seouldout

[warmboys]

seouldout round #3

FREE CHALLENGE: closer than you think
suju, hyukjae, 200 words

Hibernation Isn't Just for Bears

At six a.m. sharp Hyukjae wakes up, stumbles into the bathroom, brushes his teeth while squinting at his reflection, and then gropes around for his contact lenses case. Finds it, twists off the caps, makes sure he’s got the right one on the right, the left on the left, washes his hands twice, and dips a finger into the saline solution.

Two fingers and he still can’t feel anything. Shit. He ransacks through his memories-did he throw the last pair out by accident? It hasn’t been two weeks, has it? No, he makes sure to switch every 1st and 15th of the month. It’s been a flawless system so far. Up until now.

He’s wasted an eighth of 400,000 won. It’s too early to do the math, but he understands this means he is a failure in life.

Disillusioned with himself, he trudges back to his bedroom to repent over his decadent ways. Unfortunately, on the way there, he bumps into several table corners, a bookcase, and Shindong’s bum, all because of loss of depth perception. Injured in both body and ego, he crawls back into bed and resolves to stay there until someone offers him food. Preferably Donghae.

CHALLENGE 1: the air i saved for later
suju, hyukjae/donghae, 200 words

the us i saved for never

Hyukjae has always imagined chubby children, running around the front yard with grass stains on their shirts. A cocker spaniel chasing close behind, panting its friendly tongue from side to side. The wife, with small, precise features, leaning against the doorway, overlooking the scene of domestic bliss. He kneels down and cups an ear over the bump of her stomach. He’s never been happier.

This is how it’s supposed to be, as dictated by blue crayon scrawls in a third grade composition notebook: The Future Me.

Donghae is something else. Donghae wants the same pristine lawn and wide front porch-and children, many fat children-and when they talk about the men they’ll be in five, ten years, Donghae’s mouth doesn’t stop twitching for hours. Day breaks slow, and they’re still lying there, the floor warm against their backs.

Hyukjae is decomposing. He blames it on chemical imbalance and a lack of self-restraint. He should’ve tried harder to go the correct path, like a stronger man.

He doesn’t blame it on Donghae’s easy smile, Donghae’s leg draped over his, Donghae’s fingers kneading knots out of his shoulders with care.

If anything, he wants one of them to keep that dream.

CHALLENGE 2: carried away
suju, kangin/leeteuk, 200 words

Secret House

The secret house has a leaky roof and a rusty unhinged fence that whistles greetings in tune with the wind. The silly hydrophobic dog wraps itself around your feet, boxing them in furry warmth, and you stoop down to feed it stale biscuits out of your hand. You’re waiting on the monthly check to make that trip to the supermarket. “Don’t forget to empty out the buckets,” you remind him, one hand tickling him awake below the ear. (He saves the rainwater for cold showers, teasing, “Enough heat between the two of us, anyway.” Thin body shivering as he rubs soapy circles over his stomach and sides. You bite your lip, think: A gust of wind could easily carry him away, away from me forever.

One finger waggle, and you’ve never gotten naked faster in your life.)

His nose crinkle jolts you back, and you force open heavy lids, shake power into your legs, your numb arms. You find him in the kitchen, reorganizing the utensils that have been misplaced. “What if we-“ You are on the verge of shouting, your lungs hurt so much from the silence. But he asks, “Good nap?” and all you say is “Yeah.”

COMEBACK CHALLENGE: magical places
1tym, danny/teddy, 200 words

The Beginning

The way it goes is Danny notices him first. Eyes scanning the room warily, not exactly lost but far from comfortable. Danny barks orders at the younger boys, lets them know what sauce he wants with his McNuggets before thrusting a handful of bills into their pockets.

“Lemme try it,” he says to Teddy later, touching the rim of his cap. Something flickers in Teddy’s expression before he takes it off with an out-of-practice grin. The ends of his hair stand up with static, briefly electrified.

The gymnasium is empty during fourth period. Teddy’s sneakers squeak across the cold linoleum, uncoordinated and nothing special. “I’m gonna be famous.” His voice bounces off the walls like a police siren.

“You can’t dance for shit,” Danny says. He watches idly as Teddy spits beats into his fist, improvising a mike.

Korea is something like a dream, like magic. They spend hours poring over new videos, picking apart melodies and reassembling them, toy cars at their disposal. Teddy raps like he’s hiding little hairs on the inside of his throat.

Then one day he says: “We can do this too.”

“Let’s go back. You said you never had ddukbokki?” and Danny’s heart stops.