the art of old, the art of expression, the art of a message to the art of a capitalistic society eager to fill their pockets.

He could wax poetry for hours about the difference between the city and the countryside in the ideals of these sort of things, but even he had to admit he had seen a lot of these colorful products at the corner store back home. There were many familiar faces amongst an even more unfamiliar crowd, so maybe things weren’t all that different to begin with. Maybe there was some deeply rooted and nuanced message here that we are all the same, all humans, all looking for meaning in our everyday lives. Whether that’s through oil paintings or pink packaging, who was Sunghoon to judge?

The only downside thus far had been the hours. More often than not, Sunghoon was working night shifts rather than afternoon or morning shifts. And he can count the times on two hands already, a week in, that coworkers had asked to swap with him so he would end up with the night shift yet again. “I need the evening to study for my exams” was always the excuse and how could he say no? It’s not like he had the same problem. It wasn’t like he needed to worry about the burden of performing well and the weight of education resting on his shoulders. Despite the magnitude of it all, he couldn’t help but be envious. Maybe not of the mountain of books that all culminated into one hour-long test, but of the sense of community. Of having a place to belong. Of having like-minded people all ready to complain about the same teacher, the same lesson and what not. There was something in him that just wanted to forget about reality with the guise of getting an education. One he, most certainly now, couldn’t even afford.

He didn’t have the luxury of doing so.

And to tear him down further, rub dirt in the wound that was already festering, many, many families visited on the daily. Ones with kids of different ages, ones with dynamics good and bad. Some fathers would scold their rambunctious sons who ran through the aisles, some mothers would lament to their crying kids with sweet words when they couldn’t get the snack they wanted. It made his heart bloom and ache in all the wrong ways. He wished he could return to that. Childhood naivety. Raised with a gentle hand and wonder for a world that was so confusing. He wished he hadn’t gained that pain, that fear and as he stared into those big eyes, handing over their final purchases, he could feel the dull ache in his eyes. The strain of tears lingering there.

To make matters worse, the pair of eyes he met next were ones he hadn’t wanted to see again. Not after that fateful night that swore him off drinking and put him on an extended clubbing hiatus (at the very least).

Heeseung.

Lee Heeseung.

The one whose shoes he ruined after upchucking a bile most foul onto them.

Those owlish eyes that lit up with recognition, a fond one if he wasn’t delusional, and Sunghoon felt small. Oh-so small in comparison to the force that was the man in front of him. A true adonis of antiquated proportions. A man who walked off the page of classical literature.  One they would write sonnets about after seeing him pass by. But, that was a romanticization of, by all accounts, a relatively average evening attire for what he assumes is a college student. His perfectly messy hair curled in heaps atop his head and peeking out through his cap, oversized t-shirt with a faded graphic, baggy pants and pristine shoes. It made Sunghoon feel awfully out of place in his own goofy-looking work vest and beat-up sneakers.

“Hey, newbie.” He grinned that cattish upturn of his, plopping his snacks onto the counter. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Mm.” Sunghoon mindlessly scanned the ramen, the sausage, the kimchi and the drink, tossing them into a bag, desperately trying to still the racing of his heart with apathy. “I only started recently.”

“Guess we’ll be seeing each other a lot then.” And he’s leaning across the counter a bit, not enough to be alarming but enough to sufficiently be in Sunghoon’s space.

“We will?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet, just for them to hear, bleeding at the edges with something fearful.

“Count me as your regular.” Heeseung’s teeth were on full display, sliding the 1000 won banknote across the counter.

Sunghoon’s cheeks were burning as he counted his change, depositing it into Heeseung’s awaiting palm. And as he walked away, that same guilt was bubbling up in his throat, clawing at his mouth to be released, prying his jaw open like a floor-jack. The bell at the door chimed and before he knew it, he was calling out.

“But, your shoes!”

Heeseung turns at the last second, hand still holding open the door, and he laughs. Laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s heard in his life, shoulders vibrating with mirth. It makes Sunghoon flush so red, so warm, he’s convinced he has an embarrassment-induced fever.

“Washed right off.”

——

Weeks passed on like this, a ghost of a new routine settling on Sunghoon’s bones. It was comforting, in a way, to finally have that. Have something daily— not necessarily to look forward to, but to count on to be there. To have structure. To reach a point where it’s safe to wallow in the mundane knowing it will never change. Never alter. Just him, mountains of obnoxious neon snacks, hoards of guests and the reassurance of peace, quiet and couch cushions when he got home.

Oh… and Heeseung.

Much to his promise, or perhaps it was a threat (all things considered), Heeseung showed up conveniently during the hours of just about every single one of Sunghoon’s shifts. At first, it was very difficult. Even though the air was generally clear and he knows Heeseung isn’t upset with him, Sunghoon’s gut still swarms with embarrassment every time he sees him. Mixed with the stomach full of butterflies, there are moths of self doubt chewing away little holes in the fabric of his own ego.

In a way, it was somehow like exposure therapy (as Sunoo had so rudely pointed out). Sunghoon had no chance to run, to escape or to hide from his own identity. It stared back at him, plain and clear, from the reflection in Heeseung’s eyes. A finger jabbed to his temple constantly haunting him, tormenting him, with visions of the older man. Apparitions of longing even when he wasn’t next to him. He didn’t have to leave much to the imagination after all. He’s seen him in nearly every state of being— bedhead and sweatpants, blazer and rings, jersey and shorts, glasses and curls.

And so he, too, had now become a part of Sunghoon’s everyday life.

Today was no different. The clock was ticking down the last five minutes of Sunghoon’s shift, a crisp 2 AM, and here Heeseung was, a fistful of coffee (instant, Sunghoon suspects) in a travel mug. He thrusts it over with little to no pomp and circumstance, casual as can be, and Sunghoon stares back blankly.

“Hello to you too?” The younger remarks, sheepish, as the mug sloshes before him. He’s never been one for coffee, especially not black. It’s too bitter on his tongue and lingers in his mouth even after brushing his teeth.

“Thought I’d bring you a pick-me-up.” Heeseung’s lips quirk into a smile.

“So you brought coffee?” Sunghoon questions, brows skewed in confusion.

“No, I brought me.” And that smile only grows, shit-eating as ever.

“Ha-ha.” Sunghoon mocks, but a twinge of red creeps up the column of his neck.

“In all seriousness…” Heeseung brings the cup to his mouth, taking a swig. “I wanted to invite you over.”

“Now?”

“If that’s alright with you.” 

“But… why?” Sunghoon blinks at him, perplexed. “It’s really late…”

“I just thought it might be nice.” Heeseung cupped at his nape, appearing nervous before Sunghoon for the first time. “To… to, you know, spend time together.”

“Doing what?” He tilts his head, genuinely curious in all the ways that count. He knows though, in the back of his mind, that if Sunoo were here, he would beat him over the head with a rock for how dense he is. But, how could you blame him? He’s never been pursued, never been doted on, never been flirted with and certainly never invited over this late at night.

“Maybe we could watch a movie?” Heeseung nibbles at his lower lip.

Before he has an opportunity to think on it and offer a half-assed excuse, his manager pops in from the backroom, sliding his vest over his shoulders. “Sunghoon!” He calls out, far too loudly considering the distance. “Time’s up. Get out of here while you can or else I’ll find you something to do.”

“Yes sir.” Sunghoon gives a curt bow of his head, scurrying off towards the door. Heeseung is still standing there, expectant, and he feels his resolve crumble. It’s just one night, right? Surely it couldn’t be that bad. Just a movie.. yeah! Just a movie. In a hot guys apartment. Alone.

“Let’s go, hyung.”

And Sunghoon has never seen the smile reach his eyes like it did in that moment.

——

“Make yourself at home.” Heeseung smiled, something soft, as he kicked off his shoes, replacing it with a strewn pair of house slippers. Sunghoon followed in his very footsteps, on edge about doing the wrong thing. Saying the wrong thing. “You can go get comfortable in my room while I prepare some snacks?”

Room. His room. Heeseung’s room.

“Okay.” Sunghoon muses, his own smile forced. He desperately doesn’t want to allow his feelings to show on his face, but it’s hard. Way too hard. And he can tell the older noticed by the way his eyes linger, even as he walks away.

The hallway is thin, not much to it, and there are only a few rooms to choose from. By process of elimination he finds himself standing in front of the last door. It’s worn, paint peeling and hinges squeaky, broken-in by far more than just Heeseung’s influence. It made the apartment seem that much more homey, lived in. It wasn’t sterile like he had pictured in his head, appearing that much more well-loved. His own room was the same way. It had so much personality, so much love in the nooks and crannies. From figures to art prints to a stack of keyboards on the floor and a plush on his bed, Heeseung really had a safe space in his own room. It was easy to tell. And if he looked harder, looked longer, he could see the divot in the mattress where he clearly slept the most. Can see the path beaten into the floorboards that he mostly travels.

His gaze falls upon the bedside table, previously inconspicuous apart from a table lamp and a book. But, atop the cover lay a surprise he never expected to see. One he didn’t want to consider, absolutely not. He may be naive, he may be lacking in experience, but he wasn’t dumb. No. He was no fool. He knew what that wrapper was, knew the way the light reflected off the foiled exterior, was all too familiar with the texture of it in his hands. It made him gulp, hard. Just what were Heeseung’s true intentions here? Had he been fooled by the nice-guy-attitude? The sweet gestures? Had it all, from the beginning, been an elaborate ruse to get Sunghoon in his bed and move on? He had heard horror stories from all points on the spectrum from Sunoo and Beomgyu, spent many-a-nights looking at photos of scumbags labeled red flags to avoid— had Sunghoon found one of his own?

Sunghoon was spiraling, he could feel it, both in the way his body was trembling like a leaf and his mind was plunging into the icy depths of terror. Out of sheer desperation, he threw Heeseung’s closet door open and crumbled into the corner, knees pulled tight to his chest as a last ditch effort in grounding himself. He rocked on his bottom, toes pushing and pulling his weight like the tide. What an appropriate place to break down, come apart at the seams— the place he’s existed for all his life. A closet. A place to hide from the world, safe and assured, but also from himself. The dark surrounded him like a warm hug, but if he hid there too long, relished amongst the shadows, it started to wind its slippery hands around his neck. If he wasn’t careful, the pressure started to become too much, leaving him gasping for the air he so desperately needed.

So, he let himself sob. Sob for the life he couldn’t reclaim, couldn’t restart. Sob for the life he forced back behind closed doors. Sob for the life he had no courage to live.

All because a boy dared to long for him.

“Sunghoon?” In the whirlwind of his emotions, he had forgotten he was here. Forgotten he was in Heeseung’s space, in Heeseung’s closet for crying out loud. “Are you okay?” His voice was gentle, warm, and prickled his heart something sickeningly sweet. How was he supposed to hate him?

“I’m…” And not much more would come out. Heeseung was on his hands and knees before him, approaching in a crawl at his own eye level. Through the crack of the door, a sliver of light lit up his face. He looked ethereal in the lowlight, otherworldly, eyes swimming with a mixture of worry and sadness that sat in Sunghoon’s gut like a stone. He sank to his haunches and inched just a little bit of his fingers through the gap. He didn’t try to open it, didn’t try to force himself in, he just waited. Let his hand linger there for when he was ready and waited.

“I thought you were going to hurt me.” Sunghoon admitted in a hush of a whisper, teeth digging permanent indents into the swell of his lower lip.

“Was it something I did?” Heeseung coaxed with a quiet tone, hand still rooted in its position.

“The…” Sunghoon hums, digging his face into his knees to avoid eye contact. “The condom.”

If he had looked up, had given himself the courage to peer into Heeseung’s gaze, he’d see the embarrassment that instantly reddens his entire demeanor. “I swear that is nothing.” Heeseung insists gently. “They were handing them out on campus and I took it without thinking too much.”

Maybe Sunghoon really is dumb or maybe he really is a fool, because with just a simple sentence, he believed him. He trusted him. Whether that was a testament to Sunghoon or to Heeseung, he would never know, but his fingers inched towards the older. “Really?”

“Really.” Heeseung confirms with a sort of finality that drew Sunghoon in like a magnet. Though they were separated by a veil of uncertainty, a magical thing that permeated the air, Sunghoon found his fingers walking to that threshold. Sucked in by forces he couldn’t comprehend and he, honestly, didn’t want to. Didn’t want to understand or put words to this. He just wanted to feel. And when his index brushed against Heeseung’s ring finger, sparks shot up his spine. The line they danced was starting to blur. “You’re safe with me.”

Sunghoon’s whole body burned— from the top of his head to the tips of his feet. Every hair in every pore stood on end, stiff and ticklish, as chills coursed through his body. With this surge of sensations, he reached for more of Heeseung’s hand, fingers curling through fingers. “Thank you.” It’s a wounded gratefulness, punched from his lungs.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Heeseung mumbles, face leaning into the gap. “It’s what you deserve.”

“Do I?” Sunghoon finds himself drawn to Heeseung’s heat, his own body inches from the older.

“Always.” And a nose bumps his, apprehensive and shaking his core with nerves. “You should never doubt that.”

“Mm.” It’s a grunt, if you can even call it that, and he feels his breath fan over his lips.

“Can I give it to you?” Heeseung gulps audibly, swallowing around an invisible lump of anxiety.

“Yes.” Sunghoon whispers, unable to have even a beat of silence afterwards before being interrupted by the sound of lips. Pillowy, warm, melting into the very center of his being. They move against his in a practiced ease, or maybe their connection is natural. Meant to be. Lips forming two pieces of a puzzle when slotted together.

Sunghoon’s arms find themselves around Heeseung’s neck, form scooting more and more out of the closet. Into the light. Into Heeseung’s awaiting embrace. The older’s fingers scrape against his scalp, comforting in a strange way, and he connects and reconnects their lips in little flurries. Enough to let them breathe, but slow enough to allow them to mold together. Into one. The pace is slow, lazy, peeling at Sunghoon’s desire like a second skin.

Sunghoon doesn’t know how he’s gone this far without kissing. How he has been on this earth his whole life without lips on his. Without Heeseung’s lips. It feels like a drug, a vice, the way he continues to dive back into his waters. Wade in his pool like he was meant to be there. His inexperience shows, this he knows, and his ears burn from his own excitement and how it must look. How he must seem to the older.

“Cute.” Heeseung remarks when they separate, being pulled back in instantly by Sunghoon’s fist in his hair. It makes him laugh, something flirtatious and coy, right into the seam of the younger’s mouth. They continue like this, entangled on Heeseung’s floor and exchanging kiss after kiss. He’s so distracted, so wholly consumed by the man before him, that he doesn’t notice the buzzing in his pocket.

From: Mother
Happy birthday. I hope you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.