[Jinki / Minho] In Me; (2/7)
Rating: R
Warning: PTSD, physical abuse
Genre: broken!ship
Length: ~3506 (this chapter)
Chapter 1
It was a gloriously bright afternoon. The streets were quiet; people were probably napping in their homes. Children weren't milling about trading cards or barking out laughs, possibly locked up in their rooms studying because it was too hot to do otherwise.
Lee Jinki smoothed a hand over the glass counter, taking pride in how well he'd cleaned it to gleaming just a few minutes ago. He liked such afternoons, when no one was asking him what aisle they kept the baby corns in, or telling him how everyone they knew had suddenly developed a hankering for mushrooms. All was peaceful in the world around him, all was quiet. He sighed a happy little sigh and tapped his fingernails on the counter top.
Of course, he never foresaw the hard punch to his hooked nose.
“It was your fault!” Minseok screamed at him, shaking his fist while the other man scrambled on the floor and pinched his nose to stop the blood. A rather large cabbage hit the side of his head and he crumpled back to the ground, whimpering. Minseok continued bellowing obscenities and throwing close-at-hand vegetables at him, until a few employees of the shop decided to run out and restrain the crazed man.
“It was all your fault you son of a-let me go!” Minseok resisted, trying to pull his arms free for more of his violence to wave out. Lee Jinki stumbled back to his feet, a finger pressed under his nostrils but failing to keep the red in. He looked at the other man through narrowed eyes, watering from the ache of his injuries.
"My Minho... my poor brother," his aggressor sobbed, sagging with his arms held tight to his sides. "He never hurt anyone... he never hurt you, Jin... he was innocent..." The man shook his head disdainfully before straightening up onto his feet, finding more strength in his fury.
“I blame you for everything!” Minseok spat out, seething like an angered bull. “You sick fuck! I wish they’d shot you at the border. I wish you were buried right now, you piece of shit, because that’s where you belong!” the man yelled, emphasizing the last word of his every statement by yelling. Lee Jinki flinched against each syllable, looking thoroughly clueless and bloodied. His lack of understanding obviously incited Minseok further, and a long stream of abuses left the man’s mouth before the hands confining him decided to push him out of the store.
“I’ll kill you!” he shouted, even from the footpath he’d been deposited on. “I will kill you, Jin!”
One of his co-workers patted Lee Jinki’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about that. Just after you got back home, too...”
“I missed you too, Minseok ah,” the ex-soldier mumbled.
***
From what we know, Lee Jinki met Choi Minho by accident.
There are many versions to the tale, some too implausible to be believed, others too mundane to be listed. But one account exists that recurs in the four corners of the earth: a version that one is forced to accept as true because of its simple beauty.
Before the War, the boys of the neighborhood liked to raise hell on hot afternoons by kicking the ball around, cardboard boxes acting as improvised goalposts. The summer boiled their young blood and they cooled it with sports, playing on till the horizon shone a bright orange. Girls would come out to sit and watch from their stoops, cold lemonade at the ready; mothers would laugh and cheer their sons on sometimes. There would be much yelling of “run, run!” and loud declarations of “yeah!” in the middle of their cul-de-sac. It would always be the same: the kids would gather, split into two teams, and whoever got Choi Minho on their side would win the game.
The Choi brothers were both excellent at the game, working together like machines, playing a game of their own irrespective of the rest of the boys. Many said that the only reason they would sit outside their front doors to watch these little games would be to bear witness to the trickery the Choi brothers concocted in the blink of an eye, kicking and passing the ball as if it were invisible. But everyone agreed that the younger boy was the true performer of the two, casting an enchantment over spectators and players alike every time he ran towards the goal.
Lee Jinki would watch from behind the windows of someone’s car, parked across the street. He never got to play with anyone, owing to his church duties, so he never understood the rules of the game. But his mouth would always hang open when Choi Minho came in possession of the ball. It would be like magic-the zipping passes, the guileful bends against his blocking opponent, that dexterous cut into the other team’s defenses, the lightning-quick goal…
Lee Jinki didn’t comprehend any of it, but watching alone gave him a rush in his chest.
Once, he worked up the courage to step out from behind the vehicle for a better look. The score was tied, and the sun was close to setting. He had to run back to work soon, or the matron would twist his ear again. Sweat dripped down his back and his shirt became uncomfortable. He flicked it, waving it to try and generate a wind of his own. His feet hurt from standing so long, and he started yawning since he hadn’t-
“Choi!” a boy yelled and Lee Jinki immediately stood to attention, forgetting the heat for the excitement of the game. The ball soared through the air and Choi Minho effortlessly controlled it to lead it to his team’s goalpost. Weaving through other players, seeming to dance circles around them, his hits meandered through the small field to his target. His face shone with an unearthly light, his limbs moved quicker than a hummingbird… the ball stuck to his feet, obeyed his complex commands, came to life under his guidance. A leap, a kick, a whoop of air; all eyes widened as the ball burst through its cardboard box and broke out the flimsy goalpost to the other side. They cheered while it ricocheted off concrete and lost enough momentum to roll along tarmac and to Lee Jinki’s feet.
“Bloody hell…” someone from the defending team whined while four boys lifted Choi Minho onto their shoulders, bouncing him around as he giggled and waved his hands around in the air. Girls came out to congratulate him like he’d won his team the World Cup. His brother helped him down and patted his back. The scene took a long time to clear up, but Lee Jinki stared only at the ball in front of him, its black and white hexagonal pattern seeming to invite him to enter a new world he didn’t quite grasp yet.
“Do you want to join us?” a deep voice asked him. He jolted, a little scared to be caught watching. If Park sunim found out he was out here, he would get flogged again. He looked up to see Choi Minho blinking at him, head tilted a little to the side.
“N-nuh… You-I-” Lee Jinki stuttered.
"Don’t be afraid. Are you new here?"
"N-no... I'm not..."
“I’ve seen you. You come to all our games… but only watch.”
“Y-yes…Wait, no! No…” Lee Jinki lied, not wanting to be found out and tattled about to the priests. He bit his lip and looked around himself for something to help. It would be best to run away, but he'd probably be outrun by the other, athletic as he was. So he stood anchored to the spot and judged the boy instead, weighing his appearance up and down. The sun melted, and mercury melted with it in Lee Jinki's head. He breathed, because suddenly there was a storm inside him that blew out from the center of his heart.
“It’s OK, I won’t tell anyone,” the young boy smiled. His eyes were gentle. His lips were soft and pink like cotton candy. His hair fluffed in a zephyr where sweat hadn’t drained along the roots. He stepped close enough that the air between them filled with his scent and breath.
“That’s… that’s not-”
“Are you-?” Choi Minho paused, reaching across and smelling like daisies. “Are you an angel?”
Lee Jinki blinked at the taller boy, his eyes going wide at the question. “Wh-?”
“I’ll just take my ball, then?” Choi Minho cut in.
Lee Jinki processed this and accordingly bent down to pick the alien object in his trembling grasp.
The autumn leaves descended from their homes and onto the sidewalk, where they would probably lie for seasons to come; where they'd aspire to fly again, to be born again as new life. Lee Jinki saw his heart among them as the other boy took two steps forward and covered his hands with his own, clasping the ball over stubby fingers and pressing in confidently. It was an odd sensation, so warm yet so cold at the same time: like the hope of being reborn from the rigid ground. It prickled his skin, made his stomach churn, spun his vision momentarily.
“Thank you,” the boy said lowly. Lee Jinki looked up at him, and saw the boy’s bewitching smile, his large gaze and smooth cheeks shining with vermillion evening light, hair flickering against the advancing night-time.
“W-welcome…” Lee Jinki mumbled, mystified beyond repair.
As he ran back to the church, passing by barbed wire and stone walls, he grinned at the carnival of feelings inside him. Picking up a few flowers from the side of the road, instead of running over them, he sighed warmly even as the priests glared at his noisy and flashy entrance.
It is said that Lee Jinki lost his piety that day; that all the holiness pounded into him from birth had been washed away with that one brush of the fingers, with that one look of impishness, that fleeting vision of beauty. It is said that they should never have met, because it started a terrible hurricane that could never be fought, never be quelled. It is said that Choi Minho was the devil, luring a pure lamb into his snare. It is said Lee Jinki started becoming a man that day.
But of course, no one can know for sure what happened. We can only paint vivid pictures with our colorful words. We can only debate over it till our tongues tire out and the subject takes on meaninglessness. We can only sit around and argue about other more intense scenarios, or many more subtle ones.
We can only guess.
***
“Let yourself go,” Choi Minho instructed, dribbling the ball between his feet before bouncing it up and onto his knees. It sprung from one leg to the other like an automated dance. To Lee Jinki that’s what football looked like when the other played-a beautiful, exotic dance performed to please secrets out into light. “Let go of everything. Only focus on the ball,” the words accompanied an artful flick of the ankle. Choi Minho played with effortlessness, and yet his every move seemed to summon a thousand deities to his side.
“Here, you try-”
“A-ah!” Lee Jinki thought to shake his head at the offered ball but when his eyes met the other boy’s there was a hypnotic insistence in them. He couldn’t refuse. He tentatively took hold of the thing and inhaled deeply. With a concentrated stare, he let it drop to the ground in a dismal thud. As was in its nature, it bounded away from them to the edge of the street, stopped only by the bumpy cover of a gutter.
“Oh…” Lee Jinki said in a slow realization.
Choi Minho blinked at the ball’s unrestricted progress. When he turned back to his new friend there was a laugh waiting to bubble forth. They stared at each other with stretching grins before the guffaws overtook them.
“Hhaha, what’re you doing?!” the younger exclaimed as he fell onto the other, gesturing his hands wide apart.
“I-I don’t know, haha!” Lee Jinki replied with a shake of his head, grasping his tall friend’s shoulders to support his weight. He had no inkling as to why they were laughing but it was as Park sunim had warned him: mirth is contagious like a disease and it contaminates the peace in one’s mind. Truly, Lee Jinki’s head was in absolute, undeniable disarray with thoughts and images of Choi Minho.
“No, no, wait, look at me,” Choi Minho ran to fetch the ball and then continued with the lesson.
It was a little arduous, and Lee Jinki had very little patience. But to see the other speak so kindly was like a hidden delight. Watching Choi Minho explain his meaning over and over, following the delicate demonstrations he was blessed with was… it was…
Lee Jinki felt like he finally understood what Park sunim meant when he spoke of sin.
He had always wondered why one would go to such lengths that would condemn them to an eternity of hell. Why do people commit a carnal offense? he’d ask during his lessons in church. Why would someone willingly fall prey to such debauchery? He hadn’t received any answers then and the priests had made sure to discourage Lee Jinki from further curiosity.
But spending his days staring at and spending his nights thinking of Choi Minho answered all of his questions.
He realized then that it was easy to sin. It was easy to give in to temptation. It was as simple as breathing in and out. To reach of that stretch of milky skin, to press your hand against it and wait for its owner to take notice of you with their blushed cheeks-it was simple, and perfect, and rewarding like nothing else. Even when Choi Minho tugged his shirt back over his exposed waist out of modesty, Lee Jinki could taste success on the tip of his tongue.
“You’re soft,” he spoke without checking his words. Choi Minho’s lashes fluttered before he ran away, ball in hand.
They met every afternoon for thirty minutes after the boys had all returned home and Lee Jinki was due back in the monastery for evening prayers. Sometimes they played their own little game of football, other times they sat on the sidewalk in silence. Their knuckles brushed, their knees bumped, their shoulders pushed. Sometimes they sat close enough for their mouths to bump and their vision to go a little blurry. It was a very different game altogether.
A strange game called attraction.
***
Boys like Choi Minho aren’t playthings. They cannot be slammed into any and every available surface as if they were beasts meant for breeding. Boys like Choi Minho aren’t for fucking and forgetting. They can’t be picked up and dropped like hobbies.
Boys like Choi Minho are made to be loved. They must be handled with utmost care, as if they were created from precious crystal. Boys like him are meant to be held with both hands- delicately, gently. Boys like Choi Minho aren’t an intoxication that takes over one night and is vomited out the next morning. They are treasures; diamonds that must be hidden away from the world lest someone else tries to steal them away. Boys like Choi Minho are not embellishments or side-stories. They are the center of devotion. They are the altar one must rest their head against when praying for love. If there is a God and if She or He made all living things from clay, then boys like Choi Minho are the porcelain that hides amongst us. Boys like Choi Minho are more than just delectable treats or alluring perfumes. They taste of ambrosia, their scent is petrichor. They are divine beings that reside in secret, buried under mounds of earth until someone as lucky and foolish as Lee Jinki digs them up by pure accident.
Boys like Choi Minho are a plague, a death to be desired.
“You are distracted, young man,” Park sunim noticed one morning while inspecting the hygiene in the boys’ dorms. “To my experienced eye, it is clearly a sign of fast-approaching heresy. Once a boy has advanced as far as you into his teens it is common to see such… agitation. Usually caused by contact with women, I would say. Would you like to confess to something, boy?” he prodded.
Lee Jinki remained mute, hanging his head low to hide the shame in his eyes. He had indeed sinned by allowing the irreverent thoughts swilling within his mind and under his sheets at night. Upon reaching the age of thirteen, all boys at the monastery were forced to sleep with their wrists restrained on either side. This measure had been formulated by the priests in order to avoid young men from touching themselves. They said it sullied the sanctity of the church under whose care they resided. Lee Jinki had never felt the urge to go against this edict. Not until that summer when the Chois arrived in their big car and brought something gravely lustful with them in the form of their younger son.
“Do not try to fool me, boy. One of our matrons saw you playing that vile game with the other idiots of this town. Is this true or not?”
Lee Jinki gave no answer.
A slap rung through the room from which he straightened immediately as he’d been instructed thousands of times before. “When an elder is speaking with you, an acknowledgement is expected. Are we clear?”
“Neh, sunim.”
“Now. Have you or haven’t you been playing with the locals between your chores?”
“Neh, sunim.”
Another slap was meted and then another. They rained on Lee Jinki until he was sure that the skin above his eyes had broken and started to bleed. Yet he remained standing erect as a lifeless pole, enduring the brutality like he’d been raised to do. Park sunim waved his wrist a few times when he tired of the activity and then viciously kicked the boy in his knees, making him fall. Only then did his face take on a look of satisfaction.
“Unless you repent in life the gates of heaven will remain closed for you, boy. Take care to remember that.”
"Neh, sunim," Lee Jinki made sure to keep his voice level and emotionless when responding.
***
“Who hurt you?” Choi Minho was quick to leap forward and caress Lee Jinki’s wounds. Park sunim had demanded that he wear the blood on his face for the rest of the day in order to atone. Simply so that everyone could see his shameful behavior and the price he paid for it. It was common for boys in the care of the church to be made an example of and displayed town-wide in reprehensible ways so that no one repeated their mistakes.
When he stepped out on his daily errand that afternoon, he was given a wide berth by all who passed by him. He walked with his eyes to the ground and his head weighed low with disgrace. If he could help it, he would. If he could stop thinking filthy thoughts, he honestly would. But there was very little he could do to reign in his desires. The powerlessness boiled his anger.
And when Choi Minho tried to touch him, he was slapped away.
“No!” Lee Jinki pushed him off.
The younger stood undeterred. He calmly raised his hands as if in surrender, closing the distance between them one more time but with measured footsteps. “OK,” he calmingly nodded. “OK, hyung… I won’t hurt you. But you need help. I’m here to help. I’m just-just going to have a look at your injuries, alright? Is that alright?”
The tenderness in his voice was like a mother’s. The elder had never felt the love of a mother. He’d never been regarded with such sympathy but he had always craved to feel something like this. Something this kind and compassionate. He’d always yearned to be adored. So he let the other approach him once again.
The tips of the boy’s fingers burnt like hot coals. Lee Jinki wondered if they left brands on his skin. He hissed, closed his eyes and whimpered while they cautiously tended to him; pattering around the sting under his eyebrow and stroking over the wetness near his temples. “You need bandages,” the warm sigh billowed against his cheeks. “Come with me, we’ll clean you up.”
“N-no…” Lee Jinki resisted. “I can’t. It’s wrong. It’s bad.”
“You’ll get infected,” Choi Minho frowned.
“No.”
The younger sighed. “OK. Then at least let me help you wash it off your clothes.”
Lee Jinki considered the offer. He wanted to go with the boy. He wanted to take his hand. He wanted to shirk his duties for the day and rebel, if only for a short while. He wanted to deviate a little from his daily subsistence.
So he let Choi Minho lead him astray.
Chapter 3
Warning: PTSD, physical abuse
Genre: broken!ship
Length: ~3506 (this chapter)
Chapter 1
It was a gloriously bright afternoon. The streets were quiet; people were probably napping in their homes. Children weren't milling about trading cards or barking out laughs, possibly locked up in their rooms studying because it was too hot to do otherwise.
Lee Jinki smoothed a hand over the glass counter, taking pride in how well he'd cleaned it to gleaming just a few minutes ago. He liked such afternoons, when no one was asking him what aisle they kept the baby corns in, or telling him how everyone they knew had suddenly developed a hankering for mushrooms. All was peaceful in the world around him, all was quiet. He sighed a happy little sigh and tapped his fingernails on the counter top.
Of course, he never foresaw the hard punch to his hooked nose.
“It was your fault!” Minseok screamed at him, shaking his fist while the other man scrambled on the floor and pinched his nose to stop the blood. A rather large cabbage hit the side of his head and he crumpled back to the ground, whimpering. Minseok continued bellowing obscenities and throwing close-at-hand vegetables at him, until a few employees of the shop decided to run out and restrain the crazed man.
“It was all your fault you son of a-let me go!” Minseok resisted, trying to pull his arms free for more of his violence to wave out. Lee Jinki stumbled back to his feet, a finger pressed under his nostrils but failing to keep the red in. He looked at the other man through narrowed eyes, watering from the ache of his injuries.
"My Minho... my poor brother," his aggressor sobbed, sagging with his arms held tight to his sides. "He never hurt anyone... he never hurt you, Jin... he was innocent..." The man shook his head disdainfully before straightening up onto his feet, finding more strength in his fury.
“I blame you for everything!” Minseok spat out, seething like an angered bull. “You sick fuck! I wish they’d shot you at the border. I wish you were buried right now, you piece of shit, because that’s where you belong!” the man yelled, emphasizing the last word of his every statement by yelling. Lee Jinki flinched against each syllable, looking thoroughly clueless and bloodied. His lack of understanding obviously incited Minseok further, and a long stream of abuses left the man’s mouth before the hands confining him decided to push him out of the store.
“I’ll kill you!” he shouted, even from the footpath he’d been deposited on. “I will kill you, Jin!”
One of his co-workers patted Lee Jinki’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about that. Just after you got back home, too...”
“I missed you too, Minseok ah,” the ex-soldier mumbled.
***
From what we know, Lee Jinki met Choi Minho by accident.
There are many versions to the tale, some too implausible to be believed, others too mundane to be listed. But one account exists that recurs in the four corners of the earth: a version that one is forced to accept as true because of its simple beauty.
Before the War, the boys of the neighborhood liked to raise hell on hot afternoons by kicking the ball around, cardboard boxes acting as improvised goalposts. The summer boiled their young blood and they cooled it with sports, playing on till the horizon shone a bright orange. Girls would come out to sit and watch from their stoops, cold lemonade at the ready; mothers would laugh and cheer their sons on sometimes. There would be much yelling of “run, run!” and loud declarations of “yeah!” in the middle of their cul-de-sac. It would always be the same: the kids would gather, split into two teams, and whoever got Choi Minho on their side would win the game.
The Choi brothers were both excellent at the game, working together like machines, playing a game of their own irrespective of the rest of the boys. Many said that the only reason they would sit outside their front doors to watch these little games would be to bear witness to the trickery the Choi brothers concocted in the blink of an eye, kicking and passing the ball as if it were invisible. But everyone agreed that the younger boy was the true performer of the two, casting an enchantment over spectators and players alike every time he ran towards the goal.
Lee Jinki would watch from behind the windows of someone’s car, parked across the street. He never got to play with anyone, owing to his church duties, so he never understood the rules of the game. But his mouth would always hang open when Choi Minho came in possession of the ball. It would be like magic-the zipping passes, the guileful bends against his blocking opponent, that dexterous cut into the other team’s defenses, the lightning-quick goal…
Lee Jinki didn’t comprehend any of it, but watching alone gave him a rush in his chest.
Once, he worked up the courage to step out from behind the vehicle for a better look. The score was tied, and the sun was close to setting. He had to run back to work soon, or the matron would twist his ear again. Sweat dripped down his back and his shirt became uncomfortable. He flicked it, waving it to try and generate a wind of his own. His feet hurt from standing so long, and he started yawning since he hadn’t-
“Choi!” a boy yelled and Lee Jinki immediately stood to attention, forgetting the heat for the excitement of the game. The ball soared through the air and Choi Minho effortlessly controlled it to lead it to his team’s goalpost. Weaving through other players, seeming to dance circles around them, his hits meandered through the small field to his target. His face shone with an unearthly light, his limbs moved quicker than a hummingbird… the ball stuck to his feet, obeyed his complex commands, came to life under his guidance. A leap, a kick, a whoop of air; all eyes widened as the ball burst through its cardboard box and broke out the flimsy goalpost to the other side. They cheered while it ricocheted off concrete and lost enough momentum to roll along tarmac and to Lee Jinki’s feet.
“Bloody hell…” someone from the defending team whined while four boys lifted Choi Minho onto their shoulders, bouncing him around as he giggled and waved his hands around in the air. Girls came out to congratulate him like he’d won his team the World Cup. His brother helped him down and patted his back. The scene took a long time to clear up, but Lee Jinki stared only at the ball in front of him, its black and white hexagonal pattern seeming to invite him to enter a new world he didn’t quite grasp yet.
“Do you want to join us?” a deep voice asked him. He jolted, a little scared to be caught watching. If Park sunim found out he was out here, he would get flogged again. He looked up to see Choi Minho blinking at him, head tilted a little to the side.
“N-nuh… You-I-” Lee Jinki stuttered.
"Don’t be afraid. Are you new here?"
"N-no... I'm not..."
“I’ve seen you. You come to all our games… but only watch.”
“Y-yes…Wait, no! No…” Lee Jinki lied, not wanting to be found out and tattled about to the priests. He bit his lip and looked around himself for something to help. It would be best to run away, but he'd probably be outrun by the other, athletic as he was. So he stood anchored to the spot and judged the boy instead, weighing his appearance up and down. The sun melted, and mercury melted with it in Lee Jinki's head. He breathed, because suddenly there was a storm inside him that blew out from the center of his heart.
“It’s OK, I won’t tell anyone,” the young boy smiled. His eyes were gentle. His lips were soft and pink like cotton candy. His hair fluffed in a zephyr where sweat hadn’t drained along the roots. He stepped close enough that the air between them filled with his scent and breath.
“That’s… that’s not-”
“Are you-?” Choi Minho paused, reaching across and smelling like daisies. “Are you an angel?”
Lee Jinki blinked at the taller boy, his eyes going wide at the question. “Wh-?”
“I’ll just take my ball, then?” Choi Minho cut in.
Lee Jinki processed this and accordingly bent down to pick the alien object in his trembling grasp.
The autumn leaves descended from their homes and onto the sidewalk, where they would probably lie for seasons to come; where they'd aspire to fly again, to be born again as new life. Lee Jinki saw his heart among them as the other boy took two steps forward and covered his hands with his own, clasping the ball over stubby fingers and pressing in confidently. It was an odd sensation, so warm yet so cold at the same time: like the hope of being reborn from the rigid ground. It prickled his skin, made his stomach churn, spun his vision momentarily.
“Thank you,” the boy said lowly. Lee Jinki looked up at him, and saw the boy’s bewitching smile, his large gaze and smooth cheeks shining with vermillion evening light, hair flickering against the advancing night-time.
“W-welcome…” Lee Jinki mumbled, mystified beyond repair.
As he ran back to the church, passing by barbed wire and stone walls, he grinned at the carnival of feelings inside him. Picking up a few flowers from the side of the road, instead of running over them, he sighed warmly even as the priests glared at his noisy and flashy entrance.
It is said that Lee Jinki lost his piety that day; that all the holiness pounded into him from birth had been washed away with that one brush of the fingers, with that one look of impishness, that fleeting vision of beauty. It is said that they should never have met, because it started a terrible hurricane that could never be fought, never be quelled. It is said that Choi Minho was the devil, luring a pure lamb into his snare. It is said Lee Jinki started becoming a man that day.
But of course, no one can know for sure what happened. We can only paint vivid pictures with our colorful words. We can only debate over it till our tongues tire out and the subject takes on meaninglessness. We can only sit around and argue about other more intense scenarios, or many more subtle ones.
We can only guess.
***
“Let yourself go,” Choi Minho instructed, dribbling the ball between his feet before bouncing it up and onto his knees. It sprung from one leg to the other like an automated dance. To Lee Jinki that’s what football looked like when the other played-a beautiful, exotic dance performed to please secrets out into light. “Let go of everything. Only focus on the ball,” the words accompanied an artful flick of the ankle. Choi Minho played with effortlessness, and yet his every move seemed to summon a thousand deities to his side.
“Here, you try-”
“A-ah!” Lee Jinki thought to shake his head at the offered ball but when his eyes met the other boy’s there was a hypnotic insistence in them. He couldn’t refuse. He tentatively took hold of the thing and inhaled deeply. With a concentrated stare, he let it drop to the ground in a dismal thud. As was in its nature, it bounded away from them to the edge of the street, stopped only by the bumpy cover of a gutter.
“Oh…” Lee Jinki said in a slow realization.
Choi Minho blinked at the ball’s unrestricted progress. When he turned back to his new friend there was a laugh waiting to bubble forth. They stared at each other with stretching grins before the guffaws overtook them.
“Hhaha, what’re you doing?!” the younger exclaimed as he fell onto the other, gesturing his hands wide apart.
“I-I don’t know, haha!” Lee Jinki replied with a shake of his head, grasping his tall friend’s shoulders to support his weight. He had no inkling as to why they were laughing but it was as Park sunim had warned him: mirth is contagious like a disease and it contaminates the peace in one’s mind. Truly, Lee Jinki’s head was in absolute, undeniable disarray with thoughts and images of Choi Minho.
“No, no, wait, look at me,” Choi Minho ran to fetch the ball and then continued with the lesson.
It was a little arduous, and Lee Jinki had very little patience. But to see the other speak so kindly was like a hidden delight. Watching Choi Minho explain his meaning over and over, following the delicate demonstrations he was blessed with was… it was…
Lee Jinki felt like he finally understood what Park sunim meant when he spoke of sin.
He had always wondered why one would go to such lengths that would condemn them to an eternity of hell. Why do people commit a carnal offense? he’d ask during his lessons in church. Why would someone willingly fall prey to such debauchery? He hadn’t received any answers then and the priests had made sure to discourage Lee Jinki from further curiosity.
But spending his days staring at and spending his nights thinking of Choi Minho answered all of his questions.
He realized then that it was easy to sin. It was easy to give in to temptation. It was as simple as breathing in and out. To reach of that stretch of milky skin, to press your hand against it and wait for its owner to take notice of you with their blushed cheeks-it was simple, and perfect, and rewarding like nothing else. Even when Choi Minho tugged his shirt back over his exposed waist out of modesty, Lee Jinki could taste success on the tip of his tongue.
“You’re soft,” he spoke without checking his words. Choi Minho’s lashes fluttered before he ran away, ball in hand.
They met every afternoon for thirty minutes after the boys had all returned home and Lee Jinki was due back in the monastery for evening prayers. Sometimes they played their own little game of football, other times they sat on the sidewalk in silence. Their knuckles brushed, their knees bumped, their shoulders pushed. Sometimes they sat close enough for their mouths to bump and their vision to go a little blurry. It was a very different game altogether.
A strange game called attraction.
***
Boys like Choi Minho aren’t playthings. They cannot be slammed into any and every available surface as if they were beasts meant for breeding. Boys like Choi Minho aren’t for fucking and forgetting. They can’t be picked up and dropped like hobbies.
Boys like Choi Minho are made to be loved. They must be handled with utmost care, as if they were created from precious crystal. Boys like him are meant to be held with both hands- delicately, gently. Boys like Choi Minho aren’t an intoxication that takes over one night and is vomited out the next morning. They are treasures; diamonds that must be hidden away from the world lest someone else tries to steal them away. Boys like Choi Minho are not embellishments or side-stories. They are the center of devotion. They are the altar one must rest their head against when praying for love. If there is a God and if She or He made all living things from clay, then boys like Choi Minho are the porcelain that hides amongst us. Boys like Choi Minho are more than just delectable treats or alluring perfumes. They taste of ambrosia, their scent is petrichor. They are divine beings that reside in secret, buried under mounds of earth until someone as lucky and foolish as Lee Jinki digs them up by pure accident.
Boys like Choi Minho are a plague, a death to be desired.
“You are distracted, young man,” Park sunim noticed one morning while inspecting the hygiene in the boys’ dorms. “To my experienced eye, it is clearly a sign of fast-approaching heresy. Once a boy has advanced as far as you into his teens it is common to see such… agitation. Usually caused by contact with women, I would say. Would you like to confess to something, boy?” he prodded.
Lee Jinki remained mute, hanging his head low to hide the shame in his eyes. He had indeed sinned by allowing the irreverent thoughts swilling within his mind and under his sheets at night. Upon reaching the age of thirteen, all boys at the monastery were forced to sleep with their wrists restrained on either side. This measure had been formulated by the priests in order to avoid young men from touching themselves. They said it sullied the sanctity of the church under whose care they resided. Lee Jinki had never felt the urge to go against this edict. Not until that summer when the Chois arrived in their big car and brought something gravely lustful with them in the form of their younger son.
“Do not try to fool me, boy. One of our matrons saw you playing that vile game with the other idiots of this town. Is this true or not?”
Lee Jinki gave no answer.
A slap rung through the room from which he straightened immediately as he’d been instructed thousands of times before. “When an elder is speaking with you, an acknowledgement is expected. Are we clear?”
“Neh, sunim.”
“Now. Have you or haven’t you been playing with the locals between your chores?”
“Neh, sunim.”
Another slap was meted and then another. They rained on Lee Jinki until he was sure that the skin above his eyes had broken and started to bleed. Yet he remained standing erect as a lifeless pole, enduring the brutality like he’d been raised to do. Park sunim waved his wrist a few times when he tired of the activity and then viciously kicked the boy in his knees, making him fall. Only then did his face take on a look of satisfaction.
“Unless you repent in life the gates of heaven will remain closed for you, boy. Take care to remember that.”
"Neh, sunim," Lee Jinki made sure to keep his voice level and emotionless when responding.
***
“Who hurt you?” Choi Minho was quick to leap forward and caress Lee Jinki’s wounds. Park sunim had demanded that he wear the blood on his face for the rest of the day in order to atone. Simply so that everyone could see his shameful behavior and the price he paid for it. It was common for boys in the care of the church to be made an example of and displayed town-wide in reprehensible ways so that no one repeated their mistakes.
When he stepped out on his daily errand that afternoon, he was given a wide berth by all who passed by him. He walked with his eyes to the ground and his head weighed low with disgrace. If he could help it, he would. If he could stop thinking filthy thoughts, he honestly would. But there was very little he could do to reign in his desires. The powerlessness boiled his anger.
And when Choi Minho tried to touch him, he was slapped away.
“No!” Lee Jinki pushed him off.
The younger stood undeterred. He calmly raised his hands as if in surrender, closing the distance between them one more time but with measured footsteps. “OK,” he calmingly nodded. “OK, hyung… I won’t hurt you. But you need help. I’m here to help. I’m just-just going to have a look at your injuries, alright? Is that alright?”
The tenderness in his voice was like a mother’s. The elder had never felt the love of a mother. He’d never been regarded with such sympathy but he had always craved to feel something like this. Something this kind and compassionate. He’d always yearned to be adored. So he let the other approach him once again.
The tips of the boy’s fingers burnt like hot coals. Lee Jinki wondered if they left brands on his skin. He hissed, closed his eyes and whimpered while they cautiously tended to him; pattering around the sting under his eyebrow and stroking over the wetness near his temples. “You need bandages,” the warm sigh billowed against his cheeks. “Come with me, we’ll clean you up.”
“N-no…” Lee Jinki resisted. “I can’t. It’s wrong. It’s bad.”
“You’ll get infected,” Choi Minho frowned.
“No.”
The younger sighed. “OK. Then at least let me help you wash it off your clothes.”
Lee Jinki considered the offer. He wanted to go with the boy. He wanted to take his hand. He wanted to shirk his duties for the day and rebel, if only for a short while. He wanted to deviate a little from his daily subsistence.
So he let Choi Minho lead him astray.
Chapter 3