fic: the pink stars are falling (various) r (1/3)

[himuup]

the pink stars are falling, r
23,558w
a/n: this wasn't supposed to happen, but it did. [song]
warnings for: angst, mentions of death, mentions of drug use, an instance of cheating. multiple pairings: taekbin, kenbin, wonbin
Hongbin fell in love at 16; and all the loves thereafter never felt the same.



the pink stars are falling

01 She’d been doing it more frequently now, slipping away without a word, no call, no text; showing up days later in the kitchen like it never happened, breakfast on the table and a smile so forced it was hard to return. There had been days she’d forgotten to pick Hongbin up from school, days he’d walked home in the blistering heat, nape red with sunburn and half delirious only to come home to an empty house, empty fridge; watching the local news and falling asleep during the weather report. He’d wake to a cold hand on his cheek, fingers in his hair; someone beside him with their bony elbow jabbing his ribs-Taekwoon, who knew more about Hongbin’s unhappiness than he’d ever admit, asking: where’s your mom? and not hearing a response.

He should have seen the warning signs, but hadn’t-or maybe they weren’t there at all. Paralyzed in front of his father who wouldn’t quite look at him; haphazard side glance which lasted only a second followed by a noncommittal grunt as he told Hongbin what happened; and left with a sinking in his gut like a stone cast in black water. Hongbin was too stunned to come up with something to say.

'What do you mean she's gone?' he stammered eventually. 'That can't be right.' All the times he'd come home to his father alone on the sofa and the times he'd come home to no one at all; lonely house as quiet as a church, Taekwoon his only company-but still Hongbin couldn't (wouldn't) believe she'd simply left. 'Why.. why would she do that?'

It would later occur to him how likely it was his mother had been going somewhere rather than running off; a destination, another family maybe?

'You need to go find her,' he'd told his father, panicked and afraid; would she really not come home? And that was when his stone-faced father pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket, once neatly folded but now balled into an unsavory clump. Hongbin read it, then read it again; read it once more and looked at his father but already he was gone; hard slam as he pulled the door shut behind him and ultimately pulled it to stand between them: a barrier that would never be broken down.

On the paper, it said:

I’m sorry to leave this way. Watch out

for him-“him” being Hongbin-and

please, do not come looking for me.

Of all the things in her too-short letter, what stood out most was her use of the word please. She’d wrote it as if she were begging, truly afraid to think that they would look for her. Hongbin’s desire to track her down never quite disappeared, but he’d known as well as his father that when his mom didn’t want to be found, she would make sure she never was.

Lying in his room, it felt lonelier now but he knew it was in his head, he’d have called Taekwoon-had wanted to so badly-but he was out with his sister, taking her somewhere up north. To their grandparents’ maybe. She was sick with something not unlike cancer, but at sixteen Hongbin wasn’t sure what it was-all sickness seemed to fall under one category: dying. And she was. Slowly. Taekwoon had been talking about their trip for days, excited to get her out of the house, out of bed, and Hongbin knew not to text or call unless he wanted his ass handed to him when Taekwoon got back. Whatever. It could wait.

Monday morning, chattering students, school bells; a weight in Hongbin’s chest like an anvil ready to drop into his stomach. He ignored the relentless tug at his arm, Sanghyuk trying hard to pull him down the hall.

'Hyung we're gonna be late,' he softly whined.

Hongbin, too busy sweeping the halls for the familiar mess of raven hair-so black it made Taekwoon appear anemic under the wrong lights-was muttering please, please quietly under his breath; he hadn’t heard Sanghyuk at all.

'I'll meet you there,' Hongbin said, pulling out of Sanghyuk's reach before he could force him down the hall. Then: outside into the stale autumn air, still hot with remains of summer; boiling in his uniform jacket.

He found Taekwoon under the bleachers with Jaehwan, sharing a cigarette so fragrant Hongbin was scared the security would come around any minute. He stood with his hands crammed in his pockets and tears already clouding his eyes; just the sight of Taekwoon was enough to trigger the deepest parts of his sadness, the parts he’d carefully tucked away. It was a moment before he was noticed, but when he was: Taekwoon stared long and hard with narrowed eyes as if trying to read what was on Hongbin’s face, then he handed Jaehwan the cigarette and said he’d see him at lunch.

It was unlike Hongbin to seek Taekwoon out during class hours. Though neighbors and friends for almost four years they hardly spent time together at school. Different grades, different crowds; Hongbin was on the honor roll with a perfect GPA whereas Taekwoon’s homework was kept last on his list of priorities. He’d often come to school smelling of tobacco and expensive cologne-stolen from his father or sometimes the store itself-his shirt untucked, tie knotted a little weirdly. And still he somehow managed to catch the eye of almost every person that passed him; and he, unaware to it all or feigning ignorance. Hongbin could never be sure.

Taekwoon hooked an arm around Hongbin’s neck, pulled him the way an irritated older brother may pull at their nuisance siblings until they were alone by the tennis courts, hot sun bearing down on them.

Hongbin couldn’t pretend anymore, or fight the tremble of his lower lip, and now that he was with Taekwoon, he didn’t have to. And so standing there in a silence so perpetual he had thought he’d drown in it, he let loose the sob that had been stuck in his throat.

'What the hell, Hongbin?' Taekwoon had scooped him back in his arms-a much more affectionate touch this time-and cradled Hongbin’s head to his chest. ‘What happened?’

It was a long time before Hongbin managed to take the letter, now in even worse condition from being read so many times, from his pocket and into Taekwoon’s hand.

He read in silence. Once finished he balled the paper in his fist much like Hongbin’s father had. He didn’t say anything, but pressed his mouth to Hongbin’s temple, holding him until they were both sweaty and miserable under the morning heat.

That night, Taekwoon crawled through Hongbin’s window with a half empty bottle of vodka in his hand; and though the night hadn’t ended well (Hongbin, crying on the floor while Taekwoon ran a comforting hand through his hair) it was a lot better than spending the night alone, curled up with his sadness.

This was all six months ago. The omnipresent shock of his mother’s disappearance was hard-he was certain he’d never get over it-but he’d learned to suppress it the way one would suppress a bad cough: the tickle in his throat never quite went away, and sometimes there were moments when he couldn’t hold it in anymore, but often he was successful in his hidings.

But he could never fool Taekwoon, and frankly, he never tried to.

-

'Where's your dad?' Taekwoon asked as he raided the fridge for leftover beers. He found three, stowed away behind the apple juice; small cans of Bud Light or rather water disguised as beer, as Taekwoon called it.

Hongbin shrugged with his hands in his pockets.

'You never know,' Taekwoon said irritably. 'He could be dead somewhere and you wouldn't have the slightest idea.'

'That's his business.'

'Doesn't he have a phone? Can't you call him?'

'I don't know,' Hongbin said to neither question in particular. He ignored Taekwoon's scoff and the way he set his beer down too hard, metallic thud on the counter top as he fixed his attention to the soccer match on the television-a far away look in his eyes that was almost unsettling to see. Hongbin was familiar with this look by now, had seen it enough times in the last week that it no longer alarmed him. Taekwoon's sister wasn't getting any better: deteriorating health, frequent hospital visits; she was hardly home anymore. And Taekwoon: left hostile and angry, ready to harm the first idiot to glance at him wrong. Thankfully most people avoided him.

And some minutes later, ‘I got paid last night. Thought I’d take you out or something,’ smiling like his anger had never existed in the first place. ‘I mean,’ he pushed his hair off his forehead, ‘it’s not a lot. But I can take you to dinner.’

'Okay.'

'Just okay?'

Hongbin gave a small laugh, amused by Taekwoon’s constant need for elaborate reaction. ‘That sounds nice, hyung, but..’ he thought of his hair, hastily pulled in a bun, messy and knotted at the ends; the laundry he’d been meaning to do but somehow kept forgetting. ‘Can we order take-out instead? I don’t really want to go anywhere.’

So they ordered Chinese from the restaurant up the road and ate it on the living room floor, the soccer match turned up ridiculously loud; and when the containers were scrapped clean and the trash taken to the bin outside, they moved to the couch and lay in a heap: Hongbin curled in Taekwoon’s side with his chin resting on his chest, fighting to keep his eyes open as Taekwoon’s fingers carded through his hair.

When Taekwoon’s sister stopped coming home from the hospital Hongbin was so often dragged to the public library, he first thought it was a joke-Taekwoon studying behind bookshelves? Taekwoon with textbooks open in front of him, sometimes three at a time? But what was confusing at first came to make sense as Hongbin remembered when Taekwoon’s sister went to their school, perfect grades and ranked highest in her class; she’d been something of a mogul. He never asked outright if this was the reason behind Taekwoon’s sudden interest in school, but Hongbin was pleased to see him take something serious for once. And after these sessions, which were mostly made up of Taekwoon hunched quietly at a table as Hongbin scoured the American Poet’s section on the upstairs levels, they’d stop by the corner store on the way back home and grab a bottle of liquor-mostly vodka, but sometimes whiskey when Taekwoon was feeling extra anxious. They’d share it on the walk back and finish it in Hongbin’s room with the radio turned loud and the television muted.

They knew how dumb it was to drink on school nights, but still they’d fall asleep drunk and wake with headaches just behind their eyes; Hongbin fretfully trying to comb his fingers through hair, grown too long and too curly, and eventually throwing it all into a ponytail that never looked right. On the mornings when they were running especially late (and there were many of them) they’d fight over who got to shower first and, ultimately, who got the hot water; some fights growing so loud Hongbin’s father would shout for them to shut the hell up; and Hongbin upstairs in a headlock with Taekwoon bearing down on him. But there were times when he got his way, shoving Taekwoon onto the hallway mat, locking the bathroom door only to hear Taekwoon beat on it for five minutes, calling him every name he could think up.

It was getting out of hand, beginning each day with a fight, hating each other until it all died away to the back of their minds; and maybe Taekwoon understood this, or just wanted to fix the problem-it was the only logical reason Hongbin could come up with-but one day-a day that wasn’t special on any account-Taekwoon muttered from inside the shower, ‘get the fuck in here and wash your hair.’

Hongbin was on the closed toilet lid, had been complaining for almost five minutes straight about the cold outside and the water boiler-the floors are so cold, hyung, can’t you hurry up?-but now he sat quietly with his heart steadily crawling into his throat, stomach feeling strange and empty; his head a little light. He asked, ‘What, are you being serious?’

'Well,' a pause like he was thinking it over, 'yeah. I'm serious. It's not a big deal, is it? I mean, it'll save time, huh? You won't have to take a cold shower. Sounds.. good, right?'

'I…' and rising to his feet, growing embarrassed; trembling as he discarded his clothes. 'I guess so, yeah.' He pushed back the shower curtain, stepped in timidly; and the bathroom suddenly felt too bright and too small, but Taekwoon pulled him by his arm until he was fully immersed under the spray of water. It was as if this was all absolutely normal. He even handed Hongbin the shampoo, and told him to move his ass.

They showered together regularly after that, deciding that it saved a substantial amount of time-time spent lying in bed with Taekwoon’s chest pressed hard to Hongbin’s back-and water too. But besides helping the ecosystem, Hongbin liked having Taekwoon in there with him. They had a secret that no one would ever find out about; and on mornings when he was feeling friendlier than usual, Taekwoon would wash Hongbin’s hair for him, and help rinse the suds from his arms and back.

It happened on the weekends too, both of them knowing they didn’t have an excuse to do it, but doing it anyway. Sometimes they’d stand under the hot water, heat rising and the mirrors fogged over, like a sauna or a hot spring; each of them enjoying the other’s company, but never saying it out loud.

It was during one of these weekend-sometimes 20 minute long-showers that Hongbin turned his back to the water and found Taekwoon standing exceptionally close. There was a look of pure fear in his eyes as he chewed incessantly on his lower lip. Hongbin was trying to think up something to say, to ask if everything was okay, but then Taekwoon’s hand was cradling the back of his head, fingers in his hair; and the space that had been between them was suddenly closed as Taekwoon stepped forward, head tilted to the left. He kissed tight-lipped and too hard, but his mouth was warm and Hongbin’s knees had grown weak.

When he pulled back his eyes were wide, searching, fixed on Hongbin’s face, maybe looking for an expression that Hongbin was sure wasn’t there; and he, too shocked to say or do anything. He only stood there as the water grew chilly on his back, Taekwoon’s fingers loosening in his hair; and it was when his hand fell away completely that Hongbin reached for him. Still stunned but now more aware of his surroundings. He put one hand on Taekwoon’s shoulder, the other on the side of his face. He kissed Taekwoon softly, apprehension melting away as Taekwoon kissed back, open mouthed with his tongue swiping across Hongbin’s bottom lip.

They didn’t stop until the water was spraying cold, almost freezing, and Hongbin was achingly, embarrassingly hard; without clothes it was impossible to hide, but Taekwoon didn’t seem to mind.

For two days they acted like it never happened.

Saturday night; a whiskey night, locked in Hongbin’s room because his father was home for once. He was in the living room watching something obnoxiously loud, violent; Taekwoon hooked his iPod to Hongbin’s speakers to help drown out the noise.

'Don't light that in here,' Hongbin said when he saw Taekwoon reaching for his cigarettes. Then when he glared from beneath hair that had grown over his eyes: 'Open the window at least…'

Taekwoon set the pack aside without a word and flung himself onto the bed, arms behind his head. He said, ‘We never really do anything.’

'What do you mean?'

'Never go out. That sort of thing. We're always here.'

'Well,' idly picking at the carpet, 'what do you wanna do?'

'See a movie, maybe?'

'We have movies here.'

Taekwoon sighed, a small, exasperated sound. ‘Do you not want to go out? Is that it?’

'I just don't get why you want to all of a sudden-'

'A date, Hongbin. I want to take you on a fucking date. Do I have to spell it out?'

Hongbin stared a long time at Taekwoon who wasn’t looking back, sure it was all a joke; something mean that Taekwoon would laugh about for months. ‘Are you serious?’ and hoping so desperately that he was.

Taekwoon nodded and said nothing.

And mumbling to himself: a date? Hongbin had never been on one before, had never even thought of them. Even though most of his classmates were already in relationships verging on serious, he’d grown content with the idea of being alone. But it wasn’t until now that he realized alone always meant with Taekwoon.

'Yes or no?' Taekwoon asked. He was staring at the ceiling and so didn't see when Hongbin nodded.

'Okay,' he eventually said aloud. 'That would be… it'd be fun. Right?'

An ordinary night, nothing special, sat in the front row of a small and dark theater with fifteen other people as company, watching some cheap horror film that had them both nauseous ten minutes in. It was starting to feel like a drag, all the blood and gore on the big screen and Hongbin left wincing, shifting in his seat. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead, took his hair out of its rubber band only to put it back up again; and when he went to fix his jacket-put the hood up, or maybe take it off completely-Taekwoon reached over and snatched his hand. He whispered a stern: stop fidgeting, and when he turned away he didn’t let go; fingers carded through the empty spaces between Hongbin’s own. They sat like this until Hongbin’s palm was sweaty, fingers clammy; and he, uncomfortable and a little self conscious.

And on the bus ride home: Hongbin resting his cheek to Taekwoon’s shoulder, studying their reflections in the blackened windows. He couldn’t tell if Taekwoon was really smiling, or if it was trick lighting.

Two weeks later in the dark of Hongbin’s bedroom, Taekwoon sat with his back against the wall and his hands atop his head. He’d been quiet all day, glancing between his hands and his shoes; grunting when asked a question, ignoring Hongbin and all his comments. A game was on television, but he wasn’t watching.

A quarter to eleven that evening and Taekwoon sighed, first signs of stirring from his mental hibernation; he cleared his throat and said, ‘She’s not getting better. My sister. She’s.. I mean, she’s really not,’ and he sat for a long time without moving.

Hongbin played with the strings of his jacket, frayed ends that only worsened as he plucked them apart, nervous fingers with a gentle tremor to them. He watched as Taekwoon brought his hands from his head and ran them down his face, pulling at the skin beneath his eyes as if trying to pull his face off completely.

'She's-' he cleared his throat. He was irritated with himself, Hongbin could tell; hands balled into fists, jaw clenched. 'She's dying, Hongbin,' and he tried to hide the quiver in his voice by forcing a bark of laughter, such a miserable sound Hongbin's eyes clouded over. 'I don't want her to die.'

Soundlessly, Hongbin crawled across the bed from where he’d been sat on the edge to sit beside Taekwoon, and though he didn’t move to accommodate Hongbin in the slightest, Taekwoon allowed him to put his arms about his neck, to nuzzle into the side of his face as he started to cry; silent tears that flowed like running water. Never ending. It was the first time Hongbin had seen Taekwoon cry.

'What am I supposed to do after she's gone?' He whimpered so softly Hongbin almost didn't hear it. 'I can't stay in that house. I can't. What am I-' doubled over with his face in his hands, knees to his chest.

'You can live with me,' Hongbin said on a whim, desperate to stop the tears. 'You can stay as long as you want. You don't have to go back. I promise, hyung.'

Taekwoon wiped his eyes, sniffed; he laughed softly, empty sound. ‘I don’t wanna do that to you, Bin-ah.’

'What do you mean?' and inching closer, all but crawling into Taekwoon's lap. 'You know my dad's never home anyway, he wouldn't even notice. And if he did, what would he say? He likes you a lot. Probably more than he likes me-' he tried to laugh and failed horribly. 'Besides, I'd like you to be here. With me. You might be too sad to be alone after…' faltering, looking away, 'and even if you do wanna be alone, we have the extra bedroom down the hall. I won't bother you-' and raising his voice as Taekwoon opened his mouth, 'unless you wanted me to. Of course.'

Reserved, shaking, Taekwoon glared so intensely Hongbin first thought he was trying to find a fault line; to see if it was a joke he had failed to catch, but as suddenly as the tears came they stopped; and Taekwoon, reaching for Hongbin with both hands, eyes never turning away. He put a hand on either side of Hongbin’s neck, pulled him in until their mouths were touching, lips trembling with the faintest taste of salt.

They hadn’t kissed since the time in the shower, though Hongbin thought about it a lot-more than he’d like to admit: nights when he was alone in bed with heat pooling in his stomach, brushing his teeth the morning after as if trying to rid himself of a bad after taste, and scrubbing his hands until they were raw. He was sure there was a penalty for jerking off to thoughts of your best friend’s mouth, but here he was: kissing said mouth with harbored desperation so transparent he was ashamed of it.

Taekwoon continued to kiss him-hard, heated, messy with his tongue in Hongbin’s mouth, fingers curled in the front of his shirt. He made soft sounds at the back of his throat that Hongbin loved the instant he heard them. They were gentle, like Taekwoon’s hands; so pretty they turned Hongbin’s bones to water, melting him down and leaving him with nothing but a burning in the pit of his stomach. He tugged at the back of Taekwoon’s hair, bit at his lower lip; he pulled at his shoulders unsure of what he wanted but knowing he needed Taekwoon close. And when he felt light fingers brush the inside of his thigh, he stilled, heart in his throat and blood throbbing in his temples.

Afraid and confused-he’d never been touched by hands that weren’t his own-then Taekwoon was whispering, ‘I won’t do it if you tell me not to,’ and Hongbin didn’t have it in him to speak. So he shook his head hard, clutching at Taekwoon’s shirt. He rolled his hips, subtle motion that Taekwoon caught easily, and that’s when his hand moved from Hongbin’s thigh to his crotch, just the tips of his fingers brushing along the seam of Hongbin’s jeans. The pressure was faint, but enough to make him whine, stomach flexed with knots. He let Taekwoon push him onto the mattress, arched his neck and threw his head back as Taekwoon pressed the heel of his palm between his legs. Hongbin, hard and wet and leaking precome all over the front of his briefs, mewled as the pressure hardened-and suddenly, Taekwoon was unclasping the buttons on Hongbin’s jeans, pulling them down his legs and completely off, thrown somewhere in the corner with the rest of the dirty laundry.

It was exhilarating, terrifying, to have someone touch him. His toes curled, he couldn’t help it; just like he couldn’t help the sounds he made or the rush of blood from his head to his stomach; gasping out curses as Taekwoon tightened his fist around his cock, pumping him slowly at first, but gaining speed. He panted encouraging sounds in Hongbin’s ear, breathless moans and barely there whimpers that made Hongbin’s face hot, a ringing deep in his ears.

Then, whispering: ‘Bin-ah, you’re really wet,’ with something like admiration in his voice. Except Hongbin was too embarrassed to think this was a good thing. He brought a hand over his face, fighting-though barely-when Taekwoon tried to pry his fingers away.

And Taekwoon kissed him with a hand cradling the back of Hongbin’s head, a deep kiss that spread tingles all over Hongbin’s scalp, the nape of his neck, down his spine; and all the while: his hips rocking forward to meet Taekwoon’s hand, blood boiling in his veins. He came with a cry muffled by Taekwoon’s kiss, sweat rolling from his temples and dampening his hair; so floored by the sensations and the sudden tightness in his chest. He was breathless, couldn’t move; so it was Taekwoon who grabbed a towel from the bathroom and cleaned him up; Taekwoon who undressed him and then himself so they could take a shower together.

He didn’t ask Hongbin to touch him, didn’t even hint that it was something he wanted; it seemed he was fully content crawling into bed with Hongbin cuddled up against him, and nothing more.

They kissed a lot after that, almost every day; and sometimes it was all they ever did. Holed up in Hongbin’s room with a bottle of old scotch Taekwoon found in his mother’s drinking cabinet, wasted and practically falling over each other. They’d kiss until it hurt, the ache between Hongbin’s legs too much to bear-once he even begged Taekwoon to touch him, and Taekwoon had laughed, so amused by the blatant way Hongbin said: hyung, please-I’m, I’m… and whimpering-whimpering so loudly it was as if he’d die if Taekwoon turned him away.

Weeks of this and Hongbin never touched back, but the urge was there, buried under the anxiety and fear of touching too hard, too lightly; it seemed that Taekwoon knew what he was doing. His fingers always brushed the right spots, perfect amount of pressure that had Hongbin keening-but what if when Hongbin touched him, he did it wrong? What if Taekwoon decided he didn’t like the way Hongbin used his hands and asked him never to do it again?

It was becoming a problem, and quickly too. Taekwoon was bolder now, pressing his crotch flush to Hongbin’s thigh, thrusting against him, brushing a palm between his own legs when Hongbin came. He’d recently taken to showering alone, or at least going first, asking Hongbin to wait a few minutes before joining him. And it didn’t take a genius to figure out what Taekwoon was doing in there. It made Hongbin feel that much worse-and maybe he could have picked a better time than the middle of the night to finally return the favor, especially since Taekwoon was asleep. But it was his closed eyes, parted mouth, breathy pants against Hongbin’s cheek that pressed him to do it.

He kissed Taekwoon’s mouth, then his jaw, he nuzzled him awake by snuggling his face into the crook of his neck; and once hearing Taekwoon’s guttural, ‘What is it?’ he set to work.

He thought of all the things Taekwoon did that drove him crazy: the tingles he got in his thighs when he felt only the tips of Taekwoon’s fingers, when he’d tease until Hongbin was sure he would catch fire. Following what little leads he had, Hongbin pushed his hand up Taekwoon’s inner thigh, his touch feather-light. After all: they were only wearing their underwear.

'…Bin-ah,' sleepy drawl, shift of his hips, 'you don't have to-' and gasping sharply as Hongbin palmed the front of his boxers.

Hongbin’s mouth was bone dry, breath shaken. Taekwoon was hard, warm; the front of his boxers damp and only growing more so as Taekwoon ground against his hand. Muffled moans and a whine that fueled the already blazing fire inside him, Hongbin reached into the opening of Taekwoon’s underwear, and wrapped his bare fingers around his cock.

Taekwoon was thick and pulsing, wet all over as he thrust into Hongbin’s hand, and as it turned out: Hongbin didn’t have to do much. The moment he’d taken Taekwoon into his hand, Taekwoon had placed his own atop Hongbin’s, guiding him, showing him how fast and how hard he liked it; and even though Hongbin was touching him, he wasn’t doing any of the work, rather allowing Taekwoon to use his hand however he pleased.

He lasted a surprisingly short time, but Hongbin didn’t mention it. And when he came, a strange pride swelled in Hongbin’s chest, something akin to adrenaline, a thrill-knowing the spent way Taekwoon was breathing, and the color in his cheeks, was all because of him.

A month of this and little else; showers that had long since gone cold by the time Hongbin got around to washing his hair, nights spent with the radio loud and the door locked; Taekwoon sneaking through the window and sometimes not leaving for days. Hongbin knew he was avoiding something, had a good idea of what, but would never ask-until the news came of Taekwoon’s sister. She had less than a week to live. Simple as that.

Taekwoon begged Hongbin to come along to the hospital, so he had, though only once. It was all he could take. Pale, sallow lights and ugly wallpaper; never ending hallways that were scary and ominous like those from a horror movie, locked doors without the faintest idea of what hid behind them. Hongbin, festering with guilt as he trudged slowly behind Taekwoon, afraid to go any farther and ultimately having to be dragged into the room where she lay like a corpse already.

The funeral was short, only immediate family were invited-and Hongbin, of course. Crowded around a casket trimmed in black; Taekwoon never lifting his eyes from the ground, glaring hard with hatred bright in his dark eyes, a crease in his forehead Hongbin thought would never go away. And that night: climbing through the window at four in the morning, drunk off cheap wine-trashed, more than Hongbin had ever seen him before. He collapsed on the floor and stayed there so long Hongbin thought he had fallen asleep, but when he peered over the end of the bed, he found Taekwoon staring so emptily at the ceiling it scared him. He wouldn’t come to bed when Hongbin asked him to, wouldn’t take the blanket or the pillow offered, but he did let Hongbin lie beside him and brush the hair out of his eyes.

Taekwoon didn’t talk for four days. He’d sit at the kitchen table and watch his hands, cups of coffee so bitter Hongbin couldn’t choke them down; and smoking a pack a day, leaving the empty boxes scattered throughout the house. He hardly ate at all.

'I'm going to Osaka,' Taekwoon said calmly one evening. He was leaned against the open pane of Hongbin's window; a cigarette hung loosely from the corner of his mouth.

'Japan?'

'Yeah.'

'What for?'

'To live.'

Hongbin started to shake. ‘…what?’

'I can't take it here anymore,' he whispered. It'd been two months since the night he lay on Hongbin's floor, but the emptiness in his eyes had never been filled. 'I'm done with school now. What is this place gonna give me, huh?'

Hongbin bunched his shoulders around his ears, easy way of saying I don’t know. He swallowed thickly.

'Come with me,' Taekwoon said so suddenly Hongbin was sure he misheard. 'I'll buy you a plane ticket, and we can get an apartment. We can have a life there. Just us. What do you say?'

'Hyung, I don't know-'

'I'll get a job. I always wanted a job at a bar. Free beer, right?' He laughed, a hollowed sound that hurt Hongbin's heart. 'And you're almost seventeen now. You could get a job, too. I wouldn't make you, though. I'll work two if you want me to. I won't mind.'

'Taekwoon…'

And suddenly furious, ‘What? You don’t want to come with me?’

'I'm still in school, hyung.'

'Go to school there! Enroll. I'll take you myself. You can transfer your…' he stopped as Hongbin shook his head. 'What is it?'

'I'm a minor. I can't do these things on my own.' Hongbin, cross-legged on the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, cradled his face in his hands. Hiding. 'I can't go, hyung. I want to.. but I just can't.'

'Fine.'

'Taekwoon-'

'No, it's fine.' Taekwoon threw his cigarette out the open window, half smoked and still burning. 'I'll come by later. Leave the window open.'

'Hyung, wait-' but he didn't.

It was three in the morning when Taekwoon returned, red rimmed eyes and a flush on his cheeks like he’d been out in the cold all night. When he came into bed and took his rightful spot behind Hongbin-who spent the whole night lying awake, upset, terrified that for some reason he’d never see Taekwoon again-he draped his arm about Hongbin’s waist, and nuzzled his nose to his neck.

'I don't want you to go,' Hongbin said.

'I don't want you to stay,' Taekwoon said back.

'What if I never see you again?'

'I'll visit.'

Hongbin turned in his arms, scoffed disbelievingly. ‘If you’re leaving because you hate it here, why would you come back?’

'Visit, Hongbin. It's not a big deal to stop in and see you over summer or something.'

‘I don’t wanna wait until summer-' and he started to cry. Never mind that Taekwoon held him tighter, closer, kissed his wet cheeks and tangled his fingers into the back of his hair. It didn't matter anymore, because who Hongbin once thought of as the only reliable person in his life was about to leave. And though he knew Taekwoon was upset about it, he wasn't upset enough not to go. Did Hongbin mean so little to him?

He cried until Taekwoon kissed his mouth, started to whine when he felt hard hands grab at his hips; and without a reason not to, let Taekwoon put his hands up his shirt, in his pants; take his clothes off until they were both lying naked.

He spread his legs, welcomed the weight of Taekwoon between them, and with a sigh, felt Taekwoon’s hands all over him, inside him, touching deeply, caressing him until he moaned Taekwoon’s name, sharp gasps and light-headedness that made Hongbin dizzy until he felt he was drowning beneath it all, gasping for air that he couldn’t find. The push and pull of Taekwoon’s body, hips rocking forward, slow grind; and Hongbin whimpering through it all, eyes rolled shut as he came with his hands buried in Taekwoon’s hair, legs wound about his hips and their bodies unbearably close, sweaty, melting into each other until there was nothing left.

7 in the evening; it may as well have been the middle of the night the sky was so black. At the end of Hongbin’s driveway: Taekwoon, with a beanie over his hair and a suitcase in his left hand.

'Are you sure you don't wanna see me off?' he asked Hongbin who stood with his arms tightly crossed, eyes on the sky as if waiting for something-an oncoming storm, maybe.

'Yes.'

There was a long silence before Taekwoon spoke unsteadily. ‘Probably better like this, anyway,’ and he looked everywhere but at Hongbin. ‘I’ll keep in touch. I’ll call you every weekend. Write you letters. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.’

I want you to stay, Hongbin thought; ‘Be safe,’ was what he said.

Taekwoon’s arm around him, holding loosely as if afraid to grip too tight-did he think Hongbin didn’t want to be touched? If that were the case: it wasn’t true. Hongbin wanted to tell him, but his own arms were slack by his sides; he wasn’t even trying.

Then Taekwoon whispered, ‘I love you,’ into his ear, and the streetlights suddenly looked too bright, angry, the sky too dark and not a single star in sight, Hongbin felt his heart speed up only to slow a moment later, weak like that of a dying beast’s; one last good pump before it’d give out altogether.

How badly he wanted to say it back, to tell Taekwoon he loved him too, more than he could understand-loved him more than he loved himself, but what good would it do them now? Hongbin hated him for saying it-how could he do something so fragile when tomorrow he wouldn’t exist in the same country anymore? And as Taekwoon walked away, walked backwards, never taking his eyes off Hongbin; all Hongbin could think was how much he hated himself for letting the moment pass. There, and then gone; and in it’s place, a new moment: Taekwoon standing by the passenger side of his father’s car, the clear and bare sky hanging like a tapestry, Taekwoon bright against its stark blackness, smiling-but not the least bit happy.

'I'll keep in touch,' he said again as he rapped his knuckles against the hood of the car. Then into the passenger seat, driving off, driving too quickly, another moment: gone. Hongbin could see his arm out the window, cigarette burning between his fingers; and he, left alone on the side of the road, his insides turning ice cold.

-

Two months passed and still Hongbin wasn’t used to the emptiness of his bedroom: the window unlatched every night-a habit he didn’t think he’d ever break; his bed that was too big, too lonely, for only one person; the lingering scent of stale cigarettes that he couldn’t tell was really there or simply his imagination. He thought it may have been a bit of both. All of this bore down on him like a weight, like claustrophobia, suffocating and making him lonely. On the worst nights he’d walk through the park only to find himself on the same familiar trail he and Taekwoon would take after school; and in the bookshops: fingers tiptoeing across titles he knew Taekwoon loved, then back in his room to lie in the dark and wait for the chirp of his phone. A call, a text; anything, so long as it was Taekwoon. He’d developed a habit of ignoring everyone else. Not that many people seemed to mind. He hadn’t been very close to them, anyway.

He read House of Leaves and The Count of Monte Cristo, The Great Gatsby and a handful of George Orwell; and after every book he finished, it was Taekwoon he called to talk about them-not the kids in his class, or even Sanghyuk; and certainly not his father.

‘Count of Monte Cristo, huh?’ Taekwoon asked one evening. His voice was even softer over the phone. Hongbin, sat with his back against his locked bedroom door, knees to his chest, had the phone pressed hard to his ear, afraid to miss even a sigh. ‘Didn’t we have to read that in class?’

'I don't know. Did you?'

'I think so. But I don't remember it.'

'Then you should read it again.'

Taekwoon, laughing: ‘You just said it was boring. Why would I-’

'Boring to me! You'd love it. It's, like, violent and deep. Emotional. Kind of like you.'

'Ha-ha. You're lucky I can't kick your ass,' and laughing softly together but still feeling so empty. 'I'll look for it. But I gotta go, alright? I'll give you a call in a couple days. Take care of yourself, huh? Don't get sick, it's getting cold out.'

Their conversations never ended in I love you's, or even very sweetly. Sometimes it was only a quick gotta go followed by dead silence; Hongbin left talking into his phone without anyone there to hear him-and ultimately feeling stupid when he realized he was alone again. He thought a lot about what Taekwoon had told him, wondered if it was a platonic I love you like something you’d say to your grandmother before leaving for a few years, and as time droned on he was afraid this was exactly what it was. But he never had the heart to ask, too ashamed to let Taekwoon know he loved him back. Or rather: loved him at all.

Taekwoon never did read The Count, or if he did he never said anything. Hongbin liked to think there was an old bedraggled copy somewhere in Taekwoon’s apartment, maybe at the back of his bookshelf, under his bed-somewhere unsafe because that was Taekwoon: always leaving his books on the floor in stacks and heaps, torn edges and ripped covers, spilled coffee all over the pages. He thought of asking, but realized it was pointless.

02 Seasons changed. Snow fell, summer returned; and Taekwoon never came back home. He still called every day, or every two; always late at night when Hongbin was in bed, half asleep; voice rough and often irritated. It was getting harder to be cheerful; he’d long since stopped hoping for a surprise visit. Hardly lonely anymore, he thought maybe he’d grown used to it; silence was a companion now, not the enemy. It was easier this way.

'I hope you're taking care of yourself,' Taekwoon said one night. It was half past one in the morning.

'Don't worry.' Hongbin put a hand to his forehead, his eyes still shut; rolling onto his back, he cuddled the phone to his ear. 'I always take care of myself.'

'Think you're any taller now?'

'Uh. I guess? People grow, right?'

'Don't be a smart ass.'

'Well, then, don't be a dumb ass.'

‘Hey-’

Hongbin tucked the phone between his pillow and his ear, laughing softly into the mouth piece. ‘Sorry, hyung.’ He closed his eyes again, felt the first waves of exhaustion roll over him. All he ever did anymore was sleep.

'Your eighteenth birthday's coming up,' Taekwoon said. 'Are you excited?'

Hongbin grunted. ‘Sure.’

'You should be,' and here: a pause so long Hongbin had to check if the call had been dropped. 'I'm gonna try and get the time off'-Hongbin bolted up in bed; blankets pooled around his hips-'Take you out for the weekend.' And dropping his voice to a whisper: 'I wanna come see you.'

'You're serious, hyung?' He was clutching the hem of his shirt, unaware his hands were shaking. 'Like, really, really, serious?'

'Of course I'm serious, what the hell. It's your eighteenth! You're, you know, becoming a man. I gotta be there for it.'

Hongbin brushed a hand over his eyes, brought back fingers that were wet. ‘Taekwoon,’ he flung himself onto his back, misery eating away at his insides. ‘I miss you.’ It was the first time he’d ever said it.

'I know,' a pause. 'I miss you too, Bin-ah. It's only a couple months, though. We can hold on a little longer, right?'

Small sound, something like a whimper; Hongbin sniffed.

'You're okay?' Taekwoon asked softly.

'Yeah.'

'I gotta get back to work now.'

'No.'

'I'm on break.'

'Hyung, no-' the tears started to flow, heavy in his lashes, making his eyes stick shut; voice quivering as he spoke- 'I don't want you to go.'

'…Hongbin.'

'Your calls are always so short!'

'It's only because I'm working,' slowly, like tiptoeing around the problem. 'Don't you have a shirt of mine or something? Sleep in it.'

'You took them all.'

'I'll send one.' Then: 'Bin-ah..'

Hongbin: blood pounding his ears, pulse in his neck like a drum beneath his skin. He sat up again. ‘Yeah?’ Was he going to say it?

'Get some rest.'

Heart sinking into his stomach; he hung his head, rubbed his eyes. He didn’t think Taekwoon would ever say I love you again. ‘Alright.’

They didn’t say goodbye, they never really did, but simply hung up. Hongbin lay awake for another hour-maybe two-watching as shadows played across his ceiling; headlights glaring through his window. He wondered if Taekwoon was still thinking about him.

-

A week later Hongbin had his back leaned to the brick wall of the liquor store, hands in his pockets, head down. He’d been doing this for a few months now, no longer having Taekwoon there to buy him alcohol was one of the dozen things he missed about last summer-that, and having someone to sleep with. He’d learned to choose the customers carefully; one too many times he’d been told to fuck off, get a life-come back when you’re older-but if he was older, would he really need their help in the first place? Idiots. Every one of them. Especially the old men who’d side eye him like he was a piece of meat waiting to be devoured, but they were the ones he’d pick first. They’d do anything for him, and wouldn’t make him pay either.

Hot and tired, his shirt stuck to his chest; the summer was worse this year, more miserable-just like him (ha-ha). He never noticed the white car parked in front of him, too busy staring at his shoes-dirty laces, frayed at the ends; mud caked to the toes. He really needed to take better care of himself. But when a familiar voice, though not very familiar, called his name, Hongbin forgot all about the mud and the dirt and his disheveled appearance.

In front of him, key chain swinging from his index finger, was Jaehwan. He was smiling.

'What are you doing out here?' he asked.

'Uh.' Hongbin shifted uneasily.

And Jaehwan, knowing all too well what he wanted: ‘Pick your poison.’

'Sorry?'

'Alcohol, right? Tell me what you want.'

Warm with embarrassment and not knowing why, Hongbin shrugged. ‘Anything? I don’t really mind.’ But Jaehwan kept staring like he knew if he waited long enough Hongbin would give a real answer. Sighing, defeated: ‘Vodka’s fine.’

It was only a moment later when Jaehwan returned with a bottle so big it had a handle on it, six pack of beer under his arm.

'Get in,' he clicked his car alarm. 'I'll give you a ride home. You still live next to hyung's old house, don't you?'

Hongbin, slowly pulling away from the wall, but still lingering behind, had his hands bunched so far in his pockets his arms were rigid. ‘Are you sure? I can walk.’

'It's hot out. Wanna get heat stroke?' And in the car, the radio loud enough it made thinking hard: 'You don't have to look so tense.'

Hongbin stared out the window not knowing where else to look. He apologized softly, said, ‘I didn’t know you even knew my name,’ and only realized how stupid he sounded after the words were out of his mouth. He cringed.

'Taekwoon talked about you enough. Only an idiot wouldn't know who you are.'

Hongbin’s heart blossomed like a flower, quick to wilt as old loneliness returned. And all this time he thought he was over it. ‘Really?’

'This is it, right?'

Parked at the end of his driveway-it looked so much different in the light; not as deserted and sad as the night Taekwoon left-the bottle in his lap, clasped tightly in his hands. Hongbin peeled at the label; he felt like a loser. ‘Thanks.’

'You don't wanna go in?'

'No, I do. It's just-' this is a huge fucking bottle. He opened the door, one foot on the asphalt; lingering, lingering, until: ‘Do you wanna…’ and stopping there, unsure how to continue. ‘Never mind.’

'What is it?'

'Nothing. Thanks again.'

Jaehwan was leaned over the steering wheel, chin on the backs of his fingers. He watched Hongbin carefully. ‘Do you wanna hang out? I’m not doing anything until later anyway.’ Waiting a beat before: ‘You can come over if you want.’

'Okay.'

'Awesome.' He pulled away from the sidewalk before Hongbin's door was even shut. 'I have some stuff for you to take home anyway. Hyung left some shit behind. Shirt, a jacket I think? I don't know. Lots of shit. I don't think I'll get the chance to give it back.'

'You don't talk to him anymore?'

Jaehwan shook his head, bottom lip between his teeth. He sighed as he said: ‘We talked a lot when he first left, but it sort of fizzled out. He’s busy with shit over there, so no hard feelings-’ but Hongbin didn’t believe that. ‘You’re still in touch, aren’t you?’

Subtle nod, guilt bubbling up his throat like bile.

'Tell him I said hi.'

Jaehwan’s house was big-four car garage big. Two stories and a handful of rooms, all with their doors shut; and Hongbin left curious, wondering what was behind them. It was a quiet place, tiled floors that were slippery beneath his feet; carpeted stairs leading up to a room almost twice the size of his own. Large TV; large bed, everything so big and Jaehwan so small in the middle of it all.

Taekwoon’s things were hung in the closet, pressed and clean, but smelling of cologne that Hongbin didn’t know-Jaehwan’s, he assumed. And with the shirts in his arms, bundled to his chest, he heard himself say: thank you.

'For what?'

'I don't know.'

Jaehwan laughed quietly, sat at his desk with an opened can of beer. Hongbin wondered if Taekwoon had ever told him about the things they did.

He didn’t know why he said it, maybe because he was standing awkwardly with an armful of clothes, or because the room was so quiet, but Hongbin muttered a soft: ‘He’s coming back in a little while. To visit.’

And Jaehwan, sitting up so quickly he spilled beer on his shirt. ‘When?’

'My birthday-uh, September. I'm sure he'll stop by.'

'We'll see about that,' and there was something sad about the way he smiled. 'Wanna watch something?'

So: sat shoulder to shoulder at the foot of his bed, television so tall Hongbin had to crane his neck to see; they took shots out of blue plastic cups. It wasn’t long before they were both drunk, laughing; Jaehwan telling him about the shit Taekwoon used to pull in school: smoking in the locker room, stealing from the teacher’s desk only to say that he’d done it; and even though these were all things Hongbin had heard before, to hear them from Jaehwan made it nicer somehow. He smiled so much Hongbin couldn’t help but smile back, ears red and warm from the drink; his whole body numb.

And it was nice, he thought, to not feel so alone anymore.

It was strange-at least to Hongbin, he never asked for Jaehwan’s opinion-how easily the two of them fell together. It wasn’t long-two weeks, maybe?-before they were spending every weekend in Jaehwan’s room. Midnight car rides to the nearby districts only to watch the city lights; beers in the park, falling off swings because they’d gotten too drunk too fast, and realizing too late that they couldn’t make it back home. Sometimes they’d stay until dawn, sky fading from black to blue, and them: sleeping under the jungle gym, Hongbin’s head rested to Jaehwan’s shoulder.

They talked a lot about Taekwoon in the first months, but as summer blended into autumn, it was mostly college they talked about. Jaehwan was starting uni come September.

'I wanna get a dorm. Wouldn't it be cool? Like having my own place.' They were on the back of his car, parked in a vacant lot only a few miles away from the airport. It was the perfect spot to watch the planes land.

'You'll have a roommate.'

'That's alright. They might be cool.'

'What if they're not?'

He shrugged. ‘I’ll have to kill them.’

Hongbin giggled into his cup, sound reverberating, coming out much louder, harsher. Jaehwan shoved him.

'What, you don't believe me?'

'I do. Only because you're fucking crazy.'

And laughing: ‘Watch your language!’ He threw an arm around Hongbin’s shoulders, leaned so heavily onto him Hongbin was afraid they’d lose their balance. He imagined them toppling from the car, soaked in liquor and covered in dirt. He laughed again.

'You're so full of it tonight,' Jaehwan mumbled. And together, they fell back on the rear window, arms pillowed behind their heads. The sky looked endless: black and vast with every star twinkling. Hongbin watched as a 757 roared by, the rumble of its engine echoing through the back roads; he thought of Taekwoon for the first time in days.

He hadn’t called in a while, but that morning Hongbin had woken to a text. Simple little message that said: thinking about you. It had made him ashamed of how little he’d been thinking of Taekwoon.

'Let's get home,' Jaehwan said some time later. 'You look tired.'

And Hongbin was. He fell asleep in the car, curled in on himself with his head tucked down. He woke when Jaehwan tried to pull him from the car, as if he’d been able to carry Hongbin on his own anyway. And glaring irritably Hongbin shoved him away. Then up the stairs and into bed, both lying on their own side of the mattress, turned away from one another. He slept so differently with Jaehwan than he had with Taekwoon, but there were mornings when he’d wake with Jaehwan’s chest pressed to his back, his arm thrown over Hongbin’s stomach. But never did Hongbin complain about it.

-

September nineteenth; Jaehwan moved into his dorm. It was shared with a boy who wouldn’t look either of them in the eye, but at least their rooms were separate. It was small, compact; Jaehwan’s shit already thrown all over the place-how had Hongbin not noticed how messy he was? And sat on a twin sized bed barely able to fit the two of them, they played The Last of Us until Hongbin’s eyes burned.

They lay side by side, feet off the bed; Jaehwan playing with Hongbin’s fingers. He asked, ‘Should we get drunk tonight? Like, a dorm warming party?’ and laughed. ‘I start class Monday anyway, so maybe we need one last, uh, fling.’

'Fling,' Hongbin echoed, amused. 'Alright.'

But neither of them had anticipated drinking as much as they did: both trashed, dizzy. Jaehwan kept tripping over his desk chair (it was too close to the bed, Hongbin told him three times when they had first arrived), and Hongbin: seeing double. He was sat on the floor with his shoulders slumped, trying to focus on a spot in the carpet, anything to clear his head. Jaehwan was groaning on the bed.

'I'm gonna be sick,' he slurred, groaning louder. 'Why the fuck did we do this?' How he found the strength to laugh was beyond Hongbin.

'I don't-' and shaking his head, only making himself feel worse- 'know.'

'We should sleep.'

'Yeah.'

'Get up here.'

'Okay.' But Hongbin couldn't get to his feet, couldn't even crawl. He started to laugh, felt his stomach turn over; and collapsed on the floor. 'I'll stay here.'

'No, idiot.' Jaehwan flung himself over the side of the bed, grabbed Hongbin under the arms. 'Work with me, goddamn,' and eventually they lay in a heap; Hongbin crammed between the wall and Jaehwan's chest.

'Nice up here,' smiling like he had a secret; and Jaehwan: laughing again, always laughing. He laughed more than anyone Hongbin ever knew. 'My head hurts. I think I'm dying.'

'You probably are.'

'Just leave me here to rot.'

Jaehwan put an arm around him, pulled him tightly to his chest. He said, ‘I’ll rot with you,’ and how could something so silly sound so comforting? Hongbin let himself melt into him.

He slept, but not real sleeping. Just vacant thoughts, mind numb; he was startled by his phone ringing on the desk-Taekwoon calling. He reached over Jaehwan who was still awake, a headphone in each ear. He gave Hongbin a sideways glance before scrolling through his iPod.

'Helloooo,' Hongbin slurred into the mouth piece.

'Hongbin.'

'That's me,' singing his answer. Why was he singing? Happiness had enveloped his heart like a blanket.

But Taekwoon sounded worried, annoyed. Something like that. Hongbin didn’t like the edge in his voice. ‘Are you drinking?’

'Not anymore.'

'You sound wasted.'

Laughing. ‘I kind of am.’ He turned his back to Jaehwan, rubbed the tips of his fingers on the wall. Stucco wall, felt funny under his hand. ‘What’d you call for? It’s late.’

'I'll call back tomorrow.'

Full body twitch as if startled awake, like when he’d have dreams in which he was falling; and right before hitting the ground: jumping awake, finding himself in bed. Safe again. Only he didn’t feel safe now. Taekwoon was too serious-something had happened. Why else would he call in the middle of the night? Much later than he’d ever called before.

'Hyung, what is it?'

And breathing deeply as if it pained him to speak at all. ‘I’m not gonna make it for your birthday.’

Hongbin closed his eyes and when he opened them, found he was crying. ‘Why not?’ Watery voice; he hated himself.

'I can't get the time off work. Hongbin, I'm sorry.'

'No, it's-' screwing his eyes shut, tears sliding from the corner of his eye down to his ear. He smeared his face into the pillow, felt Jaehwan stir behind him. 'It's not okay, but..'

'I'll try again next time.'

'What, my next birthday? What about before then? What about the holidays?'

'That's a busy time, Bin-ah.'

Hongbin groaned, pained and loud; Jaehwan put an arm around him, hand flat against Hongbin’s stomach. ‘You’re never coming back, are you? You don’t want to be back here.’

'Says who?’ He was angry now. Hongbin could imagine the face Taekwoon was making: narrowed eyes, pinched mouth; face flushed.

Speaking softly, ‘Says me. It’s been over a year. If-if you wanted to come back, you’d have been back by now.’

'I told you, I'm trying.'

'I don't think you are.' And before Taekwoon could begin shouting, because Hongbin knew too well it was what would come next, he muttered, 'I'll talk to you later,' and hung up. He didn't turn over, simply handed his phone over his shoulder for Jaehwan to take, to set back on the table. 'Turn it off,' Hongbin told him and felt Jaehwan's arms back around him, comforting puff of warm breath on the nape of his neck. Chills on his arms, ice in his heart; Hongbin cried silently as Jaehwan's fingers curled tightly in the front of his shirt.

When morning came he cried again because his head ached and he felt sick to his stomach; thinking about Taekwoon and realizing that all along he knew he wouldn’t come back. Hadn’t that been his biggest fear all those months ago when he said he was leaving?

(What if I never see you again?)

Jaehwan cupped his face, told him not to cry anymore because they could celebrate his birthday together. The bars, the clubs; somewhere nice. Dinner, maybe? But it all sounded horrible. Hongbin decided he didn’t want to celebrate at all. He’d rather sit in his room and feel sorry for himself. At least for a while. But as the thought of being alone again, having to sit and stare at the ceiling, wondering if Taekwoon ever thought of him at all, made his stomach hurt even more.

'We can do anything you want to,' Jaehwan said. 'Or nothing at all. We can just sleep if you want.'

'Sleep forever.'

'We can try. But, I mean, I'm gonna get hungry.' False cheer in his voice, he nuzzled into Hongbin's cheek. He was warm, so Hongbin nuzzled back, combed his hands in Jaehwan's hair; forehead's now leaned together.

They slept until dark, and when they woke: showers, and sharing a pack of instant ramen. Then back into bed, still hungover and aching all over. Hongbin pressed his face to Jaehwan’s spine; a fluttering in his stomach like the barely there touch of fingers.

His phone stayed off for the next three days.

-

Taekwoon called on his birthday; strained and tired, tension built up so high Hongbin was sure it’d come crashing down any minute. But it hadn’t. Taekwoon was doing well acting like nothing was amiss, pretending what Hongbin said hadn’t hurt him-maybe it hadn’t, but Hongbin didn’t believe that.

A month later the calls stopped coming every day, or every two. They came once a week-some weeks: not at all-and Hongbin, not waiting so much as anticipating. Would Taekwoon finally let him have it? Tell him off, call him a brat; anything to break through the barrier that had grown overnight, but he never did. Always cheerful, a pleasant Hi, Bin-ah, how have you been? Talking about bullshit they never talked about before, idle chit-chat-small talk. If a year ago someone had told Hongbin he’d be having small talk with Taekwoon, he’d have probably cried. Whether from sadness or laughter it wouldn’t have mattered. Only now, nothing mattered.

So, naturally, Hongbin didn’t feel guilty the night in December when he’d leaned across the bed and kissed Jaehwan full on the mouth, nor did he care when Jaehwan crawled between his legs with his hands up the front of his shirt, fingers pressing hard into Hongbin’s ribs. But it didn’t feel the same, not even the kisses; and when it was all over, Hongbin found that he only felt worse. The spaces inside him hadn’t been filled, the edge wasn’t taken away; if anything, he felt hollow, sad on an immense scale, because he knew he didn’t love Jaehwan, probably never would. And to think that he was still in love with a boy so far away, who didn’t even call anymore, made him hurt in ways that left him breathless.

CONTINUE →