Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1600364.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      EXO_(Band)
  Relationship:
      Kim_Jongin_|_Kai/Lu_Han
  Character:
      Lu_Han, Kim_Jongin_|_Kai, Wu_Yi_Fan_|_Kris, Zhang_Yi_Xing_|_Lay, Byun
      Baekhyun, Park_Chanyeol, Kim_Minseok_|_Xiumin
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Infidelity, Ambiguous_Relationships, Children, Alternate_Universe
      -_Domestic
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-11 Words: 48778
****** grey zone ******
by unhinged_(anti60ne)
Notes
     >>warnings: luhan married to a woman and implied sex with said woman.
     do not read if you cannot handle this.
     >>i apologize for the shitty formatting. some words should be
     italicized and probably aren't but i'm too lazy to go through
     everything.
See the end of the work for more notes
Prologue
 
“What are we?” Jongin asked out of nowhere. Luhan whipped his head around and
shot him a surprised look. “I just… I don’t know. Just wondering. It’s not a
big deal, really…” Jongin trailed off, eyes dropping to Luhan’s arm that was
circled around his waist. He took Luhan’s hand and began to trace the
protruding veins on the back, like mapping a web of intersecting roads that
might take him to Luhan’s heart.
 
Luhan thought about this. What were they? They were friends that surpassed the
hyung-dongsaeng honorifics, but they were not just friends. Were they lovers?
Fuck buddies with an emotional connection? Companions extended from a platonic
relationship? What were they, really?
 
“We are two people who love each other,” Luhan said finally as he drew his hand
from Jongin’s. Luhan put his palms on either side of Jongin’s face and looked
into the twinkles of familiar stars. “Is that good enough?” Luhan said half-
jokingly, a smirk playing at his lips.
 
“It’s more than enough,” Jongin whispered as he leaned in, smiling against
Luhan’s mouth. That was the sweetest Luhan had ever tasted of Jongin.
 
The sweetest.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Luhan’s cell phone buzzed against the desk surface when he leaned in and blew
dust particles off the computer screen. He tipped back and hit Ctrl+S out of
habit before picking up the phone.
 
Could you pick up some milk on your way home?
 
Will do
 
Thanks hun
 
Luhan put the phone away and snatched up a ballpoint pen from the holder in the
corner of his desk. He uncapped the pen with his teeth and scribbled milk in
his palm. It was a habit he picked up after numerous occasions in which his
forgetfulness landed him in a state of embarrassment in public, but he
reinforced the behavior to avoid unwanted, petty quarrels with Minjoo.
 
He pressed the tip of the pen into his palm, tracing the letters so the ink
bled into the web of palm lines. Luhan capped the pen closed, tossed it back
into the pen holder, and returned his attention to the report he was typing up
before Minjoo’s text message arrived.
 
“Hey.”
 
A voice rang above his cubicle. Luhan looked up into his colleague flashing a
Cheshire grin.
 
“Hey, Chanyeol. What’s up?”
 
“The team’s gonna go to the bar down the block after work. Was gonna ask if you
wanted to come,” Chanyeol replied, crossing his arms on top of Luhan’s cubicle.
 
“Oh um, I think Minjoo is expecting me home for dinner,” Luhan said, looking
down with guilt. It must have been the third time this month he declined his
colleagues’ offers to get together. Chanyeol clicked his tongue. He picked up a
photo frame from Luhan’s desk.
 
“You are so whipped, man,” Chanyeol shook his head sympathetically. “How’s she
doing though? I heard she quit her job to take care of Haru,” he asked as he
pored over the framed photo of Luhan with his wife and 3-year-old daughter. 
 
“She actually went back part-time a few months ago. But how did you hear? Oh
did Yifan tell you?”
 
Luhan was surprised. He didn’t remember telling Chanyeol—or anyone at work—that
Minjoo had left her job at the art gallery. He didn’t really talk much about
Minjoo with his colleagues, but they did share mutual friends. Chanyeol and
Yifan were suitemates in college, and Luhan had hung out with them a few times
before he started working at the firm. In fact, Luhan had landed his job
through Chanyeol’s referral. He was still grateful for his cousin introducing
him to Chanyeol, who was friends with the HR manager even though at the time he
was just a junior analyst. Luhan began twirling a stray pen that his fingers
had curled around on his desk.
 
“Yeah, I met up with him the other day and we were talking about you. He
brought it up.”
 
“You were talking about me? Why?”
 
“Just how you haven’t come out in a while, it feels like. But hey, that means
even Yifan-hyung’s info is outdated. When was the last time you spoke to him?”
Chanyeol shot him a thoughtful glance. Luhan was at a loss, Chanyeol could
tell. He moved on.
 
“Never mind. You got a family. It’s hard, I understand. Well,” Chanyeol rolled
his eyes up in an afterthought, “technically, I don’t, but I can imagine. Sort
of.”
 
Chanyeol was, like the majority of people Luhan knew in his age group,
unmarried. He was dating someone seriously, but Luhan couldn’t be sure. He was
typically out of the loop when it came to updates about his unmarried friends,
ever since he got married almost four years ago. Luhan’s eyes flitted to
Chanyeol’s left hand, ring finger unbarred. He felt a sour lump going down his
throat. He reached for the photo frame in Chanyeol’s hand and chuckled weakly.
 
“I’ll try to come out next time,” Luhan said, looking at the photo, then up at
Chanyeol.
 
“You do that. Oh actually,” Chanyeol’s eyes widened as something occurred to
him, “why don’t you bring noona out? You guys can get a babysitter, right?”
Chanyeol looked at Luhan expectantly, but seemed to regret what he proposed
when he saw the hesitation on Luhan’s face.
 
“Well, technically we can, but Minjoo doesn’t exactly trust sitters,” Luhan
explained with a forced smile. He didn’t add that the only people Minjoo
trusted to take care of their daughter were her parents and Luhan’s parents.
Minjoo’s parents were in Seoul, so her mother sometimes helped out. On the
other hand, Luhan’s parents were in Beijing, though they had moved to Seoul and
lived with the young couple for almost two years after the wedding. He also
didn’t bother to explain that Minjoo had left her job to become a full-time
housewife last year because she fired their previous live-in nanny. Recalling
that incident made Luhan’s head hurt, so he forced himself to veer off the
memory lane and refocus on Chanyeol looking at him curiously.
 
“Huh,” Chanyeol said, looking as if a question was on the tip of his tongue. To
Luhan’s relief, he dropped it. “Well, say hi to noona and Haru for me. I should
get on with my errand.” Chanyeol brandished a file from his back. “Catch you
later, hyung.”
 
After Chanyeol’s head disappeared from above his cubicle, Luhan looked down at
the photo frame, still in his hands. The photo was taken a year ago, when Haru
just turned two and they went to Jeju. Luhan remembered pleading his supervisor
for permission to take a week off because there were still two weeks until the
peak season tapered off but those were the only days Minjoo could take off. She
was still working as the manager of the art gallery then, gunning down the
Lexus to Apgujeong in her stilettos and a pencil skirt that hugged her
postpartum curves. Luhan had promised her they would go to Jeju, the three of
them. He made her lots of promises, and he usually kept them. But not without
sacrifices.
 
(He was just beginning to feel the emptiness of having made all those
sacrifices so their lives could seem a little fuller.)
 
Luhan sighed and put the photo frame back to where it belonged, toward the edge
of his desk, propped up at an angle where he could see Haru smiling at him. He
gave the photo one last look before resuming typing on the keyboard.
 
 
Luhan clocked out a little after six after emailing his finished report to his
supervisor. He packed up, shut down his computer, and tossed a hasty goodbye to
Chanyeol and others as he passed by their cubicles. With a swipe of his ID,
Luhan shuffled out the office, the tail of his trench coat flapping behind him.
 
He was right outside the subway entrance when he took the transit card out of
his wallet and inadvertently glanced at the inside of his hand.
 
“Shit,” Luhan cursed under his breath. He had almost forgotten about the milk.
He shoved the transit card back into his wallet and whipped around, almost
walking into the person waiting behind him to swipe through. He mumbled an
apology and took off in a brisk walk up the stairs and out of the subway
station. He headed to the convenience store just off of the corner of the
station, the early spring breeze of March brushing past his face.
 
Even though he passed by the store every day on his way into the subway
station, Luhan had rarely been inside. There was an H Mart near their house
where Minjoo did grocery shopping, and Luhan stopped picking up personal items
at convenience stores ever since he became a married man with a wife that
insisted on purchasing bulk supplies. Luhan’s eyes shot toward the ceiling,
scanning the aisle signs. He walked straight to the refrigerated section in the
back. As he hurriedly rounded the corner of an aisle, he bumped into a man
holding a basket half full of items. Luhan let out a small yelp as the corner
of the basket dug into his thigh.
 
“Jesus, I am so sorry,” the man apologized frantically. “Are you alright?”
 
Luhan rubbed at his thigh, the smooth fabric of his slacks chafing against his
skin. He might get a small bruise from the collision, but nothing serious.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
 
“I’m incredibly sorry.”
 
Luhan finally raised his eyes to the man who spoke with a smooth baritone. The
man was studying him with deep, dark eyes, shapely brows knitted in worry. He
was scratching his head underneath a black Supreme snapback that matched the
rest of his street outfit – a grey HBA sweatshirt, dark denims that hung
loosely on his hips, and red Jordans with white stripes. He looked like a
college student, Luhan thought.
 
“It’s fine. Really,” Luhan reassured him. The man peered at him searchingly.
Luhan looked away, slightly uncomfortable under the gaze. He gave a small bow
as if to conclude the conversation, then walked around the man, right hand
fiddling with the ring on his left hand as he headed to the dairy section. He
stood in front of the door to shelves of milk and yogurt, and exhaled when out
of the corner of his eye he saw the man disappear into the aisle. He grabbed
the nearest quart of milk, not bothering to check the expiration date as he
always did.
 
A one-hour commute later, Luhan trudged up the steps to his house. He let the
door slam shut behind him as he entered the foyer, tossing his keys into the
ceramic bowl on the tea table. He stepped out of his dress shoes, nudged them
neatly together and then to the side with his feet. Faint sounds of the TV and
the crisp laughter of a child drifted from inside the house. He smiled as
fatigue fled from him.
 
“Haru-ah! Daddy’s home!” Luhan shouted into the living room, in Mandarin, as he
set the jug of milk down on the tea table. He tried to speak Mandarin to Haru
as much as possible, except when it was all three of them, so she would be
fluent in her half-mother tongue.
 
“Daddy!”            
 
Haru ran out, wobbling on two short legs with her arms open wide. Minjoo
followed after.
 
“Haru, not too fast.”
 
The reprimand fell on deaf ears as the little girl ran right into Luhan’s arms.
Luhan swept her up in a flourish, Haru giggling as he smacked a big kiss on her
cheek. He felt like it had been ages since he last saw her squirming in his
arms instead of sound asleep in her bed. The past week had been a blur—a large
project in which he took part forced him to log long hours at work, coming home
to the door to Haru’s room already closed.
 
“Has my baby girl been good today? Hmm?” Luhan asked Haru, who nodded
fervently. He turned sideways to Minjoo as she walked up to him, leaned down
and pecked her on the lips.
 
“Did you get the milk?” Minjoo asked as soon as Luhan’s mouth left hers.
 
“Yeah,” Luhan jutted his chin toward the tea table. He turned back to Haru who
was pulling the hair on his nape. “So what did you do today?”
 
“Mommy taked me to the park! Then I—“
 
“This is whole milk,” Minjoo said flatly, cutting into Haru’s oblivious
babbling. Her eyes were stern on Luhan, spilling disappointment. Luhan shut his
eyes and tried not to curse—not in front of Haru. He silently chided himself
for forgetting. Minjoo wanted 2%, he knew that.
 
“Sorry. I…” Luhan thought of explaining, how it must have slipped his mind
after that guy bumped into him at the convenience store, but he knew it
wouldn’t have made a difference. So he said nothing more.
 
“I’ll go get it right now.”
 
He didn’t want to, and his arms were comfortable around Haru, but he knew
Minjoo. Her long-winded discourse on the difference between whole and 2% milk
and the health benefits for growing children still echoed in the back of his
head. Minjoo had made the switch when she was pregnant with Haru, and they
never had whole milk in their fridge since. Even though Luhan honestly didn’t
know—or care—why it should matter so much, he felt like maybe Minjoo did know
better. She was the one that read all those books on both pre- and post-natal
care, not him. And surely every decision she made was for Haru’s well-being.
That was one thing Luhan was still certain of when it came to Minjoo, an
indisputable fact, like the silver band fitting securely around his left ring
finger.
 
(But sometimes, Luhan wondered if he just didn’t want to bother fighting
Minjoo. Just sometimes.)
 
“Forget it,” Minjoo dismissed with a sigh. “I’ll pick it up tomorrow. You’ll
just have to find a way to tell Haru why she’s not having cereal for
breakfast.”
 
Minjoo turned around and walked into the kitchen. Luhan stared at her back, and
heaved a sigh. He tightened his hold around his daughter who was humming a tune
and running stubby fingers over his stubble.
 
“What are you singing?” he asked, rubbing her nose with his own.
 
“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug. “I heard from the panda.”
 
“What panda?”
 
Her arm shot out, pointing toward the living room. “The panda on TV.”
 
“Ohh.” Luhan chuckled. He heard Minjoo calling them for dinner. “Mommy said
dinner is ready. Is Haru hungry? Haru want food?”
 
“Yeah,” she nodded slowly while playing with her own fingers. “A lot of food!”
She yelled and threw her arms in the air. Luhan laughed.
 
“Let’s go get Haru some food then, hm?”
 
Luhan shifted her weight on his hands, then his eyes fell on the tea table. The
jug of milk was still sitting there. Luhan pulled his lips between his teeth,
annoyance simmering inside his chest. He doused it and pushed it down into far
corners of his stomach. He let Haru down to the floor and picked up the jug
before his daughter tugged him forward by his pants.
 
Minjoo set a pot of beef stew on the table when they entered the dining room.
She lifted the lid, and steam spilled over and braided upward. Luhan dropped
the milk on the table and hoisted Haru up and settled her into a chair at the
end of the table.
 
“Honey, could you get us utensils?” Minjoo said without looking up as she doled
out the plates.
 
“Yeah.” Luhan kissed Haru on the head, then picked up the milk and went into
the kitchen. He pulled open the fridge and stashed the milk in the side panel,
fleetingly thinking he’d have to somehow finish that whole quart by himself.
Then he pulled out a drawer under the marble countertop and grabbed two sets of
spoons and chopsticks.
 
“You got everything for Haru?” He yelled toward the dining room. Minjoo replied
yes. Luhan walked back out and set the utensils down. He was about to grab a
bowl for rice when Minjoo picked it up. She flipped open the lid of the rice
cooker set at the other end of the table, opposite from Haru’s seat.
 
“I got it. Why don’t you help feed Haru?” Minjoo said, tossing Luhan a glance
before digging the paddle into the rice cooker. Luhan looked at her, feeling
guilty again that he got the wrong milk. She must have been still irked with
Luhan, yet she knew Luhan wanted to spend as much time with Haru as he could,
now that Haru was at Minjoo’s parents’ place three days a week when Minjoo had
work. He walked over to Minjoo and wrapped his arms around her.
 
“I’m really sorry about the milk,” he murmured against her ear. She filled a
bowl and set it down next to the rice cooker. She sighed softly.
 
“It’s okay. I was just surprised that you forgot. What happened? You never
forget.”
 
Luhan contemplated telling her what happened at the convenience store; now that
she actually asked, it wouldn’t come off as an excuse. He opened his mouth when
Haru smacked hard on the table.
 
“I’m hungry!” the little girl whined in Korean, slamming both hands down.
 
“Okay, okay.” Luhan said soothingly. He peeled off his wife and shuffled to the
other end of the table, then plopped down in the chair diagonal to Haru. He
took a child-sized bowl of rice and scooped a small spoonful, bringing it close
to Haru’s mouth.
 
“Ahhh,” Luhan mimed for Haru to open her mouth wide. He carefully slid the
spoon inside her mouth until she closed it. Haru began chewing happily when
Minjoo let out a groan.
 
“Luhan! You’re supposed to have her eat by herself!” Minjoo frowned as she
brought over two filled bowls of rice and set one down before Luhan.
 
“Oops,” Luhan mock-gasped, shooting his hand up to his mouth. Haru giggled,
then snatched the spoon from Luhan’s hand and dug it into the bowl.
 
“I keep forgetting. Sorry.” Luhan stuck out his tongue at Minjoo before turning
back to Haru, who had managed to fling several grains on herself as she
attempted gathering a spoonful. But he wasn’t really that sorry, because he
knew Minjoo wasn’t really that mad about it.
 
“Haru-ah, Daddy spoils you too much. What am I gonna do with him?” Minjoo said
with an exaggerated tone of worry as she picked stray rice grains from Haru’s
shirt.
 
“Spank him!” Haru screamed, raising her spoon in the air. Luhan gaped, and
Minjoo burst out laughing.
 
“Damn…our daughter is scary.” Luhan whispered, turning wide eyes from his
daughter to his wife, who couldn’t stop laughing as she wiped Haru’s mouth.
 
 
After a meal full of laughter, Luhan did the dishes as Minjoo pulled Haru from
her chair and took her to bed, promising her that Daddy would read her a
bedtime story. From the kitchen, Luhan heard Minjoo leave Haru’s room and walk
into the master bedroom, turning on the TV before closing the door to the
bathroom. It was a routine when Haru was home and Minjoo had work the next
morning, Luhan had learned it with trial and error, like which drawer from the
top Minjoo put his socks. Luhan sped up the scrubbing; he wanted to have a
quick talk with Minjoo before she slept.
 
Luhan rinsed out the last plate and set it on the drying rack, then wiped his
hands on the towel. He turned out the light in the kitchen and strode to Haru’s
room. Minjoo had left the door open and a floor lamp on by Haru’s bed.
 
“Hey princess. Ready for bedtime story?” Luhan said as he closed the door. He
sat down on the bed and brushed the hair off Haru’s face.
“Yeah.” Haru pushed up against the head of the bed. “Daddy, I wanna hear The
Three Bears.” She shoved the storybook into Luhan’s lap as she rolled around,
wrinkling the covers that Minjoo had tucked in.
 
“Three Bears again?” Luhan said, flipping the book open. Both he and Minjoo had
read the story so many times that the edges of the book were becoming worn and
tattered. Haru nodded solemnly.
 
“You didn’t read it to me for a long time,” she said with a pout.
 
“Oh, sweetie.” Luhan took her small hand and squeezed it. Even though Minjoo
read to her when he couldn’t, he knew it wasn’t the same. He enjoyed reading to
Haru much more than Minjoo, and somehow he knew that Haru was aware of it. “I’m
sorry.”
 
“It’s okay. I still love you,” Haru said, brightening up again as if she’d
never complained. Luhan smiled. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
 
“I love you more.”
 
Luhan began reading, and, as usual, Haru fell asleep a few pages in. Luhan
continued reading for another page or so, just to be sure she was sound asleep.
Then he closed the book, pressed a lingering kiss into her forehead, and shut
off the lamp. He put away the book and tiptoed out of her room.
 
“Oh good, you’re still up,” Luhan said in relief when he saw Minjoo slouched
against the head of the bed, reading a paperback with glasses slid halfway her
nose. Minjoo glanced up.
 
“Why?” Minjoo asked, dropping her eyes back down on the page.
 
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Luhan said as he rolled down his
sleeves and began unbuttoning his dress shirt.
 
Minjoo dropped the book and sat up. She pushed her glasses back up on her nose.
 
“Is it bad?”
 
Luhan chuckled, balling up his shirt and tossing it into the laundry basket
like a basketball. His undershirt quickly followed.
 
“Nah, it’s just… Haru.” Luhan worked on his belt and turned to Minjoo. “Don’t
you think it’s time she went to preschool? I was talking to the Jungs the other
day and they said Changmin already registered for this fall.”
 
Changmin was the toddler of their neighbors, a Korean-American couple who had
moved next door when they returned from America a year ago. They were one of
the families that Luhan and Minjoo had become close to, arranging for regular
playdates and exchanging childcare tips. Luhan had been thinking about
preschool for Haru for a while now, but only brought it up now because the
Jungs had been asking about carpool and were surprised to hear that Haru wasn’t
on her way to preschool yet.
 
Luhan stepped out of the slacks that had pooled around his ankles and looked up
at Minjoo. She was looking at him pensively. The book was left open on her lap,
her thumb jammed between the pages. She took off her glasses and pinched her
nose bridge.
 
“Yeah, I know. Mom was asking me about it when I went to pick up Haru two days
ago. She was more nervous than I was, saying we’d miss the registration
deadline if we don’t get on it, like, this week.” Minjoo shook her head. Luhan
straightened his slacks as he listened. “I actually wanted to talk to you about
that too.”
 
“Preschool?” Luhan grabbed a coat hanger and draped his slacks over it. He hung
them up in the closet and walked into the bathroom.
 
“Yeah. I was thinking…” Minjoo trailed off as she watched Luhan lean close to
the mirror, examining his hairline. He had become conscious of it ever since he
stumbled upon a hair loss commercial that starred a man who looked his age. He
picked up his toothbrush and squeezed toothpaste over it. “After we send Haru
to preschool, I might go back to work. Full time,” she added.
 
Luhan paused in the middle of brushing his teeth. He chewed over her words as
he rinsed his mouth. Minjoo’s proposal didn’t come as a complete shock to
Luhan. She had been working at the art gallery ever since she graduated, and
curating was her passion. She had even talked about going back to school to
become a certified curator. Plus, the gallery was one of the largest in
Apgujeong, and she had worked her way to a managerial position before switching
to part-time. Luhan knew Minjoo was a career woman, even before they had Haru.
She wasn’t cut out to be a professional housewife and Luhan could tell how it
was wearing her down.
 
Luhan did, however, wish Minjoo were okay with staying home and taking care of
Haru. Luhan’s job as a senior banker earned them enough to cover all the
childcare costs, but Luhan never argued, not once after Minjoo mentioned rather
pointedly about college funds and retirement plans. He admitted she had a point
there. Minjoo always made sure that Haru’s needs were met, and also her own.
 
(Sometimes Luhan felt like she didn’t trust anyone—not even Luhan himself—to be
capable of looking after her. But he told himself it wasn’t true.)
 
“So you’re thinking full-day school?” Luhan asked after spitting out. He turned
on the faucet and splashed water on his face. Full-day preschool was not
uncommon; there were plenty of such programs for couples who worked full-time,
especially young parents like them. The options were basically grandparents,
live-in nannies, or full-day preschool. Luhan automatically wrote off nannies,
knowing that was a territory Minjoo would never venture into again. A one-time
incident of Haru choking on a piece of broccoli that wasn’t properly diced was
traumatic enough to last them both a lifetime.
 
“Yeah, maybe like three days a week? Or two days,” Minjoo said, sticking a
bookmark into the book and closing it. She put it away on the bedside table and
slid down underneath the covers, propping up on her elbow, facing the open
bathroom door. “Mom is always eager to look after Haru. I’m sure she’ll be fine
with whatever schedule we decide on.”
 
“Yeah, I mean,” Luhan said as he turned off the faucet and tugged on a hand
towel, drying his face. “That should be fine.” He flipped down the switch in
the bathroom and walked out, stretching out a crick in his back. “Try to get
three days. At least in the beginning. I’m not sure how Haru would feel about
preschool.” Luhan climbed into bed and sighed in content. The covers felt
unbelievably cozy against his skin after a long day at work.
 
“I’m sure she’ll like it,” Minjoo said, but her tone rolled into dismissal
rather than reassurance. Luhan frowned; he must have imagined it. He shrugged
it off and rolled onto his side, facing Minjoo just as she sat up to turn out
the bedside lamp. Luhan’s eyes drank in the smooth skin of her upper back,
exposed as her long hair swayed to the side of her neck. He scooted closer and
snaked an arm around her as she lay down on her side. The fabric of her
camisole tickled his chest as he caught a whiff of coconut from her hair. He
inhaled, the familiar scent of Minjoo tingling his nose pleasantly. He couldn’t
remember the last time he smelled her this closely.
 
“You smell good,” Luhan murmured in her ear. She chuckled as he nosed in her
neck.
 
“I always do,” she said. He hummed, and slid his hand across her hip bone and
underneath her camisole, fingers trailing across warm skin. She put her hand
over his, stopping it as his fingers crawled to the edge of her underwear.
 
“I have work tomorrow.” Luhan stiffened. He pulled his hand back. So do I, he
thought while resisting heaving a sigh.
 
“Right. Sorry babe,” he apologized halfheartedly, dropping a kiss on her
temple. “Good night.”
 
He rolled over. She said nothing.
 
Luhan closed his eyes and swallowed a sigh. He wondered if it was normal to be
saying so many sorry’s in one day, rubbing into the bruise on his upper thigh.
 
 
Luhan had been staring at the computer screen for a good five minutes now,
boring a conflicted gaze into an email from Yifan. His cousin had decided to go
to University of Pennsylvania in America for an MBA, something he had been
talking about for the past year or so but with no action. Luhan didn’t even
know Yifan had applied and been accepted. He felt guilty, being as clueless
about his own cousin as everyone else, but decided not to beat himself up over
it. He had been busy helping Minjoo with preschool registration the past few
weeks, submitting Haru’s application just by the deadline. Still, he couldn’t
help but feel a familiar sense of loss, knowing that people close to him were
moving onto the next stage in their lives. It made him feel like he was stuck
on a platform, waiting for his train while everyone else had already boarded
and on their way to the next destination, someplace filled with unencountered
adventures and untasted cuisines.
 
(Maybe he was waiting for a train that would never come. Maybe, instead of
waiting, what he should do was to get off the platform. But his feet were
stubborn, and a part of him wanted to wait.)
 
Yifan’s email was an invitation for a weekend getaway to Jeju, both in
celebration of his acceptance to a prestigious business school, and farewell
before he went overseas for two years. It was the perfect spot for this time of
the year, as the summer crowd had yet to dominate the island and the June heat
was warm enough for the beach. Luhan clicked open the list of
recipients—besides himself, the email was sent to Chanyeol, Minseok, Baekhyun,
and Yixing. Luhan briefly considered the level of noise with Chanyeol and
Baekhyun present, but decided that Yixing and Minseok were reliable buffers.
The dates were slated two weeks from now, and Yifan requested a reply in three
days in order to make reservations. Three days was sufficient for most guys to
decide if they wanted to go to Jeju for a weekend, and plenty for those with no
romantic ties. But Luhan had more than romantic ties; he had a wife and a
daughter. He usually spent weekends with Haru, sometimes over at his in-law’s
while Minjoo took a break out with her friends. He was torn between Haru and a
bunch of dudes. Even now, he was still plagued by the dilemma of spending time
with a female instead of his buddies. Not much had changed since college. Luhan
scratched at the back of his head and groaned.
 
“Don’t tell me you’re actually debating whether to go or not.”
 
Chanyeol popped his head over Luhan’s cubicle, looking at him soberly. Luhan
shot him a gratuitous glance before pulling his eyes back to the email.
 
“It’s just… Haru’s going to preschool soon and—“
 
“I know, that’s exactly why you need to go out there and take a breather,”
Chanyeol cut him off, dropping his arms on the top of the cubicle. “When was
the last time you hung out with any of us? Be honest.”
 
Luhan turned the question over in his head. He tried to remember. Was it
Minseok’s birthday? That was in March, over three months ago. He didn’t say a
word, but the flimsy smile on his face betrayed his guilt, and Chanyeol caught
it.
 
“Look,” Chanyeol said, looking around before dropping his head and lowering his
voice. “I know your family’s important, but you’re only 25, hyung. If you
conform to the average lifespan of a person, you have about fifty years left to
spend with them. Two days apart from them isn’t gonna hurt anyone.”
 
Luhan didn’t look at him as he listened. He looked at the framed photo on his
desk instead.
 
“Can I bring Haru?”
 
“If you want to expose a toddler to risky behavior such as binge drinking and
recreational drug use, sure,” Chanyeol said blankly. Luhan winced.
 
“I was just kidding. You’re right,” Luhan said finally, carding his fingers
through his hair. “Yeah. You’re right. I’ll speak to Minjoo.”
 
Chanyeol gave him a look that Luhan wasn’t sure was pity or resignation, or
both. He didn’t say anything more and left Luhan alone with an offhanded wave.
 
Luhan reached for his phone with half the mind to call Minjoo before replying
to Yifan, but decided against it before he pressed speed dial two. For once, he
was going to make up his mind and simply inform Minjoo of his decision rather
than asking for her permission. Yifan was the only family he had in Seoul, and
he was going to Jeju whether or not Minjoo might like it. He replied to Yifan’s
email with an affirmative. After he clicked send, Luhan got a rush of
adrenaline as if he was a teenager all over again, sneaking out past curfew and
pocketing keys to his dad’s car.
 
On the subway ride home Luhan crafted a speech inside his head, tapping fingers
against his palm over the strap he held onto. His heart drummed as he
approached home, stomach doing double turns not at the thought of a long-
awaited dinner, but at Minjoo’s reaction to his going away to Jeju. He took a
moment in the foyer to steel his nerves before striding inside toward the
dining table.
 
“Daddy!” Haru turned around on her chair and beamed at Luhan. He replied with a
forced grin. Minjoo was seated next to Haru at the dining table, reading
something as Haru ate her soup. Minjoo looked up and smiled at Luhan.
 
“Hey,” she said, craning her neck as Luhan leaned down and dropped a quick kiss
on her lips. He tasted a tinge of miso. Then he looked down to Haru who was
clutching his leg, tugging on his pants in a silent request for a hug. Luhan
bent down and let her throw her arms around his neck, clinging to him like a
koala.
 
“How was work?” Minjoo asked, eyes lowering to the documents before her.
 
“It was fine,” Luhan said. “Things are slowing down a little. For now at
least.”
 
He sat down on Haru’s seat, steering the little girl on his lap to face the
table. Instinctively, he reached for the spoon half-submerged in the soup, then
remembered as Minjoo shot him a glance.
 
“Haru, eat your soup.”
 
“I don’t like fishie,” Haru moaned. Minjoo had made miso soup with broiled
fish. Luhan took her hand and curled it around the handle of the spoon. Minjoo
got up and went to the kitchen. Luhan was momentarily distracted before
returning his attention to Haru.
 
“Fishie is good for you.”
 
Haru puckered into a pout invisible to Luhan as she twirled her spoon in the
soup. Luhan collected his thoughts and was about to call out to Minjoo when she
emerged with a bowl of soup and a spoon. She set them down before Luhan, next
to Haru’s bowl.
 
“I’ll heat up something for you.”
 
“Wait,” Luhan said, grasping her wrist before she turned and walked away.
Minjoo looked at him, surprised. “I have something to tell you first.” Minjoo
paused, tilting her head as if she caught the tremors in Luhan’s voice. She sat
down diagonal to Luhan.
 
“Why do you always start off with such an ominous introduction?” Minjoo asked.
Luhan was stumped by the way her lips curved up in the corner. “Is this about
the Jeju trip?”
 
“How did you know?” he sputtered.
 
“Yifan called me about an hour ago,” she said, fixing him with an appraising
look, and chuckled. Luhan’s shoulders relaxed and he made a mental note to self
to text Yifan a thank-you as soon as he got a chance. “You looked like you were
going to tell me that you got fired or something,” she teased. Luhan blinked
and looked away, embarrassed.
 
“I just… I don’t know. I felt bad, I guess.”
 
“Well, you should,” she said, and Luhan’s eyes snapped back up. “I’ll have to
suffer through 48 hours of Haru’s whining because Daddy can’t play with her,”
she directed the last part of the sentence to Haru, whose ears perked up.
 
“Daddy can’t play with me? Why?” Haru asked, frowning at Luhan. Luhan’s face
fell as he groaned.
 
“Nooo Min, I’m not ready for this yet,” he said as he tried to hide from Haru’s
accusatory look.
 
“She’ll cry less when she hears it the second time right before you leave,”
Minjoo supplied helpfully. Luhan didn’t think the advice was much helpful when
Haru abandoned her soup and decided to tug on his tie instead. He coughed and
gently pried off Haru’s hand. He shot Minjoo a glance that said help, which was
smartly ignored as she disappeared into the kitchen. 
 
 
In between hasty bites of his lukewarm dinner, Luhan broke the news to Haru in
a somewhat cowardly fashion of a made-up tale (“Daddy is going away to kill
space monsters!”) that just barely convinced the little girl. When Haru asked
Luhan if he was going to bring her rocks from Mars, he placated her with a
quick assent, hoping she would forget her own request by the time he returned
from the trip. Being her princess-y self, Haru demanded Luhan read her The Cat
in the Hat while wearing The Hat, and Luhan slipped into a moment of confusion
as to why the red-and-white-striped accessory existed in her room in the first
place.
 
“Space monsters? Really?” Minjoo said when Luhan finally pushed open the door
into their bedroom, looking all sorts of worn out. Luhan scowled at her.
 
“It was nerve-racking enough to work up a speech to explain to you, I had no
energy whatsoever to deal if she ended up crying.” Luhan plopped on the bed,
face down and still in his work clothes.
 
“A speech? Were you that scared to tell me?” Minjoo’s voice lilted in
amusement. Luhan twisted his head to the side, facing her. She had her chin set
in her palm, leaning forward with her head tilted to the side, watching him
with an eyebrow raised.
 
“Yes. No. Maybe,” he said pathetically, eyes closed so he didn’t have to see
Minjoo smirking. He felt a peck on his nose. He opened his eyes. Minjoo was
already leaning back and sinking underneath the covers.
 
“What was that for?” he mumbled and closed his eyes again. He was not in the
mood of taking his clothes off because that would require him to move. He
briefly considered going to bed dressed, though he was becoming acutely aware
of how uncomfortable his socks were.
 
“A friendly reminder that I’m your wife, not your mother, and you’re a grown
man capable of making rational choices.”
 
“The fact that you’re telling me this makes me feel like I’m not a grown man.”
 
“If you’re gonna go to bed fully dressed, you’ll prove yourself right.”
 
Luhan grunted and rolled onto his back. He really didn’t want to get up and
remove his clothes, but he also wanted to prove that he was an adult that was
capable of adequate personal hygiene. He settled for haphazardly undoing the
buttons of his shirt, wriggling out of his clothes, and toeing off his socks.
He kicked his slacks and socks off the bed and pushed the shirts over the edge.
Then he crawled under the covers, eyelids weighing down.
 
“Are you serious?” Minjoo exclaimed. “I am not picking those up for you
tomorrow.”
 
“Whatever, Mom,” Luhan drawled. Then he rolled over, smiling mischievously
before shoving his face into Minjoo’s and puckering up.
 
“Ew, no, get your smelly breath away from me,” Minjoo grimaced in feigned
disgust, pushing Luhan’s face away. Luhan laughed and fell back on the bed.
 
“Good night, Lu,” she said softly, and turned out the light. Luhan echoed her
and closed his eyes. He drifted to sleep with a contented smile.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Luhan yawned after he unfastened the seat belt. The overheard sign had just
blinked to signal that it was safe to unbuckle, much to Luhan’s relief. They
had boarded the plane to Jeju on a Friday night shortly after everyone got off
work, so as to maximize their time in Jeju. Luhan stretched out, his feet
hitting the carry-on Minseok had stowed underneath, and Luhan frowned at the
lack of leg room. It must have been a while since he went on a plane because he
felt like he was being literally caged in. Yifan came over when Luhan shifted
about in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.
 
“Did you bring earphones with you?” Yifan asked, nodding to Yixing who was
seated next to Luhan, crowned with Beats headphones and a magazine opened on
his lap. Yixing barely glanced up, engrossed in an article on guitar tuning.
 
“Yeah, but I need them,” Luhan replied, looking up at Yifan. He seemed to tower
over him even more with Luhan sitting down. Yifan groaned.
 
“Baekhyun is snoring so loud, I can’t watch my movie,” Yifan griped.
 
“Didn’t they give you the in-flight headset?”
 
“Yeah, but those are a piece of crap,” Yifan said and pretended he didn’t see
the passing flight attendant’s glare. Luhan rolled his eyes.
 
“Turn up the volume or something. It’s only an hour,” Luhan said as nicely as
he could. He really wanted to get some shut-eye before they landed after the
long day he’d had. Even though Haru didn’t start World War III in the morning
when he reminded her he was going to be gone for the weekend, she did wail a
fair amount. Luhan had been almost late for work, scrambling to soothe her with
promises of unspecified souvenirs and being metaphorically chained to her bed
the following weekend.
 
Yifan grumbled a fine and turned around. He paused and turned back to Luhan,
looking as if he had something else to say. Luhan looked up from his phone,
earphones already shoved in. Yifan waved a never-mind before going back to his
seat. Luhan shrugged and pushed his seat back into recline. He shut his eyes as
Coldplay boomed into his ears.
 
Luhan woke up with a jolt. He looked out the window past a wide awake Yixing;
the plane had just descended on the runway glittering in the dark, wheels
dragging on the asphalt. They were in Jeju. Yixing shot him a look.
 
“You must’ve been really tired,” Yixing said, already reaching for his seat
belt buckle. Luhan yawned, his way of a response. He felt like he had closed
his eyes for only two seconds, and he had woken up more tired than before. They
grabbed their bags and filed out of the plane. The six of them exited the
airport, climbed into two cabs, and stopped by a convenience store to pick up
an inordinate amount of alcohol before arriving at the condo Yifan had rented
for the weekend. The startling efficiency of this process had Luhan speculate
whether Yifan had enlisted the help of a professional vacation planner.
 
The condo was surprisingly spacious with a balcony that overlooked the nearest
beach. There were three bedrooms down a narrow hallway, two beds each, and two
bathrooms spaced appropriately apart, one by the bedrooms and one by the
kitchen. The condo was completely furnished, including a flat-screen TV, DVD
player, and staple household appliances. According to Minseok who did a quick
check of the kitchen, the cupboards were stocked with cooking supplies and
utensils which Baekhyun dismissed as a useless perk as he had foreseen them
getting pizza and chicken delivered anyway. No one spoke to refute him; they
were only there for two and a half days, what was the point of cooking?
 
Luhan was a light sleeper so he immediately sidled up to Yixing, pitching
himself as a roommate. Yixing gave him a nonchalant shrug, and followed Luhan
into the bedroom all the way down the hall farthest away from the living room
and kitchen. Luhan threw his bag on the first bed he saw and plopped down next
to it, belly up. The soft linen was beckoning sleep, and he stretched with a
loud groan, drawing another look from Yixing who was scrolling on his phone,
Beats hung around his neck. Luhan looked down and saw the slacks on his legs,
remembering he had gone straight from work to the airport fully dressed in work
clothes. He sat up and rummaged through his bag for a random t-shirt and
sweatpants, one hand tugging on the buttons of his dress shirt. In seconds he
was in his boxer briefs, slacks and dress shirt discarded on the bed like
trash. He looked down at his undershirt and decided to pull that over his head
as well.
 
Pulling up the sweatpants to his hips, Luhan heard a burst of noisy chattering
outside and Yixing shuffling out the room.
 
“Luhan-hyung!” someone called from outside.
 
Luhan responded with an incoherent grunt as he grabbed the t-shirt, tugging it
down his torso as he walked out to the living room. His eyes landed on a
stranger with a familiar physique huddled by Chanyeol, Yifan, and Baekhyun,
with Yixing and Minseok standing off to the side. The stranger turned his head,
and Luhan widened his eyes. He was sure he had met this man before, but he
couldn’t remember from where or when. The man looked at him intently,
unsmiling, face saying neither welcome nor stay away.
 
“Hyung, come meet my friend, Jongin,” Chanyeol introduced. “Jongin, this is
Luhan-hyung.”
 
Luhan stepped closer and extended his right hand, lips turned automatically
upward in courtesy.
 
“Nice to meet you, Jongin.”
 
Jongin looked into his eyes for a moment before his lips stretched into a
modest smile. He took Luhan’s hand and shook it firmly once. Luhan noticed that
his hand was cold.
 
“Pleasure.”
 
Luhan looked down and saw the bag clutched in Jongin’s hand. He cut a confused
look to Chanyeol, but Jongin spoke instead, voice rich and casual.
 
“Chanyeol told me about this trip a couple hours ago so I’m just tagging along.
Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Jongin said, shooting Luhan a faraway
smile. Luhan couldn’t help but stare; there was something in Jongin’s deep eyes
telling that his mind was somewhere else.
 
“Chanyeol-hyung, Jongin,” Chanyeol reminded him with a click of tongue. Jongin
muttered a halfhearted apology, hefting his bag from the floor and taking long
strides to the couch. Luhan watched his back, lean and smooth like a tapestry
draping down a window. He was still trying to figure out where he had seen him.
 
“Excuse him,” Chanyeol said to no one in particular, which meant everyone
within ear shot. “He just came back from America.” He turned to Jongin who had
spread across the couch as if he owned it. It was almost staggering how quickly
Jongin made himself at home, exuding nonchalance in every mannerism and
syllable. “Remember to tack on the honorifics,” Chanyeol chided, swatting
Jongin’s feet off the coffee table, almost knocking over a six-pack someone had
set on the table earlier.
 
Jongin shrugged, putting his feet back on the table and snatching up the
remote. He pressed the power button and the TV came back to life with hosts of
a variety show yapping on the screen.
 
“America? Isn’t that where Yifan’s going?” Baekhyun piped up from a takeout
menu in his hand, leaning against the entrance to the kitchen. “By the way, I’m
ordering pizza. I’m starved.”
 
Everyone save for Luhan and Jongin crowded around the menu, poring over the
choices and discussing the adequate number of sodas. Luhan didn’t feel
particularly hungry, appetite dampened by the fuzzy notion of Jongin chewing
the back of his mind. He walked into the living room and sat down on the
loveseat, diagonal to Jongin.
 
“Yeah, only about a couple hundred kilometers away from where I live,” Jongin
said, eyes on the TV. Luhan thought Jongin shot him a glance as he sank down
into the seat, but he wasn’t sure—when he looked up, Jongin was looking
straight ahead at the TV, unwavering.
 
“Which city are you in?” Luhan asked, half-curious. His attempt to remember
where he had seen Jongin was derailed when Jongin straightened up and shrugged
off his baseball jacket, revealing toned arms that ran endlessly from a tee,
smoothly tanned just like his face.
 
“New York,” Jongin replied, tossing his blazer to the side. He tore his eyes
away from the screen and leaned over, looking at Luhan. “Have we met before?”
 
Luhan started to speak when Chanyeol cut in.
 
“Dude, are you hitting on Luhan-hyung?”
 
The other guys caught on and laughed. Luhan blanched, but Jongin barely
reacted.
 
“Please, I have better pickup lines than that,” Jongin said, scoff clipping his
voice as he looked away from Luhan, face as calm as the morning sea. Luhan
didn’t dwell on the fact that Jongin didn’t flat out deny Chanyeol’s statement.
It wouldn’t be the first time a man came onto him, even after he got married.
Luhan had long stopped trying to rebuff when friends called him a pretty face
jokingly, accustomed to dispensing a courteous rejection when he was mistaken
as gay by strangers. He was used to it, and sometimes found it flattering,
since Minjoo was conservative with her compliments.
 
“He’s married, so keep your dick in your pants,” Chanyeol continued. This
Jongin scowled at. Luhan was caught off-guard by the pink brushing over
Jongin’s cheekbones, then someone called his name from down the hall. Luhan
glanced over at Jongin as he got up from the loveseat. Jongin’s eyes were on
the TV. Luhan opened his mouth, then realized he had nothing to say. He turned
around and walked away, feeling a gaze burning into his back.
 
Luhan soon learned that Jongin was not as quiet as he let on. Over pizza and
beer, Jongin talked about New York, where he studied dance at New York
University, Chanyeol and Yifan jumping in with questions that were half
inappropriate, but Jongin didn’t seem to mind. He had just graduated and come
back to Seoul for the summer, but he was open to possibilities of staying and
working here. He talked with a slight accent that reminded Luhan of the way
Yifan used to talk when he just moved to Seoul from Vancouver, and, in a way,
of himself when he first came to Korea. But other than that, the rest of Jongin
was so set apart from what Luhan knew that he felt like stumbling upon an
uninhabited island just by watching and listening to Jongin. He talked about
people and cuisine of ethnicities Luhan had never even heard of, sharing
stories that sounded like segments straight out of movies. But most of all,
what staggered Luhan the most was his full-on smile—unreserved and untainted,
like young shoots of dandelions burrowing out of the soil in the spring. Luhan
caught himself smiling when Jongin’s mouth cracked open in delight, pearly
whites flashing in Luhan’s eyes like sunlight creeping through the blinds—warm
and soothing.  
 
It wasn’t until Luhan lay down on his bed near midnight did he remember where
he had seen Jongin—the convenience store by the subway near work where he had
picked up milk at the last minute. But he still wasn’t completely sure if the
man he had bumped into was really Jongin, since that encounter was months ago,
and didn’t Chanyeol say Jongin had just come back from America? The timeline
didn’t match, unless Jongin was a frequent flyer, which was a possibility.
Luhan didn’t know why he cared so much, or why he couldn’t seem to stop
thinking about Jongin, especially the look he gave Luhan—inquisitive and
searching, as if he had lost something in Luhan’s eyes. Luhan closed his eyes
and tossed under the covers, trying to erase Jongin’s face from his mind. The
living room burst into bouts of laughter, faint traces of which drifted past
the door into Luhan’s ears. Some of the guys were still up over another round
of Go-Stop while Luhan and Minseok retired to bed after the stakes were jacked
up to two shots of soju. Luhan was a champ with beers, but he couldn’t stomach
soju straight up, especially not consecutively, so he had mumbled an excuse and
retreated to his room, flipping off the jeers thrown at his back.
 
Just as Luhan drifted past the threshold of consciousness, the door creaked
open then closed with a soft click. Luhan turned and peered into the dark.
 
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
 
Luhan squinted. The voice didn’t sound like Yixing’s.
 
“Yi..xing?” he asked the figure moving toward Yixing’s bed.
 
“Uh, no, it’s Jongin. Yixing-hyung is still playing but I’m sleepy. He said I
could sleep in his bed,” Jongin explained, then added tentatively, “Is that
okay with you?”
 
“Oh,” Luhan said, sitting up. His eyes outlined the taller form. He could feel
Jongin looking at him. “Yeah, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”
 
Luhan lay back down and crossed his arms behind his head, watching Jongin as he
shrugged out of his shirt and jeans.
 
“Did you just fly in today? You must be tired,” Luhan remarked after Jongin let
out a yawn.
 
“Yeah, I’m exhausted. I would’ve face-planted on the couch when I just got in,
but that probably would’ve been rude,” Jongin said, folding his clothes into a
sloppy pile and dropping them on the chest of drawers next to the closet.
 
“Probably,” Luhan said with a chuckle. Jongin turned around and stood at the
front of Yixing’s bed. He scratched the back of his head and looked at Luhan.
 
“You know, I swear we’ve met before,” Jongin said, then quickly added, “and I
swear I’m not coming onto you.” Luhan laughed.
 
“It’s okay, I know. I remembered,” Luhan said, “where I’d seen you before.”
 
“Was it in your previous life?” Jongin said, then bit his tongue as Luhan
grasped the joke belatedly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
 
Luhan waved it off dismissively, but Jongin continued, stammer tapering off as
he spoke, “It’s just hard not to flirt with an attractive guy. It’s a bad habit
of mine.”
 
The compliment wasn’t unheard of, but it made Luhan’s face warm anyway. The way
he freely confessed his flaw was endearing, Luhan thought. Jongin crawled onto
the bed over the covers. Luhan heard a contented sigh when Jongin’s head hit
the pillow.
 
“It’s okay, I’m kind of… used to it,” Luhan admitted after a moment. “Not to
brag or anything,” he quickly added. He waited a while. Jongin was quiet. Then
Luhan heard soft snores from the neighboring bed. He huffed out a small laugh.
Jongin wasn’t kidding about how dog-tired he was. Luhan twisted his head, his
eyes landing on Jongin’s bare back, almost glistening under the soft moonlight.
He got up quietly and tiptoed over, then dragged a blanket over him. Luhan sat
by the bed and looked down at Jongin’s face. He looked so serene, boyish
features unlined by time, and Luhan was struck by how young he was. He suddenly
thought of Haru, and he almost reached out to brush the bangs away from
Jongin’s forehead. Luhan frowned at the absurdity of the gesture; he barely
knew the guy.
 
“Good night, Jongin,” he whispered, then got up and climbed into his bed,
pulling the covers over his shoulders, facing the wall.
 
Luhan awoke groggily with a parched throat. He squinted at his watch—it was
just a little past four. He pushed the covers off his body, rolled off the bed,
and wobbled out the room as his eyes fought to adjust. He trudged into the
kitchen and flicked on the light, then pulled open the fridge and grabbed a
bottle of water. He took a swig and left the kitchen, flipping the switch off
on his way out. His ears caught some noises out on the balcony. He stepped
closer apprehensively, bare feet padding across the tiles past Yixing and Yifan
slumped on the couch. He relaxed when he saw who it was.
 
“Hey,” Jongin drawled in English when he saw Luhan approach. A lit cigarette
dangled between his fingers, the white end quickly charring into ashes. He was
slouched in the chair, legs propped high up and feet crossed on top of the
railing. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt or pants—not that he needed to;
the nighttime breeze from the beach was balmy as it danced over the railings.
Luhan glanced over at him; he looked wide awake.
 
“Can’t sleep?” Luhan asked, then remembered something. “Oh, is it the jet lag?”
 
Jongin hummed an assent, then dropped his legs. He leaned across the small
round table where Luhan now saw stood two bottles of Hite, one already open. He
watched Jongin twist the cap off of the unopened bottle, the cigarette slipping
dangerously from his hand. He handed it to Luhan.
 
“Beer trumps water,” Jongin pointed out, eyeing the bottle of water in Luhan’s
hand. Luhan laughed. He was going to go back to bed, but he was no longer
sleepy, and he couldn’t think of anything off the top of his half-dazed mind to
decline Jongin. Still, he wasn’t used to spontaneous late-night conversations
over beer. Jongin eyed him when he noticed Luhan hesitating.
 
“C’mon, I purposely got two bottles praying desperately you would wake up and
join me.”
 
Luhan’s eyes widened slightly, and Jongin squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.
 
“I’m sorry. I did it again, huh,” Jongin sighed. Luhan took the bottle from
Jongin’s hand when he drew his arm back. Jongin shot him a surprised look as he
sat down in the other chair, placing the water bottle on the table.
 
“Well,” Luhan began after taking a sip of the beer, deadpanned, “it’s not every
day that I get to drink Hite at four in the morning in Jeju.” He saw Jongin
smile out of the corner of his eye.
 
“And have profound conversations while appreciating the night view of the
beach, no less.”
 
“Exactly,” Luhan said. Jongin chuckled, the sound tingling pleasantly against
Luhan’s ears. He turned and smiled at Jongin. Jongin’s smile faltered slightly
before he rescued it and raised his bottle.
 
“Cheers,” he said.
 
“Cheers,” Luhan said, clinking the neck of his bottle against Jongin’s.  
 
They fell into silence, Jongin’s legs back up against the railings. Luhan
watched the tides creeping toward the shore, but mostly out of the corner of
his eye he watched Jongin take long drags and blow circular puffs. He wasn’t
aversive to cigarette smoke; he had tried it himself when he was younger. He
tried to remember when a cigarette last touched his lips….he couldn’t. Then he
tried to remember the last time he’d done other silly things that teenagers
were bound to experiment—breaking and entering, unprotected sex, smoking weed,
partying into the wee hours of the night. It must have been in college, but
Luhan wasn’t sure. He had started dating Minjoo in late sophomore year, the
pinnacle of a typical college career. The memories of his pre-marriage life
were a haze and he squinted, as if certain experiences would morph into shapes
as distinct as the puffs Jongin was blowing.
 
“A penny for your thoughts,” Jongin spoke, dropping his cigarette on the ground
and crushing it with his heel. Luhan grimaced, wondering if Jongin’s skin was
really thick enough, or he just didn’t care about the burn. “Or two, I’m open
to bargaining.” Luhan laughed.
 
“I’m afraid my thoughts aren’t even worth a penny,” Luhan said with a sliver of
self-deprecating humor. Jongin made a noise of disagreement.
 
“Everyone has something valuable to share, as mundane as it seems.”
 
Luhan shot a glance at him. The things Jongin said never ceased to surprise
him—they were either outright inappropriate or deeply meaningful.
 
“I was thinking about…” Luhan paused to form his thoughts into words. “When I
stopped being young.”
 
“You’re still young,” Jongin pointed out.
 
“Young and wild,” Luhan remedied himself. Jongin chuckled and took another
swig.
 
“Is having beer at four in the morning not wild enough for you?” Jongin asked
with a teasing lilt. Luhan shrugged. 
 
“But that’s the thing. I may still be coerced into doing stuff like this, but
there’s always something pulling me back. I can’t remember the last time I
felt…” Luhan trailed off, looking for the right word.
 
“Unrestrained?” Jongin supplied. Luhan turned to him, amazed.
 
“Yeah. Unrestrained,” Luhan reaffirmed. If he was unrestrained pre-marriage,
then marriage was like a set of chains locked around his ankles. He could still
get to places, but with great difficulty, fettered to familial obligations and
expectations. He hadn’t really thought of marriage that way, not when Haru
brought him unparalleled joy, but the more he compared it to how he remembered
his pre-marriage life, the more he felt… restrained. He frowned and tried to
jostle the thought away.
 
“So… you’re married, huh," Jongin said. His eyes were trained on Luhan's left
hand that was curled around his right arm. Luhan loosened his hand and let it
slide to his lap, feeling hyper-conscious of it as if his wedding ring was an
ugly birth mark he wanted to hide. 
 
"Yeah," Luhan broke into a strained smile, feigning pride in his marital
status. "Four years."
 
"Wow." Jongin widened his eyes in surprise. "You look so young, though. I
could've sworn you were my age."
 
"Well, young people get married all the time," Luhan said, sometimes too
early slipped into his head. "And I'm not that young, really. I'm 25."
 
"Got hitched straight out of college, huh?"
 
Luhan considered telling him the whole story. He decided that an abridged
version would suffice for their level of acquaintance. Jongin didn’t need to
know that he married Minjoo a few months before they graduated. It wasn’t the
most ideal of circumstances, but Minjoo had a uterine condition that would make
childbirth exponentially difficult if delayed. It was for the best, for Minjoo
and the unborn child.
 
"More or less," Luhan said.
 
"Twenty-five is still young. You're still in your prime."
 
"Only biologically," Luhan laughed miserably. "I feel like I'm mentally 40, and
years are just flying by ever since Haru was born."
 
Jongin pulled his legs down, and his bare feet thudded on the ground. He turned
to Luhan.
 
"Haru? Your... daughter?"
 
Luhan turned away. "Yeah."
 
Jongin gazed into his face, and Luhan looked down. He didn't know why he felt
guilty for admitting he had a kid.
 
"Do you have a picture? Of your daughter." Jongin spoke finally.
 
"Yeah," Luhan said, “well, it’s in my wallet. I can go get it if you want?”
Luhan turned to Jongin, who just looked at him without a word. Luhan took that
as a yes. He went back to his room and grabbed his wallet. He returned to the
balcony and stood before Jongin, then flipped open his wallet to the inside
sleeve that held a photo of him, Minjoo, and Haru. He showed it to Jongin.
"That's an old picture. She was only about 15 months old."
 
Jongin studied the picture intently as Luhan dropped into his chair.
 
"She's beautiful. Kid's got your eyes," Jongin said quietly. He looked up and
held Luhan's surprised eyes for a brief moment. His eyes dropped back down at
the picture before Luhan could read into his look. Jongin closed his wallet and
slid it across the table.
 
"How old is she now?"
 
"Three and a half."
 
Jongin considered this for a moment.
 
"But you just said you're 25."
 
"I did."
 
"So that means..." Jongin took a minute to connect the dots. His eyes grew
large as it hit him. "Ohhh."
 
"It's a long story." It wasn't, but Luhan didn't really feel like giving the
whole spiel right now. Sometimes, thinking back, Luhan felt like everything was
too rushed back then—the wedding, then Haru. He had no regrets about having
Haru, but at the time, he wasn’t even sure he wanted children. Everything kind
of just happened against his own will, and he had simply come to adapt, going
with the tide.
 
"Right. It's fine," Jongin shrugged as he brought the bottle to his lips and
tipped it back. "I don't judge. To each his own."
 
Luhan fell quiet. He kept wanting to tell Jongin more—there was something about
him that drew words out of Luhan—but it didn’t seem appropriate. Not that
Jongin would mind, probably, but he didn’t want to risk it.
 
“I went to New York after my mom passed away,” Jongin spoke finally, swinging
the bottle by its neck mindlessly. “She raised me and my older sister all on
her own. My father—or the man whose name is on my birth certificate—walked out
on us when I was, I don’t know, two?”
 
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Luhan said. Jongin shrugged, as if he was telling
someone else’s story, but Luhan could see the invisible weight on his
shoulders, the faded sadness in his eyes.
 
“At the time, I was so angry. At my supposed father, that is. If he had been
around, my mom wouldn’t have had to work two jobs until her back gave out, and
maybe she would’ve lived to see my sister get married, at least.” Jongin set
the empty bottle on the table and crossed his arms behind his head. He inhaled
and continued, “After that, I just kind of snapped. Turned into this jaded,
cynical person that sprouted things only old people would understand,” he
laughed, the sound hollow to Luhan’s ears. Luhan clamped his lips tight,
sympathy coiling his stomach in knots. He turned to look at Jongin again; his
face was still as he looked out to the beach. In that moment, Jongin didn’t
look like a 21-year old—he looked like someone who had seen the basest evils in
this world and lived to tell about it.
 
“Then when my sister got married and had her own family, I felt like I had
nothing to hold onto. Like I was a stray ship at sea with no anchor. So I
packed up everything and moved to New York on a whim. Things got so bad at one
point that I seriously considered killing myself, but you know why I didn’t?”
Jongin paused, looking at Luhan, and Luhan believed it wasn’t a rhetorical
question.
 
“Because you loved dance,” Luhan answered, unthinking. “Love,” he corrected,
and Jongin smiled. He turned to look at the sea again.
 
“Yeah. That was really the only thing that kept me going. I didn’t trust anyone
or anything else, not even myself. But my love for dance—it feels more real
than life itself.”
 
Jongin stopped and glanced over at Luhan. “Sorry, I’m not making much sense, am
I?”
 
“No,” Luhan reassured him. “It makes perfect sense.”
 
He thought about Jongin’s life, and he thought about his own life. What Jongin
said made sense, but Luhan didn’t know what it felt like—to love something more
than life itself. The only love he ever had was Minjoo, and then Haru, and even
so, it wasn’t the kind of love that sprinkled everlasting life in Jongin’s
eyes, making his heart swell like none other.
 
“I wish I knew what that’s like,” Luhan blurted out. Jongin cut a look over at
him, and Luhan kind of wished he hadn’t said that out loud, but words began to
tumble past his lips like a flood pouring over a broken dam.
 
“The closest thing I can think of is Haru. But she’s gonna grow up,” Luhan
chuckled, “she’s going to preschool this coming fall. That’s like the beginning
of a child’s emotional detachment from their parents, you know? Soon enough,
school’s gonna take over her life, her friends are gonna matter more than me or
Minjoo. Then once she goes off to college,” he made a slashing gesture across
his throat, “it’s over.”
 
Luhan thought Jongin would make some Jongin-esque remark about the short-lived
nature of adolescence and the illusion of its longevity, but Jongin just stayed
silent, watching him from the side so intently that Luhan felt his cheek burn.
 
“Hey,” Jongin said. Luhan was starting to get used to his hey in English. He
watched Jongin roll onto his heels and stretch out his arms. Jongin turned
around and flashed him a brilliant smile.
“Let’s go watch sunrise on the beach.”
 
 
Before he knew it, Jongin was tugging him out of the condo, cold hand gripping
his wrist as they headed out to the vacant beach. The sun had just begun to
peek out from behind mauve and bright orange clouds, splaying a blanket of gold
across the shore while the sky was still dark. The ocean breeze caressed
Luhan’s bare chest and tingled his back, and he felt like a little boy again,
exploring the seashore for the first time. Jongin let go of Luhan’s hand when
their feet sank into the sand, and Luhan watched as Jongin ran to the water,
leaping and yelling something Luhan couldn’t quite make out. Luhan looked
around, eyes raking over the edges of the beach shimmering in the sunglow, the
horizons oscillating as the tides pushed and pulled, and the few daredevil
surfers dotting the dark blue as they swam toward the waves. He took a deep
breath and thought; maybe, this is what youth smelled like.
 
“Hyung!” Jongin called out from the sea. He was into the water waist-deep,
waving at Luhan with both arms. “Come in! The water feels amazing!”
 
It took only a split second for Luhan to step over his hesitation and kick off
his sweatpants, Jongin’s smile and crescent eyes drawing him closer, and closer
in until water splashed around him and he felt himself age backward.
 
 
Luhan woke the next morning feeling disoriented and on the wrong side of the
globe. The room was amply lit by the sun casting through the open window. He
raised his hand to his face and saw from his watch that it was nearly noon.
Panic shot through his back and he sat up, thinking of Haru and her next meal.
Then Yixing walked in and Luhan let out a sigh of relief. Yixing shot him a
strange look and plopped down on the bed, facing Luhan.
 
“Calm down, it’s not a crime to be sleeping past eight a.m.,” Yixing said,
scrolling through NBA updates on his iPad. He glanced up at Luhan who rubbed at
his eyes. “Though it is a surprise that you weren’t the first one up making us
brunch.” Luhan glanced at him and reached for a shirt rumpled by the foot of
his bed.
 
“Why should I be?” Luhan said, pulling the shirt over his head.
 
“Because you’re the only married man among us and I bet twenty that you’re the
one in the kitchen at nine a.m. on Saturday mornings,” Yixing said with a
straight face. Luhan glowered at him which was duly ignored. He hated that
Yixing was right (or maybe he just knew Luhan too well). It wasn’t that Minjoo
made him or went so much as to imply that he should do his part of kitchen work
on the weekends. Luhan woke up early on weekend mornings—a habit he’d formed
over the years—to make his family breakfast because it meant more time spent
with Haru, and to him, that was the opposite of time wasted. At the moment,
however, this habit made him feel uneasy; sporting bed hair and an endless
string of yawns when it was almost lunchtime.
 
“Did you guys save me anything?” Luhan asked, already braced for the worst. To
his surprise, Yixing hummed an assent.
 
“You and Jongin,” Yixing corrected. Events from the previous night washed over
Luhan and his eyes cut to the bed next to his—it was empty.
 
“Where’s Jongin?” he asked as he got up from the bed with a stretch.
 
“Out surfing,” Yixing said. “That kid has an inexhaustible amount of energy.”
 
Luhan shook his head with a chuckle as he headed to the bathroom. He remembered
he had seen Jongin lie down after they got back from the beach; he must have
gotten up running on a few hours of sleep. Luhan, on the other hand, was out
like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.
 
As he brushed his teeth, Luhan studied his own reflection in the mirror and
replayed the events from the night before. It seemed surreal—having existential
conversations with a guy four years younger than him, jumping into the ocean
and splashing water at said guy as if he had gone back in time, a time before
Minjoo and Haru. Luhan rinsed his mouth and washed his face. When he looked up,
he nearly yelped at the person staring at him in the mirror.
 
“Jesus Christ, Jongin,” Luhan said as he turned around, shooting Jongin a
glare. Jongin laughed. “Don’t do that.”
 
“Good morning to you, too,” Jongin chirped with a smile. He had a towel draped
over one of his shoulders, scant droplets of water lingering on his chest,
wetsuit shorts clinging to his thighs like a second layer of skin. It was hard
not to stare; even to Luhan, Jongin was a magnificent work of art, muscles
dipping and curved over in all the right places. Jongin had been shirtless the
night before, but it was dark, his olive skin blending into the night like a
camouflage, so Luhan hadn’t really looked. Jongin watched Luhan as he stared.
 
“Hyung, are you checking me out?” Jongin said, snapping Luhan out of his
thoughts. Luhan felt his cheeks heat up.
 
“No,” he sputtered and turned around, snatching up a hand towel and dragging it
over his face so he wouldn’t need to see Jongin’s smirk.
 
“It’s okay,” Jongin said, then leaned in, whispering in Luhan’s ears, “I’m used
to it.” It sent chills down Luhan’s spine and his eyes shot up, meeting
Jongin’s dark gaze in the mirror. He had half the mind to register that
Jongin’s hand had curled around his arm before whipping around.
 
“Don’t push it,” Luhan muttered and slapped Jongin on the chest. Jongin faked a
pained cry that made Luhan smile.
 
“Help! Luhan-hyung is bullying me!” Jongin yelled. Luhan punched him in the
shoulder. Out of nowhere, Jongin spun him around and Luhan nearly stumbled into
Jongin’s arms.
 
“Jongin, wha—“
 
“Hey,” Jongin mumbled against Luhan’s hair, his usual hey in English. “Thank
you for last night,” he paused, then added in English, “Really.”
 
“Really?” Luhan said in English. His heart was pounding against Jongin’s chest,
pressed into his own. Jongin smelled like youth and infinite freedom and the
sea that sang to Luhan at night.
 
“Really,” Jongin said firmly, voice lacking the usual frivolity. Luhan pulled
back and smiled, and Jongin smiled back, broad and true like light shining into
the dark.
 
After Luhan and Jongin devoured leftover kimbap and samgyeopsal that had gone
cold and Luhan insisted on re-cooking, they switched on the TV and discovered
that a football match was on. The subsequent three hours were spent shouting at
the screen as possession went between Arsenal and Manchester City, ragging on
the refs, and bickering over the superiority of Chelsea versus Manchester
United during commercial breaks. Luhan nearly flinched when Jongin casually
laid a hand on his leg, but there was nothing unusual on Jongin’s face, looking
just like a kid excited over his favorite sport. Jongin’s hand later
disappeared and came back several times, in different places on Luhan’s
body—his leg, his back, his arm. Luhan decided Jongin was just a touchy person,
maybe a habit he had formed from living abroad, and that his touches were
innocent, definitely not a flirtatious gesture. They had established that
Jongin wasn’t coming onto him, hadn’t they?
 
Chanyeol joined them briefly, fingers idly plucking the strings of his guitar
before rolling his eyes at the pair and retreating to his room. When the match
was over, Chanyeol asked Jongin to teach him and Yifan how to surf. Luhan
snorted when Jongin assessed Yifan dubiously, as if distrusting his freakishly
long limbs. Jongin finally agreed on the condition that they ordered an
exorbitant amount of chicken for dinner, which was easily seconded by everyone.
 
Alone on the couch, Luhan flipped through the channels mindlessly and quickly
decided that nothing was worth watching. He went out to sit on the balcony
again—this time, he propped his legs up against the railings, just like Jongin
did. He closed his eyes and soaked in the warm afternoon sun, dismissing
Minjoo’s distant voice that nagged of skin cancer and SPF. He cracked an eye
open when Minseok joined him a few minutes later, a Hite in hand and Luhan’s
phone in the other.
 
“Your phone was ringing before,” Minseok said as he plunked down on the
adjacent chair, showing Luhan his phone. Luhan’s eyes snapped open.
 
“Shit. Must’ve been Minjoo.” Luhan grabbed his phone from Minseok and muttered
a thanks, feeling guilty because he was supposed to call home after they landed
last night, or latest this morning. It had somehow slipped his mind. He clicked
his phone on and saw a missed call from Home. He dialed it back. Minjoo picked
up after a few rings, sounding a little out of breath.
 
“Hey, sorry I missed your call,” Luhan said. “Are you busy or something?” he
asked, noting the huffing on the other end of the line.
 
“No, I was just warming up something for Haru,” Minjoo replied. “How’s Jeju?”
 
“It’s great,” Luhan said. Minseok got up and mouthed Say hi for me before
disappearing back into the living room. “Minseok said hi, by the way.” Minjoo
chuckled and returned a greeting. Luhan promptly relayed it with a shout.
 
“How’s Haru?” Luhan asked, looking down at his legs that had lowered from the
railings at some point. “Is she eating?” Haru was a picky eater, and Minjoo had
always had trouble getting her to eat vegetables, while Luhan had marginally
more success.
 
“Yeah, I tried to incorporate veggies into soups so she wouldn’t have to chew
as much. I think it’s working, but she’s still whining about it. She had squash
soup for lunch,” Minjoo said. Luhan grimaced at the mention of squash soup. He
wasn’t a big fan of squash.
 
“That’s good. Let me talk to her?” Luhan said. He heard Minjoo call for Haru
and the thunderous steps of his toddler before Haru picked up the phone with a
noisy clank.
 
“Hello?” Haru said, and Luhan smiled, heart swelling at the childish voice.
 
“This is Captain Luhan reporting from outer space,” Luhan dropped his voice an
octave. Haru giggled. “All space monsters in sight have been annihilated.
Mission: Success.”
 
“Daddy, I miss you,” Haru said. Luhan could hear the pout in her voice.
 
“I miss you too, baby,” Luhan said. He caught a movement out of the corner of
his eye. It was Jongin, watching him as he leaned against the glass doors to
the balcony, eyes all sorts of unreadable. Luhan tossed him a small smile as he
listened to Haru babble about aliens. Jongin drew his lips between his teeth,
lowered his eyes, and went back inside. Luhan was puzzled for a moment before
Haru shouted into his ear.
 
“Daddy! Daddy, when are you coming home?”
 
“Tomorrow. I’m coming home tomorrow,” Luhan replied. “Haru-ah, listen to Mommy,
okay? You have to eat your soup, or no presents.”
 
“Present? What present?” Haru’s voice shot up a notch as if she had missed the
first part of Luhan’s sentence.
 
“You’ll find out if you eat your soup,” Luhan wheedled, mind milling over just
exactly what present he should get Haru.
 
“But it taste weird,” Haru said, dragging the end syllable of weird as if to
underscore the gustatory oddity. “I don’t like it,” she scoffed. Luhan could
vaguely hear Minjoo’s sigh on the side.
 
“Okay, let me ask you this: Do you wanna become a princess?” Luhan asked.
 
“I’m already a princess,” Haru said. Luhan was stumped, inwardly cursing his
daughter’s wits that would have had him lavish her with praises in any other
occasion. He quickly remedied himself.
 
“Right. I meant a queen. Do you wanna become a queen when you grow up?”
 
“Yeah,” she said.
 
“Then you gotta eat your soup. Including soups with veggies in it. ‘Cause you
can’t become a queen unless you eat your soup.”
 
Haru was quiet for a while, and Luhan could see her seriously considering his
assertion.
 
“Okay,” she said finally with measured reluctance.
 
“That’s my good girl. Let me talk to Mommy,” Luhan said. He heard the phone
being passed again and Minjoo telling Haru to pick out a dress. Minjoo answered
and told Luhan that she was going to take Haru to the park later, then to the
bookstore where she was planning to pick up some books on preschool. Luhan told
her that he should be back home by Sunday evening, in time for dinner, but
would call if he was running late so they wouldn’t have to wait up. He
reassured that he would call before they got on the plane, and they hung up.
 
Luhan got up and went inside after setting an alarm for calling Minjoo the next
day, just in case he forgot again. He lazily padded into the kitchen, poking
around for snacks before he came across a bag of shrimp chips. He dug in and
brought the whole bag to the living room, where Minseok, Baekhyun, and Yixing
were playing Diablo 3 on their laptops.
 
“Seriously?” Luhan exclaimed. He was astounded by the extent to which his
friends were obsessed with the game. “You came to Jeju to play RPG?”
 
“Shhhh,” Baekhyun hissed under his breath, gaze intense on his screen. “We’re
at a critical moment.”
 
Luhan rolled his eyes and sank down on the end of the couch, shoving a handful
of chips into his mouth.
 
“Hyung,” Jongin emerged from the hallway with a shout. Four heads
simultaneously turned. “Uh, I meant Luhan-hyung.” Three heads lolled around as
if nothing happened. Jongin waved at Luhan excitedly, “Come, I wanna show you
something.”
 
Luhan pushed up from the couch, bag of shrimp chips in hand, and followed
Jongin into Chanyeol’s room, where he seemed to have taken up temporary
residence. Chanyeol was nowhere in sight, possibly still out catching some
waves. Luhan halfheartedly decided that perhaps Chanyeol wasn’t entirely
hopeless in the athletics department, or maybe Jongin was just a phenomenal
teacher.
 
“What’s up?” Luhan asked, absentmindedly digging into the chips and scooping up
a handful. He watched Jongin sit down cross-legged on a bed and pull a MacBook
Air toward him. He patted the space next to him, hinting for Luhan to sit.
Luhan sat down, one leg folded under the other, chewing on shrimp chips as
Jongin pulled up QuickTime. Jongin hit Play, and a clip showing a football
match began to wind.
 
“Wait a minute,” Luhan breathed. He looked at the pixelated banner that showed
which teams were playing: Man U vs. Liverpool. The low resolution and shakiness
of the video only meant one thing.
 
“You filmed this? You were there?” He turned wide eyes to Jongin, who nodded
with a cheeky smile.
 
“Holy shit. Oh my God. I remember this game! I was screaming so loud at the TV
Minjoo had to leave the house.” Jongin cracked up, slapping his thigh.
 
“I can’t believe you actually got to go,” Luhan said, voice wispy in
astonishment. He scooted closer, not noticing how his arm was flush against
Jongin’s.
 
“Yeah, it was actually by sheer luck that I ended up there. I have a friend in
New York who’s from London and I went there with him over winter break. He was
gonna go with someone else but that person couldn’t make it, food poisoning or
something. I wasn’t gonna go since, you know, I’m a Chelsea fan, but hey, who
would pass up a free League game, right?” Luhan rewound the clip to a moment of
goal as Jongin continued, their sides still pressed together.
 
“I thought of it while we were watching football before, but I wasn’t sure if I
still had it in my computer. Turns out I do,” Jongin flashed him a cocky smile.
 
“I can send it to you if you want?”
 
Luhan’s eyes lit up.
 
“That would be so awesome,” he said. Jongin laughed. He minimized QuickTime and
pulled up Mail, then asked Luhan to type in his email address. Between the
switching of windows, Luhan caught a glimpse of Jongin’s desktop background—a
zoomed-out picture of some showcase on a stage.
 
“There,” Jongin said after he clicked Send.
 
“Thanks,” Luhan said, and Jongin hummed a you’re-welcome.
 
“Now… how about you show me your dance?” he asked and turned to Jongin. Jongin
whipped his head around, eyes wide. He chuckled weakly and looked away, fingers
fumbling over the keyboard and pulling up Safari. He stared at the browser
blankly.
 
“It’s nothing remarkable. Not worth watching,” Jongin said, fingers hovering
over the keys. The cursor in the search bar was still blinking. Luhan looked at
him. This was the first time he saw Jongin flustered.
 
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Luhan said. “How can something you love be
unremarkable?”
 
Jongin turned and looked at him and in that moment, Luhan felt like Jongin’s
eyes were bursting with amazement, as if he had just said something completely
out of the ordinary. Luhan felt his face grow warm again; it seemed to be
happening a lot these days. But he held Jongin’s eyes and fought the tingles
running down his back.
 
“C’mon, show me,” Luhan said. Jongin didn’t say anything, but he pulled up a
folder full of mp4’s and clicked one of them. It was a solo performance of a
slightly younger version of Jongin, dancing to an R&B ballad. Luhan watched
intently while Jongin studied his face. Luhan was quiet for a while after the
clip ended.
 
“It’s beautiful, the way you dance,” Luhan said finally in awe. “It’s almost
like… I’m listening to a song.”
 
He could feel Jongin trying to stop shaking next to him. He turned and looked
at Jongin, who was watching him with that same unbelieving look.
 
“Really?” Jongin asked in English.
 
“Really,” Luhan affirmed in English. Jongin’s lips slowly curve into a smile,
the one that made him the Jongin Luhan knew. Luhan smiled back.
 
(He found it more and more difficult to ignore the tingles—they twisted the pit
of his stomach into knots, pinched the end of his nerves, and made his face
feel like a furnace. But it didn’t feel uncomfortable, just strange. A good
kind of strange that left him walking away from Jongin a little warmer, smile a
little bigger.)
 
Before night fell and the water turned cold, Jongin dragged Luhan out to the
beach again, and Luhan followed, a surfboard tucked under his arm. It was
getting easier for Jongin to persuade Luhan into all sorts of crazy adventures,
and it was getting easier—almost a little too easy—for Luhan to go along with
it because he trusted Jongin’s smile. He was right—Jongin was a good teacher.
In simple terms, he explained to Luhan tips for paddling out and timing for
catching a wave. He watched Luhan first, making sure he got on the board at the
right moment.
 
(He was almost distracted by the tingles that shot up his ankles when Jongin
curled his hands around them, steadying his feet.)
 
Luhan surprised himself when he managed to catch his very first wave, amazed by
how close he was to the tube in dark blue. But the next thing he knew, his feet
slipped and he fell into the water. It was so abrupt that his mouth was still
open, gulping water that tasted like a handful of salt. Then he was pulled out
of the water from under his arms and he gasped, fresh air rushing into his
lungs.
 
“Are you alright?”
 
He looked into Jongin’s face, so close he could felt his breaths on his nose.
Luhan tried to catch his breath, but it became harder as Jongin held his eyes
with an immensely worried look. His hands, as cold as the midnight sea, grasped
the side of Luhan’s face. Luhan had nowhere to go but to drown in the deep
ocean within Jongin’s eyes.
 
“Yeah,” he finally managed between strained breaths. “I’m fine.”
 
Jongin didn’t let go. Luhan wished he would, but he also wished he wouldn’t. He
opened his mouth to say something when Jongin blinked rapidly, then pulled away
so quick it was like Luhan had burned him.
 
“Good. That’s good,” Jongin mumbled. He paddled away a bit and grabbed Luhan’s
board, then swam back and pushed it toward Luhan. “Here,” he said, not meeting
Luhan’s eyes. Then he swam off toward his board floating a few feet away.
 
Luhan curled his fingers around the edge of his board, his eyes fixed on
Jongin. A dim shadow cast over Jongin’s face, like he was disappointed about
something.
 
Jongin gracefully climbed onto his board and paddled toward an emerging wave.
He caught it effortlessly, and Luhan watched Jongin lower into a squat as his
board swept up, curving into the blue tube. Dragging his eyes away, Luhan
hauled himself up onto his board. He waited for a wave to approach before
paddling toward it, and this time, he rode the wave successfully. Adrenaline
zapped through his veins as he surged through the tube that wrapped over and
around him. He burst into an unrestrained laughter when he came down, still in
disbelief that he rode it out. His eyes found Jongin’s a distance away, face
stretched open in a wide smile. Jongin paddled toward him.
 
“You did it!” Jongin grinned at him, arm raised in a proffered high-five. Luhan
smashed his palm against Jongin’s. He hadn’t felt this proud in a while, and he
couldn’t stop smiling.
 
“I still don’t know how it happened,” Luhan said, laughing. Jongin shrugged.
 
“You’re a fast learner,” Jongin remarked. “That was pretty good for a beginner.
Really good, actually. The wave you caught was small but strong.”
 
“Thanks. I guess it helps that I know how to snowboard? Though it’s been a
while since I last boarded.”
 
“Probably. It’s similar.”
 
Sitting on their respective boards, they fell into a silence that grew more
comfortable as time dragged. The sun had begun to slip behind the horizon and a
gorgeous canvas of blood orange draped across the sky. Luhan’s eyes raked over
the golden specks in the sea, appearing and disappearing with the ripples
across the surface. Night breeze brushed past his face and he inhaled slowly,
breathing in an unprecedented feeling of contentment. It felt like paradise.
 
“Thank you, Jongin.”
 
Jongin turned to him. He could see Jongin’s baffled look out of the corner of
his eye.
 
“For what? Oh, for teaching you how to surf?”
 
“Well, that too.” For showing me how to live again.
 
Luhan smiled into the setting sun. Jongin looked at him with questions in his
eyes, but he said nothing.
 
“Any time,” Jongin said softly.
 
Luhan closed his eyes. His lips curved up into a grin, because he could see the
shy smile on Jongin’s face.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
The rest of the trip whizzed by Luhan like a tornado; when he walked up to the
boarding gate in Sunday afternoon he felt like a tub of water was sloshing
around inside his head, his limbs feeling like someone else’s, and he blamed it
on the sickening amount of soju bombs he’d been forced down on the night
before. Events of Saturday night struggled to piece together in his head ever
since he woke up Sunday morning with a throbbing migraine, and he gave up
trying to remember as Minseok fed him pancakes and a gratuitous amount of
samgyeopsal as a gesture of sympathy. It had been a long time since Luhan got
so wasted and hung over, and he found himself playing that game again; trying
to recall when he had last done something and deciding it must have been some
time in college, pre-marriage. This time, however, he left Jeju with an acrid
aftertaste that stubbornly stuck to the back of his throat no matter how much
water he gulped down. Yifan had slipped him some hangover medicine in the cab
on the way to the airport, but even those were only mildly alleviating, their
effects just enough to last him through a brief phone call with Minjoo. He
rubbed at his temple as he dragged his feet through the passenger portal and
onto the plane.
 
Luhan plunked down into a window seat and kicked his bag underneath. He took
what must have been the hundredth swig of water in that day and squeezed his
eyes shut. He cracked open an eye when he felt weight dip into the seat next to
him. It was Chanyeol.
 
“Please. Don’t. Talk,” Luhan punctuated in a weak voice. He was ready to bash
his head into the window if Chanyeol were to grace him with his signature
talkativeness. Chanyeol shot him a glance and said nothing as he stowed his bag
away.
 
“Did you say bye to Jongin?” Chanyeol asked finally. Luhan dragged his eyes
open as Chanyeol’s question sank in. He hadn’t seen Jongin since he woke up. He
turned to Chanyeol, head lolling slowly so it wouldn’t start pounding again.
 
“He—when did he leave?” Luhan asked. An unknown panic gripped his chest.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
 
“This morning. He took the first flight out,” Chanyeol said, looking down at
his lap.
 
“Why would he do that? I didn’t know he was in a rush to leave,” Luhan said,
although the tightness in his chest told him Jongin was most certainly not in a
rush.
 
Chanyeol sighed as he pulled on the seat belt and fastened it.
 
“Hyung, you… do you remember what happened last night?”
 
The question required Luhan to think and he really didn’t want to do that, but
he did it anyway. He thought hard and the back of his head started throbbing
again, but nothing solid came up. He vaguely remembered fragments—having
chicken for dinner, playing Forehead Idiot, a repulsive number of soju bombs
that still burned the top of his throat. And puking, that was a part he’d
rather forget, but the physical agony kind of seared the memory into his head.
He relayed these to Chanyeol, who just shook his head and sighed. Luhan felt a
jolt; the plane had begun rolling on the taxiway. Chanyeol reached over and
fastened Luhan’s seat belt before continuing.
 
“Okay, let me refresh your memory. When we were playing Forehead, you lost, and
the punishment that someone—probably Baekhyun—had come up with was to kiss the
winner. Jongin won,” Chanyeol paused, looking at Luhan hoping he would string
the events together. Luhan just stared him.
 
“Just get to the fucking point,” Luhan muttered. His head hurt. Why couldn’t
Chanyeol do all the thinking for him?
 
“You kissed him.”
 
The plane lifted off then, and Luhan thought he was going to barf the little
breakfast he had stomached. His ears were ringing and he felt a stabbing pain
in his chest. He must have not heard Chanyeol correctly.
 
“…what did you say?”
 
Chanyeol gave him a pitiful look and sighed again.
 
“You kissed Jongin,” he whispered, and Luhan’s eyes grew large. His head was
pounding like a sledgehammer was bashing it in but everything was coming back
to him all at once.
 
“It wasn’t specified if it had to be done on the lips or wherever, and we were
saying a peck on the cheek but you went for his mouth and…” Chanyeol continued,
Luhan tuning him in and out, mind racing in full circle as he thought
about—remembered—Jongin. The mortified look on Jongin’s face when he drew near.
Jongin sputtering no no no when he grabbed him by the collar. The softness of
Jongin’s lips against his own, tasting like beer and sea salt and unsung
melody, something raw and extraordinary.
 
Luhan suddenly felt lightheaded and he slid down in his seat, eyes fluttering
closed.
 
“Fuck,” he mumbled. Then he was out.
 
Luhan didn’t know how he survived the painstakingly long walk from his seat to
the sidewalk outside the airport, where he was flung into a cab by Yifan and
Chanyeol. Yifan let him spread out on the backseat as he sat shotgun,
incessantly reassuring the cabdriver that Luhan was not going to throw up in
his car. The truth was, Luhan had felt somewhat better after he woke up from
the brownout as the plane landed at Incheon, the nausea and migraine subsiding
into a dull pain. But he still looked as pale as a ghost, and he seemed to have
lost the sense of coordination in his limbs. Something told him it wasn’t
entirely a physiological problem, Chanyeol’s words still ringing inside his
ears as he continued to taste Jongin on his lips.
 
“I’m supposed to remind you to call Minjoo,” Yifan said in the middle of the
cab ride, glancing over his shoulders at Luhan, who was slumped over the
backseat. “But I take it you’re not in the best condition to do so.”
 
Luhan grunted. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths, reaching for a
bottle of water inside his bag. It only had a few drops left. He asked Yifan
for water, and Yifan brandished a half-full bottle. Luhan took it graciously
and gulped a few mouthfuls.
 
“Can I go to your place for a little while?” Luhan asked. It was early evening,
just a little past five p.m. He could tell Minjoo he was going to have dinner
with Yifan; she should be fine with that. He missed Haru, but he just could not
face Minjoo right now.
 
“Yeah,” Yifan said. Luhan trusted that Yifan understood the reason why he was
feeling so miserable and the need to avoid his wife. “Do you need me to call
though?”
 
Luhan considered it for a moment, then decided he should be the one to call. He
took another swig of water and a few deep breaths before calling home. Haru
picked up, much to Luhan’s relief; Minjoo must have been in the kitchen. Haru
was not pleased when Luhan told her he was going to miss dinner, but Luhan
managed to placate her by promising to be home by nine, Haru’s bedtime, with
her present (a bracelet he had picked up at a souvenir shop near their condo).
After Luhan hung up he sent a quick text to Minjoo saying the same thing,
hoping she would let it slide without making much fuss. Minjoo wasn’t clingy,
but Luhan rarely skipped out on his family last-minute. Regardless, Luhan was
relatively confident that her acquaintance with Yifan would aid to his
advantage.
 
Minjoo texted him back an okay a few minutes before the cab pulled up in front
of Yifan’s apartment building in Seocho, and Luhan sighed in relief. Yifan let
out a similar sigh as well, as he spotted a deliveryman approaching, hefting a
delivery box with the jajangmyun he had ordered.
“How did you know he had your order though?” Luhan asked after Yifan paid the
deliveryman, toeing off his shoes by the door to Yifan’s apartment.
 
“I order from that place all the time. We’re practically buddies,” Yifan said
offhandedly, shoving his wallet into his pants pocket. “Just put your bag…
anywhere.”
 
Luhan hadn’t been inside Yifan’s apartment for a while, but the studio still
looked as messy as he remembered it. Heaps of clothes piled up and splayed out
in random places, empty beer cans and bottles littering on the floor, and a
sink full of unwashed dishes—typical of a bachelor’s pad. Luhan clicked his
tongue as he surveyed the apartment.
 
“If I was feeling better, I’d totally help you clean up. At least get rid of
those dishes,” Luhan scrunched his nose as he walked past the kitchenette.
Yifan let out a dry laugh and shrugged, then plunked down behind a coffee table
strewn with magazines and outdated mail. He pushed everything off the table
without hesitation. Luhan narrowed his eyes as he saw the items fall
haphazardly onto the floor.
 
“You’ll probably feel better after some jajangmyun and a heart-to-heart with
your favorite cousin,” Yifan said in Mandarin, wiggling his eyebrows at Luhan
as he showcased a saran-wrapped plate of noodles.
 
“My only cousin,” Luhan corrected him, easily slipping into Mandarin, as he
usually did when he was alone with Yifan. He plopped down diagonal to Yifan and
snatched the plate from Yifan’s hands, tearing open the saran wrap.
 
“Only cousin in this entire country,” Yifan reminded him, tossing him a pair of
disposable chopsticks. Luhan rolled his eyes. Yifan got up to the fridge,
poking his head in.
 
“Beer? Coke?” Yifan asked. “I don’t really have anything else.”
 
“I hope you have water,” Luhan said. He felt almost well now, but he thought he
should steer clear of any beverages besides good-ol’ H2O. Yifan reappeared by
the table a minute later, setting down a mug of water before Luhan and a Coke
for himself.
 
“Is this tap?” Luhan asked, eyeing the liquid in the mug suspiciously as he
held it up.
 
“Um,” Yifan said.
 
“Eh, whatever,” Luhan shrugged. Tap water wasn’t undrinkable; he was just used
to drinking distilled, a habit of a family man. Luhan was about to ask how come
Yifan didn’t have a Brita when he remembered the response last time he had
asked—too expensive. Luhan didn’t think Brita (or the filters) was considered a
luxury item, but he also knew Yifan wasn’t making as much as he did. Yifan was
a cashier at H Mart, which Luhan and Minjoo had always thought was insulting to
his intelligence, even though he worked at the branch in Cheongdam which was an
affluent area. Yifan was incredibly smart—that was how he earned a full
scholarship to UPenn—but he was also kind of a lazy ass. Luhan was glad that he
finally came around and decided to go back to school, studying business abroad
like he had once dreamed of.
 
“So,” Yifan began after chewing down a mouthful of noodles. “Jongin is a nice
kid.”
 
Luhan paused in mid-slurp, side-eyeing Yifan. His cousin was a real
conversationalist.
 
“Yeah, which is why I feel so shitty about the whole thing,” Luhan said
finally, taking a sip of water.
 
“You remembered?”
 
“Just parts of it. It was hard not to once Chanyeol started rambling about it.”
 
Yifan fell quiet. He swirled the noodles in his plate, then looked at Luhan.
 
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. You were drunk. We all do stupid shit when
we’re drunk.”
 
That was how Luhan had been consoling himself. Plus, it was just a game. It
didn’t mean anything.
 
(Or did it?)
 
“I know. But I still feel bad, since he’s…” Luhan trailed off.
 
“Kind of into you?” Yifan supplied, then corrected himself. “Not kind of. He’s
really into you. Or was. He probably hates you now.” Luhan squinted at him.
 
“Thanks, that’s comforting.”
 
“Well, I would be too, if I liked someone who’s clearly unavailable and then
they kiss me out of nowhere, because I totally don’t fantasize about stuff like
that.”
 
“Your Chinese has gotten worse,” Luhan cut him a glance. Regardless, he
understood what Yifan was trying to say, and he was completely right. “But
yeah. You’re right. I should apologize,” Luhan said and put down his
chopsticks, tipping back with a sigh.
 
“To be honest, I was surprised that you got along with him so well,” Yifan said
after a moment. “Considering you’re pretty much in a whole other stage in life
and he’s just a kid.”
 
“Yeah,” Luhan agreed. “So was I.”
 
Except Jongin wasn’t just a kid. He was a kid who had a lot on his mind and a
lot to say, a kid who had once lost something true but was now on the track to
grasp something real, a kid who smiled an innocent smile with eyes that drew
you in like an endless well. Jongin wasn’t just a kid, but Luhan didn’t tell
Yifan that.
 
“Anyway, don’t think too much of it. Just go apologize and everything will be
normal again,” Yifan said after taking a final slurp of noodles and wiping his
mouth with a napkin. “I’m sure he’s made the same mistake before, kissing
people he wouldn’t kiss if sober.” Luhan hummed an assent, but the last part of
Yifan’s sentence steered his mind onto a separate track.
 
What if he was sober at the time? Would he really have avoided Jongin’s mouth
and gone for a harmless peck on the cheek?
 
Luhan shook his head, batting away the ridiculous thought. Of course he would.
He was straight. He would never kiss a man voluntarily. He picked up his
chopsticks again and scarfed down a full mouthful of noodles before calling it
quits. He checked his watch; it was almost eight, leaving him just about an
hour to get home. He thanked Yifan for the dinner and reminded him to give
Luhan a call before heading to the airport next week; Luhan would have taken
him there, but Yifan’s departure was in the middle of the day and he couldn’t
really ask for three hours off when there was another report due by the end of
the week. He headed out toward the subway station, clutching his duffel in one
hand and grateful for feeling clear-headed.
 
Checking his email on his phone on the train home, Luhan came across the
football clip Jongin had sent him and suddenly realized he didn’t have Jongin’s
number. He had his email address, sure, but he should deliver an apology in
person instead of sending it through the cyberspace. He thought for a while,
then texted Chanyeol, asking for Jongin’s phone number. Chanyeol’s text came a
few minutes later, and Luhan saved the number provided into his phone. Staring
at the number, Luhan debated whether he should text Jongin first, asking to
meet up. He abandoned the idea and made a mental note to call Jongin first
thing in the morning. Minjoo sent him a text a few minutes before he got off
the train: Home soon? He typed out a quick reply: Be there in 10. He glanced at
his watch as he power-walked toward home: 8:40. Luckily his house was just a
five-minute walk from the station. He shoved his keys into the keyhole and
stepped in noisily, almost slamming the door behind him. He grabbed a small
gift box from his bag, then threw the bag onto the sofa and shuffled toward
Haru’s room.
 
“Surprise!” Luhan shook the gift box before his face, popping his head in
through the ajar door. Haru screamed and jumped out of bed.
 
“Daddy!” Haru leapt into Luhan’s arms, nearly knocking the box out of Luhan’s
hand. Luhan laughed, smashing a loud kiss onto her cheek.
 
“You’re late,” Haru said, pursing her lips and wagging her little finger in
Luhan’s face. She must have picked that up from her mother, Luhan thought.
 
“I’m sorry,” Luhan said as he put Haru down on her bed and sat down next to
her, then brandished the gift box. “Will you forgive me?”
 
Haru squeaked in delight and snatched the box out of Luhan’s hand. She fumbled
to open it, then let out another squeal when she took the bracelet out of the
box. It was a charm bracelet, a braided mint-green string tied to a metallic
ornament shaped in a maple leaf, with a smaller sized ornament shaped as a
hummingbird. Luhan watched Haru look at it reverently, the bracelet sitting in
her palm. He smiled.
 
“Do you like it?” he asked. Haru nodded fervently.
 
“It’s so pretty,” she said, then she picked up the bracelet by the string and
handed to Luhan. “Daddy, help me put it on.”
 
Luhan took the bracelet and slid it over Haru’s left wrist. Then he pulled on
the string, tightening it to make it fit. When it was done, Haru raised her
wrist and looked at the bird dangling from the bracelet. She giggled, and Luhan
broke into a grin. Even though Haru was a little too excited for bed, Luhan
tucked her in anyway, and read Go, Dog. Go! until she fell asleep. He put away
the book, then just sat there, watching Haru sleep for a while as his heart
began to ache for no apparent reason.
 
Finally he leaned forward and brushed Haru’s hair to the side. He pressed a
long kiss into her forehead. Haru stirred a little, sound asleep.
 
“I love you so, so much,” Luhan murmured before he got up. He turned out the
light and closed the door softly behind him.
 
Minjoo was up reading when Luhan stepped into the bedroom, tossing his duffel
to the side on the floor. He dragged his hands over his face.
 
“God, I am so tired,” Luhan moaned. He moved his hands away and saw Minjoo
looking at him, lips upturned in amusement. “What?”
 
“You look like a college student again in that outfit,” Minjoo remarked. Luhan
looked down—he was in a Givenchy graphic tee and black denims that hung just
below his hips. It had been a while since he dressed so casual. He chuckled and
ruffled up his hair.
 
“Even more with a snapback. I’ll show you pictures.”
 
“Did you have fun in Jeju without me?” she asked when Luhan pulled his shirt
over his head. “You look a little tanned,” she said, examining his torso.
 
“Yeah, we were on the beach for a while,” he said, kicking off his jeans.
“Should I shower?” he turned to her. She laughed.
 
“Come here, I’ll give you a quick sanitary check,” she said, half-serious. He
walked over by her side of the bed and bent down. She threw her arms around his
neck and he leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss. She moaned into his mouth
and drew him in, tongue slipping in past his teeth and he began to respond the
only way he knew how. He leaned further down, bringing his knees up on the bed
as she fell backward, legs wrapping around him. The smooth skin of her bare
calves glided against his back, sending familiar tingles up his spine. The way
her tongue searched his mouth suddenly reminded him of something. Someone. The
tingles rushed down his back and disappeared. He froze. She pulled back,
chewing the insides of her mouth.
 
“Jajangmyun?” she said, a tiny scrunch between her eyebrows. He blinked
stupidly before he realized what she was talking about. Huffing out an empty
laugh, he straightened up and scratched the back of his head. “Go brush your
teeth,” she said, patting his butt. He tickled her in revenge, her laugh
ringing up in his ears. She pushed him off the bed, and he padded into the
bathroom.
 
He stood before the sink and looked into the mirror, teeth sunk into his lower
lip. He turned on a faucet and let it run for a while, eyes shut tight as he
tried to stop Jongin’s face from popping up in his head. He picked up his
toothbrush, squeezed an ample amount of toothpaste, and shoved it inside his
mouth. He brushed for a long time, scrubbing away the taste of Jongin’s mouth
until all there was left was fluoride stinging the back of his gums.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
 
Luhan bit his lip as he pressed Call next to Jongin’s number, the other hand
held onto a pole on the subway. It rang several times. Jongin picked up just as
Luhan thought of hanging up.
 
“Hello?” Jongin mumbled, voice gargled by disrupted sleep.
 
“Uh, sorry, did I wake you?” Luhan said guiltily. “It’s um, Luhan, we met in
Jeju—“
 
“Yeah, I know,” Jongin said, voice clearer this time. He paused. “I remember.”
 
Luhan tried to take it that he remembered the overarching circumstance of their
meeting, not one specific incident.
 
“Sorry, I didn’t realize it was early. I mean I did, I just didn’t think—“
 
“It’s fine, hyung,” Jongin said. Luhan heard rustling in the back. “You’re on
your way to work?”
 
“Yeah.” Luhan paused for a beat. “If this isn’t a good time, I can call back
later.”
 
“Hyung, you already woke me up. The best thing you can do right now is humor me
with a good conversation,” Jongin said lightheartedly. If he wasn’t a morning
person, he didn’t sound like it. Nor did he sound like he held any grudges
against Luhan for what happened. Luhan said nothing for a moment, then Jongin
continued, as if remembering something. “Sorry, I’m flirting again,” he said
with a dry laugh, then added, “But truthfully, I don’t think I can stop
flirting with you.”
 
It astonished Luhan how easily Jongin said those words, how freely he admitted
to something that one should feel embarrassed of when caught red-handed. But
Jongin didn’t seem at all abashed expressing his affection for Luhan, as if he
had already embraced it, much fuller than Luhan did or ever would. Luhan
wondered if Jongin was just a flirty person in general, and that he didn’t
reserve these blush-worthy innuendoes just for Luhan.
 
“Um,” Luhan began, clearing his throat. “I was wondering if you’re free to
meet. For coffee, or something.”
 
There was silence on the other line. Luhan braced himself for a flippant remark
like Are you asking me out?
 
“Yeah,” Jongin said finally. “I’m always free. You’re the one that has work,
remember? I’m on vacation.”
 
“Okay, um, how about seven p.m. tomorrow, at the Paris Baguette in Myeongdong?”
 
“Sounds good. I’ll pencil it into my non-existent calendar,” Jongin said in all
seriousness. Luhan laughed, then they hung up after exchanging goodbye’s.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Chanyeol slid down on his seat, hitching one leg up over the other, looking
around the company cafeteria. Luhan glanced up from his kimbap and morning
papers he didn’t get to finish. The other two colleagues that had joined them
for lunch had finished eating and left a while ago. Chanyeol finished his lunch
shortly after, but he stuck around, fidgeting in his chair.
 
“Okay, what,” Luhan said finally. Chanyeol side-eyed him, then twisted his head
around.
 
“You know how you asked me for Jongin’s number?” Chanyeol said, dropping one
leg on the ground.
 
“Yeah?”
 
“Well??”
 
Luhan rolled his eyes.
 
“Chanyeol, it’s not like I asked him out on a date. I’m married, remember?” he
panned out his left hand, back facing Chanyeol.
 
“I know, it’s just…” Chanyeol trailed off. “Well, did you text him?”
 
“I called.”
 
“Oh, good,” Chanyeol said, leaning back in relief.
 
“Why?” Luhan narrowed his eyes at Chanyeol.
 
“Well… he was actually with me when you texted me,” Chanyeol confessed, smiling
awkwardly. Luhan mulled it over for a moment. That meant Jongin knew he was
going to contact him; he had been waiting for Luhan’s call. “He was… let’s just
say, he was really hoping you’d contact him.”
 
Luhan was quiet for a while. He picked at the kimbap, his appetite gone
somewhere else.
 
“Chanyeol,” he said finally, looking up at the other man. “Is he always so
flirty? Hitting on whoever he thinks is attractive?”
 
Chanyeol scoffed.
 
“No way! He’s usually not flirty. That’s how I could tell he was hitting on
you; if he flirts excessively, he really likes you.”
 
“But I’m married, and he knows that,” Luhan said, frowning. Chanyeol shrugged.
 
“That’s Jongin. He can’t really pull himself out of something once he’s
invested. Like dance, kind of.”
 
Luhan fell into deep thought. He had never really encountered this before.
Suitors—serious or casual—usually left him alone after they found out that he
was unavailable. Gay men wouldn’t even try once they spotted the ring on his
finger. But not Jongin. His persistence, albeit nonintrusive, was perplexing.
 
“Hyung,” Chanyeol called him out of his thoughts. “Why do you look so worried?”
 
“Nothing, it’s just,” Luhan started, folding the saran wrap over his leftover
kimbap, just to preoccupy his fingers. “I’m meeting with him tonight. To
apologize for, you know.”
 
Chanyeol mouthed an exaggerated oh.
 
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He was shocked, but he knew you were drunk. Don’t
worry,” Chanyeol got up, straightening his blazer. He patted Luhan on the
shoulder. “He’ll get over it.”
 
 
Luhan was holed up at work for a few minutes past his clock-out time due to an
email, so he rushed out of the office and briskly walked to the subway. He got
off in Myeongdong with a few minutes to spare, but when he approached the
bakery he spotted Jongin already outside by the entrance, talking to a guy near
his age. Jongin broke into a grin and waved when he saw Luhan. He said
something to the other guy, excusing himself with an apologetic smile, then
resumed a full-blown grin when he turned to Luhan. Luhan saw the guy eyeing
him, but decided to ignore it.
 
“Hi,” Jongin said, smiles reaching his eyes. He was in a grey Bape tee and navy
cargo pants, a black snapback tilted backward on his head, rolling his heels in
white Chucks. He had an earbud stuffed in one of his ears, the other strung
over his neck.
 
“Hey,” Luhan said. “Your friend?” he asked as they stepped inside. The shop was
starting to gain a crowd, mostly students catching a break between school and
after-school classes. 
 
“No, just some stranger,” Jongin replied, looking embarrassed. Luhan glanced at
him and chuckled. He wasn’t surprised; Jongin was exceptionally good-looking.
If Luhan swung that way, he would no doubt have a crush on him, even if he
wouldn’t have been as forward as asking him for his phone number out in the
streets. Luhan looked around for seats and spotted a table in the back. He told
Jongin to sit down first.
 
“What do you want?” Luhan asked, taking off his blazer and draping it over the
back of a chair. He looked up when there was no answer. Jongin was looking at
him, eyes traveling down his chest to his legs. Luhan cleared his throat.
 
“Oh,” Jongin said, and this time, Luhan could see the crimson in his face.
“Sorry. You just look really good in… just, yeah. Um, I’ll have an iced latte.”
He reached into his pocket and scooped out his wallet, but Luhan stopped him
before he took out money.
“It’s on me,” Luhan said. Jongin’s eyes widened a little, and Luhan added, “I’m
your hyung, I should be paying.”
 
“Right,” Jongin said, dropping his gaze. Then he looked up, eyes looking alive
again, but not as bright. “In that case, I also want two red bean buns,” he
said with a cheeky smile.
 
Luhan huffed out a laugh. “Okay.”
 
Luhan returned to their table with Jongin’s iced latte and red bean buns, and
an iced Americano for himself. He sat down and pushed the buns toward Jongin.
 
“Eat up. You’re a growing kid,” Luhan said teasingly, but Jongin didn’t smile.
 
“I’m not a kid, hyung,” Jongin said, his eyes holding Luhan’s, lips flat. “I’m
21, I can legally buy cigarettes and hire prostitutes. I’m not a 3-year-old
that needs to be tucked into bed at night.”
 
The harshness in his words made Luhan cringe inwardly. He didn’t think Jongin
would take the joke so badly, and the severity with which Jongin ripped off the
age label was a little disconcerting. Jongin quietly sipped his latte, eyes on
the table. The red bean buns remained untouched.
 
“I’m sorry,” Luhan started, fingers curled around his cup as he leaned forward.
Jongin raised his eyes and peered into Luhan’s face. “I didn’t mean it like
that. And I’m sorry about what happened in Jeju, too,” he tacked on, thinking
he might as well string all the apologies in one sentence.
 
“What happened in Jeju?” Jongin asked with a straight face. Luhan thought he
was joking.
 
“Uh,” he stammered, “you know. The game. I was drunk.” Luhan lowered his eyes,
looking at his straw as he chewed on his lips. Jongin didn’t say anything.
 
“Just…..I’m sorry for what I did,” Luhan said finally, looking up. Jongin was
looking at him expectantly. Luhan didn’t know what he wanted; he couldn’t read
the look in his eyes. Jongin looked away after a while.
 
“Okay,” Jongin said in English, so quiet Luhan barely caught it. He didn’t meet
Luhan’s eyes for a while, and Luhan watched him squeeze one of the red bean
buns before bringing it up to his mouth. He took a bite, looking bored. Luhan
felt like he should say something, anything, but he didn’t know what. He kept
wondering if Jongin was still mad at him.
 
“Your wife… she’s pretty,” Jongin said all of a sudden, looking at somewhere
past Luhan. Luhan was confused, which must have shown on his face because
Jongin added, “The photo you showed me in your wallet.”
 
Jongin was looking at him, waiting for him to say something about Minjoo. The
depth in his eyes seemed back to normal, the way it was when they talked on the
balcony in Jeju, no longer vacant.
 
“Oh, right,” Luhan said, chuckling. “Thanks?”
 
Jongin smiled at him, a little forced, but his face was no longer tense.
 
“Tell me about her. What’s her name? What does she do? How old is she?”
 
Jongin’s sudden curiosity took Luhan aback, but he fielded the questions one by
one.
 
“Her name is Minjoo, my age. She’s currently a full-time mother, and works at
an art gallery part-time.”
 
“How did you meet?”
 
“In college,” Luhan said, then stopped to trace his memories. “We were both in
this dance club, then I found out that she also lived in my dorm.”
 
“Dance club?” Jongin’s eyes lit up. “What kind of dance? You never told me you
could dance.” He was back to the laid-back Jongin who could talk about anything
with anyone. Though it wasn’t a topic Luhan was particularly fond of, he was
relieved.
 
“That’s because I can’t, not really,” Luhan said, embarrassed. He rarely ever
told anyone about this. He was actually a decent dancer, but he had associated
the experience with his first meeting with Minjoo, which he hadn’t mentioned
since the last couple they’d met, and that was months ago. “It was street
dance, nothing like your graceful modern dance.”
 
“I like street dance. It’s fun. Freeing,” Jongin said, looking at him with a
disarming smile. “It suits me.” Luhan could see that. He didn’t have to try to
picture Jongin doing it—the image morphs into his head in HD, Jongin’s long
limbs moving with fluid precision, facial expression right on point. He thought
about the dance clip Jongin had shown him, the way he looked at Luhan after he
said it was beautiful.
 
“Minjoo was my first and last serious girlfriend.” The words fell from his lips
before Luhan could catch them, and Jongin looked at him, wide-eyed. Luhan
didn’t know why he had said that; this wasn’t part of the script he used when
meeting couples along with Minjoo for the first time.
 
“Seriously?” Jongin exclaimed in disbelief. “But…” he looked like he wanted to
say something, but changed his mind. “Sorry, go on.”
 
“I came to Korea when I was 16, so my last two years in high school were all
about learning the language. There was a short thing with a girl in my senior
year, but it naturally fell apart when I went to college—we went to different
schools. Freshman year was full of brief hookups, one-night stands, things that
would never last,” Luhan said with a shrug.
 
“Then you met Minjoo-sshi,” Jongin pointed out.
 
“Yeah,” Luhan said.
 
It was almost like a fairy tale how Luhan had changed after they
met—halfheartedly attending frat parties, choosing to couple-study in the
library over playing RPG late into the night. Minjoo was like him in a lot of
ways—independent, strong-willed, loyal. That was probably why it was so easy
for him to go steady with her, slipping into a mode of constancy that was
polar-opposite from the life he used to live.
 
(He would never admit to anyone, including himself, that Minjoo was much more
mature than he was. He would never admit that he still reminisced about
campfires, reveling in a high rendered by cannabis and its many different
derivatives, and sloppy make-out sessions that required no thinking or
worrying.)
 
Jongin fell into thought for a moment, eyes never leaving Luhan’s face. If it
was anyone else, Luhan would have felt uncomfortable; like a patient lying on
an operating table, blinding light shining into his eyes. But there was
something oceanic and comforting in Jongin’s eyes—it made his gaze non-
invasive, like a warm blanket rather than a probing needle.
 
“What made you decide you were going to marry her?” Jongin asked, eyes all
sorts of curious. “Like, how did you know she was the one?”
 
Luhan didn’t know how to answer. How did he know? He tried to recall how he
proposed to Minjoo, then remembered that it was something they had talked about
before the actual proposal. If he had an epiphany that made him think I want to
spend the rest of my life with her, he couldn’t remember.
 
“I was happy with her,” he said finally. “We were in love.” The words tasted
crummy in his mouth, like milk that had gone past its expiration date.
 
“Were? Are you not in love anymore?”
 
Luhan looked away, an unsaid I don’t know stuck in the back of his throat. He
loved Minjoo, he knew that. But was that the being-in-love kind of love, or the
long-married kind of love? Was it the love that made his heart swell at the
thought of her, or the love that led him to volunteer cooking dinner when he
got home early from work? He didn’t know, and it scared him.
 
“Sorry,” Jongin spoke, drawing Luhan’s eyes back on him. “Forget I asked. We
don’t have to talk about it.”
 
There was that feeling again, Jongin’s look wrapping him like a warm blanket.
Luhan gave him a strained smile, shoving his thoughts into the cracks of his
mind. Before he knew it, his mouth opened again.
 
"To be honest, I feel like I haven't shared this much with an unmarried guy for
years,” he said. This time, he didn’t bother trying to bite his tongue. “Before
Jeju, I barely hung out with the guys. Having a family of your own kind of
seals you off from the world of singles.” He finished with a dull laugh.
 
"I wonder why," Jongin said, lingering eyes on Luhan. "You're so easy to talk
to. Plus, it’s not like your family defines who you are, right?"
 
He was giving Luhan that signature searching look of his again, and Luhan
thought about what he said. Before Jongin, he might have disagreed—Minjoo and
Haru meant the world to him, and everything he did, every choice he made was
for their best interest, especially Haru who was always his first priority. But
now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Ever since Jeju, he felt like he had discovered
a self that had been buried in a casket with the labels “husband” and “father”,
finally breaking free out of the ground, resurrecting.
 
Luhan ended up not saying anything, and they fell into silence, Jongin nibbling
on his bun again.
 
“So, you’re on vacation,” Luhan remarked after a while. Jongin looked up in
mid-chew, eyes peering over the bun in his hand.
 
“Yeah.”
 
“What do you… do?” Luhan asked. Jongin shrugged.
 
“Not much. I come back regularly, but I went over to New York a few years ago,
so I don’t really have friends here.”
 
“How did you meet Chanyeol then?” Luhan had asked Chanyeol the same question,
but Chanyeol had skirted around it, mumbling something vague like a thing in
Hongdae.
 
“From a class I was teaching,” he said finally.
 
“Wait, dance class?” Jongin nodded. “Chanyeol in a dance class?” Luhan said
incredulously, then cracked up. “No wonder he didn’t want to tell me when I’d
asked.”
 
“He was terrible, but that’s how we became friends,” Jongin said, smiling
fondly at the memory.
 
“I didn’t know you taught,” Luhan said. Jongin avoided his eyes, perhaps out of
embarrassment. “I know that you’re a dancer, obviously, but teaching a class?
That’s pretty awesome.”
 
Jongin shot him a disbelieving look that Luhan had seen before. He shrugged.
 
“It’s just something I do for extra cash while I’m back in Seoul,” he said,
looking away. “It’s not a big deal.”
 
“You know, you keep downplaying your talent like it’s something mediocre, and
it’s starting to get on my nerves,” Luhan said in a semi-serious reprimand.
Jongin cut a look at him, a mixture of bewilderment and shock in his eyes. He
said nothing, clamping his lips down the straw. Luhan studied him. He looked
smaller, shoulders hunched over as if insecurity sat on them, almost crushing.
This was a Jongin he wasn’t used to but had seen once, when he mentioned his
dance.
 
“Are you teaching nowadays?” Luhan asked, eyes searching Jongin’s face.
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Where and when?”
 
Jongin shot him a look before answering begrudgingly.
 
“Friday nights in Hongdae.”
 
Luhan thought for a moment.
 
“Can I come?”
 
Jongin widened his eyes and stopped swirling his drink.
 
“Why?”
 
Luhan shrugged.
 
“Just want to watch you,” he said. “That’s okay, right?”
 
Jongin stared at him with amazement filling his eyes, and Luhan felt a sense of
déjà vu.
 
“Yeah,” Jongin said finally in a soft voice. Luhan glanced down at his watch.
It was a little past eight; he should get going.
 
“Anyway, I gotta go. Text me the address and time, okay?” Luhan said, getting
up and shrugging on his blazer. He noticed Jongin watching him, eyes taking on
the sort of unreadable look that would haunt Luhan out the door.
 
“I know you’d rather me stay longer, but I gotta go back before my daughter
calls and screams in my ear,” Luhan said jokingly. Haru probably wouldn’t, but
it would just mean taking a longer time to put her to sleep. Jongin blinked as
if he just snapped into the moment. He offered a meager smile.
 
“I know. Thanks for the treat, hyung,” Jongin said. Luhan grinned, then ruffled
up Jongin’s hair as he walked past him.
 
Luhan’s phone went off as he approached the exit of the shop. It was Minjoo. He
tugged the door open with one hand, pulling his phone out of his pocket with
another. He felt eyes on his back as Minjoo spoke into his ear, asking if he
thought it’d be a good idea to add broccoli to the soup she was making for
Haru. He would have frowned at the idea, but he only half-listened. He
continued walking, the feeling of being watched staying with him until he
turned a corner.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
 
“So I’m going to this thing tomorrow night,” Luhan said to Minjoo as he tapped
a finger on the keyboard of his Vaio, back against the pillow, an email from
Jongin about the dance class on the screen. Minjoo shot him a glance, a book
propped open on her lap as usual.
 
“What thing?” she asked casually, turning a page.
 
“A friend is teaching a dance class,” he said, the word friend rattling off
awkwardly, “I kind of wanna go check it out.”
 
That got Minjoo’s attention. She put the book down and turned to him. Luhan
could see her gaping.
 
“A dance class?” she said incredulously. “Since when did you start thinking
about dance again?”
 
Since Jongin popped into his head without warning. He shrugged instead.
 
“I know it’s been a while, but I thought, I don’t know, it might be fun?” he
said, looking at Jongin’s email but not reading. Minjoo’s eyes were still on
him as she hummed in interest.
 
“Yeah,” she said, then paused as she returned to her book. “I hope it’s a
beginner class.”
 
Luhan frowned. He turned to her. “Why?”
 
“Because you must be rusty as hell,” she teased, lips slowly stretching into a
smirk. Luhan squinted at her.
 
“Speak for yourself,” he huffed.
 
“Hey, let me remind you that I’ve at least gone to a few workshops,” she
retorted. He couldn’t dispute that—she did go through a fervent phase of
attending figurerobic dance workshops to shed her pregnancy weight, which was
frighteningly effective.
 
“I go to the gym,” he said in lack of a better defense. At least he wasn’t out
of shape, and that had to count for something. She snorted.
 
“Yes, I applaud your self-discipline to get up at six in the morning every
other day.”
 
He shot her a side glance, then lunged at her, jabbing fingers into her side in
a tickling attack. She burst into a shrilly laugh, curling her legs up and
telling him to stop in between wheezes. Finally he stopped, but kept his arms
around her and pulled her close, chest flush against her back.
 
“This is what you get for being smart with me,” he mumbled in her hair, feeling
her chest heave up and down as she caught her breath. She didn’t say anything,
but pulled his arms tighter. He felt her close her eyes, becoming completely
still in his arms. He closed his eyes and just held her for a while, feeling
his heartbeat lull in the midst of her scent, head slotted in the crook of her
neck like two pieces of a puzzle.
 
“I miss this,” she whispered.
 
“Me too,” he said, breath gliding down her collarbone.
 
(Feeling her warmth radiate through his skin was undeniably nice, but he kept
repeating it in his head—I miss this. I do until he fell asleep, cheek pressed
against the side of her head.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
 
Luhan stood before the entrance to a club in Hongdae, mildly confused. He had
followed the directions Jongin gave him and, checking the address inscribed
above the door, it was the right place. Dressed in work clothes, he felt
incredibly out of place, even though there was no one coming in or out of the
club given the early hour. He had debated whether to bring clothes to change
into, but he wasn’t exactly planning on actually dancing, so he decided against
it. Now, standing in the middle of a street lined up with nightclubs and pubs,
he kind of wished he had. His phone went off when he started to consider
leaving.
 
“Hyung, are you coming?” Jongin asked.
 
“Uh,” Luhan said.
 
“What’s wrong?”
 
“Well, I followed your directions but I’m standing outside a club. And I’m kind
of overdressed. Or underdressed, whichever.”
 
Jongin laughed.
 
“You’re at the right place. We’re on the third floor so take the stairs up. And
we have no dress code, it’s completely fine to dance in your boxers.”
 
“Jongin, I’m serious,” Luhan said as he strode into the building and began
climbing the stairs to the right.
 
“So am I, but okay, I suppose you can borrow my sweatpants,” Jongin said,
feigning reluctance. Luhan chuckled. He supposed he could keep his wife-beater
on and with the sweatpants, he might be able to blend in.
 
“I’m almost there. See you soon,” he said, then hung up the phone.
 
Several doors loomed into his view when he stepped onto the third floor, and
they all looked pretty much the same. Luhan chewed the inside of his mouth for
a bit, contemplating. He walked up to the nearest door and leaned in, hearing
nothing, but he caught a faint sound of bass booming next door. He shifted over
and leaned in again—this time, sounds of music and chattering drifted into his
ears. This should be it, he decided. He pushed open the door.
 
Several twentysomethings sitting on the hardwood floor turned around when he
popped his head in, shot him an uninterested glance before resuming their
conversation. Feet outside the door, Luhan searched for Jongin’s face, scanning
the clusters of teenagers dressed in streetwear. Jongin finally caught his eyes
and pushed through the perimeter of his circle, coming toward him with a grin.
He stepped over the threshold as Jongin neared.
 
“You made it,” Jongin said, excitement glinting in his eyes. He was in a fitted
black tank top that clung to his torso, sinewy muscle in his bare arms
flaunting as he shoved his hands into the pants pockets. The dark grey harem
pants looked uncharacteristically appropriate on him. He rolled his heels in
black retro Jordans, perhaps some sort of a nervous habit. Luhan raised his
eyes and noticed Swagger written across the front of the baby blue snapback
snug on Jongin’s head.
 
“I did,” Luhan said, noticing several people eyeing him curiously. It was
probably his tie and dress pants. “Um, you said you had extra sweatpants?”
 
“Oh, yeah.”
 
Jongin went to the corner that housed a set of speakers, rummaging through a
duffel. Luhan took the time to survey the studio again. One of the walls was
lined with full-length mirrors, a couple of people sitting against another
wall, some bent over as they stretched. They all looked no older than twenty,
mostly high school and college students, Luhan gauged. The group made up of
mostly girls—it didn’t take much guesswork for Luhan to conclude that they were
most likely here because of Jongin. Some of them glanced over at Luhan, eyes
quickly dropped down to his left hand before they looked away.
 
“Here ya go,” Jongin tossed him a pair of cotton black sweatpants. Luhan looked
at them in his hands suspiciously.
 
“Don’t worry, they’re clean,” Jongin said, looking like he wanted to laugh.
Luhan shot him a look, half-convinced.
 
“Where can I change?”
 
“The restroom is down the hall next to the stairs, on the left.”
 
After Luhan got changed and returned to the studio in his white wife-beater and
Jongin’s sweats, he folded his clothes into a neat pile and placed it against
the wall next to Jongin’s duffel. Jongin was in front of him when he
straightened up, dark eyes raking over him.
 
“What?” Luhan asked, about to reproach him for checking him out again.
 
“Nothing,” Jongin replied, raising his eyes to Luhan’s face. “You look like a
kid.” His mouth slowly spread into a cheeky smile. Luhan rolled his eyes, but
didn’t retort. He had come to terms with his baby face, resigning to the fact
that his exterior was reduced by a couple of years in the absence of formal
clothing.
 
“Anyway, we’re gonna start with an old routine, so you can just watch,” Jongin
said, fishing out an iPod from his duffel. “Then you can join us whenever. If
you want,” he added, flashing him a smile.
 
“Okay,” Luhan said. He would probably just watch, but a part of him was open to
possibilities. He slid down against the wall opposite the mirrors, positioning
himself so that he could see Jongin through the labyrinth of bodies. He watched
Jongin click the iPod into the dock, instructing the class to get in position
as he scrolled to the song of choice. In a few seconds, an intro in a minor key
filled the air, followed by bass that drummed into an R&B song foreign to
Luhan’s ears.
 
Put your hands in the air
Trigga
Put your, put your hands in the air
Ooh nana
Look what you did start it
Ooh nana
Why you gotta act so naughty
 
Luhan tried to watch the class as a whole, allocating equal attention to the
ones within his line of sight, but his eyes always flitted back to Jongin. He
told himself that watching the teacher was the best way to learn a
choreography, but it didn’t matter—watching anyone, anywhere else was simply
impossible. Even though Luhan had seen him dance before, the pixelated version
was nowhere near the live. Luhan watched him with bated breath, as if his
respiratory system went out of sync with his vision. It was almost as Luhan had
imagined, the way Jongin’s body moved; sharp and punctuated as elbows and knees
locked into place, every single movement right on point. Jongin’s eyes found
his a couple measures into the song, and Luhan felt the air grow thick, his
chest tightening when Jongin looked right into his eyes when he rolled his
hips, an obscene smirk tugging at his lips.
 
The entirety of Jongin was a spellbinding performance—each lift of his
eyebrows, bite into his lips, the angle at which his jawline jutted out, down
to the tilt of his snapback and tug on his top that Luhan had learned to be
improvisation.
 
They ran through the routine twice before Jongin called stop, and Luhan felt an
odd sense of loss, wanting the Jongin show to last longer. Jongin told the
class that they were going to learn a new routine, then went to the iPod dock,
talking while scrolling for the song. He gave Luhan a look after he turned
around, hinting that he could join them now.
 
Luhan hesitated for a moment. In the end, he couldn’t fight the itch in his
body that had grown while he watched Jongin dance, and pushed onto his feet. He
chose a spot in the back just off the center. He cracked his neck, nervousness
pricking his skin as the song began to play and Jongin moved into demonstration
while the class observed. He curled and uncurled his hands, trying to watch
Jongin for the sake of choreography rather than the way his body moved.
 
After Jongin ran through the whole routine, he turned off the music and began
breaking it down step by step. Luhan followed, and was both surprised and
thrilled that he was able to pick it up without much difficulty, though a
little slow at first. Then he was smiling, riding through that familiar burn in
his limbs, muscle memory guiding his movement as they repeated the moves. It
felt like dance club in college again, and he was struck by how much he had
missed this, dancing. At some point, he caught Jongin cutting him a look, eyes
bright as he told him through an encouraging smile: You’ve made the right
choice coming out tonight.
 
And Luhan believed that smile.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Since then, Luhan showed up at the dance studio every Friday night, feet
tapping restlessly as he took the subway to Hongdae, a duffel with a change of
clothes in hand. Minjoo had asked no questions; instead, she seemed supportive
of the whole idea, possibly because Luhan had been so excited to tell her how
the first class went, wild hand gestures and rapid-fire speech and all. Haru,
on the other hand, didn’t seem so thrilled. She whined about having to go to
sleep without seeing Luhan for the whole day, and granted him no more than a
frowny face when he showed off a routine. Eventually, though, Haru stopped
complaining. Toddlers forgave and forgot easily, and it helped that Luhan made
sure to clear his Thursday nights so he could spend the whole night with her as
compensation.
 
Between one Friday and the next, Luhan and Jongin kept in touch through text
and email. With all the time in the world, Jongin had the luxury of catching
football games on TV as they aired, live-texting Luhan his reaction at sporadic
hours, mostly oh my god the ref is such a fucking moron and TORRES!!!!!!!!!!!
Ugh can I just marry him and the like. Luhan didn’t care much about Chelsea,
but he would be lying if he said he didn’t smile reading Jongin’s texts,
especially first thing in the morning.
 
Jongin occasionally sent out videos of the dance class that he filmed, cc-ing
Luhan. Watching it over and over on his Vaio before he turned in became a
bedtime ritual, and Minjoo sometimes joined him, calling him a show-off but
really, Luhan knew that deep down she was proud of him because of the way she
kissed the side of his head.
 
(It skimmed across his mind that the camera seemed to be focus on him in every
video, only ever so briefly.)
 
But Luhan’s favorite moments with Jongin were those spent with him in person,
because he could never get tired of the way Jongin cracked up at his unfunny
jokes, laughter pitched abnormally high and eyes shrinking into pretty
crescents. When Jongin came to meet him for lunch during certain work days, he
would take Luhan to food stands in alleys he had never stepped into before. On
Fridays when Luhan got off work on time, Jongin met him in Hongdae for dinner
before class. He would pull Luhan into a hole-in-the-wall that made him scrunch
his nose and doubt the grade from sanitary inspections, but the quality of food
always surprised him. The conversations between them played out like a kid
tinkering with the TV remote control, jumping from current events to K-pop to
dance to food to talking half-serious smack about Chanyeol. Hanging out with
Jongin was never boring; most of all, it made Luhan feel like he had time-
travelled to a pre-marriage age. It was rejuvenating, like fueling a plane
before it took off, soaring far into the horizon.
 
At some point, Jongin’s flirtatious remarks shifted into teasing that sometimes
bordered on snarky—Luhan thought this meant that Jongin had moved on, accepting
that their relationship would not surpass the platonic level. It was freeing,
in a sense, because Luhan no longer had to tiptoe around Jongin, keeping
friendly gestures in check. He didn’t have to interpret Jongin’s touchiness as
something meaningful; in fact, he didn’t have to interpret at all. He became
used to Jongin’s hand slithering up his arm, an arm casually slung across his
shoulders, hugs that pulled them so close together that he got lost in the
sillage of Jongin’s cologne. He even found it comforting sometimes—he usually
got hugs from someone of a much smaller size, with much shorter arms.
 
(He wanted to believe that Jongin was just a physical person prone to touch.
Nothing more.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
It was another summer night in Hongdae, the humid air of July engulfing Luhan
as he exited the subway station. The streets were already bustling, dense
hordes of off-session students and tourists made it feel like someone had their
hand around Luhan’s throat. He maneuvered through the crowd as quickly as he
could, recoiling at the stickiness on his skin as his arms rubbed against
someone else’s. Good thing he had the foresight to get changed back at the
office before he left—even a loosened tie hung around his neck would’ve felt
like a noose.
 
The studio was only filled to one-third of the usual level when he stepped in.
It was hot to begin with, and the air-conditioner in the room was broken since
the previous week. Luhan had hoped it would have been fixed already, but he
supposed he was going to have to toil through another sweat-drenched session.
 
Halfway through an old routine, Jongin grunted in annoyance and dragged his
wife-beater over his head, hurling it on the floor by the mirrors. Sweat rained
torrentially down his body from his hairline down to the elastic band of his
basketball shorts. Luhan spared him a glance before thinking fuck it and
pausing in mid-step, pulling off the tee that had clung disgustingly to his
back. He caught Jongin looking at him in the mirror just before he tore his
eyes away. He almost messed up the subsequent move, tripping over his own foot.
He pursed his lips and trained his eyes in the mirror at himself, pointedly
ignoring the eyes darting from the center of the mirror.
 
(It shouldn’t matter to him, Jongin checking him out. He had been given worse
looks, leers that made his hair stand on end, and he thought he would—he
should—get used to Jongin looking at him by now. But with each glance Jongin
cast his way, he felt something within him chip off and crumble, and it was
getting harder to hold everything in place.)
 
Jongin ended up calling it a night 30 minutes early, for which Luhan was
eternally grateful because he was starting to have difficulty breathing, vision
impaired by the sweat that kept dripping into his eyes. He dropped to the floor
as soon as the music stopped, wiping sweat off his face with the tee he had
abandoned earlier. He scooted backward until his back hit the wall, sighing as
the chilly concrete provided temporary relief. He closed his eyes and muttered
bye as the others shuffled past him and out the door; he felt completely
boneless, unable to move. The studio went quiet, then he felt someone plunk
down next to him.
 
“I swear to God you need to get that AC fixed,” Luhan mumbled.
 
“No class next week if it’s still broken,” Jongin said, sounding out of breath.
Luhan felt a nudge in his arm. He cracked an eye open. Jongin was holding out a
bottle of water, uncapped. Luhan snatched it out of his hand and nearly jammed
the opening into his mouth.
 
“Thanks,” Luhan said after taking a large gulp, feeling a little more alive
now. He hadn’t realized how dehydrated he was. He took another swig before
Jongin dropped his head on his shoulder, almost knocking him over.
 
It was gross because Jongin’s hair was soaked in sweat and it felt wet against
Luhan’s bare shoulder, but for some reason, it felt nice. It was comforting in
the most ironic way, as if Luhan had craved having weight on his shoulder, a
gesture that meant he was someone else’s safe haven. They sat there for a
while, feeling that heave in the chest when the other person breathed in and
out.
 
“Let’s get out of here,” Jongin said finally, but he was still down on the
floor when Luhan pushed up on his feet.
 
“C’mon, let’s go,” Luhan said, looking down at Jongin, hands on his hips.
 
Jongin looked up at him and raised his arm. Luhan rolled his eyes.
 
“You’re such a baby,” he said as he pulled Jongin up, which didn’t take much
effort. Shooting Jongin a side glance, Luhan suspected that it was just another
childish antic, and broke into strides toward his duffel across the room.
 
(But he didn’t miss the way Jongin’s hand slid off sluggishly, as if he wanted
to hold on even after he was on his feet.)
 
Somehow, Luhan kept finding himself in situations that he wouldn’t have been in
if not for Jongin’s wheedling. He had planned to go straight home afterward, as
he always did, because even though he had changed into a clean shirt, he was in
dire need of a shower. So instead of hopping on the subway he ended up texting
Minjoo that he was going to be home late, discreetly leaving out the part about
Jongin tugging him to a food tent for yasik. Minjoo texted him back almost
immediately.
 
Ok fine I guess I’ll have to go to bed without you
 
Luhan chuckled. He could see the semi-serious pout on her face. He texted her a
string of hearts and a goodnight.
 
And so here he was, seated across Jongin as he yelled orders to the ahjumma,
surrounded by the sounds of half-drunken chattering and shot glasses thudding
on the table.
 
“Um,” Luhan said, staring in horror when the man seated next to them plunked
his head down next to about a dozen empty soju bottles. “Why are we here?”
 
“Because we’re starving,” Jongin said matter-of-factly. A plate with a fat pile
of fried chicken was dropped on their table, followed by dishes of soondae,
veggie pancakes, and chicken feet. Jongin thanked the ahjumma happily and then
rubbed his hands together, looking like he was ready for battle.
 
Luhan didn’t know how hungry he was until the food arrived, enticing smell
flying right up his nostrils. He went for the fried chicken first, and as he
sank his teeth down, memories of college came rushing back again—playing rock-
paper-scissors in the winter to decide who would go out and get chicken at two
in the morning, lining up at this food stand a few streets away from school
because they made the best fish cakes within a five-mile radius. Luhan felt
like he was a kid again, doing things he would probably regret the next day or
in a few hours, which seemed to be happening every time he was with Jongin. But
he felt unrestrained, and that was a feeling he wanted to hold onto for just a
little while.
 
Jongin hummed loudly after taking a vigorous bite of a drumstick, then
swallowed and said, “I love this stuff. I could never get sick of it.”
 
“It’s been a while since I came to a pojangmacha,” Luhan admitted after gulping
some soondae. “Must’ve been, like,” he paused and tried to remember. “At least
a year. Maybe around the time when Minseok got dumped.” Minseok didn’t usually
resort to alcohol when wallowing in misery, but that last breakup was
particularly painful, and Luhan didn’t blame him for chugging shots after
shots.
 
“That usually happens after a breakup. Getting wasted, I mean,” Jongin said.
Luhan was quiet, concentrated on the chicken wing he was chewing on. He
couldn’t really give any input considering he had never experienced a serious
relationship breaking off. He felt Jongin’s eyes on him.
 
“I take it it’s never happened to you before,” Jongin remarked.
 
“Yeah,” Luhan said with a shrug, tossing the bones on an accumulating pile of
chicken remains.
 
“That must be nice. Never having had your heart broken,” Jongin said quietly.
Luhan glanced up at him. There were no furrowed brows or pursed lips on his
stoic face, but that was Jongin—looking put together when he was beat down by a
storm inside. The turmoil was only palpable in his words, the way he talked,
and he wasn’t saying anything.
 
“Have you—“Luhan began but stopped in mid-sentence, thinking he probably
shouldn’t pry.
 
“It’s happening,” Jongin said after a moment.
 
“What is?” Luhan asked, utterly confused.
 
Jongin just shook his head. He chewed on some chicken feet with shocking
enthusiasm, then paused pensively, as if something was missing from the grand
scheme of amputated poultry. He called to the ahjumma to bring over two bottles
of soju. Luhan snapped up his eyes in surprise, but didn’t say anything. He
remembered the last time he called Jongin a kid, albeit jokingly. It did not go
very well. He gave himself an upper limit of two shots, knowing that Jongin
would somehow, as always, cajole him into it.
 
They started talking about dancing. Or rather, Jongin talked, and Luhan
listened and watched how Jongin’s face transformed into a mixture of emotions,
becoming increasingly animated as Jongin drank. Luhan quickly discovered in
dismay that Jongin had a much higher level of tolerance than he’d thought. He
had hoped that Jongin would be a lightweight and become too drunk to wheedle
him into anything. But he was wrong. After emptying an entire bottle, which
Luhan tirelessly poured into Jongin’s glass, Jongin looked and acted entirely
sober, though his speech had slowed somewhat. Luhan had downed one shot, but he
was beginning to feel a little queasy, his stomach unused to the greasy food
mixed with liquor. He surreptitiously palmed his glass and moved it out of
Jongin’s reach.
 
“Hyung, I know what you’re trying to do,” Jongin said, wagging his finger in
Luhan’s face like scolding a child. Luhan felt ridiculous. “But okay, I
understand. You wouldn’t want to go home smelling like alcohol.”
 
His assertion was valid, and yet it dropped something heavy into the pit of
Luhan’s stomach. He tried to pry Jongin’s fingers off the remaining bottle, but
failed sooner than he’d expected. He sighed, resorting to monitoring the angle
of Jongin’s sway and munching on a veggie pancake instead.
 
“Why is it that you always say the things I want to hear?” Jongin slurred after
he forced Luhan to pour him another shot, peering at Luhan through half-lidded
eyes. Luhan didn’t answer, assuming it was a rhetorical question and concluding
that Jongin was a talkative drunk that meandered into dialogue of substance,
which really wasn’t that much different from the sober Jongin. Jongin
continued, shoving a hand underneath his head.
 
“You say that I’m good at choreography,” Jongin stated, a sliver of disbelief
in his wobbly voice. It was something Luhan had mentioned a few weeks ago, in
an email replying to another of Jongin’s dance class videos. The video wasn’t
like the others in that Jongin had had someone else film it so he himself would
be included. It ended up being uploaded to YouTube as a dance tutorial that
became a hit. But that wasn’t the reason why Luhan had told him he was a good
teacher. It was the little things that happened in every class and not entirely
captured in that video—the way Jongin patiently broke down the steps multiple
times, explaining the more complex ones with perfect analogies, and the wiggle
room he gave for personal interpretation. Being good at dancing isn’t the same
as being good at designing dance, like how good vocalists aren’t necessarily
competent composers or lyricists.
 
“You’re an excellent dancer,” Luhan affirmed, unable to come up with anything
more eloquent. Jongin lolled his head from side to side.
 
“That’s not the same thing,” Jongin refuted, closing and opening his eyes
slowly. He raised his glass to Luhan as if flaunting its emptiness. Luhan let
out a small sigh and filled it. Jongin gulped it down and let out a loud sigh
before he went on.
 
“No one seems to care if you’re good at choreography. Everyone wants you to be
a good dancer, someone that can learn choreography quickly and then render it
perfectly, so everyone wants to be a good dancer. What’s wrong with being a
good choreographer?”
 
“There’s nothing wrong with being a good choreographer,” Luhan said. Jongin
shot him a look, and his eyes were so glassy that Luhan couldn’t tell what the
look was supposed to mean.
 
“I wish my teachers said the same thing,” Jongin muttered. “You know the
feeling where you’re so passionate about something, and you’re working so hard
toward it but everyone else just…” he paused as he looked away. “Everyone else
just doesn’t get it. My mom got so pissed when I told her I wanted to go to
Seoul Arts High School, not because it was expensive but because she didn’t see
the point in dancing. So I took up a part-time job and scraped together enough
money to take dance classes after school, but it wasn’t enough, you know? I
wanted to dance all the time. I didn’t want to sit at a desk and learn calculus
and memorize the history of the Republic of Korea. It all just felt like such a
waste of time. But I put up with it because my mom got sick and I… I wanted to
be a good son.”
 
“Is that why you went to New York after…” Luhan trailed off.
 
“It sounds horrible, but at the time, I believed that I couldn’t be happy until
my mom died.” Jongin looked at Luhan. “You must think I’m despicable.”
 
Luhan shook his head. He didn’t know what to say, so he just put his hand over
Jongin’s. He felt Jongin trembling.
 
“I felt so guilty. I still do. I’m finally doing something I love but my mom is
gone. It’s like—“
 
“No,” Luhan cut him off. He didn’t want to hear any more of Jongin’s self-
abasement. “It’s not. Your mom’s death is not your fault. Dancing isn’t wrong,
and neither is loving it. Don’t blame yourself for something that’s not a
mistake. Don’t feel sorry for being passionate about something.”
 
Jongin just looked at him, mouth parting as if he wanted to say something.
Luhan saw brokenness in his eyes.
 
“Jongin, do you understand me?”
 
Jongin’s eyes welled up. Tears began to pour down his face, quietly and
endlessly. He made no effort to wipe them away, as if they didn’t belong to
him. He just looked into Luhan’s eyes, and Luhan felt like he was drowning in
an ocean made up of Jongin’s tears. It was the first time he’d seen Jongin cry,
and it hurt him like a needle being pushed into the inside of his thigh, but he
didn’t know what to do. He watched the streams of tears drip from Jongin’s jaw
and heard himself call to the ahjumma asking to pay.
 
Luhan footed the bill, slapping down a couple of notes on the table before
hoisting up a motionless Jongin, throwing an arm over his shoulders and hefting
both of their duffels with the free hand. Jongin wobbled a little and he had
stopped crying, but he was silent. He made no sound and said not a word, vacant
eyes boring into the ground as they walked out and Luhan flagged down a cab.
Jongin peeled away after Luhan opened the door, climbing into the car and
slumping against the other door. Luhan threw the duffels inside and got in,
then remembered he didn’t know where Jongin lived except it was in Yeonnam. He
opened his mouth to ask when Jongin spoke, giving his address to the cabdriver
in a steady voice. He sounded as if he had been sober and dry-eyed, but he
still looked broken because he was still quiet, eyes dead.
 
Luhan glanced over at him a few times during the ride, hoping and waiting for
Jongin to snap back to normal, sprouting another existential question that
Luhan would let him answer himself. But Jongin just looked out the window in
silence, the tearstains on his cheeks flickering under the flashing glow of
headlights and lampposts.
 
Jongin didn’t move when the cab pulled up in front of his apartment, but when
Luhan took out his wallet to pay, Jongin shoved him away, a little too roughly.
Luhan stared at him but Jongin ignored him, pulling out several bills from his
wallet and giving them to the driver. The driver looked a little bewildered,
but said nothing as he thanked Jongin for the payment. Jongin pushed open the
door, legs shaky as he put his feet on the ground. Luhan grabbed their duffels,
got out and went around the car. Jongin pulled away when Luhan reached for his
arm.
 
“I can walk by myself,” Jongin spoke flatly, the first thing he said to Luhan
since he cried. Then he turned around without another glance and staggered
toward the two-floor rooftop apartment. Luhan bit his tongue, frustration
riling up in his chest. He didn’t know why Jongin was suddenly so irritated and
closed-off, but he followed him, watching Jongin’s back carefully as they
climbed the stairs.
 
They went all the way to the top, and Luhan thought how he had never actually
visited a rooftop apartment before. Jongin fished out his keys, jingling as he
tried to push it into the keyhole. Luhan watched him squint and jab the key
repeatedly, wanting to help but knowing Jongin would just push him away again.
Finally Jongin got the door to open, and he heaved a heavy sigh. He began to
walk inside but stopped in mid-step, as if remembering something. He turned
around, eyed Luhan’s hand that was clutching his duffel, grabbing the strap and
snatching it. Luhan jerked forward and he was suddenly angry. He yanked back
before Jongin’s duffel was tugged free.
 
“Will you stop?” Luhan half-shouted. He really hated what Jongin was doing, not
talking and acting all sorts of childish that made him look like a brat when he
wasn’t. Luhan knew he wasn’t.
 
“No, you stop,” Jongin shouted back, eyes growing red again. “Stop being so
good to me. Stop saying all these nice things. You stop, because it fucking
hurts.” He started to cry again, biting down on his lips as he glared at Luhan
past the tears filling his eyes.
 
Luhan felt his mouth go dry. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. He
should have seen this coming, and maybe he had, but he didn’t think it would be
so bad. Was he leading Jongin on? Did he give mixed signals? No, because Jongin
was just a friend, a dongsaeng that seemed self-aggrandizing at times and
talked with a depth that many adults lacked. He suddenly realized how much he
missed Jongin’s smile, and not seeing it was like being rained on by an abrupt
thunderstorm on a perfectly sunny day. Yet the thunderstorm didn’t let up
because Jongin started to cry harder.
 
“I’m sorry,” Luhan said finally, the only words that made it past his lips. He
was sorry, he really was. He had thought Jongin had already given up, but
perhaps he was too naïve to presume that. Maybe he shouldn’t have replied to
Jongin’s nonsensical texts about a football club he didn’t care for. Maybe he
should have kept his shirt on in class earlier. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered
reassuring words that he believed in, words that he wanted Jongin to believe
in.
 
(But all he wanted was to see that candid smile that stretched Jongin’s mouth
wide unabashed, the bright lights in his eyes that reminded him of a lighthouse
in the middle of the sea, and the way Jongin looked at him, prodding him
forward like wind pushing the sail in a new direction when he had been auto-
cruising. Was that so wrong?)
 
“No, I’m sorry,” Jongin said, sniffling as he swiped the back of his hand over
his face. He looked at Luhan, teary eyes cloaked by a sadness so heavy it
crushed Luhan from the head down. “I know you're off-limits and you don’t even
like men but I just—I can't stop. I'm trying but I just can't. You're too
beautiful and I just can't stay way. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being in love
with you."
 
More tears rolled down Jongin’s cheeks as he clamped his lips tight. Luhan’s
mind was a complete blank. He wanted to say something but there was nothing
left to say after a futile I’m sorry. Jongin looked so small and fragile and
scolded, and it looked so wrong. There was something pulling his chest inward
and twisting it so hard as if to wring his heart dry, and it hurt so much he
couldn’t breathe.
 
He just wanted Jongin to stop crying, so he dropped the duffels on the ground
and stepped forward, cupping Jongin’s face. Up close, the tears brimming
Jongin’s eyes made them look like stars, gleaming in the afterglow of a
celestial tragedy, and it was lovely in a heartrending way.
 
Luhan leaned in and closed his eyes as he pressed his mouth onto Jongin’s
cheekbone, tasting saline as Jongin’s tears saturated his lips trailing down.
 
When he pulled back, Jongin was looking at him wide-eyed, lips trembling. Luhan
wanted to apologize again, but he wasn’t really sorry. No, he realized that he
wasn’t sorry for kissing Jongin’s tears away.
 
He dropped his hands and began to back away when Jongin gripped his shirt,
clenching the fabric desperately. Luhan froze, a lump forming in the back of
his throat. He didn’t move when Jongin’s hand crawled up to his face. They were
so close, so close that Luhan felt Jongin’s shuddering breath on his nose. He
looked into the infinite depth of Jongin’s eyes because that was all he saw.
And he was falling, and falling, and falling.
 
Luhan lowered his eyes when Jongin’s thumbs brushed over his chin, fingertips
outlining the jawline. He waited with bated breath, ignoring the voice
screaming inside his head telling him to pull back. The voice grew smaller and
smaller, and vanished entirely when Jongin’s parted lips touched his own,
grazing ever so lightly, and his eyes fluttered shut. Jongin’s fingers gently
pressed into the bottom of his cheeks and his mouth went slack, lips parting
further for more of what he had feared. He could feel Jongin shaking, the
tremors in his lips carrying into his own. He knew they were both
terrified—there was no turning back if they dove all the way in.
 
“You make it useless for me to apologize,” Jongin whispered, hot breaths
tickling the corner of Luhan’s mouth.
 
“You shouldn’t apologize for loving someone,” Luhan heard himself say, but
through Jongin’s parted mouth, he could hear an unsaid apology, taste it on his
tongue before Jongin’s lips sealed over his. He gasped into Jongin’s mouth,
feeling his lungs flare up like dead cinder struck by a spark of fire.
 
But he was a hypocrite, because he was sorry for loving Jongin. An endless
string of I’m sorry wrapped around his mind, over and over, as Jongin’s tongue
slipped inside and roamed, slow and tentative. He had never kissed a guy
before—not like this, sober and not taunted by bets. The thought jolted him
backward and his eyes snapped wide open. Jongin blinked at him, confusion and a
little hurt flashed in his eyes.
 
“I think—“
 
“Don’t think,” Jongin cut him off. He closed the distance between them again
and put a hand behind Luhan’s nape. “Just feel,” Jongin said against his lips.
 
He closed his eyes and surrendered, and he just felt. It became easier as
Jongin kissed him—he made it hard to think, anyway. Jongin kissed him slowly,
quietly, unapologetically, maybe on purpose so he could feel everything
individually and all at once. 
 
He felt the way their lips melded together, like two threads being weaved
tightly into a helix. Jongin’s soft lips that vaguely reminded him of that
night in Jeju, and how they pressed gently into his own. The tides that rolled
in the pit of his stomach, rising and falling as Jongin’s tongue pushed and
pulled. He stopped treading and dove in, his hands crawling up to Jongin’s neck
and pulling him closer, as if there was any more space to reduce.
 
Luhan jumped when his phone went off. Jongin let go and lowered his arms
slowly. Luhan pulled out his phone and looked at the caller ID. Panting, he
glanced up at Jongin apologetically. Jongin looked at him, eyes dim and lips
pursed. Luhan turned and walked away for a few steps, steadying his breath
before answering the phone.
 
“Hey Min.”
 
“Hey, um, I don’t mean to rush you but I think Haru is sick.”
 
“What? What do you mean?”
 
“I’m not really sure… she’s running a fever but it’s more than that. She
couldn’t eat anything at dinner and she’s been more restless than usual the
whole day. Something’s wrong, Lu.” He could hear the anxiety in her voice. A
heart-wrenching wail broke out by Minjoo, pulling his brows into a deep knot.
 
“I’m coming home right now.”
 
He hung up and turned around, reaching for his duffel on the ground.
 
“I’m sorry. I have to go,” he said. His chest felt tight, mind swimming in
worries over Haru and cluttered feelings about Jongin.
 
“Is everything alright?” Jongin asked.
 
“Haru’s sick. I have to take her to the hospital.” He looked at Jongin, feeling
like he should say something else but nothing came to mind. Jongin had told him
to stop thinking, and till now he still couldn’t restart.
 
“Okay,” Jongin said quietly, then bit into his bottom lip. Rolling his heels,
he clenched and unclenched his hands, as if he wanted to reach out and touch
Luhan one last time.
 
“I’ll…” Luhan started, searching for the right goodbye. “See you around.”
 
Jongin hummed. Luhan gave him one last look before turning around and jogging
down the stairs.
 
When he reached the ground and walked out to the main road to flag down a taxi,
Luhan felt eyes watching over him. Like that time when he walked out of Paris
Baguette, with Jongin left behind.
                                     - ☆ -
 
It turned out that Haru had an ear infection, or otitis media as Luhan learned
from the ER doctor. She was prescribed 3 days’ worth of antibiotics before the
doctor sent them home, Minjoo driving while Luhan sat in the back with Haru
curled up in his lap. He sang Today softly while threading tendrils of her
hair, thoughts drifting and hovering over a certain rooftop miles away.
                                        
Luhan couldn’t sleep. After feeding Haru her medications and putting her to
bed, it was well past midnight and he dragged his exhausted body to bed. But
two hours later, he was on his back, wide eyes boring into the ceiling, haunted
by the idea of Jongin. He glanced over at Minjoo who was sound asleep, and felt
that the few inches between them had suddenly grown to the size of Grand
Canyon. He kept thinking about the kiss, the tingles that shot up his spine
when Jongin touched his face, the way Jongin looked at him when he said he
needed to go. He closed his eyes hoping that darkness would lure in sleep, but
it just made Jongin’s teary eyes look brighter. Like dying stars that glimmer
brilliantly from afar, but merely flicker up close just before they perish.
 
Just a while before the sun came up, he finally fell asleep to an image of the
Jeju beach, gentle tides carrying him and Jongin out into the sea.
 
                                     - ☆ -
                                        
Luhan spent the whole weekend either cooped up on Haru’s bed or on the couch,
channel-surfing idly as Minjoo fed her porridge. There was a football match on,
Arsenal vs. Newcastle, and he wondered if Jongin was watching. Fragments of
Friday night ghosted into his mind at times, but they were chased away by the
sounds of Haru crying as she awoke. Though he tried to listen when Minjoo
talked to him about the recipes she would use for the next few days until Haru
got better, he couldn’t stay engaged, fingers fidgeting with his phone.
 
He kept checking his phone, and kept trying not to. There were no texts from
Jongin over the weekend.
 
He was sleepless again on Monday night, wondering if Jongin would show up in
front of the office building the next day for their usual lunch date. He
debated with himself whether to text Jongin and ask, but decided against it. If
he showed up, then everything was fine and they could be back to being friends.
If he didn’t, then maybe that was the best way things ended.
 
(Maybe.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Jongin wasn’t there chatting with the security guard as he normally would when
Luhan went down to the lobby. He bit his lips and decided to wait a little. The
guard told him that Jongin didn’t come today, as if Luhan hadn’t already
noticed. He nodded and said he’d wait. He waited for ten minutes, wading
through small talk with the guard before he went upstairs to the cafeteria. He
didn’t bother telling the guard to buzz him if Jongin showed up. It seemed too
easy to give up, but maybe he just couldn’t feel anything, and there was no
such thing as hope or hopeless.
 
He walked straight to the usual table where Chanyeol and another colleague sat
for lunch. Chanyeol widened his eyes when he saw Luhan, but didn’t say
anything. Luhan mumbled a greeting before plunking down in an empty chair next
to Chanyeol, staring at the tabletop.
 
“Want some kimbap?” Chanyeol attempted after a silent minute. Luhan shook his
head.
 
“I’m not hungry.”
 
It was another moment of silence before their colleague cleared his throat
conspicuously and got up, hurriedly cleaning up his trash before leaving Luhan
and Chanyeol alone. When he was out of earshot, Chanyeol turned to Luhan.
 
“What happened?”
 
He knew that Luhan always went out to have lunch with Jongin on Tuesdays. It
was a Tuesday, yet Luhan was here, sitting in the cafeteria with a sullen face.
 
“Nothing,” he said with a pretentious shrug. “He stood me up, I guess.”
 
“Did you have a fight?”
 
He didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and put his head down on the table. Maybe
he’d take a catnap. He didn’t sleep well last night.
 
After a few minutes, he heard Chanyeol call Jongin’s name.
 
“You’re here,” Chanyeol said, voice laced with disbelief. Luhan stirred a
little, head still down, and thought he was hearing things. Why would Jongin be
here? He must be dreaming.
 
“Uh, yeah.”
 
Luhan heard Jongin’s voice and his head shot up, eyes wide open. Jongin was
here, standing a little away from their table. He looked like he wasn’t sure if
he should be here.
 
“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” Jongin said. He was looking at both of
them, but his eyes only flitted across Luhan’s face. Luhan felt a lump in the
back of his throat.
 
“Yeah, just Luhan-hyung being lazy,” Chanyeol replied, deadpan face replaced by
a cheeky grin. Luhan watched Jongin’s mouth stretch into a smile. It was bright
but untrue, like the fluorescent tubes over his cubicle, so blinding that it
hurt to look straight into it.
 
 “Did you eat yet?” Chanyeol asked, stuffing another kimbap into his mouth.
 
“No, but I brought chicken,” Jongin said with a grin, raising his arm and
flaunting a plastic bag. Chanyeol’s eyes lit up, but dimmed before he cut a
glance to Luhan. He swallowed quickly and got up, rumpling the saran wraps and
napkins.
 
“Uh, I just remembered I have stuff to do,” he said before taking a swig from
his water bottle, rinsing his mouth. “I’ll catch you guys later.”
 
It didn’t come as a surprise to Luhan, but he jerked forward a little when
Chanyeol left. Jongin said nothing, still standing in the same spot. He put the
plastic bag down on the table, looking at it instead of Luhan. Luhan started to
say something when Jongin spoke, stealing his thoughts.
 
 “The ahjusshi let me up. He said you’d been waiting,” Jongin said. He pulled
out a chair and plunked down. He looked down at his lap, the untrue smile
exiting left, leaving an empty stage. “I wasn’t going to come,” he said
quietly, peering into his hands.
 
“I’m sorry, I—“
 
“Are you apologizing because it was a mistake?” Jongin cut him off. He raised
his head and peered into Luhan’s face, all sorts of hurt buried in his eyes.
Luhan didn’t know what to say. He felt like someone had shoved a cork down his
throat, stifling unformed words.
 
“No. I don’t know,” Luhan said finally. It would be a lie to say he regretted
kissing Jongin, but it would be a different kind of lie to say he didn’t. “I
care about you a lot, Jongin.” It was a truth that was both conclusive and
ambiguous, its meaning stretched far and firm like an elastic band.
 
“What does that really mean?”
 
Luhan could say many things to answer that question. He could say that he felt
like getting kicked in the shin when Jongin cried. Or that his heart swelled
when Jongin laughed. Or that he had found a different kind of home in Jongin’s
arms. He could tell Jongin about the celestial tragedy in his eyes, how those
bright lights were his idea of beautiful. Or he could say nothing, because the
way these words sounded in his head terrified him.
 
He said nothing.
 
Jongin sighed. He pushed onto his feet, the chair scooting back with a clink.
 
“I’m just as confused as you are, you know,” Jongin said. Luhan looked up.
Jongin had his hands shoved into his pockets, rolling his heels in grey Chucks.
His eyes were almost pleading, like he was asking Luhan to save him from
drowning.
 
(But he was drowning himself, and they were both sinking deep, deep down.)
 
“I think I’m gonna stop coming to dance class for a while,” Luhan said quietly,
looking at the lint peeking out under the table leg like weeds. He needed to
untangle the clutter in his head, and it was possible only with time apart from
Jongin. 
 
Jongin was silent for a while. Luhan tried not to look at his face.
 
“Remember to eat the chicken,” Jongin said. Then he left. He didn’t say See you
next week as he always did.
 
Luhan looked up when he heard the sound of shoe soles squeaking on the floor.
He watched Jongin’s back, and finally knew how Jongin felt when Luhan walked
away from him in the past.
 
He got up after a while and opened the plastic bag Jongin had left on the
table. Reaching inside, he took out a Styrofoam box and opened it, picking up a
drumstick. He chewed on it, unable to taste anything other than a horrible
bitter taste under his tongue.
 
He ended up tossing the whole bag into the trash before leaving the cafeteria.
 
After that, there were no more Tuesday lunch dates in a random back alley. No
more Friday dance classes and occasional pre-workout feasts. No more texts,
phone calls, emails.
 
(But the worst part was that there were no more fingers grazing against his
skin that sent tingles up his spine, no arms that sneakily found home around
his waist when he didn’t notice, no laughter in his ears that reminded him of
water splashing as he jumped into the sea, no dying stars in bright eyes that
danced in the back of his eyelids when he closed his eyes.)
 
(No more Jongin.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
 
Luhan mentally accused the person who coined the term “out of sight, out of
mind” for its fallacy, demanding a refund of emotions he had once entrusted.
Instead of fading and vanishing, Jongin spread and diffused throughout his mind
like perfume in a windowless room. Everywhere he turned, there was Jongin. He
began to space out at his desk, fingers paused on the keyboard when ghosts of
Jongin’s smile snuck in, the cursor blinking at the end of an unfinished
sentence. He zoned out in meetings, thoughts being pulled in all directions by
the flickers in Jongin’s eyes, like moths being drawn to a source of light. He
tuned out in conversations when certain topics were brought up, ordinary words
like soju and kiss and stars and sorry spinning him in not-so-ordinary circles
so at the end of day, he was left dizzy in the thought of Jongin. He saw Jongin
in a snapback worn backward, in the smug gait of young guys whose jeans hung
low on their hips, in street performers executing dance moves that elicited
gasps from the audience, in the stars that blinked at him when he looked up to
the sky for answers.
 
(There was still Jongin. More than he could name with dry lips and feel with
cold hands.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
A week passed before Luhan began filling a cup of coffee in the staff lounge
every afternoon, his third of the day. He used to drink coffee on a daily
basis, but only one in the morning as a wake-me-up. Now he needed two pick-me-
up’s later in the day. When he was supposed to sleep at night, his mind was on
overdrive, churning thoughts out and feelings in over and over. It also didn’t
help that the company had entered the off-season, meaning less work to distract
him.
 
He went back to his cubicle with a newly filled mug of steaming black coffee,
bitter enough to sting his senses back to life. Then he saw that he had
received a text from Chanyeol.
 
Are you free today after work?
 
Luhan switched Outlook to the calendar module. It was a Friday. Two weeks ago,
he would have said no. But today was not two weeks ago. Minjoo snuck into his
mind and he felt guilty again; he never told her that he had stopped going to
dance class. He didn’t want to have to explain and then lie. Last week, he had
gone to a bookstore in Seocho before wandering around in the area. The duffel
with a change of clothes had felt heavier in this hand, like carrying an
umbrella on a sunny day.
 
Yeah why
 
Let’s have dinner? ^^
 
That wasn’t the response he expected. He thought Chanyeol was trying to invite
him to come out with a bunch of other guys from work. Either way, it would be a
good distraction. He needed distractions, voices shooting into his ears to
chase Jongin away.
 
Sure
                                     - ☆ -
 
When six o’clock rolled around, Chanyeol came find him at his cubicle and they
left the office together. They swiped into the subway and Chanyeol began
rambling about an underground concert he recently went to, Luhan half-listening
as he blinked away the Jongin he saw in the reflections in the window. They got
off just a few stops away in Jamsil, and he didn’t realize they were going to a
pojangmacha until Chanyeol stopped in front of a tent. He opened his mouth to
protest, but Chanyeol was already striding to an empty table and shouting
orders to the ahjumma.
 
“Hyung!” Chanyeol called to him. “Why are you still standing there?”
 
Luhan didn’t answer him. He bit his lip and approached their table, then sat
down. He looked around and was crushed by the flood of memories—every tent
looked the same. The only thing different was that the person sitting next to
him was not Jongin.
 
“Did you order soju?” he asked. Chanyeol looked at him, surprised.
 
“Uh, no, but—“
 
“Ahjumma!” Luhan called out. “Three bottles of soju please.”
 
He turned back to Chanyeol, who was studying him with a serious look rarely
found on his face.
 
“I was right,” Chanyeol said.
 
“What?”
 
The ahjumma brought their food— ddukboki, soondae, and mandu—along with the
soju. Luhan was relieved that there was no chicken on the table. Chanyeol
jammed his chopsticks into a mandu and shoved it into his mouth.
 
“Something’s going on between you and Jongin,” he said in mid-chew.
 
“How did you—did he say anything?”
 
“No, but it’s not that hard to tell, to be honest.”
 
Luhan wasn’t surprised; it wouldn’t take long before Chanyeol caught on,
considering he was friends with both of them and saw Luhan every day in the
office. He had, in fact, thought about telling Chanyeol, but what would he say?
He hadn’t come very far with compartmentalizing his head, thoughts jumbled with
the different faces of Jongin, feelings stuck in the cracks between right and
wrong.
 
He still didn’t know what to say now that Chanyeol pointed out what he’d known
all this time. He was afraid to confront it, take the cloak off its face—what
if it turned out to be a monster?
 
Luhan reached for a shot glass and extended it to Chanyeol. Chanyeol shot him a
look before opening a bottle of soju and filling his glass. Luhan tipped it
back without thinking, feeling the burn all the way down to his stomach. It
made him forget about the monster.
 
“Fine, don’t tell me,” Chanyeol continued once he figured Luhan wasn’t going to
explain. “But whatever it is, I hope it gets resolved soon so Jongin will go
back to normal.”
 
“What do you mean?” Luhan asked immediately, chopsticks paused above the plate
of ddukboki. Chanyeol glanced up at him from his food.
 
“He’s not doing well,” Chanyeol said, swallowing a mouthful of soondae. “He
looks like he is, and he claims that he’s fine, but I know him and he is not
fine. If he was fine, he wouldn’t have stopped teaching.”
 
“What?”
 
“You didn’t know? I thought you went every week.”
 
He did. He used to.
 
“I stopped,” Luhan muttered into his empty glass. He motioned for Chanyeol to
fill it again. He had lost his appetite.
 
Chanyeol didn’t say anything, and gave Luhan a look that bordered between
disappointment and sympathy. Luhan kept feeling like he should explain, but he
couldn’t find the right words. He wasn’t ready to explain to anyone until he
could find a way to explain it to himself.
 
“He’s working at a café now, instead of teaching. It’s so dumb though, like,
he’s a fucking dancer, not a barista.”
 
“Where?”
 
“Are you asking because you’re curious or because you actually care?”
 
Chanyeol peered into his face with a distrust that Luhan couldn’t tell was
genuine or feigned.
 
“I’m asking because I care,” Luhan said exasperatedly. His glass was empty
again. He snatched the bottle and poured a shot for Chanyeol before shoving the
bottle to him. Chanyeol stared at him, then took the bottle with a sigh and
filled his glass.
 
“Have you even talked to him recently?” Chanyeol asked as he watched Luhan down
the shot. He dropped some ddukboki on Luhan’s plate. The liquor made Luhan’s
stomach churn and he frowned, picking up his chopsticks.
 
“No,” Luhan said, idly picking at the food. “I don’t think he wants to talk to
me.”
 
The soju was starting to disinhibit the verbal filter in his head, and he
briefly considered the possibility of telling Chanyeol everything. Maybe
Chanyeol would have an answer for him, and maybe he could stop thinking then.
 
Chanyeol was quiet for a while, chewing on a mouthful of soondae. Luhan put his
empty glass in front of Chanyeol who ignored it. Luhan glared at him. He wanted
to tell Chanyeol to fill his glass because it was empty, because he was his
hyung, because he was in pain. He opened his mouth when Chanyeol spoke.
 
“You know, he really liked you. As a person, as a hyung, or something more, I
don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. But there’s something about the way he talked
about you. He sounded… alive. Happy.”
 
The past tense stood out and stuck to Luhan, like a stubborn piece of gum
clinging to the bottom of his shoe. Did that mean Jongin was no longer happy,
because he no longer talked about Luhan? Or was it the other way around—that
Jongin no longer talked about him because he was no longer happy? A dull ache
gathered in his chest, knowing that he used to be associated with Jongin’s
happiness, but now all that remained was the weak flickers of stars that had
already perished. He kept quiet, hoping Chanyeol would reveal more; he wanted a
telescope to look into Jongin’s universe, mapping out the celestial tragedy
that Luhan had once witnessed.
 
But Chanyeol stopped talking. They ate in silence, Luhan chewing on a piece of
ddukboki with his mind drifting off in a futile recall of dying stars, Chanyeol
slurping noisily next to him.
 
“I miss him,” Luhan heard himself say, the words dropping into the half-emptied
glass in his hand. He could feel Chanyeol looking at him, and he braced himself
for a question, a sarcastic remark, anything. But all he heard was the sound of
chewing and chopsticks clanking.
 
“It’s the Caffe Bene in Myeongdong,” Chanyeol finally said with a glance at
Luhan. “He works the evening shift Monday through Friday.”
 
Luhan shot up on his feet and pulled out his wallet. He slapped a few bills on
the table before whipping around and scurrying out of the tent.
 
“Thanks, Chanyeol. See you later.”
 
“His shift is almost ending though!” Chanyeol yelled after him. Luhan picked up
his pace, eyes searching for the way to the subway station. He heard what
Chanyeol said but he didn’t care. It was some time after seven, and evening
shifts usually ended at eight. If he hurried, he could catch Jongin just as he
got off.
 
 
It was raining when Luhan got out of the subway station. He was a little
flabbergasted seeing the influx of umbrella-bearing crowd, his feet scraping
against the floor at the entrance in mid-step. He went out anyway, taking off
his blazer and using it as a shield above his head. If he remembered correctly,
the café was about a street over from the subway station. 
 
He got to Caffe Bene a little past eight. Panting under the narrow eaves, he
craned his neck and looked past the horde of customers; there was no Jongin at
the cash registers or behind them. He shifted to the windows by the entrance
and scanned the inside as best he could—still no Jongin. He must have gotten
off and left right on the dot.
 
Luhan’s arms dropped as he took a step backward and the drenched blazer
drooped, a corner of the fabric clutched in his wet hand. Rain beat down on him
but he made no effort to lower his head, letting the raindrops bounce off his
eyelashes and down his cheeks. He looked into the café and observed the
baristas making coffee in the back, the staff manning the cash registers; he
wondered what Jongin did exactly, whether he got along with his coworkers, how
busy he was. This was where Jongin had escaped to, his own idea of shelter from
Luhan. The thought ached him. He was about to turn around when he caught a
glimpse of someone walking out from the back room.
 
It was Jongin.
 
His heart leapt to his throat at the sight of Jongin smiling at his coworkers
and waving goodbye. He was dressed in all black—a familiar-looking black
Supreme snapback, black tee with silver graphics, black jeans, black sneakers.
He had dyed his hair black, too. Did he change his hair color to sever another
mental association with Luhan? Or did he do it simply because he wanted to? He
looked the same, maybe a little tired, but the way his smile reached his eyes
was the same. Maybe from afar, the stars still shone brightly as they used to.
Luhan wasn’t sure if he wanted to see them up close.
 
A coworker—a cute girl around Jongin’s age—called Jongin, said something as she
looked outside past Luhan. Luhan saw Jongin raise his hand, showing her the
foldable umbrella he was holding, a reassuring smile on his face. She bid him
goodbye with an eager wave and Jongin nodded, still smiling. Luhan was glad to
see him smile, but it twisted his stomach into knots because he was smiling at
someone else.
 
Jongin turned and began walking toward the door and Luhan panicked, scooting
over to the side. His heart was pounding louder than the raindrops smashing on
the ground. He came to see Jongin, but he seemed to have lost the courage that
drove him here, as if it seeped out of his pores and washed away along with the
rain. He became hyperaware of everything around him—the water soaking into his
clothes, his hair matted against his forehead, the raindrops skipping across
his fluttering eyelashes, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. A part of him
wanted to run away before Jongin saw him, but the rest of him wanted to be
seen, to see if those constellations still made up of the same stars, spelling
tragedy in Jongin’s name.
 
Luhan jumped when the door was pushed open and out walked Jongin, who already
had his umbrella partially open, blocking his view. He watched Jongin push it
open fully and swing it above his head. He had his mouth open with Jongin’s
name on the tip of his tongue when Jongin turned and saw him.
 
Jongin looked at him blankly at first, then his eyes widened in surprise. Luhan
wanted to go up to him, but his feet wouldn’t move. He just looked at Jongin,
and he was struck by how much he wanted to touch him. Jongin gave him a long,
searching look that reminded Luhan of the first time they met, at the
convenience store. The umbrella shaded over Luhan as Jongin took a step
forward, and the sound of rain seemed smaller as it beat down on the umbrella
instead of Luhan’s shoulders.
 
“What are you doing?” Jongin asked, voice carrying a casual lilt. The smile
tugging at the corners of his mouth threw Luhan off. How could he look so calm
when there was a storm raging inside Luhan?
 
“I—I just…” Luhan began, but lost his voice as Jongin’s eyes held his. He tried
to look away; maybe his voice would come back then. But he found words in the
familiar depth of Jongin’s eyes. “I just wanted to see you.”
 
Jongin’s smile faltered but he quickly rescued it, just like he always did,
adept at keeping his façade intact. The closer and longer Luhan watched him,
the more he saw the small, unsure Jongin.
 
“Without an umbrella on a rainy day?” Jongin teased. The frivolity in his words
was tottering, like standing on an empty box that seemed sturdy, ready to
collapse at any minute. He was trying so hard. Too hard.
 
Instead of answering, Luhan grabbed Jongin’s free forearm and walked off into
the rain, dragging Jongin behind him. Jongin stepped in line quickly and
shifted so the umbrella covered Luhan again. Luhan let go of Jongin and kept
walking without a word, unhurried. He didn’t know where he was going; he was
too preoccupied with feeling Jongin next to him. He could feel Jongin eyeing
him curiously, inhaling as if he was going to speak, the warmth of his skin as
their arms brushed against each other. Luhan pressed his side into Jongin’s
umbrella-holding arm, and he couldn’t think for a good while, the heat
radiating from Jongin shooting all the way into his core.
 
They didn’t stop until Luhan turned into an empty alley off the corner around
the subway station. It was raining harder now, and thunder roared in the
distance. Luhan’s shoes were completely wet as well as the bottom of his pants.
He was shivering from the rainy chill, yet he felt warm all over, his heart
overworking to compensate for something he didn’t understand. He turned to face
Jongin, who was looking at him expectantly, uncertainty written across his
face.
 
“Why did you stop teaching?”
 
Jongin’s face fell, as if he had been expecting something else, something not
so interrogatory. He shrugged, apathy draped over his face. It made Luhan feel
tight in his chest and he frowned.
 
“I didn’t feel like it.”
 
“Bullshit,” Luhan said. He saw a flicker of surprise in Jongin’s eyes before it
was snuffed out by more pretentious apathy. “You love dance. You don’t just
wake up one morning and stop doing something you love. What the hell are you
doing at a café? How is this any different than sitting in a classroom learning
calculus?” Luhan didn’t realize he had raised his voice until he felt his chest
heave up and down. He was angry at Jongin for throwing his life away, withering
in a dark room when he could be blossoming under the sun.
 
“Because I was hurting!” Jongin snapped. “I was in pain, okay?” He was shaking,
his eyes growing red. Luhan clenched his hands; he was afraid that Jongin was
going to cry again. “Dancing would just make me think of you. I just—I
couldn’t… I was going crazy.” He frowned and looked away. “You don’t
understand.”
 
“But I do,” Luhan said quietly. “I was going crazy, too.”
 
Jongin raised his eyes and stared at him. He drew his lips in between his
teeth, looking like he wanted to ask Luhan something. Luhan waited.
 
“Don’t give me hope when there isn’t any. There isn’t, is there?”
 
Jongin sounded so battered that it hurt Luhan more than the tears pooling in
Jongin’s eyes. Luhan felt a pang inside his chest and he grabbed Jongin’s arm,
pulling him close. The movement was so sudden that Jongin nearly stumbled into
Luhan, breath hitched in his throat as the umbrella slipped from his hand.
 
The rain poured over them as Luhan wound his arms tight around Jongin, feeling
Jongin’s frame in his arms for the first time. He inhaled—Jongin smelled of
mist and felt so fragile: it was like the entirety of him dissolved into Luhan
as he held him. He couldn’t see Jongin’s face, but Luhan knew he was crying,
tears merging into streams of rainwater as they fell on Luhan’s shoulders. They
were both getting soaked to the bones, and Luhan would pick up the umbrella but
that meant he would have to let go, and he didn’t want to. He knew he was being
selfish, leading Jongin to a cliff where he would have no choice but to fall,
having nothing to hold onto. But he couldn’t help it, not when he felt Jongin’s
heart beating against his chest, Jongin’s arms locked behind his head, caging
him in—it felt like home, a place where he belonged.
 
“I don’t want to let go,” Luhan mumbled in Jongin’s ear. He didn’t know why he
said it, the words serving absolutely no purpose. Maybe it was because he knew
he would have to, and Jongin knew it, too.
 
“You know, I want you so much closer than this,” Jongin said quietly, his voice
stuffy with tears pushing behind his nose. Luhan stopped breathing when Jongin
leaned down and kissed his neck. Then Jongin pulled back, bringing his arms
with him.
 
“I can’t do this knowing I won’t be the one you wake up to in the morning.”
 
Luhan wanted to reach out and bring Jongin back into his arms, but he couldn’t
move. He could only watch when Jongin took a few steps aside and bent down,
picking up the umbrella that had been abandoned earlier. He grabbed Luhan’s
left hand and pushed it into his palm, closing his fingers around the handle.
 
“You have a ring on your finger, hyung,” Jongin said ruefully, glancing down at
Luhan’s hand. His eyes were heavy and clouded, just like the gray sky above
them. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
 
Luhan looked down too, as if he had forgotten he was indeed wearing a ring, a
piece of metal that signified a prior commitment. It mocked him easily, a
blatant reminder that he was not supposed to have his heart adrift on the open
sea, floating toward Jongin. He gazed at Jongin’s retreating back as the
younger man turned around and broke into a sprint, water splattering at the
soles of his feet.
 
But you’re hurting me, Luhan thought, eyes trailing after Jongin’s shadow as it
faded into the rain. He could still feel the ghost of Jongin’s lips on the side
of his neck, something wrenching his chest as he tried to breathe.
 
 (It was the second time Luhan had to watch Jongin leave. He wondered why it
felt like a building collapsing on top of him, crushing him.)
 
He was in a daze for a while until a rush of shivers yanked him into reality.
Chill from the rain pricked at his skin, and it didn’t look like it was going
to let up any time soon. He stared at the umbrella in his hand like he didn’t
know how it got there. In that moment, his wedding ring felt much heavier than
the useless umbrella in his hand. He pulled it closed. There was no use for it;
he was already soaked from head to toe.
 
He walked in the direction of the subway, but didn’t go in. Others might have
thought that it was a gesture of courtesy to the public, as he would have been
dripping everywhere he went, but he really just wanted to walk. The rain was
ruthlessly cold, but it was liberating, like a battle in which he had nothing
to lose, marching through with a deactivated weapon in his hand. He walked
slowly, feeling the rubber soles of his dress shoes squeaking on the asphalt,
the way his clothes clung to him like a second layer of skin. No one paid him
any attention as he glided through the crowd hurrying past him; they were
either oblivious due to their umbrella blocking their view, or rushing to seek
shelter from rain. He was in his own world anyway, his thoughts imbued with
Jongin and an unexplained sense of loss. It was as if something important had
slipped through his fingers—but it also felt like that something was
unattainable in the first place.
 
He didn’t know what he was feeling, really, except that it felt like a part of
him was missing, a vague sense of longing. The dull ache spreading in his chest
was amorphous, impossible to be traced into a shape. The closer he approached
home, the stronger his yearning became, like he was being pulled in opposite
directions by two magnets, one before him and one behind. Yet his feet
continued to move forward, each step weighted and contrived.
 
When he pushed the door open and stepped inside his house, there was so much
water dripping from him that it seemed like he had brought home the rainstorm
itself.
 
“Oh my God, you’re soaked,” Minjoo exclaimed when she saw Luhan in the foyer,
her head sticking out from the living room. She hurried to her feet and
shuffled away, then reappeared with two towels in her hand. Frowning, she
draped the large one around him as he carefully slipped out of his shoes and
removed his socks. She noticed the umbrella when he laid it on the floor.
 
“You had an umbrella? Why didn’t you use it?”
 
He was quiet for a while, shuddering into the towel. He tried to meet her
worried gaze, but when he did, his eyes skipped away quickly.
 
“Someone offered it to me after I got rained on. There was no point.”
 
Minjoo sighed, picking up the wet socks he had dumped inside his shoes. He
flinched when she reached out a toweled hand to dry his hair.
 
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” he mumbled as he tugged the towel from her hand,
then walked past her briskly, head hung low. She was quiet, and he couldn’t see
her face. He didn’t want to.
 
“Where’s your bag?” Minjoo called after him. He hadn’t bothered to bring it
with him to work, but he didn’t feel like speaking, explaining, lying. He kept
walking toward the bedroom, pretending not to hear her.
 
In the shower, he stood still under the showerhead, the back of his forearms
pressed against the wall. The feeling of Jongin lingered on his palms despite
the continuous outpour of steaming water, Minjoo’s unanswered question echoing
off the walls of his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the water would
carry him away to a place where he could feel nothing and think nothing.
                                     - ☆ -
 
They were supposed to bring Haru to Minjoo’s parents’ place this weekend, Luhan
was well aware of that. He liked his in-law’s, though Mrs. Park could be overly
controlling at times, a trait that had been passed on to her daughter. Normally
Luhan would be glad to make this biweekly family trip, driving to Dobong-gu
after they had breakfast on Saturday morning. But not today. Today, he was not
his normal self, waking up to a migraine accompanied by a congested nose.
 
(Besides that, he also just wanted to stay in bed, away from people that would
remind him of a reality that he was rapidly distancing from.)
 
“It must be because you got rained on yesterday,” Minjoo said as she slotted
into a small overnight bag a neat pile of clothes. Luhan groaned in response,
his head buried in the pillow. “Just stay home and get some rest. There’s some
porridge on the stove, just heat it up when you’re ready to get out of bed.”
 
Luhan wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready to get out of bed, but he mumbled a
thanks anyway. He heard the door creak open and hurried stomps that belonged to
the shortest legs in the household.
 
“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!” Haru shouted as she tried to climb up the bed.
Luhan jerked up instinctively, arms ready for an embrace, but lay back down
once he remembered he was carrying germs that should be quarantined from a
toddler.
 
“Haru-ah,” Minjoo called out and put down the bag on the floor. She took large
strides around the bed and picked up her daughter. “Daddy’s not feeling well,
so he’s going to stay home and rest.”
 
“But why?” Haru whined, struggling in Minjoo’s arms, stubby arms extended in
Luhan’s direction. Luhan tilted his head and glanced over; Haru’s face was
scrunched up in disapproval. He sighed.
 
“Haru-ah, I can’t even get out of bed,” he said. His nasal voice was so garbled
it sounded like he was speaking underwater. He turned his face back to the
pillow again, avoiding the inevitable pout on Haru’s face.
 
“Let’s go and let Daddy rest, okay?” Minjoo cooed at Haru, who produced a
displeased grunt as Minjoo let her down to the ground. “We’re gonna get going
then,” she said to Luhan as she bent down and dropped a kiss on the side of his
head. “Feel better.”
 
Luhan hummed. He heard shuffled footsteps, the clank of the front door, then
the whirr of the engine. He was alone, listening to his own clogged breathing.
He drifted to sleep in the vast silence.
 
He woke to hunger pangs and his hands reflexively shot to his stomach, rubbing
the area that seemed to be twisting into knots. He groaned as he turned to his
side, raising his left hand and squinting at his watch—it was a little past
noon. Luckily, the sleep did him some good, and he could breathe much more
easily through his nose now. His head still ached a little, but compared to the
moment when he first woke up this morning, he was feeling loads better. He
rolled off the bed and pulled a t-shirt out of the drawer, tugging it down his
torso as he padded out the room. He walked into the kitchen where he found a
small pot of rice porridge with seaweed sitting on the stove. With cicadas
droning in the trees outside, Luhan heated it up while his fingers drummed on
the countertop, then he turned off the stove and brought the pot to the living
room. He plopped down on the couch and switched on the TV, a hand spooning
porridge into his mouth as he watched the news disinterestedly.
 
A while later, the doorbell rang. Luhan put down the pot on the coffee table
and shuffled into the foyer. He looked through the peep-hole—it was the
mailman. He opened the door and was handed a package which he signed off,
thanking the delivery guy with sweat beading on the side of his face. He closed
the door and read the address label; the package was sent by one of the
preschools to which they had applied. Judging from the size of the package, it
most likely contained the catalogue, which meant acceptance. As he looked down,
something else popped into the periphery of his eyes. A red umbrella on the tea
table.
 
Jongin’s umbrella.
 
Luhan stared at it like it was a gift given by someone he would never see
again—written all over it were memories begging to be retained. What happened
the night before poured over him like the rainstorm that got him ill. He
remembered the way Jongin looked at him, puffy eyes and lips pulled tight, how
he had run away so that Luhan didn’t have to turn around.
 
He tucked the package under his arm and picked up the umbrella. It was dry and
neatly folded, the flap securely buttoned. Minjoo must have opened it and let
it dry the night before, then put it away in the morning. Guilt crawled up the
walls of his heart, but fell off as the thought of Jongin took residence
within, allowing no space for anything else.
 
He turned around and made for the bedroom, passing through the dining room
where he put the package on the table. Feeling the weight of the umbrella in
his hand, he picked up his phone from the bedside table and pulled up Jongin’s
number. His finger hovered over between Call and Message. He pressed Call.
 
Luhan held his breath as the phone rang and rang. Just as he thought it would
go to voicemail, Jongin picked up.
 
“Hello?”
 
His mind went blank when Jongin’s voice chimed into his ear. Nothing came out
of his half-parted mouth.
 
“Hyung, is everything alright?”
 
Jongin sounded normal. Concerned, but normal. He didn’t sound like he had been
crying, or down with a cold, or hesitant because he didn’t want to speak to
Luhan again. He sounded just like he used to, and Luhan told himself it was a
good thing.
 
And so he tried to sound normal, too.
 
“Uh, yeah. I just, um, I still have your umbrella.”
 
“Oh. Right.”
 
“I’ll give it back to you. What’s your address again? I only remember Yeonnam—“
 
“It’s fine. Keep it.”
 
Luhan could hear the strain in Jongin’s voice, too firm for unadulterated
goodwill. He inhaled, then exhaled. He knew what Jongin was doing, trying to
smother a stubborn flame before it grew uncontainable. He told himself he was
trying to do the same thing by returning what he once took from Jongin, the
umbrella and more.
 
“Tell me where you live. If you won’t, I’ll find out from Chanyeol anyway.”
 
Jongin went quiet. Luhan waited. He heard a sigh before Jongin spoke again,
mumbling his address. Luhan told him he would be there in an hour, then hung up
before Jongin could say anything to change his mind.
 
The apartment where Jongin resided looked different from how Luhan remembered.
It had only been two weeks since he was last here, walking up the stairs
leading to the rooftop, but it felt like months. It was as if time had
stretched with the absence of Jongin, even though Luhan still felt and saw him
in every corner he had turned. It was a quarter past two when he came out of
the subway, the scorching afternoon sun hung high in the sky. A sheen of sweat
coated over his forehead by the time he arrived in front of Jongin’s door, his
breath slightly ragged from a brisk walk in the unkind summer heat. The
migraine had returned and the back of his head throbbed, pulling his eyebrows
into a frown.
 
Luhan looked down at his hand clutching the umbrella, the silver band on his
ring finger reflecting sunlight and hesitance in his own eyes. He shifted the
umbrella to his right hand and took off the ring, slipping it into his pants
pocket. There was no voice inside his head giving this directive; his hand
simply acted on its own, driven by a conviction that the ring and Jongin could
not exist in the same time and space. Like it was a hazard to regaining a
particular feeling that only Jongin gave, something that had clung to Luhan
since that night in Jeju, an irrepressible mixture of tenderness and agony and
thrill and, most of all, freedom.
 
(It was the feeling of being alive.)
 
Luhan looked for a doorbell but didn’t find any. He raised his hand and knocked
on the door. As he waited, his eyes flitted to the band of pale skin on his
left ring finger. It looked fascinatingly foreign, like a piece of treasure
previously veiled from the inquisitive eye. The mark bore the same shape as his
wedding band, yet symbolized something completely opposite. This dissonance sat
heavy on his mind until the door squeaked open.
 
Luhan raised his eyes to meet Jongin’s pointed gaze. He felt his heart ram
against his ribcage, and he was awash in a familiar urge to reach out and touch
Jongin, a nostalgic déjà vu. He was supposed to say hi, to extend his hand with
the umbrella then turn around and leave. But he had long lost the ability to do
the things he was supposed to do. Instead, he remained still and watched Jongin
lower his eyes. An absurd hope sprouted in the bottom of his heart, and Luhan
thought maybe Jongin saw that he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.
 
(And then maybe Jongin would do something other than turning around and running
away.)
 
“Are you alright? You don’t look so good.”
 
The alarm in Jongin’s bottomless eyes was the last thing he saw before he
blacked out.
 
(He smiled, knowing that Jongin still cared.)
 
When Luhan came to, he thought everything had been a dream and he had never
left his bed, but the scent in the sheets told him differently. He breathed in
deeply, relishing in the way the air smelled like Jongin. Coming from behind a
bamboo room divider were faint noises of metal clanking, a cupboard closing. He
propped himself up on the elbows and looked around. If not for the mess, the
room could have seemed more spacious. Luhan’s brows furrowed at clothes
overflowing from the drawers, shirts that looked like they were hastily thrown
onto hangers, sneakers that hadn’t moved since their owner shed and kicked them
to the side.
 
The walls were bare, so Luhan assumed that the place was a temporary residence,
otherwise Jongin would have at least put up some Chelsea paraphernalia. Was it
a relative’s? A friend’s? His mind began to teem with questions and Luhan
realized how little he actually knew about Jongin. Instead of revealing
something about him, the room just reminded Luhan of how young Jongin was,
highlighting the faded boundaries that lay between the worlds where they each
came from.
 
Luhan’s thoughts were derailed when Jongin emerged from behind the room
divider, one hand steadying a bowl, a spoon clutched in the other. He glanced
at Luhan as he approached the side of the bed, but said nothing. Luhan looked
up, eyes skipping between the steam braiding up from the soup and Jongin’s
inscrutable face. Jongin held out both hands, proffering the bowl and the
spoon.
 
“Drink this.”
 
Luhan made no movement as he studied Jongin’s face, the way his eyes were half-
masted, focused on the bowl and unfocused on Luhan, the way his lips barely
moved as he spoke. There was an indefinite pause in time as they both waited.
When it became clear to Luhan that this was the farthest Jongin would go for
him, he took the bowl and spoon from those hands, being careful not to touch
Jongin despite the itch crawling beneath his fingertips.
 
Jongin stood by the bedside with a distance between a nurse and a patient as
Luhan drank the soup. It was the typical samgaetang catered to the sick and
Luhan had had it countless times before, but there was something inexplicable
stuck to the back of his tongue, a bittersweet mixture that hindered the fresh
broth from flowing down his throat. His eyes snapped up and he caught Jongin
jerking his eyes away, pretending to look at a spot on the room divider. Jongin
had his hands behind him, heels rolling restlessly, as if Luhan was just an
item on the agenda to be checked off and he was already late to the next one.
It pulled Luhan’s chest from the inside as something sour slid down his throat,
forming an unpleasant lump in the pit of his stomach.
 
“Ah,” Luhan started, remembering the umbrella that was no longer in his hand.
“The umbrella, did you—“
 
“Yeah,” Jongin cut him off, his eyes skimming over Luhan’s face. “Thanks.”
 
Luhan looked at him, unable to return a you’re welcome. He was almost done with
the soup and he felt a hint of anxiety, like the descending liquid level in his
bowl was a timer counting down the end of his stay, terminating a period in his
life labelled with Jongin’s name. He was not ready for this. He was nowhere
near ready.
 
“If you’re done with the soup—“
 
“What are you doing?”
 
His voice must have come out harsher than he’d wanted because there was a small
twitch in Jongin’s face, eyes wide. Luhan set on the bedside table the emptied
bowl, the spoon shoved inside. His eyes ran over Jongin, waiting for a
response. Jongin was silent, swallowing a lump down his throat.
 
“Did you see this?” Luhan raised his ring-less left hand, palm facing himself.
He was certain Jongin had seen it, but Jongin acted like he hadn’t. There was
no shock, confusion, hurt, nothing, and that bothered Luhan the most. He did
not cope well with an expressionless Jongin, and right now, the younger man was
too far away for Luhan to discern the emotional constellation in his eyes.
 
“Don’t,” Jongin said, twisting his head to the side. Now Luhan couldn’t even
see his face, and he felt like a lone sailor with a broken compass, lost at
sea. “I think you should leave.”
 
Those words riled up an anger inside Luhan so severe he didn’t feel like
himself. He leapt out of bed and grabbed Jongin, spinning him around so they
were face to face, and Jongin had nowhere to turn from him.
 
“Is that what you really want? I came all the way here, I took my fucking ring
off my finger, and you want me to just leave?” Luhan half-shouted in Jongin’s
face and he saw Jongin cringe. The sight almost softened him, but his grip on
Jongin was unrelenting.
 
“Stop it!” Jongin cried out, struggling to tear away. “Why are you doing this
to me? This isn’t fair,” he said, voice trembling as he bit down hard on his
bottom lip. The resentful look in Jongin’s eyes made Luhan feel betrayed,
abandoned in a dark alley.
 
“Fair?” Luhan scoffed bitterly. “All is fair in love and war, haven’t you heard
of that?”
 
Jongin stared at him blankly, all lights gone out from his eyes.
 
“Love? You came here to talk to me about love? Don’t even start,” Jongin said,
shoving Luhan away. His voice was so cold and rigid that it sliced through
Luhan like a samurai sword. Luhan was too stunned to stay on his feet and he
let himself drop onto the bed. Jongin turned on his heels and walked away.
 
“You wouldn’t believe me even if I said I loved you, would you?” Luhan said
quietly, eyes on Jongin’s back. Jongin stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn
around. He saw Jongin’s hands curl into fists by the side of his legs, his
shoulders quivering. Luhan felt tears pushing behind his eyes and he blinked.
He didn’t know it would hurt like this, despair scourging him like a prisoner
being told to stand before a firing squad and wrap a blindfold over his own
eyes.
 
“Even if I said you made me feel so alive that the times before I met you felt
like death? Even if I said I wish I’d never married just so you wouldn’t hurt
this much?”
 
Luhan felt his eyes grow wet. He kept blinking the tears away but his own words
stabbed him hard in the chest, even though they were meant for Jongin and not
himself. Jongin still had his back to him. Luhan squeezed his eyes tight. In
that moment, darkness was prettier than the sight of Jongin turned away from
him.
 
When the first drop of his tears rolled off his jaw, Luhan felt familiar cold
hands on the sides of his face, raising his head with an unprecedented
gentleness. He opened his eyes, looking straight into Jongin’s eyes, into the
celestial tragedy he had once lost. His tears came to a standstill just like
the air around him.
 
“Do you remember? The convenience store.” Jongin said, thumbing away the
tearstains on Luhan’s cheek. His voice was so small it was like he breathed
words into Luhan instead of speaking them. Luhan would nod but he didn’t even
dare to move, as if Jongin’s hands had placed him in a glass mold. “I fell in
love with your eyes. How sad they were.”
 
Jongin’s eyes were searching his like the first time Luhan looked into them,
but they now carried a certain glimmer, as if Jongin had found what he was
looking for there. Luhan reached out and grasped the front of Jongin’s shirt,
pulling him down until their lips met.
 
They kissed with the intensity of gunfire, as irrational and forceful as sword-
bearing soldiers marching into battle with suicidal abandon. Luhan found air
through Jongin’s mouth, and nothing seemed to matter as he felt his skin yield
to Jongin’s touch. Jongin mirrored his desperation in the way he yanked Luhan’s
shirt over his head, pulling his belt loose so viciously it could’ve ripped in
half.
 
There was no time to breathe, to think, to regret because even an eternity
wasn’t enough time to feel Jongin beyond the smooth expanse of his skin, the
way it prickled and burned Luhan’s fingers. Luhan didn’t know what he was
supposed to do but he soon realized it didn’t matter. All he needed to do was
to follow Jongin’s lead and let his body gravitate toward whenever Jongin’s
fingers went. It was easier than he thought, so easy as if he was born for
this. All of his previous qualms and doubts were swept under the sheets,
disintegrating into the sweat that dripped from Jongin’s face.
 
He shuddered when Jongin wrapped his fingers around his cock, pulsing so
painfully he thought he was going to implode. He raised his eyes to meet
Jongin’s, fingers trailing up Jongin’s arm as his mouth went dry, his lungs
working overtime. Jongin leaned down and kissed him as he stroked, slow but
insistent, hot tongue tracing the insides of his mouth soothingly as if he read
the uncertainty in Luhan’s eyes, that Luhan wanted him but didn’t know how.
Luhan groaned into Jongin’s mouth and put a hand behind his nape, pulling him
close so that Jongin had to let go, leaving Luhan’s cock throbbing against his
abdomen, precum already pooling over the tip. Luhan reached out but Jongin
batted his hand away.
 
“It’s okay,” Jongin breathed out, fingers resuming their grasp around Luhan’s
cock. “Let me.”
 
Luhan leaned back, his head hitting the headboard of the bed as he struggled to
breathe. He let out a growl when Jongin bent down and wrapped his mouth around
Luhan’s cock, taking in the length until it touched the back of Jongin’s
throat. Luhan closed his eyes as he melted into Jongin’s wet, hot tongue that
swiped and swirled around his shaft. He felt Jongin’s moan before he heard it,
and the obscene sound sent a wave of heat through his core. Cracking his eyes
open, Luhan threaded his fingers through Jongin’s mussed hair, and he saw
Jongin’s hand disappear behind him.
 
A sliver of confusion skittered across his mind until his eyes landed on the
small bottle of lube on the bed, uncapped. He imagined Jongin pushing a slicked
finger into himself, then two, maybe three, and he almost lost it then. Jongin
sucked on him hard, running his tongue over Luhan’s slit and that was all it
took for Luhan to sit up and grab Jongin forward. He smashed his mouth against
Jongin’s so hard it must have bruised Jongin, but Luhan didn’t care because he
was going mad with a need for Jongin.
 
“Now,” Luhan rasped against the corner of Jongin’s mouth. His hands were on
auto-cruise as they ran down the side of Jongin’s body, his skin scalding
Luhan’s fingertips.
 
“Are you sure?” Jongin asked in a whisper. Luhan could see the tremors ripping
through his lips. “Are you sure you want this?”
 
“I don’t want this. I want you.”
 
Breathless, Luhan watched Jongin shift his weight to his heels and tip back,
one hand fisting Luhan and the other supporting himself. Luhan’s eyes widened
at the way Jongin’s opening tensed and relaxed for him, blood rushing all the
way down to the tip of his cock. He met Jongin’s clouded eyes, lashes
fluttering, as Jongin lowered himself onto him with a precise perseverance.
Luhan fell apart then; the way Jongin’s heat engulfed him, the wretched beauty
that was Jongin’s face as he repeatedly pulled himself up and then pushed
down—it chased Luhan’s breath away to the deepest end of the ocean, where he
was submerged in the entirety of Jongin.
 
He reached out for Jongin, wanting to feel with his hands the abjection written
on Jongin’s face. He ended up flipping Jongin around, pinning the younger man
underneath as he took control, savoring the way Jongin gasped as he thrust.
Luhan leaned down and pressed his forehead against Jongin’s, holding his eyes
despite the shadows behind those blown pupils. He wanted to memorize this look,
the look of Jongin being casually destroyed, so close yet so far at the same
time, the dying stars in his eyes mapping all the way onto Luhan’s skin.
 
Out of instinct, Luhan moved to pull out as his climax neared, but Jongin
tightened his legs around him, caging him in.
 
“Don’t.”
 
“But—“
 
“It’s fine,” Jongin reassured him. “I want you to.”
 
Jongin raised his eyes, true and unclouded, and clung to Luhan with his arms
locked behind his neck. “I want you close. So close,” he whispered into Luhan’s
ear, and Luhan came as Jongin squeezed and pressed their mouths together,
trading Luhan’s grunts with his moans. Luhan felt Jongin go slack underneath
him and he glanced down, eyes trailing from Jongin’s wretched face down to the
whites spilled over his abdomen, the aftermath of a catastrophic love.
 
Luhan collapsed and rolled to the side, breathing heavily as his thoughts
struggled to catch up. He felt Jongin’s arms envelop him like a warm blanket,
and he shifted so that his back was flush against Jongin’s chest. Jongin kissed
the top of his head before resting his chin in the crook of Luhan’s neck. He
said nothing, but Luhan could hear a love letter being read, each alphabet
imprinting on the side of his neck.
 
He fell asleep, too warm to care about the world outside of Jongin’s arms.
                                     - ☆ -
 
It was dark when Luhan opened his eyes. He sat up slowly, not wanting to wake
Jongin who stirred slightly. He turned his head and examined Jongin, lying on
his side looking as serene and boyish as that first night in Jeju. Luhan felt a
pang inside his chest. He leaned down and pressed a kiss into the side of
Jongin’s head. He rolled onto his feet and searched for his boxers on the
ground, which wasn’t too difficult with the help of streetlights scattering in.
Pausing a beat, he picked up his jeans and scooped his phone from the back
pocket. There was a missed call from Minjoo. He stared at the screen for a
moment, then locked it and put the phone back into the pocket.
 
Having adjusted to the dark, his eyes scanned the room as he strolled past the
room divider. He found a water pitcher and a mug that looked seemingly clean,
though at the moment he didn’t really care as long as his thirst could be
quenched. Then his eyes landed on a pack of Marlboros on the table. His mind
was blank when he picked it up. It then occurred to him that he needed a
lighter, but he soon found it shoved into the carton. He huffed a chuckle as he
fished it out along with a cigarette. He moved past the room divider and to the
other side of the room with the windows, a smoker’s courtesy that had
surprisingly stuck with him even after years of not touching a cigarette.
 
Clicking the lighter, he lit the cigarette as he inhaled, drawing smoke into
his clean lungs. The action felt so foreign it sat on his shoulders like an
extra jacket, waiting to be shrugged off. The nicotine tasted acrid under his
tongue but he ignored it, taking another drag and letting carcinogens creep
smoothly down his throat. When he shifted on his heels, he caught in the window
the monochrome reflection of Jongin lying on his stomach, head turned sideways.
He wore a blank look, watching Luhan like he was part of the window behind him.
Luhan closed his eyes as he exhaled, cigarette smoke breezing through his lips,
unutterable regrets trailing behind.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
Luhan somehow made it home before Haru’s bedtime, and even remembered to return
Minjoo’s call. Lies came to him easily once he slipped his ring back on, as if
his mind had learned to switch gears automatically, taking on two different
identities. He spoke to Minjoo like nothing happened, assuring her that he was
feeling much better. But when Haru took over the phone and that childish voice
rang against his ear, Luhan’s insides twisted in remorse. His voice sounded
ridiculously fake to his own ears, and for the first time, he felt undeserving
as Haru’s father. But he fought through it all—the guilt, the self-
condemnation, echoes of unsaid I’m sorry that bounced off the walls of his
heart. He knew he was at the point of no return, his feet deeply and firmly
mired in quicksand.
 
As he lay in bed that night, alone with his thoughts and the ghosts of Jongin’s
touch, Luhan thought maybe he was okay with this. Even though it still hurt and
he felt like he had committed a crime that deserved capital punishment, at
least he was free to love Jongin the way he deserved to be loved. This, maybe,
justified a different kind of pain he now felt, a different kind of loneliness,
like an apostle who persevered in his faith despite having stones cast upon
him.
 
(Maybe.)
                                     - ☆ -
Three days went by before Luhan allowed himself the luxury of seeing Jongin
again. He had been antsy at work, unable to stay in his seat for more than an
hour at a time. His thoughts were like untrained dogs, running in circles
around the idea of Jongin. He tried to focus on the report he was supposed to
write, the numbers on the Excel spreadsheet he was supposed to analyze, but
nothing registered in his head because it was full of Jongin.
 
He was aching to see Jongin, but he was afraid of the things that might happen
if they were alone again. That time at Jongin’s place made him realize how
little self-control he really had. He didn’t trust himself.
 
It was already a quarter past six when Luhan finished his report, a half-assed
attempt that would eventually come back to bite him in the ass. But he really
didn’t care. He remained seated at his desk as colleagues began to file past
him, halfheartedly returning their goodbye’s as he stared at his phone. The
cursor blinked in the empty text massage box, Jongin’s name above it. He jumped
and let out an ungraceful yelp when his phone went off. His eyes widened at the
screen; it was Jongin.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Uh, hi?”
 
The uncertainty in Jongin’s voice threw him off. Luhan frowned, switching the
phone from one ear to another as he packed up hastily.
 
“Hey,” Luhan said after he stepped out of his cubicle and made a beeline for
the door; he might as well leave work now.
 
He waited, thinking that Jongin called because he had something to say. But
there was silence dotted by faint noises on the other end. Luhan could see
Jongin rolling on his heels, teeth nervously tugging on his lower lip.
 
“Um…” Luhan began as he stepped into the lobby, shoving a hand into his pants
pocket as he tilted into the phone in his right hand.
 
“It’s the three-day rule,” Jongin blurted out.
 
“What?”
 
“The—you know…”
 
“I have no clue what you’re trying to say.”
 
“Uh… like… you’re supposed to wait three days before calling…”
 
Then it clicked in Luhan’s head.
 
“Oh my God, Jongin. Are you serious?”
 
He burst out laughing, earning strange looks from people that happened to walk
past before him. He could see Jongin drawing his lips into a pout, the tips of
his ears growing red.
 
“Never mind,” Jongin said. “Ugh that was so stupid.”
 
“No, it’s cute.”
 
Jongin went quiet, and Luhan thought maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe
it was like calling Jongin a kid and he didn’t like that. He opened his mouth
to apologize when Jongin spoke.
 
“Hyung, can I see you?”
 
Luhan was so taken aback it took him a few seconds to respond.
 
“Yes. Of course,” he said, smiling into the phone. In the comfortable silence
that followed he could hear Jongin’s smile, wide and unaffected, a token of
anticipation that Luhan took with him on the way to Myeongdong.
 
Before he got off the subway, Luhan texted Minjoo telling her he was going to
grab a bite with coworkers. Belatedly, he was glad that he didn’t use the
Chanyeol card because that would require a complementary lie. Minjoo was not
the paranoid type, mainly because Luhan had been honest and faithful. In his
head, he was faithful; it was just that his loyalty had gone sour, tarnished by
the desire to be near to Jongin.
 
Before he walked into Caffe Bene, he took off his ring and put it in his
pocket. The sudden lightness of his ring finger trickled guilt into him, but it
vanished when Jongin saw him and flashed him a splendid smile. Luhan waved at
him with a grin, then went to the back and sat at an unoccupied table. A server
came over shortly and he ordered an iced Americano.
 
Luhan sipped on his drink as he watched Jongin work, bustling about in front of
the coffee machines. He studied the way Jongin meticulously poured the drink
into to-go cups, adding flawless swirls of whip cream on top. Then he
remembered why Jongin worked there in the first place and his heart sank. Luhan
wanted to ask him to quit and resume teaching the dance class. There was no
longer a need to escape from Luhan, was there? The possibility of a yes
terrified him.
 
After a while, Jongin took off his apron and came to the table. Luhan glanced
at his watch; it was only a little past seven. He thought maybe Jongin was
taking a break. Jongin sat down across from him, the apron lying across his
lap. He looked at Luhan and smiled without saying a word.
 
“What?” Luhan broke into an incredulous laugh. “Why are you looking at me like
that?”
 
“Nothing,” Jongin replied with a shrug. The smile on his face was unwavering.
“Just happy to see you, that’s all.”
 
Luhan felt his cheeks grow warm. He thought Jongin had stopped having this
effect on him. Apparently not. He coughed, deciding to change the subject.
 
“Why are you still working here? I thought…” he trailed off, reluctant to
verbalize what he was thinking. His stomach squeezed when Jongin’s smile
faltered.
 
“Actually, today was my last day,” Jongin explained, a bashful grin hidden
behind his lips. “That’s why I got off early,” he said as he raised the apron
from his lap.
 
 “Oh, okay,” Luhan said, relieved. “I… I’m glad.”
 
“I’m gonna start teaching again,” Jongin continued, reading Luhan’s mind.
“Probably have more than one class.”
 
“That’s great!” Luhan said with wide eyes. “I’m happy for you.”
 
“Will you come?”
 
Jongin gazed at him, his face tense with expectation. Luhan didn’t know what to
say. He would love to come, but should he? He knew the answer better than
anyone.
 
“I—“
 
“Never mind,” Jongin said, eyes downcast as a bitter smile pulled at his lips.
“It’s probably not a good idea, right?”
 
Luhan didn’t answer. He peered into Jongin’s face, past the contrived smile. He
wished he could wipe away the crestfallen look Jongin was trying to hide, then
remembered he was the cause of it.
 
“Anyway, I’m gonna get going. It’ll look weird if I stick around for too long
after I quit.”
 
Jongin grinned at him as he stood up, his smile too wide to be sincere. Luhan
clamped his lips tight, frowning. He hated seeing Jongin pretend to be okay,
smiling as bright as the sun despite the torrential downpour inside him. Luhan
hated it because it made him feel sad and useless, like watching from afar a
freight train derail and self-destruct.
 
“Jongin,” he said finally. “You know how I feel, right?”
 
The words wandered out of his mouth, airy and aimless. Jongin gave him an
unreadable look before forcing a meager smile.
 
“It was nice seeing you, hyung. The coffee’s on the house.”
 
He turned around and walked away. The sight of Jongin’s back was so blindingly
painful that Luhan shut his eyes. After so many times, Luhan thought he’d
gotten used to having Jongin turn away from him, but it still hurt the same as
the first time.
 
When he opened his eyes a little later, Jongin was nowhere in sight. Panic
jerked him up from the seat and he ran outside, eyes frantically scanning the
surroundings for a tall figure in a white tee and black denims. He took off in
a jog down the main road, pausing here and there as he came to an alley or a
street. After a few blocks down, he finally spotted Jongin in one of the small
alleys, crouched against the wall with a cigarette dangling from his fingers.
Jongin barely looked up when Luhan walked toward him. He took a drag before
getting on his feet, eyes pointedly pulled away. Luhan could see tearstains on
his cheeks, red lining his eyes.
 
“I’m sorry,” Luhan said. The words transported him back to that time on
Jongin’s rooftop, how he had felt apologetic for making Jongin cry, their first
dive into this abyss of desolation.
 
“No, it’s my fault,” Jongin chuckled as he threw the cigarette on the ground,
crushing it with his heel. “I shouldn’t have—“
 
“Stop saying that,” Luhan cut him off. He stepped up to Jongin and put his
hands on either side of Jongin’s face. “It’s not your fault. It never was.”
 
Seeing tears ripple across Jongin’s eyes, Luhan felt that familiar twinge in
his chest. He let go of Jongin’s face and pulled him close, winding his arms
behind Jongin. He breathed in Jongin’s scent—an intoxicating mix of cigarettes
and cologne, drawing and closing him in.
 
“I’m sick of seeing you cry. I want you to be happy, Jongin. Love is not
supposed to hurt.” Not for you.
 
“What about you? I don’t want to hurt you.”
 
“Then don’t turn your back on me again.”
 
Luhan knew then that he had made a choice. Perhaps his heart had decided for
him long before his head realized it. Maybe he could have walked away, cut
Jongin off or ignored him, but maybe it was never a possibility, like picking a
diamond from a deck of spades. Jongin’s smile that lit up the whole room and
his soothing baritone, his little quirks and mannerisms that had branded on
Luhan’s mind like a tattoo, the way he smelled and the way he felt—these were
things that made Jongin Luhan’s home, keeping him in a safe place that he never
wanted to leave again.
 
It was not going to be easy and it was wrong in all casual sense of the
word—offensive, cruel, deceitful, selfish. But Luhan was just trying to live
without feeling like a piece of him was missing. He wanted to be fair to
himself, including his love for Jongin that had become a part of him.
 
The heat of July segued into August seamlessly. Luhan always waited until his
mind was clogged from missing Jongin to actually meet him. He resumed dance
class after Jongin opened another one that met every other Friday so they could
spend more time together. The person that he was with Jongin was not the same
person as with Minjoo. Then there was Haru, the one that still monopolized his
attention, drowning all of him and making him forget. With Haru, his heart
wasn’t softened by guilt as with Jongin, or hardened by detachment as with
Minjoo—it did what it was designed to do, which was to love with no
preconditions or expectations.
 
But even as he cleaved to normalcy, it started to elude him, and he soon felt
like a child chasing his own shadow. Minjoo wasn’t stupid, he knew that. The
more he hid from Minjoo, the more Luhan felt like he didn’t really know her.
Maybe five years of sharing his life with a person wasn’t sufficient. Maybe
Minjoo had a side to her that was unknown to everyone, just like him, a side
that he now started to discern over the growing chasm between them.
 
The questioning began one night after Luhan came home from work. It was a
typical work day, busy and Jongin-less. Indistinct noises traveled from the
living room as he slipped out of his dress shoes, shoving them to the side. He
walked in and saw Minjoo watching TV, Haru sitting on the floor playing with a
Rilakkuma plushie that Luhan hadn’t seen before.
 
“Daddy!” Haru shouted as she looked up and saw Luhan. She rolled onto her feet,
the plushie abandoned. Smiling, Luhan stepped closer and bent down, picking her
up. He saw Minjoo glance at him out of the corner of his eyes. She remained
seated in the couch, unspeaking.
 
“Did you get a new toy?” he asked Haru, slightly bouncing her in his arms. His
little girl was getting heavy.
 
“Mhmm. Chanyeol-oppa gave it to me.”
 
Luhan widened his eyes in surprise. He didn’t know Chanyeol had stopped by. He
tilted his head and called out to Minjoo.
 
“Chanyeol came by?”
 
“Yeah,” Minjoo said, eyes still on the TV, face straight. Then she pulled
herself up from the couch and turned to him, an inexplicable smile on her face
as she approached. “Last Friday. When you were at dance class. He didn’t tell
you?”
 
Luhan looked at her blankly. Minjoo still thought he went to dance class every
Friday night. He blinked a few times, lowering Haru to the floor by the couch.
 
“Ah, right. No, he didn’t tell me.”And neither did you.
 
Minjoo peered into his face, head slanted to the side as she hummed. She was
still wearing a smile that failed to reach her eyes.
 
“Dinner will be ready soon,” she said. Luhan watched her turn around and pick
up the remote, pressing the power button that zipped the screen into black.
 
“Okay.”
 
He kept his eyes on her, watchful like prey when it detected a predator in the
vicinity. She stopped in her tracks and turned around before reaching the
kitchen.
 
“Oh, by the way. Did you change aftershave?”
 
“No… why?”
 
Stones dropped into the pit of his stomach, one by one.
 
“You smell different,” Minjoo said, eyes lingering on his face. She waved
dismissively. “Never mind.”
 
Luhan watched her disappear into the kitchen, eyes wide with bewilderment. His
heart began to pound, blood thundering inside his ears as he tried to sort out
what just happened.
 
She knew. She didn’t know it was Jongin, but she knew something was off. 
 
The scariest part was that they weren’t even close enough for her to smell it
on him. She must have noticed it before, but had saved the question for later.
 
Luhan slumped into the couch and hauled Haru up to his lap. He held her as she
played with her Rilakkuma. Eyes closed, he inhaled her baby scent that had
always chased his worries away.
 
More questions followed after that. Minjoo asked him about what he ate when he
said he was going to eat with coworkers. She asked about dance class, the
routines he learned, which he luckily didn’t have to improvise in the rare
occasions that she asked him to show her. She asked about work, seemingly
complaining about him working overtime more than usual. She didn’t ask about
the aftershave again, although Luhan could sense she hadn’t let it go, the
question mark above her head faded but still there.
 
It became harder and harder to read Minjoo. The way she asked those questions
was so benign that Luhan couldn’t tell if she was curious or suspicious. She
asked them in such a way that he didn’t have to lie, but the guilt that came
with being honest was stronger than if he had provided untruths. He became wary
of her, trying to pick her brains when she was trying to pick his. At the same
time he had begun to accumulate an insurmountable debt to Minjoo, and he kept
trying regardless of the mental fatigue and emotional distance. He tried to
hold everything together—their marriage, this family, the dream that they
shared for Haru to grow up into a beautiful, wholesome young woman. Building a
future for Haru was not something Luhan could accomplish on his own with Minjoo
out of the picture. It was a price he had to pay in exchange for loving Jongin
without restraints.
                                     - ☆ -
 “Lu, are you listening to me?”
 
Luhan jerked up, eyes re-focused on Minjoo as thoughts of Jongin fled like a
flock of startled birds. She was looking at him pointedly, brows furrowed in
half-annoyance. His eyes dropped to the papers and catalogues scattered on the
dining table. Then he remembered—they were talking about which preschool to
register for Haru, a discussion that had extended from dinner.
 
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
 
Minjoo closed her eyes and exhaled, face strained in exasperation. She tapped a
manicured finger on a glossy page in one of the catalogues.
 
“I said, this one has a better playroom than Kwangwoon, but it costs like
twenty-thousand more.”
 
Luhan looked from her face to the catalogue, which he couldn’t remember
reading. He racked his brain to think of an acceptable response, but his head
was still muddy in the wake of missing Jongin.
 
“What’s going on? You’re not yourself these days.”
 
He raised his eyes and met her probing gaze, guilt chewing on the linings of
his stomach again. Flustered, he reached for a glass of water on the table and
took a hasty gulp.
 
“Nothing. Just… stressed from work,” he replied, avoiding her eyes.
 
Minjoo said nothing. Luhan heard her take slow breaths, then papers rustling.
He looked up; her eyes were on the table, hands busied with collating the
papers, stuffing certain ones into catalogues.
 
“Who is she?”
 
Luhan stared at her in disbelief.
 
“What?”
 
“You heard me,” Minjoo said, her voice trembling. She put the papers down on
the table and stood up. “Who is she?” She pinned him with an accusatory look.
Luhan huffed out an incredulous laugh.
 
“Minjoo, what the fuck? Where did you get that idea?”
 
“Don’t lie to me, Luhan. I know you. And I know you’re not stressed from work
because it’s slow, I asked Chanyeol. You used to come home straight after work
just to spend time with Haru, but now you go out and you come home late, barely
catching her bedtime. When you’re here you’re not really here,” she paused,
tears lining the windows of her eyes, her lips quivering. “Just tell me, who is
she? What does she have that I don’t?”
 
“There is no she, goddammit,” Luhan half-shouted as he shot up from his chair
and marched around the table, grabbing Minjoo’s arm. She fought him off but he
kept his grip. “You’re overthinking,” he said as he cupped her face, holding
her teary eyes with the most convincing look he could muster. She looked up
into his eyes and he felt himself grow smaller and smaller, washed out by an
unforgiving tide of guilt.
 
“Really?”
 
“Yes. I promise.” I promise there is no she. I promise I’m not in love with
another woman.
 
Watching tears stream down her cheeks, he leaned down and kissed her, feeling
the tremor in her lips that upheld a silent proclamation of faith. She pressed
herself into him as her tongue chased his with a manic desperation, and he
tried to reciprocate, cutting all circuits inside his head. He was prepared for
this—splitting himself open in return for a promise with complete sincerity,
but it came from the lesser half of his heart. It was as if he was putting up
his body as loan, interest rate determined by the level of his remorse.
                                     - ☆ -
 
Luhan had had his share of physical pain. He’d cracked his head open against
the sharp corner of a table when playing as a child, earning a gash that
required several stitches. He’d fractured his ankle in basketball during senior
year in high school, the injury had put him on crutches for a month. He’d been
punched in the stomach and kicked in the kidney during a fraternity fight in
college. But none of those compared remotely to the pain he felt now, lying
wide awake next to Minjoo as guilt stabbed him repeatedly right in the heart.
If he listened closely, he could hear Minjoo’s steady breathing, sleep cloaking
her in oblivion. If he sniffed hard enough, he could smell his own release in
the air. If he focused on the nerves in his hands, he could feel the stickiness
of sweat and sex as he spread his palm over the sheets.
 
But he couldn’t. The feeling of his chest getting pulled and twisted from
inside, tighter and tighter, overpowered all of his senses. He felt like
crying, but his eyes were dry as he stared into the ceiling. He kept them open,
just in case Jongin’s face popped up again in the back of his eyelids. He tried
to think about Minjoo, as he should. He tried to think about the way her skin
had felt underneath his fingertips, how she had wrapped her legs around him and
arched to meet him as he thrust, the way her mouth sought his so earnestly, on
a quest for some warped form of reassurance. And Luhan hoped she had found it,
and that it would suffice to compensate the severe lack of explanations, words
that would just turn out to be excuses.
 
He reminded himself that she was his wife, that she was the love of his life,
the person who had stolen and kept his heart. But the more he replayed the
thought, the more untrue it sounded inside his head, until it became mere words
that fell through his synapses, their meaning dismantled. He attempted to
detach himself from the situation so as to regain objective reasoning, but it
only made things look more ludicrous than before. Here he was, thinking about a
man when a beautiful woman lay beside him. He was supposed to be satisfied with
Minjoo. She was perfect—attractive, smart, competent, funny. She was a good
wife and mother. She was everything he could ever ask for. But as he thought
about her, he came to realize that while he loved her, he had fallen out of
love with her a while ago.
 
He didn’t know why he even bothered trying. Was it out of remorse because he
knew she didn’t deserve infidelity? Or was it out of an inane belief that he
could love two people equally at the same time?
 
(Either way, pouring himself out to Minjoo was futile, like dropping a stone
into a bottomless well and waiting for the sound of it hitting hard ground. He
had nothing to give her, as Jongin had already taken complete possession of
him.)
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
“Daddy, I want that.”
 
Luhan looked down at Haru tugging the leg of his pants. He followed her line of
sight; she was pointing at a row of jumbo-size strawberry Pocky on the shelf.
 
“Okay,” he agreed easily, then grabbed the outermost box and tossed it into the
shopping cart. They were at the local H Mart, Minjoo’s idea of a family bonding
time. She seemed to have relaxed after Luhan’s attempt to prove himself in the
form of bedroom affairs. Luhan became more cognizant of her mood, ripples of
emotion on her face, the way she touched him and leaned into his touch.
 
On his bad days (or her bad days), it felt as laborious as another job he
shouldered, one that was unpaid and unappreciated. On those days he was
reminded of why he was still trying when he sat down on Haru’s bed and she came
snuggling up his side, putting a pre-chosen storybook on his lap. He had
started to crawl under the covers with Haru, his adult legs hanging off the
edge of a child-sized bed, his own idea of shelter with his daughter sound
asleep in his arms.
 
His phone beeped with the arrival of a text message. It was Minjoo asking him
to get milk. He was closer to the refrigerated section and she was on the other
side, by the produce. He texted back a quick okay before bending over and
picking up Haru. He put her down inside the cart, nudging away boxes and bags
so she didn’t sit on them.
 
“Haru-ah, let’s go get milk for Mommy.”
 
He started pushing the cart toward the back slowly, half of his attention on
Haru sticking her head out, fingers gripping the front of the cart. He stopped
in front of the dairy section and steered the cart off to the side, parallel to
the cabinets. Peeking inside, his eyes found the shelf holding the 2% jugs and
he pulled the cabinet open. As he picked up a jug, he sensed someone watching
him and turned sideways.
 
It was Jongin, frozen in his tracks coming out of an aisle several feet away.
He was in a simple black tee and khaki shorts, with a typical snapback worn
backward and a basket slung across his arm. He stared at Luhan, wide-eyed, then
his eyes shifted down to the little girl in the cart.
 
Luhan opened his mouth out of acquired habit, wanting to say hi, then
remembered Haru was there, sitting in the cart, oblivious to the thickening air
between him and Jongin. Jongin fixed his eyes on Haru, a shadow cast over his
face as he watched her poke at the box of Pocky at her feet. Luhan felt the
artificial breeze from the open cabinet creep into his pores, and he shuddered
as he watched Jongin worry his lips, lost in thought.
 
“Did you get the milk?”
 
Luhan whipped around to the voice. Minjoo shot him a strange look, eyes
skimming from his surprised face to the unclosed cabinet. She pushed the door
closed and dropped a few bags of vegetables and fruits into the cart, just
behind Haru. Luhan followed and put the milk inside as well, then he glanced up
when Minjoo spoke to Haru and picked her up.
 
Jongin had retreated into the aisle, half of his head stuck out as he continued
to watch them—Minjoo and Haru, specifically. Even though he had flipped his
snapback around and pulled down the bill so it covered his eyes, Luhan could
see the look on his face; it was an odd combination of fascination and fear.
Luhan wanted to turn them around so Jongin wouldn’t have to see him with his
family, but he only gripped the cart handle harder, his feet rooted in place.
Holding Haru’s hand, Minjoo started to walk ahead in the direction of Jongin.
Luhan swallowed. He pushed the cart forward, following suit. When he passed
Jongin, Jongin gave him a look of dismay and reluctance. Luhan paused the cart
and opened his mouth. Still, nothing came out.
 
 “Luhan, what are you doing?” Minjoo called out. Luhan turned around and saw
her a few aisles up, Haru by her side. He turned back to Jongin, whose mouth
strained into a sad smile.
 
“Go,” Jongin said, his words soft like the newborn waves at daybreak. “They’re
waiting.”
 
“Daddy! Hurry up!”
 
Luhan’s head jerked around at the voice of Haru. She waved at him expectantly,
cheeks rounded out in an innocent grin. It tugged his heart forward, away from
Jongin.
 
He gave Jongin one last glance before pushing the cart forward. With each step
he took, his chest wound tighter and tighter, until it was sore with the
feeling of leaving something permanently behind.
 
 
Dinner that night was as tasty as a sterilized tablecloth. Luhan watched Minjoo
talk at him, her mouth opening and closing as if performing a mime show. He
looked from her to Haru, whose oblivion to the war inside him made him bleed.
He couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt from choosing Haru over Jongin at the
store, then he felt guilty for feeling guilty.
 
He tried to envision a future with Jongin and Haru. Jongin would love Haru like
she were his own flesh and blood, Luhan was sure of that. But would Haru love
Jongin the way she loved Luhan? When people would find out about her two
fathers, would she face the jeers, aversion, bigoted fright with serenity, or
would she be torn into pieces?
 
Would she be happy?
 
Cleaning up remnants of Haru’s meal on the table, Luhan thought about the day
when Haru could eat boned fish on her own, the day when she could do the dishes
and even cook, the day he sends her off to college, the day he walks her down
the aisle.
 
He suddenly tasted the sweet and sour chicken he had had for dinner, the dual
flavors swimming underneath his tongue. But when he swallowed it was just sour
that slid down the back of his throat; the sweet had vanished, as if it had
never existed.
 
 
“Mommy got me a new book today,” Haru said delightfully, scooting onto Luhan’s
lap and shoving the book into his face.
 
“Oh really?” He took the book from her hands as she sprawled over his lap,
watching him like she was anticipating shooting stars. Printed in a large
graphic font on the glossy cover was Love_Monster.
 
The title sounded familiar; it must have seeped into his mind when Minjoo
mentioned it earlier that day. He couldn’t be sure. Most of the things Minjoo
had said to him over the past weeks failed to take root in his head, their form
and meaning floating aimlessly.
 
“Read it to me, Daddy!” Haru said as she rolled over and crawled into bed. She
pulled the covers up to her chin, legs fidgeting underneath excitedly.
 
“Okay, okay.”
 
Luhan climbed in next to her, shifting her small frame so it fit precisely in
his arms. After making sure they were both comfortable, Haru’s head on his
chest, Luhan opened the book and began reading.
 
As he read, he found himself pausing here and there, the words too heavy to
take away. He saw himself in the googly-eyed monster, on a quest to find true
love in a world that accepted only the adorably fluffy ones. The Love Monster
firmly believed that there was also love for him, existing in the hairy, non-
cuddly form, despite what everyone else told him. Luhan admired his courage,
his stubbornness, but most of all, Luhan was envious of his conviction that he
deserved love just like everyone else did.
 
“Daddy, why are you crying?”
 
Luhan pulled his eyes down. Haru was looking at him, head tilted to the side,
large eyes blinking curiously. She didn’t understand the sadness carried by the
transparent fluid down his cheeks.
 
“No reason,” he said quickly, sniffling and swiping his cheek with the back of
his hand. He rubbed the top of Haru’s head, feeling her soft hair between his
fingers. “Something got into my eye, that’s all.”
 
“Okay,” Haru said, seemingly convinced. She scooted up and kissed Luhan on the
cheek. “Don’t cry, Daddy.”
 
She lay back down and rested her head on Luhan’s chest, now heaving violently.
He felt familiar throbbing behind his nose and he inhaled sharply, trying to
swallow his tears before they became a storm.
 
“I won’t,” he whispered, pressing his mouth into her hair. “I’m not gonna cry.”
 
He continued to read, forcing himself to concentrate on enunciating each word,
slowly and carefully. His breathing slowed, but tears continued to trickle down
his face, soaking strands of Haru’s hair. When he finished, he closed the book
and gently dropped it on the floor by the bed.
 
The difference between him and the Love Monster wasn’t that he lacked the
courage, but that his love was more of a monster than he was, one so colossal
and grotesque that reality could not tolerate its existence.
                                     - ☆ -

After the run-in with Jongin at the store, Luhan lasted a little over a week
before calling Yifan. He had hoped to think things through on his own; after
all, that was what he was supposed to do. But the more he thought, the more he
felt instead and logic betrayed him as his alleged ally. He thought he would
arrive at the conclusion that he was just momentarily confused, that what he
had felt for Jongin was no more than pity, a brotherly love for a broken child.
He was straight and married, his heart already doled out to Haru and Minjoo—he
couldn’t possibly love Jongin the way Jongin loved him, with sheer, steadfast
certainty. The person he loved was Minjoo. That was the way it was supposed to
be. But his heart was doing this strange thing of pulling and squeezing, as if
declaring it would quit pumping unless he stopped thinking these thoughts.
 
(He didn’t think that these thoughts were untrue, but he felt it in his heart.
The mind is a competent prosecutor but the heart is a tough jury, and right now
he was barely making a case.)
 
“Jesus fucking Christ, do you know what time it is?” Yifan half-barked, half-
mumbled into the phone in English. Luhan understood him, and he knew what time
it was, but he was pressed for time in many senses of the word. It was around
three in the afternoon on Saturday, and Minjoo had gone to a curating seminar
while Haru was napping. This was a rare break he had alone, with no one around
him to even accidentally overhear. The other reason was obvious—the number of
hours he had slept per day over the last week could be counted with five
fingers or less.
 
“I’m sorry,” Luhan said in English, then switched to Mandarin, “but this is
extremely urgent.” He heard groaning and rustling in the background telling of
Yifan’s struggles into an upright position.
 
“What,” Yifan said, followed by a loud yawn.
 
 
“I—“ Luhan began, but he didn’t know how to say it. How was he supposed to talk
about it when he could barely put his thoughts in order? “I have a problem.”
 
“Luhan,” Yifan said with a sigh. “I know you have no problem affording
international calls, but it is fucking three in the morning here and I’d really
like to get back to sleep. So please, just spit it.”
 
“I think I’m in love with someone else,” Luhan said quietly.
 
There was a dull silence on Yifan’s end. Luhan waited with bated breath,
looking out the window across the road, unseeing eyes on the sprinklers
spraying water across his neighbor’s lawn.
 
“Well. That woke me up.”
 
“I don’t know what to do,” Luhan said in a broken voice. The sprinklers had
shut off and the grass glistened under the sun. His neighbor’s two children ran
out to the lawn, their mother on their heels trying to pull them back. Without
reading her lips, Luhan knew that she was telling them to wait until the grass
was dry.
 
“Did you… sleep with her?”
 
Luhan fell quiet. He wondered if it had come to the point where he had to
disclose everything to Yifan, the only person he trusted with matters of the
heart, the one he could turn to when he was lost even though he knew Yifan
probably didn’t know the right direction either.
 
“It’s… a he.”
 
Luhan heard Yifan gasp audibly, then there was a disquieting silence over the
phone. His heart sank and he wished he hadn’t said anything.
 
“Is it Jongin?”
 
“How did you know?”
 
“It’s just… I don’t know. I sensed something when that… stuff happened in Jeju.
You were pretty shaken by it, but not in the normal way? It’s hard to explain.”
 
“Yeah. No, I get it,” Luhan agreed. Yifan was probably right. He had always
read Luhan well, ever since they were young. There was no way Yifan could have
missed the tremors in Luhan’s face, residual emotions that might be visible to
anyone but himself.
 
Another moment of quiet spread between them as Luhan tried to steady his
breathing, waiting for Yifan to tell him something less chaotic than his
thoughts.
 
“Does Minjoo know?”
 
“No,” Luhan said with a sigh. “If she did, I would probably be talking to a
lawyer instead of having this conversation with you right now.”
 
“True. So… what are you gonna do?”
 
“What can I do? I can’t get a divorce. There’s Haru to think about.”
 
“Can you leave him? Or cut him off?”
 
Luhan didn’t respond. Can implies one’s ability to do something, and he could
cut it off with Jongin, sure. But would he be exempt from an atrophy of the
heart, death of the soul, being blind to the self he had come to know and
embrace? Conceiving such possibility was enough to shut him down, rendering his
entire person dysfunctional.
 
But he didn’t need to say anything for Yifan to know the answer.
 
“Luhan, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but one of the best things
about you is that you put other people’s interests before your own. You always
look out for people, to the point where it sometimes borders on selflessness
and stupidity. You want everyone to be happy, but the truth is, that’s never
gonna happen. So I guess… who do you want to be happy? Haru or Jongin?”
 
Luhan thought Yifan’s question was ludicrous, as if he was asking Luhan to
recite pi to the hundredth decimal place, utterly unfeasible. He wanted both of
them to be happy. He would give years of his own happiness for either one to
never be sad again.
 
“Think about it, Luhan. I’m going back to sleep.”
 
Yifan hung up, and Luhan kept the phone next to his ear, watching his
neighbor’s children run wildly on the grass as he listened to the dial tone.
The grass that had just been glistening quickly lost its sheen of moisture.
Luhan imagined the stalks breaking under the stomping feet of the children,
their lifespan as transient as the water that had sprayed over them.
 
(Even if they could all be happy, someone’s happiness would last longer, and
someone else’s would die first.)

                                     - ☆ -
 
In roughly one week Minjoo would be returning to the art gallery, working full-
time, and Haru would be attending Hongik Preschool three days a week. In
celebration of such a milestone, Luhan suggested a potluck in their backyard to
which Minjoo heartily agreed. She took it upon herself to organize the whole
event, with a gravity warranted for Haru’s coming-of-age. She sent e-
invitations to their mutual friends—married and single—and developed a
comprehensive list of dishes required at the potluck. Luhan knew why she was
working so hard for something that would end within half a day—it was her own
way of holding onto the present, gluing the happiness they had together. At the
same time Luhan tried to stop the present from becoming the past, futile
attempts in the form of wanting to call Jongin and not calling, waiting for
text messages that never came. He was at a stalemate with himself, grounded by
indecision that had formed shackles around his feet.
 
It was the night before the potluck, a Friday night, that Jongin called.
 
“Hey,” Luhan breathed into the phone. He had been out in the garage looking for
the grill and associated equipment. It had been months since they last used it,
the apparatus shoved into a dusty corner in the garage. He was surprised by the
call; normally Jongin would be teaching at this time.
 
Silence reigned over the phone.
 
“Jongin? What’s wrong?”
 
“Can you meet?” Jongin asked in a flat voice.
 
“Now?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Uh…” Luhan hesitated. He was supposed to help Minjoo prepare cold cuts and
sandwiches for the potluck.
 
“Please,” Jongin said, a hint of desperation in his voice. Unease crept up
Luhan’s back. “I need to see you now.”
 
“Okay. Where are you?”
 
“Right outside my place. On the rooftop.”
 
“Are you—“
 
“No, don’t be stupid. I’m just sitting here.”
 
Jongin hung up. Luhan frowned as he slowly lowered the phone from his ear. Even
if Jongin wasn’t thinking of jumping off, he sure made it a reason for Luhan to
get there at an inhuman speed. With a press on the button on his car keys,
Luhan shut the garage door and jumped into their SUV, pulling out of the
driveway so fast the tires screeched. He was glad that Minjoo had gone out to
Tous le Jours, bringing Haru with her on a semi-whimsical pastry run. Minjoo
would probably call later once she got home and found that Luhan wasn’t there,
but he would deal with that when it happened.
 
Surprisingly, the Friday night traffic was not as congested as usual, and Luhan
barely had to hit full brake all the way to Yeonnam. He even found a parking
spot right outside Jongin’s apartment, near an idling taxi. Everything seemed
to be going too well, like a road so smoothly paved that it beckoned for
accidents to occur. Dread pooled in the pit of his stomach as he sprinted up
the stairs to the rooftop.
 
Jongin was sitting on the wooden coffee table, back facing him with knees drawn
to his chest.
 
“Jongin,” he called out, slightly out of breath. Jongin turned around, tossing
him a blank look over the shoulders. Luhan walked up to him. “What’s wrong? I
thought you were teaching tonight.”
 
“Not tonight,” Jongin replied. His voice was wispy, like it carried traces of a
secret. “I need to do something else tonight.”
 
Luhan sat down beside him, pulling his legs up and crossing them. He watched
Jongin pull out a pack of Marlboros—a new pack, unlike the wrinkled one that
Luhan had smoked from before—and fished out a cigarette. Jongin shoved the
stick in between his lips and lit up. He kept his face forward, eyes distant as
if longing for the glimmers in the far horizon. It was a look he wore back on
the balcony in Jeju, but darker, lonelier.
 
“I heard from Chanyeol that you guys are having a barbeque potluck tomorrow,”
Jongin said after taking a drag, stretching out his arm over his kneecap.
 
“Yeah.”
 
“That’s nice.”
 
“Jongin—“
 
“I’ve been to barbeque potlucks before, back in New York. It’s a popular thing
in the summer, with Memorial weekend, the Fourth of July. The rooftop ones are
the best. You get a great view, and you can even play with fireworks.”
 
Luhan listened, wondering why Jongin was telling him this. It had been a while
since Jongin mentioned New York. Luhan felt his chest tighten with
apprehension, his mind whirling about a shapeless omen.
 
There was something Jongin wanted to tell him, the reason why he asked Luhan to
meet. Luhan waited. Jongin would talk when he was ready.
 
His phone went off when he reached for Jongin’s arm. Jongin didn’t move, he
barely shot him a look. Luhan looked at him hesitantly, then scooped his phone
out of his pocket. It was Minjoo. Luhan sighed.
 
“Hello?”
 
“Hey, where are you?” Minjoo asked. “I thought we were gonna make cold cuts
together.”
 
“I know, I just ran out to get some plates and napkins,” Luhan lied. He
couldn’t remember if Minjoo already got them, but if she did, he could always
say it wouldn’t hurt to have more. “I’ll be back in a few.”
 
“Alright,” she said, unsuspecting. “Oh, Haru wants to talk to you.”
 
Luhan heard a faint thump as the phone was passed. He could see Haru grasping
Minjoo’s phone with two hands and unnecessary stiffness.
 
“Daddy,” Haru whined into his ear.
 
“What’s the matter, sweetie?” Luhan asked. He sensed Jongin glance over at him.
 
“Where is Pooh? I can’t find him,” she said with a pout that Luhan could hear
over the phone. Luhan thought for a moment. She had probably left it in the
car.
 
“He’s probably in the car. I’ll look, okay? Don’t you worry.”
 
He sensed Jongin pursing his mouth into a stern line, lips jammed between his
teeth. Jongin pushed his legs out and stood up. Luhan saw a puff of smoke float
up before Jongin’s face, out over the railing.
 
“Okay,” Haru said in resignation. “Are you coming home soon, Daddy?”
 
“Yes. Soon,” Luhan said as he gazed at Jongin’s back, the words tasting like
vinegar behind his tongue.
 
He hung up shortly after that, repeating his promise to Haru that he would find
Mr. Pooh. Putting his phone back into his pocket, Luhan got on his feet and
walked behind Jongin. He wrapped his arms around the younger man and pressed
his cheek into his back.
 
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Luhan mumbled into Jongin’s shirt. He closed
his eyes and inhaled, filling his lungs with Jongin’s smell, scents of nicotine
and fresh laundry and home to his soul. He waited. Jongin pulled his arms
apart. He flicked the cigarette away and turned around, facing Luhan.
 
"I'm going back to New York."
 
"What? When?" Luhan’s eyes grew large, panic yanking his heart all the way down
through the bottom of his stomach.
 
“I got a call for a teaching position at a studio,” Jongin said, ignoring
Luhan's question. He was looking at somewhere past Luhan. “It’s small and not
that well-known, but the job is full-time and pays decent.”
 
Luhan stared at him, hands clenching and unclenching on his side. The last time
he spoke to Jongin was over a week ago, before that encounter at H Mart, and
Jongin had just finished teaching a class in Gangnam. On the phone, Jongin had
sounded happy and content, albeit the sliver of annoyance in his voice when he
spoke of the snobby rich kids from that area. Luhan didn’t understand. Since
when? Had Jongin made this decision long before he decided to tell him? Had the
plane tickets been sitting in a drawer the last time Luhan came over, about two
weeks ago?
 
“I don’t want Haru to end up like me,” he continued in a small voice. He fixed
a determined look on Luhan’s eyes, steely and firm like the sword of the last
samurai. “She deserves to have her father in her life, from beginning to end.
I’m not going to take that away from her.”
 
Luhan was slammed into a stupor of anguish and confusion. He looked into
Jongin’s eyes; they were so filled with stars yet drained of joy. Then he knew.
This was Jongin deciding for him, knowing he couldn’t choose. This was Jongin
backing out so Luhan didn’t have to be the one giving up.
 
"Before my mom took her last breath," Jongin continued, "she told me something
I'd never forget. She told me that she loved me, over and over and over again.
When I asked her to stop because my eyes felt like they were going to fall out
from bawling, she said she wished she had told me that earlier. She said, 'If
you love someone, tell them. No matter how inconvenient it is, or how it might
cause problems, or how you'll feel your cheeks burn up when you say it. If you
love someone, tell them.'"
 
Jongin looked at him with the same searching look the first time their eyes
met. Before Luhan could tell him stop—stop looking at him with promises he
couldn’t give, stars dying too quickly—Jongin leaned in and held Luhan’s face
with gentle hands. Luhan’s eyes fluttered shut when warm lips pressed into his
forehead, the spot between his brows, then on each of his eyelids, his right
cheekbone, the tip of his nose, his left cheek, at the corner of his mouth. And
finally, Jongin kissed his lips so painstakingly slow it transported Luhan back
to their very first kiss, full of fear and hesitance. But this time, Luhan
tasted none of that. It was so soft, so sweet and yet so sad, as if Jongin was
marking him with all that he had.
 
"I love you."
 
Then Jongin turned around and left. Luhan watched Jongin’s back disappear into
the stairwell and felt his eyes sting. Jongin's last words lingered in the air
like the final note to an incomplete song. It felt like there should be more,
but there wasn't. Still, the longer Luhan gazed at Jongin's shadow, the louder
that voice spoke in his head, picking up where Jongin had left off.
 
And I always will, from the beginning of you without me, to the end of me
without you.
 
Luhan trusted that Jongin was saying those words from inside his heart, because
if he had said it out loud, Luhan's life would burn to the ground, his hopes
and dreams for Haru charred into cinder.
 
Indistinct noises down on the ground drew Luhan to the railing. He looked down
and saw Jongin walking up to the taxi that had been waiting when Luhan parked
his car. He was already prepared, luggage being loaded into the trunk by the
driver and then Jongin handing him an extra tip for waiting. Luhan waited for
Jongin to look up, to wave good-bye, to at least give him a look that he could
carry with him for the rest of his life.
 
Jongin didn’t raise his head. He pulled open the backseat door and slid in.
Luhan watched the taxi pull away and speed into the dark until it became just a
single dot, its headlights flickering in the distance.
 
Luhan pulled back from the railing after a while. When he turned around, his
eyes landed on the pack of Marlboros on the coffee table where Jongin had sat.
He plunked down on the table, drawing a cigarette out of the pack. The lighter
was in there, wedged into a corner. He huffed out a bitter laugh.
 
Jongin had remembered to leave everything behind, including a device for Luhan
to poison himself, overdosing on the remnants of Jongin. He had left, but he
really didn’t. The irony juxtaposed itself against Luhan’s heart, melding into
it even as it slowly split into a million fragments.
 
Drawing cigarette smoke deep into his lungs, Luhan thanked Jongin for being the
brave one that surrendered first.
 
                                     - ☆ -
 
 
Epilogue
 
 “Honey, Haru’s on Skype,” Minjoo says, sticking her head into the kitchen.
Haru had arrived in New York about two weeks ago, but had been busy with
freshman orientation and moving into the dorm at New York University. Though
she has been messaging Luhan (and occasionally Minjoo) on KakaoTalk, this was
the first time she called her parents on Skype. Needless to say, they’re
thrilled to finally see a live feed of Haru’s face.
 
“Okay, I’m coming.”
 
Luhan puts down the Tupperware he was about to stack into the cupboard, then
walks toward the living room where his Mac is set up. Minjoo is already seated
in front of the screen, adjusting the monitor to the perfect angle.
 
Haru beams and waves enthusiastically after Luhan plops down at the coffee
table beside his wife. Luhan smiles, his heart swelling at how far Haru has
come; how brave she was to go to a foreign land all by herself solely to attend
the school of her dreams—Tisch School of the Arts, the center of NYU’s
performance study.
 
She wants to be a dancer. Minjoo had been against it at first, afraid of
letting their only daughter out into the world by herself, but Luhan had been
supportive from the start. Haru’s dream reminded him of someone he used to
know, a person who fought against all odds to not just reach for the stars, but
to become a star himself.
 
Haru asks them how they’re doing, but they ask her to talk about herself: how’s
the dorm, her roommate, the campus, the city that hails glamour and never
sleeps. The way Haru talks about New York is reminiscent; as someone newly
relocated, she’s fascinated and awestruck by the neon lights, the bustling
crowd gliding through the streets of East Village. It makes Luhan think of
someone who was a veteran resident of New York. Or still is; he can’t be too
sure.
 
“By the way, I went to observe a class the other day,” Haru talks rapidly with
a glint of excitement in her eyes. “It’s jazz dance and it looks so much fun.
The instructor is really handsome and charming,” she giggles, earning a
squinted look from Minjoo. “He’s Korean, too! He must be, since his last name
is Kim.”
 
Luhan’s heart stops. It can’t be. It must be a coincidence. All of a sudden,
Haru’s voice fades out and he watches the screen like a movie on mute. He’s
snapped back into the moment when Haru bursts out laughing.
 
“Anyway, I gotta go. There’s a town hall meeting in the dorm,” she said with a
defiant roll of her eyes. “I’ll email or message you guys. Mom! Check your
KakaoTalk, please.”
 
“Okay, okay,” Minjoo says with a chuckle. After they bid their goodbyes, Minjoo
gets up and moves toward the bedroom, jabbering about something related to
Haru. Luhan climbs up to the couch and pulls the laptop to him, his wife’s
voice quickly becoming a mere buzz.
 
He opens a browser and types into the search engine: “New York University Tisch
dance department”. He clicks on the first link, which takes him to the homepage
of the Tisch dance department. Scanning the page, he clicks on a tab that
indicates “Faculty”. His eyes go down the list of names. Then he found it under
Adjunct Faculty.
 
Jong-in Kim
 
Luhan takes a sharp breath which he holds for longer than he realizes. His
heart knocks violently against his chest, his blood roaring so loud he can’t
think.
 
He clicks into the hyperlink. It takes him to Jongin’s page. When the profile
photo pops into view, everything crashes over him, into him, trapping him in
the debris of a past that he shared with Jongin. He holds a trembling hand to
the screen, hovering before Jongin’s face that wore the same dazzling smile
that had burrowed a way into Luhan’s heart 15 years ago. He’s barely
changed—the way his eyes disappear into pretty folds, wide-stretched mouth
revealing pearly whites. Luhan thinks about how he used to find a celestial
tragedy in those eyes, how he used to kiss those lips apologetically, lovingly.
 
There is an email address listed in the contact information under Jongin’s
name. Luhan clicks on it and Mail pops up. Watching the cursor blink in the
body of the email, he puts his restless hands over the keyboard.
 
Then he begins typing.
 
Dear Jongin,
I hope this email finds you well. It’s been years, and I’m not sure if I should
apologize for falling out of touch. It ended the way it was supposed to, I
think. Chanyeol used to be the only one that told me things about you, which he
didn’t do often because I’m pretty sure he held a grudge against me for what
happened between us. I don’t blame him. He hasn’t mentioned you in a long time
though, so I was surprised to find out that you teach at Tisch now. It must be
nice going back to your alma mater. I heard from my daughter—Haru, you remember
her, right? It’s crazy how time flies; she’s 18 now, a freshman at NYU. She
wants to be a dancer, just like you. I hope she’ll be half as good as you were.
She reminds me of you a lot; she’s passionate, kind, too smart for her own
good. She said she’ll be taking a class you’re teaching. I might be
overstepping the lines here, but please take care of her. Even though she’s
brave and smart, she’s all by herself in that big city. I’m not asking too
much, just to keep an eye out for her, as a teacher. I’d really appreciate it.
 
Sincerely,
Luhan
p.s. I’m still sorry, as always. And I hope you’re happy, from the bottom of my
heart.
 
He reads it over, contemplating whether some things are inappropriate and
should be deleted. He ends up making no changes to the email and clicks Send.
 
The next morning when Luhan checks his email on his phone on the way to work,
he sees Jongin’s reply sitting in the inbox. His heart begins to race as his
finger hovers above the screen, a clammy hand gripping down on the strap above
his head. He decides to open it later when he gets to work; he has a feeling
that he needs to be in a private, quiet space to read it.
 
After he clocks in, Luhan pretends to be busy at his desk, organizing files
that are already organized, staring at an open document of a report he’d
already submitted. A few minutes pass before he determines it safe to leave his
cubicle. He heads to the men’s room, vacant and freshly cleaned, and enters one
of the stalls. Flipping down the toilet lid, he sits down and takes out his
phone.
 
Dear Luhan-hyung,
Good to hear from you. I’m doing well, and I wish the same for you and your
family. I actually kind of fell out of touch with Chanyeol, so he probably
doesn’t even know that I’m back at Tisch. It’s hard to keep in touch when
you’re in different countries, but that shouldn’t be an excuse. So thanks for
mentioning him and reminding me to reach out to him.
I started teaching at Tisch about 5 years ago. They offered me full-time but I
negotiated for adjunct because I had my own studio to run. I love my job
(jobs?), Tisch is a great place to learn and teach at. I’m glad to hear that
Haru decided to come here. Of course I still remember her, but the picture I
have of her is that toddler sitting in the shopping cart. If she’s on the
roster, though, I’m sure I’ll find her easily. I totally understand where she’s
coming from, I’ve been in her shoes as you know. So don’t worry, I’ll treat her
like my own daughter.
Please don’t be sorry. If you’re sorry, then I’m sorry too. But remember what
you told me? You said never apologize for loving someone. I still believe in
that, you know. And I’m happy. Maybe not as happy as I’d like to be, but I am.
 
Yours,
Jongin
p.s. ㅇㅈㅅㄹㅎ[1]
 
He stares at the postscript as his brain slowly deciphers each character that
spells the beginning of a word, something like an abbreviation. He says the
phrase out loud inside his head.
 
Tears pour out of his eyes unannounced, tumbling down his face and onto his
slacks. He closes his eyes, unresisting to memories of a buried love. They wake
up him up like sunshine trickling through the blinds, faint and gentle but
persistent, surrounding him like warm water.
 
With tears pricking the corner of his mouth, Luhan presses reply and types.
 
Jongin,
Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll let Haru know. She’ll be thrilled.
 
Take care,
Luhan
p.s. ㄴㄷ[2]
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
[1]아직사랑해 = I still love you
[2]나도 = me too
End Notes
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