Post #3.
Apologies for this post going live a little late. Your mod is feeling better, but there's a quickly-approaching death in the family, and so these next couple of weeks may be a bit hectic. I doubt that I'll need to enlist the help of a second mod, but if I do, I will put up a separate post for applications.
Fics ( #2)
Weekend (Infinite, Dongwoo/Hoya/ ( Read more... )
Fics ( #2)
Weekend (Infinite, Dongwoo/Hoya/ ( Read more... )
But Minho catches himself staring at that button. There are a the few hairs creeping along Mr. Lee's sternum, curly and black. Minho goes home and stands shirtless in front of the mirror, studying his own chest. It is bare and bony, his ribs stretching against the skin.
Mr. Lee comes to class ten minutes late. His hair is unbrushed and there are two buttons undone today, and that second button is enough to undo Minho. Minho locks his hands into fists and looks at the ceiling, then the carpet. Every now and then he sneaks a glance at the sliver of brown skin, feeling a strange thrill, like jumping off the swings when the playground monitor looks away.
Mr. Lee is fired that spring. Minho overhears his mother talking about it.
“He was having an affair with another teacher,” she says. She is whispering but he can hear that she is angry. Minho goes into his room, puts his face into the pillow and cries.
Next he is fifteen. His best friend on his soccer team is Minsu. They joke that they're twins, separated at birth. Minsu is only one letter away from Minsuk, after all, and Minsu resembles Minho's brother-smart, practical, handsome. Minsu is tall, has hair the color of maple syrup and shorts that he pulls down below his hipbones, so that they seem to be held up only by the spheres of his ass.
In the locker room, the shorts slip down along with his boxers. Minsu doesn't panic and grab for his towel. He stands, naked, digging through the locker for his missing watch. Minho studies him, the sweat gathered on his shoulders and slim thighs, and thinks that this is what it means to be a man.
Minho masturbates to the image for a week before he tells Minsu that they can't be brothers anymore.
“Why not?” Minsu asks, the pain broadcasting in his wide eyes.
“You're a loser and you suck at soccer. The team would be better off without you,” Minho says.
Minsu quits the team and Minho never forgives himself. He stops speaking for a month, resorting to grunts and nods, terrified of the things that he feels and the way he doesn't deal with them. He lies awake in bed, isolates that dark and dangerous part of himself, chokes it, and buries it. It feels like burying a limb, but he learns to forget he ever had it.
He is scared to move into the SM dorms, scared that the proximity to attractive young men will bring things to the surface. It doesn't. He meets people who are handsome and magnetic and all Minho feels is jealousy, powerful and shaming. He spends extra hours in the dance studios until his legs twitch and tremble.
There is a boy in there with him. He is very good, his body fluid and small, and Minho resents him. The sweat gathers on both of their shirts in unattractive splotches on their stomachs. Sometimes it gathers around their crotches, too, staining their shorts. At first they pretend not to notice, although it is blatant in the studio mirrors. Eventually one of them, feeling bold, cracks a joke about it. They laugh and the boy's hand brushes Minho's shoulder and Minho sucks in a breath, because the earth is ripping open below him, chasms forming, something molten rising inside of him.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment