Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1117495.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Big_Bang_(Band), K-pop, GTOP_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Choi_Seunghyun_|_T.O.P./Kwon_Jiyong_|_G-Dragon
  Character:
      Kwon_Jiyong_|_G-Dragon, Choi_Seunghyun_|_T.O.P., Original_Characters,
      Kwon_Dami
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Bullying, Homophobia, Recreational_Drug
      Use, Fluff, Teen_Romance, Eventual_Smut, Light_Angst, Drama
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-03 Updated: 2015-08-12 Chapters: 12/? Words: 74815
****** So Comes Love ******
by i_feel_electric
Summary
     Jiyong is 17 and at war with himself and the world. He can count the
     things that matter to him on one hand: his sister Dami and his job at
     the 24hr diner down the street from their apartment. Everything else
     is a waste of time; a waste of energy, a waste of breath. But then
     this kid, this strange, annoyingly persistent boy, has to come along
     and screw it all up...leaving Jiyong with a choice he never really
     wanted to make.
Notes
     I've labeled this with "graphic depictions of violence" just to be on
     the safe side. There are lots of fistfights.
***** Chapter 1 *****
“Fucking pussy, you throw punches like a girl,” Jiyong spat, massaging his jaw.
“Wanna see how big my dick is, fag?” The dark-haired boy grabbed at the baggy
crotch of his faded blue jeans. “You'd love that, wouldn't you.”
Victor Perez, one of the wannabe thugs from his seventh period English class,
was pissing him off again. The kid thought he was so hard, with his crew of
idiotic misfits who all looked like they'd been cloned. Bandanas and snap-
backs, gold chains, fake diamond encrusted earrings and chunky, silver watches.
They were all utterly ridiculous. And Victor, who talked so big and yet was so
so small, was an irritating thorn in his side. Until now, they'd never come to
blows. Usually they just hurled insults with the intent to rile. But it had
only been a matter of time. Jiyong wasn't the type to sit around twiddling his
fucking thumbs while some annoying piece of shit tried to tear him down. His
record of suspensions was proof of that.
He sneered. “I bet your dick is smaller than my pinkie.”
“Why don't you come over here and find out, asshole.”
Jiyong lunged forward, pinning Victor's meaty arm to his back until he released
a miserable whimper. They were in the parking lot behind the school, not far
from the football field, which meant they'd probably get caught if they drew
this out. The lunch bell hadn't rung yet, at least. Twisting the boy's arm a
bit tighter, Jiyong brought his mouth to his ear.
“You do not want to fuck with me, Perez,” he growled as he squeezed the thick
wrist in his grip. “I will snap your arm like a fucking twig.”
“Like hell you will,” Victor ground out between clenched teeth.
And then the boy lifted his leg and kicked backwards, directly into Jiyong's
kneecap. He shouted, letting go of Victor's arm and stumbling away, but Victor
was on him again in seconds. The pain flared, angry and hot under his skin.
Jiyong didn't have the chance to give it any consideration though, because the
boy's heavy fist was flying into his stomach. Grunting, he doubled over and
gasped for air. Another punch connected with the side of his face and his left
eye exploded. Bright, sparking fireworks of agony. His head vibrated as blood
surged loudly in his ears.
“Not so tough now, are you Kwon?” Victor sniffed and cracked his knuckles,
preparing for another hit.
Jiyong never let him have it. He yelled, barreling towards the boy even though
it hurt like a motherfucker, and landed a solid punch to his jaw. Victor went
down with a soft moan, falling to the pavement like a pile of
bricks. Fucker. He coughed, touching his cheekbone delicately, and the pain
blossomed and throbbed behind his eyeball. Already Jiyong could feel it
swelling.
Touching it again, he hissed. “Goddamnit.”
The bell signaling the end of fifth period rang loud and shrill in the bowels
of the building as he hobbled towards one of the side entrances, leaving Victor
to moan like a baby on the ground. Someone would come for him eventually when
he didn't show up in class and Jiyong definitely wasn't about to stick around
to find out who. So he shuffled along the perimeter of the school, limping up
concrete steps and crumpling into an awkward sitting position against the wall.
His knee twinged and he grimaced. It didn't seem too busted, luckily; he knew
what that felt like. An agitated sigh pushed its way past his lips and he dug
into the front pocket of his jeans for his cigarettes, lighting one and
inhaling deeply. The smoke curled over his tongue and it tasted like heaven.
Jiyong closed his eyes, one hand scrubbing over the bristled texture of his
shaved head, and he forgot about the pain for a little bit.
Serenity was depressingly short-lived however, because two minutes later the
door slammed open and Jiyong jerked up from his slouch, knocking his elbow into
the gray stone. He bit his lip to hold back a cry, wincing. Jesus fuck, ow. And
when he looked up there was another student on the stairs. A boy he'd seen
around but couldn't place.
“You know this school has a no smoking policy, right?” The other boy asked,
voice surprisingly deep and tinged with boredom. He pulled himself onto the
ledge of the stone railing, legs swinging.
Jiyong squinted up at him and took a drag from the cigarette clutched in his
fingers. Was he a senior? He couldn't remember. The kid was tall and sort of
gangly; limbs long, shoulders broad. The short sweep of his bangs poked out
from underneath the beanie on his head. His thin, black hoodie and nondescript
gray jeans gave nothing away. He wasn't a jock, he wasn't a nerd; hippie, band
geek, art kid, burn out, metalhead, hipster. Whatever the stereotypes were this
boy wasn't any of them. And it bothered Jiyong that he couldn't categorize him
on sight.
“Do I look like I give a shit about school policy?” He muttered, ashing on the
concrete.
“No, you look like you just had your ass handed to you, though.”
Snorting, he let his arm dangle over the knee that wasn't fucked up, inhaling
more sweet, curling smoke. Jiyong studied the boy, trying to read where he fit
in the black circles of his almond-shaped eyes.
“It's nothing.”
The boy nodded and rummaged around in the pouch of his sweatshirt. “Right.”
When he pulled out a crumpled pack of Marlboro reds, Jiyong started laughing,
head tipped back against the wall.
“What?” The kid smirked and tucked a cigarette between his teeth.
“School policy.”
“I was just making conversation.” He shrugged, flicking his lighter. “My first
thought was to ask if you were okay, but I didn't want to piss you off.”
Jiyong's brows drew together, mouth slanted in a half-smile. “Why would that
piss me off?”
He watched a pink tongue dart out to lick equally pink lips as the boy stared
at his hands. Was he nervous? Jiyong wasn't sure. Not many people had the balls
to approach him, let alone speak more than a few anxious words.
“You've got a bit of a reputation.”
“Ah.” He nodded once, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the grass. “Yeah.”
There were several beats of silence and Jiyong closed his eyes again, relishing
the cool Autumn breeze on his bared arms and the slight warmth of afternoon
sun. He listened to the warbling chirp of a bird in an oak tree next to the
building; the subtle, whooshing exhale of the smoking boy next to him. His
skull was still throbbing. Fuck, he needed painkillers.
“Aren't you gonna go to the nurse?”
“Nurses ask questions,” he murmured, bending his knee with a gentle hiss.
“I'm asking questions.”
Jiyong's mouth curved again and he glanced over to find the boy watching him,
intense and curious. Let him be curious.
“You're not gonna get me suspended.”
The other boy huffed softly, both of his thick eyebrows raised. “You have a
point.”
With careful movements, he lifted himself up from the landing and stood,
testing out his leg by transferring his weight from one foot to the other. Then
Jiyong stretched, popping stiff joints. He'd survive. His shift at the diner
would probably be hell later, but he couldn't afford to miss work when rent was
due in less than two weeks.
“I'm Seunghyun, by the way.” The boy offered him an elegant hand and Jiyong
ignored it.
His lips twitched. “Good for you.”
Gripping the metal handle of the door, he swung it open and stepped inside
without waiting for what would most likely be Seunghyun's wounded response.
Friends were a luxury Jiyong had lost a long time ago. And now that he was the
equivalent of dog shit on the shoe of social hierarchy, no one would touch him.
Which suited him just fine because he didn't have the patience for juvenile,
teenage power-plays anyway. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed, the
sound of his boots echoing in the empty hallways as he passed rows of lockers
and bustling classrooms.
Though if there was one person in this over-sized prison cell that he would
call a friend, it was Colin. Colin worked in the school's cafeteria; twenty-
eight, Irish, failed musician, obsessed with coffee. They'd met after the third
fight Jiyong had ever gotten into when he was a freshman. Colin had found him,
bloody and bruised in the men's bathroom, and dragged him directly into the
kitchen to slap a bag of frozen peas over his black eye. As far as Jiyong was
concerned, Colin was his nurse now. Because the older man never ratted on him
and he never asked questions. Not meaningful ones, anyway, which is what
mattered. Really all they did was talk about music and Jiyong liked him because
he was funny and smart and kind of a dick to everyone else but him. A trait he
was very happy they shared.
Rounding a corner, he ducked into the cafeteria, successful in his avoidance of
suspicious gazes from any teachers or staff prowling the halls. Jiyong casually
slipped in through the door of the kitchen and wandered towards the back. None
of the other workers seemed to be around now that lunch was over. It reeked of
old, burnt hamburger and grease and he wrinkled his nose. He should have been
used to the revolting stench by now, though for some reason it still made him
queasy.
“Col?” He called over the sizzle of deep-fryers.
Colin's accented reply drifted from the storage closet. “In here.”
A head of cropped, light brown hair poked out to greet him as he limped closer.
“Ooh, nice shiner, Jiyong.”
The man was doing inventory, wearing his usual uniform of torn jeans and a
white t-shirt underneath his stained and yellowing apron. Colin was best
described as “unconventionally handsome”, with thin eyebrows and a thin nose;
wide-set eyes, a square chin, full lips, and pale skin covered in countless
freckles. Those lips were currently parted in an affectionate grin that always
made Jiyong feel a little warm. He forced himself not to roll his eyes only
because it would inspire more sharp pain to burst from his eye socket.
“You've seen me in worse shape than this.” He smiled, folding his arms over his
chest.
“True enough. I suppose you'll be wanting another pack of peas, then? Or maybe
corn this time to spice things up a bit.” Colin waggled his eyebrows and Jiyong
gave a short laugh.
“I'll take one of each, actually.”
There was a momentary glimmer of concern in Colin's dark, green gaze, but it
faded and he tucked his clipboard underneath his arm as he went to the freezer.
Jiyong restrained a sigh. The concern wasn't new, the older man was always
worried about him. Though he never pushed. And Jiyong appreciated that. He
didn't interact with very many people who didn't make him feel like he was
being interrogated constantly.
“Who was the lucky idiot?”
“Victor Perez,” Jiyong muttered, hoisting himself onto one of the stainless
steel tables.
Colin returned, two bags of frozen vegetables in hand, and cocked his hip
against the hard, metal surface next to him. The man frowned.
“You mean the little shit that always tries to steal extra fries on Thursdays?”
He laughed as he brought one of the cold packs to his left eye, holding the
other over his aching knee. Victor wasn't the sole french fry bandit in this
school, however he was the only dumbass who got caught. Every single time.
“Yes, sir.”
Colin chuckled. “Well if you've got a black eye and a busted knee I'd hate to
see what condition he's in.”
Jiyong lifted one of his shoulders in an almost shrug and stared vacantly at
the floor. “I dropped him, eventually.”
The older man feigned an expression of serious disappointment, clucking his
tongue against the roof of his mouth.
“You're off your game, Ji.”
“Screw you,” he grumbled, smiling despite himself, and kicked at Colin's leg.
“Just give me the aspirin and go back to counting your potato chips, you
fucking leprechaun.”
He received a hard thwack to the back of his head and his jaw fell open as he
squeezed his eyes shut. Holy shit that hurt. Jiyong groaned. His brain throbbed
like it had splattered all over the inside of his skull.
“Ow! Prick. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Christ, sorry,” Colin apologized amidst rolling, high-pitched giggles. “I
forgot.”
He glared, pressing the bag of corn more firmly to the curve of his cheek. “No
you didn't.”
“Guilty as charged.” The man snickered, collecting himself with a deep breath
and left Jiyong to go fetch the bottle of aspirin he kept around just for him.
Sixth period merged into seventh, Physics and English respectively, and he sat
there on the table until the frozen packs of peas and corn thawed. Colin let
him be, and Jiyong let him work. Then he went home before the first bell of
eighth period reverberated in the linoleum tiled halls. He wasn't really in the
mood for education today. But when was he ever?
*
The apartment felt still and silent as Jiyong turned the lock behind him and
crouched down to unlace his boots. Not that this was a surprise. It was early
and Dami, his older sister, was working at the bookstore in town. They probably
wouldn't see each other today. They didn't see each other most days, save for
the few minutes he stole with her at the kitchen table before she left with the
rising of the sun. Sometimes he would just be coming home from the diner,
simultaneously exhausted and buzzing from all the coffee he drank during the
weekend graveyard shift. And Dami would smile, soft and a little sad, as she
scratched his head and kissed him on the cheek and made her way out the door.
After the bookstore, she rode the bus directly to her second job four days a
week; an ancient dive bar near the freeway. Even with both of them working so
much, they barely avoided eviction at the end of every month because this town
was too “nice” to be cheap. Would it ever get better? He fucking hoped so.
Jiyong's sigh echoed in the hall as he stood and drifted into the living room.
He crashed into the lumpy, fraying recliner in the corner and wondered if his
boss would bitch at him for getting another black eye. Their clientele weren't
exactly the classiest bunch, but apparently his busted face was bad for
business. Though he was pretty sure no one came there for the service. With a
preemptive grimace, he prodded his cheek, and was relieved that it only gave
off a dull throb. He should probably go check it out in the bathroom mirror. He
was kind of too lazy.
Jiyong let his eyes roam over the cream-colored walls, over the few framed
photographs and scattered knickknacks that Dami was so fond of collecting.
Their apartment was a little run-down, a little shitty and too small for two
people. But it had been home for the last six years and he refused to let that
be taken away from them. Because it was everything he cared about. Sagging
against the back of the recliner, Jiyong fished his cigarettes out and snatched
the ashtray from the side table. He pulled his knees up, toes hanging off the
edge of the seat. The first drag swirled in his lungs and he thought about
never going back to school ever again. Thought about it always. Dami wouldn't
let him, though. She wanted to see him walk across that goddamned auditorium
stage in a cap and gown; would drag him across the stage herself if she had to.
Jiyong's eyes slid shut. She was wasting her energy.
The sun began to sink behind the tops of the buildings and he had smoked almost
all of his cigarettes. He'd have to get another pack on his way to work. Jiyong
crawled out of the recliner, leaving the now brimming ashtray on the coffee
table as he went into the bathroom. He flicked the light on and stepped in
front of the mirror with a frown. His left eyelid was slightly puffy, the skin
around it soft purple and a sickly yellow. Victor's punch had popped a blood
vessel in his eye, making it look a lot more ghastly than it really was. His
boss definitely wouldn't let this go without comment. He just hoped he didn't
get fired. Jiyong scoffed, yeah right. Like they weren't already desperate for
help.
Stripping down, he showered, then got dressed in his bedroom. He pulled on a
red long-sleeved shirt, his favorite pair of black jeans, and slipped his boots
back on once he stood by the front door. Wallet, keys, dignity. Jiyong turned
the hallway light off and left.
*
Frankie's Diner was a twenty minute walk from their apartment complex on the
East side of town. The interior, while having seen better days, was glossy in
comparison to the state of the building itself; shiny teal vinyl and dark wood,
art deco accents and retro stars under clear laminate at every table. A pocket
of history left untouched by commercialism. There was even one of those kitschy
cat clocks on the wall, the one with the roaming eyes and swaying tail.
Occasionally, when business was slow, Jiyong would find himself staring at it,
like he was possessed.
Pushing through both sets of glass doors, he spotted Anna hunched over the
lunch counter instantly. She was hard to miss, what with her forever changing
hair color and penchant for wearing neon. This week her angular bob was dark
purple and Jiyong smirked to himself because now they would match. The young
girl was reading a magazine, but when she heard the door chime, her head shot
up; bright smile melting into an expression of horror.
“Oh my god,” Anna breathed.
Jiyong walked around the counter to stand beside her, pulling the magazine
closer and pretending to be interested in the slick fashion ads as he flipped
the pages without really looking.
“Why do you always act so surprised?” He asked, staring down at an article
screaming about the newest trends in nail art.
“Because maybe I'm hoping one day you won't walk in here looking like you got
hit by a bus,” she said, sounding upset that he was even asking. “Jesus, that
looks painful.”
It was weird for him to have people in his life that cared. Aside from Colin
and his sister, at least. He was too used to being invisible. Anna's friendship
had been gradual and unexpected. He didn't make it a habit to get close to
anyone, but her personality was so disarming; her kindness overwhelming and her
affection abundant. He hadn't really had much of a choice.
She took him gently by the chin, forcing him to look at her. Jiyong sighed and
moved away from the scrutiny of her warm, brown eyes, grabbing his black waist
apron from the box under the register and tying it over his hips.
“It's not.”
Anna let out an incredulous snort, leaning back on the counter as she studied
her fingernails. One of her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched as she glanced up
at him.
“Frankie's gonna tear you a new one.”
“Let him.” Jiyong tucked his server pad into one of the pockets and shrugged.
“It's not like he's gonna send me home, I'm the only one scheduled tonight.”
“Ji...” She wore an expression that verged on pitying.
That's what he hated most. The pity. He knew Anna meant well, but whenever he
was on the receiving end of pity it resulted in that same rolling nausea he
felt when he stepped into the school cafeteria's kitchen. He tossed her a
warning glare.
“Anna, drop it. I'm fine.”
Raising her hands up in defeat, she scowled and returned to her fashion
magazine, muttering an annoyed, “Okay, okay. Consider it dropped.”
Frankie did indeed tear him a new one, yelling at Jiyong in the back office
until his grizzled face flushed red. It was the same goddamned song and dance.
The old man wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. Like the fact
that Jiyong worked an illegal amount of hours for a minor and the last thing
they needed was for someone to start prying because his employees looked like
victims of domestic abuse. But Frankie also knew that he needed those hours. Or
else he'd be up shit creek without a fucking paddle since no one else in this
town would hire a seventeen year old fuck-up like him. And the complaints
weren't unfounded, he knew this too. However, he was a hard worker and Frankie
only got pissed because he didn't want his business to be shut down. He
couldn't make any promises though and Frankie never fired him, so he figured he
was safe.
Jiyong puffed his cheeks out, expelling a bored sigh as he eyed the cat clock's
taunting Cheshire grin. Anna had gone home hours ago and he still had another
two before he could do the same. It was almost midnight on a Tuesday which
meant there were hardly any customers, just a middle-aged man in the corner
booth reading the newspaper and two equally bored housewives chatting over a
shared banana split. He should have brought a book with him, but he'd
forgotten. And now he was doomed to wallow in his own thoughts for the rest of
the night.
Thoughts that strayed to the unclassifiable boy from the stairs that afternoon.
Jiyong rubbed at his head and pushed away from the counter to pour himself
another cup of coffee. What was his name? Seunghyun? He tried to remember where
he had seen him before, but nothing came to mind. Only that he was still kind
of amused by the entire exchange. Because the rarity of someone intentionally
talking to him without looking for a fight was something he'd grown accustomed
to.
Jiyong wondered how often the boy escaped out the side entrance to sneak a
cigarette.
He leaned forward, watching the galaxy of milk spiraling in his coffee cup, and
allowed himself a tiny, wry smile. It was nice to know that he wasn't alone in
behaving badly.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Every day following the fight with Victor was a waiting game. Jiyong knew, from
experience, that it took more than just one solid punch to keep them from
coming back. Either out of a desire to get even or just the need to see him
suffer. Sometimes it was both. Because he was nothing; a smudge on the shiny,
plastic bubble of suburban paradise. And he didn't deserve to win. Whatever
that meant, anyway. Jiyong wasn't in it for the illusion of victory, he was in
it for the sake of the fight itself. He let these morons crawl under his skin
until he saw red. Until all he wanted was the rush of bone colliding with bone
and the surge of blood in his veins. It didn't even matter if he was the one
that got his ass kicked, he didn't care about status or dominance or any of
that alpha male bullshit. He just liked feeling alive. And he liked feeling
angry.
 
So when Victor attempted to corner him in the parking lot at lunch about a week
later, flanked by four of his pathetic goons, Jiyong was more than ready.
 
“Too chicken-shit to fight your own battles, Perez?” he asked, back pressed
against the cold, gray stone of the building and cigarette held in lazy
fingers.
 
He was actually surprised it had taken him this long to retaliate. Especially
since the insults hadn't stopped during their English class. Well, whenever
Jiyong was in class, which wasn't often. He took a drag, wondering how much
he'd have to let Victor talk before he could knock him out.
 
“No, princess. They're just here to cheer me on while I fuck you up.”
 
Jiyong laughed, blowing smoke into Victor's round, unamused face. Oh, this
should be good.
 
“Y'know, I'm thrilled last time wasn't enough for you. Because now I get the
opportunity to embarrass you all over again, and with an audience. You're so
thoughtful.”
 
The boy scoffed, licking his lips and pretending that the condescending words
hadn't ruffled his delicate feathers. But Jiyong could see the irritation in
Victor's eyes; that burning need to snuff him out like a pesky insect. He let
his gaze flit over the other kids, all of their faces contorted into some
comical approximation of what they thought was “menacing”. He inhaled again.
 
Victor spat on the ground and cracked his knuckles. “I'm not the one who's
gonna be embarrassed, Kwon.”
 
“We'll see about that.” Jiyong grinned, well aware that his cockiness would
make the boy even more livid.
 
And fuck, did it ever. Before he could blink, one of Victor's meaty hands had
his throat in its grasp as he was shoved roughly into the wall. Gasping, Jiyong
pushed away from the building, but Victor swung his other fist into his stomach
to subdue him.
 
“Not a chance in hell, you fucking fairy,” the boy growled, enraged features
hovering inches from his.
 
The fist gripping his neck tightened and another punch landed in his gut.
Jiyong groaned. Or tried to, since Victor seemed intent on crushing his
windpipe. The pain itself was minimal but it was always a shock to his system
and he felt it ripple out to throb faintly in the tips of his fingers. Fingers
that were still holding onto a lit cigarette. Narrowing his eyes, Jiyong
brought the cherry up and jammed it against Victor's temple. The resulting howl
reverberated in his ears as the pressure on his throat vanished and he fell to
his knees, coughing and wheezing. None of the asshole's friends seemed to know
what the hell to do and all of Victor's screaming was drawing unwanted
attention. Jiyong was several seconds away from getting a Timberland boot to
the face when one of the gym teachers intervened, hurrying over from the
football field.
 
Mr. Hendricks was more of a babysitter than a gym teacher, seeing as he was
almost seventy and had bad joints. But this didn't stop the old fuck from
sentencing every single one of them to detention on Saturday. Jiyong scowled.
He'd have to find some way to get out of it. When Mr. Hendricks tried to help
him up, he waved the man away with a few reassuring words. Like hell he was
going to the nurse with these pricks. Victor stood there, cradling his head in
one hand and glowering at Jiyong, the promise of another round clear in his
darkened expression. Jiyong blew him a kiss from his position on the cement and
released a choked giggle at the sight of Mr. Hendricks struggling to keep a
seething Victor back. This was way too entertaining.
 
“See you later, sweetheart,” Jiyong called after them as they were escorted
towards the main entrance, receiving a middle finger in reply.
 
He smiled to himself. Victor wouldn't go to the principal until he saw Jiyong
bloodied by his own hand. In fact, when Victor went to the nurse, he would
probably lie through his teeth about how he got injured. Because if he told
anyone, Jiyong would be suspended again and then the fun would end. And we
wouldn't want that, now would we?
 
Shifting, he leaned against the wall, crossing his legs at the ankles. A raspy
sigh escaped from his lips and he slipped a hand underneath his shirt to rub at
his tender stomach. Jiyong supposed “fun” was a generous term. When he was
younger, others singled him out because he was small and therefore weak.
Inferior. An easy target. Now it was mainly because his preference for fucking
boys made him other. Something to be feared in the heteronormative universe
that was alive and well in the Mid-West. Alive and well everywhere. Jiyong
didn't fight back out of a deeply-rooted sense of injustice because he didn't
give a shit if anyone knew that he was gay or not. He fought back for himself.
And as far as his “identity” went, he wasn't anything. A brother, maybe, at
best. Which is why it got boring after a while, fighting guys who viewed him as
a threat to their sacred masculinity when really he just made them look too
closely at themselves. And they didn't like what stared back.
 
Jiyong sighed again and toyed with the idea of hanging out at the side entrance
to smoke one more cigarette before the bell rang. He hadn't seen that Seunghyun
kid around since last week, it was like he'd disappeared or melted into the
walls or some shit. Or maybe he was just oblivious. Jiyong often got lost
inside of his own head when he was here, as a coping mechanism mostly. There
was only so much rampant idiocy he could handle in a period of seven hours. If
Seunghyun was a senior, it made sense that they wouldn't run into each other.
But Jiyong had found himself on those stairs at the end of lunch every damn
day. And for what reason? Another chance to gleefully dismiss the guy's
attempts at being friendly? He rolled his eyes and got up to stand. He was done
thinking about this.
 
Walking into the building, Jiyong made for the science wing to loiter outside
of his Physics classroom. If he was going to stick around he might as well show
up for once. Plus Dami was still mad at him for the black eye and if she heard
that he'd been ditching class again, he'd have to endure her unending wrath for
weeks.
 
She was lucky he loved her so much.
 
*
 
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly; each minute spreading thin until it
seemed to last an entire age. Jiyong floated through his classes. He was there
but he also wasn't. There was nothing they could teach him that he didn't
already know or couldn't learn somewhere else and he hated it. High school was
a punishment. An organized version of hell. Why his sister was so insistent
that he roll over like a good little fucking puppy and play nice with the
system was something he would never understand.
 
Actually, no, that was a lie.
 
Jiyong did know. He simply didn't agree. Dami's misplaced dedication to
honoring their parents' memories wasn't a good enough excuse for him to suffer
through this shit. The last thing Jiyong needed was another reason to resent
them. Or the concept of familial obligation in general.
 
One hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette, he walked home
and let his thoughts unravel. School turned him into a brainless lump. Jiyong
would have to drink copious amounts of coffee at the diner later to reverse the
effects of the lobotomy. Right now, though...right now all he wanted was to
keep floating. To imagine that he was composed of air and smoke and know that
he had the freedom to fade into non-existence. Because sometimes that was so
much more appealing than feeling alive.
 
When Jiyong arrived at the apartment, it was predictably empty. The air was
growing colder as the warmth of the sun drifted behind trees and buildings and
eventually the edge of the earth. So he showered, changed, and threw on an old
hoodie. Standing in the kitchen, he stuffed a few mouthfuls of leftover pasta
into his mouth without heating it up; the only sound his fork scraping against
the bottom of the container. Jiyong couldn't remember the last meal he'd shared
with Dami let alone the last conversation they'd had that was more than a few
short minutes. He missed his sister. She was a pain in the ass, but she
was home. And he didn't get enough of that these days. With a jaw-cracking
yawn, he put the food away and the fork in the sink, then slid his boots on.
The book that he continued to forget was finally nestled in his pocket and he
left, heading for Frankie's and what would inevitably be yet another uneventful
night of work.
 
But life had other plans.
 
Before he could even get his apron tied around his waist, Anna was scratching
his head with her glittery, silver nails in both greeting and farewell. She was
skipping out on the end of her shift because she had a date with some guy that
he'd almost definitely hear too many details about tomorrow. Jiyong didn't mind
though, it was fucking dead anyway. Coffee pot clutched in his fingers, he made
the rounds for refills at a shocking total of three tables. Though the last
table actually was sort of shocking, because as soon as Jiyong stepped near
enough he realized he recognized the individual sitting there and he came very
close to letting the pot in his hand crash to the floor.
 
It was Seunghyun, in what he now assumed was the boy's typical uniform of
beanie and black sweatshirt and fitted jeans. A notebook lay open on the table,
full of messy, cramped handwriting and weird doodles. Jiyong hovered just
behind his shoulder and discovered he was hunched over a book, totally absorbed
in whatever it was he was reading. He cleared his throat, moving to lean
against the backrest of the next booth.
 
“So, what, are you stalking me now?”
 
Seunghyun's head shot up and he appeared a little bewildered at first, like it
surprised him that he was in a diner and not in the world of inked words on the
pages in his hands. Jiyong fought the twitch in his lips because he knew
exactly how that felt. When the boy registered who was speaking to him, his
dark eyes went wide as the saucer underneath his nearly empty coffee cup.
 
“Uh...h-hardly,” Seunghyun stuttered a little, cheeks flushing a light pink as
he collected himself. “I come here a lot.”
 
Jiyong's eyebrows knitted together and he studied the boy's face, taking in
every detail this time. The thick eyebrows, the pierced ears, the wide nose,
the bowed contour of his lips. He didn't miss the way his light pink blush
deepened into dusky rose.
 
“I've never seen you around,” he said. He would have remembered that.
 
Those lips tugged upwards into a slight smile and Seunghyun's gaze lowered,
long fingers bending the corner of one of the book's pages. “Because I'm not
usually here this late. And I, um, I never sit in your section.”
 
Snorting, he couldn't stop his own smile. “On purpose?”
 
Seunghyun nodded without looking up.
 
“On purpose.”
 
“Huh.” Jiyong rubbed his chin, relaxing further against the backrest of the
booth. “Should I be flattered or upset?”
 
“Flattered, I guess,” the boy mumbled and set the book down on top of his
notebook, eyes darting to meet his and then away.
 
Whatever burst of confidence Seunghyun had experienced on the stairs last week
was nowhere to be found now. He was nervous, obviously, and probably a bit
taken aback that Jiyong had initiated this wonderfully stimulating exchange in
the first place. Jiyong was a little taken aback too, actually. Because he
continued to ask questions and he never did that; every word that came out of
his mouth inspiring a fresh need to go out back and set himself on fire. Maybe
Victor's choke-hold had killed one too many brain cells.
 
“What are you reading?”
 
“Roberto Bolaño.”
 
Jiyong's lips quirked. “The Savage Detectives?”
 
“I– yeah.” Seunghyun laughed softly, appearing delighted and perplexed and a
bit awe-struck. “You...you know Bolaño?”
 
“Is that so hard to believe?”
 
“A little, yeah,” the boy confirmed, smile still pulling insistently at the
edge of his mouth. “No offense, but you don't seem like someone who has much
interest in books.”
 
“None taken. I'm pretty sure the entire student body would agree with you.”
Jiyong heard the bell above the door jingle as a few kids walked in with their
parents. He sighed and turned to Seunghyun, holding up the coffee pot. “Refill?
I gotta get back to work.”
 
“Please. Thank you. Sorry for–“
 
“Don't worry about it,” Jiyong interrupted, swallowing a laugh.
 
Reaching across the table, he poured more of the strong brew into Seunghyun's
cup and ignored the inquisitive gaze that roamed over his features as he did.
 
“Your um, your eye looks a lot better.” The boy spoke hesitantly, like he was
afraid to even mention it.
 
Chit-chat time was over though and he could only offer Seunghyun a tight smile
and a nod before walking over to seat the new customers. One of the younger
kids, a boy of about six, stared unabashedly from underneath messy, blonde
fringe as he distributed menus and took drink orders. Apparently “a lot better”
wasn't that great. Jiyong knew the skin around his eye was still discolored and
unsightly. But there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He was fortunate
that he hadn't received another one earlier today. The kid's father watched
him, wary, and kept glancing away as if to look for other employees. Employees
that weren't seventeen and got into fistfights. Jiyong made sure to lay the
charm on extra thick just to see him squirm.
 
As he was filling hard, plastic cups with water and diet coke, the bell above
the door jingled again. And when he looked up, he found Seunghyun standing on
the curb outside lighting a cigarette. One fist was shoved in the pouch of his
hoodie as he paced back forth along the edge of the cement, one foot directly
in front of the other as though he was following the line of an imaginary
tightrope. The glow of the sign above the diner cast strange shadows over his
face; eyelashes seeming longer and skin turning golden. Soft. Everything about
Seunghyun was...soft. Which gave him pause, because it meant he'd been paying
attention. Jiyong went into a bit of a trance as he studied the boy's profile
and the curve of his spine, wondering once more why he was so undefinable. And
why he was even interested in defining him. Seunghyun confused him. Which was
only fair, he guessed, since Jiyong basically confused everyone.
 
Drinks delivered, he propped his elbows on the counter and read his book while
he waited for the nice little suburban family to peruse the menu. But his
concentration strayed to the windows every few seconds. Jiyong frowned and
forced himself to keep his gaze down. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his
neck; let his palms glide over his shorn hair. The cat clock told him it was
seven thirty. Only six and a half more hours to lose my fucking mind. Rubbing
at his eyes, he grabbed his order pad and walked back over to the table.
 
*
 
The hours ticked by and a handful of customers came and went. Except for
Seunghyun, who rarely moved from his booth, alternating between reading and
scribbling things down in his notebook. Jiyong refilled his coffee periodically
and their gazes would connect for a beat or two before the boy would mumble his
thanks and return to his written words. How it got to be one o'clock in the
morning without his notice, he'd never know. And now Seunghyun was the last
person left in the diner besides Leroy, the cook and the night manager, who
Jiyong could hear humming in the kitchen while he washed dishes.
 
His book had gone untouched for most of his shift and he wondered why he'd felt
so compelled to bring it with him. Much as he enjoyed working at the diner, the
nights always seem to last twice as long. Jiyong studied Seunghyun from the
corner of his eye. He'd been thinking about going over there for the last
fifteen minutes. The register had already been counted down, the tables all
wiped clean and set for the morning rush that wouldn't come until the sun crept
up from behind the horizon. If Seunghyun wasn't here, Leroy would probably turn
the radio on nice and loud, letting the oldies station replace the blanket of
silence. Every now and then Jiyong would dance and sing along and feel
incredibly stupid, but it was fun. And it made him forget, for a little while
at least, about everything else.
 
Opening and closing his book three times, Jiyong gritted his teeth and stepped
away from the counter.
 
“Isn't it past your bedtime?” He set the coffee pot down on the table and eased
himself into the seat across from Seunghyun.
 
Wide brown eyes met his for a second time, the boy's hand stilling above the
lined pages he'd been writing on. His question hung in the air unanswered and
he slumped forward, chin in his palm. Jiyong's brow arched, which seemed to set
Seunghyun in motion, pen falling from his loose grip.
 
“I uh...I don't really sleep,” Seunghyun sighed, leaning back into a slouch as
he pulled his beanie off, ruffling his black hair. “And my parents wouldn't
notice that I was gone. Or even care.”
 
Jiyong's gaze narrowed slightly. He hoped he wasn't about to get this kid's
entire sad life story. But it wasn't like he had anything better to do.
Seunghyun didn't seem inclined to share any more details though, still playing
with his hair. The movement was distracting and he watched long fingers sift
though short strands.
 
“Why do you work so late?” The boy's eyes honed in on him. “I mean, I know
school isn't exactly your thing...”
 
“My thing?” Jiyong laughed, surprised at the sound coming from his own lips. He
scrubbed a hand over his face and glanced out the window at the only car in the
parking lot; a beat-up silver Honda that must have belonged to Seunghyun. He
was accumulating a hell of a lot of details for someone who wasn't supposed to
give a shit. With a shrug, he muttered, “The rent won't pay itself.”
 
Seunghyun nodded, his scrutiny making Jiyong uncomfortable as that particular
nugget was filed away with all the others. Looked like he wasn't the only one
starting a collection. Why was he even sitting here? Why was he even bothering?
Jiyong listened to Leroy start humming a new song in the kitchen and closed his
eyes, exhaustion gradually creeping into every inch of muscle. He didn't need
any more friends.
 
A quiet pause coiled around them then, but it didn't feel tense. And he was a
lot less uncomfortable without those eyes boring into him like they were trying
to dissect him piece by piece.
 
“What are you reading? Or not reading, as the case may be.” Seunghyun finally
broke the spell, his deep voice soft and laced with amusement.
 
Jiyong's mouth curved because the other boy was apparently also skilled in the
art of observation. “William Gibson.”
 
He heard his gentle huff of laughter and then the squeak of vinyl as he shifted
in his seat.
 
“You're just full of surprises.”
 
Opening his eyes, he was hit with the full force of Seunghyun's avid gaze.
Jiyong returned his stare. Out of curiosity. Out of a need to understand why
this kid was so intent on knowing him. And also out of a need to understand why
he was allowing himself to be even remotely candid.
 
“You have no idea,” he murmured wryly.
 
“Perhaps not...” Seunghyun tilted his head to the side as his cheeks started
turning pink again. He dropped his gaze to study his hands where they lay in
his lap. “But I– I'd like to.”
 
“Why?”
 
It was the one question he'd been waiting to ask since last week. The million
dollar question. His somewhat endearing companion went very still and then
melted against the fraying upholstery, mouth working to formulate his response.
 
“Uh,” the boy chuckled, almost embarrassed, as he buried his fingers in his
hair again and tried to make himself look Jiyong in the eye. “Well, I don't
know there's just...something about you.”
 
He restrained an incredulous laugh because this was ridiculous. And something
being what, exactly? He wasn't a mystery to be solved or a puzzle to be put
together. Jiyong's existence wasn't complicated and it wasn't fascinating. If
Seunghyun thought he was some sort of fucking rebel, or anti-hero or bad boy,
he would be seriously disappointed.
 
Hand sliding from his face to slap against the surface of the table, Jiyong
allowed a tiny smirk. “I'll take your word for it.”
 
And with that, he dragged his tired limbs from the booth, done with playing the
part of someone who was interested. Seunghyun, smart boy that he was, took the
hint and went home right before Jiyong's shift was finished. And as he wandered
towards the table to collect the check and the lone coffee cup, he spotted a
crisp ten dollar bill sticking out from beneath the saucer. That little
shit. He laughed. Cackled, really. At Frankie's, drip coffee had bottomless
refills and cost a whopping total of $1.50 per order. Seunghyun had tipped him
an obscene amount of money, a ludicrous amount of money, for something so
cheap. If that asshole thought he was doing Jiyong a favor, though, he was
going to strangle him. Jiyong wasn't a charity case. Pinching the bridge of his
nose, he swiped the money and the cup from the table and went about closing out
his drawer for the night.
 
Despite his annoyance, he couldn't keep the corners of his lips from curling
ever so slightly. Not when Heather and Viv showed up to take his place. Not
when he walked home in the chilly, pre-dawn air, cigarette smoke curling around
his head. And least of all when he unlocked the door of the apartment to find
Dami sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of tea to keep her company.
 
“Finally,” she sighed, grinning widely and standing to pull him in for a back-
breaking hug.
 
“Did you stay awake just for me?” Jiyong asked and burrowed closer, face
pressed into the waves of her long hair. “You have to be up again in like, four
hours.”
 
Dami withdrew, hands roaming over his head and his cheeks. “I wanted to see
your beautiful face.”
 
He rolled his eyes and tipped forward to leave a kiss on her forehead.
 
“How are you?”
 
“Tired.” She gave a short laugh and sunk back into her chair, fingers
bracketing her ceramic mug as she gazed at him with an abundant, glowing
warmth. “You?”
 
Jiyong smiled and took the other chair. “Tired.”
 
“Have enough fight left in you for some ice cream?” Dami's eyebrows danced and
it reminded him so much of Colin.
 
His smile grew and then vanished as he schooled his features and sniffed,
giving Dami a sly sideways glance. “I always have fight in me.”
 
“That's right, how could I forget,” she drawled, sarcastic as ever. “My baby
brother the delinquent brawler.”
 
“Ha ha, you're hilarious.” Jiyong scowled and kicked at her legs under the
table. She stuck her tongue out and swatted at his shoulder. They were both so
juvenile.
 
“Did you go to your classes today?” Dami asked as she stood and went to the
freezer, grabbing a new carton of generic brand mint chocolate chip.
 
He groaned, flopping down to squish his nose against the surface of the table,
arms haphazardly thrown wherever.
 
“Yes, mom.”
 
She smacked him, hard, on the back of the head and he yelled.
 
“Jesus christ, what?”
 
“You know what,” Dami spoke over her shoulder as she took spoons from the
drawer next to the sink, tone low and admonishing.
 
Jiyong frowned into the table. Okay, that was shitty, even for him. But
sometimes he really hated how much she had taken on the role of overbearing
parent. Dami was his legal guardian but she was his sister first and foremost.
It was never going to be different, not in his mind.
 
“Sorry.” He lifted his head as she handed him a spoon and reclaimed her spot
beside him. “How was work?”
 
“Same as it always is.” Dami shrugged, jamming a spoonful of ice cream into her
mouth. “I think we might be cutting it close this month.”
 
Chuckling, Jiyong took a huge chunk out of the carton and mumbled around his
own spoon, “Then why the hell did you buy ice cream?”
 
“A moment of weakness.”
 
She winked at him, smirking. And for a while they didn't say anything else.
Jiyong watched her, though, taking in the dark bags under her pretty eyes and
the inward curve of her shoulders. This guessing game they played at the end of
every month when rent was due and bills were due and whatever else decided to
rear its ugly-ass head was stressing her out. It stressed him out too, but he
could only pretend to know how she felt. Dami worked and did little else. There
was the rare day when she could afford to take some much needed time to
herself. Rare being the key word. And it wasn't enough. Jiyong still bore
tremendous guilt for being the reason why she'd never finished her
undergraduate studies. And why she was living half of a life. When he was
feeling particularly maudlin, he imagined himself a thief, taking away her
youth while he squandered his own. It always left a bitter taste on the back of
his tongue.
 
“You should go to bed,” he murmured, placing the lid back on the carton and
bringing the spoons to the sink.
 
“I'm already half-way there.”
 
Dami released a quiet sigh and wrapped her arms around him from behind. He
closed his eyes, placing his hands over hers and linking their fingers
together. She hugged him tighter.
 
“Night, Ji,” she whispered. “Love you.”
 
“Love you more.”
 
“Brat,” Dami said, giggling and poking him in the side.
 
With one last kiss to his cheek, she shuffled out of the kitchen and Jiyong
didn't move until he heard the soft click of her door closing.
***** Chapter 3 *****
“Colin, I'm really nervous,” Jiyong muttered, pacing the length of the kitchen
while the older man watched him from where was leaning against the wall.
 
“Jiyong Kwon, nervous? I never thought I'd see the day.”
 
“Shut up, I'm serious,” he huffed, linking his fingers behind his head. “It's
been two weeks and Victor hasn't made his next move yet.”
 
Colin crossed his arms over his chest and smiled, green eyes shimmering. He'd
always been entertained by Jiyong's adventures in violence, even though he
wished they'd stop. Of course, he never said anything because that would be
pushing. But Jiyong knew that he wanted to; could read it in the carefully
lilting tone of his voice.
 
“You make it sound like chess,” Colin murmured.
 
He scoffed, running his hands up over his head and then down his face as he
groaned.
 
“It feels more like Russian Roulette.”
 
“What does Victor have against you, anyway?”
 
Jiyong shrugged, finally coming to rest on the wall opposite. His hands kept
moving even though his feet had stopped, fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of
his blue hoodie. “I dunno, I guess my preference for sucking cock offends him
or something.”
 
He caught the way Colin's mouth twisted into a broad grin right before he
doubled over with laughter. The man shook his head and sighed, guffaws
dwindling to tiny giggles as he wiped at his eyes. Jiyong smirked and stared at
his boots. He liked making Colin laugh.
 
“You...” the man breathed, still grinning, “are a piece of work, Ji.”
 
“I know.”
 
Jiyong huffed again, self-deprecating smile forcing its way onto his face. He
knew all too well.
 
“And quit worrying so much, yeah?” Colin stepped away from the wall, moving
closer to place a comforting hand on Jiyong's head. “He probably decided
getting punched out again wasn't worth it.”
 
A small laugh bubbled up from his lungs. “I should be so lucky.”
 
Jiyong shook his head though, slipping out from under Colin's grasp to continue
pacing. He shoved his sleeves up along his forearms. His mind was buzzing.
“Victor's planning something, I can feel it. He doesn't even bait me in class
anymore. It's fucking weird.”
 
“Jiyong, I bet it's nothing,” Colin assured but he felt none of it.
 
“People like him don't just give up, Col.” Heat was creeping into his voice,
muscles tensing. “You didn't see the look in his eyes.”
 
“Hey now, drama queen. Calm down.”
 
“Asshole,” he growled, not without affection.
 
The older man chuckled and started taking off his apron, leaving to put it away
in the break room, and Jiyong realized he'd probably been holding him up. Colin
never told him to get out. He never told him to stay either, but not once in
the three years that they'd known each other had Colin ever treated him as a
nuisance. Jiyong couldn't pinpoint the reason why their friendship was so easy.
There were times when the man felt like less of a friend and more of a brother
and he sort of hated himself for getting so attached.
 
He turned and his gaze landed on the clock above the storage closet. It was
already after four and he'd promised Dami that he'd pick up some stuff from the
supermarket before he went to the diner. Shit.
 
“I gotta run.” Jiyong clapped him on the shoulder on his way towards the rear
of the kitchen. “See you tomorrow, man.”
 
“Be safe, you crazy fuck.”
 
“Love you too, Colin,” he called, grinning as he slipped out the back door.
 
Sharp October air hit him right in the face and he shivered. Jiyong flipped his
hood up, shoving his hands into his pockets, but he was still cold. He walked
around the perimeter of the school and cut across the football field, vaguely
aware of the cluster of students engaged in fall training. He heard the distant
shouts of the players but he wasn't really listening. All he could think about
was Victor. The prick and his punk-ass friends had been on their best behavior
during detention days ago. And since then the other boy had hardly made so much
as a fucking peep in English class. It really did make him nervous. Because
there had been a vow in Victor's eyes before Mr. Hendricks dragged him away. A
vow to destroy Jiyong; to see him beg for mercy. It had occurred to him that
maybe Victor was trying to shake him up, make him paranoid. Which was kind of
working. He didn't know what to expect anymore and it left him vulnerable.
 
Shivering again, Jiyong frowned. This was stupid. Victor had turned a casual
fight over essentially nothing into some dramatic, overblown bullshit. Why
couldn't these dumbfucks get over themselves already? It was starting to give
him a headache.
 
His frown evolved into a scowl as he entered the grocery store parking lot. But
he stopped, tapping the last cigarette from his pack to smoke before ambling
inside. Jiyong lit the tip and inhaled, long and slow. More than anything he
just wanted to be at work right now.
 
*
 
When Jiyong wasn't thinking about Victor, he was thinking about Seunghyun.
Which annoyed the shit out of him because why was he wasting time wondering
about someone he didn't even know. Someone who obviously wanted to change that
fact. He didn't see the point. But the kid's vanishing act had his curiosity
growing the longer he remained elusive. Jiyong never bumped into Seunghyun at
school and only once had he spotted him at the diner. It had been a Sunday and
the place was packed, he'd hardly allowed himself a moment to breathe let alone
entertain the idea of talking to him. And true to his word, Seunghyun hadn't
sat in his section; something that continued to amuse Jiyong immensely. He'd
caught him staring a few times from the corner of his eye, though. And even the
occasional soft smile as he covered the pages of his notebook in his cramped,
messy scrawl. Seunghyun hadn't looked at him when he left an hour later,
ducking out the front doors with his head bowed and hands jammed in the pockets
of his coat.
 
Viv had walked over to him right after, presenting him with a small slip of
paper. “That kid left this for you,” she'd said, red lips spread in a teasing
grin and amber eyes alight with excitement. “Someone's got a crush, Ji.”
 
Jiyong remembered the laugh that had shot from his mouth like a bullet when he
held the paper up. It was a drawing; a caricature, actually. Of him. Seunghyun
had sketched Jiyong in his white button-up and apron, pen tucked behind his ear
and hands clutching overflowing pots of coffee as he was mid-dash in the middle
of the diner. It wasn't perfect, some of the dark lines scratchy and uneven,
but it was good. Funny. Cute. He'd felt a slight blush warm his cheeks and Viv
had just giggled and tweaked his nose like he was a little kid. Which, of
course, had made him blush harder.
 
This resulted in confusing Jiyong even more than he already was because last
he'd checked, you didn't get to know someone by avoiding them. Not that he
wanted Seunghyun to know him. He just wanted to understand.
 
The faint sound of music coming from the kitchen, accompanied by Leroy's low
humming, broke through the haze of his thoughts and he realized how late it
was. Jiyong yawned at the counter, resting his head on top of his arms.
 
In conclusion: Seunghyun was bizarre. And he couldn't figure out how to deal
with his inconsistent behavior. Mostly he tried to forget about it. Which was
difficult because Viv had decided to pin the doodle on the wall next to the
register and Jiyong constantly thought about throwing it away, but something
wouldn't let him. His morbid curiosity, maybe. Jiyong sighed. He felt out of
sorts. Seunghyun had thrown a wrench into the cogs of his life and he didn't
like it, he liked things the way they were. Which didn't include strange boys
who defied logic and drew adorable pictures of him and wanted to be his friend.
 
Heather trudged through the doors then, offering him a groggy smile and a pat
on the head, and he removed his apron. Sleep sounded like the best idea ever
and he couldn't wait to get home and crash into his bed. Jiyong left through
the back doors this time, saying goodnight to Leroy with a wordless high-five.
The stench of old grease wafted from the dumpsters and he tried not to gag as
he zipped up his hoodie and hung a right through the alley next to the diner.
 
Tomorrow was another day. And maybe tomorrow would have some answers for him.
But for now, Jiyong was going to march directly into his room and make sweet
love to his pillows.
 
*
 
The next day, however, proved to be just as uneventful as the last and it had
him on edge. Jiyong painstakingly endured every single one of his classes –
much to the utter amazement of his teachers – and Victor continued to be well-
behaved. It was driving him crazy. Because he knew it was all an act. And one
day soon he would fucking snap if nothing happened. Shoulders hunched, Jiyong
pressed the ridges of his spine against the brick wall of the bookstore
downtown where his sister worked and watched the cars pass. He didn't make a
habit of visiting often since bus fare was a luxury he couldn't afford. But he
needed to see her. Even if they didn't say much, simply being on the receiving
end of her smile was enough. Smoking the rest of his cigarette, he flicked it
into the street and pushed his way inside.
 
Jiyong headed for the registers, zigzagging though the aisles of towering,
mahogany shelves. Neverland Books was probably the only “cool” place to go
within the city limits. It had character and history and every time he came
back he felt a little sentimental.
 
His fingers dusted over stiff spines yet to be cracked open as he walked. The
shop wasn't gigantic but it wasn't pathetic either. There were two floors and a
lounge area packed with overstuffed chairs and beanbags, all surrounded by
endless rows of books. He used to hang around here a lot when he was twelve,
before his sister became an employee. It had been his escape. His method of
coping after their parents died. Nothing else quite compared to losing oneself
in someone else's world. Someone else's words. He still liked to think of it as
his secret hideout even if he hardly visited anymore.
 
“Dami?” Jiyong called, leaning on the checkout counter.
 
She emerged from the back room, pen and folded newspaper in her hands and a
look of intense concentration on her face. Dami's long hair was collected into
a loose bun at the base of her neck; a few stubborn tendrils dusting her
cheeks, refusing to be tamed. Jiyong observed the end of the pen slip between
her teeth as she chewed on it and frowned. He cleared his throat and her head
jerked up, features melting into an incandescent grin.
 
“Jiyong.” But then her grin fell. “Wait, what are you doing here?”
 
He shrugged. “I had some time to kill before work.”
 
“You shouldn't have.”
 
Jiyong figured she'd say that. They'd been pennies away from missing rent last
month, in part because of the shift he'd lost to his stint in Saturday
detention. He was still pissed about that.
 
Leaning further over the counter, he batted his eyelashes. “I needed to see
your stupid face.”
 
Dami set the newspaper down and covered her mouth with delicate fingers, making
a show of being swept up by her emotions and wiping at her eyes. “Oh, I'm so
touched.”
 
She did this pretty frequently when he needed cheering up. Even if he didn't
specify, she always knew. Usually it embarrassed him but on occasion she'd get
him to crack a smile and she considered it the most monumental of achievements.
Jiyong stared at her with a blank expression.
 
“You're the biggest fucking dork,” he muttered.
 
“Does that make you a dork by association?” Dami sobered, tilting her head to
the side with a tiny smirk. “Y'know, blood relations and all.”
 
“Don't make me regret coming here.”
 
But the show kept going and she affected a display of mock sorrow, eyebrows
furrowing as she gave him an exaggerated pout.
 
“So mean,” she sniffed and picked up her pen to resume gnawing on it, glaring
at the newspaper.
 
It was hard to believe that she was twenty-seven and had spent the last six
years essentially raising him like he was her own child. Because responsible as
she was, she often seemed more like the teenager and Jiyong the adult. That is,
aside from the suspensions and the fistfights and the class ditching...
 
“We just got a new shipment in the other day if you're interested in
wandering,” Dami mumbled absently, scratching something into the thin layers of
newsprint with the tip of her pen.
 
“Sure.” Jiyong chuckled, patting her hand gently. “Wouldn't want to distract
you from that super important crossword puzzle.”
 
“Crosswords are serious business, Ji. I have to finish it or I won't sleep,”
she whined.
 
“Freak.”
 
Dami narrowed her eyes and reached across the counter to poke him in the
forehead. “Spaz.”
 
Jiyong stuck his tongue out as he backed away, making her shake her head as she
tried not to smile too big. She failed. And he was content with having gotten
what he came for, laughing quietly to himself and jumping up the stairs to the
top floor two at a time. There were three or four other customers milling
around in the aisles but the shop was otherwise deserted. Jiyong relished the
opportunity to be alone with so many books again. He had a measly collection at
home, consisting of less than a dozen volumes of varying genres. If he had his
way there would be hundreds. More. Sometimes he'd go to the library at school
but it was too depressing and lacked anything even remotely resembling life.
Not to mention the fluorescent lights were the opposite of inviting. Neverland
was its polar opposite; golden and warm. Like an old friend.
 
He passed each aisle with care, trying to decide where he wanted to go first.
Fiction, poetry, graphic novels. He still had two hours until he needed to be
at Frankie's. Rounding one of the tall shelves into the poetry section, Jiyong
froze, eyes widening slightly. Because there was a figure crouched on the
floor. A figure he was becoming alarmingly familiar with. Why does he have to
be fucking everywhere? Restraining a sigh, he nibbled on his bottom lip.
Curiosity was wrapping itself very tightly around his resistance and he glared
up at the ceiling for several seconds before giving in. Jiyong crept as softly
as he could across the wooden floor in his heavy boots, peeking over a broad
shoulder to see what Seunghyun was studying so intensely.
 
The boy had two books in his hands; one the collected works of Yeats and the
other a collection of selected poems by Auden.
 
“The one on the left is better,” he whispered.
 
Seunghyun jerked in surprise and toppled onto his ass, shoulder hitting the
solid wood of the bookcase, resulting in a pronounced groan. Jiyong's hand flew
to his mouth to stifle a giggle. He was such an asshole.
 
“Fuck,” Seunghyun said with emphasis; expression part pained, part shocked. He
rubbed at his arm and then laughed.
 
“Sorry,” Jiyong uttered from behind his palm.
 
But the boy just smirked like he didn't believe him, gathering the dropped
books and slowly climbing up to stand with a heavy sigh. Jiyong lowered his
hand and slid it into his pocket, suddenly feeling a bit awkward and uncertain
as to why. They stared at one another, each seeming to be at a loss. Jiyong
shied away from Seunghyun's unwavering gaze and let his own wander. The boy's
beanie was different, dark red this time, and his hoodie gray and worn and
soft. Always so goddamned soft. He wondered if hugging him would be like
hugging a gigantic stuffed animal and then was so disturbed by the thought that
he stepped to the side, hiding his horrified blush in the books on the shelf
across from them.
 
Seunghyun coughed to clear his throat; deep, amused timbre rumbling behind him.
“You've read both of these.”
 
“Uh-huh,” Jiyong answered, fingers tugging at a tiny collection of Baudelaire
as a distraction.
 
“Is there anything you haven't read?”
 
“Nope.” He turned and glanced up to find both of Seunghyun's thick eyebrows
raised in skeptical amazement. Jiyong scoffed, pretending to be absorbed in the
book in his grasp. “I'm kidding, jesus.”
 
When he raised his head again, the boy was watching him with ill-concealed
interest; lips curling at the corners and eyes bright. It was unnerving and he
was silently mortified to feel a heat in his cheeks again. Can I stop blushing,
please? Fuck. This wasn't real. Why was this real?
 
“Don't look at me like that,” Jiyong grumbled, forcing his eyes to focus
anywhere else but on Seunghyun. “You've been in the diner at night, what else
am I gonna do?”
 
“I just...it's weird, seeing you here,” Seunghyun said, tipping over to lean
into the bookcase.
 
And it's weird seeing you in all of my favorite places. Jiyong played with the
hairs at the nape of his neck and put the book back where it belonged. Nothing
of his was safe anymore, apparently.
 
“I came to visit my sister,” he explained and fixed his gaze on the shelves.
 
The boy sputtered, almost dropping the books he held all over again. “Dami's
your sister?”
 
Oh, this was just wonderful. He spun around, arms folded and eyebrow arched.
 
“You know Dami?”
 
“I uh, I come here a lot too. She's the one who recommended Bolaño.” Seunghyun
smiled as he talked, the curve of his lips growing wider the more Jiyong's
expression became disbelieving. He chuckled faintly. “This isn't exactly a big
town, Jiyong. I promise I'm not stalking you.”
 
“Right. Whatever.” He closed his eyes for a few seconds, shoulders tense. “I
just don't get how I only saw you for the first time a month ago.”
 
Seunghyun breathed out a quiet laugh, one that sounded almost bitter. His gaze
flitted over the ceiling and the shelves before finally landing on the floor.
“Yeah, well...I'm easily overlooked.”
 
Jiyong studied him while he wasn't paying attention, chewing on the inside of
his mouth. He shouldn't feel sympathetic. He shouldn't feel anything because he
didn't care. At least, that's what he kept telling himself. Yet here he was,
talking and looking and thinking about things that he absolutely shouldn't be
thinking about. Seunghyun's eyes lifted, returning his conflicted stare, and
Jiyong turned back to the books. His heart missed a beat; he actually felt the
precise moment its rhythm faltered and picked up again like it hadn't failed
him. And he would have left, fled down the stairs and ran out the door, but
Seunghyun was asking him another question.
 
“Do you have a favorite?”
 
“Book?” He gave him a quick sideways glance. “I never thought about it.”
 
The boy shifted his weight, head resting lightly against the bookcase. Jiyong
didn't realize how close they were standing until right then; their voices
gentle and hushed. The shop seemed empty save for the two of them. He touched
the nape of his neck again.
 
“There's nothing you've read multiple times?” Seunghyun pressed, the intimacy
of his low tone making him nervous.
 
Was he legitimately losing his mind? Jiyong sighed, searching for the thin
volume he knew would be there because Dami always made sure they had it in
stock. Why am I still here? His fingers pinched the spine, sliding it from the
shelf, and he pushed it into Seunghyun's chest without looking. It was Erotic
Poems by e.e. cummings. Jiyong wasn't being a smart-ass, the small collection
of poems and drawings really was one of his favorites. As proof, he had a copy
at home that was falling apart because he'd flipped through those pages so many
times he could recite the entire thing out loud to anyone who asked.
 
“This,” he stated, and then had the pleasure of experiencing several more heart
palpitations when the boy's warm hand overlapped his to take it.
 
Whirling around, Jiyong molded his back to the solid lines of the shelves and
stuffed his hands into his pockets once more. He stared at nothing, begging the
tingle in his fingers to fade as he fought to steady his breathing.
 
“I think I'm finally understanding that it's going to take a lot for you not to
impress me.”
 
He responded with a derisive snort. “I'm not trying to impress you.”
 
“Well, I am,” Seunghyun insisted softly. “Impressed, that is.”
 
Was that supposed to win him over or something? “Aren't you special,” Jiyong
mumbled without much interest, still staring at nothing.
 
He heard him move more than saw it, daze interrupted only when he was faced
with a smirking Seunghyun. A smirking Seunghyun that was far bolder than the
one he'd spoken to last time. The boy stood there in front of him; invading his
personal space, invading his head space.
 
“You deflect a lot.”
 
Jiyong refused to make eye-contact, choosing instead to concentrate on the
scant few centimeters that separated their feet.
 
“Your point being?” He asked, trying to sound both defiant and bored but he had
a feeling it wasn't working.
 
Seunghyun's hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to do something but then
decided not to, and took in a deep breath. “Why?”
 
This was probably the part where he spelled it out, right? Told Seunghyun how
it was in plain terms on the off chance he actually listened. He hesitated for
a little bit, then opened his mouth.
 
“Because I don't like it,” Jiyong began, lifting his chin to look at the boy
directly, “when people get too close.”
 
Those dark eyes were as inquisitive as they always were, but there was also
something else. Something that was making him nervous again and he swallowed,
tearing his gaze away before he could define it.
 
Seunghyun nodded. “Ah...”
 
Jiyong moved to the end of the aisle, needing to create distance. He was aware
that he wasn't actually being threatened but it felt that way. Colin and Anna
knew not to push. Seunghyun didn't. And, admittedly, it frightened him.
 
“Yes, 'ah', are you satisfied now?” He demanded.
 
The boy grinned, all charming and good-intentioned, and it was really fucking
annoying. More than that, he was getting angry.
 
“No.”
 
“Of course not,” Jiyong muttered dryly, tossing the boy a glare.
 
Nothing would ever be enough would it? He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
He had another hour still, but he wasn't about to spend it here with his
assailant. Seunghyun's grin had diminished but he was clearly no less amused by
Jiyong's discomfort and was in fact stepping closer again. Jiyong panicked.
 
“I– I have to go,” he blurted and gave a vague gesture of farewell, jogging
back the way he'd come and flying down the steps.
 
He didn't even stop to say goodbye to Dami. Jiyong would explain later if she
was concerned, however the best thing for him right now was to be outside. He
didn't wait for the bus either, just kept walking, oblivious to everything save
for the movement of his feet carrying him forward. Tugging his hood up, Jiyong
punched his fists into the pouch of his sweatshirt. He was over being curious
about Seunghyun. If he'd learned anything in the last hour it was that
Seunghyun was dangerous. Because Jiyong could so easily see himself letting go
and that was so completely terrifying in so many ways.
 
Seunghyun had said that there was....something about him. Well there was
something about Seunghyun, too. And Jiyong had no fucking intention of ever
finding out what it was. 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Three days later, Victor broke his silence. It was after two in the morning and
Jiyong was just leaving work, beyond sleepy and still reeling from his
encounter with Seunghyun at the bookstore. He'd tried so hard to forget about
it and move on. But of course the more he told himself not to, the more his
brain refused to listen; mind circling around and around until everything
spiraled into a whirlpool of neverending frustration. Jiyong walked slowly
through the alley next to the diner, head bowed, thoughts a mess. He didn't get
very far, however.
 
“Hey, princess. Did you miss me?”
 
Really? He had to do this now? Jiyong's shoulders sagged as he released a sigh
and glared up at the cloudless, night sky. Wonderful.
 
“Victor, we see each other every fucking day,” he muttered, already calculating
his chances of surviving when there were five of them and one of him and he was
so tired he wanted to die.
 
Victor rolled his eyes and stepped closer. “Whatever.”
 
“Why are you here?”
 
“Think about it, dipshit,” the boy said, grinning, and his friends snickered
like it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. “No teachers. No principal.
No risk of suspension. Just you and me and my boys.”
 
“Your boys?” Jiyong snorted. “Do you have pet names for them too?”
 
It probably wasn't the smartest idea to egg Victor on when he was outnumbered
but he couldn't help himself. His mouth always switched to autopilot when he
was dealing with idiots. Victor snarled and lunged for him, grabbing Jiyong by
the collar of his shirt. The boy's breath reeked of cheap vodka. So not only
were they idiots, but they were drunk idiots. It seemed he had his hands full.
 
“Listen, you little faggot. I'm sick and tired of your high and mighty
bullshit.” Victor's nose brushed his he was so close, angry spittle landing on
his chin. “And now I'm gonna beat your pretty fucking face into the pavement.”
 
Jiyong smiled, staring directly into the boy's dark eyes as he murmured
sweetly, “I always knew you wanted to fuck me.”
 
And then they were done talking. He'd anticipated a violent response to that
particular remark and blocked Victor's attempt to punch him in the face,
countering the attack by kneeing him in the balls. The jackass cried out and
fell to the ground, whining. But Victor's boys were coming for him and he
didn't have time to gloat. Not when one of the more muscular thugs had
glinting, brass knuckles hugging his fat fingers. Jiyong thought about running
away for a split second. He'd been waiting for this, wanting this, but he was
aware now that it was going to cost him. He closed his eyes briefly, sucking in
a deep breath, and stopped thinking altogether.
 
Whether it was because they were drunk or not, Jiyong managed to get in a few
good hits before he took a swift right hook to the jaw, the point of contact
blossoming with sparks of pain. He shook it off, grimacing as he ducked low to
dodge another fist and then kicked one of the assholes in the gut, laying him
flat. They were everywhere and Jiyong couldn't focus, blocking a hit only to
take another in the side. Victor had finally crawled up from the ground to join
his friends, murder clear as day in his narrowed gaze. Things went a little
fuzzy after that.
 
“C'mere, you piece of shit.” He heard Victor growl from somewhere to his left
and an arm looped around his neck and squeezed.
 
Jiyong gasped. Then all the wind was knocked from his lungs when the brass
knuckles connected with his stomach. He was pretty sure he'd cracked a rib
because it hurt like hell. And everything following that particular sharp burst
of pain turned into an all-encompassing swell of misery. They used him like a
punching bag while Victor held him captive, arm twisted behind his back and
neck in a choke hold. His vision had blurred and he didn't even know who was
hitting him anymore as he struggled to break free, but it was no use. Blood
trickled down the curve of his face and he tasted the coppery tang on his teeth
and his tongue. There was yet another crack of bone against his jaw. And
another, splitting his lip. Jiyong went limp in Victor's arms and eventually he
was dropped; a tattered rag doll on the asphalt. But they didn't stop. Their
heavy, thick-soled boots flew into his spine and his stomach. His chest and his
face. He'd curled into a ball to shield himself, every hit adding to the agony
of the one that came before, and he sensed unconsciousness prodding at the
edges of his awareness.
 
The barrage ended several minutes later. Someone, probably Victor, spit a glob
of saliva that smacked into his forehead. He didn't have the strength to be
disgusted.
 
“I want you to think about this the next time you feel like opening your
fucking faggot mouth in my presence. Because I'd be happy to take you down
again, Kwon.”
 
A harsh laugh fought its way out from his broken body and the movement made him
hiss, every inch of him on fire. He only laughed because Victor had done
nothing but restrain him. Such a fucking coward.
 
“Fuck...you,” he wheezed.
 
That earned Jiyong another rough kick to the stomach and he groaned, jaw
clenched despite the throb.
 
“Come on, man,” one of the other kids urged, words a little slurred from the
liquor. Or maybe that was just Jiyong. “He's useless. We don't wanna get
caught.”
 
Then nothing, only the scuff of their feet as they walked away, chuckling like
they hadn't nearly beaten someone to death.
 
For a while the uneven rasp of his breath was the only thing he could hear.
Jiyong wanted to move but he wasn't sure that was such a good idea. His cheek
was pressed against the ground, little chunks of gravel digging into his skin.
The side of the building swam in and out of focus and it was making him dizzy,
so he let his eyelids flutter shut. Jiyong wallowed in the pain. In the way he
almost felt disconnected from his body, as though he was floating.
 
Jiyong liked floating.
 
So he stayed there and floated until the adrenaline wore off and the fuzziness
started feeling more like he was being stabbed. Fuck, I'm gonna need so much
aspirin for this. He pushed up onto his knees gingerly and moaned through
clenched teeth. Breathing was still difficult, his chest seeming tight;
constricted. Jiyong stood up very slowly, the shock of being vertical making
him sway from another wave of dizziness. He had no idea what time it was. The
sky hadn't lightened yet so it wasn't too late. He brought his hand up to poke
at his lip and his fingers came away sticky and wet. The side of his head was
the same. Fantastic. With an arm cradling his middle, he staggered forward on
weak legs and started making his way home. Once he was home everything would be
fine.
 
But, for the second time that night, he didn't make it very far.
 
A car had pulled into the diner's parking lot, headlights bright and nausea
inducing. Jiyong wouldn't have thought much of it if he didn't recognize the
color and the make. A silver Honda. Seunghyun. He kept his head low and kept
walking to avoid being noticed. No such luck.
 
“Jiyong?” The boy called as he climbed out of his car and jogged across the
lot, mouth falling open in shock once he got close enough. “Holy shit, are you
all right?”
 
“Do I fucking look all right to you?”
 
Seunghyun reached out, to cradle his face or grip his shoulder or whatever, but
Jiyong latched onto his wrist before he could accomplish anything.
 
“Don't...touch me,” he snapped, flinging the boy's hand away.
 
“I– sorry.” Seunghyun frowned, worried eyes traveling along Jiyong's face, brow
knotted.
 
This was the last thing he needed. He was pissed off and aching and still so
tired. Curling his arm tighter around his ribs, he breathed shakily and stared
back.
 
“What do you want?”
 
“I– I just– ...shouldn't you go to the hospital?”
 
Jiyong huffed. It was supposed to be a laugh but it transformed into a watery
cough and he winced. “I'm not going to the hospital. I don't have insurance.”
 
“But you can't not do anything about it,” Seunghyun said, tone severe and
practically dripping with concern.
 
He laughed again and this time it actually resembled what it was. Great, so
this is happening. The boy's frown deepened, gaze never leaving his face. It
made his skin prickle and he had to turn away. His frustration was mounting at
a rapid pace, because what gave this kid the right to insinuate himself into
Jiyong's life? He didn't ask for this.
 
“Am I supposed to care what you think because we talked a few times and now
magically we're friends?” Jiyong lifted his chin, glowering. “I don't need your
help, Seunghyun, so fuck off.”
 
That didn't seem to faze him, but he didn't really give a shit, legs already
moving as he continued to amble towards the edge of the parking lot.
 
“At least–“ The boy sighed, rushing to stand in front of him and prevent his
escape. “At least let me give you a lift back to your house.”
 
The overwhelming urge to yell collected into a lump in his throat; hovering at
the back of his mouth, begging to be released. Jiyong breathed in and gasped, a
lance of pain shooting through his side. Seunghyun obviously wanted to do
something, fingers clenching and unfurling, but he kept his distance. Those
eyes burned into his own and he sneered.
 
“I'm sorry, was there a part of “fuck off” that you didn't understand?” He
choked on his own words, coughing into his fist.
 
They glared at each other and Jiyong discovered his own frustration mirrored in
Seunghyun's eyes, mixing with the worry and the confusion and the hurt. His
head was pounding. This was too much for him to handle in his abused state.
Side-stepping around the boy, he walked forward and was just about to turn the
corner when he was asked another question. Too many fucking questions.
 
“Why are you so afraid?” Seunghyun's voice was quiet but he still heard it and
he paused, glancing over his shoulder to find that he hadn't budged.
 
What the fuck?
 
“I'm not afraid.”
 
“No...” Seunghyun emitted a small, humorless laugh, spinning around to face
him. “No, you're terrified.”
 
Something in him snapped then, the unfiltered intensity of his emotions enough
to give him whiplash. Jiyong stalked back to where the boy was standing, ire
rising with every step, and shoved him in the chest.
 
“Oh, you know me so well, don't you. The lost boy with the broken wing. Are you
gonna fix me, Seunghyun? Is that it?” He kept advancing as the boy stumbled
backwards, words growing venomous the more he spit them out. “Did it help you
sleep that night after you left the ten dollar bill on the table? Did you think
I would fall all over myself when you drew that stupid fucking cartoon? I'm not
interested in being friends or anything else. And I don't need saving.”
 
His breath came in short bursts, shoulders heaving. His head felt light and
suddenly his tiredness had become a full on, bone-deep exhaustion. He pinned
Seunghyun with the sea of emotions swirling inside of him and instead of the
wounded expression that he was expecting, he was given back nothing but warmth
and an abundant sadness. It confused him and it irritated him and now his heart
was joining the party, hitting his ribcage fiercely and pulsing in his ears.
 
“Do you honestly believe that you can keep everyone at arms length forever,
Jiyong?” Seunghyun asked, cautious.
 
He groaned and allowed himself a pitiful chuckle. He couldn't do this.
 
“Seunghyun, go home,” Jiyong almost whispered, the exhaustion creeping into his
voice.
 
Straightening his spine, he exhaled, which caused more pain to spike in his
side and he made a strangled noise of distress, swaying off balance. The boy
steadied him before he collapsed, holding him with gentle hands.
 
“Please.” Seunghyun's murmur ghosted along his neck. “Let me walk with you.”
 
Jiyong's forehead was pressed into the curve of his shoulder and he didn't pull
back. Because if he did he'd probably fall over. Long fingers curled around his
biceps and he felt Seunghyun's thumbs start to rub soothing circles through the
material of his hoodie. He wanted to shove him away, he didn't want to be
comforted or calmed, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate. Jiyong took a measured
breath, letting it out very slowly. And then those hands lifted away and he
found himself enfolded in a careful embrace. Seunghyun's arm had wound around
his shoulders, one of his hands coming to rest on the back of his neck. He
stiffened and the boy's fingers drifted to stroke lightly at his scalp. His
heart pounded even louder in his chest and his ears and he felt his throat
close when he tried to swallow. Jiyong was having serious difficulty keeping
his emotions in check. He felt more drained by this display of kindness than he
did from the physical trauma and it was messing with his head. But Seunghyun
didn't push any more than he already had, simply offered him the opportunity
for solace. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to navigate this. The
sting of tears behind his closed eyelids shocked him and he gritted his teeth
in an attempt to contain them. To make them disappear. Jiyong's breath hitched,
the events of the night culminating in a total loss of emotional stability and
a pathetic, hiccuped sob leaked softly from his lips as a result.
 
A single touch, a hug, and he was brought to his knees faster than a well-aimed
punch to the gut. No one but Dami had hugged him in six years. Not like this,
at least. He pushed his forehead more firmly against the curve of Seunghyun's
shoulder and sniffed; the hand that wasn't supporting his middle hesitantly
reaching out to bunch tightly in the fabric of the boy's sweatshirt.
Seunghyun's cheek brushed the side of his face but otherwise remained as he
was, letting Jiyong react as he wanted to. He didn't know what he wanted. But
he allowed himself to take what was offered for a few quiet minutes, even
though he didn't deserve it.
 
After the moment stretched beyond what he believed he'd been capable of,
Seunghyun moved, withdrawing just enough to stand beside him and not break
contact. He thought he might be embarrassed, but he wasn't. He was too busted,
too burnt out, for embarrassment. Jiyong rubbed at his eyes as his other arm
was tugged around the boy's waist.
 
One of his eyebrows jumped and he snorted. “Are you serious?”
 
“I could always carry you,” Seunghyun teased, obviously conscious of how hard
this was for him.
 
Jiyong scrunched up his face and let out an exasperated groan. Under any other
circumstances he would have never been okay with this, but these were notany
other circumstances and his ability to make it home without Seunghyun's support
seemed unlikely. It was killing him that he even had to surrender control at
all. Suck it up, Ji. Just get home and it'll all be over. Adjusting his arm, he
let his fingers sink once more into the softness of Seunghyun's hoodie and
mentally prepared himself for what was going to be a very long walk.
 
“Why are you doing this?” Jiyong asked after they'd started forward.
 
They were a bit ungraceful. Not like there was anyone out and about to see them
as they migrated down the sidewalk at a sluggish crawl. He felt weird clinging
to him like this, his grip forever shifting, and it never stopped being
uncomfortable.
 
“Because I want to.”
 
“That's it,” he stated with a small huff, causing him to wince.
 
Seunghyun's arm tensed, pulling him closer. His voice held a gentle challenge
when he spoke again. “Do I need more of a reason?”
 
“Apparently not.” Jiyong dissolved into a coughing fit and they paused to let
him catch his breath. “Y'know, I don–“
 
“Stop talking.” The boy looked down at him, features stern but eyes alive with
something that Jiyong would classify as affection.
 
Scowling, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bottom lip throbbing
from the careless aggravation of the wound he'd forgotten about and he hissed.
Seunghyun forced his hand away from his face when he tried to touch it again.
 
“Stop telling me what to do,” Jiyong muttered, fingers repositioning themselves
over the boy's hip as they resumed walking.
 
His answer was a laugh tangled inside of a long-suffering sigh. “Fine.”
 
And for the next several blocks they fell into a cumbersome silence. Jiyong
would have said more just to spite him but he didn't feel like it. The weight
of Seunghyun's arm became less strange the longer it was there; the heat of his
body becoming less intrusive and more of a balm. He didn't bother analyzing
why, he was essentially braindead right now. Jiyong glanced up to see that
Seunghyun was already staring at him and hoped that the blood on his face was
enough to hide the way his cheeks grew warm.
 
“I still think you should go to the hospital,” the boy said, lips twitching as
he turned away.
 
Jiyong rolled his eyes. “Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing, isn't it?”
 
Seunghyun's laughter was short and unexpectedly loud in the stillness of pre-
dawn. “And the hits keep on coming.”
 
He smirked at that even though it hurt and the boy followed his lead when he
rounded the corner onto a tree-lined side-street. Jiyong came to a halt outside
of his building. It wasn't much; four floors and peeling paint, a neglected
“garden” and cracked walkways. The stuff of dreams. He fidgeted with the zipper
on his hoodie and gazed at the blanket of brown leaves over brown dirt.
Seunghyun's hand squeezed his shoulder slightly before letting go.
 
“Do you need me to help you inside?”
 
Jiyong shook his head. “No.”
 
“Is there...is there anything else I can do?” The boy asked.
 
He had started for the door, keys already clutched in his fingers, but he
didn't miss the hopeful notes in Seunghyun's deep voice. He spun halfway and
shrugged.
 
“Leave.”
 
“I– yeah, okay.” Seunghyun nodded, hands slipping into his pockets and seeming
reluctant to listen to Jiyong's request. “Don't...don't die, or anything.”
 
He released a strained chuckle, eyebrows colliding as he gazed back at the boy
at the end of the sidewalk.
 
“Why the fuck would you care if I died or not?”
 
“I just would, Jiyong,” Seunghyun almost mumbled. “Get used to it.”
 
And before he could say anything else, he watched him go, long legs taking him
across the street and around the corner and eventually back to his car in the
parking lot of Frankie's. Jiyong stood there in front of his apartment for five
minutes; key in the lock, eyes closed, head resting against the door. I'll
never get used to it. He unlocked the door with a weary sigh and then climbed
the stairs like a slug to the top floor. Dami was asleep, as expected, so
Jiyong made sure to be extra quiet when he removed his boots. Shuffling into
the bathroom, he didn't look in the mirror because he knew exactly what he'd
see; only grabbed the aspirin from the medicine cabinet and retreated solemnly
to his bedroom.
 
Jiyong popped four pills into his mouth and swallowed them down with the day-
old glass of water on his bedside table. He flicked the light off, peeled the
bloodied clothes from his body, and lowered himself onto the mattress.
 
Light from the streetlamp on the corner leaked through his blinds, painting
orange stripes on the ceiling and the walls and the floor. He stared at them
until the sharp throbbing in his side waned into a feeble twinge. Until the
remembered heat of Seunghyun's touch grew cold and his eyelids grew heavy with
sleep.
***** Chapter 5 *****
Waking up had never been one of Jiyong's favorite activities, less so when his
entire body felt like a single, aching bruise. He'd slept through the whole
afternoon and was surprised that Dami hadn't materialized in front of him to
loom over his bed and scold him for missing school. Maybe school hadn't even
called her. Maybe that circle of hell disguised as an institution of learning
had finally thrown in the towel when it came to Jiyong Kwon. He could only hope
that this was true. Peeling his eyelids open, he sighed up at the ceiling and
made an attempt to claw his way off of the mattress. His face was crusty with
dried blood and seemed swollen and still raw. Jiyong groaned as he stood, the
tightness in his chest still making it difficult to breathe. When the pain shot
like an arrow through his side, he grabbed the bottle of aspirin from his
nightstand, tapping another four into his palm and washing them down with the
rest of the water. Definitely a broken rib. His sister was going to finish
Victor's job and murder him the minute she found out.
 
It took up to two months for a fractured rib to heal. Jiyong knew this because
he'd had one before, when he was eleven. But he didn't have a job then,
obviously. Or rent to pay and really important tests to take. Though his middle
school had been far more understanding of his leave of absence, due mostly to
the fact that he'd just lost both of his parents. He had a hunch that things
wouldn't be so easily explained away this time around. Jiyong hobbled out of
his room and right into the shower, needing to feel more human and less like a
corpse. As the hot spray worked at the knots in his back, he thought about what
they were going to do if he couldn't pick up his regular shifts at the diner
for a while. There had to be a solution. Otherwise they were utterly fucked and
eviction was unavoidable.
 
Jiyong shut off the shower once the pads of his fingers had puckered and
stepped over the rim of the tub, finally turning to assess the damage in the
mirror above the sink. It wasn't as bad as it felt, at least. He had two black
eyes, both worse than the one that had just faded; a split lip, a multitude of
small cuts from the thick rings that adorned those tacky bastards' fingers, and
a colorful array of bruises all over his skin. Jiyong looked like shit. He
stared at his own reflection for a long time, watching the droplets of water on
his face evaporate, and tried not to let the bitterness overwhelm him.
Sometimes he wondered if he'd have the courage to keep going if Dami wasn't
around. He seemed like a colossal waste of space without her.
 
Narrowing his eyes at the mirror, Jiyong grimaced and dried off, returning to
his bedroom to get dressed. When he fished his cellphone from the pocket of his
discarded jeans, he had seven missed calls. It was also after five o'clock
which meant that Dami would–
 
The front door exploded against the wall with a vibrating bang.
 
Which meant that Dami would be done at the bookstore and clearly also felt the
need to make some time in her busy schedule to visit and rip Jiyong to shreds.
He pulled a clean t-shirt over his head just as she barged into the room. But
all of her vitriol melted into nothing the moment she saw him, no doubt
catching the discoloration of his chest and his stomach before they were
covered by thin cotton.
 
“Jiyong, I– I thought...” Dami stammered, expression softening.
 
He sighed, wrapping an arm around his middle as he sat down on the edge of the
bed. “Yeah, I know exactly what you thought.”
 
“Jesus,” she breathed, inching closer as her wide eyes trailed over his puffy
face. “What happened?”
 
Jiyong laughed a little and dropped his gaze to stare at the carpeted
floor. Isn't it obvious?
 
“Use your imagination.”
 
“Goddamnit, Ji,” Dami cursed quietly and moved to take his chin in her hand,
inspecting his injuries, and then swept that hand over his head.
 
“God had nothing to do with it,” he muttered.
 
“Will you cut it out with the defensive bullshit?” She stepped away, raking her
fingers through her hair as she began pacing. “I'm not gonna yell at you.”
 
Jiyong tracked the back and forth of her feet. She must have been pretty angry
because she hadn't taken her shoes off before stampeding into the apartment. He
tilted his head to the side, tugging at the hem of his boxers.
 
“Not yet.”
 
“...why?” She asked with some caution, paces slowing and eventually stopping
completely.
 
He glanced up at her for a moment. She was already frowning. “One of my ribs is
broken.”
 
It was her turn to laugh now. Dry and hollow. When she spoke again she spoke
with her body as much as her mouth.
 
“You're so...careless, y'know?” Dami sighed and it sounded like an accusation.
“So eager to annihilate yourself without thinking of the consequences. It's
been six years, Jiyong, when were you planning on quitting? Never? Because
nothing will bring them ba–“
 
“I'm not having this conversation,” he cut her off, bolting up from the bed
with a gasp and heading out the door but she was right behind him.
 
“Tough fucking shit.” Her voice got louder as she cornered him in the living
room, literally crowding him against the wall. “I can't stand by and watch you
do this to yourself anymore, it's completely insane. And what am I gonna tell
the school? Huh? We can't afford medical bills on top of everything else.”
 
Jiyong gritted his teeth and didn't look her in the eye. He didn't want to see
the disappointment he knew he would find there. The sadness and the tenderness
and the love he didn't deserve. He was not in the best mindset to be talking
about this right now but he supposed he didn't exactly have a choice.
 
“Then maybe you should just let me drop out. It would be easier.”
 
Crossing her arms over her chest, she shook her head. There was no hesitation
in her answer this time. “Absolutely not.”
 
Jiyong groaned, unsteady fingers curling into fists at his sides as he glared
at her.
 
“For fuck's sake, Dami, why?”
 
She was breathing heavily now through her nose. Her gaze was no longer tender
but tired and hardened by the countless versions of this argument that they'd
already had.
 
“Because that's giving up, that's throwing your life away.”
 
He bent forward to emphasize his point. “I already am throwing my life away.”
 
“And I don't understand the reason why,” she pleaded.
 
Jiyong slid a careful hand over his eyes and he laughed again, head tilting
back to knock against the wall as he collected his thoughts. When he spoke it
was only with his mouth because he couldn't let her see the way his fingers had
started shaking.
 
“Did you ever think that, maybe, there's a possibility I just don't fit the
mold? I'm not stupid, contrary to the evidence on my face.” He smirked and she
tsked, lips forming a flat line. “I can ace the GED tests. Why the fuck does it
matter if I have that or a diploma? I'm not going to college. College was your
dream, not mine.”
 
Dami looked pointedly down at the floor, eyebrows arching as she said with too
much weight, “Mom and dad would have wanted it.”
 
The sound that burst out of his mouth could have been one of amusement but it
was harsh and unforgiving. Jiyong pushed away from the wall, brushing past his
sister. Let her see his hands shake. He didn't care anymore. Spinning to face
Dami, he bared his teeth in a livid grin.
 
“You think I give a rat's ass what mom and dad would've wanted? They're not
here to make demands. And you shouldn't be making them in their place.”
 
Jiyong saw the hurt creep into her dark eyes. But when she opened her mouth to
retaliate he raised his hands and exhaled roughly, shoulders slumping. He
offered her a rueful twist of his lips.
 
“I'm not...I'm not you, okay?” His anger turned soft and he perched on the back
of the couch, fingers intertwined in his lap. “I'm not the perfect student, I'm
not the perfect son or the perfect brother. I'm just trying to get by, the only
way that I know how.”
 
Dami gave him a watery smile, hugging herself firmly and rocking onto the balls
of her feet. “I was never the perfect anything, Jiyong.”
 
He shook his head, watching her from the corner of his eye. He could feel his
throat closing. The pinprick sting of fresh tears didn't shock him now like it
had last night because these tears were long overdue.
 
“No, no you were the brightest. The most special. You were gonna go to law
school and pass the bar exam and become something great. Something better
than this.” Jiyong huffed and picked at his fingernails, salty droplets winding
down his cheeks. “And I was the only reason it never happened.”
 
Familiar arms coiled around him then and Dami cradled the back of his head
while she stroked the length of his spine, handling him like a wounded animal.
Jiyong buried his face in her chest and didn't even notice the pain when he
sucked in a short breath or when the salt of his tears leaked into the cuts on
his face and his jaw.
 
The sunlight pouring through the windows weakened as they stood there. He felt
pretty pathetic, crying twice in less than twenty-four hours. Being consoled by
two different people in the same span. Jiyong's thoughts turned to Seunghyun
and he curled both of his arms around Dami's waist, sniffling and releasing
another unsteady breath. The difference here was that he was looking for
forgiveness and not consolation.
 
She pressed a kiss to the patch of hair just behind his ear.
 
“Sweet baby brother,” Dami whispered, kissing his forehead too. “It's not your
fault. None of it is.”
 
He clenched the springy fabric of her cardigan in his fingers and fought
against a second wave of tears. Jiyong's chest was constricted by more than
just the pressure of his broken rib and he worried that it would crush him one
of these days. Her arms slid away and she brought his battered face up to gaze
into his wet, red-rimmed eyes. There were tears in her own as well.
 
“Let it go,” she urged gently. “Let go.”
 
“I don't–“ Jiyong tried to swallow the cluster of feelings that clung to the
walls of this throat. He laughed once, out of desperation more than anything.
“I don't know if I can.”
 
*
 
In the weeks that followed, the subject of his leaving school permanently was
dropped. Dami had contacted an old friend of their parents, a doctor, who she
remembered worked in one of the unremarkable, beige office buildings that
littered the highway. As a favor, Dr. Goldman had examined Jiyong, providing
him with proof of his injuries and excusing him from attending classes until he
was deemed fit to return. And when he'd called Frankie to let him know what had
happened, the man yelled so loudly Jiyong had to tear the phone away from his
ear to prevent himself from going deaf. But he'd promised to pick up a few
hours here and there once he was in better shape, which seemed to pacify the
old bastard temporarily.
 
Dami also took on more hours when she could, pinching every penny just in case.
They'd scraped by on the last rent payment and the next would be even worse. It
meant he never saw her because he was always sleeping and he hated it. The only
proof he had of her existence was the ever-increasing stack of homework
assignments that she brought back from the school. Assignments that he never
touched. Instead, Jiyong spent most of his time laying in bed hopped up on
painkillers, staring at the ceiling feeling sorry for himself every second that
he wasn't fantasizing about ripping Victor Perez's limbs off with his bare
hands. He didn't actually want to get even, not really. Jiyong just preferred
the anger over the depression and the boredom and the restlessness.
 
Some days he was so out of it that he didn't realize he'd been thinking about
Seunghyun. For hours. He wondered if the boy wondered about him, about where he
was and if he was all right. Or if Seunghyun had seen Dami at the bookstore or
Anna at the diner and was she keeping his coffee cup sufficiently full? Jiyong
pictured him hunched over one of the star-dappled tables writing in his
notebook and losing time and place between the lines on the pages of whatever
book he was reading. And when he'd come out of his trance, sitting on the couch
with a cigarette that had burned all the way down to the filter without ever
once touching his lips, he would frown. Much like he was doing right now.
 
“Shit,” Jiyong whined, brow creased and head a little fuzzy.
 
He brushed the ash that hadn't made it into the tray from his pajama pants and
set it on the table with a wince. He would need to take more vicodin soon.
Aspirin had failed to keep the agonizing twinge at a minimum and Dr. Goldman
had been generous enough to write him a prescription. And thank god because he
was fucking miserable without it. Jiyong was about to light another cigarette
when the buzzer went off, nearly giving him a heart attack. His frown deepened.
It was Saturday afternoon, Dami was at work, and they weren't expecting anyone
as far as he knew. Maybe one of the other tenants had locked themselves out. He
sighed and climbed off the couch, finger jamming the 'talk' button on the
intercom next to the door.
 
“Yeah?” He answered flatly.
 
The speaker crackled with white noise and a scratchy voice filtered through a
few seconds later. “Jiyong? It's Seunghyun.”
 
Are you fucking kidding me? He nearly whined again, closing his eyes and
pressing his forehead into the wall, then poked the button to grumble, “What
the hell do you want?”
 
“I haven't seen you around. I wanted to make sure that you were okay,”
Seunghyun said, his concern transmitting through wires and cables right into
Jiyong's ears. “Must be serious if you've stopped working at Frankie's.”
 
Lifting his head just far enough, he let it pound back against the wall with a
dull thunk. He poked the button a little less viciously.
 
“I'm fine. You can leave now.”
 
“With my own eyes,” the boy persisted and Jiyong didn't need to be standing in
front of him to know that he was probably smiling.
 
“I'm not letting you in.” He was definitely not letting him in.
 
“That's okay. I can wait.”
 
Jiyong released a nearly inaudible laugh and let his head thump twice into the
wall. This kid is gonna kill me. “You're wasting your time, Seunghyun.”
 
But the boy refused to relent, his mirthful tone making him want to tear his
hair out. “I don't have anything else to do today, I'm not worried about it.”
 
He had nothing to say to that. And apparently Seunghyun had nothing to add
because he heard the faint scuff of his shoes through the speaker. Jiyong
twisted around and walked into the living room, peering out the window to
discover his stalker leaning against his parked car; cigarette dangling from
his lips and cup of takeaway coffee in his hand. Idiot. Was he seriously going
to wait all fucking day? Jiyong was sadistic enough and bored enough to find
out. So he sat on the windowsill...and watched.
 
It was the first week of November and the air was so frigid Seunghyun's breath
formed a hazy cloud with every exhale that wasn't smoke. He wore a heavier coat
over his usual attire; army green with a fur-lined hood and lots of pockets and
fucking toggles. Jiyong scowled. At least he wouldn't freeze his ass off while
being an idiot. Seunghyun's gaze traveled up the building until he spotted
Jiyong at the window. He waggled his fingers in acknowledgment and the boy
smirked, sipping from his styrofoam cup. Seunghyun blatantly stared at him with
calm amusement and he was forced to avert his eyes when he noticed that he'd
been blushing.
 
“Fuck my life,” Jiyong muttered at the floor, leaving the windowsill to search
for the prescription bottle.
 
Why was he acting like this? To prove a point? There was no way the boy would
last more than a couple hours. No way. And he wasn't going to change his mind
either. Jiyong shook his head and knocked back one of the pills, grabbing his
cigarettes and returning to the window. Seunghyun had taken to wandering,
making loops around the trees and...and humming? He could make out the traces
of an unknown melody through the thin barrier of glass, something mellow and
almost sad. The boy's graceful fingers tapped in the air or against his thigh
in time with the rhythm only he could hear as he hopped from sidewalk to street
and back again. As he watched, he half-expected Seunghyun to produce a portable
stereo and hold it over his head because Jiyong's life had clearly turned into
an eighties romcom. Sighing, he flicked his lighter and inhaled, oddly
fascinated. His curiosity was regaining its strength and Seunghyun was making
it incredibly difficult to ignore him.
 
And he really really wanted to ignore him.
 
For the next several hours, much to his annoyance, Seunghyun sat there on the
hood of his goddamn car, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes and reading a
book that looked like it was at least a thousand pages long. And it was stupid
and adorable and Jiyong was genuinely thinking about clawing his own eyes from
their sockets. Too many times he'd caught himself smiling as he observed
Seunghyun turn the pages and switch positions; sitting with his legs crossed or
leaning back against his windshield. If he wasn't reading he was studying the
last of the dying leaves; the pale sky through the tree branches and the row of
houses across the street. A few residents of those houses had walked by and
treated Seunghyun with great suspicion, probably wondering if they should call
the cops, and Jiyong had surprised himself by laughing out loud.
 
When the afternoon shifted into evening, the sun dipping low and no longer
offering any warmth, Jiyong rubbed carefully at his still-healing eyes and
yawned. Seunghyun was doing his best not to shiver as the temperature
plummeted, but he could tell it was a struggle. Jiyong's muscles ached from not
moving and the vicodin was losing its magic. He peered out the window at
Seunghyun's hunched form. There wouldn't be enough light to read by soon and he
wondered if the boy would stay despite this. When he concluded that the answer
was almost certainly yes, that the idiot would sleep in his fucking car
overnight if that's what it took, something changed. He breathed deeply, head
falling against the glass.
 
Jiyong was afraid, yeah, but for a good reason. There were so many things that
Seunghyun didn't know and he still wasn't sure he wanted them to be known. By
anyone. But if he was going to surrender, even a little bit, he might as well
surrender to the kid who sat outside of his apartment all day just to check up
on him; who had been on the receiving end of his ugliness and his anger and
hadn't run away.
 
Plus, he wasn't really that sadistic.
 
Leaving the windowsill again, Jiyong walked to the door and pushed the 'talk'
button.
 
“What are you reading?” He spoke loud enough so that it would carry over from
the shitty speaker.
 
It was a shame the intercom didn't have video because he would have loved to
witness Seunghyun's reaction to his disembodied voice finally calling his
attention. Had he grinned? Had he laughed? Had he almost fallen off the car?
Jiyong waited, forehead resting on the wall again, only this time he wasn't
frowning.
 
“The Count of Monte Cristo,” came the scratchy, breathless reply.
 
He huffed, chuckling slightly. You asshole. Was this karma? Was he being
punished? He transferred his weight from one foot to the other and tilted his
chin towards the intercom.
 
“402,” was all Jiyong said.
 
And before he could come up with an excuse not to, he held the button down that
would unlock the door downstairs. Why am I doing this? Jiyong turned the
deadbolt and his hand hovered over the door handle for thirty seconds. This was
crazy. Seunghyun was crazy. Sighing, his fingers wrapped around the knob and he
stuck his head out into the hallway. Heavy footsteps echoed in the stairwell,
gradually becoming louder. Jiyong didn't stop his mouth from quirking into some
semblance of a smile, arms crossed over his chest as he ignored the bundle of
nerves in the pit of his stomach that pulsed each time rubber sole met hard
wood.
 
“Hi,” Seunghyun panted, rounding the bannister with a blinding grin on his face
and a white paper bag clutched in his fist.
 
The boy moved closer, cheeks a little rosy from the exertion and the cold. The
Count of Monte Cristo was stuffed into one of his coat pockets, making it bulge
awkwardly. Jiyong leaned against the door frame and also ignored the way his
scrutiny snagged on long legs and prominent dimples. It was strange to have him
standing here. Inside his building and probably inside his apartment in a few
minutes if he decided not to be a total jerk. It would be an act of trust that
he wasn't positive Seunghyun had earned yet. Though Jiyong still felt a pang of
guilt now and then when he remembered how he'd treated the boy that night in
the parking lot. They locked eyes. Seunghyun's gaze was intense and warm and he
couldn't hold it for more than a short moment.
 
He cleared this throat, lifting an eyebrow in amusement. “Did you run all the
way up the stairs?”
 
“Yes,” the boy breathed and laughed softly, nodding his head once.
 
“What's in the bag?” Jiyong pointed at the package that was strikingly
familiar. The unmistakable scent of grease and cheese and butter filtered in
through his nose and he almost moaned because he hadn't eaten anything all day.
 
“I was at the diner earlier.” Seunghyun coughed into his hand and sighed, lips
curling and eyes darting from Jiyong's face to the floor as he explained. “I
asked Anna what your favorite thing on the menu was but she said she'd have to
kill me if she told me. So I made an educated guess...and based on her reaction
I'm going to assume I wasn't entirely off the mark.”
 
Way to go, Anna. He smiled again, biting gently at his tender bottom lip and
squinting at Seunghyun.
 
“Are you bribing me with food?”
 
“Maybe,” Seunghyun murmured, tilting his head to the side with a smirk. “Can I
come in or are you gonna make me loiter in the hallway for another five hours?”
 
Jiyong laughed, hands falling to play with the hem of his wrinkled, white t-
shirt. Seunghyun had brought him food and he'd forced him to stay outside
because he was stubborn and terrified. Terrified of how easily this boy was
discovering cracks in his defenses and making them wider without fear of what
he might find. And Jiyong was letting him.
 
Another laugh pushed its way out from his lungs, though it was a little
unstable.
 
“It wasn't that long,” he mumbled and stepped aside.
 
“I got here at one. It's after six now.” Seunghyun's tone was light despite the
complaint, eyes teasing. He handed the bag over once Jiyong had locked the door
behind them. “Sorry that it's cold. I wasn't exactly expecting to wait around.”
 
He lead the boy down the hall and into the kitchen, setting the takeout on the
counter.
 
“Seemed pretty prepared to me.” Jiyong gave him a sideways glance.
 
Lingering by the entrance, Seunghyun appeared hesitant to step fully into the
room and leaned back on the wall with his hands in the pouch of his hoodie. His
lips were curving again. “I figured my chances were fifty-fifty.”
 
So confident, he thought wryly. And it was that confidence that had been
wearing him down the most. Seunghyun was so sure that Jiyong would crumble
eventually as long as he kept pushing. Which he was, albeit slowly and
sometimes in the wrong direction. He opened the paper bag and removed the
styrofoam container, popping the lid and holding back his hysterical laughter
when he saw the perfectly soggy grilled cheese and tomato sandwich surrounded
by stale fries.
 
Jiyong closed the lid and slid his fingers through his hair, turning to narrow
his eyes at Seunghyun. “You're really trying to score brownie points, aren't
you.”
 
The boy emitted a quiet huff, obviously pleased, head tipping forward as he
looked down at his feet and then up again through the web of his eyelashes.
 
“Was I right?”
 
Jiyong's mouth twitched. “Amazingly enough, yes.”
 
And Seunghyun's grin returned, possibly more blinding than the last. He shifted
against the counter and felt the strangeness of this situation become stranger.
Or maybe that was the bundle of nerves still pulsating in his stomach. Or maybe
it was the hunger. Jiyong didn't know anymore. But he was having problems
dealing with the boy's perpetual smiles and the way his eyes shrunk into
stupidly happy crescent moons when he laughed.
 
“So, how are you feeling?” Seunghyun asked, his soft, rumbling voice filling
the kitchen. “I mean, you look...you look good.”
 
When Seunghyun's cheeks bloomed red again, only from embarrassment and not cold
temperatures, Jiyong suppressed a groan because even his blushwas fucking
charming. He snorted and folded his arms.
 
“I don't look good I look diseased.” Jiyong studied his thumbnail closely,
brows arching and then furrowing as he spoke. “But I'm fine. Really. I should
be back at Frankie's in about a week.”
 
His skin tingled, up along the back of his neck and across his scalp causing
the hairs on his arms to rise. He could feel Seunghyun watching him and
wondered if this was strange for him too. Then his heartbeat increased in speed
and he came very close to giggling as he reached out to touch the takeaway
container.
 
With a sigh to calm himself, Jiyong murmured, “I can't believe you brought me
grilled cheese.”
 
It was a remarkably sweet gesture, he would admit that much. One that also
might have been the tipping point in regards to his feigned indifference.
Seunghyun's face went pink, lips pursed slightly to prevent the appearance of
yet another smile. Jiyong bit back a smile of his own. All this grinning and
blushing was starting to make him nauseous.
 
Seunghyun freed both of his hands, removing his beanie to ruffle his short hair
and yanking it back over his head. He straightened, feeling around in his
pockets for his car keys. “I think I'm gonna get going. You should get some
rest.”
 
“Hot date?” He asked, failing to hide the humor in his voice.
 
The boy laughed, eyes crinkling as he fidgeted with his keys, and the sound
inspired another wave of goosebumps.
 
“Yeah, you'd be amazed at how sexy Alexandre Dumas looks in a little black
dress and a pair of heels,” Seunghyun deadpanned.
 
They stared at each other for a beat and then both broke down into giggles and
gasping sighs. Jiyong hadn't laughed this much in a while. He'd had no reason
to. But it suffused him with a peculiar heat that he didn't know how to
describe or categorize. Jiyong rubbed at his chest, the laughter agitating his
healing rib. He breathed in, bringing air into his lungs until it felt like
they might pop, and breathed out. Seunghyun's mirth had dimmed and he was
looking at Jiyong with a slight frown, as if he regretted making him laugh so
hard. Jiyong didn't say anything though, just gave him one last flash of a
smile and walked him to the front door. Before the boy could get more than a
few steps into the hallway he called out on impulse.
 
“Seunghyun,” he blurted and Seunghyun walked backwards until they were face to
face again. The boy was wearing an expression that he could only classify as
delighted.
 
“Thanks,” Jiyong continued, unsure of his words but saying them anyway. His
fingers twisted together and the bundle of nerves vibrated in his stomach.
“And...I'm– I'm sorry. About what I said.”
 
For whatever reason he couldn't look Seunghyun in the eye, gaze darting
everywhere else and coming to rest on their feet. He was reminded of their
conversation in the bookstore. The only threat now, though, was himself.
 
“It was my pleasure,” the boy murmured, gentle and low and had they always been
standing this close? “But you have nothing to be sorry for, I didn't take it
personally.”
 
“You're weird.”
 
Seunghyun scoffed.
 
“Like you aren't?”
 
He clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the corner of his lips
tugging into a reluctant smirk as he finally looked up. “Whatever.”
 
But Seunghyun just gave him another smile. A fond smile. And Jiyong watched him
lift his free hand, fingers twitching as if searching for some kind of contact,
only to change his mind and slide it into his pocket.
 
“Feel better, Jiyong.” Seunghyun's dark eyes burned into his and danced and
then he was leaving; walking down the stairs.
 
Jiyong lingered in the doorway, listening to the receding clomp of rubber soles
on hard wood. He blew out a shaky breath and rushed forward, leaning over the
railing.
 
“I hope Alexandre puts out,” he shouted.
 
In answer, Jiyong heard peals of deep, rolling laughter reverberate in the
stairwell and he grinned like a fool, retreating back into the muted emptiness
of the apartment. Shoulder-blades pressed against the door, he slapped a palm
over his cheek and sighed. His skin was warm. Of course it was. Jiyong rolled
his eyes and dragged himself from the door into the kitchen. He wasn't going to
think about what just happened. He was going to stuff his face with that
grilled cheese sandwich and not think about anything.
 
*
 
Six days later, Jiyong was back at work. He was only allowed a handful of hours
a day, but he'd take anything he could get at this point because Dami was
busting her ass while he'd stewed in his own uselessness for weeks going stir-
crazy. Jiyong almost wanted to be back in class, too. Anything would have been
better than staring vacantly at his ceiling or the wall or the books he'd tried
to read, never managing to turn more than a few pages. Though for all the
teasing about Seunghyun that Anna chose to inflict upon him, he might have
spoken too soon.
 
“But it's so precious!” She argued, poking him in the cheek.
 
“It's not precious. It's fucking annoying,” Jiyong mumbled, slapping her hand
away from his sprawl over the lunch counter, head pillowed on his arms.
 
“Oh my god, you're hopeless,” Anna laughed and threw her hands up in defeat.
“That kid is so into you and you can't even see it.”
 
“And you're delusional.”
 
Frankie's was pretty much deserted, the lunch rush having come and gone. Harsh
sunlight slanted in through the large glass windows and Jiyong squinted against
the glare. There was an elderly couple in the corner booth splitting a piece of
cherry pie and a young woman bent over a magazine at the end of the counter,
coffee cup untouched and cold. He saw her lips quirk every few minutes and he
had a feeling she'd been eavesdropping on their conversation. Anna adjusted her
turquoise blouse, muttering to herself about 'blind idiots' as she brushed her
now raspberry red hair from her face and stormed away to check on the
customers. Jiyong's mouth lifted in a smile.
 
Nice as it was to see familiar faces again, there was one face that was
missing. He pretended this didn't bother him; pretended he wasn't disappointed
that Seunghyun hadn't been present to pester him and draw weird cartoons and
grin when he said something stupid. Jiyong buried his head further into his
arms. He'd told Anna it was annoying but it was annoying in a good way. If that
even made any goddamned sense at all. Jiyong didn't understand it, he just knew
this was how he felt. Expelling a weary sigh, he plunged his hands into the
unkempt mess of his growing hair and glared at the counter top. He liked
feeling this way even less than the boredom and the dull ache. Because it
wouldn't subside. It just...hung around, buzzing in his head at a constant
frequency. So he tuned it out. Or tried to. Success was frustratingly
inconsistent.
 
When he went home a couple hours later, the stack of neglected homework
assignments was resting ominously in the middle of the kitchen table. Dami had
left a little note on the top, explaining that if he didn't complete at least
half of them by Monday morning, she was going to pawn him off on some distant
relative in South Korea and never speak to him again. Jiyong thought about
tossing the stack into the blender. Or lighting it on fire. He groaned and
shuffled over to the cabinet, grabbing a package of instant noodles. Monday
meant he had two days. Two fucking days. He'd commit suicide before getting
through a third of that shit.
 
His sister was officially the devil.
 
But he'd played along, his bitterness and guilt the only things that had helped
him survive the weekend without blowing his brains out. Most of the assignments
were a joke. The rest, he half-assed like he always did. And although Jiyong's
rib wasn't fully healed, he returned to school that Monday per Dami's orders.
He was healthy enough, according to Dr. Goldman, and that was all she needed to
hear. So with the aid of fuzzy, vicodin induced bliss, Jiyong sat through every
single one of his classes.
 
Aside from his Algebra teacher grilling him in a futile attempt to humiliate
him in front of his classmates, the day had been relatively unexciting. And by
the time the lunch bell rang, Jiyong was itching for a cigarette to soften his
aggravation. He walked against the flow of students migrating to the cafeteria.
Which made him remember that he'd never had the chance to visit Colin. In fact,
he'd forgotten about the poor sap altogether. Jiyong held in a chuckle when he
imagined how worried the Irishman must be. Jackass probably thinks I'm dead.
Lighter in hand, he snorted to himself and pushed open the heavy steel door at
the end of the corridor, stepping out onto the cement landing.
 
“You're back,” a low voice stated off to his left and he jolted, lighter
tumbling from his grasp and bouncing onto the steps.
 
Jiyong's heart hammered away in his chest as he turned his head, greeted with
the sight of Seunghyun's smirking face. The boy was perched on the ledge, much
like he had been the first day they'd met, long legs dangling and lit cigarette
clutched in his fingers. He breathed a faint laugh and was about to pull his
pack of Marlboro reds from the pocket of his coat when Seunghyun approached
him, already holding out one of his own. Jiyong took it, tucking the filter
between his teeth, and silently watched the boy cup his hands around the tip to
light it.
 
“Sorry,” Seunghyun murmured, eyes shimmering with mirth.
 
He inhaled, letting his hand fall to hang at his side, then tilted his head to
blow a cloud of smoke up into the cold air. Jiyong followed the cloud for a
moment before lowering his gaze to meet Seunghyun's.
 
“You weren't at the diner last week.” Jiyong flicked his thumb against the
filter, attention flitting from the boy's intense stare to the corner of his
mouth; to his neck, the tiny black plug stretching his earlobe, and then back
to his eyes.
 
“I was shackled to a table in the library. Group research paper for my AP Bio
class.” Seunghyun's lips spread into a teasing smile. “Why, did you miss me?”
 
The truth was that he sort of had. He would never admit it, though. He was
barely admitting it to himself. Jiyong sniffed, not quite capable of
controlling his mouth, lips stubbornly lifting and no doubt giving him away.
 
“No.”
 
Seunghyun swayed into his space, their noses centimeters apart. His smile
widened. “You're a shitty liar.”
 
And then the boy withdrew, moving to lean into the wall beside Jiyong as he
continued smoking. Jiyong stared straight ahead. He noticed that his heart
hadn't stopped pounding. Seunghyun shifted and their shoulders pressed together
and then the pounding halted, his heart frozen in his chest for ten paralyzing
seconds before it fought to resume its normal rhythm. Looking down at his
hands, Jiyong laughed and brought his cigarette to his lips.
 
Shitty liar, indeed.
***** Chapter 6 *****
“You've been working a lot for someone who just recovered from a serious
beatdown,” Seunghyun said, a bit distracted, his eyes downcast as he flipped
through the flimsy pages of his notebook.
 
Jiyong was slouched across from him, both arms hooked above his head over the
back of the vinyl seat. He sighed, but he didn't protest, studying the boy
intently like he could read his thoughts if he concentrated hard enough.
Seunghyun was searching for something amongst his scribbles and Jiyong stared
at his fingers. They moved slowly, meticulously caressing every page as he
skimmed over words he'd already written. Jiyong wondered how many notebooks
he'd filled this year alone and what it was that he wrote about all the time.
His head flopped to the side, cradled against the inside of his arm as he
watched. Seunghyun had been coming into the diner every night since that day at
school. To keep him company. To ask more questions. Jiyong's lips slanted and
he felt a pleased tingle pass through him, collecting in the tips of his toes –
toes that curled inside of his boots – and he cleared his throat.
 
“It's nothing I can't handle,” Jiyong said, eyelids heavy. He was so tired and
the cat clock on the wall was taunting him with its creepy grin and slow-moving
hands. “I don't really have a choice, anyway.”
 
Seunghyun looked up, eyebrows locked together in confusion.
 
“Rent, remember? I have to make up for all the hours I lost sitting on the
fucking couch in a vicodin coma.”
 
“Do you think you and Dami'll be okay?” Seunghyun frowned, propping his elbows
on the table, notebook forgotten.
 
He shrugged and hoped that his anxiety on the subject didn't bleed through the
veil of forced calm he'd taken to wearing in public. Seunghyun's gaze was
steady, but kind, and he let himself revel in it for a moment before lowering
his arms to wrap them around his shoulders.
 
“Dunno.” Jiyong exhaled, focusing on the patterned table top. “Too early to
tell. I'd be less worried if I didn't have to waste half the day at school.”
 
“Speaking of–“
 
“If you're about to lecture me, I don't wanna hear it,” he interrupted with a
slight smirk.
 
Seunghyun averted his eyes almost immediately, fingers dropping to play with
one of the blank pages in his hands, bending the edge until it creased. Jiyong
felt the sudden desire to stop his fidgeting, to place his own hand over those
long fingers, but he just inhaled and clenched his fists and waited for him to
speak.
 
A ghost of a smile appeared and then faded, Seunghyun lifting his head to look
Jiyong in the eye. “I'm not...I'm not gonna lecture you. I was just curious.”
 
You're always curious. His smirk widened as he picked up his coffee cup and
took a small sip. It was lukewarm and bitter but he was too lazy to go behind
the counter and refill it. Seunghyun flattened the creased page then turned it
over and folded it in the opposite direction. Jiyong didn't understand why he
was afraid. Surely by now the boy knew that he'd either answer his questions or
he wouldn't.
 
“Well?” He prodded.
 
Seunghyun's hands stilled and he leaned back in his seat, the vinyl squeaking
quietly as he met Jiyong's gaze.
 
“Why do you fight it so much? I mean, you're not brainless.”
 
Jiyong laughed. “You're so sweet.”
 
“Shut up,” Seunghyun mumbled, grin spreading gradually across his face as he
slipped his beanie off and tossed it in his lap.
 
He was starting to lose count of the number of times he'd seen Seunghyun run
his hands through his hair. And it shouldn't have been so mesmerizing, but he
could never look away; could never find the strength to not follow the way his
fingers disappeared into messy, black strands. The way those black strands
would glide between his knuckles and stick out at funny angles until they were
tamed again. Jiyong was also starting to lose count of the number of times he'd
mentally attributed the words “cute” and “adorable” to something Seunghyun did.
Which kind of made him want to shrivel up and die.
 
Biting down on his lip, Jiyong slumped a little lower against the backrest and
decided that continuing to glare at the table was probably for the best. Still,
he sensed Seunghyun's gaze; felt the heat of it on his skin. Or maybe that was
just him. Seunghyun was becoming a lot less stealthy in regards to staring and
it usually resulted in something dumb like his stomach doing a somersault. He
let out a small huff.
 
“Don't tell me you actually like high school,” Jiyong said, reaching over to
take his coffee again.
 
Seunghyun snorted. “It's not my favorite thing in the world, no.”
 
“Lucky for you, it's almost over,” he mumbled over the rim of the ceramic mug.
 
With a sigh, Seunghyun hunched forward onto the table, chin cradled in his
hands. “Not soon enough.”
 
The somber statement hung in the air between them while Jiyong knocked back the
rest of his bitter coffee. Something in the tone of Seunghyun's voice
reawakened his own curiosity because he realized that he didn't really know
anything about the boy. Not outside of his reading habits and the fact that he
wrote more than anyone he'd ever met. And that they smoked the same cigarettes
and were both addicted to coffee; that he was too nice and annoyingly
perceptive and just as stubborn. Jiyong swished the dregs of sediment around in
the bottom of his cup and wondered for the thousandth time why Seunghyun would
even bother with someone like him.
 
“You still haven't answered my question.”
 
He smiled, flicking his eyes up to discover Seunghyun watching him again. “I
was hoping you hadn't noticed.”
 
“Nice try,” Seunghyun murmured.
 
Setting his cup down, he rubbed at his face, trying to keep himself alert but
still feeling like a zombie. Jiyong was slipping into one of his moods, the
need to be defensive instead of amiable making his shoulders tense. He just
wanted to go home and sleep before he got too cranky and said something he'd
regret.
 
“Why do you even care?” he asked, tone perhaps a little more rude than he'd
intended.
 
Seunghyun didn't let this faze him though. It seemed he didn't let much get to
him when it came to Jiyong and Jiyong was always left with this tiny ball of
frustration in his chest because he couldn't fucking figure out why.
 
“Is it really so bad that I'd like to know you?”
 
He scoffed, grinning despite himself, and observed Seunghyun for a moment;
taking in the openness of his expression, the muted humor in his eyes and the
way he stared back as if to challenge whatever words would come out of Jiyong's
mouth in denial. Because of course Seunghyun knew he would try to deflect. It
was his M.O.
 
Jiyong let his gaze fall to his hands as he stretched the material of his t-
shirt with his fingers.
 
“I'm not worth knowing, Seunghyun,” he said quietly.
 
“I beg to differ,” came the equally quiet reply.
 
His eyelids drifted shut, Seunghyun's gentle conviction at odds with the pity
party he was currently having inside of his own head. Jiyong felt so off
balance when he was with him, like he was teetering on the edge of something
but he didn't know what. A soft sigh left his lips and he grabbed his empty
coffee up, pulling himself from the booth to stand.
 
“I have to close out. It's almost two,” he said, tiny ball of frustration only
growing bigger when he glanced over and Seunghyun was regarding him patiently
and without any irritation whatsoever.
 
Turning back, he held the boy's gaze for as long as he could handle it.
Jiyong's eyes narrowed as he tried to put the invisible puzzle pieces together
in his mind and Seunghyun just returned his scrutiny with a peaceful sort of
affection. Because Jiyong's attitude was amusing to him. Maybe he was more
transparent than he liked to believe. Maybe Seunghyun had x-ray vision. He
sniffed, looking at the cat clock and then once more at Seunghyun before
walking away, dragging his feet across the tiled floor.
 
At the register he counted his drawer and didn't lift his head until he heard
the bell above the door jingle, then listened to the rumbling sound of an
engine starting and growing faint as Seunghyun drove off. The diner was silent
save for the occasional noise from Leroy in the kitchen and the repetitive
tick-tock tick-tock of the cat's tail as it swung back and forth. Jiyong ground
the heel of his hand into his eye and sighed again, deflating against the edge
of the counter. What did Seunghyun see when he looked at Jiyong? What was he
missing when he peered into the bathroom mirror above the sink and saw nothing?
 
I wanna see what you see, he thought to himself, eyes closed. Jiyong released a
weary chuckle and then frowned, untying his apron and tossing it in the box
beneath the register. Viv and Heather offered him sleepy smiles as they
entered. He said hello and goodbye and tugged on his coat.
 
Lighting a cigarette on the curb before strolling across the parking lot,
Jiyong tilted his face towards the sky; counting the handful of stars that
played hide and seek from behind thick clouds. He took a drag and let gravity
pull him from the sidewalk as he stumbled along the asphalt. A cold breeze
ripped through the silhouettes of trees, making him tremble. Jiyong thought
about the sincerity in Seunghyun's dark brown eyes.
 
I wanna see what you see.
 
*
 
And so it went – two steps forward, one step back. Seunghyun's determination
never wavered as he kept pushing little by little, coming to the diner every
day, and Jiyong was the pendulum that swayed from left to right. From prickly
to pleasant. Most of the time he was too exhausted to care and Seunghyun took
all of it in stride; took his petulance and weird moods as much as he took
everything else. No one but Dami had ever been this tolerant of his bullshit
and it was...impressive, to say the least.
 
But the endless rotation of school and work and school and work was beginning
to take its toll on Jiyong and really he just wanted this month to be
fuckingover already. Because he felt non-human. The only thing that kept him
sane was Seunghyun, actually; the boy's enduring companionship something he
anticipated instead of feared. Jiyong wasn't always on his best behavior, but
he had come to appreciate that, with Seunghyun, he didn't have to be anything
other than exactly what he was in that moment.
 
Sometimes they talked and it was easy –
 
“Is that kid still trying to mess with you?”
 
“Hmm?”
 
Jiyong's head was resting on his arms, grogginess making him seem infinitely
heavy, like he would sink into the earth if not for the floor of the diner
blocking his descent. Seunghyun had brought some of his schoolwork with him and
was busy copying information down from one of his textbooks. He listened to the
continuous scratch of his pen and to the familiar rumble of his voice as he
spoke.
 
“What's his name? Victor?” Seunghyun's scratching stopped and Jiyong listened
to him gulp down half of his coffee.
 
“He constantly harasses me in class, but that's about it,” he mumbled, words
slowly pushing their way past his lips. “I don't have the energy to do anything
else but ignore him, even though it's eating away at my soul that I can't put
him out of his goddamn misery.”
 
“And what would be the point of that?”
 
Jiyong listened to the ceramic mug hit the surface of the table and he swore he
could hear the curve of Seunghyun's mouth and the arch of his eyebrow. There
was a clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the sound of running water. Leroy
was humming the first few bars of a Temptations song over and over again.
 
Shifting, he looked at Seunghyun from under hooded lids. “I'd be doing the
world a huge favor. He's so obnoxious it hurts.”
 
“You're obnoxious too,” Seunghyun teased, eyes bright and adorable dimples
indenting his cheeks. Jiyong kicked him in the shin underneath the table and
the boy's alarmed cry dissolved into surprised laughter. “Fucking–” Seunghyun
hissed through a grin. “You asshole.”
 
Jiyong scrunched up his nose and let his head fall back onto his arms. He
smiled.
 
“Seunghyun, stop neglecting your homework, it'll get jealous.”
 
And his only reply was a half-hearted nudge of the boy's foot against his own.
 
Sometimes they talked and it wasn't –
 
Sunday morning and the diner was fit to bursting. They had a queue outside,
impatient customers lining the sidewalk, blowing humid breath onto frozen
fingers in the cold November air. Jiyong had just finished serving a table of
six and the muscles in his arms were vibrating from carrying all the
overflowing plates of food. But the fun didn't end there, because they called
him over again and Jiyong plastered a benign smile on his face as he listened
to the growing list of complaints and requests and forgotten orders. Apparently
today was “Criticize Everything” day. He was trying to keep people happy; to
not miss out on details and to remember to refill coffee and not spill anything
and be fucking nice even though all he wanted to do was stick a spoon in both
of his fucking eyes. The endless, discordant hum of voices and clinking plates
and molten, sizzling grease were more overwhelming than ever before. Jiyong
didn't know what made this Sunday different than any of the others but the
stress of the last few weeks and the lack of sleep and the long hours were
wearing him so thin. Panic crept, slow and deadly, up from the pit of his
stomach to hover in the back of his throat and he tried to swallow it down but
he couldn't. He saw Anna and Heather running laps between tables, wiping sweat
from their foreheads, and he knew he wasn't the only one suffering at the
moment but he needed a second. Feeling dizzy, he leaned against the back wall
next to the entrance of the kitchen. Jiyong covered his cheeks with both hands
and breathed.
 
“Hey,” Seunghyun greeted, having just walked though the door. The boy's
cheerful expression vanished as he stepped a little closer. “Is everything
okay? You seem kinda pale.”
 
Was this deja vu? Didn't they just do this? Why was he always here when Jiyong
was broken or breaking?
 
“Please, Seunghyun...not now.” He made to move away from the wall, eyes already
on tables that needed to be serviced but a hand was holding him back – laying
flat over his agitated heart.
 
“Jiyong, wait.”
 
“I can't–” He almost gasped, fighting against the pressure on his sternum. “I
have to go back to work. I don't have time for this,” Jiyong said, rushed and
frantic and he wouldn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. He had to go.
 
But the hand didn't move, in fact it pushed against his chest until his
shoulders hit the wall again. Jiyong hadn't realized that he was breathing so
heavily until the weight of Seunghyun's palm rose and fell with the swelling of
his lungs. It still didn't seem like enough, each inhale of oxygen too short.
His eyes darted from floor to ceiling and god, was he shaking?
 
“Easy,” Seunghyun murmured, shuffling closer to block Jiyong's view of the
restaurant with his broad shoulders.
 
“But I–“ and he gasped again.
 
“Shh...” the boy hushed, his hands rising to cup the sides of Jiyong's neck,
thumbs stroking the line of his jaw. “Breathe.”
 
Seunghyun's fingers were cold on his skin and it elicited a tiny shiver and a
fresh spark of panic. He squeezed his eyes shut, head falling back to knock
into the wall as he tried desperately to chill the fuck out. But it was hard.
Seunghyun was touching him, which was okay and not okay and it shouldn't have
been helping, but the way his hands were curled around his neck, the way it
felt to have him so near; Jiyong almost succumbed to the urge to burrow into
his arms in the hopes that today would just cease to be.
 
The flurry of activity and the incessant noise filling the diner almost faded
into the background while they stood there, leaving only them. Leaving only the
warmth of the boy's body and his unexpectedly soothing presence. Seunghyun's
thumbs roamed a little higher, daring to brush the swell of his cheekbones and
Jiyong's eyelids fluttered open. He inhaled sharply and let it out in a shaky
puff as he stared into Seunghyun's eyes and found a gentle reassurance. The
anxious churning in his gut subsided and he was still lightheaded. He didn't
know what had come over him, he wasn't prone to panic attacks. But he was glad
– that the other boy was here. Jiyong dreaded to think what might have happened
if he hadn't shown up when he did.
 
“Sorry,” he whispered, feeling his breathing even out in stages as Seunghyun's
fingers framed his face.
 
“Don't be sorry,” Seunghyun whispered back, lips tilting into a soft smile.
“Are you all right?”
 
Jiyong nodded and those fingers slid away to bury themselves in deep pockets.
He ignored the way his stomach twisted because he missed the contact and tried
to find somewhere to look that wasn't Seunghyun but he was everywhere.
 
“Thank you.” Jiyong's hands tore through his hair and he laughed at himself,
embarrassed.
 
Seunghyun stayed close, gaze never leaving his face. “What happened?”
 
He crossed his arms and chose to fixate on one of the toggles on the boy's
jacket. Jiyong opened his mouth only to close it again, throat constricting as
he swallowed.
 
“I– can we...can we not?” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced
up. Seunghyun was still staring at him with so much concern and it was making
him anxious, just for entirely different reasons.
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Okay.” Jiyong shook his hands out and gestured lamely towards the hectic
bustling of the diner. “I'm gonna...go.”
 
Dipping his head, Seunghyun stepped back to let him pass. On unsteady legs, he
walked directly behind the counter and poured himself a glass of water, gulping
it all down at once. Jesus, how many times was he going to be rescued by his
knight in shining armor? Always swooping in at just the right moment. It was
bizarre. And Jiyong was too out of it to think about the universe sending
signals or whatever. Besides, he had tables to wait. With another heavy sigh,
he tossed the cup in with the other dirty dishes and returned to his job. Anna
gave him an exasperated look and he waved her off. They'd talk later.
 
Seunghyun sat at the lunch counter for the rest of the morning, scrawling
whatever it was that he always wrote in one of his many notebooks. And even
though Jiyong never had the chance to take another break, the fact that
Seunghyun was there at all made everything a little less insane. Less
stressful.
 
Better.
 
 
Sometimes, they didn't talk at all –
 
Jiyong curled up against the window, legs drawn up and chin resting on his
knees as he read. Seunghyun mirrored him on the other side of the booth,
engrossed in his own book. It had become their habit; sitting together in
comfortable silence late at night when the diner was empty and Jiyong had
nothing else to do. But tonight he couldn't get through more than a few
sentences without losing his place, mind replaying the incident days ago when
the boy had saved him from the claws of anxiety. He remembered the sensation of
Seunghyun's hands, his magic touch, and blushed profusely. Jiyong stole a quick
glance to see if he'd noticed, but Seunghyun's attention was wholly devoted to
the story on the brittle, yellowed pages in his lap.
 
Somehow, over the course of the month, they'd formed a version of friendship.
Maybe it was more than that, he didn't know. Jiyong let his hands drop, book
laying abandoned at his feet, and he turned his head to study Seunghyun. To
study the slope of his nose and the swell of his eyelashes; the crease of his
forehead and the slight parting of his lips. Jiyong hugged his legs and
released a careful breath. He'd never actively made the decision to let
Seunghyun win, but it had happened regardless. Because he didn't want to run
anymore. Because he – because he liked Seunghyun and hated that he liked him,
but that stupid giddy swirling in his chest refused to go away and he was done.
Jiyong was done fighting. He was no match for Seunghyun's awful jokes, his odd
sense of loyalty, his smiles, and the way his eyes lit up when he laughed.
Jiyong liked the way his mind worked, liked his thoughts and his ideas. Except
for his sister, he'd never known anyone that he could talk to about the things
he loved; the books he loved, the words he cherished. Seunghyun was offering
Jiyong something that he'd never had before. He just wondered if he'd ever be
brave enough to take it.
 
“What?” Seunghyun's question startled him and he realized he'd been caught
staring.
 
Jiyong's eyes widened and he looked away, uttering a quick, “Nothing.”
 
The bell above the door jingled then, bringing with it a middle-aged man
bundled in a thick coat; worn, leather briefcase gripped in one of his hands.
Jiyong unfolded his limbs, thankful for the escape, and left the table to seat
him. But even as he politely listened to the older man prattle on about his
shitty day, Jiyong could see Seunghyun watching him from the other end of the
diner and it made his heart race.
 
*
 
On the final night of November, Jiyong nodded off at their table while
Seunghyun worked on a paper for his AP English class, lulled to sleep by the
sound of graphite on paper and Leroy's crooning in the kitchen. Head pillowed
on top of his arms, he floated on the edge of unconsciousness for what seemed
like years. Noises filtered into his ears, muffled and distorted and at some
point he thought he must be dreaming because he heard female voices but he knew
the diner was empty and Seunghyun would have woken him up if it wasn't. Jiyong
cycled through levels of awareness, always flirting with deep slumber and being
pulled out of its clutches just before he went under. He shifted, moving
further onto the table, and settled. The voices returned and he frowned. They
were familiar, yet he couldn't place them. Jiyong made a little frustrated
grumbling sound and that's when he felt something delicately sift through the
hairs at his temple. Fingertips? It felt like fingertips. The repetitive motion
continued and it soothed his frustration until he relaxed again, muscles going
slack. Jiyong hummed as the caresses branched out to the back of his head and
the nape of his neck. It was lovely. And in a matter of seconds he was out
cold.
 
Jerking awake, Jiyong groaned and lifted his cement block of a head, blinking
dazedly. He glared at Seunghyun who was reading quietly across from him.
 
“You weren't supposed to let me fall asleep,” he croaked, kicking him in the
foot.
 
Seunghyun looked at him reproachfully over the edge of the book in his hands,
but it was ruined by the smirk that toyed with the corners of his mouth.
 
“I didn't have the heart. You obviously needed it.”
 
“What time is it?” Jiyong drooped back down onto the table top, too tired to
check the clock.
 
“After four, I think.”
 
He bolted upright at that and smushed his cheeks, groaning again. “Seriously?”
 
“Don't freak out, Heather took care of everything when she came in,” Seunghyun
informed him calmly, eyes trained on the words in his book. “We all decided it
was best to let you sleep.”
 
“Oh, so it was a unanimous vote to let me drool all over myself.” Jiyong's
tongue had transformed into a slab of useless muscle, every syllable a slow
battle. He yawned and shook his head to clear it of fatigue. “That makes
it so much better.”
 
“It was cute.”
 
He laughed outright and subjected Seunghyun to a withering stare. “Cute?”
 
But the boy just pretended to glare back, humor shining through his narrowed
eyes as he lay his book to rest on the table. Jiyong tried to prevent himself
from blushing, Seunghyun's playful expression setting off warning sirens in his
brain and a storm of nervous energy in his body. Clenching his jaw, he looked
over to find Viv, Heather, and Leroy standing behind the counter conversing in
hushed tones. Viv was sending them surreptitious glances and giggling which
meant they were probably talking about him. About him and Seunghyun. Jiyong had
known them long enough to guess that they'd already started planning his
fucking wedding. When Heather winked at him, his suspicions were confirmed and
he rolled his eyes, getting up to pull on his jacket.
 
“Do you want a ride home?” Seunghyun asked, zipping up his backpack and giving
a wave of farewell to The Three Stooges as they left.
 
“No. No, I think I'm gonna walk.” He fastened the snaps on his coat, stuffing
his hands in his pockets and watching the boy throw his bag into the backseat
of his Honda.
 
Seunghyun slammed the door shut, locking the car with a press of a button, and
approached Jiyong where he was balancing on the edge of the curb. Jiyong
studied him, his striking features illuminated by the golden light of the sign
above the diner. He thought about the first night he spoke to Seunghyun at
their booth by the window. And about how much had changed since then. Three
months. Seunghyun's dark eyes caught the glow of the neon bulbs and Jiyong
couldn't turn away.
 
“Can I come with?”
 
Seunghyun's hopeful question broke the spell, his voice eradicating some of the
cold that had begun to seep into his bones. Jiyong smiled, lowering his gaze to
examine their feet and tilting forward just a little bit.
 
“Don't you ever get tired of being with me?” He muttered.
 
Stealing a peek at Seunghyun, he was hit with one of the boy's sweet, luminous
grins; the kind that made his heart feel like it was failing, and he had to
draw his lower lip between his teeth to restrain one of his own.
 
“Nope,” came Seunghyun's clipped but gleeful reply and he ruffled Jiyong's hair
before starting off across the parking lot.
 
It took a second for him to follow, too caught up in the fuzziness in his head
and the way his stomach was filling with lazy butterflies. But when he fell in
line next to Seunghyun, the sync of their footsteps echoing off the pavement,
he kept close. Their bodies swayed into one another as they walked – arms
knocking and knuckles grazing – and a strong wind picked up, whistling through
the naked branches of the trees. The quiet of early morning enveloped them and
he listened to the distant chirping of birds and the shared sound of their
breathing.
 
“So, I've been meaning to ask...” he said, interrupting their easy silence and
tapping a cigarette from his pack while Seunghyun did the same. “How come
you're never at home?”
 
“Ah. Yeah.” Seunghyun heaved a sigh, lighting the tip of his Marlboro and
sucking smoke into his lungs.
 
Jiyong watched him take three more drags, the boy's eyes trained on the
sidewalk but he was somewhere else entirely, lost in his own headspace. He
almost thought Seunghyun wouldn't respond. Which was unusual because he always
did. Always shared. Always gave of himself freely. Jiyong nibbled on his lip,
flicking ash onto the cement. Had he struck a nerve?
 
“My dad isn't around much,” Seunghyun continued eventually, features pensive
and voice low. His eyes traveled from the sidewalk to Jiyong and then he took
another drag. “He says it's because of business, but I don't believe him. I
don't think my mom believes him either, which is why she spends most of her
time drinking.” He shrugged, lips quirking as he spoke around the filter of his
cigarette. “So I prefer to be...elsewhere. It hasn't felt like home in years,
anyway. And like I said, I'm easily overlooked.”
 
Jiyong processed all of this carefully; it explained some things and invited
more questions about others, but for once he didn't want to pry. He wondered
how lonely Seunghyun really was and leaned into the boy without thinking about
it.
 
“I don't think that's true,” he murmured and Seunghyun's laughter drifted into
his ears.
 
“You had no idea I existed until that fateful day on the stairs, don't even try
to butter me up, Kwon.” The boy was smiling now and he nudged Jiyong in the
shoulder.
 
“I'm not–” Jiyong scoffed, shoving back. “I'm just gonna stop being nice to
you.”
 
One of Seunghyun's thick, inky eyebrows was arched as he looked down at him in
mock disbelief.
 
“You were being nice?”
 
His jaw went slack and he actually sort of whined because he had been serious
and now Seunghyun was making fun of him for it.
 
Jiyong huffed. “Not only are you weird but you're annoying as fuck.”
 
“Must be why you like me so much,” Seunghyun drawled and let out a lilting
chuckle when Jiyong shoved him again. “Anyway, what about you and Dami?”
 
Jiyong faltered, wanting to respond but not sure how. He hadn't really thought
about having to answer this question. Even though it had been inevitable,
Seunghyun being who he was. But five o'clock in the morning on an empty
sidewalk didn't feel like the best setting for his pathetic sob story. He would
tell him later. Maybe. Maybe he'd never be ready. Jiyong took one last pull
from his cigarette and tossed it out onto the street.
 
“Let's save that particular anecdote for another time.”
 
Seunghyun stared at him for a long moment and then nodded, staying silent.
Neither of them said anything else, just allowed their legs to carry them
forward through the early morning chill. Jiyong tried not to sink into the
depressing whirlpool of his thoughts. Had he been alone, that would've been a
given, but Seunghyun's elbow bumped his and the boy offered him a mellow smile.
A smile meant for only him. Jiyong ducked his head and praised all deities ever
for not letting his cheeks flush with a traitorous heat.
 
They rounded the corner onto his street and Seunghyun sent his cigarette butt
flying into the gutter as they crossed to the other side. His building was
dark, save for the yellow light in the tiny foyer at the bottom of the stairs.
He lingered on the walkway and slipped his hands into his coat pockets.
 
“Jiyong...” Seunghyun said quietly, still standing close. Still smiling.
 
Jiyong swallowed as his eyes roamed over Seunghyun's face and down to the
toggles on his jacket. There was always this unbearable sense of intimacy when
they were alone; on the stairs at school, at the diner, standing in front of
his door like he was being dropped off after a date. His pulse fluttered
against the insides of his wrists at the implications of that comparison.
 
“Seunghyun,” he returned with a soft laugh but it got caught in his throat.
 
“This, uh, might seem random, but...do you smoke pot?”
 
Laughing fully, he grinned up at Seunghyun. “I haven't in a while.”
 
“Would you be interested in splitting a joint with me?” The boy asked through a
matching grin.
 
“Such a proper invitation, how can I resist?” Jiyong bit down on his lip, but
his smile never faltered and he glanced at the three or four inches that
separated the tips of their shoes. “I don't work tomorrow anyway, this is the
perfect end to the month from hell.” Lifting his chin, he looked Seunghyun in
the eye and added teasingly, “Present company excluded.”
 
That won him another bright smile, his heart beating a bit faster now with the
knowledge that their time together wouldn't expire yet. Jiyong couldn't
remember when he'd gotten so attached but he wasn't going to think about that
too much because it would only make him more nervous.
 
“Your sister's probably sleeping though, right?”
 
He nodded, pulling his keys out. “Yeah, but we can go up on the roof. Come on.”
 
Jiyong lead him around the side of the building to the back entrance, unlocking
the door and climbing the staircase all the way to the top, their footsteps
loud in the enclosed space. Both of their chests were heaving when they reached
the final landing and they exchanged tired laughter at their own expense.
Jiyong sighed and pushed his way out onto the roof, letting Seunghyun pass
before wedging a block of wood in the door so it wouldn't lock behind them.
Loose gravel crunched underneath the soles of their shoes as they wandered
nearer to the edge, observing the leafless treetops and sloped roofs and the
dense blanket of gray clouds above. The stillness of morning closed in around
them and it almost seemed like they were the only two people left in the world.
Their eyes met and darted away. Jiyong sniffed, wiping at his nose. The cold
air was making it run.
 
Seunghyun's hand disappeared into the breastpocket of his open coat, retrieving
a small, orange prescription bottle and shaking out a pre-wrapped joint. The
boy tucked the bottle back in his pocket and then he lit it, inhaling steady
and deep. Jiyong could hear the rolling paper crackle as the cherry glowed
brightly in his fingers. Seunghyun exhaled, coughing once, and extended his
hand to Jiyong. He pinched the joint between his thumb and middle finger and
brought it to his mouth.
 
The heady smoke curled thickly in his lungs as he held it there, letting it out
in a single breath when he no longer could. Jiyong licked his lips, overly
conscious of the way Seunghyun was watching him.
 
“Shit.” He laughed a little, knocking the ash onto the gravel as he surrendered
to the creep of his high. “This is really good. Where'd you get it?”
 
Jiyong passed the joint to Seunghyun and the tips of the boy's fingers grazed
his.
 
“A kid I used to hang out with, he graduated three years go,” Seunghyun said,
kicking at one of the loose stones at their feet.
 
“You had a friend?”
 
Jiyong narrowly avoided getting thwacked in the arm and he stumbled away from
Seunghyun, mouth cracking into a broad grin as he chuckled.
 
“Boyfriend, actually,” Seunghyun corrected him, turning his gaze to the
rooftops again. Jiyong's grin melted into nonexistence and his brow knotted.
“Or friend with benefits...it wasn't much of a relationship.” Making a vague
gesture of indifference with his hand, Seunghyun took another hit and looked
back at Jiyong. He smirked, muttering a sarcastic, “Shocking, I know.”
 
Shocking was one way of putting it. He attempted to arrange this new piece of
information, to fit it in with all the others he'd already collected but it
felt weird. And he didn't like that it felt weird. Jiyong frowned. There was
too much he didn't know about Seunghyun's life and he realized he didn't like
that either.
 
“Well, I–”
 
Seunghyun cut him off. “It's okay,” he said, passing Jiyong the joint and
reaching up to adjust the beanie on his head. “You don't have to say anything.”
 
So he didn't. Jiyong closed his eyes, sucking in the fragrant smoke, and just
concentrated on getting stoned instead of on Seunghyun's older, pot-dealing ex-
boyfriend and Seunghyun's butterfly-inducing stares and how Seunghyun
gravitated towards him whenever he took more than a few steps away; always
closing the gap until there almost wasn't any distance at all. Their silence
was a little more strained than usual as they finished off the joint. Jiyong
succumbed to the peak of his high and let it saturate all of his senses; let it
mute the overwhelming feeling of Seunghyun's constant proximity. If he wasn't
blazed as fuck he'd probably be a lot less relaxed, but as it was, he managed
to ignore his buzzing nerves and the way he'd stopped giving a shit about
personal space.
 
“Why don't you like school?” Seunghyun asked, tone hushed because they were
shoulder to shoulder, the boy's voice seeming even deeper and it rumbled right
through him.
 
Jiyong snorted and looked up at the lightening sky, dark gray turning to ashy
blue with the rising of the sun.
 
“Are we really having this conversation again?”
 
“We sure are.”
 
He sighed, sparing Seunghyun a sideways glance as he rocked back onto his
heels, brain churning to formulate an answer. Might as well get this over
with.“I think it's a fucking joke. And I don't want to go to college,” Jiyong
said.
 
“What do you want to do, then?” Seunghyun pressed, clearly not willing to
surrender his curiosity.
 
“Drop out. Work. Take care of Dami.” He didn't even have to think about it
because he'd made up his mind ages ago. Jiyong fisted his hands in his pockets,
angling his body towards Seunghyun as he continued, focusing on the ground.
“She, um, she never got to finish her undergrad. I wanted to save money, help
her go back to school.”
 
He'd never admitted this before, not to his sister or anyone else. Saying it
out loud was strange and he freed a hand to slide it through his hair.
 
“But I can't do that until I'm finished, which could be like, years from now at
the rate I'm going. Besides, they'd probably kick me out before I even came
close to graduating,” Jiyong muttered.
 
“You're so smart though,” Seunghyun said, voice growing in volume and certainty
when Jiyong tried to interject. “Really you are. This shit should be easy for
you.”
 
Scowling, he moved to stand in front of the boy, staring him down with an
indignant heat that he felt everywhere. Seunghyun stared right back.
 
“I don't care if it's easy. That's not the point.”
 
“But if you applied yourself you'd practically be done already,” Seunghyun
countered, exasperated. Jiyong had never seen him like this and it fueled his
own irritation.
 
Jiyong rolled his eyes. “Oh, if I applied myself, sure. Like that changes
anything.”
 
“Why are you so against this?” Seunghyun demanded.
 
“Why are you so hellbent on pissing me off?”
 
“I'm not trying to piss you off, I'm just trying to understand. And you keep
acting like I'm out to get you.”
 
“Seunghyun–” he stopped himself and pinched the bridge of his nose. His anger
had come out of left field and he really really didn't want to be angry at
Seunghyun. The pleasant, cotton-ball haze that had blanketed him was all but
demolished now. Stepping forward, Jiyong got right up in the boy's face and
said, “You push a lot, y'know? Why do you push me?”
 
“Because I want you to push back,” Seunghyun almost whispered, eyes glimmering
with determination. “And I think you like hiding a little too much.”
 
He gave a low growl of annoyance, shoving Seunghyun in the chest and throwing
his hands in the air. Sometimes he wanted to punch Seunghyun. Sometimes Jiyong
wanted to cling to him, to wrap himself up in his honesty and his goodness and
abandon his own fear of letting this fantastic fucking idiot get under his
skin. But really, Seunghyun was already there. He's already there.
 
Jiyong paced across the roof, disturbing the smooth stones and making them
clack sharply against one another. He breathed unsteadily and tried to compose
himself but he was so alive right now. So full of so many things. Jiyong
advanced on Seunghyun who had been waiting silently for him to find his voice.
The boy stared into his eyes and he almost lost his courage because all he
could see was patience and a desperate sort of longing. His heart was pounding
against his ribcage and his voice shook when he finally spoke, but it wasn't in
anger.
 
“You're so convinced that I'm like, this worthwhile thing,” Jiyong's throat
tightened painfully and he kept going. “But I'm nothing, Seunghyun. I'm–”
 
“Would you fucking stop that?” Seunghyun exploded, gripping him by the arms and
walking him backwards towards the center of the roof. “Jesus. You are not
nothing, you are so far from nothing. You don't see yourself at all, do you?”
 
Jiyong forced himself not to run away, even though he felt like he was about to
fall to pieces. His eyelids drifted shut and he sighed through his nose. He'd
asked for this, hadn't he?
 
Gazing up at Seunghyun, he spoke with defiance. “Then tell me what you see.”
 
Seunghyun's hands slid up from his arms to cup his face and Jiyong held his
breath.
 
“I see a boy who could be so much more than what he allows himself to be and
who is trying so hard not to let the world know how scared he is. I see a boy
who is impulsive and headstrong and kind and–” his voice cracked. “And loving
and foolish and beautiful and so fucking brilliant. Jiyong, I see you,”
Seunghyun said with quiet intensity, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks. “I see
you.”
 
And Jiyong lost it, the burn of tears too much to withstand, and he let them
leak from the corners of his eyes. His face twisted into a grimace and he broke
free of Seunghyun's hold, tripping over the loose stones and furiously wiping
the moisture away.
 
“You– ” Jiyong gasped and rubbed at his eyes. “Shit.” Why did he always cry in
front of Seunghyun? Why did it always seem like his chest was going to cave in
from all the things this boy made him feel? More tears spilled over, coating
his cheeks. A hand landed heavily on his shoulder and Jiyong gritted his teeth.
“God, you asshole. I– ”
 
“Ji–”
 
But Jiyong had silenced Seunghyun, diving forward to snake his arms underneath
the boy's jacket and coil them around his waist tightly. He burrowed into the
curve of his neck, sniffling, and without another word Seunghyun pulled him
closer – hugging him just as tight if not tighter. Gentle fingers stroked the
back of his head and he exhaled roughly, his reluctance going with it. There
was no keeping Seunghyun out, not anymore.
 
Jiyong clutched at the material of the boy's hoodie and melted against him.
Because it was perfect. And he didn't know until right then just how much he'd
needed it; how much he'd needed to be pushed, to hear those words...needed
Seunghyun. He wasn't sure he believed all of it himself, but the reverence in
Seunghyun's eyes had hit him so hard.
 
Leaning away, Jiyong looked up and watched his mouth curve into an apologetic
smile.
 
“I didn't mean to make you cry,” Seunghyun murmured, lifting a hand to brush
the remnants of tears from Jiyong's face.
 
He shook his head, mumbling, “It's fine.” And with another deep sigh he tugged
Seunghyun close again, pressing his forehead into the boy's chest. “I'm sorry
I'm so difficult.”
 
The response he got was not one he'd expected. In place of speaking, Seunghyun
tilted Jiyong's head back and planted a sweet, lingering kiss to his temple.
His breath hitched, fingers digging into the boy's waist as he was flooded with
a prickling warmth. Oh. Jiyong's mouth fell open and his eyes closed and
Seunghyun just nuzzled into his hair slightly before drawing him into his arms.
He felt the steady beating of Seunghyun's heart in his hands when he flattened
them against his back. Jiyong's own was still pounding away inside of him. This
thing that was developing between them, this thing he could put a name to but
wouldn't, it intimidated him more than everything else. Because it was new and
intense and exciting and Jiyong was totally bewildered by how much he wanted
it.
 
The November air grew a little sharper, cutting through his layers, but he
couldn't move. He was too busy committing Seunghyun's scent to memory;
cigarettes, laundry detergent, and the unmistakable aroma of grease that
permeated the diner. It was no surprise, Seunghyun was always there. A slow
smile spread across Jiyong's face and he pressed it against the side of
Seunghyun's neck. The arms around his shoulders squeezed and he felt those
tender lips at the curve of his ear. A small tremor shook him but he couldn't
tell if it was from the temperature or the gust of breath over his skin.
 
“We should go inside.”
 
“Not yet,” Jiyong replied, yawning as he tried to bury himself more permanently
in Seunghyun's embrace.
 
Seunghyun's faint laughter tickled his ear. “I think it's time to put you to
bed.”
 
Which only made him think about curling up under the covers with Seunghyun,
their legs tangled and his arms around Jiyong's waist, and suddenly he wasn't
so cold anymore. He inhaled, giving himself permission to savor this; the
contact, the solid comfort of Seunghyun's body. Jiyong knew that when he woke
up later things would be different. But he wouldn't worry about that yet.
 
“Just a few more minutes,” he mumbled and held him tighter, unwilling to
relinquish even a centimeter of space until he was ready.
 
Seunghyun's chest expanded in his arms as he sighed, fingers sinking into
Jiyong's shoulders like he'd had no intention of letting go anyway, and
whispered, “Okay.”
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
With his chin in his hand, Jiyong turned towards the windows of his English
classroom, staring at nothing while Ms. Harper droned on and on in the
background. He was thousands of miles away, thinking about Seunghyun. About how
this would be easier if he could just shut down and walk away even though he
knew he wasn't actually capable of doing that. Seunghyun had come to inhabit
some of the empty spaces inside of his chest and that didn't make him as
uncomfortable as he thought it would. It did make him a little desperate,
though. Jiyong hadn't talked to Seunghyun since Saturday morning, but the fact
that the boy was forever on his mind kind of made it seem like he was still
there; felt, but not seen. It was Wednesday now and finals were around the
corner and he suspected Seunghyun was busy being a model student instead of
wasting time with him. Because he hadn't been at the side entrance during lunch
either and Jiyong felt nauseous just from wondering where he was; felt needy
and stupid and so goddamned nervous.
 
A few brave snowflakes began to spiral down from the clouds and Jiyong observed
their slow migration until the edge of the window prevented it. He trapped his
bottom lip between his teeth and there was a twinge in his brow from being
furrowed for so long. He'd been spoiled by the last month. Having Seunghyun
with him every single day had ruined him and he didn't even notice until he'd
gone five days without hearing his voice. Without hearing him sigh and hearing
him laugh. He figured the time spent apart would have helped him sort through
the jumble of emotions and thoughts and questions, but really it just made him
feel infinitely more crazy. Jiyong was finally willing to admit that
he wanted to be around the other boy. However, it was the severity of the want
that he couldn't quite own up to, even in his head.
 
More snow fell from the sky, flakes growing in thickness and number as the
afternoon light dimmed and turned gray through the trees.
 
“Mr. Kwon,” Ms. Harper called, rousing him from his thoughts. She was smirking
in that condescending way that always drove him insane, because she acted like
she was teaching in a college lecture hall instead of a shitty public high
school.
 
“Yes, Caroline, how may I be of service?” Jiyong replied politely, taking great
pleasure in pushing her buttons.
 
He watched her spine stiffen slightly as she paced back and forth in front of
the blackboard. The rest of the class was dead silent, waiting for the carnage
to unfold. They were reviewing Catcher in the Rye for finals, which Jiyong had
read years ago and still didn't like. Also it was kind of ridiculous that they
were reading it now. She should be making them study Plath and Dickens and
Orwell, not Salinger. This shit was child's play.
 
“Would you be so kind to explain for us the significance of the Museum of
Natural History as it pertains to Holden's character?”
 
Ms. Harper was so sure that she'd make a fool out of him because he never
participated unless she forced him to, never brought anything with him to
class; he didn't even carry a backpack. But usually Jiyong aced the pop quizzes
and handed in passable essays when he felt like it. She should know better than
to set him up, but she couldn't resist.
 
Jiyong leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and sighed
heavily.
 
“It represents his aversion to change; in himself and in the world around him,”
he stated, completely bored. “And I quote, “The best thing, though, in that
museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody’d move. . .
. Nobody’d be different. The only thing that would be different would be
you.”. Even the word choice of “you” instead of “me” shows his desire to
distance himself from the concept of change. Holden can't deal with the fact
that nothing stays as it is, that nothing is as simple as he wants it to be.
Because he fears what he does not understand.”
 
Someone let out a low whistle on the other side of the room and a few of the
kids snickered. Ms. Harper looked about ready to smack him. Jiyong gave her an
insincere smile and turned his attention back to the window, fidgeting with the
the sleeve of his blue zip-up.
 
“You think you're so much better than the rest of us. Isn't that right, Kwon?”
 
He rolled his eyes. “Victor, shut up.”
 
But Victor just scoffed, slouched at his desk one row over, legs splayed out
and a neon snapback perched at an angle on his head.
 
“Oh look, the little faggot finally talks back,” the boy taunted.
 
Ms. Harper was either oblivious to the exchange or was choosing not to
acknowledge it, because she continued to write something on the blackboard with
yellow chalk in her atrocious, looping cursive. Jiyong tossed Victor a glare,
knuckles going white as he gripped the edge of his desk. He sensed several
pairs of eyes watching them from around the room. Everyone was always so
thirsty for bloodshed.
 
“I'll do a lot more than that if you don't fucking knock it off.”
 
“Just like last time?” Victor leaned closer across the aisle, cocky sneer
painted on his round face and eyes narrowed. “If I remember correctly I left
you in a pool of your own blood.”
 
Jiyong laughed, his mirth fading into a drawn-out sigh as he stared at the boy
with a peacefulness he didn't really feel. His fingers itched to curl into hard
fists. He wanted to send them singing through the air and right into Victor's
big, infuriating mouth.
 
“That's funny, y'know, because as I recall, I kicked in you in the balls and
you rolled around on the pavement crying like a little bitch while your “boys”
did all the work.” Jiyong's lips slanted into a smirk. “Because you're
pathetic.”
 
Victor was already half-way out of his seat, ready to slam Jiyong's head
against the wall. “I'm gonna fuckin–”
 
“Mr. Perez, Mr. Kwon, that's enough.” Ms. Harper said, stern and authoritative.
She eyed Jiyong carefully and put her hands flat on her desk. “Please be quiet
or I'll send you both to the principal's office.”
 
They eased into their chairs reluctantly and she moved on with her pointless
lesson plan. But Jiyong could still feel the anger rippling off of Victor where
he'd sunk into a strained hunch. The boy had daggers in his eyes and Jiyong
realized that he was looking forward to the next round. Because with punks like
Victor there always would be and Jiyong had become too comfortable with his own
antagonistic nature not to keep coming back for more. There was just something
about winding someone up and watching them dance.
 
Before class ended, Jiyong chose to skip eighth period. It was gym, anyway, and
as tempting as it was to have the opportunity to hurl inanimate objects at
other people, he wasn't in the mood. So when the bell rang he was the first one
out of his seat, heading straight for the library because he couldn't decide
where else to go. Maybe he'd find a book worth reading and not think about
Seunghyun for more than five minutes. Jiyong carded his fingers through his
hair and laughed at himself as he walked through the doors, squinting
underneath the harsh, fluorescent lights. Wouldn't that be lovely? Making a
beeline for Fiction, he chose a row of shelves at random and let his gaze
wander over worn, fraying covers.
 
“Are you lost?” A deep voice floated into his ear and he whirled around with
his palm pressed firmly to his chest, heart squeezing out an uneven rhythm as
he stared into Seunghyun's sparkling, brown eyes.
 
“Jesus,” Jiyong hissed, punching the boy in the arm once he'd remembered how to
move. Seunghyun winced and emitted a low chuckle, rubbing at the abused limb.
He took a step closer and shoved him again. “Where the hell have you been?”
 
Smiling down at him, Seunghyun reached over his head to replace the book he'd
been holding and then tipped against the shelves with a sigh. “Studying,” he
said quietly. “Something I believe you know nothing about.”
 
Jiyong pretended to be unamused, muttering a soft, “jerk” and hiding his smirk
by kicking at the tip of Seunghyun's shoe with his boot. Seunghyun chuckled
again and the sound curled around him, breaking up the tension in his muscles
as he relaxed into the shelves, their shoulders pressed together firmly. He let
his eyes close; let the weirdly insular bubble that always encircled them block
out everything else. Jiyong forgot about so much so often because Seunghyun
dominated almost all of his regular brain functions. The butterflies in his
stomach were doing barrel rolls and he chewed at the inside of his mouth, still
nervous but okay with that fact because it would most likely never change.
 
“Aren't you supposed to be in class right now?” Seunghyun asked as he leaned
into Jiyong.
 
“Yeah, I didn't feel like going,” he murmured, allowing the backs of his
fingers to brush Seunghyun's hand.
 
“Jiyong,” came the admonishing reply.
 
“What?” He huffed, eyelids sliding open as he turned to pin Seunghyun with a
challenging stare. “The world's not gonna end if I miss out on forty-two
minutes of fucking dodgeball.”
 
But his irritation was difficult to hold onto when Seunghyun was looking at him
like that; radiating a myriad of sentiments that caused the butterflies to
nosedive to the pit of his stomach. Jiyong's eyes swept lower over nose and
mouth and a strange heat crackled underneath his skin. Why are you doing this
to me? He breathed shallowly and watched as Seunghyun smiled again; just a
gentle spread of full lips, and suddenly it was too much. Immediately he stared
down at the hideous, puke-orange carpet and waited for his heart to stop
parading around in circles.
 
Clearing his throat, Jiyong folded his arms and then stuttered, “Are you,
uh...a-are you coming to Frankie's tonight?”
 
Seunghyun continued staring at him and Jiyong noticed him smirk from the corner
of his eye. “I haven't decided. You're kind of...distracting.”
 
Jiyong snorted and with the way his cheeks were tingling he knew he must be
blushing. Lifting his head, he scowled. “I am not.”
 
The rolling lilt of Seunghyun's laughter erupted in the open space of the
library and Jiyong almost expected to be violently shushed by one of the older
women who ran the circulation desk. Groaning, the boy pushed away from the
shelves and shook his head, eyebrow arched and lips twitching as he struggled
to reign in his hilarity.
 
“It's really adorable that you're so oblivious,” Seunghyun said, ruffling
Jiyong's hair as he passed.
 
Oblivious? Oblivious to what? Jiyong trailed after him, finding the boy at one
of the work tables where he had spread out textbooks and study packets and
endless pages of notes. Seunghyun lowered himself into his chair and glanced
up, eyes so bright as he dissolved into another fit of laughter. It wasn't
supposed to be endearing because he was laughing at him but Jiyong couldn't
help but be charmed by the display. Which was annoying. On too many fucking
levels.
 
Hip cocked against the edge of the table, he sighed. “Well, I don't
wanna distract you, so I'm leaving.”
 
This announcement sobered Seunghyun instantly, one of his hands shooting out to
grab Jiyong's wrist before he could take more than a single step.
 
“No, stay,” Seunghyun urged. “Please.”
 
“Are you sure?”
 
Seunghyun nodded, mouth curling at the corners. “Yeah.”
 
And the hand on his wrist tugged until Jiyong plopped into the seat next to
him. Seunghyun's grip lingered, holding him there as though he would flee the
first chance he got. The boy's thumb absently rubbed over the hard peak of his
wristbone as he rearranged some of his notes and Jiyong shifted, extricating
himself and bending over the table to tuck his head into the crook of his
elbow. If Seunghyun kept touching him, he didn't know what he'd do. Decompose,
burst into flames. He was already close enough to the latter that he wasn't
terribly interested in finding out. Jiyong watched him shuffle papers and stuff
things into folders. The extent of organization was mind-boggling.
 
“You really enjoy this, don't you.”
 
Seunghyun grinned and his movements stilled. “I like learning things,” he
explained, head tilting to the side. “Studying, not so much. But I suck at
tests which makes it a necessary evil.”
 
He laughed, shifting his leg until it connected with Seunghyun's under the
table. Jiyong wanted to hit himself. Because he couldn't stop seeking out some
form of contact even though it made him feel like he was drowning. The wings in
his stomach rustled when Seunghyun's thigh flattened snugly against his.
 
“I'm sure you do just fine,” Jiyong assured, gaze falling to the table to study
those long fingers.
 
“Is this you being nice again?” Seunghyun teased and pressed the rings of a
small binder shut with a metallic snap before setting it aside.
 
“Maybe.”
 
Seunghyun smirked and leaned forward, chin cupped in his hand as he turned to
face Jiyong. There was a moment of shared staring, the warmth of Seunghyun's
thigh seeping through the layer of his jeans, and for once he didn't lose his
nerve; forcing himself to endure the knowing glint in the boy's eyes and the
giddy skipping of his own pulse.
 
“I'm sorry I've been so elusive. I meant to come see you, but all of this got
in the way,” Seunghyun said, gesturing with his chin to the pile of textbooks.
 
“It's all right, I forgive you.”
 
And Seunghyun gave him a lazy smile, something Jiyong had noticed was far too
easy to make him do.
 
“Was it nuts on Sunday?”
 
“Mhmm,” he hummed.
 
The library was relatively hushed, only the sound of the occasional cough or
book being slammed shut in irritation. But he barely heard anything other than
Seunghyun's calm baritone as it wove its magic spell and lulled him into a rare
state of contentment. Jiyong's eyelids were becoming heavy, thoughts coming
slower.
 
He felt Seunghyun slide a bit nearer, voice pitching a bit lower. “And were you
anxiety free?”
 
“Yes,” Jiyong breathed, eyes closing as Seunghyun reached out to smooth the
messy strands of his hair away from his forehead.
 
“Good,” Seunghyun whispered and Jiyong could hear the grin creep across his
face.
 
Fingertips traveled lightly over his scalp and he wished Seunghyun would stop
because he was going to fall asleep here at the table if he didn't. Jiyong knew
in the back of his mind that the boy had been the one to soothe him, just like
this, that night at the diner. That night when his world had tilted on its axis
and Seunghyun had slipped so cunningly past his defenses.
 
A thumb stroked across the length of his eyebrow, sending the butterflies into
a slow panic, and his stomach clenched. He wasn't really sure what it meant
that he wasn't fighting this anymore. What it meant for them. Us. Jiyong's
heart stumbled and he almost groaned. Seunghyun had turned his brain into
cotton candy.
 
“It's not the same when you're not there,” he confessed, glad that his eyes
were closed because he wouldn't have had the guts otherwise.
 
“I'll hang out this weekend, I promise.”
 
“You're gonna make me wait two more days?” Jiyong grumbled and lifted his head,
blinking down at Seunghyun who had sprawled out on the table next to him.
 
Laughing, Seunghyun sat up and stretched, stifling a yawn. “What did you do
before you had me around all the time?” He asked wryly.
 
Jiyong could only shake his head, a faint smile on his lips as he shrugged.
 
“I don't remember.”
 
*
 
Friday came and Jiyong still hadn't managed to make sense of all the things
that weighed too heavily on his mind. All the things being Seunghyun and the
way he occupied his every waking thought. Their time spent in the library
hadn't been long enough. Tomorrow was hours away. He'd gotten Seunghyun's phone
number, at least, and had been sending the boy texts periodically. Jiyong
thought about calling him, but he didn't. There were tests to study for and
papers to write and he would only end up bothering him. His hand was always in
his pocket though, fingers gripping his phone as he waited for the tell-tale
vibrations of Seunghyun's responses. He felt a strange pull with every new
series of words that popped up on his screen, like something was being uprooted
and shifted around inside of him. I swear to god I'm losing it. Jiyong clawed
at his face and sighed, loitering outside of the kitchen in the cafeteria as he
waited for Colin. The man had offered him a ride home and even though he'd
declined, the sweet bastard had insisted on walking him out.
 
“Ready?” Colin asked, emerging from the kitchen with a messenger bag slung
across his chest and a wooly hat hugging his head.
 
Jiyong snorted at the little pom-pom that wobbled at the top of the hat every
time Colin moved.
 
“What?” The man grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, dragging them
out into the hallway.
 
“You look ridiculous in that hat.”
 
“Oh come on now, it's not that bad.” Colin chuckled, holding his chin high as
he proclaimed, “I think it makes me look cute.”
 
He rolled his eyes. “Just because that's what the woman at the store told you
when you bought it doesn't make it true.”
 
“Little shit.” Colin tightened his arm around Jiyong's neck but he twisted
away, snatching the hat from his head and bolting towards the doors. “Hey, give
that back!” He heard Colin shout and more laughter bubbled up in his lungs.
 
“Make me.”
 
Jiyong stuck his tongue out as he pushed his way outside into the sharp Winter
air, sprinting in the direction of the parking lot to avoid Colin's grasp as
the man chased him. His fun ended abruptly when he skidded to a halt on the
slick cement to avoid crashing into another person walking towards the
building.
 
“Jiyong,” a familiar voice commanded his attention and his eyes widened when he
looked up.
 
“Dami,” he panted, brows colliding. “What are you doing here?”
 
She folded her arms and she expelled a tired sigh through her nose. Her mouth
was pressed into a thin line and her shoulders were tense; nails digging into
the fibers of her coat. Jiyong bit down on his lip, wringing Colin's hat in his
fingers. This did not bode well at all.
 
“I got a call from the principal,” Dami said, eyes flicking away briefly when
Colin came to stand beside him. “She told me you were skipping again.”
 
“I–“
 
“No, you have no excuses.” Her palm cut through the air between them to
emphasize her refusal to hear him speak. She let out another sigh and dumped
the extent of her frustration on top of him with a single, piercing look.
“There are two weeks, two, until Winter break, why can't you just behave?” Dami
frowned. “What is so fucking hard about this?”
 
Jiyong didn't really have an answer for that. Not one that she'd want to listen
to, anyway. He tore his gaze from the overwhelming disappointment etched onto
her face and stared at the ground, noticing Colin's uneasiness as he rocked
back and forth on his heels. If they didn't have an audience, Dami probably
would have said a lot more and he was glad to be spared the brunt of her anger.
He probably would have fought back, too, but Colin didn't need to see that. So
Jiyong gave her what she wanted.
 
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled.
 
Dami reached out, finger tucked under his chin to force him to make eye-
contact. Her thumb swiped over his cheek and her gaze lost some of its
hardness.
 
“Prove it,” she said, leaving the rest of her demands unspoken.
 
He nodded, offering her half of a smile but it felt more like a grimace. Colin
cleared his throat and Jiyong was thankful for the obvious change in topic,
stepping back to gesture at the man.
 
“Oh...um, Dami this is Colin. Colin, meet my sister.”
 
They shook hands and he watched his sister's lips quirk. Colin was all goofy
smiles and Jiyong resisted covering his face in embarrassment. He hoped the man
was just trying to diffuse the awkward tension and nothing else because if this
lead to any kind of flirtatious banter he was going to kill himself.
 
“It's a pleasure,” Colin said, still beaming.
 
Dami laughed as she arched one of her eyebrows. “You don't know that.”
 
“You're related to this idiot, I think it's a pretty safe bet.”
 
Jiyong smacked him in the arm and Colin tsked, stealing his hat back and
yanking it low over his ears. Dami's smile widened and she laughed again. If
there's a god, please fucking strike me down.
 
“Well I won't argue with the first part,” Dami murmured, giving him a faint
smirk. “How do you two know each other?”
 
“I manage the kitchen in the cafeteria.” Colin slung an arm around Jiyong's
shoulders again and shook him. “We met when he was thirteen and even more
annoying than he is now.” The man ground his knuckles against Jiyong's scalp
and he yelped, shoving him off. Colin stumbled to the side and giggled. “They
grow up so fast.”
 
He flattened his mussed hair and scowled, turning to his sister.
 
“He takes care of me when I get my ass kicked, basically. And he's pretty much
the only friend I have here so be nice,” Jiyong said and poked her in the arm
for emphasis.
 
Dami pursed her lips. “Word on the street says otherwise.”
 
“Word on the– ” Jiyong's jaw hung open and he almost cackled. They'd been
talking about him at the bookstore. You sneaky fuck. “What the hell did he say
to you?”
 
“I'll never tell,” she stage-whispered while pretending to pull a zipper across
her mouth.
 
Great, so now Seunghyun and his sister were keeping secrets. He'd have to
interrogate him tomorrow at Frankie's to make sure they weren't plotting his
demise.
 
“Everyone I know is conspiring against me,” Jiyong moaned, grabbing at chunks
of his hair. Dami just snorted while Colin stood there chuckling. He sighed and
dropped his arms. “So do I need to be present for this meeting or am I free to
go?”
 
Dami chewed on her lip as she thought about her answer. Please say no, please
please please.
 
“You can go,” she conceded, expression turning serious. “But we're not done
talking about this.”
 
Scoffing, he looked out over the parking lot. “We're never done talking about
this.”
 
“Only you can change that, Ji.”
 
“Yeah, whatever.” Jiyong sighed again, feeling restless and eager to leave. He
buttoned up his ratty pea-coat and slapped Colin on the back. “I'll see you on
Monday, Col.”
 
“Stay out of trouble.” The man tried to ruffle his hair but he evaded the
attack, hopping from the sidewalk to the asphalt.
 
“Have fun flirting with my sister,” Jiyong said brightly. “She loves Thai food,
orchids, and over-produced action movies.”
 
“Jiyong!” Dami whirled around, cheeks pink and eyes wide.
 
“You can thank me later,” he called over his shoulder as he walked away, hand
raised in farewell.
 
Revenge had never tasted so sweet.
 
*
 
Saturday mornings at Frankie's were probably Jiyong's favorite time to be
there. Because it was just busy enough to keep him moving yet not so crowded
that he felt overwhelmed. He liked that he didn't have the freedom to let his
mind wander, too focused on taking orders and clearing tables. It was easier to
allow himself to be distracted by the layers of sound instead of on the fact
that it was almost noon and Seunghyun had yet to make an appearance. Jiyong
didn't want to think about why, or else his brain wouldn't stop until he'd
worked himself up for nothing. Learning to care about someone else was weird.
Or rather, learning that he even did care. Not to say that Colin or his
coworkers didn't mean anything to him, but this was different. Seunghyun was
different. Jiyong held back a groan and looked at the cat clock on the wall as
he made another loop around the diner with two steaming pots of coffee. He
smiled openly at the customers – made small talk and listened to them tell
stories and bad jokes and actually laughed. He supposed he was sort of
different, too. Almost as though some of the weight he'd been carrying for the
last six years had lifted and floated away. Jiyong grinned to himself, rounding
the counter to return the coffee pots to their rightful place when the bell
above the door chimed.
 
“Hey.”
 
Jiyong's grin widened and he lifted his head. “Hey. You're here.”
 
Seunghyun moved closer, leaning on the counter in front of him. Jiyong stared,
studying the white squares of his teeth and the bow of his lips as they
stretched thin; the happy wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the rich
brown of his irises that seemed more liquid than solid as he took Jiyong in.
Timidly, he looked away and then back again, wondering what would happen if he
allowed himself to walk over and pull Seunghyun into a hug.
 
“I told you I'd come. Oh, ye of little faith,” the boy murmured.
 
His insides executed a joyful somersault as he opened his mouth to defend
himself, but he was being called from the kitchen.
 
“Ji, your order's up!” Aaron's voice boomed through the service window.
 
Jiyong flashed Seunghyun a quick smile and gestured over his shoulder. “I
should– I should get that.”
 
“I'm not going anywhere,” Seunghyun said, dark eyes trained on his, and Jiyong
felt himself blush for absolutely no reason at all.
 
Spinning on his heel, he made a face at Aaron and grumbled about “perfect
timing” as he picked up the heaping plates of greasy breakfast food. The man
had recently been hired to give Leroy a break and so far he'd mostly been a
colossal pain in Jiyong's ass. But the girls seemed to like him and they
definitely did need the help, so his complaints would have to remain unspoken.
Aaron smirked at Jiyong from where he stood next to one of the deep fryers and
Jiyong merely rolled his eyes. Plates balanced on his arms, he moved carefully
around Anna who was filling water glasses. She gave him an exaggerated wink and
Jiyong would have tried to cause her bodily harm if not for the food and very
smashable dishes in his hands.
 
“You think you're safe, but you're not,” he said as he walked past her.
 
Anna's eyes narrowed. “Do your worst, Kwon.”
 
“Oh, I will. You can be sure of that,” Jiyong vowed as he looked at her over
his shoulder. His cheeks were starting to hurt because he was still
smiling.When was the last time I smiled this much?
 
Though it fell as soon as he turned his head to find Seunghyun hanging his
jacket up on the rack by the door. Jiyong froze, plates wobbling precariously,
and the world kind of...slowed down. The early afternoon light coming through
the windows seemed to wash everything out, details and contours losing their
definition. Everything except for him. Seunghyun stopped in the middle of the
entryway when he spotted Jiyong gaping. But he was stuck, brain tripping over
itself. All he could focus on was the long lines of his body. On the white
button-up shirt and tailored, gray dress pants and how weird it was. Weird but
amazing. And it was almost like seeing the boy for the very first time. Only
different. Because they weren't strangers and Jiyong was just beginning to give
meaning to the things he felt when he thought about Seunghyun.
 
“Jiyong?”
 
He blinked rapidly and the noises of the diner surged in his ears all at once,
the world returning to its normal speed. “Huh?”
 
“You spaced out,” Seunghyun said, taking a few more steps towards him, clearly
amused.
 
“I'm fine.” Jiyong hovered there awkwardly and didn't think about how soft the
black cardigan clinging to Seunghyun's lanky frame would feel underneath the
pads of his fingers. “I'll be right back.”
 
God, I'm so fucking dumb. He berated himself all the way over to his table, not
hearing a single word of thanks from the old man seated with his grandchildren
as he set the plates down and automatically asked if they needed anything else.
He barely registered their responses and he nodded, smiling distractedly and
shuffling back to the front of the diner. Seunghyun was sitting on one of the
stools at the lunch counter, notebook already opened and pen in hand. Jiyong
watched him slip the black beanie from his head as he ruffled his perfectly
coiffed hair into artful disarray. He inhaled slowly, coming to stand beside
Seunghyun with his elbow propped on the counter's surface.
 
“Nice threads,” Jiyong stated, thankful for the fact that his voice didn't
waver when he spoke.
 
Dropping his gaze, Seunghyun laughed and stared at the pen as he twirled it in
his fingers, a faint dusting of pink spreading across his cheekbones.
 
“I was forced to go to a last minute brunch with my aunt and uncle who are in
town for a few days,” Seunghyun said, glancing up every now and then. He
sighed, setting the pen down on top of his notebook as he swiveled closer, leg
pressed against Jiyong's hip. “Of course, my parents never told me this was
happening, which meant I got lectured for never listening to them. Sorry for
not being here earlier, I came straight from the restaurant.”
 
Shaking his head, Jiyong leaned into the contact and relished the fluttering in
his stomach.
 
“You don't have to apologize.”
 
But Seunghyun barreled on. “And I thought about texting you to let you know,
but I figured you'd be too busy to check your phone and–“
 
Instinctively, he reached out, his hand latching onto Seunghyun's forearm. The
cardigan was softer than he'd imagined and he rubbed his thumb over the
material in gentle strokes without thinking about it.
 
“Seunghyun, it's okay,” Jiyong insisted, letting go once he realized what he'd
been doing and shoved his hand in the pocket of his apron.
 
Seunghyun threaded his fingers through his hair again and then offered him a
small smile. “Okay.” He crossed his arms as he finally looked at Jiyong
directly. “How are you?”
 
Jiyong could have responded in a number of ways, every answer that tumbled
through his head a variation of something spun from the cotton-candy threads
Seunghyun had planted there. He shrugged instead. “Good.”
 
Those liquid, brown eyes honed in on him, glinting with humor.
 
“Are you just saying that?”
 
“No, I'm totally lying. Crazy, right?” He squirmed when Seunghyun jabbed him in
the ribs and he laughed, the edge of the counter digging into his back. But he
didn't relinquish the contact, instead pushing his hip more firmly against
Seunghyun's thigh as he studied him, taking in the lines of exhaustion on his
face. “And how are you? Other than tired.”
 
Seunghyun huffed, grinning as he glanced down. One of the boy's arms unfolded
and he reached out to tug on the tie of Jiyong's waist apron.
 
“Better, now that I'm here,” Seunghyun said, looking at him from beneath the
sweep of his eyelashes and Jiyong felt a new weight draping itself over his
shoulders and settling thickly in his gut.
 
“Jiyong, you got another order ready,” Aaron informed him, breaking their
bubble for a second time.
 
Seunghyun's hand fell, elbows lifting to rest on the counter. Their shoulders
were touching now and when Seunghyun turned his head Jiyong's heart gave an
inelegant flop. The hum of the diner went fuzzy, sort of like he was
underwater, and he let the weight keep him there for a little while longer.
 
“I guess I should let you do your job.”
 
“My break is in an hour.” His reply sounded distant to his own ears and he
cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck to make the tingling stop.
“Plus it'll calm down after the lunch rush is over.”
 
“Ji!” The shout from the kitchen startled him and he breathed a short laugh
while Seunghyun sat there, lips curved and dimples becoming more prominent by
the second.
 
“Go on.” Seunghyun nudged him with his leg, jostling him into an upright
position.
 
Jiyong stole one last glance, eyes passing over Seunghyun's face, and he boldly
allowed his fingers to drag lightly along the boy's thigh as he left.
 
As the minutes piled up, Jiyong tried really fucking hard to pretend that
Seunghyun wasn't there at all. Which was kind of funny considering how much
he'd been wishing for his constant presence. Customers came and went in a blur,
orders were shouted from the kitchen, and Anna's cheerful laughter always
carried above the rest of the noise. But none of it broke through the density
of his thoughts.
 
Jiyong knew the weight for what it was; saw its match in Seunghyun's eyes every
time their gazes clashed from opposite ends of the diner. Or when Jiyong failed
not to stare hopelessly at the boy as he inked unknown words into the pages of
his notebook and then lifted his head to find he was being watched.
 
Longing.
 
Jiyong longed for a lot of things. Things he was afraid to silently articulate,
let alone act out. Seunghyun made him want. And he didn't know what to do with
that because all of this was still so foreign. Against his better judgment, he
leaned on the counter to insinuate himself into Seunghyun's awareness.
 
“What are you always writing about?” He asked. He'd been wondering for months.
 
Seunghyun didn't speak at first, lips pursing and then forming a flat line as
he figured out how to answer. Jiyong could almost see the words stitching
themselves together in his mind.
 
“Everything.” Seunghyun twirled the pen in his grasp. “Ideas, observations,
stories...the occasional poem.”
 
Jiyong gave him a lopsided grin. He should have known.
 
“Am I in there?”
 
Seunghyun hesitated for a moment, the pause stretching thin, and maybe he
shouldn't have even asked. But then he offered Jiyong the shiest of smiles and
nodded. “You are.”
 
Something expanded inside of Jiyong at the admission. Because it meant
Seunghyun was thinking about him enough to warrant writing it down. Jiyong
nibbled on his lower lip, index finger extending to trace the corner of the
notebook.
 
“Will you– will you show me something you've written sometime?”
 
Looking up at him, Seunghyun chuckled, eyes forming those happy crescents. The
ones Jiyong hated and loved in equal parts.
 
“So inquisitive.”
 
“That's rich, coming from you,” he drawled, earning himself a poke in the
forehead.
 
He smacked Seunghyun's hand away and the boy laughed again.
 
“I bet you didn't know I was the editor of the school's literary journal.”
Seunghyun leaned back, picking up the lump of his beanie and slipping it onto
his head. He raised a single, teasing brow.
 
Jiyong stilled, eyes widening slightly. “I– no, you never mentioned it.”
 
Another puzzle piece. Another reason to stop tricking himself into believing
that he wasn't interested in Seunghyun in every possible way. How are you even
real? Chin in hand, Jiyong watched him intently, no longer ignoring the way the
giddiness attempted to crawl into his mouth and make him say dumb things.
 
“They wouldn't let me do it until I was an upperclassman, but I've been, um,
submitting pieces since my freshman year,” the boy continued slowly, fiddling
with the pages opened below him as he failed to meet Jiyong's steady gaze.
“Most of the shit we get sent is grammatically horrifying and riddled with
teenage angst, not like anyone actually reads it. Or cares. We could probably
publish a hundred pages of Chuck Norris jokes and nothing would change.”
 
He snorted. “Are there even that many Chuck Norris jokes in existence?”
 
Seunghyun frowned thoughtfully. “I have no idea.”
 
And then they were both laughing, even though he didn't really know what was so
funny. What he did know, was that Seunghyun's laughter was quickly becoming one
of his favorite sounds. Jiyong wiped moisture from the corner of his eye and he
took a deep breath to collect himself. Anna and Viv were observing them from
the other end of the lunch counter, dissolving into secretive giggles when
neither of them could keep a straight face. He glowered, but the effect was
probably ruined by how much he was blushing. His tendency to wrap himself up in
their bizarre little universe meant that he forgot other people might be
watching and it made him feel overly self-conscious. Jiyong imagined locking
them in his room and never coming out unless they absolutely had to. Because
sometimes the idea of doing nothing with Seunghyun – not even speaking,
just being – was the best version of reality he could think of.
 
He checked the cat clock to his right, exhaling a huge sigh of relief to find
that it was after one and he could escape all this insanity for at least half
an hour.
 
“I'm going out for a smoke,” Jiyong said, staring at the spot where Seunghyun's
collarbone was peeking out from under his button-up. He wet his lips and toyed
with the edge of his sleeve. “Come with me?”
 
Seunghyun nodded, gifting him with another broad smile. “Yeah, sure.”
 
*
 
“How are you not freezing to death?” Seunghyun asked once they were outside,
standing in the alleyway next to the building. “Do you even own a scarf?”
 
“It's not that cold,” Jiyong insisted, suppressing a shiver.
 
“You're crazy. Come here.”
 
Seunghyun beckoned him over with a wave of his hand and Jiyong really didn't
need that much incentive to be any closer to him. Long fingers pulled the flaps
of his pea coat tighter, sliding the large, round buttons through their
respective holes because Jiyong had neglected to do it himself. He studied the
furrow of Seunghyun's brow as he did; the way he bit the inside of his mouth
when he was concentrating on something. Their breath clouded the few inches of
air that separated them and Jiyong felt the damp heat of it on his lips.
Seunghyun then produced another knit hat from the depths of his jacket pocket.
It was red, the same vibrant hue as the feathers of a cardinal. Jiyong's
favorite.
 
“Do you always carry around spare beanies?” He asked.
 
“No...” Seunghyun paused, mouth quirking as he gazed down at Jiyong. “This is
for you. To keep.”
 
He averted his eyes. “Oh.”
 
Jiyong barely had a moment to prepare himself before Seunghyun was slipping his
fingers into Jiyong's hair and positioning the hat over his head until it
covered the tips of his ears. His eyelids drifted shut on their own as
Seunghyun's hands slowly moved to frame his face, thumbs dragging across his
skin, and he thought he might actually catch fire after all.
 
“You seriously need a haircut,” Seunghyun mumbled and Jiyong laughed, eyes
lifting as Seunghyun's arms dropped to his sides.
 
He swayed, suddenly a little dizzy, and rummaged around in his pockets for his
Marlboros, eager to think about something else.
 
“I know. Dami usually helps me, but I keep forgetting to ask and she's always
busy.”
 
Seunghyun pulled out his own pack. “I could cut it for you.”
 
Eyebrows raised high, Jiyong trapped a cigarette in his teeth and lit it. “You
cut hair,” he stated flatly.
 
“Yeah.” Seunghyun tossed him a grin between deep drags of smoke. “I used to do
it for Nate, my ex, because he was too lazy and too cheap to go to one of the
barbers in town.”
 
How could he forget the dreaded, pot-dealing ex-boyfriend? Jiyong nodded,
crunching a small pile of snow under the toe of his boot.
 
“Right.”
 
Wandering further into the alley, he kicked at clumps of white and let the
nicotine do its job. Or what was supposed to be its job, but Jiyong didn't feel
very relaxed no matter how many times he brought the cigarette to his lips.
 
“I'm sorry,” Seunghyun said, trailing after him and closing the distance until
the edges of their shoes grated against one another. He sighed. “I shouldn't– I
don't mean to keep bringing him up.”
 
“Don't worry about it.” Jiyong had no right to be jealous. Even though there
had been more than one night he'd lost sleep thinking about who this guy was.
And if Seunghyun had loved him.
 
He sucked in a slight gasp when the boy leaned forward to gain his attention,
dark eyes searching for something – Jiyong didn't know what.
 
“But you obviously do.” Seunghyun's voice was quiet and serious.
 
“I don't.” He flushed, stumbling backwards and shaking his head. “Really, it– I
don't care.”
 
“You're still a shitty liar.”
 
Jiyong laughed again, high-pitched and short. “Shut up,” he muttered, moving
forward to shove Seunghyun in the arm. “And speaking of liars, you've been
talking to my sister haven't you?”
 
Seunghyun tilted his head back, his scoff turning into a throaty chuckle. “How
does that make me a liar?”
 
“You're withholding information. She mentioned you yesterday, not by name, but
she didn't need to.”
 
The only response he got was an enigmatic smirk and dancing eyes. Jiyong tsked,
tapping ash from the end of his cigarette and watching it float to the ground.
There was an avalanche of questions riding on the back of his tongue. About
everything. But mostly he wanted to know the things they'd said to each other.
Aside from bumping into Dami outside of the school yesterday, he hadn't really
seen her. And lately Jiyong's crappy performance in classes seemed like the
sole topic available for discussion. Which usually meant they didn't talk very
much because he never wanted to listen to her rant.
 
He frowned as silence reigned for several minutes, long enough for both of them
to finish smoking and flick tar-stained filters into the snow.
 
“I like Dami a lot.” Seunghyun finally spoke up, pressing so far into his
personal space that Jiyong had to press back or risk falling over.
 
“I think she likes you, too.” Jiyong glanced up in time to catch Seunghyun's
pleased grin. “Did she...” he began, mouth hanging open for a beat. His teeth
snapped together when he thought better of it. “Nevermind.”
 
“We talked about you, but she didn't say anything bad, I promise.” The boy
knocked into him with his elbow. “You're lucky to have a sister like her.”
 
“I know.”
 
Jiyong shouldn't have been baffled by the fact that Seunghyun knew what he'd
been about to ask, but he was. Really, he was baffled at how easily they'd come
to this point. And that he hadn't managed to completely fuck it up. Even more
shocking was that he didn't want it to be fucked up. Jiyong's blood raced in
his veins and his limbs felt like dead weights. He wasn't used to this.
 
“She's lucky too,” Seunghyun added. Jiyong rolled his eyes. “What?”
 
“You're so fucking cheesy.”
 
Seunghyun scratched at the back of his head through the thick material of his
beanie and tucked his chin against his chest to hide. “Whatever. You love it.”
 
Jiyong turned to him, staring at his cheeks that were reddened from the biting
cold and his embarrassment. At his lips that refused to remain still. At the
bob of his eyelashes when he stole a lingering glance.
 
The need to hug Seunghyun – to hold him and be held – whispered in his bones,
begging him to move. Jiyong didn't know what kept drawing him in; what
continued to tempt him into crossing the imaginary line he'd scrawled in his
head. But he didn't know what the rules were. Or if there even were any rules
in the first place. They were both hovering on the edge of this thing that was
so much more than friendship and Jiyong was doing his best to find the courage
to not let it slip through his fingers.
 
So he reached out, curling those fingers into the rough material of Seunghyun's
coat, and gathered him into his arms. He didn't realize that he'd forgotten to
exhale until he was gripped tightly in return, breath leaving him in a shaky
gust. Jiyong hooked his chin over Seunghyun's shoulder and closed his eyes
again, pulling the boy as close as physics would allow. The heavy layers of
their jackets were frustrating. He wanted to know the contour of Seunghyun's
body, wanted to know how it fit with his, and the thought of that ever really
happening sent a terrifying thrill right through him.
 
Neither of them said anything. Jiyong was just thankful that he wasn't asked to
explain his behavior, because he wouldn't know how to respond. Instead, he took
comfort in the moment and the way Seunghyun stroked along his back. The
avalanche of questions turned into an avalanche of sentiments he wasn't ready
to say out loud and his heart beat a bit faster.
 
Jiyong struggled to speak around the knot of “I like you”s in his throat as he
withdrew. “I, um...I need to get back.”
 
“Sure,” Seunghyun said, nearly inaudible. Their noses brushed and their hands
stayed exactly where they were and Jiyong felt the dizziness return when he
looked into Seunghyun's eyes to discover a want as heavy as his own. “I'm just
gonna smoke another cigarette.”
 
He nodded, arms sliding from the boy's waist. His body was overheating and he
almost tripped in his attempt to put some distance between them. A flustered
laugh made its way out of his lungs and he nodded again for good measure,
walking around the corner to the entrance of the diner. Jiyong didn't really
remember taking his coat off or stuffing the red knit hat into one of the
pockets; didn't remember ambling into the bathroom and locking the door so he
could sink to the tiled floor with his face buried in raised knees.
 
Jiyong wasn't upset or angry or confused. He was fucking overwrought.
 
“Seunghyun, you utter bastard,” he whined, giggling tiredly to himself as he
pondered the consequences of falling.
Chapter End Notes
     credit for the quote from Catcher in the Rye goes to J.D. Salinger
     please don't sue me I have nothing to give you
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Jiyong rolled over onto his side, awake, but not quite willing to open his
eyes. His alarm hadn't gone off yet and the silence in his bedroom verged on
oppressive. It was still early. Nuzzling into his pillow, he sighed, feeling
the heavy pull of sleep leave his muscles until he couldn't keep his eyelids
shut anymore. He stared at the window; watched the pale morning light steal
through the lowered blinds and shroud everything in gray. Without purpose, his
gaze flitted across the room, looking but not seeing. Jiyong was trying to
collect the fragments of his dream, the warmth of his blankets intensifying the
burning warmth of his skin when he remembered a few vivid details. The slide of
Seunghyun's fingers tangling with his, a wide grin that unfurled in slow
motion, laughing coffee-black eyes...Seunghyun's lips pressing to the corner of
his mouth in a moment that seemed to stretch into the infinite. Jiyong lurched
upright into a sitting position, kicking the covers to the edge of the mattress
and covering his face with his hands. His cheeks were so hot and his stomach
had twisted itself into tiny knots. It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of
Seunghyun, but it was the first time the content had been so painfullyintimate.
 
Do you dream of me, too?
 
The question lingered in his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So
fucking stupid,” he croaked softly.
 
But not even the calming spray of the shower could help erase the images from
his memory. Nor did it temper the cocktail of emotions that sloshed around
inside of him. Uncertainty. Fear. Anxiety. Desire. Jiyong's forehead thunked
against the chilled tiles and he listened to the water surging down the drain.
He took shallow breaths, feeling the ghost of Seunghyun's fingers slotted
between his own like it had actually happened. That longing – the one that had
made a permanent home behind his ribs – flared to life and he trembled ever so
slightly.
 
Turning the shower off, he wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to his
room, droplets of moisture sliding from his skin to dot the carpet at his feet.
Goosebumps spread up along his arms and across his chest from the frigid air
leaking through the poorly insulated walls of the apartment. Jiyong dressed
quickly, pulling on a pair of boxers, followed by black jeans and a white t-
shirt and his tattered, blue zip-up. He wandered barefoot into the kitchen and
made coffee, staring vacantly at a crack in the wall while the coffee machine
spluttered and hissed on the counter. The noise of the shower starting again
jerked him out of his trance. Dami was awake, which meant it was probably
around six-thirty. Jiyong sighed and went back into his bedroom to grab his
phone and whatever socks he could find.
 
When the coffee had finished brewing, he poured the steaming liquid into a
ceramic mug and set another one out for his sister. She always forgot to make
it when Jiyong wasn't up early enough to do it for her. He hoped she would take
it as the peace offering that it was, because they still hadn't spoken since
Friday. Jiyong couldn't exactly say he was anticipating that particular
conversation, though. Tugging on his boots in the hall, he grabbed his pea coat
from its hook and paused when a flash of red caught his eye. He took the knit
hat out of the pocket, rubbing the soft material between his fingers, and the
knots in his stomach coiled a little tighter. It was the first gift he'd
received since he was eleven. And it was the first gift he'd received that
actually sort of meant something. Jiyong chewed on his bottom lip, mind cruelly
replaying the way Seunghyun's hands had cradled his face. Jesus christ, it's
only a hat. Frowning, he pulled the hat over his ears and shrugged on his
jacket. After retrieving the mug of coffee from the kitchen, he left the
apartment to climb the flight of stairs that would lead him to the roof.
 
It was definitely too cold to be outside, but he didn't mind. The roof was
quiet. Isolated. He liked the feeling of solitude; liked standing still and
watching everything else keep moving around him. The gravel crunched and
shifted under his boots as he walked towards the edge, stopping once he could
see the snow-covered streets through barren branches. Jiyong looked out at the
rows of houses, listening to the muffled sounds of car engines and the shrill
chirping of birds. He sipped at his coffee and savored the slow heat trailing
down his throat.
 
Reaching into his pocket, he fingered the hard plastic of his phone and thought
about texting Seunghyun. They hadn't seen each other in a couple days, but
they'd talked for two hours last night because Jiyong didn't have a shift at
the diner. He'd been laying in his bed staring up at the ceiling while the
boy's voice carried through him. Jiyong recalled the way his toes had curled
into the blankets and how much Seunghyun had made him laugh. The snippets of
his dream cycled through his head again and he clenched his eyes shut, taking a
measured breath.
 
“Fuck it,” he mumbled, flipping his phone open.
 
But what the hell do I say? Jiyong drank more of his coffee, thumb hovering
over the keypad. Anything. He could say anything and it wouldn't matter,
Seunghyun probably wasn't even conscious yet. Shedding his hesitation, he typed
a short message and hit send before he could stop himself.
 
-good morning
 
Jiyong felt twelve and pathetic and out of his depth. “Good morning”?
Really? His face shifted into a scowl and he chugged the rest of his coffee,
praying it was still hot enough to scald the lining of his stomach as
punishment. He nearly dropped his phone when it beeped at him thirty seconds
later.
 
-why in god's name are you awake right now?
 
He let out a huff, grin stretching his mouth wide, and typed in his reply.
 
-couldn't sleep. watching the sunrise.
 
-can you even see the sun?
 
Jiyong snorted and lifted his head to survey the dense wall of clouds that had
grown marginally brighter in the last ten minutes.
 
-no
 
And then his phone rang, Seunghyun's name popping up on the small screen. He
swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and answered.
 
“Are you on the roof?” Seunghyun asked, cutting off Jiyong's greeting.
 
“Yeah.” He sniffed, nose a bit runny. “And before you scold me, I'm wearing
three layers and the hat you gave me.”
 
Rumbling laughter filled his ear and he started pacing. How could he remain
stationary when he didn't even feel tethered to the ground? Jiyong wondered if
Seunghyun would ever stop making him feel like he had no control over his body.
 
“It's too cold to live, I still think you're crazy.”
 
His grin continued to tug at his lips, fading only to come back again twice as
strong. “Why are you up so early?”
 
“I, um, I didn't sleep, actually. Had to write a paper.”
 
Seunghyun's voice was buoyant but worn at the edges. Like he was trying to
overcompensate for the exhaustion even though Jiyong could always tell.
 
“Don't hurt yourself,” he said with a small laugh, intending to mask his
concern with sarcasm, but lately that never seemed to work.
 
A long sigh trickled from the phone's speaker, Seunghyun saying softly, “I'll
be fine” in reply, and Jiyong's nervous energy crackled up and down his spine
because he knew the boy was smiling. And he knew exactly what it looked like
because that same smile was still replaying over and over again in his mind.
 
When he looked up at the sky and Seunghyun had yet to say anything else, his
shoulders eased into a hunch. “I'm assuming I won't get to see you today,
then.”
 
Now it fucking sounds like we're dating. Jiyong cringed and Seunghyun released
another sigh.
 
“I– I don't know. I still have a lot of work to do. But– ”
 
“It's cool,” Jiyong interrupted and wiped at his nose, mug dangling from his
fingers. He made a concerted effort to be casual; to not reveal his
disappointment as he cut back and forth across the roof. “I was just curious.”
 
“Soon, though. I promise.”
 
“You make a lot of promises.”
 
“Yeah, and I keep them, too.”
 
He didn't know what to say so he didn't say anything and the pause in
conversation grew a little tense as he listened to Seunghyun breathe. Neither
of them wanted to hang up but they knew that they should. It was getting late,
anyway, and Jiyong had to brush his teeth before heading to school. He watched
two birds loop through the air in front of the building and pressed the phone
more securely to his ear.
 
“Guess I'll talk to you later,” Jiyong said, brighter than he felt. His
eyebrows drew together and his eyes slipped shut again. “Have, um, have a good
day, Seunghyun.”
 
“You too, Ji.”
 
*
 
That Thursday, Jiyong found himself sitting on the aged orange carpet of the
school's library. Classes didn't begin for another hour and he never thought
he'dever spend more time than was absolutely necessary in this goddamned hell-
hole, but sleep had eluded him. He'd been re-reading one of his books, huddled
on his bed in the half-light of six in the morning, when he remembered
Seunghyun's comment about the literary journal. And his curiosity wouldn't let
him wait until lunch, so here he was, tired and meticulously sifting through
four years' worth of adolescent bullshit just to find the boy's words.
 
Jiyong had the first journal open in his lap, slick pages covered in a story
Seunghyun had written when he was thirteen. It was kind of like getting to peek
behind the curtain and he didn't know what he was going to find. A small part
of him felt like he was cheating. Because he'd asked Seunghyun to show him
something and Seunghyun had never actually said yes. But Jiyong couldn't help
himself. He let his hand slide over one of the pages, tracing the lines of text
without reading them. Jiyong still didn't know a whole lot about Seunghyun,
though he wanted to. He wanted to know everything. And that didn't freak him
out anymore.
 
Pushing the red beanie further back on his head, he inhaled deeply and began.
 
The first story was good; sloppy and inexperienced, but honest. And as he tore
through each volume, the honesty never faltered. Jiyong could almost hear
Seunghyun's voice in his ears, his steady baritone narrating every poem and
piece of fiction, every combination of words better than the last. Some were
funny, some were heartbreaking. But they were all beautiful in a way that he
couldn't describe. This was a part of Seunghyun that wasn't fully expressed on
a daily basis and he felt like he was reconciling the version of the boy that
he already knew with the one woven inside the typeface beneath his fingers.
 
When his eyes devoured the final sentence in the final volume, Jiyong nearly
pouted because there wasn't more.
 
He relaxed against the shelves, shoulder-blades settling on rows of books.
Jiyong really should have known from the very beginning that Seunghyun was
anything but ordinary. It made sense now, why he was so dedicated to his
schoolwork. Because Seunghyun had a future worth not screwing up. Staring down
at the pages in his lap, Jiyong decided that he was impressed. That he was
impressed and a little...enamored. He slid a hand over his face and choked out
a tight laugh. Okay, maybe more than a little. Unfolding his legs, he set the
journals aside, wishing Seunghyun was there so he could punch him in the arm
for being brilliant and stupid and amazing. And for making him feel like an
infatuated moron. Jiyong let out a weary sigh and dug into the pocket of his
hoodie for his phone, eyes going wide. It was already a quarter to nine and
he'd missed his first class.
 
“Shit,” he whined, laughing again as he scrambled up from the floor and stuffed
the pile of thin volumes back where they belonged.
 
Dami was totally going to murder him, but whatever. Even if he'd registered
that the bell had rung he wouldn't have stopped reading. Seunghyun was more
important than U.S. History. Seunghyun was more important than every class he'd
ever taken. Coat gripped in his fingers, Jiyong sprinted out of the library and
made his way to the other end of the building. A grin pulled insistently at the
corners of his mouth and he didn't care that everyone probably thought he was
nuts because he felt light. Vibrant. Unsinkable.
 
And they couldn't bring him down even if they'd wanted to.
 
*
 
Of course, that profound sense of invincibility couldn't last. Not that Jiyong
expected it to, but he had hoped to ride it out for more than a measly twenty-
four hours. And it was thanks to Victor, king of obnoxious douchebags
everywhere, that his good mood had been ruined the following afternoon in the
hallway outside of their English classroom.
 
What surprised him though, was that he didn't care.
 
Jiyong hadn't felt an immediate surge of anger when Victor slammed him into the
lockers and insulted him. He hadn't wanted to wipe the smug look off of the
other boy's face with his fist; hadn't minded when he took a few hits while a
growing crowd of students stood there and watched. The pain hadn't been
satisfying, either. Not like it used to be. It was easily the most reluctant
fight he'd ever participated in. The reason he'd even bothered hitting Victor
back was a vain attempt at being left the fuck alone, but that hadn't worked
out too well.
 
Because no one gave a shit that Jiyong hadn't started it, only seeing what they
wanted to see. Their principal, Mrs. Wilson, hadn't hidden her obvious pleasure
at finding him in her office. He could still recall the glint in her dark eyes
as she sentenced him with another suspension and let Victor off the hook
entirely. If anything, that had made him angry; the emotion testing the limits
of his control as he'd sat there and gripped the armrests of his chair so tight
he thought they might splinter and break. Jiyong knew Mrs. Wilson wanted him
gone. The want clear in her reedy voice when she'd informed him that this was
the last straw. One more wrong move and he would be expelled. Which is why he
had to grit his teeth and walk out the door without uttering a single word in
protest.
 
Jiyong was slumped on the floor in the men's room now, knuckles red and
swelling from when he tried to punch a hole through the side of a bathroom
stall. He stared at the dirty tiles under his feet and flexed his aching
fingers, chin resting on his knees. The period was almost over and he'd have to
get up soon. Jiyong thought about skipping his last class because he didn't
want to be here anymore. But Mrs. Wilson's threatening words lingered. Dami
really wasgoing to murder him this time.
 
Knocking his skull against the wall, Jiyong closed his eyes.
 
“Fuck,” he breathed.
 
All of this was pointless. He couldn't even stay mad for more than a handful of
minutes. He was just drained and so goddamned tired of pretending that he knew
what he was doing. Jiyong's throat constricted and he looked up at the ceiling.
He had told Seunghyun that he didn't need saving, but the more he thought about
it, the more it felt like a lie. Jiyong banged his head against the wall again.
He wanted to see the boy. And he wanted to forget about everything for a while.
 
Jiyong exhaled roughly as he moved to stand, dusting off his jeans and then
inspecting his injuries in the mirror. There was a small cut on the bridge of
his nose and a bruise had begun to form on his cheek. He could live with that.
He'd definitely lived with a hell of a lot worse. Jiyong pulled the hood of his
sweatshirt over his head and left the bathroom.
 
The bell signaling the end of class reverberated through the building and he
merged into the sea of bodies, eager to get lost in something that wasn't
himself.
 
*
 
The halls echoed with loud chatter and the squeak of thick-soled boots now that
school had ended. As Jiyong navigated his way towards the parking lot, he
wondered if he should call Seunghyun or wait to be called. They still had one
more week of classes before break and he didn't want to take up too much of his
time. But Jiyong couldn't prevent the needy little tug in his chest once he
started thinking about him – and how it had been too many days since he'd heard
his voice. Jiyong, you're so hopeless. He bit down on his lip, scowling as he
pushed through the heavy doors and was met with a burst of ice-cold air. It was
fucking freezing, his cheeks already going numb, and he actually sort of
dreaded the idea of having to walk home.
 
“Jiyong!” He heard the shout after he'd made it halfway across the parking lot.
 
Jiyong stopped, turning around with a sigh. If it was Victor, he was going to
lay down right there on the slushy ground and wait for someone to run him over.
But then he spotted Seunghyun jogging closer, grinning as he cut through a row
of cars to get to him. Jiyong ducked his head and he felt a blush fight against
the numbness in his cheeks. Seunghyun's shoes came into view a few seconds
later, the tips of their toes inches apart.
 
“Hey.”
 
He took a slow breath before looking up, skin prickling beneath all of his
layers.
 
“Hi.”
 
Seunghyun's grin stretched wider, if that was even possible. His blush deepened
in response and he watched the boy's happy expression go dark when he
eventually noticed the bruise.
 
“What–”
 
“I'm fine,” Jiyong muttered, shrugging as he stared at their feet again. “It's
not a big deal.”
 
Icy fingers lifted his chin and Seunghyun's eyes roamed over his face. Jiyong
looked away, hands balling into fists at his sides as Seunghyun's touch
drifted, barely grazing the small bloom of yellow and purple. Concern radiated
off of him and, for once, Jiyong let himself feel it.
 
“Was it Victor?” Seunghyun asked.
 
“Yeah.” Jiyong nodded, offering him a wan smile. “It's been a long day.”
 
There were more questions. Jiyong could feel that, too. But Seunghyun didn't
pry, emitting a quiet huff and dropping his hand instead. Relief flooded
through him at being spared the frustration of having to talk about it.
 
Then they both went quiet, the noises of the busy parking lot filling their
silence. Seunghyun removed his beanie to mess up his hair while Jiyong did his
best not to act on his impulses. All of which involved his arms around
Seunghyun's waist and his face hidden in the crook of the boy's neck.
 
Clearing his throat, Seunghyun pulled the hat back over his ears. “Do you want
a ride home?”
 
“Thanks, but no.”
 
“Jiyong, it's like, ten below,” Seunghyun said. He was grinning again. “You'll
turn into an icicle.”
 
Jiyong snorted, wishing that he was smoking a cigarette so that his fingers had
more to do than fumble with the hem of his coat. It wasn't that Jiyong didn't
want to say yes. It was that saying yes meant forcing himself outside of his
comfort zone – something Seunghyun happened to be very good at, even if he
didn't know it.
 
He shook his head and glanced at Seunghyun from the corner of his eye. “I can
handle it.”
 
But Seunghyun reached out to take him by the shoulders, head dipping a bit
lower, demanding his attention. “Please just humor me this one time.”
 
“Why?”
 
With a groan, Seunghyun wrapped his arm around Jiyong's neck, dragging him
towards the car as he murmured, “Because I worry about you, all right?”
 
He stumbled, laughing and holding onto the boy's waist to regain his balance.
Jiyong ignored the open curiosity of other students as they passed, sinking his
fingers into the material of Seunghyun's jacket. He welcomed the swelling in
his chest when Seunghyun immediately drew him closer.
 
However, when they were finally standing in front of the silver Honda, Jiyong's
stomach dropped out and the swelling became a wave of unease. Seunghyun let go
of him and walked to the driver's side door, pausing when he saw that Jiyong
hadn't moved.
 
“What's up?”
 
“Nothing, it's–” he swallowed, inching forward to grip the handle. “Nevermind.”
 
Seunghyun hesitated. So Jiyong gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile
and climbed inside before he could change his mind. He held the seatbelt
tightly, attempting to fasten it without letting Seunghyun see how unsteady his
hands were. Jiyong breathed in and pressed his back against the seat, jumping
when Seunghyun touched his thigh.
 
“Sorry.”
 
He shook his head again. “It's okay.”
 
“Will you tell me why you look so freaked out?” Seunghyun asked.
 
Jiyong stared at the hand on his leg, Seunghyun's thumb idly stroking over the
curve of his knee, and he let out a ragged sigh. He couldn't decide if it was
helping or making it worse. Maybe it was both. Jiyong chewed on his lip and
squeezed the strap of his seatbelt even tighter. This was not a conversation he
wanted to have right now.
 
“I, um...I haven't been in a car in a while.”
 
“I promise to drive slow and obey all traffic laws.”
 
His lips twitched and the weak sound of his laughter filled the car, taking a
fraction of his nervous tension with it. Jiyong's head fell back against the
headrest. Through the windshield he watched more students walk by; watched
other cars peel out of the parking lot and listened to their tires roll over
wet snow and gravel. The last time Jiyong had been in a car was directly before
seeing his parents placed six feet underground. The time before that, it had
been in the back of an ambulance. He was stupid for allowing those memories to
manipulate him, but the old fear remained, and he felt so small.
 
“It's not you I'm afraid of,” Jiyong admitted softly.
 
Seunghyun was still rubbing circles into his knee, so he clung to that instead
of the nausea roiling in his gut. Turning his head, he found more concern
etched into the lines of the boy's face, and Jiyong wondered if he'd ever stop
being the reason for the knot in those thick eyebrows.
 
“Jiyong...”
 
“I'm good,” he lied easily, taking a deep breath. “Really. Just drive.”
 
Seunghyun was clearly skeptical, but he nodded and his hand disappeared as he
put the keys in the ignition. An unfamiliar song floated from the stereo over
the whirr of the engine; something ambient. Strange. Jiyong closed his eyes
once the car began moving, concentrating on the music – on the way Seunghyun
tapped the steering wheel and hummed.
 
When the car lost traction over a patch of ice, Jiyong clenched his jaw- air
suspended in his lungs. It was only a short moment. A temporary loss of
control. But his heart thundered against his ribs for the rest of the ride
until it became the only thing he could hear.
 
*
 
Jiyong felt a little less sick as they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor
of his building, just happy to be on solid ground again. He almost dropped his
keys twice when he tried to unlock the front door, though. Seunghyun hovered to
his left, playing with the zipper on his hoodie. Jiyong could tell it was
difficult for him not to speak; not to ask what was wrong. And he couldn't
really blame Seunghyun for that because he knew he was retreating inside of his
head. Creating distance.
 
He unlocked the door and pushed it open, closing it behind them and crouching
down to remove his boots. Seunghyun followed suit and toed off his shoes,
nudging them against the wall. Jiyong removed his jacket, too, placing it on a
hook and stuffing his beanie in one of the pockets before giving Seunghyun an
expectant look. Seunghyun stared back at him blankly.
 
Huffing, Jiyong yanked on a wooden toggle. “Give me your coat, idiot.”
 
“Oh. Yeah,” Seunghyun mumbled, a bit embarrassed as he slipped it from his
shoulders.
 
Jiyong put it on the hook next to his own, hand smoothing over the rough
material, and then stepped around Seunghyun to go into the kitchen. Or he would
have if Seunghyun hadn't latched onto his wrist and kept him there.
 
“Will you...stop, for a second?” Seunghyun asked, voice low as he pulled Jiyong
in reverse.
 
“I told you, I'm–”
 
“No, listen.” Seunghyun released a tired sigh and brought him into his space,
making it hard for Jiyong to avoid eye-contact. “I know you're not fine. And
it's okay that you aren't and I'm sorry if I'm pushing, but you're doing that
thing again where you shut me out.”
 
Jiyong went very still, guilt creeping up his throat and leaving his mouth dry.
He didn't enjoy being the reason why Seunghyun was upset, yet he continued to
find himself in this position and he wished he knew how to change that. They
stared at each other in the dim light of the hallway. Seunghyun's eyes were a
little sad and Jiyong was unsettled by how much he wanted to make it go away.
 
“I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I–” Jiyong choked on the words and frowned,
lowering his head. He wasn't even sure what he'd been about to say.
 
A few seconds passed, Seunghyun's hand easing into his hair. The gentle scrape
of nails along his scalp and the back of his neck was always more comforting
than he expected it to be.
 
“You don't have to explain anything, Jiyong...but I'm here.”
 
It wasn't stated as a request, though Jiyong knew what he was asking.
Seunghyun's fingers traveled lower, touching the highest notch in his spine,
and he swayed forward to curl his arms around the boy's waist. Jiyong deflated
against Seunghyun as he let the full extent of his exhaustion weigh him down,
trying not to think about how fucked up everything was or how much Dami was
going to hate him. Or how much he would probably end up hating himself.
Instead, he burrowed into Seunghyun's neck and chose to wallow in the moment.
 
“I'm sorry,” Jiyong repeated.
 
Seunghyun answered by hugging him even closer. He felt the boy move and then
the heat of his breath right behind his ear.
 
“Apology accepted,” Seunghyun murmured, and now Jiyong could tell he was
smiling.
 
He laughed and shook his head, propping his chin on Seunghyun's shoulder as he
exhaled. It felt really good to be held. More specifically, it felt really good
to be held by Seunghyun and Jiyong was having issues convincing himself to let
go.
 
“Why do you put up with my bullshit?”
 
Seunghyun withdrew slightly and lifted his hands to frame Jiyong's face. His
mouth twitched into a slow smile. “Because I like your bullshit.”
 
Jiyong laughed again, unable to stop himself from blushing, and bit down on his
lip. He didn't get Seunghyun. He didn't get why it was so easy to for him to
make it all seem okay – to change his moods, make him happier. Or the way he
understood without really knowing anything. The way he could always read Jiyong
like an open book even when he couldn't always translate every word.
 
That needy tug in his chest returned, but for an entirely different reason.
Because he decided that he wanted Seunghyun's bullshit, too.
 
Looking up, Jiyong gave him a tiny smile back and finally let his arms slip
away. Seunghyun ruffled his hair.
 
“The offer still stands, by the way,” the boy said, trailing after him as they
walked into the kitchen.
 
Jiyong went to the sink for a glass of water and Seunghyun slouched against the
counter. He arched an eyebrow, smirking around the rim of this cup.
 
“You really weren't kidding.”
 
“Nope.”
 
Merely the thought of being in an enclosed space with Seunghyun while he pawed
at Jiyong's head for at least twenty minutes had his pulse spiking. He gulped
down the rest of his water and placed the glass next to the sink. Seunghyun
tipped over, ducking low to catch Jiyong's gaze. He swore he was going to die
if he kept blushing like this.
 
Jiyong cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at the doorway. “Clippers are in
the bathroom.”
 
Which is how he found himself sitting on the lid of the toilet – hair damp from
sticking his head in the shower and towel draped over his shoulders while
Seunghyun stood between his legs. Jiyong kept his eyes closed, listening to the
metallic snip of the scissors. Chunks of wet hair grazed his skin as they fell,
Seunghyun's hand pushing through the remaining clumps, and his entire body
loosened. The stress of the day melted into nothing with every stroke of his
head and Jiyong suspected that Seunghyun was doing it on purpose. But he wasn't
about to complain. Not when soft fingers were lifting his chin and gliding
along his jaw to turn his head left and right; each touch lasting a few seconds
longer than it needed to. Jiyong breathed in, leaning into the contact without
much thought. Seunghyun's palm molded itself to his cheek briefly and then the
air shifted as he stepped away, the sound of the clippers buzzing to life
behind him. The vibrations against his skull had him zoning out in no time. And
Jiyong didn't even notice that Seunghyun had finished until he felt the towel
being removed and a hand on the back of his neck. Seunghyun's thumb rubbed into
the shaved hairs at his nape, eliciting a gentle shiver.
 
Jiyong blinked, eyelids heavy, as though he was waking from a deep sleep. He
faltered when he stood up and Seunghyun steadied him, chuckling faintly.
 
“Don't laugh at me,” Jiyong mumbled, sheepish grin tugging at his lips.
 
His equilibrium seemed off, now that Seunghyun wasn't manhandling him, and it
was weird – one of those moments where reality became not-so-real. He yawned,
earning himself another quiet chuckle.
 
“It's not my fault you're so cute when you're tired.”
 
Glowering, Jiyong ignored the comment in favor of mussing up his hair, and
already he knew it was a hell of a lot better than the overgrown fuzz that had
been there before. He looked to Seunghyun where he was leaning on the tiled
wall, watching Jiyong with amused eyes.
 
“Thank you,” he almost whispered, because for some reason he felt remarkably
shy under that intense scrutiny.
 
Seunghyun flashed him a grin and nodded, playing again with the zipper of his
hoodie. “You're welcome.”
 
Jiyong nodded, too. Now he felt shy and awkward and this bathroom was
definitely way too small for that. He scrubbed at his face, itchy from all the
tiny hairs he would probably be finding everywhere for days, and then started
to clean up. If he didn't do something mindless, he was going to do something
stupid. The fact that Seunghyun was inches away only increased those chances.
So Jiyong walked out to get the broom from the closet in the hallway and didn't
think about it.
 
He didn't think about it when he took a shower while Seunghyun waited in his
bedroom, either. Didn't wonder if the boy had found his books; if he was
sitting on his mattress or standing uncomfortably in the middle of the room
because he didn't know what was allowed and what wasn't. Jiyong sighed, eyes
closed as the spray pelted his body. The memory of Seunghyun's touch stole in
to crowd his thoughts – the exact texture of his fingertips and the slide of
his palm on Jiyong's skin.
 
It was so simple. Touch. And yet it always disabled him in a heartbeat.
 
When Jiyong got out of the shower, he dressed slowly. He didn't want to go to
work tonight. Then again, not going to work meant he'd have to face his sister
and he wasn't ready for that. Grabbing the pile of his dirty clothes, he
switched off the light and left the bathroom. Jiyong kind of just wished he
could hang out here with Seunghyun in the solitude of his apartment. Even the
constant swell of nerves in his stomach was better than having to force a smile
and act like he wasn't in a shitty mood. Because as soon as Seunghyun was gone,
he knew that he'd crash directly into the black hole of his super fun and not-
at-all-depressing thoughts.
 
Seunghyun was sitting cross-legged on the end of Jiyong's bed when he walked
in; back pressed against the wall and chin tucked against his chest as he read
from the book in his lap. Jiyong had to pause in the doorway because things
were getting a little surreal again, seeing him like this. He spent a number of
seconds observing lazy fingers turn dog-eared pages and marveled at how natural
it felt; how comfortable he looked. As if it was the hundredth time Seunghyun
had sat there and not the first.
 
A ripple of awareness traveled through Jiyong and his heart made one fierce
beat inside of his ribs because fuck, he wanted that too – the mundanity of
those hundred times. Even though being with Seunghyun was never mundane. Never
boring. He fidgeted with the tag on the inside of his shirt and cleared his
throat to announce himself. Seunghyun jerked in alarm. Jiyong didn't bother
trying to hide his smirk as he cut across the room and tossed his clothes in an
empty laundry basket.
 
“Which one are you reading?”
 
“Whitman.”
 
He rummaged inside the top drawer of his dresser for a fresh pair of socks,
walking backwards until his legs hit the mattress. Jiyong should have figured
Seunghyun would go straight for the poetry. Plopping down to sit, he hiked his
jeans up, gradually sliding his feet into thick wool.
 
“This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless. Away from books,
away from art, the day erased, the lesson done. Thee fully forth emerging,
silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,” he recited absently,
bending over to fix the hem of his pants. “Night, sleep, and the stars.”
 
Jiyong would give anything to fall onto his bed and let sleep take him; let it
temporarily erase the insanity of today until tomorrow morning let it come
rushing back. Seunghyun remained suspiciously quiet so he turned around,
finding his eyes narrowed and his expression a mix of disbelief and admiration.
 
“You're ridiculous.”
 
He snorted, grinning as he dragged himself off the bed.
 
“Come on.” Jiyong's hands wedged themselves into his pockets and he
concentrated on the patch of wall just above Seunghyun's shoulder. “I have to
stop for cigarettes before I go to Frankie's.”
 
But Seunghyun didn't let him off the hook, face still a bit awed while he put
his jacket on in the hall and Jiyong laced his up his boots.
 
“No, seriously. How do you just whip that shit out at the drop of a dime?”
 
He snatched his coat, ushering Seunghyun through the door so he could lock it.
Jiyong slipped his hat on and started trudging down the stairs, checking his
phone and actively ignoring the texts and voicemails from Dami that continued
to grow in number. Seunghyun nudged him when they hit the third landing. He
forgot that he hadn't answered yet and he nudged the boy back, shrugging a
little.
 
“I have a good memory.” Sometimes too good. Jiyong sighed.
 
“If I gave you another poet, could you do it again?” Seunghyun asked, voice
strangely animated, and Jiyong didn't know why he was so excited about his
slightly above-average memorization skills.
 
Smiling, he huffed out a small laugh as he pushed through the doors of the
building. “Sure, why not.”
 
Jiyong began walking and Seunghyun followed, not offering to drive despite the
fact that the air was so cold it cut right to the bone. He eyed the boy as they
crossed the street – leaning in until their arms were pressed together and
convincing himself it was because he'd started to shiver. It seemed like
Seunghyun wasn't going to say anything else, but then his arm was wrapping
around Jiyong's shoulders.
 
“Are you gonna ask or what?”
 
“I'm thinking,” Seunghyun murmured.
 
And it was only after they'd stopped at the gas station for cigarettes and were
finally standing on the curb in front of the diner that Seunghyun brought it up
again. Jiyong flicked his lighter and inhaled, pacing a little bit to keep
himself from freezing his ass off. He watched the lights paint shadows across
Seunghyun's face; the way they deepened or turned pale every time he moved.
 
“Neruda,” Seunghyun said with a nod and a smirk before taking a drag from his
cigarette.
 
Well, fuck. Jiyong nearly groaned, shooting him a glare. Not that he couldn't
do it. But most of the poems he had in his head were about shit like love. Of
course. He started pacing in earnest now, wracking his brain for something that
worked.
 
“Too challenging?” Seunghyun teased.
 
Jiyong shoved him in the arm. “No, just gimme a sec.”
 
“Because I can pick someone else.”
 
“You're such an ass,” he muttered, hitting him a bit harder.
 
Seunghyun's pleased cackling filled the air and Jiyong yelped when the boy
yanked his beanie down over his face. Wrenching the hat back, he reached out to
jab Seunghyun in the stomach, laughing so much that he couldn't even pretend to
be angry for the sake of their childishness. Jiyong gasped for air and stubbed
out what was left of his cigarette under the sole of his boot. Seunghyun was
beaming at him, cheeks red and practically glowing as he lunged forward for
another attack, but Jiyong danced away.
 
The appearance of his dimple and the way his eyes always crinkled at the
corners had Jiyong wondering how someone could be so stupidly adorable without
even trying. Seunghyun tossed his own cigarette into the snow, hands on his
knees as he caught his breath and sighed through his remaining giggles.
 
And it was then, in that exact moment, that Jiyong felt a sharp twinge of
disappointment. Because he wanted this to last and he wanted Seunghyun to
stay.But nothing ever does and you always have to go.
 
Sniffing, he wiped at his nose and kicked a pile of snow into powder on the
asphalt. Seunghyun wandered over to stand close to him.
 
“I'm still waiting for my poem.”
 
He grinned, tossing Seunghyun a glance before dropping his gaze to look at the
frozen ground. Jiyong studied their feet for a time and then allowed his
eyelids to fall shut when a soft heat enveloped him. Seunghyun was leaning into
his side. Jiyong reciprocated.
 
Perhaps Neruda was more fitting than he'd realized.
 
“When I cannot look at your face, I look at your feet,” Jiyong spoke without
thinking. “Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet. I know that they
support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them. Your waist and your
breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have
just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, my little tower.
But...” He paused, brows knotting and heartbeat loud in his ears. “But I love
your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon
the waters, until they found me.”
 
With a quiet sigh, Jiyong forced himself to relax. The poem had been written
about a woman, yeah, but the meaning was unmistakable. And Jiyong hadn't really
intended for it to be a confession, but that's what it had pretty much become.
He knew the flutter of fear in his chest was silly. Unnecessary. He wasn't an
idiot, he knew Seunghyun liked him. It was just...Jiyong had never been in this
position before – had never let anyone get this far – and that's what was
frightening.
 
Opening his eyes, he turned to see Seunghyun nibbling on his lower lip and
failing not to break out into an easy smile. Jiyong's fingers twitched against
his thigh and he shifted, pressing his knuckles against Seunghyun's. He was
sure the boy could see the tremor in his breath with every thin cloud that
wobbled out of his mouth; could probably feel how his heart raged inside of
him. Seunghyun's smile cracked a little wider and he ducked his head, gazing at
Jiyong from underneath the web of his eyelashes as he linked their hands – the
slide of his icy fingers inspiring Jiyong to quit breathing altogether.
 
“And you're still ridiculous,” Seunghyun said, eyes glittering in amusement.
 
He scoffed.
 
“I will hit you.”
 
Raising his other hand, Jiyong threatened to punch him in the arm, but
Seunghyun just laughed and curled his fingers around his wrist. So he kicked
Seunghyun gently in the shin instead, which only had him tilting his head back
to send his laughter out into the cold. Jiyong indulged himself and brushed the
peaks of Seunghyun's knuckles with his thumb. And when he squeezed, Seunghyun
squeezed too.
 
The dream he'd had was nothing compared to this. For one, it was real; a fact
he needed to keep reminding himself of every ten seconds. And even though it
was freezing outside...there was so much warmth everywhere else. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     credit for the poems go to Walt Whitman and Pablo Neruda,
     respectively. no copyright infringement intended, I promise my bank
     account is still empty.
***** Chapter 9 *****
“We need to talk.”
 
Jiyong glared at the frying pan on the stove, pushing the sizzling mound of
vegetables around with a wooden spoon. Their worst arguments always began like
this. And those words were easily his least favorite words in the history of
everything, because more often than not, it resulted in one of them saying
something they couldn't take back. Or, more accurately, something he couldn't
take back. Jiyong felt Dami's hand slide along his arm to grip his shoulder and
he switched the burner off.
 
“Can I eat before you disembowel me or would that make too much of a mess?” He
asked, moving away to get a bowl from the cabinet.
 
She sighed. “Don't start, Ji.”
 
“I'm not the one starting anything here.”
 
In his periphery, Jiyong saw Dami fold her arms over her chest as he scooped
rice into the bowl and then dumped in the oily contents of the frying pan.
Setting it down, he put the dirty dishes in the sink before shifting to face
her. Jiyong raised one of his eyebrows, trying to hold onto his irritation
instead of letting the dark circles under her eyes turn him soft.
 
“Why are you being a brat? This isn't an attack,” Dami said, voice deceptively
calm.
 
“We wouldn't even be having this conversation if you'd just let me make my own
goddamned decisions.” He ran a hand through his hair and watched her gaze
harden. When Dami opened her mouth, Jiyong was quick to cut her off. “And if
you even think of bringing them into this again I'm walking out.”
 
“That's not fair.”
 
Shaking his head, he stepped away from the counter, losing the battle with the
anger that was bubbling up, thick and toxic, in the pit of his stomach.
 
“No. I'm tired of you using mom and dad as a weapon against me. It's bad enough
that I have to live with my own fucked up version of survivor's guilt, I don't
need yours on top of it.”
 
Jiyong's tone was probably more unforgiving than she deserved, but he was over
this. It didn't matter how much they talked about it, or fought about it
ordiscussed it, the outcome was the same. The same meaning wrapped up in
different words. The same feeling of bitterness; of being found lacking. The
same sense of hitting your head against a fucking cement wall. How many times
would they find themselves here before anything changed?
 
Dami's posture sagged, her arms falling limp at her sides as she looked at him.
The expression on her face was so forlorn that Jiyong was instantly hit with a
sharp pang of regret for putting it there. He didn't want to argue, he wanted
her to understand. But the more he tried to convince her – to show her that
keeping him in school was not going to work – the more stubborn she became.
 
Her shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I don't know what you want me to
say.”
 
Jiyong took in a deep breath and stared at the floor, hands balling up into
fists and then unfurling when he breathed out.
 
“Then don't say anything,” he murmured softly.
 
Without even sparing her a passing glance, Jiyong left the kitchen, striding
into his bedroom to collect his phone and his wallet. He needed to get out of
there. Because if he didn't, his temper was going to speak for him and that
would just make everything so much worse. Shoving his feet into his boots, he
tugged his jacket on and reached for the doorknob, but stopped. Something
unpleasant clawed at the walls of his stomach, something far bigger than the
anger and the regret. Jiyong spun on his heel slowly and he poked his head back
into the kitchen. Dami was sitting hunched over the table.
 
“You, um...you should eat that. Before it gets cold,” he said, waving at the
bowl of food on the counter, and then headed for the door without waiting for
her response.
 
Every step down the stairs and down sidewalks and empty streets didn't help him
like he wanted them to. His first thought was to call Seunghyun, but he brushed
it aside. Seunghyun didn't need his baggage, he had enough crap to deal with
this week; papers, projects, tests, presentations. Things Jiyong should've been
worried about as well. But he wasn't.
 
Reaching for his cigarettes, Jiyong lit one, begging the harsh smoke to replace
the storm inside his chest. He didn't work at the diner tonight. It was Monday
and Frankie's was always dead in the Winter. So he walked.
 
And he kept walking. Until his legs were too tired for motion and his lungs too
frozen for breathing. Jiyong walked in circles, somehow ending up at the small
playground a few blocks from the high school. He cleaned snow from one of the
swings and collapsed into it, leaning heavily against the chains. A gust of
wind whipped through the park, coaxing a quiet groan from the wooden beams of
the swing set. Jiyong was still thinking about Seunghyun. And at this point he
was beyond pretending that he didn't crave the boy's presence. The weight of
his arms, the weight of his affection. Because nothing else seemed to fucking
work anymore.
 
He peered out into the distance, staring vacantly at the blanket of old snow
and the dark smudge of the treeline. Lighting another cigarette, Jiyong closed
his eyes and swayed back and forth on the swing. He chose to forget about his
suspension and his regret and his anger. Instead, imagining the sound of
Seunghyun's laughter in his ears and what it might feel like to lay down beside
him and fall asleep.
 
*
 
The next four days were determined to pass at a snail's pace, Winter break
dangling just out of reach. And between Jiyong's long hours at the diner and
Seunghyun losing his shit over finals, the first time they managed to find a
moment to hang out was during lunch one afternoon – at the side entrance on the
stairs. They were up against the wall, shoulder to shoulder, smoking. Jiyong
didn't hesitate to lean as close as humanly possible. Because all he needed
right now was this.
 
“I don't get how you're not even the tiniest bit stressed,” Seunghyun said,
taking a final drag before throwing his cigarette butt over the stone railing.
 
“I remember enough to scrape by.”
 
Seunghyun laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a pronounced groan and he
turned to press his face into the fuzzy material of Jiyong's beanie.
 
“Can I borrow your brain?”
 
“Trust me, you wouldn't want it,” he muttered, smirking as he finished his own
cigarette and flicked it out onto the snow-covered steps. “And your brain is
fine.”
 
“Fuck,” Seunghyun whined. “It sure as hell doesn't feel fine.”
 
A puff of hot breath ghosted along Jiyong's neck and he tried not to squirm.
But it was hard, with Seunghyun pressing into his body like this. Jiyong felt
that familiar wave of nervous energy roll through him. He needed a distraction.
 
“Speaking of your brain, I almost forgot...” he started, fighting the urge to
just give up and curl into Seunghyun's side. “I found copies of the literary
journal in the library–”
 
“–Jiyong–”
 
“–and I read all of them. From your first submission to your last.”
 
Seunghyun pulled away, slouching against the wall and covering his face. “Oh
god,” came the muffled reply from behind cold-reddened hands.
 
Grinning, Jiyong choked out a laugh, moving to stand in front of him. He
reached up and circled his fingers around the boy's wrists.
 
“Hey, cut it out. Why are you hiding?”
 
“Because I'm embarrassed.” Seunghyun let Jiyong bring his arms down. His head
lolled against the gray stone as he attempted a glare, mouth twitching. “I
can't believe you did that.”
 
He laughed again and chewed on his lower lip, heart a little unsteady because
Seunghyun was playing with his hands now – fingertips gliding over his palms
and between his knuckles.
 
Jiyong swallowed roughly and averted his eyes. “Is that what you're going to
college for? Writing?”
 
“Yeah, I– I hope so,” Seunghyun replied, expelling a long sigh that already
spoke volumes. He paused and Jiyong could tell he was thinking by the intensity
of the knot in his brow, so he stayed quiet, rubbing his thumb along the inside
of Seunghyun's wrist. Seunghyun looked up and gave him a rueful smile. “My
dad...he wanted me to study something else, something realistic, whatever...but
he knows he lost the right to participate in my life a long time ago.”
 
“And your mom?” Jiyong asked, cautious.
 
He wouldn't push if Seunghyun didn't want to go into detail, but he felt like
this was important. Like he needed to be the solid one this time, the source of
comfort, in order to balance all the times Seunghyun had done the same for him.
Jiyong wondered why he'd never asked before. Probably because his head had been
stuck too far up his own ass.
 
“I dunno. We, um, we don't talk much,” Seunghyun murmured, a frown tugging at
the edges of his mouth.
 
Stepping closer, Jiyong leaned into Seunghyun until their foreheads were almost
touching, adjusting his grip on the boy's hands and holding them tighter. The
giddiness in his chest expanded and it was kind of awesome and kind of
terrifying and he was definitely going to need a while to get used to this.
 
“I think you're really good.”
 
Seunghyun scoffed, shaking his head. “I'm all right.”
 
“No.” Jiyong stared into his eyes and begged himself not to wince or giggle
because this was probably the sappiest fucking thing he'd ever thought about
saying. “You're wonderful.”
 
But he meant it. And then the grin Jiyong had been looking for spread across
Seunghyun's face, dimples punctuating his happiness as he glanced away and went
all pink. It was nice to finally have some ammunition, something he had at his
disposal to make Seunghyun blush; to prove that Jiyong saw him too and that he
was worth seeing.
 
“I'll take your word for it,” Seunghyun muttered wryly.
 
Jiyong couldn't hold back after hearing that and he tipped forward to bury his
shame in Seunghyun's neck as he laughed – mostly at himself.
 
“I totally deserved that, didn't I?” He asked.
 
Seunghyun freed one of his hands, resting it on top of Jiyong's head.
 
“Yeah, you totally did.”
 
He felt fingers scratch at his scalp through the thickness of the hat and he
let all of his weight sink forward until they were flush. Jiyong slipped his
arms around Seunghyun's waist, a soft smile on his lips. Cold air tried to
creep in and make him shiver, but he wouldn't allow it; not when they only had
a handful of minutes left before the period ended. Pushing his nose into
Seunghyun's warmth, Jiyong focused on memorizing this feeling. He never thought
he'd ever wish for more time. But when they were together, it was never quite
enough.
 
*
 
The final bell of the semester had long since faded, but Jiyong was still there
– legs hanging in the air from where he was perched on a table in the
cafeteria, waiting for Colin to finish locking up. He'd been loitering
patiently for nearly half an hour, counting scuff marks on the linoleum floor
and being weirded out by how silent it was. Occasionally there'd be voices in
the hallway outside; obnoxious laughter, shouting, the slam of a locker. Jiyong
hopped off the table with a sigh, hands in his pockets as he kicked
halfheartedly at the closest chair. He didn't like being here longer than he
needed to. But it would be two weeks before he could see Colin again and he
figured he owed the poor sap a fond farewell after neglecting him so much. The
Irishman in question emerged from the kitchen door a moment later, grin wide on
his freckled face.
 
“You really didn't have to stick around, Ji.”
 
Jiyong shrugged, meandering over to prod the man in the side with his elbow.
 
“I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten about you.”
 
“Indeed. I believe you've broken your record of most days gone without a black
eye,” Colin said, locking the door and pocketing his keys. “That Victor kid
finally off your back?”
 
Victor. Jiyong tried not to scowl just thinking about him. The other boy was
still harassing him in class, but Jiyong had refused to acknowledge his
existence no matter how annoyed he got and it was a serious test of his
patience. Though he'd silently congratulated himself for being able to make it
through the week without incident.
 
Following Colin into the hallway, he shook his head. “Not exactly. I've
been...preoccupied.”
 
Colin was observing him closely when he glanced up, the man's eyes narrowed in
suspicion and a knowing smirk on his face.
 
Jiyong breathed out an unsteady laugh. “What?”
 
“I recognize that smile.”
 
Smile? Had he been smiling? Jiyong raised a hand to his mouth and felt his lips
part and stretch despite his attempts to control them. He heard Colin snicker
as they walked, his eyes cast to the floor and brows drawn together, but the
man didn't elaborate and Jiyong didn't feel compelled to ask.
 
“How's Dami?”
 
“I'm not sure. We haven't been particularly good at that whole communication
thing lately.” Jiyong sighed again, purposely leaving out the part where it was
mostly his fault. “Or ever.”
 
They were almost at the rear entrance, but Colin slowed down, taking him by the
arm until they'd come to a full stop. Jiyong gave him a raised eyebrow in
question and watched as the older man shifted uneasily from one foot to the
other. Colin's smirk had been replaced by a timid grin, his gaze flitting over
the ceiling before eventually meeting Jiyong's.
 
“She worries about you a lot, you know.”
 
“Aha, so you did flirt with her.”
 
With a roll of his eyes, Colin smacked him in the arm. “We talked. That was
all.”
 
Jiyong scoffed lightly and nodded.
 
“Uh-huh.”
 
“Don't...don't be too hard on her, yeah?” Colin stepped closer. His forehead
creased and wrinkled as he chewed on his lip. “She just wants what's best. We
all do.”
 
Jiyong tried really hard not to laugh because he should have figured that this
was coming – the moment he'd been dreading since the first day they met. The
push. Well, he was tired of being pushed. And to believe that things never
would've changed after all these years was so fucking naïve.
 
Staring at the floor, his defensive instinct kicked in, the one that told him
to disengage and walk away. Everyone always had something to say and he didn't
want to hear it this time.
 
“Colin, it's great that you're into my sister, but I don't need this from you.
Don't stick your nose in my shit,” Jiyong said, taking several steps in
reverse. He sniffed, swinging his arms back and forth at his sides. “See you in
January. Happy New Year and all that.”
 
He noticed Colin's defeated expression just before he waved and doubled back to
wander through the school, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat and head
bowed. Jiyong's pace quickened, taking a right down an empty hallway. God, I'm
a dick. He cringed. Internally and externally. There were probably a million
other ways he could have said that. Or he could have not been an asshole and
kept it to himself. Breaking into a jog, he kicked the side entrance door open
and burst out onto the landing. Jiyong slid a hand over his face, wilting into
a sitting position on the stairs, not caring about how cold it was.
 
A twinge of guilt flared inside of his chest and he embraced it. Because even
if it didn't come close to being enough, Jiyong deserved to feel this. He
slumped forward, nose smashing against his knee. What the fuck was wrong with
him? Colin wasn't the enemy, he was a friend. And Jiyong had just...dismissed
him like he was nothing.
 
“Damnit,” he groaned, banging his head against his leg.
 
Jiyong almost felt like he needed to relearn how to be a human being, because
as of this very second he was a pitiful excuse for one. Gritting his teeth, he
told himself he wasn't going to cry over this, but his throat constricted
painfully in defiance.
 
“Hey.” A voice called off to his left.
 
Lifting his head, his eyes widened. “Seunghyun. What are you still doing here?”
 
The boy walked towards the steps as Jiyong slowly picked himself up and met him
at the bottom.
 
“I was talking to one of my teachers,” Seunghyun explained, adjusting the strap
of the backpack that hung from his shoulder. “I thought you'd be long gone by
now.”
 
He shook his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and stared at the
chunks of cracked ice under their feet. Seunghyun leaned down, trying to catch
his eye.
 
“Everything okay?”
 
Jiyong sucked in a breath and then let it out, watching the faint cloud
disperse into the air before looking up. He offered Seunghyun a weak smile, his
hands bunching into fists.
 
“Please just hug me right now.”
 
And even though he currently felt like less than a speck of dirt, the minute
Seunghyun's arms wrapped around him had the world falling away. His eyelids
closed and the effect was amplified, his awareness narrowing to the texture of
Seunghyun's jacket clenched in his fingers; the press of Seunghyun's hand on
the back of his neck and way he smelled. Like cigarettes and soap. Jiyong's
throat tightened again, because he was grateful for this. Grateful that he
even had this. But a part of him still worried that he wouldn't be able to keep
it.
 
“Are you up for letting me drive you home?”
 
“I don't know,” Jiyong answered truthfully.
 
Seunghyun withdrew, reaching up to cup his cheek, and smiled. “Then at least
escort me to my car.”
 
He huffed a short laugh, nodding. “Sure.”
 
As they walked around the perimeter of the building, Jiyong sought out the
boy's hand and held it firmly in his own. Seunghyun seemed content not to ask
questions for the time being and he was grateful for that too. He liked that
they didn't always have to speak. Because there were a lot of things Jiyong
wanted to say, but he didn't know how to say them. And after what happened with
Colin he'd honestly rather just sew his goddamned mouth shut.
 
In lieu of words, Jiyong leaned against Seunghyun, sending him off balance, and
they stumbled a little on the snowy pavement. Seunghyun shot him a mock glare,
freeing his hand to loop his arm around Jiyong's neck and yank him closer until
he almost fell over and they were both giggling. He latched onto the boy's
waist, the lines of their bodies pressing together and parting with every
awkward step. Jiyong felt considerably lighter. Just from this. And when he
looked up at Seunghyun, finding one of those brilliant grins plastered on his
face, it warmed him from the inside out.
 
But the feeling didn't stick, quickly replaced by a jolt of panic when he
turned his head. Victor, of all people, was heading right for them. Jiyong
instantly sobered, somehow not all that amazed that the day was getting
progressively worse.
 
“I'm sorry,” he said, easing out from under Seunghyun's arm.
 
“Sorry for what?”
 
Jiyong didn't respond, only stared ahead at Perez as he approached. He saw
Seunghyun follow his line of sight from the corner of his eye and just barely
heard the boy's soft “Oh” of comprehension. Gripping him by the elbow, Jiyong
forced them to stop in the middle of the road. He bounced slightly on the balls
of his feet. Not from anticipation, but from nerves. And it was making him sick
to his stomach.
 
Since Victor was on his own, Jiyong already knew he wouldn't be getting a
repeat performance of what had happened at Frankie's. And he was thankful for
that even if it didn't put him any less on edge. The semester might have been
over, but they were still at school and the consequences were always greater.
Especially for him. Jiyong adopted an expression of apathy as Victor got
closer, taking a few steps forward to place himself between Seunghyun and
whatever bullshit was about to unfold.
 
“Are you recruiting for your little faggot brigade now?” Victor greeted,
glancing at Seunghyun over Jiyong's shoulder.
 
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I saved you a spot.”
 
It was a lame comeback, but he wasn't really in the mood. Victor visibly
bristled despite this and got right up in Jiyong's space, the smile on his lips
failing to reach his darkened eyes. Jiyong flinched away, arms dropping to his
sides and hands clenched tight into fists.
 
“Is that your boyfriend?” Victor asked, his voice low and mocking.
 
Jiyong refused to answer. This didn't deter Victor from continuing though,
taking his silence as confirmation and leaning forward to speak into Jiyong's
ear.
 
“Does he treat you with the respect you think you deserve? Do you call him
daddy when he's fucking you in the ass like the little cockslut y– ”
 
Jiyong didn't need to hear the rest, fierce anger rushing in to make his blood
boil. He shoved Victor away and punched him with everything that he had, the
force of the blow causing Victor to lurch back, and Jiyong's muscles burned
from the effort. His knuckles throbbed too, already swelling, and he savored
the twisted expression of pain on Victor's face as a streak of red dripped from
his nose. Jiyong hoped it was fucking broken.
 
There was a flurry of motion when Victor came at him and Jiyong reacted
automatically, blocking whatever hits he could. He thought he heard Seunghyun's
voice behind him, blending in with the grunts and the scuff of their feet,
asking him to stop. Or maybe he was asking Victor to stop. Jiyong couldn't
really tell over the roaring in his ears.
 
His fist connected with Victor's gut and he had the wind knocked out of him
when the boy punched him in the stomach. He couldn't think fast enough, mind
racing and body slow to listen. Victor managed to get in two more hits to his
side and Jiyong doubled over, gasping as the pain radiated through him. He was
so pissed off that it didn't even really hurt that much, just fueled the fire.
Fueled the need to destroy Victor so that he never had to spare another ounce
of energy thinking about him ever again.
 
Jiyong straightened, stepping forward to retaliate, when he felt a hand on his
shoulder; five fingers digging sharply through the fabric of his coat. But
looking behind him proved to be a mistake, because a second later his jaw
exploded. And when the haze cleared and his ears stopped ringing, the first
thing he saw was Seunghyun crumpled on the ground – head cradled in his hand,
blood trickling down the curve of his cheek. Jiyong's heart seized for a brief
moment as he tried to catch his breath. Time froze. No one moved. He was too
shocked to react; torn between making sure Seunghyun was okay and pounding
Victor into something unrecognizable.
 
Victor appeared to be a little shaken by what he'd done, eyes wide and chest
heaving as he stared at Seunghyun. Because all these months Jiyong had been the
one suffering and now all of a sudden he wasn't. Snow began to trail down from
the sky then, landing delicately on their faces and clinging to their jackets.
Jiyong's breath puffed out in thick, savage clouds and if he thought he'd been
angry before, it was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now.
 
It wasn't long before Victor came back to himself, an ugly sneer curling his
lips as he lifted his head. Jiyong spit blood onto the asphalt and wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand.
 
“Jiyong...”
 
Seunghyun's warning tone drew his attention and he turned, glancing over at
Victor just in case he decided to come at him again. Jiyong waited for
Seunghyun to say something else, but there was only a silent request in his
eyes.
 
Don't.
 
“Are you gonna let daddy tell you what to do, princess?” Victor taunted, moving
closer.
 
He gritted his teeth, his rage building even though his conscience told him
Seunghyun was right. Take the high road, take the high road, take the high
road, Jiyong chanted. He's not worth it.
 
“Fuck off, Victor.”
 
“Aww, but I wasn't finished.”
 
“I swear to god if you don't disappear in the next ten seconds I'm gonna crack
your skull open on the fucking pavement,” he growled, quiet and furious.
 
And Jiyong would do it too. Without hesitation. Victor's expression faltered
then, head whipping around as if to look for hisboys for backup. But there was
no one. Jiyong watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed and stumbled
backward. A tiny sliver of relief wedged itself in the mess of everything else
he was feeling. Because for a split second he'd really believed that Victor
wouldn't give in. Exhaling roughly, Jiyong sent Victor a scathing glare when
the boy scoffed and opened his idiot mouth.Don't you ever fucking shut up?
 
“You think y– ”
 
He cut him off, releasing a short yell as he lunged forward, causing Victor to
trip and land heavily on his ass. The boy grimaced because he'd knocked his
elbows against the ground and Jiyong just stood over him, panting.
 
“You wanna know what I think? Huh?” Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “I think you're a
spineless piece of shit for using me to make you feel better about yourself.
Because ganging up on me totally makes you more of a man, right?”
 
He gave Victor a hard kick in the side, more out of frustration than wanting to
cause harm, and bent down to grab him by the collar of his coat. The boy
moaned, struggling in his grasp. Jiyong studied him for a moment and wondered
why he was even bothering. This wouldn't change anything. He sighed.
 
“You know what homophobia really means, Victor? Fear of the self,” Jiyong said.
He shoved him back to the ground. “Think about that.”
 
Victor's brows collided as his head hit the asphalt and his breath came in
labored gusts. But he remained mute, which was off-putting because it seemed
like the boy always had something obnoxious to say. Jiyong's posture drooped,
body sore. The majority of his rage had left him and now he was just tired.
Exhausted beyond belief. And he didn't have the strength to deal with Victor
anymore so he walked away.
 
Seunghyun was still on the ground cradling his head in his hand. Jiyong
crouched down beside him.
 
“Let me see,” he said, reaching out to gently take hold of his chin.
 
One of Victor's rings had torn a chunk out of Seunghyun's skin, just underneath
his eyebrow, which explained why he was bleeding so much. Jiyong scowled,
tilting the boy's face to get a better look and doing his best to ignore the
queasiness in his gut.
 
“Thank you.”
 
He flicked his eyes over to Seunghyun's and snorted. “For not avenging you?”
 
Seunghyun laughed softly, shaking his head as he pulled Jiyong's hand down.
“For listening to me.”
 
With a slight nod, he dropped his gaze, curling his fingers around Seunghyun's
palm. He felt awful for dragging him into this. Even moreso now that he'd
become a casualty of Jiyong's pathetic existence. Jiyong desperately wished he
could turn back the clock and rewrite the entire day. Then maybe he wouldn't
have to be so mad at himself for fucking everything up. Seunghyun squeezed his
hand and he lifted his head.
 
“Think you can make it inside?” Jiyong asked.
 
“Yeah.” Seunghyun moved to stand and Jiyong helped him, not letting go once he
was on his feet. “You wouldn't be able to carry me anyway.”
 
Jiyong collected the boy's backpack from the ground and slipped an arm around
his waist.
 
“I'm stronger than I look.”
 
“No kidding,” Seunghyun drawled.
 
Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Victor had snuck off without a sound,
hopefully with his tail between his legs. Jiyong wasn't sure what to expect
after this, his words having probably gone in one ear and out the other. Why
he'd said those things at all, he didn't know. But he also didn't regret saying
them. Descending into his thoughts, he didn't speak as he lead Seunghyun back
into the school, taking them to the nearest bathroom on the second floor.
Jiyong set Seunghyun's bag down and took his jacket off, pulling the boy's off
as well and piling everything by the door.
 
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the counter, and went to get paper towels from the
dispenser, soaking them with warm water.
 
Jiyong refused to look at his own reflection in the mirror. He didn't need to.
He didn't want to, because he knew it would just make him angrier. Wringing the
excess water out into the sink, he positioned himself between Seunghyun's legs.
Jiyong slipped the beanie off of the boy's head, setting it on the counter
before he started cleaning the blood from his skin. Seunghyun's gaze was honed
in on him, but Jiyong didn't acknowledge it, more concerned with what he was
doing. Though every few seconds his focus would wander, trailing over the boy's
face. And it was hard to miss the way Seunghyun's lips had slanted into a
pleased smirk.
 
Pressing the wad of paper towels directly to the wound made Seunghyun hiss and
Jiyong rolled his eyes.
 
“It fucking hurts,” Seunghyun grumbled defensively.
 
He sighed, placing a careful hand on Seunghyun's cheek and dabbing the cut with
the other. Seunghyun winced and Jiyong's stomach twisted because this was
nothing compared to what might have been. And that sent a lance of trepidation
right through his chest, because it still could.
 
Jiyong frowned, dropping his hands to refold the paper towels. “Yeah, well
that's what you get for associating yourself with me.”
 
Seunghyun observed him quietly before taking hold of his wrist, fingers
stroking low over the lines of his palm. Jiyong exhaled a shaky breath.
 
“It would take a lot more than getting hit in the face to keep me away from
you.”
 
“Thank you for pointing that out, I hadn't noticed,” Jiyong said, mouth lifting
in a wry smile.
 
Seunghyun's eyes disappeared into crescents as he grinned in response and
Jiyong looked away, letting his head fall forward. The exact moment that he'd
noticed the boy slumped on the ground, bleeding, replayed over and over again
behind closed eyelids. If it wasn't for him, it never would have happened. And
he knew he was fixating, but it had scared him so much. Jiyong didn't ever want
to see Seunghyun hurt. Especially when he could have prevented it.
 
He breathed in, gritting his teeth to ward off another wave of guilt.
“Seunghyun, I'm–” but he couldn't finish.
 
Wide hands took hold of his hips then, Seunghyun's forehead pressing against
his as he was pulled further into the space between the boy's outstretched
legs. Jiyong dropped the paper towel on the floor and he gripped broad
shoulders to steady himself.
 
“Hey...it's not your fault,” Seunghyun murmured.
 
“But it kind of is,” he countered weakly.
 
“No. It isn't.” Seunghyun's thumbs rubbed over his hipbones in small circles
and he nudged Jiyong's nose gently with his own. “Don't blame yourself.”
 
Who else was he going to blame? Every choice Jiyong had made had lead him to
this point and there was no denying that. But he didn't argue, instead laying
his hands flat over Seunghyun's neck. Jiyong was battling each conflicting
emotion as it tumbled around inside of his head; the anger at himself warring
with the swell of nerves that came from being near Seunghyun. He kept his eyes
closed, riding out each giddy flutter that rolled through him. Pushing his
forehead more firmly into Seunghyun's, Jiyong concentrated on breathing and
tried to let his anger go; counting the faint beats of the boy's pulse against
his hands.
 
Seunghyun continued to rub circles over his hipbones, his touch migrating
higher to stroke up and down his sides as the minutes passed. Jiyong shivered,
the flutter starting to turn into an ache. The fact that Seunghyun managed to
be so incredibly patient all the time kind of blew his mind. He was too good to
Jiyong. But Jiyong was too greedy now to tell himself he didn't deserve it.
 
Jiyong pulled back slightly to look into Seunghyun's eyes and his heart
immediately leapt into his throat. Because Seunghyun was staring at him openly
and their faces were centimeters apart. There was an intense heat building
under Jiyong's skin; all of the things he'd been bottling up finally racing to
the surface, and they were impossible to ignore. Like how much he really cared
about Seunghyun; how much Jiyong wanted him more than he'd ever wanted anything
else. And just like he had that afternoon at the diner, he found its match in
the boy's dark eyes and it was overwhelming.
 
Seunghyun tugged him a little closer, clenching the material of Jiyong's hoodie
in his hands and Jiyong's quiet gasp echoed loudly in the silence of the
bathroom. They were sharing breath now, bodies curving into one another.
Jiyong's heart was speeding out of control, but he liked it. He felt more alive
now, here in Seunghyun's arms, than he ever had in a fight. And the realization
was so powerful that, for a moment, he couldn't do anything – caught somewhere
between action and inaction – but then Seunghyun smiled.
 
Jiyong smiled too, a nervous laugh threatening to escape from his lungs, and he
was pretty sure that once he started he'd never stop. Because he'd never been
here before – seconds away from letting himself fall. Seunghyun nudged his nose
again and his breath hitched. He knew that the boy was teasing him as much as
he was offering comfort, telling him not to be afraid. Jiyong nudged back and a
small burst of amusement escaped anyway.
 
“You should probably kiss me right now,” Seunghyun mumbled.
 
And then he was laughing harder, all the tension breaking up inside his chest
and leaving him lightheaded. Jiyong heaved a sigh to calm himself. Seunghyun
just sat there, looking at him with this perfectly sweet grin on his face and
Jiyong couldn't fucking take it.
 
So he acted on impulse, tilting his head and closing the remaining distance to
brush his lips against Seunghyun's. Jiyong's eyelids drifted shut and it was
like a bolt of lightning had ripped through his stomach; like his entire body
was going to implode. Just from the soft press of the boy's mouth and the way
his hands were molding to the contours of his back. Seunghyun deepened the
kiss, the movement of his lips deliberate and tender, and Jiyong buried his
fingers in Seunghyun's hair.
 
He'd never kissed anyone before, either; the cockiness and inappropriate
comments all for show. Jiyong had no clue what he was doing, but it didn't
matter, because Seunghyun's tongue was flicking out to taste the curve of his
bottom lip and he was totally useless – could only melt into the kiss and hope
that he didn't drown. Seunghyun was oblivious or didn't care, too busy
tormenting Jiyong with the painfully slow press of his mouth. It was sending
these weird sparks of electricity down his spine and making his toes curl
inside of his boots. He released a strained whimper, hands traveling to frame
Seunghyun's face. To drag his thumbs across his cheeks and over his jaw and
bring him even closer. Jiyong's eyebrows furrowed tightly, the heat under his
skin only growing stronger. Seunghyun moaned low in his throat when Jiyong
arched against him, the kiss becoming messy and too much for Jiyong to handle,
and he broke away with a sharp gasp.
 
The sound of their heavy breathing filled the bathroom and Seunghyun's arms
wrapped around his waist. Jiyong's mouth was tingling, his limbs weightless. If
Seunghyun hadn't been holding onto him, he thought he might actually float into
the air and vanish. Carding his fingers through the short strands of the boy's
hair, Jiyong swayed forward; lips lightly touching the bridge of his nose.
 
“We should go, before they lock us in and we end up stuck here for the next two
weeks,” Jiyong nearly whispered, unwilling to break the spell entirely.
 
Seunghyun huffed and hugged him tighter instead of letting go.
 
“Will you actually let me take you home now?”
 
“Yeah.” He laughed, toying with the hairs at the nape of Seunghyun's neck. “I
still have to tend to your wounds.”
 
Jiyong felt Seunghyun's smile against his skin as the boy sighed and finally
withdrew. They stared at each other for a long while and Jiyong blushed
profusely because the only thing he could think of was crushing their lips
together. Because now that he'd crossed the imaginary line in his head, he
couldn't remember why it had seemed so insurmountable. But Jiyong inhaled
carefully and made himself step back, distracting himself by getting their
coats and tossing the paper towels in the trash. Seunghyun laced their fingers
together before they even left the bathroom. And Jiyong couldn't wipe the grin
off of his face, even after they were inside Seunghyun's crappy Honda; his
fingers clutching the seatbelt until his knuckles turned white.
 
*
 
Frankie's was booming with the collective sounds of temporary liberation – the
diner packed wall to wall with kids from his high school, their laughter and
excited yelling making it hard to hear and harder to think. Now that they were
on break for the holidays, it always got a bit more crowded on the weekends.
Particularly at night, because what else were a bunch of bored teenagers
supposed to do when they were stuck in the middle of fucking nowhere? Jiyong
was just thankful Anna was staying late to help out. On any other night, he
wouldn't have minded. But today had been...a lot. And Jiyong was waiting for
the moment when he'd drop dead on the floor, face smushed on the checkered
tiles in a pool of lukewarm coffee.
 
Seunghyun had stayed as well. After Jiyong patched him up with the first aid
kit in his bathroom, Jiyong had showered and changed and made two packages of
instant noodles. They'd sat on the kitchen table together, legs swinging while
they ate, and Jiyong asked Seunghyun about his classes. He liked listening to
the boy talk. Even when they weren't talking about anything important. Jiyong
had spent so much of his life not listening – not connecting,not caring. And
Seunghyun made him realize how much he'd been missing out on because of that.
 
As soon as midnight hit, the diner quieted and only a few tables were left –
most of them still full of teenagers who were reluctant to put an end to their
first night of freedom. Anna was reading one of her fashion magazines, drifting
in and out of conversation with Leroy that Jiyong only half-heard as he wiped
down tables. He was functioning on auto-pilot now, powered merely by the
knowledge that he'd get to go home and crash into bed in less than two hours.
Because every muscle in his body ached and his jaw was still sore and it really
was the opposite of enjoyable. Tossing the damp towel into one of the bins in
the kitchen, Jiyong shuffled over to the booth Seunghyun had claimed and fell
into the seat beside him. He groaned, pushing his face against Seunghyun's
shoulder.
 
“Will you be my pillow?” Jiyong asked, voice muffled by the boy's hoodie.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Good.” He slouched further into the dip of the seat, pressing as close as he
could with his uninjured cheek smashed against the boy's arm. “I wasn't really
gonna give you a choice.”
 
Seunghyun chuckled and Jiyong honestly didn't care that he was essentially
snuggling a customer during work hours because he was done with today. It
wasn't even “today” anymore, it was tomorrow, but most of the time it seemed
like one continuous stream of bullshit he didn't want to deal with. He was just
glad that he didn't have to go to school for the next two weeks. And more
importantly, that Seunghyun wouldn't be inundated with assignments anymore.
Jiyong sighed, snaking his hand underneath Seunghyun's arm where it was resting
on the table to weave their fingers together. The boy had been doing nothing
but reading all night and Jiyong was remarkably happy that he'd stayed. He
hoped Seunghyun could feel that, even if he didn't say it.
 
Jiyong's gaze roamed across the diner – trailing over randomly placed flower
arrangements and blinking Christmas lights and the fake snow made out of strips
of cotton that lined the windows. There was a group of girls that went to their
high school in another booth. He recognized one of them from his Physics class,
but he couldn't remember her name. And the instant he made eye-contact, they
all exploded into high-pitched giggles and turned away. Jiyong let out an
amused snort.
 
“We're being watched.”
 
“I can't imagine why,” Seunghyun murmured, voice heavy with sarcasm as he
brushed his thumb over Jiyong's absently.
 
“It's either the busted faces or the fact that we're holding hands.”
 
“Based on the blushing and the giggling, I think it's pretty safe to assume the
latter.”
 
He craned his neck to look up at Seunghyun and the boy stared down at him with
a faint smile on his lips.
 
“Come outside with me?” Jiyong asked.
 
Seunghyun arched one of his eyebrows. “Is movement something you're capable of
doing right now?”
 
He thought about dragging himself out of the booth for all of three seconds.
 
“No.”
 
Which made Seunghyun laugh, his dark eyes glittering as he played with Jiyong's
hand – long fingers sliding between Jiyong's knuckles and grazing the skin of
his palm. His stomach swooped from the gentle touches. From the way Seunghyun
continued to stare at him like they weren't in public and they didn't have an
audience. Because the only thing currently occupying his brain was how badly he
wanted to kiss him again. Jiyong felt his face go up in flames.
 
“Don't look at me like that.”
 
“Why not?”
 
“Because,” he whined, burrowing back into Seunghyun's shoulder. “Just don't.”
 
He probably sounded like a five year old, but he didn't really give a shit.
Jiyong's everything seemed like it was stuffed with cotton candy now instead of
only his head and he didn't know how to deal. And he didn't know what to do
with all of these new things that he wanted because they were so much. His head
was bursting with them; these vague urges that all revolved around one person.
But there was one thing that stood out. One that wasn't so vague. And that was
the fact that Jiyong had officially given up on pretending – on denying himself
something that was definitely going to make him happier than he'd ever been in
his entire life.
 
Because there was no one else in the world he wanted to be with more than he
wanted to be with Seunghyun.
 
Jiyong clenched the boy's fingers in his own, their knuckles locked tight, and
he sighed. His mouth spread wide in a grin, and he decided that one day he
would find the courage to let it be more than just a thought. One day, Jiyong
would actually tell him.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
 
 
Seunghyun turned onto the street where he lived, a street lined with houses
that all looked pretty much identical – two stories, big windows, perfect
hedges, and the same boring as hell paint job. Jiyong didn't know what he'd
been expecting. Maybe he was hoping for something less depressing. Something
that was better than cookie-cutter suburbia; some pocket of the world Seunghyun
had that was his. Jiyong mashed his nose against the cold surface of the window
as they pulled up to a darkened driveway. He could make out a light coming from
somewhere inside, just a faint glow bleeding through the living room curtains,
but the house still felt empty. Jiyong wondered if this was how it felt every
time he came home.
 
“Shit,” Seunghyun cursed softly, and Jiyong almost didn't hear him over the
murmur of the radio. “...my dad's here.”
 
He shifted, resting his head against the glass and watching Seunghyun's fingers
tighten their hold on the steering wheel. Jiyong chewed his lower lip.
 
“We don't have to go in if you don't want to.”
 
“No, it's fine.” Seunghyun let out a sigh. The music transitioned into
obnoxious commercials and he switched it off, hands falling into his lap. “I
just wasn't expecting him to show up until later this week.”
 
“Seunghyun...” Jiyong began, unsure of himself because this felt like the
stupidest fucking question, but it wasn't something they'd ever talked about
and it seemed relatively important right now.
 
He glanced over at the boy, playing with the edge of his sleeve. Seunghyun was
looking at him curiously and Jiyong inhaled, long and deep.
 
“Are you out to your parents?”
 
Seunghyun gave him an amused huff. “Yeah,” he replied, nodding. “Though I think
they like to pretend that conversation never happened.”
 
Jiyong's stomach sort of clenched and he nodded back. He wondered about that,
too. What it must have been like to experience coming out. Dami had sort of
always known, even when he hadn't. And of course their parents died before he'd
had the chance or the courage. He supposed he was thankful. Though part of him
felt a little robbed, which in turn made him feel childish and dumb. Jiyong
hunched his shoulders, index finger wriggling through one of the holes in his
sleeve. He didn't notice that Seunghyun had cut the ignition until there was a
hand covering his. Seunghyun squeezed once and moved away to undo his seat
belt, climbing out of the car. Jiyong trailed after him.
 
While the house appeared empty, it definitely wasn't – the evidence making
itself loud and clear as soon as Seunghyun opened the front door. It sounded
like the argument was coming from the kitchen and Jiyong wondered if this was a
common occurrence. His eyes traveled over the walls, taking in framed paintings
and potted plants and the quiet, hulking shapes of furniture in the living
room. The house seemed nice. Though Jiyong didn't think he could classify it as
a home and that made his stomach clench again as he stood in the shadows of the
foyer, trying not to listen to the angry words down the hall. Seunghyun closed
the door behind them, coming to stand beside Jiyong in the dark. He noticed the
way Seunghyun practically vibrated with tension and his fingers found the boy's
without looking.
 
“We really don't have to do this,” Jiyong whispered.
 
But Seunghyun exhaled and shook his head. “I– it's okay. Come on.”
 
And then Seunghyun was leading him up the stairs and into his bedroom.
 
Which was something he shouldn't have been so nervous about. They'd hung out in
Jiyong's room and it hadn't been weird, but this was different. This
was...meaningful. Or maybe he was giving the moment too much significance when
there didn't need to be. Jiyong hovered just inside the door, grateful that the
bickering was muffled when Seunghyun locked it. He bent down to remove his
boots and nudged them against the wall, letting his socked toes curl into the
pale gray carpet. They both shrugged their jackets off and Jiyong wracked his
brain for something to say.
 
Seunghyun didn't seem to think this was mildly awkward, going over to his desk
to hang his coat on the back of the chair while Jiyong's eyes darted around the
room. There were three tall bookcases, all packed tight with bound volumes that
made the shelves bow from their collective weight. His lips quirked as he
inched towards the closest one because of course Seunghyun would surround
himself with books. Jiyong's smile grew wider when he recognized most of the
authors – Murakami, Woolf, Tolkien, Pratchett, Gaiman, McCarthy, Pynchon,
Oates, Plath, Eco, Márquez, and too many poetry collections to count. Ugh, I
hate you so much, he grumbled internally as his fingers lifted to graze their
spines.
 
“I'm super jealous,” he said, almost under his breath.
 
He heard Seunghyun laugh. “Don't be. I haven't even read most of them yet.”
 
Jiyong turned, finding the boy staring, and a wave of giddiness cartwheeled
right through him. He was still nervous. Not in a bad way, it was just that he
knew even less about how he should act around Seunghyun now that they'd kissed.
Mostly because he wanted more kisses, but he wasn't sure if immediately pinning
the boy to the bed would make him too desperate. He blushed at the thought and
cleared his throat.
 
“You should get on that,” Jiyong said, nodding like an idiot and looking
anywhere but at Seunghyun's smirking face.
 
When he didn't say anything else, Jiyong pivoted on his heel and continued his
exploration of the room. He could feel Seunghyun's gaze following him as he
paused to inspect a collage of familiar looking doodles on the wall above the
bed. They were all ripped out of notebooks, thin blue lines intersecting dark
ink and faded pencil. Jiyong grinned to himself when he recognized his cartoon
doppelganger more than once and his heart beat a little bit faster.
 
The voices downstairs rose in volume then, impossible to tune out, and he
caught Seunghyun scowling as he sunk down onto the mattress. Jiyong watched him
yank his beanie off and tear a hand through his flattened hair.
 
“God, they always do this. I'm sorry–” Seunghyun stopped, his frown deepening.
“If my dad wasn't around it would be a lot quieter.”
 
Jiyong stretched his legs out, hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. It
wasn't really the fighting that bothered him. And he wanted to say it wasn't a
big deal, but he could see how much Seunghyun hated this because it was written
all over his face. Seunghyun offered him a tight smile and twisted the soft
material of the hat in his fingers.
 
“Sometimes I think the only reason they haven't gotten a divorce yet is because
they wouldn't have an excuse to make each other miserable anymore. It's like
they get off on being bitter,” Seunghyun muttered and tossed his beanie onto
the desk. “I'm sorry, you don't...you don't need to hear about this.”
 
“Don't apologize.” Jiyong shook his head, reaching out an arm in invitation. He
didn't know what he was going to do, he just knew he needed to do
something, anything, to help. “Come here.”
 
Pulling Seunghyun onto the bed, he leaned back until they were both laying
down. Jiyong curled up on his side and cradled his head in his hand, knees
digging into Seunghyun's leg. Seunghyun was concentrating on the ceiling.
Jiyong thought he looked kind of sad.
 
Another burst of shouting filtered through the closed door and Seunghyun
winced. Jiyong took a deep breath and slid his fingers into Seunghyun's where
they rested on his chest, blurting the first thing that came to mind.
 
“Tell me about your writing.”
 
Seunghyun's eyebrow twitched, gaze coming to land on Jiyong's face. “Like
what?”
 
“Doesn't matter. Why did you start?” He asked, and let his thumb rub absently
over warm skin. It made him want to squirm when Seunghyun didn't look away.
 
“An escape.” Seunghyun drew his bottom lip into his mouth and narrowed his eyes
in thought. “It was how I coped when things were shitty. But once I started, I
couldn't really stop, because there was something about it that was addictive.
Even when it's frustrating I still love it.”
 
Jiyong studied their linked hands for a long moment. Seunghyun probably didn't
realize how fortunate he was to care about something enough to keep doing it.
Whether it was for the rest of his life or not, he still cared.
 
“You're really lucky.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because you have a way out,” Jiyong said, voice hushed. He smiled somewhat
uncomfortably and stared at the wall.
 
“Jiyong, you could do whatever you want. Be whatever you want.”
 
Seunghyun lifted his other hand, sweeping the hair from Jiyong's forehead. He
was reminded of their conversation on the roof of his apartment and his eyes
drooped to a close.
 
“But I don't know what that is,” he admitted. Sometimes I feel like I don't
know anything. “I mean...I wouldn't even know where to start. Pretty sure I've
already screwed myself over.”
 
“Don't be so optimistic,” Seunghyun murmured wryly, and Jiyong felt the whisper
of his breath on his lips.
 
He shivered and opened his eyes to discover the boy's face inches from his own.
Seunghyun's expression was light and teasing and Jiyong couldn't prevent an
entertained smirk. It would be so easy to lower his head and claim the curve of
those lips. To press Seunghyun into the mattress and feel the soft heat of his
body. Jiyong's mouth went dry and he swallowed thickly, hyper-aware of every
point of contact between them.
 
Seunghyun cupped his cheek, making his heart jump. And just when he thought
he'd finally convinced himself to quit being such a fucking coward, the
argument picked up again downstairs. Jiyong was positive he'd heard something
breaking. “Is it always this bad?” He asked instead of avoiding it.
 
“Sometimes worse,” Seunghyun said, his expression falling as his hand dropped
to his side. “Usually I put my headphones on and try to forget it's happening.
I don't know why I bother coming back here half the time, because I can't
really concentrate, even when it's quiet.” He glanced at Jiyong and pushed
their palms together. “That's why I spend so much time at the diner. Or driving
around. I used to stay out all night and end up miles away in some random town,
surrounded by farmland and pretty much nothing else. For a while it was the
only place I felt like I could really breathe.”
 
Jiyong understood what he was talking about even though their circumstances
weren't exactly the same. He might not have to live with the burden of unhappy
parents, but he knew what it was like to be suffocated. To be trapped. And
knowing that Seunghyun had any idea how that felt made his insides tangle up
into knots. Jiyong gripped Seunghyun's hand more firmly.
 
“Sounds like the perfect set-up for getting murdered. I hear corn fields are
really great for hiding dead bodies,” he joked, hoping to steer the
conversation towards something that wasn't so heavy.
 
Seunghyun didn't even crack a smile, perfectly serious as he asked, “How do you
know I wasn't the one hiding the bodies?”
 
“The odds of you being an axe-murdering psychopath are slim to none.”
 
“Or I could be the world's most convincing actor.”
 
He rolled his eyes and Seunghyun's facade turned into throaty laughter, the
sound traveling through his body and hitting him right in the chest. Jiyong
breathed in slowly to steady himself.
 
“What the hell did you do when you were out there, anyway?”
 
“Listened to music, smoked cigarettes....and thought about you,” Seunghyun
answered with a shrug, his cheeks coloring when he added, “But that kind of
happens all the time.”
 
Biting down on his smile, Jiyong leaned closer. “Proof that you're too sweet to
be a serial killer.”
 
Seunghyun grinned.
 
“You keep telling yourself that.”
 
He chuckled and dropped his arm, bravely letting his head fall to rest on
Seunghyun's shoulder. If Jiyong was being honest with himself, he sort of loved
this. Despite the butterflies in his stomach and the not knowing and the
reality of Seunghyun's parents having it out in the kitchen. The yelling had
calmed at least, and now it was just the sound of their breath that filled the
room.
 
After a few minutes of agonizing internal debate, Jiyong surrendered to his
urges and pulled his hand free, moving into Seunghyun until his arm was locked
around the boy's middle. Seunghyun slipped an arm around him too and it felt so
normal. So easy. His pulse fluttered a little violently, but that was more out
of happiness than fear.
 
“Why do you let creeps like Victor get to you?” Seunghyun asked, breaking their
silence.
 
Jiyong tensed and shoved his nose into the crook of the boy's neck. The hand at
his back started to move in gentle strokes until he relaxed.
 
He sighed. “I don't have a short answer for that.”
 
“So give me the long one.”
 
But he didn't respond, clamping his eyes shut and wondering why they were
talking about this.
 
“Jiyong, look at me,” Seunghyun urged.
 
And he did, even if it took him a while, gradually lifting up on his elbow.
Seunghyun's mouth slanted into a half-smile, one hand returning to cup Jiyong's
face. His skin went hot and he forced himself not to hide again no matter how
much he wanted to.
 
“I understand that this is hard for you. I get that.” Seunghyun brushed his
thumb back and forth over Jiyong's cheekbone, eyes soft and searching. “But I
don't want you to be afraid that I'll walk away if you let me see the bad shit,
okay? Because I'm not going to.”
 
Jiyong stared at Seunghyun, fingers sinking into the material of the boy's
hoodie until he felt the shallow dip of his waist. Even if he didn't currently
have a giant lump in his throat he wouldn't know what to say to that. Because
what did you say to someone who just made a silent promise to always be there?
Though he realized Seunghyun had sort of been telling him that for months. Not
necessarily with his words, but with everything else.
 
Without hesitation this time, Jiyong lowered his head and pressed his mouth to
Seunghyun's. His body still reacted like it was their first, jolts of
excitement immediately crawling underneath his skin. Seunghyun kissed him back
with the same kind of muted intensity as before and Jiyong was melting all over
again.
 
“Is this you changing the subject?” Seunghyun asked against his lips.
 
“Do you want me to stop?” He really really didn't want to stop.
 
“No.”
 
“Good,” Jiyong whispered, surging forward to crush their mouths together.
 
Seunghyun hummed his approval and Jiyong nudged his knee between the boy's
legs, needing to be closer, and it was so good. Fuck, it was amazing. Jiyong
never wanted to do anything else but lay there and forget about the rest of the
world and kiss Seunghyun until his lips went numb. Feeling bold, Jiyong nipped
at the boy's mouth with his teeth, licking tentatively at the swell of his
bottom lip. Seunghyun's answering moan was low and a little needy and all he
could think was...I did that.
 
When their kisses became messy, tongues sliding together and breathing labored,
Jiyong didn't shy away. There was a curling heat in his gut and his dick was
getting hard. He was sure Seunghyun could feel it when the boy rolled his hips
slightly, one hand clutching roughly at Jiyong's sweatshirt. Jesus christ. He
groaned, brows furrowing in concentration as the dull burst of pleasure coursed
through him. Jiyong pressed his forehead against Seunghyun's, panting harshly,
and rocked down just to feel it again. They both gasped.
 
Jiyong's heart was apparently trying to slam its way through his chest; his
blood pulsing in his veins. He opened his eyes and Seunghyun was smiling.
 
“What?”
 
“Nothing, I just–” Seunghyun dragged a thumb across Jiyong's mouth and then
kissed him softly. “I like you so much.”
 
He grinned – couldn't help but grin, broadly and most likely dopey as hell.
Because something about hearing the words out loud made him dizzy and
flustered. Jiyong choked out an idiotic giggle as he reclaimed Seunghyun's
lips, relishing the touch of the boy's hands on his body; the way they fit
together, the way they worked. And when he drew away they were still smiling at
each other. Seunghyun's eyes were impossibly bright. Jiyong wondered if his
looked the same.
 
Ducking his head, he mouthed gently at the ridge of Seunghyun's jaw. Forty-
eight hours after their first kiss wasn't exactly what he'd meant when he told
himself “one day”, but he couldn't not say it back. Seunghyun deserved to hear
him say it. And Jiyong wanted to. He did. But now his tongue seemed clumsy and
his brain too slow.
 
Jiyong pushed his face into Seunghyun's neck, wedging his arms under the boy's
shoulders. “I really like you, too,” he mumbled eventually.
 
The bone-crushing hug he received in response took him by surprise, Seunghyun
flipping them over and shoving Jiyong into the pillows. He laughed, having no
problems whatsoever with being squished within an inch of his life. Seunghyun
practically nuzzled against him and he let his eyes close. Let his mind wander
and his muscles go leaden as they settled. Jiyong had no idea how much time had
passed when the slam of a door reverberated through the house and jerked them
back to reality.
 
“Can we go back to your place?” Seunghyun asked in a small, sleepy voice.
 
He nodded, threading his fingers into Seunghyun's disheveled mop of hair.
 
“Yeah.”
 
*
 
Dami had already left for her shift at the bar by the time they made it to
Jiyong's. He hung up their coats and pushed aside the tiny flash of guilt in
his head for not having spoken to her yet. For not making amends. Whenever they
had an argument, the aftermath always sort of lingered in the emptiness of the
apartment and he never really felt at ease until they'd reconciled. But with
Seunghyun there it wasn't as bad.
 
Jiyong lead him into the living room and they both sunk down onto the couch.
Seunghyun had brought his laptop with him so they could watch a movie and zone
out. Focus on something else. He drew his legs up and sagged against the boy's
side once he'd leaned back, the opening titles of Ferris Bueller's Day Off
appearing on the screen. Jiyong snorted.
 
“Really?”
 
“It's a classic, come on,” Seunghyun insisted, slinging an arm around his neck.
 
He refrained from mentioning that it was one of his favorite movies because the
list of shit they had in common was getting kind of ridiculous. Staring up at
the ceiling, Jiyong sighed and then inched further into Seunghyun's space. He
had a hunch that it was going to become a thing soon – the cuddling. And when
the arm around his neck moved lower to snake its way around his waist, he lost
the battle with his smile.
 
As the movie played, Jiyong's attention drifted. In fact, he was closer to
sleep than consciousness and the security of Seunghyun wrapped around him
definitely wasn't helping. His eyelids were heavy, bobbing up and down against
his will, and at some point he just gave in and tipped his head onto
Seunghyun's shoulder. Jiyong was vaguely aware of dialogue and music in the
background, Matthew Broderick's voice floating into his ears from the tiny
computer speakers. But he passed out a few minutes later and didn't come to
until after the movie had ended, his head in Seunghyun's lap and the boy's
fingers in his hair.
 
“It's late. I should get going,” Seunghyun murmured.
 
Jiyong stretched and yawned, pleasantly fuzzy. Seunghyun still had his other
hand on Jiyong's stomach and was rubbing faint circles into the fabric like he
was an overgrown cat. Which was a comparison he wasn't all that upset with,
actually. Because the idea of curling up against Seunghyun with those gentle
fingers scratching at his scalp definitely sounded like the first step towards
reaching nirvana. But Jiyong wasn't ready to say goodnight, lurching off the
couch and scrubbing his face. He stifled another yawn as he looked at Seunghyun
with bleary eyes.
 
“Or you could stay.”
 
Seunghyun stood, wearing a ghost of a smirk. “Are you sure? I thought you had
to work tomorrow.”
 
“Not until five,” Jiyong mumbled and reached out to hook his fingers in the
pouch of Seunghyun's hoodie. “Please?”
 
“Is this just a ploy to get me to take my clothes off?”
 
“Yes.” He nodded, laughing when he couldn't keep a straight face anymore.
 
Jiyong pulled Seunghyun through the darkness of the apartment to his bedroom,
flicking the light on and shutting the door. Seunghyun gave him the sweetest
grin and Jiyong absolutely didn't feel like he'd had the wind knocked out of
him. He nibbled on his lip and fidgeted under the boy's scrutiny. This was only
uncomfortable because he'd fantasized about it so much already. Was it lame
that he imagined sleeping next to Seunghyun more than he imagined
sleeping with him? Not that he didn't think about that. Jiyong
had totally thought about that, but in limited detail since he was still
a blushing virgin. He came very close to hitting himself and jumped when
Seunghyun cleared his throat.
 
“Sorry,” he muttered, shuffling over to the bed and yanking off his sweatshirt.
 
They stripped down to their t-shirts and boxers and Jiyong turned the light off
before he had the chance to stare, guiding Seunghyun to the bed and forcing his
brain not to make a huge deal out of this. But it was a huge deal. To him,
anyway. He hadn't shared a bed with anyone since he was a kid. Because when
their parents died, Jiyong had been plagued by nightmares for weeks and Dami
would crawl under the covers with him until he'd stopped shaking.
 
He chose the spot next to the wall, Seunghyun climbing in after him. Jiyong lay
there on his back, painfully still, and glared into the semi-darkness of the
room. Less than three hours ago they'd been making out in Seunghyun's bed and
here he was, over-analyzing and being incredibly fucking stupid.
 
“Jiyong,” Seunghyun whispered.
 
“Hmm?”
 
“What's wrong?”
 
Obviously Seunghyun knew he was being incredibly fucking stupid too. Jiyong
cringed and sucked in a breath.
 
“I'm being an idiot,” he whispered back.
 
Seunghyun's laughter fanned out across his skin and Jiyong shivered, closing
his eyes. He listened to the rustle of sheets as Seunghyun rearranged his body;
plastering himself to Jiyong's side, molding his mouth to Jiyong's cheek and
tangling their legs together. It was so perfect he wanted to die.
 
“You're nervous,” Seunghyun stated.
 
Jiyong swallowed and couldn't resist leaning into him. “A little.”
 
“Why?”
 
“Because I've been thinking about this a lot and now it's really happening and
I'm trying not to freak out.”
 
“This as in...?” Seunghyun trailed off and Jiyong could feel him smiling.
 
Of course you're smiling. I bet you're having a fucking blast. He huffed
through his nose and wriggled until they were facing each other. The yellow-
orange glow from the streetlamp on the corner made it easier to see.
Seunghyun's gaze was intense and it required all of his bravery to hold it.
 
“Falling asleep with you,” Jiyong confessed, bringing an unsteady hand to
Seunghyun's face.
 
And at first Seunghyun didn't do anything – didn't speak, didn't even blink –
just looked at him intently for the longest time. Jiyong worried for a brief
moment that he'd said the wrong thing, but quickly reminded himself that
Seunghyun was an asshole and probably just wanted to see him suffer. So he
retaliated, following the line of Seunghyun's eyebrow with the edge of his
thumb; following the slope of his nose and the arc of his mouth when it curled
upwards again. Jiyong was so lost in his exploration that he didn't feel the
hand on his hip moving until it was underneath his shirt – a hot palm gliding
over his skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
 
He gasped and Seunghyun slid closer, their heads sharing the same pillow, and
Jiyong basically gave up on breathing as the boy's lips hovered centimeters
from his own. When Seunghyun eased forward to kiss him, oh-so-slowly pressing
their mouths together, he shuddered and sighed and dug his fingers into the
back of Seunghyun's neck.
 
*
 
Every morning that week, Jiyong woke up to Seunghyun's nose buried in the
valley between his shoulder-blades. Or one of his legs thrown over Jiyong's
waist. Sometimes, when they shifted in their sleep, they'd find themselves in
the weirdest goddamn positions. Like Jiyong's face smushed in the curve of
Seunghyun's armpit or their limbs thrown out at awkward angles – knees and
elbows digging into soft tissue. And it really shouldn't have been comfortable
at all, but somehow he never wanted to get up. Because Seunghyun's breath would
seep through the cotton of his t-shirt or puff gently against the hollow behind
his ear. Because Seunghyun's hand would rest, heavy and warm, over his stomach
or the small of his back. Because nothing beat those first few moments of
wakefulness when Jiyong soaked in the feeling of being held.
 
Or wallowed, actually. And he hated getting out of bed a thousand times more
than he used to, even when he couldn't pretend that his morning wood wasn't
poking Seunghyun in the side. It was only kind of mortifying, especially when
Seunghyun looked at him like he wanted to help, but Jiyong always apologized
and ran away to go take care of it in the shower. He wasn't ashamed. More
afraid, really? Because he wasn't ready to admit how much he wanted to touch
Seunghyun. To make Seunghyun come in his hand; his mouth. More than once he'd
felt Seunghyun's dick nestled against his ass and it had been so difficult not
to push back into the boy's hips. Or not imagine what it would feel like inside
of him.
 
He knew they were going to have to talk about it soon. And Jiyong was starting
to wonder why he jerked off in the bathroom to thoughts of Seunghyun when the
boy was right there in his fucking bed – warm and real and totally gone on him.
He let out a huge sigh, forehead resting against the cold tiles of the shower
as he came down from his orgasm. Today was no different. Well, except for the
fact that it was Christmas and Seunghyun was going to help him cook a massive
dinner before his sister returned from the bookstore. It was his Forgive Me
Feast. Laughing quietly, Jiyong held his face under the hot spray, cleaning
himself off and finally leaving the shower. Seunghyun was still in bed
stretched out on his stomach when Jiyong walked back into the room, so he sat
on him.
 
“Get up.”
 
Seunghyun grunted, eyes closed and hair in disarray. He looked stupidly
adorable and Jiyong felt a tiny bit of remorse for bothering him. But they had
shit to do and he absolutely was not doing it alone.
 
“It's already after one, I'm serious,” Jiyong said, bending over to plant a
kiss on Seunghyun's jaw because he was weak and easily swayed by cute, sleepy
boys that drooled on his pillows.
 
“I can't get up if you're sitting on me.”
 
He scoffed, grinning. “Details.”
 
Next thing Jiyong knew, he was tumbling onto the mattress, laughing as
Seunghyun rolled over and trapped him in his arms.
 
“You smell really good,” Seunghyun hummed into Jiyong's shoulder.
 
“And you smell like death, when was the last time you showered?” He couldn't
even finish the question before Seunghyun's indignant cry filled the room and
his face was being smothered by the boy's armpit. Again.
 
Jiyong cackled, fighting against Seunghyun's hold and struggling to breathe. It
only got worse when Seunghyun began tickling him and then there were tears
streaming down his cheeks and his stomach muscles were aching.
 
“Oh my fucking god stop,” Jiyong whined between uncontrollable giggles.
 
Seunghyun's smile was 200% evil as he pinned Jiyong's hands to the bed, thighs
clamped tight around his hips. They were both panting and a few more tears
disappeared into his hairline. Seunghyun opened his mouth to speak, but Jiyong
cut him off.
 
“Don't even. I know you're not actually sorry.”
 
Eyes narrowed and smirk firmly in place, Seunghyun ducked low to leave a
sloppy, wet kiss on his forehead. And instead of being disgusted, like he
totally should have, Jiyong felt his heartbeat stutter.
 
“It's not my fault you're so easy to fuck with,” Seunghyun murmured, voice deep
and gravelly from sleep.
 
Jesus, I need to get out of here. Or else the stirring in his gut was going to
turn into a super obvious boner and Jiyong really wasn't in the mood to address
the elephant in the room. The elephant being sex. And sex being equal parts
terrifying and something he desperately wanted. Seunghyun pressed another kiss
to the edge of Jiyong's mouth, gentle and sweet and toe-curling. It was enough
to make his brain go blank and his breath catch. But when he tilted his head in
search of more – knowing he shouldn't yet needing it all the same – he was
denied, Seunghyun pulling away at the last minute.
 
“Heyyy.” Jiyong frowned.
 
“Deal with it.”
 
“You tease.”
 
Seunghyun just arched one of his eyebrows and then crawled off of him, picking
up his jeans from the floor. “I'm gonna take a shower.”
 
Jiyong snorted. “Uh-huh.” And Seunghyun's lips split in a grin as he turned,
walking out of the room.
 
Once he heard the bathroom door close, he reached down to adjust the crotch of
his tight-ass jeans and groaned miserably. He was half-hard and still jittery
from all the laughter and the rough-housing. Pushing up onto his elbows, Jiyong
willed his dick to chill the fuck out instead of remembering how fantastic it
felt to have Seunghyun's weight on top of him. To have his arms restrained; to
see Seunghyun's eyes go dark.
 
No, no, no, nope. Jiyong flopped back on the bed and slapped a hand over his
face. He should go to the kitchen and start preparing. He should not waste away
in his bedroom lusting after his boyfriend who was currently naked and wet and–
 
Boyfriend. Seunghyun is my boyfriend. Seunghyun is my boyfriend, holy shit.
 
Jiyong's cheeks were on fire and, honestly, he was being absurd. But for some
reason he'd never acknowledged that in his head. Had Seunghyun? He didn't know.
Though he kind of wanted to find out. Huffing, Jiyong clambered out of bed and
marched right into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the sound of water running
down the hall.
 
Clearly, this was going to be the longest fucking day ever.
 
 
*
 
 
“When does Dami get home?” Seunghyun asked, standing at the counter while he
rolled cookie dough in his hands.
 
Jiyong stood next to him, placing the little balls in rows on the baking sheet
and trying really hard not to let himself get distracted by the movement of
Seunghyun's fingers. Fingers that were sticky with sugar and chocolate and ugh,
this was a terrible idea.
 
It took him a second to realize he still hadn't answered the question.
 
“Around four,” he said distantly.
 
Which was only another hour away. Jiyong was getting antsy, gaze flicking over
to the timer on the oven. The lasagna they'd made almost from scratch was just
about done and the kitchen smelled amazing, but there were knots in his stomach
and he kind of wished Dami was already here.
 
“Do you think she'll be happy?”
 
“She'll probably be more suspicious than happy.” Jiyong shrugged, swapping the
first baking sheet out for an empty one as an excuse not to look at Seunghyun.
“My apologies aren't normally this elaborate. But...I fucked up. And I know
it's not enough. I just...I want things to go back to how they were.”
 
“I think you underestimate how much your sister loves you,” Seunghyun murmured
and handed him another ball of cookie dough.
 
Jiyong set it on the sheet and then paused, head bowed as he scraped the metal
edge with his thumb nail.
 
“What makes you so sure?”
 
“The way Dami talks about you. Like you're the only reason her world keeps
spinning.”
 
He turned, eyes wide. He'd forgotten that Seunghyun and his sister had been
getting to know each other without any help from him. Did already know each
other, long before Jiyong had any idea who Seunghyun was. And it was enough to
make him wonder if their paths would have crossed anyway. An inevitability, not
a coincidence. Though now that it had happened, Jiyong couldn't imagine not
knowing him.
 
Biting down on his lip, he blushed, ducking his head again. And he stayed quiet
because he didn't really have a response. Jiyong took another ball of cookie
dough from Seunghyun and let the comfortable silence fill the kitchen for a
while. But eventually his thoughts got too crowded.
 
“I don't wanna fight with her, you know,” he picked up where they left off, the
second baking sheet almost full now as he started rambling. “We don't see eye
to eye on most things and it's hard, because she's so fucking stubborn. But so
am I.”
 
Jiyong let out a hollow laugh, stepping away from the counter. He lifted his
hand to run it through his hair, only to abort the action when he remembered
his palms were covered in baking grease, so he wiped them on his jeans instead.
Seunghyun was watching him closely when he glanced over, but he couldn't read
the boy's expression.
 
“If my parents were still alive, I don't know how they'd react to me wanting to
drop out,” Jiyong continued slowly. “My dad was pretty strict, but he was still
willing to change his mind if you made a good enough argument.”
 
“Dami won't listen?”
 
His shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze, shaking his head. Jiyong's chest
tightened as he felt all the pressure he'd been doing his best to ignore tumble
down around him like a thick curtain. The thought of having to force himself to
go through with all of this crap just because Dami wanted him to made his world
seem so fucking narrow; claustrophobic. He hated it. In every way. Inhaling
shakily, Jiyong returned to his spot at the counter and was about to apologize
for being such a ray of sunshine when Seunghyun's mouth was suddenly pressing
against his temple. He smiled, eyes closing.
 
“We'll figure it out,” Seunghyun murmured, the conviction in his voice taking
Jiyong by surprise.
 
The “we” surprised him too. Because in the beginning Seunghyun had seemed so
adamant about Jiyong finishing school. But when he looked up, Seunghyun's face
was both determined and sympathetic. Jiyong stared at him for a long moment,
wondering what he did to deserve this kind of loyalty; this kind of friendship
he'd never known outside of the bond he had with his sister. Though it was more
than friendship, wasn't it? Something deeper he'd really prefer not analyzing
at the moment.
 
Leaning into Seunghyun, Jiyong bumped their shoulders together. “Thanks,” he
muttered, feeling a bit shy. “For everything, really. I'm mostly useless in the
kitchen.”
 
Seunghyun grinned down at him, nudging back. It was stupid, but the small
gesture made his stomach flop all over the place and Jiyong was grateful for
the diversion when the oven timer beeped loudly. He put on the oven mitts and
took the lasagna dish out to set it on the stove, placing the first tray of
cookies on the rack to bake.
 
“My parents kind of gave up on the whole parenting thing when I was really
young, actually,” Seunghyun spoke as he scraped the last of the dough from the
mixing bowl. “I still have a scar on my thigh from when I tried to make pasta
for the first time and spilled boiling water all over myself. That was fun.”
 
Jiyong laughed, then felt horrible for laughing and coughed into his hand.
“Your definition of fun is sort of fucked up.”
 
“Says the punk-ass kid who gets into fights just because,” Seunghyun countered.
 
Jiyong thwacked him in the arm and Seunghyun flicked a chocolate chip at his
face, so he grabbed one of the dough balls from the baking sheet and stuffed it
into Seunghyun's mouth, beaming the entire time. Seunghyun was trying to say
something around the mouthful of cookie dough, but Jiyong couldn't understand.
The only thing he understood was the gleam in Seunghyun's eyes and the way the
boy was advancing on him; herding him into the corner by the fridge. He was
laughing too hard to be afraid.
 
“Ur 'uch uh 'ick.” Seunghyun's garbled words were making more sense now as he
chewed, one doughy hand pushing Jiyong into the wall.
 
Jiyong just laughed harder when Seunghyun kissed him, all sweetness and sugar
and cigarettes. It was pretty gross and he didn't even care, just licked into
Seunghyun's mouth and tugged him closer – both hands fisted in the material of
his shirt.
 
“And you turned out all right,” Jiyong teased as he pulled away.
 
“What?”
 
“Despite your parents dropping the ball. You still turned out all right.”
 
Seunghyun chuckled, smirking around a finger as he sucked it clean. Jiyong
swallowed.
 
“It's nice to know you think so highly of me.”
 
And then Seunghyun's mouth was on him again. Softer and slower. Enough to make
his toes curl against the wooden floorboards. Jiyong lifted his hands to cup
his jaw, holding him still. He kissed Seunghyun's upper lip, lingering there
with his eyes open. The kitchen was warm from the oven and quickly filling with
the scent of chocolate chip cookies and Jiyong slid his fingers into
Seunghyun's hair, moving to kiss the boy's lower lip and then once more on the
curve of his chin.
 
It was more than a little scary to think about how important Seunghyun was to
him. But Jiyong was starting to learn that it went both ways. And sometimes
that was even scarier.
 
Their eyes met as Jiyong leaned back, head knocking against the wall.
Seunghyun's grip was firm on his waist and his cheeks were slightly pink, mouth
hanging open and gaze hooded. It took entirely too much effort for Jiyong to
chase away the idea of abandoning dinner altogether just so he could drag
Seunghyun into his room and lock the door – an urge he had a lot more often
now. He sighed and cracked a smile, letting his hands fall.
 
“Cookies,” Jiyong said, clearing his throat when the word came out a bit
hoarse.
 
Seunghyun nodded, blinking. “Right. Cookies.”
 
The sound of the front door opening echoed in the hallway and they jumped
apart. Jiyong laughed again and silently thanked his sister for having the best
timing in the world. Because he wasn't exactly ready for Dami to walk in on
them making out. Honestly, he'd probably never be ready for that.
 
They cleaned up and set the table while they waited for the cookies to finish
baking, Dami sitting down while she asked Seunghyun questions about some book
he'd bought at the shop a couple weeks ago. Jiyong was only half listening. His
thoughts were bouncing back and forth between the way Seunghyun had kissed him
and the way his sister had hugged him when he met her in the hallway. Both had
left him feeling more than a little overwhelmed. Vulnerable, even. He told
himself not to dwell on it.
 
Ruffling his hair, Jiyong focused on putting the cookies away for later and
then nudged Seunghyun towards the table so they could eat. Dami was still
babbling so he took it upon himself to serve everyone. Neither of them seemed
to be paying much attention, but he didn't mind. Jiyong ate quietly and
listened to the lively tones of their voices and wished his sister would always
smile like that. She hadn't even accused him of having ulterior motives. Not
yet, anyway.
 
“Seunghyun, you're not eating with your parents tonight?” Dami finally cut into
her lasagna, stuffing a bite in her mouth so huge it made her cheeks bulge.
 
Jiyong didn't snort, but he wanted to; watching her inhale the food like she
hadn't eaten in weeks. He chewed on his lip instead and picked at one of his
fingernails to keep himself from laughing. Also because he was nervous, but he
didn't really know why.
 
“No,” Seunghyun answered, and Jiyong caught a hint of a sad smile in his
periphery. “We haven't celebrated Christmas in a long time.”
 
Dami frowned when she heard that, reaching over the corner of the table to
squeeze Seunghyun's shoulder. “Well, I'm glad you're here.”
 
Without really thinking about it, Jiyong reached out too, slipping his fingers
between the boy's larger ones where they rested on his thigh. Seunghyun looked
down at him and his smile turned a few watts shy of blinding.
 
“Me too,” Seunghyun murmured, responding to Dami but staring at him and Jiyong
knew he was turning an alarming shade of red.
 
He wanted to hide, well aware that he was probably broadcasting everything on
his face – terror, embarrassment, affection. But before he could groan or roll
his eyes and bury his head in his hands, Seunghyun's fingers tightened and he
swayed closer to brush his lips against Jiyong's forehead.
 
Dami kind of made this weird squealing noise and tried not to clap out of what
Jiyong assumed was excitement. “You two are so freakin' adorable.”
 
“Dami, please don't,” he sighed, sending her an unamused glare.
 
“What? It's just an observation.”
 
“Does that mean I get to make fun of you and Colin?”
 
Her exuberance vanished and she looked down her plate, tucking a lock of dark
hair behind her ear. Jiyong mentally kicked himself.
 
“You owe him an apology, by the way,” Dami said quietly after a beat.
 
He leaned back in his chair, not really in the mood to think about how much of
an idiot he'd been. Always an idiot. Seunghyun's thumb rubbed over his knuckles
and he concentrated on the slide of skin instead of the guilt he'd pushed to
the recesses of his brain.
 
“Yeah. I know.” Jiyong nodded once, playing with the edge of his napkin. “So do
you tell each other everything now, or what?”
 
The corner of Dami's mouth lifted as she glanced at him, uncharacteristically
bashful.
 
“...we talk. Food may or may not have been involved when said talking
occurred.”
 
Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “How many dates have you been on?”
 
“Six,” she replied quickly, averting her gaze even quicker.
 
“Dami!”
 
“I like him a lot, okay!”
 
Dami laughed and shook her head, stuffing another heaping fork of lasagna into
her mouth like she couldn't believe this conversation was actually happening.
Jiyong's mind reeled. Six dates?! How the fuck had he failed to notice
something like that? And why was this even a surprise? He should have seen it
coming from a mile away. But for some reason he felt shocked. Betrayed, maybe.
Because they weren't as close as they used to be and Dami usually wasn't so
secretive. Jiyong scrubbed a hand over his face.
 
“This is so fucking strange,” he muttered, looking over at Seunghyun. “What are
you smirking at?”
 
“Nothing.” Seunghyun grinned again and unlinked their fingers to wrap his arm
around Jiyong.
 
Jiyong scoffed. “Sure.”
 
But all he got in return was that stupid grin. Dami was watching them with
poorly concealed glee, chin cradled in her palm. Jiyong did roll his eyes this
time. “Would you cut it out?”
 
“Nope,” she said, taking another bite and mumbling, “There's too much cute
going on right now.”
 
“Don't talk with your mouth full.”
 
And Dami slapped a hand over her mouth as she practically cackled, saluting
with the other and choking out a sarcastic, “Yes, dad.”
 
He gaped at her, eventually breaking down into laughter himself and pressing
his face into Seunghyun's shoulder. If anything, that was a clear sign that
they were going to be okay. Were already okay. Jiyong couldn't believe that
she'd actually said it in the first place.
 
“That's totally unfair,” he groused and crossed his arms over his chest.
 
“Life is unfair, baby brother.” Dami set her fork down, leveling him with a
bittersweet tilt of her lips. “We know that better than most.”
 
A lump had formed in Jiyong's throat and he couldn't swallow, that sense of
vulnerability coming back tenfold. Seunghyun probably had no idea what was
going on, the language of siblings always a little hard to translate. He'd get
used to it at some point. Maybe enough to start speaking it himself. Jiyong
hadn't even realized how much he wanted that until the thought popped into his
head. And before he could keep following that train of thought into more
dangerous territory, Dami rose from her seat.
 
“Sorry to cut this short, boys,” she said with a sigh, moving to put her dishes
in the sink. “But I need to be at the bar in an hour.”
 
“Before you leave you have to tell me at least one horribly embarrassing story
from Jiyong's childhood,” Seunghyun all but begged. “It's pretty much a
requirement.”
 
Jiyong tried to shove Seunghyun off of him, but the boy's arm just tightened,
holding him prisoner.
 
“You fucking traitor!”
 
Dami was giggling at the counter while Seunghyun wrapped both arms around him
to stop his attempts at escape. “He has a point, Ji.”
 
“Fuck,” Jiyong whined into Seunghyun's neck. “I hate both of you.”
 
“Shh...it'll all be over soon.”
 
And for the next few minutes he had to listen to Dami recount the time she'd
caught him singing in the bathroom mirror when he was nine, wearing nothing but
his much-loved Spiderman briefs. He'd flailed so hard he smacked himself in the
face and then slammed the door even harder. It had almost rattled off the
hinges. Dami said he'd turned so red she thought he was going to pass out.
Jiyong remembered laying down on the cold tiles, humiliated, and refusing to
unlock the door under any circumstances. Not even when their mom tried to lure
him out with the promise of pizza – a rare treat that she only offered on
special occasions.
 
Jiyong still had his head buried in Seunghyun's neck, feeling the rolling
chuckles as the boy struggled to breathe. Please just let me die.
 
“What song was he singing?” Seunghyun asked once he'd calmed, running his
fingers through Jiyong's hair.
 
Dami snorted. “”I Want You Back” by the Jackson 5.”
 
They dissolved into hysterical laughter again and he slumped, boneless in
surrender.
 
“I'm going to murder both of you in your sleep,” Jiyong threatened weakly.
 
“He stopped singing after that.”
 
“Yeah, I can't imagine why,” he muttered.
 
Dami tsked and Jiyong felt her poke him in the back of the head. “Get over it,”
she said. He could hear the smile in her voice and then her footsteps as she
left the kitchen.
 
Seunghyun started humming “I Want You Back” as they cleared the table and put
leftovers in the fridge. Jiyong scowled and threw a wet sponge at his face.
 
*
 
Sprawled out on his bed, Jiyong smoked a cigarette, plastic ashtray balanced on
his chest. Seunghyun was on the floor leaning against the bedframe, rummaging
through his backpack and mumbling to himself. Dami had already gone, but he'd
made sure to send her off with a container full of cookies to bring to the bar.
Jiyong was hung up on their brief exchange in the darkness of the hallway
before she'd walked out the door.
 
“Thank you, Jiyong.”
 
“Um, for what?”
 
“For being you.”
 
He wasn't really sure what she'd meant by that. But he figured it wasn't a bad
thing. Seunghyun pulled himself onto the mattress then, something in his hand.
Jiyong flicked ash into the tray and took another drag.
 
“I have something for you.” Seunghyun held out a gift that had been wrapped in
richly decorated paper – swirling silver and gold over midnight blue.
 
Jiyong froze, fingers suspended in the air above his lips as he stared at
Seunghyun then at the gift and then at Seunghyun again. He exhaled gingerly and
set the ashtray on his bedside table, sitting up to protest. “Seunghyun, you–”
 
“Just shut up and take the damn thing,” Seunghyun all but grumbled, pushing the
present into his hand.
 
Jiyong huffed, a slow smile creeping onto his face. He finished the cigarette
and put it out, tracing a golden spiral on the wrapping paper with the tip of
his finger. What was this now? Present number two?
 
“You really didn't have to do this. I don't have anything to give you.”
 
Seunghyun shrugged, reaching over to place a hand on Jiyong's leg, head lowered
and voice soft. “I got to spend Christmas with you and Dami.”
 
Oh my god. Jiyong made a noise, he didn't know what kind of noise because he
was too busy tackling Seunghyun down onto the bed. “Ugh, you're the worst!” he
nearly yelled.
 
“And you still love it,” Seunghyun laughed, fighting against the grip Jiyong
had on his wrists. “Now open your stupid Christmas present.”
 
Jiyong sighed heavily and narrowed his eyes, letting go of Seunghyun to sit at
the edge of the mattress. He didn't really feel worthy of something like this,
but Seunghyun would probably always insist otherwise. Carefully, Jiyong
stripped the wrapping paper away until it revealed a book. Of course it's a
fucking book. A collection of selected poems by a woman named Mary Oliver.
Jiyong had never heard of her.
 
“Here...” Seunghyun said, the bed dipping as he curled around Jiyong from
behind – long legs bracketing his hips and hands taking hold of the book to
flip through the crisp pages. Seunghyun paused when he'd found what he was
looking for and hooked his chin over Jiyong's shoulder. “This one's my
favorite. Do you know it?”
 
He looked at the title, “Wild Geese”, and shook his head.
 
“No. Will you read it to me?”
 
Seunghyun scoffed. “Jiyong, you have eyes.”
 
“So?” He leaned back into Seunghyun's chest, mumbling without embarrassment,
“Your voice is really hot.”
 
That won him a surprised chuckle, Seunghyun groaning fondly before caving.
Jiyong smiled and let his eyelids drift shut while he listened.
 
“You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a
hundred miles through the desert, repenting,” Seunghyun began, the rumble of
his words vibrating through Jiyong as he spoke. “You only have to let the soft
animal of your body love what it loves.
 
“Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the
world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving
across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and
the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading
home again. 
 
“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your
imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and
over, announcing your place in the family of things.”
 
When Seunghyun finished, Jiyong said nothing; trying to hang onto the sound of
those words coming from Seunghyun's mouth. They'd been spoken with familiarity,
like Seunghyun had read them countless times. It was a beautiful poem. One that
resonated, which Jiyong figured was probably the point, and it kind of felt
like Seunghyun was sharing a secret.
 
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
 
The quiet moment stretched out between them. Seunghyun inhaled slowly but
didn't say anything either, tightening one arm around Jiyong's waist.
 
“You're ridiculous,” he half-whispered, drawing another laugh out of Seunghyun.
 
“It made me think of you, the first time I read it."
 
Shifting, Jiyong craned his neck to face him and didn't even think twice about
leaning in to capture Seunghyun's lips. The book fell to the floor and warm
hands moved to press against his stomach and his cheek. Jiyong's heart felt
like it was in his throat, but he didn't care. He decided that he was over
avoiding this. He was over holding back. Jiyong wanted to erase all the
imaginary lines in his head until there were none.
 
Seunghyun laid them both onto the bed, twisting around and pinning Jiyong
beneath him with the weight of his body. Jiyong moaned happily into his mouth
and didn't give a shit if he was being loud because Dami wasn't here and the
neighbors could go fuck themselves. This was about the two of them. Nothing
else mattered.
 
Fingers traveled down his sides, Seunghyun slipping one of his hands under
Jiyong's shirt and making him gasp. His stomach muscles jumped at the touch and
Seunghyun's smile bloomed against his lips. Jiyong smiled back, his own fingers
buried in Seunghyun's hair as he kissed him harder. There was a burst of
excitement in his chest. Of bliss and anticipation and so many things. He
rocked up into Seunghyun, chasing after that feeling, and now they were both
moaning – low and already a little breathless.
 
They kissed for ages. Or maybe more, he didn't know. But Jiyong was so hard in
his jeans and every swipe of Seunghyun's tongue against his was driving him
crazy, making him shiver. Seunghyun brushed a thumb over his nipple, the pads
of his fingers pressing in between the dips of his ribs, and Jiyong's hips
bucked automatically. He sucked in another gasp, feeling over-sensitive. Almost
like he was buzzing. It was the strangest thing.
 
“Jiyong...” Seunghyun pulled away slightly to look him in the eye, lips
twitching as his hand moved lower over hip and thigh to settle on the bulge in
his jeans.
 
Jiyong's mouth fell open as he sighed. “Yeah?”
 
“Have you ever done this before?”
 
“N–no,” he stuttered when Seunghyun applied a bit of pressure to his cock. “Are
you surprised?”
 
Seunghyun grinned. “No.”
 
Jiyong laughed and choked on a groan, Seunghyun palming him a little more
roughly and stealing the breath from his lungs. Fuck. He rolled his hips
against that hand, trying to hold Seunghyun's gaze, but even just looking at
the boy made him dizzy. A wave of pleasure rippled out from Jiyong's gut and he
found himself smiling again. Please don't stop, he thought. Never. Never stop.
 
Seunghyun dragged wet kisses along his jaw, biting at the tender spot
underneath his ear and down the side of his neck. Jiyong's skin prickled with
so much heat. Too much. He was on fire.
 
Seunghyun licked at the hollow of his throat and Jiyong arched into his mouth,
hips rolling without thought. He needed more friction – wanted Seunghyun's
fingers wrapped around his cock. But this felt so fucking good. Oh god. Jiyong
whined, tugging Seunghyun up to reclaim his lips. Lips that he'd made red and
swollen with the ridges of his teeth.
 
“Please touch me.” Jiyong pushed against Seunghyun's hand. “I want y–” Oh, he
broke off into a loud moan, eyes clenching shut because Seunghyun had rocked
down onto his thigh and he was just as hard.
 
A wide smile spread across Seunghyun's face as he did it again, their foreheads
locked together. I love it when you smile. And Jiyong was definitely buzzing
now, all lit up and tingling and perfect.
 
“You want me to what?” Seunghyun asked, panting softly.
 
He tilted his chin, just barely grazing Seunghyun's mouth with his own. Jiyong
could answer that question in a number of ways, but he didn't think he was
ready for more than heavy petting. The effort it took for him to even say this
out loud had his cheeks burning and his heart beating unevenly in his chest.
 
“Touch me,” Jiyong whispered, eyes flickering over Seunghyun's face. “Make
me...” he swallowed thickly, “make me come.”
 
“Fuck, Jiyong.”
 
Seunghyun exhaled and brought both of his hands up to bury them in Jiyong's
hair. He tried not to mourn the loss of pressure, which wasn't much of a
problem when Seunghyun was kissing him like this – lazy and dirty, the way he
was discovering he liked better than all the others.
 
It didn't take long for his jeans and his boxers to be pushed down around his
thighs; his shirt caught under his armpits. Jiyong trembled beneath Seunghyun's
hands and made a lot of embarrassing noises, especially when Seunghyun's long
fingers eventually grazed the dark nest of his pubic hair and wrapped around
him.
 
“Jesus,” he hissed, marveling at the feeling of someone else's hand on his
cock.
 
Seunghyun stroked him from base to tip, eyes never leaving his, and he keened –
shaking and clutching at the sheets. It was amazing even though his entire body
was pulled taut like a bowstring, muscles almost painfully tense. Seunghyun's
thumb swiped over the head, smearing precome into his skin, and Jiyong released
an unsteady breath. He moaned without filter once Seunghyun started an even
rhythm, hips jerking up into the boy's fingers. His eyelids fluttered and the
pressure built until he almost couldn't handle it anymore.
 
Reaching out, Jiyong grabbed Seunghyun by the neck to crush their mouths
together, desperate for more contact. Seunghyun hummed into the kiss, flicking
his wrist. Jiyong's everything sparked with pleasure and his body seized up,
the wet slide of Seunghyun's tongue finally sending him over the edge. He came
with a sharp gasp and Seunghyun stroked him through it until he'd stopped
shuddering.
 
“Ohmygod,” Jiyong panted, his chest heaving.
 
“Are you okay?”
 
He gave a weak laugh and nosed into Seunghyun's cheek. “Are you insane? That
was awesome.”
 
More than awesome, it was the best fucking orgasm he'd ever had. Jiyong was
liquid and warmth and all frayed nerve-endings and he never wanted it to fade.
He felt Seunghyun's responding chuckle in his bones, every inch of him attuned
to the slightest movement.
 
“Good,” Seunghyun murmured, “I was worried I'd have to try again.”
 
Jiyong snorted, pulling him close for more slow kisses. “If you think we're
done here, you're sorely mistaken,” he mumbled against his lips.
 
Seunghyun remained quiet, merely rising up to wipe his hand off on his shirt
and then lift it over his head. At the sight of all that soft skin, Jiyong felt
his breath hitch. He was nervous at the prospect of being able to touch
Seunghyun the same way the boy had touched him, but he wanted it. He wanted to
make Seunghyun moan. He wanted to hear him fall apart and know that he was the
reason for it.
 
Carefully, Jiyong pulled his boxers back up over his hips and used the dirty t-
shirt to clean off his stomach. He kicked his jeans to the floor, sitting up
beside Seunghyun where he was kneeling on the mattress. And it was with shaky
fingers that Jiyong held onto Seunghyun's waist, tentatively placing his mouth
over the hard peak of his collarbone.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     the poem "Wild Geese" belongs to Mary Oliver and I take no credit for
     her beautiful words
***** Chapter 11 *****
Before they knew it, another week passed and New Years Eve had reared its ugly
head. It meant that break was almost over. That they’d have to go back to
school and his days would no longer entail peaceful diner shifts and entire
afternoons full of Seunghyun. Sometimes they wouldn’t even get out of bed until
Jiyong had to leave for work, too lost in their murmured conversations. In the
comfort of their limbs overlapping and slow kisses that always ended in
laughter. He would miss all the hours spent on the couch, too. Or at the
kitchen table or even the brief rides in Seunghyun’s car when the weather
wasn’t too bad. Winter always made Jiyong so lazy--his existence narrowed into
bedsheets and burger grease.
 
“You’re gonna be late.”
 
Jiyong groaned, pushing his face into Seunghyun’s side and tightening his arms
around the boy’s waist. “Don’t care.”
 
It was just after five and the sun was setting, yet another reason winter
sucked. They’d been there all day and the light peeking through his window had
hardly shifted from the same bleak, dishwater gray. It was depressing. And
unmotivating. And...depressing. Jiyong felt the vibration of Seunghyun laughing
underneath him and smiled anyway.
 
“Terrible liar, remember?”
 
“Shut up.”
 
“Nope.” Seunghyun poked him in the cheek, making him squirm.  “You really need
to get ready.”
 
Letting out a low whine, Jiyong burrowed further into the bed, trying to hide
himself between Seunghyun’s body and the mattress. That, of course, just made
Seunghyun laugh even harder.
 
“Jiyong…”
 
“I don’t wanna. You’re so comfortable.” His voice was muffled, but he knew
Seunghyun understood every word because he heard the sound of a book closing
and being set on his side table.
 
“Do I need to bribe you?” Seunghyun asked, fingers tracing circles into
Jiyong’s back.
 
He huffed, grumbling as he extricated himself, rolling over onto Seunghyun’s
stomach. “Do I need to remind you that you’re supposed to be coming with me? I
don’t see you leaving this bed, asshole.”
 
That earned him a snort. “Maybe I changed my mind,” Seunghyun teased, lifting
both hands to thread them into the bird’s nest on top of Jiyong’s head.
 
Jiyong blinked slowly at him and fought the beginnings of another smile. You
think you’re so fucking cute, don’t you.
 
“Then I guess it won’t be a problem when I give my midnight kiss to Anna
instead.”
 
Seunghyun hummed, pursing his lips while his fingers toyed with strands of
Jiyong’s hair, no doubt making it messier than it already was.
 
“I thought Frankie was more your type.”
 
“That’s gross. You’re gross,” Jiyong stated flatly.
 
A grimace formed on his face when he allowed that thought to sink in and he
propped himself up on his elbows to glare down at this idiot. But Seunghyun
just chuckled, the deep sound rumbling through him, and Jiyong found himself
watching the way Seunghyun’s eyes crinkled at the corners; cheeks creased with
twin dimples as his mouth split wide in a grin. Defenseless against such
things, Jiyong dropped back down to hide, his nose smushing against Seunghyun’s
chest and making the boy grunt in surprise.
 
He felt the ribcage beneath him expand and an amused sigh ruffled his hair.
 
“I’m not gonna miss the party, don’t worry.”
 
“Yeah, because you have nowhere else to be.”
 
Really, he should have anticipated what happened next, but Jiyong totally
yelped anyway when Seunghyun flipped them over and pinned him to the bed. Hot
breath fanned across his skin, Seunghyun’s lips grazing his jawline. Jiyong’s
heart kicked into overdrive and his stomach flopped violently. Still. Because
Seunghyun always made him feel like he was falling and no fistfight in the
world would ever compare to that.
 
“Even if I did, it wouldn’t change anything. You know that, right?” Seunghyun
whispered, mouth traveling closer and closer to Jiyong’s but never quite making
contact.
 
He tilted his chin to close the gap, except Seunghyun leaned away at the last
minute. Jiyong huffed in frustration.
 
“I mean it,” Seunghyun insisted through quiet laughter, his eyes bright despite
the darkening room.
 
Jiyong brought a hand to his face, thumb tracing along the indent of a
prominent dimple, and offered a sleepy smile in return. He knew. Seunghyun had
yet to give him reasons to believe otherwise--always constant, never wavering.
It was just that knowing and believing were two very different things, and
Jiyong wasn’t quite sure he’d convinced his brain that this was his life. That
there was someone in the world besides Dami who had decided Jiyong was
important enough to be their priority. Which was such a heady realization to
have. Jiyong stared up at Seunghyun, not bothering to filter everything he was
currently feeling. The wonder, the overwhelming knowledge of being wanted. He
hoped it wouldn’t always be a difficult pill to swallow.
 
“Yeah,” he said eventually, nodding. “I know.”
 
“Good.” Seunghyun pressed his cheek more firmly into the curve of Jiyong’s
hand, eyelids falling shut. “Wasn’t sure if I’d have to convince you.”
 
Jiyong bit down on his lip to reign in a giggle and rolled his eyes.
 
“Oh? And what would that’ve entailed?”
 
“Not telling,” Seunghyun murmured.
 
A wicked smirk curled its way onto Seunghyun’s face, his long lashes fluttering
as they opened again, and then he bent low to kiss Jiyong softly.
 
“I’m not getting in the shower until you give it up.” Jiyong pinched his side
and Seunghyun jumped, the boy’s hips rolling just enough for Jiyong to feel him
through his flannel pants. They both tensed.
 
“What if--” Seunghyun paused and took in a careful breath, nosing into the
hairs at Jiyong’s temple. “I offered to get in the shower with you?”
 
He couldn’t have responded faster if he tried, blurting an enthusiastic,
“Sold!” and immediately scrambling out from under Seunghyun, tugging on the
boy’s hand and practically bolting from his room. Seunghyun’s laughter echoed
in the hallway along with the slap of their bare feet. It echoed against the
tiles of the bathroom too, but Jiyong turned that laughter into something else
as soon as they were huddled close beneath the hot spray.

*

Frankie’s Diner had undergone an overnight transformation for their little New
Years’ party, every surface covered in all manner of cheesy holiday
decorations. It was due mostly to Heather and Viv’s enthusiasm for celebrations
in general and Jiyong’s eyebrows were doing their best to crawl into his
hairline as he took everything in.
 
Blue and silver ropes of tinsel lined the windows and hung in graceful arcs
from the edge of the lunch counter. Their fake Christmas tree was still on
display, except the ornaments had been replaced with glittery stars and hearts.
A layer of colorful streamers criss-crossed along the ceiling and shiny,
metallic balloons floated in every corner, announcing happily on their bloated
faces that it was 2014 and boy were they excited about it.
 
Jesus.
 
Anna wasted no time once she’d spotted him, accosting him at the doorway and
snapping a paper party hat to his beanie-clad head before he could protest.
 
“Hiya, sweet stuff,” she greeted, all smiles.
 
Jiyong narrowed his eyes. “I’m not wearing this hat.”
 
Anna’s smile curled into a smirk as she lifted a pair of those stupid plastic
2014-shaped glasses and forced them onto his face.
 
“All patrons and employees of Frankie’s must abide by the newly enforced dress
code,” she recited smartly, leaning forward to smack a lipstick-heavy kiss to
his cheek. “For tonight, anyway.”
 
Jiyong groaned, wrinkling his nose as he reached out to adjust her shimmery,
tinsel headband. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
 
“Nope. Even Frankie’s participating.” Anna wiggled her fingers in his face.
“There is no escaaape.”
 
Laughing, Jiyong looked over her shoulder, his eyes going wide as he found the
man standing behind the counter dressed in a pristine white dress shirt, black
blazer, and a goddamned bow-tie. Even more shocking, if possible, was the fact
that Frankie’s balding head had become host to an alarmingly festive,
alarmingly gold top hat. “Holy shit,” he murmured.
 
“I know, right? We were all so stunned when he walked out of the back office,
the entire diner was dead silent for like, ten seconds.”
 
“Only ten?”
 
“Yeah, well, I’m sure it would’ve been longer if Frankie hadn’t barked at us to
get back to work.” Anna chuckled to herself. “Though I think Viv was seconds
away from demanding to know who he was and what he’d done with our lazy, slob
of a boss.”
 
“I think I’m actually bummed I missed that.”
 
“There’s always next year,” she sighed, squeezing his shoulder, and the curve
of her lips turned fond again. “You look really nice, by the way.”
 
He glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing the same thing I always wear.”
 
“So what? I can’t give you a freakin’ compliment?”
 
Jiyong could only grin in response and blush. Anna winked, and after the others
caught sight of him, he was bombarded by hugs and more lipstick-kisses and
shoulder-squeezes than he could handle. It was a lot to deal with all at once--
the tidal wave of affection--and he almost wanted to run away on instinct. But
seeing all those joyful faces, actually feeling the sparks of their positive
energy jump from their eyes and their mouths and their fingers… It was weird as
hell. Because Jiyong wasn’t shutting any of it out.
 
When he managed to escape to hang his coat, he lingered there in the back hall,
needing a moment. Jiyong braced himself with a hand against the wall and
breathed, smoothing his damp hair away from his face before putting the cheap
paper hat back on. The glasses were too much, he decided, to wear without the
assistance of alcohol, so he removed them and tucked them into the collar of
his shirt instead. He’d just give them to Seunghyun whenever he showed up
later. Which made him snort with laughter at the incredible image his mind had
created, because of course Seunghyun would look fucking adorable. Seunghyun was
always adorable. And Jiyong was forever doomed.
 
Eventually he collected himself enough to return to the front, snagging his
apron and tying it around his waist. Coffee pots in hand, he made the rounds to
the few occupied tables. His steps were surprisingly light as he listened to
the animated chatter of his coworkers and exchanged holiday greetings with
customers. He tried to make it stick. Really, he did. But as the hours passed,
Jiyong found he was too distracted by Seunghyun’s absence to pay attention to
the jokes and stories being told. Or the laughter. Or even Anna and Heather
dancing in the middle of the floor to the music playing from Leroy’s old radio.
He’d texted Seunghyun earlier with no response; kept ducking into the bathroom
to call him, but it always went straight to voicemail.
 
What the hell was going on?
 
For the life of him, Jiyong couldn’t stop his horrible brain from imagining the
worst. It was nighttime, ice on the ground, and a holiday notorious for its
drunk driving accidents. That thought alone sent an arrow of panic right
through his stomach and he ripped off his paper hat, leaving his friends and
coworkers to grab his coat and brave the cold outside to smoke a much needed
cigarette. He was in such a hurry that he forgot his beanie, and the frigid air
nipped at his ears until he couldn’t feel them anymore.
 
Jiyong inhaled deeply, slumped against the brick wall of the alley as he
smoked. When he looked up, the sky was still hidden by a thick layer of clouds.
It felt like it was about to snow, something expectant hanging in the air, and
it complemented the low hum of anxiety in his veins. Despite the temperature,
Jiyong stayed outside to smoke another cigarette because the first one hadn’t
done its job. He began pacing; told himself not to worry, that it was probably
nothing, and that Seunghyun would be here soon. A nervous giggle crept out of
his mouth and he groaned, cold-reddened fingers tearing through his hair. He’ll
be here. He will.
 
A third cigarette was sounding pretty damn nice even though he couldn’t feel
his toes now and everyone inside was probably wondering what was taking him so
long. But he couldn’t move, eyes trained on the parking lot entrance, begging
the universe to listen to him.
 
“Come on,” he whispered, willing familiar headlights to appear while he rubbed
at the chipped corners of his phone in his coat pocket.
 
When he’d first checked the time, it was almost ten o’clock. Jiyong pulled his
cell out again. It was nearing ten-thirty. And just as he contemplated finally
giving in, the distant purr of an engine had him freezing where he stood.
 
Seunghyun’s beat up Honda turned into the half-full parking lot. Jiyong had
never been more overjoyed at the sight of that shitty car.
 
Beyond relieved, his mouth immediately cracked open in a smile, and he made his
way over to the far corner where Seunghyun was already climbing out of the
driver’s side door. But it slipped a little when a shadow seemed to flicker
across the boy’s face.
 
“Hey,” Jiyong said quietly, his hand lifting to curl around Seunghyun’s arm.
“What’s wrong?”
 
It was weird to be the one asking this time, having always been on the
receiving end of concern from others. Jiyong stepped closer when dark eyes met
his.
 
“It’s nothing.” Seunghyun offered a faint twitch of his lips and reached up to
press his palm to Jiyong’s numb face, warming it some. “Sorry I’m late.”
 
You sound like me. Jiyong almost laughed at their current role-reversal. But
since laughter wasn’t exactly an appropriate response, he shook his head
instead. “It’s okay. You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?”
 
Seunghyun shrugged. “Got in a fight with my dad. Not really worth talking about
right now.”
 
He didn’t like the defeated tone of Seunghyun’s voice and took another step
closer, shifting to wrap his arms around Seunghyun.
 
“Later, maybe? I mean, if you want to.”
 
“Yeah,” Seunghyun sighed, the word clouding the air between them.
 
Jiyong drew him in all the way and pushed his face into the worn material of
Seunghyun’s hoodie. He felt Seunghyun’s body relax in his hold; felt the
security of Seunghyun’s arms around him and the heat of his breath against his
cheek. They stayed that way for a while, Jiyong’s eyes closed as he rubbed
absently at Seunghyun’s back. He was just glad he’d mostly been losing his shit
for nothing.
 
“I have to admit I was kinda freaked out when I realized you’d turned your
phone off,” he mumbled after a long moment.
 
Seunghyun briefly hugged him tighter. “Fuck, I’m really sorry, Jiyong.”
 
Heaving another sigh, Seunghyun leaned away, cupping Jiyong’s face in both
hands. His eyebrows came together and furrowed as he seemed to think about what
to say, voice soft when he eventually did.
 
“I was...pissed off. Too angry to come here and pretend that I wasn’t, so I got
in my car and drove away, because that’s what I always do.” Seunghyun released
a humorless laugh and shook his head. “But I was already an hour outside of
town by the time I figured out where I needed to be,” he continued. “Basically
I was late because I’m a fucking idiot.”
 
Jiyong frowned. “You’re not an idiot.”
 
“Yeah, I am,” Seunghyun insisted, the smile on his face a bit wider than the
last. “Because I should’ve known that the old tricks wouldn’t work anymore. Not
when there’s you.”
 
New Years was turning out to be one hell of a night, wasn’t it. Jiyong’s throat
closed up when he tried to swallow, stuck in the tractor beam intensity of
Seunghyun’s gaze. He choked on a shy, semi-embarrassed huff and he swore his
cheeks were thawing from the power of his blush alone.
 
“Seungh--”
 
But Jiyong’s grumbling was cut short by a pair of lips colliding with his as
Seunghyun pushed him up against the car, and he moaned almost without meaning
to. Not that he was a stranger to involuntarily produced sounds of pleasure at
this point. It was just so easy for Seunghyun to get under his skin; had always
been so. Jiyong’s fingers clenched at Seunghyun’s jacket, overcome by the heat
flooding him from head to toe that seemed impossible in the arctic air. By the
weight of Seunghyun’s body, the lazy drag of their tongues. Jesus, he could
kiss Seunghyun for hours. Even if it meant getting hypothermia. However, Jiyong
was technically still working, and his break had long since ended.
 
It took a lot of convincing for him to withdraw a little, brushing his mouth
against Seunghyun’s gently and grinning when Seunghyun kept swaying forward to
chase after him.
 
“You’d better not make out with me like this when midnight hits,” Jiyong
mumbled, still pressing kisses to those addictive lips because he couldn’t
stop.
 
Seunghyun huffed and leaned back, his eyes glinting under the amber glow of the
streetlamp. “Why? Afraid Frankie will get jealous?”
 
His head tipped back onto the car as he nearly cackled, gasping for breath
because that was so wrong and he should be mortified, not in stitches.
 
“No,” Jiyong shoved Seunghyun lightly. “Fuck, you’re never gonna let that go,
are you?”
 
“Probably not, no.”
 
“Maybe you are an idiot.”.
 
Which resulted in Seunghyun attacking his mouth again and he surrendered for a
moment, giggling because he was an idiot, too. But he had to force him back
again or else it would never end. “Seriously, we have to stop.”
 
Jiyong was panting now, buzzing the same way he did when Seunghyun first
touched him and the way he has every time since. It was wonderful and yet
really fucking not wonderful, because it wasn’t like they could just go at it
right there in the parking lot no matter how much he wanted to. Seunghyun
pouted--pouted--and Jiyong sighed heavily.
 
“Save it for later, okay? I’d really prefer not having to deal with getting a
hard-on in front of my boss and all of my coworkers.”
 
One of Seunghyun’s eyebrows arched skyward, the playful glint in his eye
turning dangerous. “We are standing right next to my car, you know.”
 
“What, are you gonna blow me in the backseat while everyone watches from the
window?” Jiyong smirked, motioning with his head towards the diner. “Go on,
look.”
 
He didn’t have to turn his head to know what Seunghyun saw, and the boy’s
widening eyes were enough to confirm it.
 
“They’ve been there the whole time, haven’t they.”
 
“Yup.”
 
Jiyong waved at the nosy gossip-mongers without looking, focusing instead on
Seunghyun’s face. On the sound of his amusement and how much brighter he seemed
now than when he first stepped out of his car. “Embarrassed?” he asked.
 
“Not embarrassed,” Seunghyun replied, though the blush painting his cheeks
hinted otherwise. “Just sort of amazed, I guess? I’m not used to...” he
gestured vaguely at Frankie’s, “This.”
 
This didn’t need translation, because Jiyong knew exactly what Seunghyun meant.
Because he’d been feeling the same about pretty much everything lately. The
threads of his life, both old and new, were tangling together in a way that
would have frightened him four months ago. In a way that he would’ve rejected
completely without even thinking about it. And, admittedly, it was kind of a
mindfuck that it had essentially happened in a blink, only needing the stubborn
presence of the boy standing in front of him to set everything into motion, and
now his universe was changing--taking a shape he thought he’d been safe from.
 
Shifting uneasily, Jiyong breathed in slowly and then let it out.
 
But that was okay. He knew that it was. Because whenever he closed his eyes he
could see the tiny sliver of what his future might look like. What he wanted it
to look like, now that Seunghyun was invariably linked to its outcome. Jiyong’s
mouth curved and he extended a hand to tug on the boy’s jacket.
 
“They really like you, Seunghyun,” he murmured.
 
Slipping his hand into Jiyong’s, Seunghyun’s grin grew wider still. “Well, I
really like them.”
 
The world seemed to stop for a moment while they stared at each other; seemed
to pause and let him acknowledge to himself that yes, this was real. Jiyong
chose to ignore all the bad shit for the time being. All the stress and the
anger and the worries that normally clouded his thoughts. Tonight would be
blemish-free. They deserved at least that much.
 
“Come on,” Jiyong urged, pulling on Seunghyun’s hand, “I’ve been standing
outside for fucking ever and I feel like I have no nose.”
 
Seunghyun glanced down. “Are you…?”
 
Snorting, he rolled his eyes. He wasn’t even half-hard in his jeans, but the
fact that he’d been caught making out with his boyfriend was a pretty solid
boner killer anyway. Jiyong leaned into Seunghyun’s side and then started
leading him across the parking lot.
 
“I’ll be fine.”
 
In fact, he was better than fine. Especially once they were inside the warmth
of the diner and subjected to a flock of waggling eyebrows. Viv even made them
put their lame party accessories on and pose for a picture, the cat clock
looming behind them with its own silvery New Years headband. Which was
unsettling on a level Jiyong didn’t know how to articulate.
 
“It looks even more insidious now,” he muttered, eyeing it warily from where he
leaned against the counter.
 
“Jiyong, it’s just a clock.”
 
Seunghyun was beside him, the seriousness of his tone undermined by the dorky
plastic “2014” glasses he’d yet to take off, and Jiyong had to snuffle into the
curve of the boy’s shoulder.
 
“It creeps me out, okay? I have nightmares about that thing.” He edged closer,
finding Seunghyun’s fingers and weaving them with his. “On more than one
occasion, I’ve had dreams where it lurks at the end of my bed and waits for me
to fall asleep so it can eat my toes.”
 
“Your brain, I swear…”
 
Jiyong smiled, elbowing Seunghyun in the side. “Don’t act like you don’t love
my brain.”
 
His answer came in the form of a sly smirk and a brief, knowing glance, but
Seunghyun didn’t deny it. Not that Jiyong expected him to. They’d been flirting
with vocabulary for a while, dancing around the things they meant to say or
were too afraid to voice. But Jiyong knew what the unbearable pressure in his
chest was when he thought of, looked at, stood next to Seunghyun. The only
thing that unnerved him, though, was how often the words had been ready to leap
from the tip of his tongue, like it was effortless or something, to give
himself up like that.
 
“Fifteen minutes, folks!” called Leroy from the other side of the diner.
 
There was a small television rigged to the ceiling that they never turned on,
but tonight they were using it to watch the countdown and the fireworks.
Everyone was huddled at the counter underneath it, talking and laughing. Jiyong
was surprised at how many regular customers had shown up for the party, faces
he’d come to know pretty well over the years. Along with their usual orders and
a collection of random details about their lives. George, a widower in his
seventies who came in late at night to drink coffee and do the weekly crossword
puzzle in the newspaper. Beth and her sister, Iris, who were friends of Viv’s
and always ordered the breakfast special on Saturday mornings. Extra bacon,
hold the onions. Their kids were here, too--Viv’s and Beth’s--having been
allowed special late bedtime privileges because of the occasion. Jiyong
remembered those days. Making elaborate deals with his parents just to win one
more hour of wakefulness, that he usually wasted because he’d fall asleep right
on schedule anyway, much to the amusement of his mother.
 
An unexpected pang of loss hit him square in the chest and he turned away from
their smiling faces, the muscles in his back bunching uncomfortably.
 
Sensing the shift, Seunghyun wrapped an arm around him, mouth close to his ear
when he asked, “You all right?”
 
Yes and no. Jiyong released a careful sigh and nodded, but didn’t say anything
else, just let Seunghyun tuck him into the curve of his body. Seunghyun’s
curiosity and concern were still palpable despite his silence and he knew the
part of him that wanted to tell the boy everything was going to win one of
these days. He didn’t know when. Jiyong just hoped that he’d be ready whenever
it did.
 
“Let’s go wait with the others,” he suggested, pulling on Seunghyun’s arm and
giving him a slight smile.
 
Because he’d told himself no bad shit, yet here he was doing exactly that.
Seunghyun returned the smile readily, though, stepping forward to drag Jiyong
towards the end of the counter.
 
It didn’t take much for him to shed the negative thoughts and he slipped into
easy conversation with the people he’d come to know as extended family. If
there was one monumental life lesson Jiyong had learned this year, it was that
he was really, really not good at keeping the people around him at a distance.
And that if he tried to push them away it usually resulted in him feeling like
the biggest piece of shit that ever existed.
 
So he didn’t.
 
He didn’t think about what he was doing, either. Just let that positive energy
take him. And when the clock struck midnight, raucous cheers filled the diner.
A couple bottles of champagne were going around while everyone embraced and
sang Auld Lang Syne--Frankie’s scratchy, off-key baritone more deafening than
the rest--and Jiyong couldn’t help it, he just started laughing.
 
“Are you gonna tell me what’s so funny, or do I have to guess?” Seunghyun
asked, grinning but obviously confused as to why he was behaving like a crazy
person. Withdrawn one moment, then hysterical the next.
 
Jiyong nibbled on his lip and shook his head. “I’m laughing at myself. And at
life in general.”
 
“I see.” Seunghyun squinted at him, as if trying to read his mind. “Will I get
to hear the unedited version of this later?”
 
“Sure.”
 
“Awesome.”
 
Snorting out another giggle, Jiyong tilted his head back and breathed and
attempted to calm down. He felt Seunghyun’s hand move to his neck, the boy’s
thumb stroking the hairs at his nape. Sounds of happiness continued to float
around the diner and Jiyong remembered that they’d forgotten something.
 
“Seunghyun?”
 
“Hmm?”
 
Jiyong turned, reaching up to ease the plastic glasses from Seunghyun’s face
and set them on the counter.
 
“Happy New Year,” he uttered softly, grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
 
Seunghyun’s hand slid into his hair and Jiyong’s eyes fell shut, not at all
startled when Seunghyun’s smiling mouth met his. It was a sweet kiss. My first
New Years smooch. Jiyong didn’t mean to, but he started cracking up again, his
eyes popping open to find Seunghyun regarding him with an expression that
looked a lot like the way the pressure in his chest felt.
 
“M’sorry.”
 
With a roll of his eyes, Seunghyun leaned forward and smacked an obnoxious kiss
against his cheek. “Happy New Year, Jiyong,” he murmured into his ear,
gathering him up in his arms.
 
Though just when Jiyong thought his heart couldn’t take any more, he gradually
became aware of additional pairs of arms wrapping around the two of them--Anna,
Viv, Heather, even Leroy. He was squished so tight in the middle of this multi-
layered human sandwich that he couldn’t even move. All he could do was laugh
some more, since that seemed to be his default reaction to literally everything
tonight. Jiyong whined when Anna squeezed him a bit tighter.
 
“I love all of you so much,” she cried.
 
Jiyong kind of wanted to throw up. But that was okay, too.

*

The party didn’t last much longer after the ball dropped. Some lingered, but
Viv and Beth were the first to make their goodbyes, groggy children in tow.
Frankie was next. The old man even paused to clap Jiyong on the shoulders with
his arthritic hands and told him to “be safe” before nodding once awkwardly and
then walking out the door. Which was really fucking odd, since Frankie was
never sentimental and had rarely spoken to Jiyong in the last year and a half
without raising his voice. It added to that cumbersome sort of realization that
things were changing. Or that they already had and he was just now beginning to
see how much.
 
Unsettled, Jiyong returned to the counter, pretending to listen to Anna and
Heather’s conversation about some TV show he’d never heard of. He was too busy
watching everyone--absorbing the small details. How Anna’s nose wrinkled when
she laughed; the way Heather’s eyes seemed like they were about to pop out of
her skull when she was excited about something. Seunghyun was behind them,
talking to Leroy. Jiyong couldn’t really hear them, but he’d bet money that
they were having some ridiculously analytical exchange about music. And in a
moment that was truly surreal, he felt this weird sort of displacement, like
he’d taken a step outside of his own body and was now a passive observer to his
own life. He’d had moments like this before, sure. But something about the way
it was happening right now struck him in a very profound way.
 
Because New Years had always seemed like such a joke to him in the past.
Everyone got so jazzed about this thing that was, in reality, actually pretty
arbitrary and unexceptional and totally made up. Except somehow it had become
this symbol of beginnings and hitting the refresh button, like January 1st was
really going to be any fucking different than the day that came before or
after.
 
But the hilarious part, was that he didn’t want it to be an illusion this time.
 
Jiyong flew back to himself then, Anna nudging him in the arm because she’d
asked a question and apparently he’d just stared blankly at nothing as a
response. He groaned, apologetic, but inside he was still trying to catch up.
 
“Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I think I’m just tired.”
 
“Then get the hell outta here,” Anna nagged playfully.
 
She smiled and drew him in for yet another hug, Heather doing the same
immediately after.
 
“Happy New Year,” Jiyong said again, meeting both sets of warm eyes and finding
that he really meant it.
 
The acknowledgment of that made him feel overly full, but he was reaching his
limit. And when they kissed his cheeks and then sent him over to Leroy, it was
all he could do not to just collapse out of emotional exhaustion. Seunghyun
noticed this, as he always did, and he was quick in his own farewells before
collecting their coats and herding them out the door.
 
Jiyong inhaled deeply, the cold air stinging his throat and his lungs. They
didn’t say anything as they walked to the car. They didn’t say anything on the
short drive to Jiyong’s apartment. No words were spoken until the door was
locked behind them and they’d taken refuge on the couch. But even then they
came gradually. Jiyong was tucked up sideways against the cushions, his back
digging into the armrest as he toyed with the pocket of Seunghyun’s hoodie and
thought about how to start this. Yeah, he was tired, but he didn’t want to go
to sleep without giving Seunghyun the opportunity to clear his head first. He
knew how much that sucked.
 
“So…” Jiyong prompted.
 
Seunghyun tossed him a smile through the shadows of the apartment, reaching up
to curl his arm around Jiyong’s legs, chin propped on his knee.
 
“The thing with my dad isn’t as horrible as you’re probably thinking.”
 
“Still.” He brought his other hand to Seunghyun’s hair. “If you need to vent,
I’m listening.”
 
Another extended pause settled into quiet, the sound of tires crushing snow as
a car passed on the street below, and Seunghyun sighed. He wrapped his arm
around Jiyong’s legs a bit tighter, wedging his fingers into the space between
his thigh and his calf. The silence stretched so thin Jiyong had almost given
up hope that he’d speak again, but then Seunghyun’s low voice finally rumbled
back to life, barely louder than a whisper.
 
“He thinks he can still control me just because I live under his roof. Like my
dependence on him financially somehow means he fucking owns me, even though he
could give two shits about who I am.”
 
Gently, Jiyong stroked his hair, rubbing a thumb against his temple in an
effort to remove the hard knot from his brow.
 
“Who I am right now, I mean. If I did everything he wanted me to, he’d probably
stop being such a fucking prick, but I won’t.” Seunghyun huffed once through
his nose and turned to stare at Jiyong in the dark as he continued. “I can’t do
that. And I don’t even care if he throws me out and cuts me off, I just wish
he’d make up his fucking mind about where he stands, instead of tearing into me
whenever it’s convenient for him.”
 
Jiyong frowned, the edges of his mouth tugging down so hard he felt a twinge in
his muscles. He’d known things were less than great for Seunghyun at home, but
hearing exactly to what extent made his stomach twist, and he had no idea what
to say to make it better. He understood what it was like to have someone else’s
expectations forced upon you. What it was like to fall short of who or what
they wanted you to be. Though he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that
Dami actually loved the shit out of him despite this.
 
With careful movements, Jiyong spread his legs and drew Seunghyun down until he
was nestled in the curve of his body. He didn’t tell him he was sorry, even
though he was. Saying sorry was like the textbook response to anything even
remotely sad or unfortunate and he hated how disingenuous it seemed. So he kept
his mouth shut, pressing it to Seunghyun’s head, and wrapped his arms around
him in lieu of apologies.
 
As far as he could tell, it was more than enough, because the boy relaxed into
him in a way he rarely had--perfectly boneless and with a weight that
translated as relief. Relief that Jiyong was there, that he existed. Offering
comfort to someone else was still such a new concept for him, but Seunghyun
made it easier. Seunghyun made so many things easy. Things Jiyong had once
thought himself incapable of.
 
They stayed there, not talking, for a long while. His tiredness plateaued to
the point where he didn’t even notice it anymore, just floated in thought with
his face buried in Seunghyun’s hair as he stroked his back. These were the kind
of moments he wanted to live inside of forever, because when they were here,
like this, nothing could touch them. Nothing could hurt them. Here, Jiyong
wasn’t afraid of anything. Except, maybe, for how much he cared about
Seunghyun. How much he loved him.
 
He didn’t want to keep it a secret in his head anymore, but it still scared him
shitless. Because before this, his world had consisted of very little. Now it
was so much bigger and Seunghyun was unwittingly giving him the courage to be
okay with that. To embrace it. Just by virtue of loving Jiyong back. He almost
laughed, clamping his legs around Seunghyun and grinning into his hair. Jesus,
this was so bizarre.
 
“What?” Seunghyun mumbled, already sounding sleep-drunk.
 
“Nothing.” Jiyong’s grin stretched a bit wider. “Everything.”
 
“You’re being really weird tonight. Weirder than usual.”
 
He snorted. “Thanks.”
 
Seunghyun shifted, lifting himself up onto his hands, and he blinked down at
Jiyong with his lips quirked in amusement. “Any particular reason why?”
 
“Yeah,” Jiyong admitted softly. He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against
Seunghyun’s mouth. For now, that was all he would give him, because he wasn’t
ready for the rest. Because tonight had already been overwhelming enough and he
still had a lot to process.
 
But then an idea struck him and he did laugh, expression brightening as he
kissed Seunghyun a little more firmly.
 
“Actually, hold on a sec. I’ll be right back.”
 
Sliding out from under him, Jiyong clambered off the couch and ran into the
kitchen. He could hear Seunghyun’s chuckling from the living room and his heart
skipped--anxious from what he was about to do and what it meant. Jiyong tore
through the junk drawer next to the fridge, searching for the key ring he’d
stashed there the last time he made duplicates, and when his fingers closed
around the cold metal, his heart skipped again.
 
Wow, okay, chill. He pushed a hand into his hair and inhaled deeply, closing
the drawer with his hip. Jiyong really didn’t need to be freaking out about
this as much as he was. It was nothing. Okay, it wasn’t nothing, it was
actually a lot of things, but it’s not like he was asking Seunghyun to fucking
marry him.
 
Jiyong froze there in the kitchen, the light from above the stove glinting
against the shiny metal in his hand. His brain stumbled to a halt as that
thought lingered strangely before vanishing and he let all the air in his lungs
spill from his mouth in a single rush.
 
“Everything okay in here?” Seunghyun asked, shuffling into the room with his
hands in his pockets.
 
Wide-eyed, Jiyong looked over at him, fingers clamping around the keys as he
nodded.
 
“Yeah. Yeah, everything’s fine,” he answered, perhaps too quickly.
 
Seunghyun eyed him with suspicion and perched on the edge of the kitchen table.
“Jiyong, what’s going on?”
 
“This.”
 
Jiyong wasn’t about to dance around formalities, arm already held out as he
walked towards him. Seunghyun’s brows furrowed again when he peered at the keys
in his palm but made no move to take them. So Jiyong huffed out a laugh and
manually removed one of Seunghyun’s hands from his pockets and did it himself,
curling the boy’s fingers around them tightly.
 
“They’re keys to the apartment,” he explained when Seunghyun looked up, clearly
still confused. Jiyong dipped his head and slid the edge of his thumb over
Seunghyun’s knuckles, that giddy sort of feeling still terrorizing his insides,
and he breathed in slowly to calm himself. “It’s so you can come here whenever
you want, even when I’m not around. Or my sister. I just-- I want you to know
that you have options. That you have somewhere to go when things are shitty.
Somewhere that isn’t the middle of nowhere.”
 
Somewhere that feels like home.
 
He could tell that Seunghyun was staring at him, but he stubbornly refused to
meet his gaze, not sure he was prepared for what he might find. Nervous energy
swirled in his chest. Though the longer Seunghyun sat there and didn’t respond,
the more Jiyong wondered if maybe he’d overstepped his boundaries, and he kept
talking so he wouldn’t start panicking.
 
“I mean, you practically live here, anyway, right? So it’s not that big of a
deal, I just figured you--”
 
But then there were fingers gripping his chin, Seunghyun’s mouth crashing into
his mouth, and a surprised moan vibrated in his throat.
 
Seunghyun pulled him closer, looping an arm around his waist. The kiss was
rough and without form, but Jiyong felt it in more than just his lips, the
intense sensation zipping through him like an electrical current. It was
incredible. Dizzying. And he clung to Seunghyun’s shoulders in an attempt to
find balance. Which was difficult, especially once Seunghyun’s tongue began
teasing at his mouth and Jiyong broke away with a smile. He laughed, the sound
of it filling the kitchen when Seunghyun refused to stop kissing him, his own
smile trailing along Jiyong’s neck.
 
“If this is your way of saying ‘thank you’--” he gasped, giggling as
Seunghyun’s tongue swept over his pulse point. “--I’m gonna start gifting you
shit for no reason.”
 
“Like I need an excuse to kiss you,” Seunghyun murmured into his skin.
 
Jiyong shivered a little, arching against him and savoring the way Seunghyun’s
breath seeped in through his t-shirt. He may not have needed an excuse, but
some kisses spoke for themselves more loudly than others and Jiyong couldn’t
help but want to listen to that one on repeat for the rest of his life.
 
“Actually,” Seunghyun sighed and leaned back to look him in the eye. “I don’t--
” He paused abruptly, flashing Jiyong a brief grin as his fingers clenched in
Jiyong’s shirt. “I don’t think even saying it is enough. Not for something like
this, I--”
 
“So don’t,” Jiyong interrupted, hands lifting to frame his face. “Just promise
me you’ll use them.”
 
The hold around his waist tightened and Seunghyun let out another unsteady
breath, lips twitching as he nodded.
 
“Okay. I promise.”
 
Jiyong swallowed thickly, riding the swoop in his stomach as they gazed at each
other. He hadn’t intended for this to be so intense, but it was. Like
everything he felt in that moment was suddenly trying to break free all at
once. He was relatively certain Seunghyun could see it, the light in his eyes
only shining brighter, and Jiyong smiled. Because he knew what that was now.
And even though it would always be scary, Seunghyun always made it okay. Made
him feel brave.
 
A yawn split his jaw wide and he tipped forward, his forehead resting against
Seunghyun’s as total exhaustion finally sunk in.
 
“Bed?” Jiyong asked, still smiling.
 
“Bed.” Seunghyun nodded again with a yawn of his own. He laughed, pressing a
tired kiss to Jiyong’s cheek as he stood, and then dragged them both from the
kitchen. “By the way, you never told me what was so funny earlier.”
 
Snorting, Jiyong shut the door of his room behind them. “It can be your bedtime
story.”
 
“Hell yeah,” came Seunghyun’s muffled cheer as he pulled his hoodie over his
head, hair everywhere once he resurfaced, this goofy-ass grin tugging at his
lips.
 
But Jiyong just rolled his eyes and shoved him down on the mattress while he
was in the middle of taking his jeans off, ignoring his cackles and whines of
protest. He flicked the light off, undressed, and chuckled as he crawled in
after him--heart spinning in circles when Seunghyun immediately latched onto
him like a sleepy, affectionate octopus and never let go.

***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
New Years Day unfolded just like any other day--just like Jiyong had expected
it to.
 
Except that wasn’t quite accurate, was it? Because despite everything seeming
exactly the same, he knew something had changed. Knew, because he was starting
to notice the brighter layers, the ones usually hidden underneath all the dirt
and grime that he’d buried them in. And as he stood there, leaning on the lunch
counter at Frankie’s, observing the mid-morning light that slanted through the
windows, dust swirling amidst the beams...he wondered if he’d ever have the
balls to wipe it all clean.
 
“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” Seunghyun murmured then, nudging into him
gently from where he sat on one of the stools, reading.
 
Jiyong blinked his thoughts away and turned, offering him a slow smile.
 
“I’ve had a lot to think about.”
 
The arch of Seunghyun’s brow was a dead giveaway. So much louder and more
obvious than his stupid “Oh?” of mild interest, like Jiyong was talking about
how magnificent the weather was, and he rolled his eyes, leaning closer to pin
him with a pointed look.
 
“Do you seriously wanna have a philosophical conversation before your second
cup of coffee?” he asked, unable to disguise his amusement.
 
Seunghyun met his challenge with a smirk. “No time like the present.”
 
But, of course, the moment Jiyong contemplated giving in, gaze helplessly drawn
to the curl of Seunghyun’s mouth, Aaron’s voice cut through the diner like a
fucking guillotine, punctuated by the cheerful ping of the kitchen bell.
 
“Ji, your order’s up!”
 
“Literally saved by the bell,” Seunghyun drawled.
 
Shrugging, Jiyong just sighed. “Sucks for you.”
 
“Like you don’t already know that I’m gonna ask again in about five minutes.”
 
He grinned, laughing lightly as Seunghyun stared--open and with the kind of
easy affection that always made him weak in the knees. So it wasn’t exactly
surprising that he succumbed to impulse, easing further into Seunghyun’s space
and pressing a kiss to his lips without closing his eyes. Jiyong’s stomach
tumbled in curlicues when Seunghyun didn’t close his eyes, either, the boy’s
long lashes dipping ever so slightly as his fingers latched onto Jiyong’s apron
and tugged.
 
This was the most they’d ever done with an audience, save for last night’s
little adventure in the parking lot, and he felt a familiar rush of invincible
energy in his veins. Fearlessness. Confidence. He didn’t even care if anyone
was paying attention, he just needed the playful bump of Seunghyun’s nose--the
softness of Seunghyun’s bottom lip nestled perfectly between his own, their
matching smiles mashed together when neither of them could keep a straight face
anymore.
 
“Jiyong!” Aaron shouted a second time, actually sounding irritated.
 
Jiyong let out a pronounced groan and withdrew, squeezing Seunghyun’s hand as
he removed it from his waist and pushed off from the counter. “Yeah, yeah,” he
muttered, trudging towards the service window, scowling. “Y’know, I’m pretty
sure you don’t have the tenure to boss me around, Aaron.”
 
The older man scoffed.
 
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you’re not being paid to stand there making out
with your boyfriend.”
 
So that’s what crawled up your ass, Jiyong mused, grabbing the first plate and
balancing it on his right arm.
 
“Does PDA offend you or something?” he asked coyly, unable to prevent a knowing
smirk.
 
Aaron cleared his throat, eyes narrowing as he frowned, the defensiveness
radiating from his stiff posture in waves.
 
“No.”
 
Jiyong cocked his head, reaching for the next plate, and tried not to laugh.
“Mmm, I believe I detect a hint of jealousy there, Aaron.”
 
Honestly, he’d never seen someone’s face catch fire so fast before in his life.
 
“Oh, shut up,” Aaron growled, the annoyance half as effective when he was
impersonating a very handsome tomato. He dropped the last of the order down on
the window, tower of pancakes wobbling with the force of it. “Take your goddamn
plates and go, you little shit.”
 
He cackled brightly at that, head falling backwards as he struggled to keep the
food balanced in his arms. “Anna,” Jiyong called over his shoulder, wheezing.
“Aaron is blushing, enjoy it while it lasts.”
 
“Oh my god.”
 
Another burst of laughter exploded from his mouth and he snagged the plate of
pancakes, turning to round the counter.
 
“You’re welcome,” he called again.
 
Jiyong’s cheeks ached and his stomach hurt and he had tears clinging to the
corners of his eyes, and god it felt good. Like the way that everything settled
around him finally felt right. And he marveled at the magic of stupid shit and
inside jokes and being surrounded by people he actually gave a fuck about. He
supposed what was even more remarkable was that he finally gave a fuck in the
first place.
 
Residual giggles kept convulsing out of him and he apologized to the customers
when he could barely form a complete sentence, let alone ask them if they
needed anything else, and was waved off by a flurry of amused hands. Jiyong
scrubbed at his face, deciding, officially, that today couldn’t get any better.
 
Well, right up until he spun on his heel to find none other than Dami and Colin
lingering near the doors. Jiyong hadn’t even heard the bell jingle.
 
Fuck.
 
Talk about a buzzkill. I am so not ready for this. He chewed at his lip, wiping
both hands on his apron and hazarding a glance at Seunghyun. Jiyong was
surprised, but relieved, that the boy had been watching and he desperately drew
some of that confidence from the wordless encouragement in his eyes. Taking a
steadying breath, he turned back to his sister and Colin and began walking
towards them.
 
It had only been a couple weeks, not even, since that day at school when he’d
let his mouth run. And Jiyong knew now that he’d beaten himself up more than
enough over something that wasn’t really that terrible, but the vaguely nervous
look on Colin’s face still made him hate himself for being such a dick to begin
with. All he had to do was fucking apologize. Then everything would be fine
again.
 
Right. Jiyong sighed. Easy as pie.
 
Though the smile that crept onto Dami’s face as he approached was warm and
sweet and he relaxed a bit, his own lips tugging upwards at the corners when
she didn’t even bother saying hello, just immediately drew him in for a hug.
 
“Long time no see,” she murmured, squeezing him tighter.
 
For them, a week without crossing paths was nothing, but for some reason it
seemed like twice as much since Christmas.
 
“Yeah,” Jiyong replied, pushing his face into the waves of her hair. “Missed
you, too.”
 
Dami leaned away and brought her hands to his cheeks, one moving to brush the
messy chunks of his bangs away from his forehead, eyes thoughtful. There was so
much left unspoken between them, but he appreciated that they could still be
nice to each other despite that. Despite the long overdue argument he knew was
coming. She looked good, though. Cheerful. And he suspected the man standing
next to her had a lot to do with it.
 
“How are you?” Dami asked quietly and let her arms drop.
 
“Good.” Jiyong nodded. “You?”
 
“Good,” she replied, eyes crinkling with humor as she turned briefly to Colin,
her cheeks going pink.
 
It was weird as hell to see her like this. Just on the verge of dizzy
schoolgirl. Something Jiyong vaguely remembered from when he was a kid and Dami
first started dating.
 
“What, um--” He paused and coughed into his fist awkwardly. “What are you guys
doing here?”
 
Folding her arms across her chest, she put on a serious face and shrugged. “I
had an intense craving for home fries.”
 
“I expect visiting me was a bit lower on that list of reasons.”
 
“Oh, yeah, super low. You’re like, number five or six?” Dami stopped to think
for a moment. “Somewhere below coffee, pancakes, and bacon.”
 
Jiyong snorted. “I’m glad I know where your loyalties lie now.”
 
“Food always trumps family, Ji,” she sighed, reaching up to pat him on the
shoulder.
 
“Mmm, how could I forget.”
 
The mask cracked then and she smirked, giving in to a huff of embarrassed
laughter, and Jiyong couldn’t help but smile back as he rolled his eyes. They
were so fucking dumb.
 
“So, I think I’m gonna go grab a booth and give you two a moment.”
 
Colin shifted uneasily in his periphery, reminding him that the worst was far
from over, and Dami gripped his shoulder again before she beat a hasty retreat.
Great. Jiyong’d had a feeling she was going to abandon him without remorse.
Sometimes he honestly hated being right.
 
Fingers jittery and clueless at his sides, he finally met Colin’s gaze head on,
heart skipping a beat out of apprehension. The man’s expression was cautious
but clearly hopeful and he offered Jiyong a hesitant smile.
 
“Hey, Ji.”
 
Jiyong bobbed his head, chewing at his lip. “Hey, Col.”
 
“Keepin’ out of trouble, I see.” Colin’s smile grew broad as he motioned to his
own face.
 
He laughed, tossing a glance over his shoulder to look at Seunghyun. “Different
kind of trouble,” he murmured and was surprised when he felt heat in his
cheeks. Worse, when Colin’s green eyes took on a teasing glimmer.
 
But then the nervous laughter faded and Jiyong still didn’t know how to go
about making amends. Not like it was rocket science. He sighed, rubbing at the
back of his neck.
 
“Listen, I’m sorry about…” His hand circled through the air as he tried to keep
his attention on Colin and not everywhere else. The older man nodded, mouth
twisting in acknowledgement. Jiyong soldiered on. “It was a shit day that only
got shittier and it was a knee-jerk reaction. You didn’t deserve that. Not--”
he stopped, letting out another heavy breath. “Not from me.”
 
Colin took his time to answer, seeming to mull over his words while regarding
Jiyong calmly.
 
“I didn’t mean to pry, y’know?” Colin explained. His eyebrows furrowed and he
shoved his hands into his pockets. “Was just concerned about you, is all.”
 
Jiyong nodded. “I know. I’m an asshole.”
 
Colin’s laugh was short but sunny and he freed a hand to hold up his index
finger and thumb. “Lil bit,” he chuckled.
 
There was no denying that he deserved the ribbing, unable to prevent a grin at
his own expense. Honestly, he was just glad that things were squared now. Maybe
it would take them a while to be easy like they used to, but at least they were
cool.
 
“And you don’t--” Jiyong faltered again. “You don’t have to be afraid to talk
to me anymore. I’m sure Dami’s explained more than a few things.”
 
“Yeah, she has.”
 
He swallowed thickly, not as afraid of this as he once was, but still getting
accustomed to the idea of discussing it. Or almost discussing it. Jiyong
shrugged.
 
“It’s not an excuse, it’s just...what it is. And I’m learning.”
 
Colin smiled kindly at him, rocking onto his heels. “Me, too.”
 
Biting the inside of his mouth, Jiyong folded his arms and squinted at the
older man.
 
“So you’re really serious about this whole dating my sister thing, huh?” he
asked, brow quirked.
 
“I am, yeah,” Colin replied, squinting right back.
 
“Good.” He sniffed. “Cause if you ever hurt her, I will not hesitate to clock
you in the face.”
 
And he fucking meant it, too--hoped that was more than evident in his hardened
expression. Colin’s own expression turned kind of serious then, never backing
down from Jiyong’s unwavering gaze, and when he opened his mouth to speak, his
voice was quiet. Sincere.
 
“Duly noted.”
 
“Jiyong!” The call of Aaron’s voice cut through the diner, breaking the tension
and the moment and Jiyong rolled his eyes. Again.
 
“Um, I gotta--” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
 
Colin’s grin split his face in two, stepping forward to knock Jiyong with his
elbow.
 
“Go on, asshole.”
 
“Oh, fuck off,” Jiyong grumbled, more laughter spilling out of him.
 
And just like that, they were back to their old bullshit.
 
It was funny, in hindsight, that he’d ever had a problem with Colin being more
of a permanent fixture. Or thought that he’d ever had a choice in the matter.
And as he watched the older man wander towards the booth Dami had chosen, he
felt relief. Because Colin really was a good guy. And if they needed anything
in their life to stick, it was shit like that. The good stuff.
 
“Are you gonna stand there all day or are you gonna get to work, Kwon?”
 
I swear to god.
 
Turning, Jiyong caught Aaron giving him a look and he stuck his tongue out,
just barely curbing the impulse to flip him off as he walked over. Ceramic
rattled loudly on the service counter, Anna exhaling roughly beside him in
silent commiseration while they waited for their food. He kind of just wanted
his shift to be done, because the lunch rush was starting and now he had to
hustle. Jiyong delivered his plates, took more orders, seated more than one
family of four and made rounds with the coffee pots before he had a chance to
stop for ten goddamn seconds. And when he did, he went straight for Seunghyun,
nearly toppling him from the stool when he latched onto the other boy--chin on
his shoulder and arms flung around his waist, already exhausted.
 
“Hi.”
 
Seunghyun chuckled. “Hi.”
 
The noises of the diner swelled and he buried his face in Seunghyun’s shoulder
to hide. But of course Aaron’s voice always cut through everything else like a
knife.
 
“Jiyong!”
 
“I’m gonna kill him,” he groaned.
 
“I’ll help you hide the body.”
 
Giggling, Jiyong sighed and lifted his head. “It’s cute that you’re still
trying to convince me you’re an axe-murdering psychopath,” he murmured.
 
Seunghyun swiveled around on his stool and pecked him on the cheek, smirking.
“You’ll never know the truth until it’s too late.”
 
Arms falling to his sides, Jiyong backed away, his mouth twitching helplessly
at the corners. He carried the giddy swirling with him for the rest of the
afternoon and thanked his lucky stars that he’d been blessed with the enduring
affection of multiple idiots.




*




As their final week of freedom dwindled, the days passing far too quickly,
Jiyong found that he had difficulty sleeping. All that remained now was a
single weekend. One. That was it. And it gnawed at him. Though due to his
completely pointless suspension, his winter break would be prolonged for a few
more days. Which never made any sense to him, because being in school was
always the punishment, not sitting at home on his ass.
 
Hunching further into the worn dip of the recliner, Jiyong tucked a cigarette
between his teeth and scowled, staring out the living room window. Dawn was
turning the sky a lighter shade of somber. He lit his cigarette and inhaled--
watched plumes of smoke coil in the hazy twilight when he breathed out.
 
It had been far too effortless, the way Jiyong had shoved aside reality for two
weeks. A certain boy currently passed out in his bed was mostly to blame, but
he would be lying if he said he hadn’t wrapped himself up in the dream on
purpose. Except now the dream was over and responsibility loomed large.
 
Head tipped against the back of the chair, he took another drag. It wasn’t the
only thing looming, however, and he fought against the never ending cycle of
anxiety-inducing thoughts, all revolving around how fucked everything was.
 
Jiyong heard a yawn from his doorway then, Seunghyun shuffling into the room
looking five thousand kinds of adorable in his rumpled shirt and boxers--hair a
mess, eyes barely even open.
 
Well, almost everything. He smiled.
 
“What’re you doing out here?” Seunghyun rumbled, voice scratchy and tired.
 
“I didn’t wanna wake you up.”
 
Migrating around the bulk of the couch, Seunghyun ambled closer,
unceremoniously pushing Jiyong’s bent knees apart before turning and collapsing
on top of him.
 
“Jesus,” he grunted, laughing as Seunghyun squirmed until he was comfortable.
“You’re not exactly weightless, fuckin’ beanpole.”
 
“And you’re light as a feather, right?” Seunghyun muttered, lazily snatching
the cigarette from Jiyong’s fingers.
 
Then the jerk hooked one gangly leg over the arm of the chair, fused with the
contours of Jiyong’s body, squishing him in the process. He snorted and
supposed there were definitely worse places to be.
 
“Why aren’t you still unconscious?” Jiyong asked, coiling an arm around him.
 
Seunghyun took a drag and handed the cigarette back, head lolling against his
shoulder.
 
“It’s stupid.”
 
“Nightmare?”
 
“I mean stupid as in cheesy,” Seunghyun clarified.
 
He let out a slight chuckle. “You’re always cheesy.”
 
“This is cheesier than normal.”
 
“Seunghyun, I’ve recited poetry for you.”
 
“Because you’re a freak. Who does that?”
 
“Stop evading the question.” Jiyong started prodding him in the stomach, but
Seunghyun just snatched his hand and held it captive, the other reaching back
to steal the cigarette again.
 
For several minutes, Seunghyun was quiet, rocking them gently back and forth
with the foot planted on the floor. He didn’t really know if he should be
concerned or not. So he waited.
 
Bringing his other arm up to loop it around the boy’s middle, Jiyong buried his
face into dark hair and relaxed. He wondered if he was getting better at this,
being a source of comfort. His thumb rubbed at the curve of Seunghyun’s waist
idly, mind calmer now that it had a purpose, and he squeezed the hand holding
his.
 
Cigarette burned down to the filter, Seunghyun stubbed it out in the ashtray
beside them and sighed. “Sleeping alone just feels weird, okay?” he murmured,
pushing his fingers between Jiyong’s. “Even when I’m out cold, it’s like I know
you’re not there.”
 
Jiyong’s mouth stretched wide. Seunghyun sounded so earnest, voice small like
he was revealing a secret. His insides wobbled as a result and his chest went
impossibly tight. Words that weren’t his came to mind at the confession, and he
tried to keep his composure as he bent low, brushing his lips against the side
of the boy’s neck--nose dragging along a sharp jaw and a smooth cheek, lips
poised at his ear.
 
“It’s good to feel you are close to me in the night, love,” Jiyong whispered,
because Neruda was forever appropriate, and he kept going despite the way
Seunghyun was vibrating with silent laughter.
 
“Invisible in your sleep, intently nocturnal, while I untangle my worries as if
they were twisted nets. Withdrawn, your heart sails through dream. But your
body, relinquished so, breathes, seeking me without seeing me perfecting my
dream like a plant that seeds itself in the dark.”
 
He felt Seunghyun inhale and exhale slowly before he turned his head, meeting
Jiyong’s gaze.
 
“Seriously, how do you do that?”
 
He shrugged. “Some things are worth keeping.”
 
The relevance of that statement didn’t really sink in until he’d said it out
loud and let it hover for a moment. Seunghyun’s responding smile was soft, eyes
warm even in the pale morning light. Jiyong could tell by the look he was being
given that the boy was right there with him on whatever bizarre wavelength this
was. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, maybe it was something else. But when
Seunghyun shifted into him, even his mouth seemed heavy with understanding, and
Jiyong’s brows furrowed when he kissed him back.
 
Sometimes, he imagined each moment--every smile, every exchanged breath, every
single touch fleeting and sustained--was a thread that stitched them together.
Not in the sense of parts becoming whole. More like they were anchored to each
other. Balanced. And Jiyong could feel it happening now as Seunghyun’s hand
raised to cradle his face, that faint tugging at his center, that sense of
connection that he never knew how to describe.
 
Leaning away, Seunghyun’s lips twitched, dimples digging shadows into his
cheeks.
 
“Will you go somewhere with me today?”
 
Jiyong nodded.
 
“But I have a shift at three.”
 
“That’s fine. It won’t take forever.” Seunghyun paused, smile dimming. “We have
to drive, though.”
 
“How far?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too hesitant.
 
“Further than usual.”
 
Jiyong laughed and bit the inside of his cheek, eyes narrowed, contemplative.
It’s not that he didn’t want to. It was that extended trips in the car were
usually on the stressful side and he wasn’t sure if he was up for it. Although
this seemed important to Seunghyun. He never said it, but Jiyong heard it in
his voice.
 
“Okay,” he answered eventually.
 
Both of Seunghyun’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re sure?”
 
“Yeah.” Jiyong nudged into his palm. “I’m sure.”
 
Expression brightening in small increments, Seunghyun slid his fingers into
Jiyong’s hair and pulled him in again, teasing at his mouth. He huffed out
another laugh, pushing closer to firmly mold their lips together.
 
“Wait, is your sister here?” Seunghyun mumbled, withdrawing a second later.
 
“No, she spent the night at Colin’s.”
 
“Ooooh.”
 
“I know,” Jiyong drawled. “I feel like a proud mother.”
 
Seunghyun cracked up, head falling back onto his arm. In some ways it was
hilarious, and in others it was sort of terrifying. He hadn’t really allowed
himself to think about it too much in order to preserve his sanity, but as long
as Dami was happy, he could deal with the weirdness until it wasn’t so weird
anymore.
 
Jiyong grinned as he watched Seunghyun come down from his giggle fit, rubbing
at his trembling stomach. Once he’d caught his breath, though, the gleam in the
boy’s eye took on a slight edge, and Jiyong’s heart skipped more than one beat.
 
“So…” Seunghyun trailed off, fingers lifting to map the curve of his cheek. “We
have the apartment to ourselves.”
 
Heat began crawling across his skin when he realized exactly what he was
getting at. “Yes,” Jiyong whispered.
 
“Perfect.”
 
Without much warning, Seunghyun surged forward to kiss him, like he was on a
mission to short-circuit his brain as quickly as possible. And it was working.
Because Jiyong could hardly process anything beyond suddenly needing the space
between them to be less than it already was--thigh clamping securely around
Seunghyun’s hip while they twisted in on each other, hand stealing under the
boy’s shirt, a low moan resonating in his throat.
 
Jiyong’s lips parted and his tongue eased into Seunghyun’s mouth, hyper-aware
of the way he was arching his body. They’d done this enough times that he knew
what it meant and he dragged his fingers over Seunghyun’s stomach to slip them
into the waistband of his boxers.
 
Seunghyun gasped when Jiyong gripped his cock, hips rolling. “Fuck.”
 
There was something seriously intoxicating about making Seunghyun feel good,
and even though they hadn’t graduated beyond blowjobs and jerking each other
off, he still craved this kind of intimacy. Especially now that he understood
how addictive it was to touch someone who wanted you as much as you wanted
them. Stroking again, Jiyong eagerly drank in Seunghyun’s stuttered exhale and
nipped at his mouth, gradually bringing him to full hardness.
 
Arousal simmered in his veins, his own hips rocking every now and then with the
movement of the boy’s body. Their kisses lost form, lips sliding wet and lazy.
Seunghyun tossed an arm back to loop it around Jiyong and he felt so tangled up
in this, in how it always got so intense so fast.
 
Eyes screwed shut, Seunghyun tensed, his jaw hanging open as he groaned quietly
and then shuddered through orgasm. Jiyong held tight, wanting every shiver that
passed through him, savoring the hot breath puffing against his skin when
Seunghyun turned to mouth at his neck, making him shiver too. His grip
loosened, but he didn’t stop stroking, just lightly ran his fingers up and down
Seunghyun’s cock until he went soft. Because he loved how Seunghyun fit in his
hand. Loved the way his hips kept rolling and the way he transformed into a
pliant, human blob immediately after.
 
Jiyong smiled, nuzzling at Seunghyun’s face. He took his hand out of the boy’s
underwear and wiped it clean, curling around him again.
 
“One out of ten,” he mumbled, chuckling at Seunghyun’s dazed grin when he
opened his eyes.
 
“Eleven.”
 
“I guess all that practice finally paid off,” Jiyong mused wryly.
 
Dark eyes sparkled a bit brighter. “You can practice on me whenever you want.”
 
“Mhmm.”
 
Like they even needed the excuse. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves
as it was, and his smile grew at the fingers that wandered along his leg,
breath hitching when they pushed the fabric of his boxers higher, massaging his
thigh.
 
“Shower?” Seunghyun proposed, casually drawing Jiyong’s bottom lip into his
mouth.
 
He ground his hips forward and nodded dumbly, the feeling of long fingers
squeezing harder sending all manner of electric jolts through his gut.
 
It was another five minutes before either of them thought about moving, but
Jiyong’s needy sighs had become ragged, and Seunghyun hauled him out of the
recliner, laughing as they stumbled into the bathroom. The water turned on,
clothes were piled on the floor. Seunghyun kissed him against the tiles until
he couldn’t think at all, those wonderful lips traveling down his body as the
boy dropped to his knees. He shoved his hands into Seunghyun’s hair, eyelids
hooded while he watched a slick tongue dart out to lave at the head of his
cock, collecting precome. Then he was enveloped in wet heat and Jiyong moaned,
stomach clenching, anticipation fluttering everywhere.
 
Seunghyun caressed the backs of his thighs and stared up at him through thick
lashes while he worked, lips already swollen and red from being kissed, and
Jiyong just lost it, curling forward while he fisted clumps of damp hair.
 
“Jesus fuck, I’m gonna--” he whined, moaning louder when Seunghyun started to
knead at his ass and sucked harder.
 
The pressure increased and then unraveled as he climaxed--hips pumping unevenly
to ride out the rush of sensations. Seunghyun let him keep fucking his mouth
until he was spent and he slumped back into the wall, yanking at the boy’s
hands, needing him to stand.
 
“Come here,” Jiyong panted.
 
He grabbed Seunghyun by the face and they collided under the humid spray of the
shower, his heart beating wildly in his chest and a solid mass of “I love you”s
in his throat that he knew he couldn’t keep locked away for much longer. But
Seunghyun just held him close and smiled against his lips and it was enough.




*




Blankets of dirty snow clung to the ground, caking barren tree branches,
weighing down the evergreens. The roads were clear, though, and for that Jiyong
was thankful, because they’d been in the car for almost an hour and he was
getting restless. Music floated from the speakers, loud enough to distract him
when he got tired of looking at what seemed like the same goddamned stretch of
farmland on an endless loop. Sighing, he closed his eyes and concentrated on
the weird tapestry of sounds filling the car instead.
 
“You have the strangest taste in music.”
 
Jiyong heard a quiet huff.
 
“I can change it if you want.”
 
“No, I like it,” he mumbled. “But where the fuck do you even find this shit?”
 
“The internet is a magical place,” Seunghyun replied, smile in his voice. Then
a hand landed on Jiyong’s thigh and squeezed. “We’re almost there, I promise.”
 
Before Seunghyun could draw back, Jiyong caught hold of him, slipping his
fingers between the boy’s larger ones. He opened his eyes and stared out the
window and didn’t let go until Seunghyun needed both hands to drive.
 
They were on a smaller highway, one of those back roads that cut through the
country like a thin, winding vein. Nothing for miles. Eerily still. Seunghyun
pulled onto a dirt road next to a field and drove for several minutes before he
stopped at a cluster of trees, parking in the middle where there were already
tire tracks carved in the frozen dirt.
 
“This is how far you had to go to be alone?” Jiyong asked, undoing his
seatbelt.
 
“Sometimes more.” Seunghyun shrugged and cut the engine. “This spot is the
best, though.”
 
He climbed out, absently shutting the passenger side door while he peered up at
the web of spindly branches, breath clouding his vision. “Why?”
 
Footsteps crunched behind him, hands finding his shoulders and guiding him
backwards.
 
“Because if you sit right here…” Seunghyun spun Jiyong around, flashing him a
smile and then lifting him up to deposit him on the trunk of the car. He turned
to point at the horizon. “You can’t see the road, you can’t see houses or barns
or silos. No powerlines. Just earth and trees forever.”
 
The boy exhaled, turning back, easing between Jiyong’s legs. His eyes glittered
even in the dull winter light as he eased closer. “But usually I wear my
headphones so I can’t hear the cars passing.”
 
“That’s kind of intense,” Jiyong murmured.
 
“Yeah,” Seunghyun laughed. “I dunno, I like feeling isolated, even when it
freaks me out.”
 
Reaching up, he framed Seunghyun’s face, thumbs sweeping over the swell of his
cheekbones. Sometimes it messed with his head when he thought about how similar
they were, even in their differences. How strange it was that they’d even found
each other. How much had changed since they did.
 
“I know what you mean,” he replied.
 
“That’s why I thought it might be nice to step away for a minute. Before we
have to go back to the circus.”
 
Seunghyun’s mouth slanted wryly and Jiyong chuckled, currently disinclined to
imagine what special kind of hell going back to school would be. He hadn’t even
wasted any energy thinking about Victor and the idea of having to deal with the
jackass again made him want to punch something. But he didn’t let the
frustration own him, the gentle nudge of Seunghyun’s nose against his enough to
keep him here. Enough to ground him. Jiyong tipped forward, pressing a firm
kiss to soft lips. Seunghyun wrapped his arms around Jiyong’s waist and for a
while he let himself drown in it--the odd hush, the sharp cold biting his skin,
feeling like they were only living things left in the world.
 
Later, they both sat on the trunk and smoked, looking out at the desolate
landscape, talking and not talking. He appreciated how natural it was for them
to sit there together and not say a word. That it was okay to be silent. Okay
to keep some thoughts to himself and give voice to others. But there was one
topic in particular that still lingered heavily on his mind and as he played
with Seunghyun’s fingers, he decided not talking about it wasn’t going to do
him any good.
 
“Seunghyun,” Jiyong spoke up, drawing his attention away from dark tree
branches. “What made you change your mind about helping me with Dami?”
 
Because finally having someone who was on his side in this argument was like a
fucking dream come true. Seunghyun sighed and regarded him intently for several
moments, expression pensive.
 
"I realized that we're different people and that just because I think a certain
way doesn't mean you should too.” Seunghyun’s eyebrow quirked and he took a
drag from his cigarette. “Mind blowing stuff, right?"
 
Laughing slightly, Jiyong nodded. “Yeah.”
 
“You feel how you feel,” the boy continued, looking away again. “Which is good,
because you give me perspective, and I guess I just want you to be happy. Being
in school obviously doesn’t do that.”
 
His smile faded and he stared at Seunghyun’s profile, stunned beyond measure.
The words had been simple but spoken so matter-of-factly. With the kind of
certainty he rarely claimed for himself. Jiyong breathed shallowly, not sure
how to react and sort of just really overwhelmed in general. Which was nothing
new at this point. And now it seemed as if his entire body was connected to
countless threads, drawing him near. Like gravity. Something inevitable and
absolute.
 
With a flick of his wrist, Seunghyun sent his cigarette butt flying into a pile
of muddy snow and then turned back. He smiled, bashful from the scrutiny.
“What?”
 
“I--” Jiyong blurted and cut himself off, averting his gaze to concentrate on
their hands. How did he explain this? Did he even know what the fuck he was
about to say? Closing his eyes, he inhaled and just opened his mouth and let
whatever wanted to fall out, fall out.
 
“I dunno, it’s surreal, being with you and listening to you speak. Like you’re
some kind of hallucination that I cooked up one night after taking too many
hits to the face . Because sometimes--most of the time--I think I don’t deserve
you. But the way I...the way I feel, about you, the way you make me feel, it’s-
-” Jiyong huffed in amusement and nerves, tilting back to stare at the gray
sky, shaking his head. “This is seriously the cheesiest thing I’ll ever say,
but there’s nothing more real than that.”
 
The fingers in his held fast and he didn’t stop staring at the wall of clouds
until he had the courage to see exactly what gross sentiment would be exploding
from those stupid fucking eyes. That he loved. Because he was an idiot.
 
Jiyong felt Seunghyun lean into him then--felt the heat of his breath as he
touched his forehead to Jiyong’s temple.
 
“You know I love you, right?” came the low whisper.
 
He grit his teeth, chest aching. Not gonna cry, not gonna cry. Except tears had
begun to pool at the corners of his eyes anyway.
 
“Yeah,” Jiyong choked, throat so tight. God, I hate this.
 
But that was a lie. Just like he couldn’t keep pretending that he hadn’t given
his heart away months ago.
 
Releasing a heavy sigh, he finally looked down, shifting so that his face was
resting against Seunghyun’s. “How did you get to be so important?” he asked.
 
Seunghyun broke out into a grin, giddy laughter warm on Jiyong’s lips. “I could
ask you the same thing.”
 
“Jesus, shut up,” he whined and sniffled, shoving at the boy’s shoulder. “I
love your dumb ass too much already. Don’t make it worse.”
 
More laughter followed, Seunghyun dragging them from the car so he could pull
Jiyong in for a bear hug, the two of them tottering off balance on the uneven
soil. Frozen air hurt his lungs when he started giggling. Seunghyun walked them
in circles and Jiyong burrowed into his neck, fingers clenched in the fabric of
his coat, dizzy, alive.
 
If there was one thing he wanted to make sure he never forgot, it was now.
 
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     a/n: forgot to credit the poem, oops."it's good to feel you are close
     to me" belongs to pablo neruda, i own nothing.
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