[fic] beast; if little by little
if little by little; hyunseung/kikwang
10,249 words. rated pg-13.
♦ kikwang tries to be what society deems as normal while also trying to be happy; he finds that it’s not so easy.
♦ thanks to my er team ♥ for gameofbeasts's minibang.
Kikwang is shopping on Wednesday when Hyunseung calls him.
At first, he worries because today isn’t Hyunseung’s day to work and, he had just seen him a few hours before, was he in pain. Then, he calms because this is Hyunseung and the most life-threatening thing he could do right now is fall off the couch. He reasons that Hyunseung had thought of another thing they really didn’t need, and he’ll have to spend another half-hour trying to explain why it isn’t needed. He’d buy it anyway, though, and pretend to be unhappy about it.
"Hi, Hyunseungie," Kikwang greets without much thought, still deliberating between the different types of noodles laid out before him.
Hyunseung, however, skips out on the pleasantries, and says, "I finally unpacked the last box."
Kikwang blinks. "And?" His brows pull downward and he just decides to grab whatever noodle brand is closest to him. It’s too hard to work out what Hyunseung is trying to tell him while he decides what they should have for dinner. "Couldn’t this have waited until I got back?"
"No," Hyunseung points out, "this means we’re officially moved in."
"I thought it was official when we signed the contract."
Hyunseung chooses to ignore him. "This calls for a celebration." Kikwang rolls his eyes, but his mouth seems to stop on a smile, and he knows he’s going to agree with whatever Hyunseung says anyway. He looks at the noodles in the shopping cart, shakes his head, and places them back on the shelf.
"Take-out?"
He can hear the excitement in Hyunseung’s voice when he replies, "I’ll buy the soju."
"So."
Kikwang grins, places his own dinner on Hyunseung's back, and pokes him with a chopstick. "So?"
"We have a lot of room to spare," Hyunseung begins slowly. His eyes remain on the boxes in the corner, the ones labeled hyunseung's porn and dumb stuff that might have sentimental value; Kikwang is reminded that he needs to recycle the boxes within the next few days.
Kikwang hums in agreement. Hyunseung stretches his arms out, careful not to spill the leftover noodles in the box by his elbow, and says, "It looks empty."
"Empty?"
"Yeah." Kikwang watches him, the way Hyunseung rests his chin on the floor and keeps his body still. "I noticed earlier when I called you."
Kikwang removes his food from Hyunseung's back, places it somewhere behind him, and shoves at Hyunseung until he rolls over. Hyunseung keeps his eyes on the ceiling, lost in some train of thought that Kikwang knows he'll probably never understand, and the only noise in the room comes from the television some distance away. Kikwang takes this as an invitation to rest the upper half of his body against Hyunseung's, brushing his nose against the fabric of Hyunseung's t-shirt. He closes his eyes when Hyunseung's fingernails graze over his scalp, no particular thoughts behind the action and no pattern to follow as they curve around his ear and trail along his nape.
He thinks he could fall asleep like this, however awkward his position may be and granted he would wake with more than a few aches. He likes the feel of Hyunseung against him, warm and hard and his. He buries his face against Hyunseung’s chest, breathes in deep for the first time in a while, and his body relaxes just that much more from the feelings alone.
"Hey." Hyunseung wriggles underneath him, fingers having long ceased their wandering. "You have work tomorrow, you know."
Kikwang tries to burrow himself deeper, but Hyunseung only serves to push and prod until Kikwang is groaning and making idle threats. Hyunseung just laughs, eyes dark and mischievous, and Kikwang leans in because nothing has felt more right in his entire life.
"You smell nice," he mumbles against the line of Hyunseung’s jaw. He jokes, "We could christen the bed in honor of tonight?"
Hyunseung punches him with as much strength he can muster while simultaneously trying to remove Kikwang’s shirt. Kikwang can feel the other’s irritation in his movements alone, so he can only laugh and tug Hyunseung closer. The scent is intoxicating. It’s a light smell; aftershave, citrus-scented shampoo, faded cologne, something masculine and clean. Kikwang pulls away.
He touches his face, and Hyunseung scowls at him.
"I’m happy," Kikwang says sincerely, and it’s true; he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Hyunseung’s expression softens just slightly, Kikwang knows in the way his body gives in, and they’re less guarded now. He kisses his temple. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Hyunseung says and Kikwang can only grin because Hyunseung always tries to opt out of being romantic. "I’m tired; let’s sleep."
On Thursday, Kikwang goes back to his tiny cubicle on the fourteenth floor of the building where he works in advertisement. It means paperwork and headaches and pulling a nine-hour shift away from Hyunseung. He prefers his days-off spent in his own apartment at the corner of the complex, windows open and radio on and loud, Hyunseung laughing over the sitcoms that have never gotten old.
Being at the office means being normal. It means being straight.
Sometimes, it means office parties with alcohol and women and some co-worker nudging him in the ribs, painfully, whispering, “How about her? You do her?” Those nights mean coming home late, smelling of sweat and beer, and Hyunseung not speaking to him but pouring him a glass of water and reheating dinner to help ease the pain anyway. Other times it means phone numbers tucked in his jacket pocket, pretty ladies that have seen something in him. Hyunseung’s reaction is always better then, curling into him and wanting to prank-call the women, and Kikwang will only laugh and tell him he needs to grow up.
It gets lonely more often than not, even with all the voices that laugh with him during his lunch hour. He looks at his cell phone during every break, waiting for a call that he knows will never come. Hyunseung doesn’t call while he’s at work, says it might raise suspicions, and he would rather not cause trouble over something so trivial.
Still, though, Kikwang wishes they could both throw caution to the wind and not have to care about what others might think.
He would like for Hyunseung to show up to his office one day, windswept hair and flushed face, because he ran the entire distance between their apartment and Kikwang’s workplace. He’d be holding Kikwang’s forgotten lunch in his hands and scolding him for not remembering to get it before leaving that morning. Kikwang would be sheepish, glance down at the floor, and Hyunseung would sigh then, or maybe he’d hit Kikwang for making him miss his favorite dramas.
Or, maybe during a particularly stressful day, full of impending deadlines and uncooperative coworkers, Kikwang would sneak away from his office and into the unisex bathrooms. He would call Hyunseung, wait three rings before there would be an answer. Hyunseung’s voice would be thick with sleep and slight annoyance at having been disturbed at such an ungodly hour. But Kikwang would lower his tone, slip into any unoccupied stall, and ask him in his most gravelly voice, “what are you wearing?” And Hyunseung might laugh then or complain about how Kikwang should be doing something productive. Kikwang would like to think he’d respond, maybe play along, but in all actuality, Hyunseung would most likely hang up on him.
The thoughts keep him entertained, though, when there is nothing of interest going on. Most days are boring and slow, and Kikwang has taken to rearranging the paper weights on his desk that is empty of anything personal. Nothing to tell a human takes up this space; no cards, no decorations, not even pictures of his family or friends. Just papers to be signed, pens with the company’s logo, and a calendar to let him know of important deadlines.
It’s a normal workday with a normal routine.
Everything falls into place like clockwork, and Kikwang still leaves three minutes before five so he can catch the bus ride to their apartment. He’ll make an extra stop to buy them dinner if Hyunseung hasn’t sent him a text saying he’s cooking otherwise, one filled with emoticons that make Kikwang smile. Sometimes, if he’s had a better-than-usual day, he’ll make that extra stop and purchase the flavor of ice cream Hyunseung likes the most.
They’ll greet each other when Kikwang toes of his shoes at the doorway; have dinner on their make-shift table of leftover cardboard boxes; watch any movie playing at the time; ignore said movie in favor of each other. They’ll fall asleep side-by-side, on the floor or on the bed, and the rest of the world will be none-the-wiser.
Kikwang’s not pleased with the situation-his musings make for a much better reality-but it’s enough for him to simply have the moments shared with Hyunseung for now.
Weekends usually mean them together, at least during the morning hours or until Hyunseung gets ready for the studio on the off chance he actually goes.
A nudge against his cheek, and, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
He looks up from his spot on Hyunseung’s bicep to see sleepy eyes staring intently at his forehead. Kikwang grins, warm and comfortable, as he tries to become one with Hyunseung’s side. He can feel Hyunseung relax further into the pillows and the sheets that are slipping off the bed on one side.
“We should probably get up,” Kikwang whispers, but there’s no intention of moving at the moment. Hyunseung knows that much, he’s certain. It explains why neither move from their respective places on the tiny bed.
“Maybe,” a yawn, then: “we’re supposed to have dinner with the new neighbors or something, remember?” Kikwang closes his eyes, thinking, maybe the day can be spent like this if he does. Hyunseung groggily mumbles, “Do we have to?”
He feels Hyunseung move, and he makes this breathy noise that Kikwang thinks is similar to a laugh. Kikwang wants to shift closer to the sound.
“We should try to make a good impression,” Kikwang says, though, and he can feel the ends of his fingers against his side, willing him to move so that Hyunseung can have his arm back.
“Your head is full of lead.” He makes a move to flex, and his elbow pops. “My arm is numb.”
“Be careful, old man.” Kikwang smiles up at Hyunseung, propped up on his elbows with his chin resting on Hyunseung’s knee.
Hyunseung frowns at him, pokes his forehead. “You’re one to talk. At least I’ve still got my looks-and my hair.”
Kikwang knows it’s meant to be taken lightly, but he cannot help but to feel self-conscious about it. He touches his hair lightly, one of his many insecurities, and knows there are probably a few lighter hairs mixed in with the black. He looks down to the rumpled sheets and tries not to think too hard about it when he feels another hand resting atop his head.
“Hey,” Hyunseung says in that one special gentle voice he rarely uses. It’s borderline affectionate, and he’s thumbing down the side of Kikwang’s face. “I know you’re stressed. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
But he had still meant it, Kikwang knows, because they’ve never said anything to each other that wasn’t meant. In college they had promised each other one-hundred-percent honesty. That thought alone is enough to keep his worries from completely vanishing, but the look Hyunseung sends him along with the tiny smile on his face has him relaxing again.
“Come here,” Hyunseung says and Kikwang goes willingly; he always does. He wraps his arms around Kikwang’s waist, cheek to his shoulder, and rubs what he thinks are soothing circles against Kikwang’s back. Sometimes, he digs the heel of his hand into his spine, painfully hard, but Kikwang doesn’t say anything about that.
“I don’t care how old we get, or if you lose your teeth tomorrow,” at which point he pauses, and Kikwang stifles his laughter by biting into the cotton material of Hyunseung’s t-shirt, “We’re in this together, and you said you’re happy and you wouldn’t change anything. Well,” he coughs because this is getting too sappy for him, but Kikwang’s not going to stop him and he doesn’t want him to stop. He needs this, that much he is sure of, and he knows Hyunseung does, too.
“Just so you know,” he says lightly, hands still on Kikwang’s back and breathing even, “I wouldn’t either.”
“If they were actually our neighbors,” Hyunseung says, “then they’d at least live on the same floor as us, right?”
Kikwang laughs, but doesn’t answer. Hyunseung catches up with him in a matter of steps, still grumbling under his breath because he didn’t know there’d be stairs involved and the elevator takes too much time to go from floor-to-floor. Kikwang tries to appease him best he can, walking as close to him as possible and borrowing his warmth. Their hands bump along the knuckles, and sometimes Kikwang catches himself twining their fingers together. No one is around, so he doesn’t pull away from the hold and he knows Hyunseung doesn’t mind anyway.
“I’m trying to make conversation, and you’re not helping,” Hyunseung says as they walk slowly. Hyunseung’s steps are more fluid, purposeful; long, easy strides that shame Kikwang’s heavy footfalls and lack of grace. But they keep to the same foot, so they match in some sense of the word, and they never outpace one another. “Being the strong, silent type was my role, you know.”
“Really?” Kikwang cants his head to the side, just a brush away from Hyunseung’s shoulder. “I thought your job in the relationship was to stare at people until they were uncomfortable and forced to look at someone else?”
Hyunseung makes it a point to glance over at Kikwang, unblinking, and Kikwang bites his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “That too.”
“They’re going to think we lost our way.”
“Or had better things to do.” Kikwang pinches him for that comment. “It’s the weekend. Normal people don’t mope about their house all day.”
“You do it all the time.” Kikwang is pinched in return for saying this, but it’s only half-hearted. Kikwang laughs as they approach the stairwell. They’re already late for the dinner date anyway.
Hyunseung scoffs, loosens his grip on Kikwang’s hand, and takes the first step up. “I do not mope. I brood. You think it’s sexy.”
The way he says it reminds Kikwang of a time years ago, and how they were just boys then. The feeling is warm, familiar. Hyunseung takes the steps two at a time with Kikwang trailing behind, and the view is something Kikwang can appreciate even if he misses the feeling of Hyunseung by his side, hand in his. Kikwang grips the guard rail instead, cold where Hyunseung’s palm had been warm, and takes the last steps in stride.
The neighbors turn out to be much better than expected.
Yoon Doojoon works at a law firm in the heart of the city. He says it’s not much; he’s not really an important part of the system as a whole, but he finds the job interesting and the pay is steady. His wife, Jieun, takes care of the apartment while he’s away and she doesn’t mind having to give up a lot of her freedoms to make sure there is food for dinner and someone to watch the baby.
“Being a housewife is as good a hobby as any,” she had said with a smile when asked about it.
Kikwang tunes them out when they go into detail about how they met and their marriage. He doesn’t mean to, but the blue bundle in Jieun’s arms steals most of his attention. His mind could never stick to one topic for long and he was easily distracted. Hyunseung had always teased him about that. But the baby is tiny, her fists curling up and clenching in her mother’s sweater, and he can see the barest hint of a pink nose peeking out from behind the blankets. His heart swells, and he can feel the telltale signs that something is missing in his life.
Kikwang looks away, trying to focus on the conversation again, but Hyunseung seems to have noticed that his mind had been wandering. He offers Jieun a small, sheepish smile when her curious brown eyes glance at him because he cannot bring himself to acknowledge the life he had given up. So, he looks back to Doojoon, who continues his story with grand hand gestures and the occasional jokes, and provides as much interest as he can.
Hyunseung shifts at his side, disrupting Doojoon’s speech, as he waves his hand in the baby’s direction. “What’s her name?” Kikwang quickly glances to him, wondering if he also feels it when he sees the girl in her mother’s arms.
“Eunmi,” Jieun answers with this peculiar expression on her face, as if she knows what Kikwang really wants; he shrinks back into the sofa.
She stands from her place on the chair opposite them, walks until she is in front of Kikwang, where she bends and offers to let him hold Eunmi. “Mind her head,” is all she says as she situates his arms; and, he doesn’t know exactly what’s come over him, but he’s cooing at her and he knows his eyes are probably adoring.
Hyunseung leans into his side then, mouth against the back of Kikwang’s shoulder, and he slips one arm around his body just to touch one of the small hands waving about. Eunmi offers him a spit bubble for his trouble, and it feels like she’s theirs. The thought comes naturally to Kikwang, turning his head just slightly to better glance down at the top of Hyunseung’s dark hair. He wouldn’t mind sharing this-a real family with pets and children and love-with Hyunseung.
Doojoon clears his throat somewhere in his peripheral, sending them a suspicious look, and Kikwang becomes consciously aware of how he and Hyunseung must look at that moment. Domestic, together, in a relationship. Kikwang gives Eunmi back to her mother with a bowed head.
“Where did you two meet?” There’s no particular emotion on his face, and that worries Kikwang.
“College,” Kikwang answers at around the same time Hyunseung says, “Bathroom.” Kikwang bristles; Hyunseung seems to ignore this and corrects them both, “College bathroom.”
Doojoon’s eyes widen, shock evident in that action alone, but there is no disgust when he gets over their place of meeting. Kikwang knows how it must sound, a casual hook-up while other classes were going on, but that wasn’t exactly how it had happened. His pant’s zipper had managed to get stuck, and, embarrassed, he asked the only other person around to help him. Thankfully, Hyunseung didn’t mind, and within a span of a few awkward seconds, all was well again. After that, they just kind of gravitated toward one another, bonding over their time at the gym and health drinks, until they became what they are now.
And he would very much like to not think about the gift Hyunseung had given him for their one year anniversary. “These pants only have buttons, so we don’t have to worry about a zipper getting stuck. Especially during sex,” he had whispered at the time, his own face flushed.
But Doojoon only laughs at them, shaking his head, and Kikwang begins to relax when neither he nor Jieun attempts to throw them out. They have dinner together, all of them, and Jieun lets Kikwang hold Eunmi again while she cleans up. Doojoon tells him they’re welcome anytime, he’s enjoyed having someone else around, and, then, whispers to Kikwang, “keep your chin up.”
Kikwang’s not too accustomed to acceptance, but it’s a nice feeling. And he likes being able to cuddle up to Hyunseung without having to worry about what the other people in a room might think. The elated feeling carries him through that night, pinning Hyunseung down on their bed and wrestling for a few moments until their breathing calms.
Sunday finds them walking around downtown with one another. They pass by multiple shops and people that don’t really look at them, until they reach a store advertising baby clothes and carriers. Hyunseung dawdles when Kikwang sighs and continues to walk away.
“I want one,” is all he says, and Kikwang turns slowly to see what he’s referring to. But Hyunseung’s more of the cryptic sort, so Kikwang knows he probably won’t ever guess correctly.
He tries anyway, coming to stand at his side. “A bassinette? I don’t think you’ll fit.” He holds his hands out in front of him, outlining the shape between their bodies, before looking back at Hyunseung.
“No,” he answers, eyes faraway and voice light. Kikwang takes the time to admire their reflections in the glass window; they look nice together, hands barely grazing at their side, and the scarf Kikwang bought him for his birthday wound around Hyunseung’s neck. Kikwang adjusts his beanie, pulling so that it covers his ears completely, mindful of his glasses. That is when Hyunseung starts speaking again.
“I want a baby.”
Kikwang feels his heart pound and knows it’s somewhere in his throat right now. He swallows, trying to form some coherent response, but all he can manage is a hoarse, “Really? A baby?”
“Yeah,” is all he says back, taking Kikwang’s hand in one of his moments of affection, and tugs him away from the store, physically.
But, mentally, he’s still at that store, except they’re not reflections rather inside with the bassinette before them. And there’s a little boy or girl, quite like Eunmi, reaching up to them with tiny, welcoming fingers.
He wants that, too.
Hyunseung checks the mail every morning while Kikwang readies himself for work.
There is usually nothing worth going down there for: advertisements of some sort; Hyunseung’s magazines; bills that need to be paid; cards from Geurim or Hyekwang, usually cute and pointless; surveys about the effectiveness of some product they’ve never even heard of; junk mail. But Hyunseung says he needs the exercise and the time away from Kikwang, so there are never any protests. They live like this, peacefully tucked into their corner of the apartment complex, and he’s usually back by the time Kikwang’s toweling his hair dry.
“You look like you tried to drown yourself in the shower,” Hyunseung says.
He places the mail on the kitchen table and turns to rummage through the refrigerator. Kikwang throws his damp towel at Hyunseung’s face in response.
The mail is no different than usual, but there’s a scrap of paper with hateful, red letters glaring up at him from the stack. Beneath it are pamphlets about “finding your way back to the path of God” and the usual threatening letters from not-so-nice neighbors on how “faggots have no place in the world”. Kikwang stares a little harder because his eyes are blurring it all together.
He should be used to it now, the burning in the back of his throat and the clench in his chest. Mail like this is commonplace, and Hyunseung never even bats an eye at it. Sometimes Kikwang sits and wonders how Hyunseung can just push aside the hatred so easily. He doesn’t understand how he can act as if it’s all right, take the comments and the jeers, and still curl into Kikwang every night with something like a smile on his face. It takes strength, and Kikwang isn’t so sure he has that-if he ever has had any strength to begin with.
“Hey.” He feels Hyunseung press against his back, sharp hipbone to his side. “I told you to ignore those.” He reaches around and removes them all from the stack, and then he rips the letters one by one and throws the pieces away. “We’ve already been through this and…”
When Hyunseung trails off, he is looking at Kikwang’s face, searching. Kikwang wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Then, Kikwang grins.
“I’m okay,” he says, still smiling, and goes to sift through the rest of the mail, throwing out what is pointless. “I think my contacts are drying out.”
“Kikwang.”
“I need to get ready.” He fumbles back to their room and goes through the closet, shifting through his clothes mixed with Hyunseung’s. The pants have long creases down the legs, but Kikwang’s sure they’ll go away after he wears into them. Hyunseung is lingering in the doorway, just staring at him with that calculating expression of his, and Kikwang doesn’t have the time or will to sit down and talk things out. “Have you seen my tie? The blue one?”
Hyunseung’s brows furrow, annoyed. Kikwang finds his tie hanging on the bedside lamp.
“Kikwang, I think-”
He follows him out into the foyer, where Kikwang struggles to slip his feet into the scuffed dress shoes. Hyunseung in his sweatpants and wifebeater, looking every bit the man all the girls adored in college. Kikwang had wanted him then, and he still wants him now.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Kikwang presses on, needing to assure Hyunseung that he’ll be more willing to talk later and he’ll be fine for now. He reaches over and pulls Hyunseung to him, nose to collarbone.
When he loosens his hold and goes to open the door, Hyunseung is shaking his head but his eyes are still questioning. “Why do I live with you, again?” He crosses his arms over his chest, sighs all long-suffering and very much the put-upon spouse, and says, “Tonight, ok.”
“Tonight.”
An hour before his lunch break, Hyunseung calls his office phone line.
He considers not answering because he still isn’t sure as to what he should say about earlier, but he knows Hyunseung wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. He never calls him at work, though, and the thought has him reaching across his desk and speaking into the receiver before he can think anything more of it.
“You turned your phone off.” He can hear the frown in Hyunseung’s words along with the thumping sound of bass in the background.
“Are you at the studio?”
Hyunseung says something, muffled, most likely directed to someone else in the room. Then, he hears him again. “Yeah.” The background noise is still booming, persistently so, and he can barely make out Hyunseung saying, “I’ll be working late today, so come by the studio after work.”
Kikwang settles the phone between his ear and shoulder, accepting the stack of papers another employee hands to him. He smiles in thanks then resumes the conversation with Hyunseung when the man leaves his desk.
“Is that all?”
“You’re kind of a jerk on the phone, you know.”
Kikwang grins, tapping his pen to an irregular beat against the papers that he still needs to look through. “Hyunseungie-”
“Mom and Geurim are coming by sometime after we’re off work,” he says, voice quiet, slow.
The music in the background is just soft noise now, and Kikwang can imagine Hyunseung molding himself into a corner somewhere in the room, finger pressed to one ear just to block out everything else. Hyunseung with his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead and temples, shirt probably discarded somewhere, and body warm from exertion. Kikwang drops his pen.
He hears Hyunseung say, “yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a second, Junhyung,” and knows it’s time for him to get back to work as well. He understands why he and Hyunseung have never called one another while they were at work before.
“You should probably go…”
“Wait!” And Kikwang stalls then, body hunched into his desk. Hyunseung’s voice drops even lower, uncertain. “See if your parents can drop by the apartment sometime. Maybe tonight?”
Kikwang shifts in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable, and he digs the fingers of his left hand into his temple. He exhales, then, smiles again so Hyunseung won’t worry anymore, even if he cannot see it. “Sure, I’ll call them during my break.”
“Remember to come by. We’ll go home together.” There’s a pause. “I, yeah. Bye.”
He tries to focus on work, but the papers seem uninteresting, all black lines on white pages and no gray area between. And when all the other workers head out for their lunch break, Kikwang holds the phone in one hand and tries to list all the pros and cons of inviting his parents over. Somehow, he knows the cons far outweigh the pros, and the fact scares him more than he ever could have thought possible.
The other line rings three times before a female voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” he greets in his smallest voice.
Her tone seems to change suddenly, and it’s almost unnoticeable. But Kikwang knows better than that; he can hear the rigidity of her words. She’s so falsely sincere it hurts.
“Hello, Kikwang,” she speaks politely, a voice she’d use with a stranger, not her son. “How are you?”
He swallows. “I’m fine.” Then, he tries to press on, “Hyunseung and I-”
“Your father has a coworker with a beautiful daughter.” Her tone lowers, just from the mere mention of Hyunseung. “She’s well-mannered, polite, and comes from a very good family.”
“That’s great,” he replies weakly, clicking his pen with his thumb. “I’m sure Hyekwang would like to meet her.”
“She’s around your age, I think,” she says, some sort of steel in her voice then. He realizes what she is really saying; she isn’t exactly subtle.
Kikwang knows what she is trying to do. His parents have been like this since he came out to them about Hyunseung after he finished college. He doesn’t blame them for harboring ill thoughts about him. He’s sure they wanted more from him, expected more of him.
“Oh,” he says unintelligently. He should be stronger than this; he wishes he was stronger than this. He should be able to say no, for his and Hyunseung’s sake. “Mom, I’m not. I don’t want.” He clears his throat and ignores her attempts of trying to steer him back onto the right path. “Hyunseung and I wanted to invite you and Dad over for dinner tonight. You haven’t seen the apartment yet, and…” His voice gets lighter the more his resolve weakens.
“I’m sorry,” she says but she’s not; she never is, “but you know your father is still struggling with the side effects from his back surgery.”
“He had that surgery two years ago,” he reasons with her, but she isn’t listening.
“I’m sorry, Kikwang.” He bites his bottom lip. “Maybe some other time.” He thinks she’ll hang up then, leave everything as it is, but she continues, “Come home sometime so your father can set up a meeting with his coworker’s daughter.”
He doesn’t say goodbye and doesn’t hang up either. He waits the long minute until all he hears is the steady beeping of the dial tone, and then he sinks his head into his hands. The hand positioning on the clock at the end of the hall signifies that the end of the break is nearing.
Kikwang throws his lunch away. He isn’t hungry anyway.
Hyunseung is waiting for him outside the apartment when he arrives later.
His hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he is trying to preserve his body heat, and just the bottoms of his ears and bangs stick out from under his black beanie. The temperature has dropped since noon, their breaths come out in little white puffs before them, and Kikwang has never been fond of the mid-winter season.
Hyunseung’s eyes are appraising when they land on him, taking in his loosened tie and the wrinkles in his white shirt. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, but he does take his hands from the deep pockets of his pants to remove Kikwang’s tie.
Kikwang startles, says, “You don’t have to do that.” Then, he ducks his head, nervous and embarrassed, and he feels the chill of Hyunseung’s fingers brush over his throat with every movement.
He looks cold, and Kikwang knows he didn’t think about the weather outside when he left the apartment that day. He still has on his dark gray sweatpants and a loose white sweater with too-long sleeves. Kikwang wonders how long Hyunseung has been standing outside their apartment door, waiting. Hyunseung smoothes his hands down the length of Kikwang’s arms, disturbing his thoughts, and then he has this small grin on his face.
“My nose is cold,” Hyunseung says by way of telling Kikwang he’s arrived late. Kikwang would have preferred him to have told him as much because he knew he was much, much too late.
“You should have stayed inside then.”
Hyunseung fiddles with the wristwatch he wears, contemplative. “Maybe.” He pulls at the fabric covering Kikwang’s chest. “Mom and Geurim are already here.” He walks with him to the entryway of their apartment, continuing, “I take it your parents aren’t coming.”
Kikwang tries to laugh it off, watching as Hyunseung unlocks the door, and catches himself making excuses for his parents. “Dad’s back is causing him trouble again. Maybe some other night.” Hyunseung believes that as much as Kikwang does, he knows, but doesn’t press the issue.
Hyunseung hums in some sort of acknowledgment, staring at a point on the wall as he pushes through the doorway, and places his shoes neatly by the others nearby. Kikwang follows suit, leaving his dress shoes in a pile on Hyunseung’s, and greets Hyunseung’s family.
Kikwang doesn’t like having to hold himself back whenever they’re around, afraid he’ll come to expect his own parents and brother to be as accepting. Hyunseung knows the issue is sensitive, and Kikwang thinks that he must have told Geurim and his mother some time earlier in their relationship. They never mention their missing presence or the many cancelled dates between the two families.
They try to make it up to him as best as they can, and Kikwang appreciates the effort. He likes sinking into Geurim’s side while Hyunseung’s mother shares stories of when she was younger; stealing food from Hyunseung’s plate and receiving a playful shove afterwards; Hyunseung’s mother trying to embarrass Hyunseung who is usually never affected by her exaggerated tales of him as a child; Geurim teasing him about his sex life, that familiar flush from his toes to his cheeks.
He likes the warmth of their bodies against his when it's time for them to leave. “I put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow,” Geurim says, winding her scarf around her neck, and then she takes another moment to kiss him on the cheek.
Hyunseung is still speaking with his mom, slightly bent into her, and Kikwang can hear him say, “Yes, Mom, we’ll be fine,” and, “Get home safely.”
And when they're gone, Hyunseung tugs him inside their bedroom. He's mostly quiet, except for the sounds he makes as he slips off his outer clothes and settles himself in bed. But he doesn’t pull the sheets and bedspread over him, waiting for Kikwang to join him.
“I’m sorry,” Kikwang says, breaking the silence.
Hyunseung's eyes aren't on him, but Kikwang prefers it that way. “What for?” he asks, though, and pats the open space beside him for Kikwang to crawl in.
“We didn’t get to walk home together.” Kikwang curls into his body heat, brushing his bare toes against the arch of Hyunseung’s foot.
He has his eyes closed, but he knows Hyunseung is staring at him as he feels him hover over him; fingers on his cheek; breath on his forehead. But he doesn’t seem to think too much of Kikwang’s absence earlier.
“Work is work, and you’re busy,” is the only thing Hyunseung tells him, nonchalant, as he scratches his nails down Kikwang’s jaw. Kikwang turns his face away, eyes no longer shut. Hyunseung sighs, rests one hand down beside Kikwang’s head, and positions his body so that he looms over Kikwang more fully. “I want to take you somewhere. Tomorrow.”
“You know I have work tomorrow.” Kikwang pokes Hyunseung in the chest. “And you do, too.”
“Junhyung’s covering for me.” He shrugs. “Call in sick.” Hyunseung uses his free hand to tilt Kikwang's face to his, saying, “This is important.” It’s as close to begging as Hyunseung will ever get, Kikwang knows; he also knows that Hyunseung won't let this go either.
Kikwang nods and rolls them both over, and Hyunseung goes with a frown on his face but willing. Kikwang takes him in, all of him: the shadows under his eyes and nose, the tilt of his mouth, jaw line, pronounced Adam’s apple, collarbone, the rise and fall of his chest.
Hyunseung groans, impatient. “And you say I have a staring problem,” he hears him grumble. Hyunseung curls his fingers around the hemline of Kikwang’s shirt, the ends of his nails scratching along the dark hairs at his navel and the skin around it. “Hurry up and strip.”
Kikwang buries his face against the side of Hyunseung’s neck, laughing quietly. “I think patience is one of the virtues,” he says, amused, content for the moment to just lay there and breathe.
Hyunseung shifts against him, nudging at Kikwang’s hips with his knees and pressing cold toes to his calves. His hair is dark, falling on his forehead messily, and his eyes are even darker as he draws Kikwang closer. And Kikwang has never known anyone this perfect, dipping his face down to press tiny, teasing kisses to pouting lips.
He lets his arms fold, forearms relaxing onto Hyunseung’s shoulders and fingers tangling in the hairs around his ear, as he moves forward. Uncomfortable, maybe, but intimate; Hyunseung doesn’t complain, but encourages as he strains his neck to meet Kikwang somewhere halfway. Kikwang sinks his hips down to roll against Hyunseung’s as an act of apology for going so slow, and Hyunseung accepts it by stretching his legs out further.
“Patience,” Hyunseung whispers, voice hoarse and fingers insistent at the elastic waistband of Kikwang’s pajama pants.
He seems to lose his trail of thought, more focused on the reactions he gets from Kikwang, but Kikwang’s mind is too hazy to really comprehend much more than how good Hyunseung’s hands feel on him, cold and light and all too amazing. He pulls his shirt off, noting the way Hyunseung’s eyes follow the path upward until the shirt is somewhere in the floor and no longer in his way. Hyunseung jerks his head down again, hand rough and heavy in his hair, and kisses him then. And when they part, he must have remembered what he’d been trying to say earlier.
Hyunseung’s bottom lip brushes against the area just below his own, and says, “Patience applies everywhere but the bedroom.”
“Hyunseungie?”
A gurgle of acknowledgement comes from his left, the arm across his chest heavy but comforting along with the leg tucked between his. Kikwang turns over on the bed, letting the arm over him curl around his ribs, and bends his arms between their bodies. Hyunseung is blinking at him sleepily, Kikwang’s fingers on his lips, tracing there and over to his cheeks.
“I love you.”
Hyunseung smiles and closes his eyes for a while before opening them again, answering, “Me, too.”
His eyes remain shut afterwards, leaving Kikwang to his thoughts and the dark of their room. He dwells too long on the conversation with his mother, wondering if he’s a bad person, a bad son. He remembers the first and last time she’d ever called their home phone, while he was helping Hyunseung move his things from storage to his apartment after Hyunseung’s time in the military had been served. She’d been furious at the time, demanding to know where she went wrong raising him and how he had the nerve to do something so immoral. And Hyunseung’s eyes that day. He had looked so tired, so sad, and Kikwang had promised himself that he’d never have to see such an expression in those eyes again.
Kikwang pulls the blankets over their bodies, until all that’s left uncovered is their ears, eyes, and hair. As if by doing so he can protect them from everyone wanting to hurt them.
“Hyunseungie.”
“What, Kikwang?”
“I don’t regret this,” he pauses, “being with you, I mean.”
He hears him laugh, kind of breathless and mostly tired. “I’m glad. It’d have been a waste of nearly a decade of our lives if you were to start.” His arm tightens around him, though, obviously understanding.
“And Hyunseungie?”
“What now, Kikwang?” he takes notice of the obvious annoyance in that voice, but also the fondness of the way he says his name.
Kikwang smiles. “I really do love you.”
“Mm,” Hyunseung mumbles, moving his body a touch closer and his hand to Kikwang’s damp hair. He runs the side of his thumb along the curve of Kikwang’s ear, grins a bit drowsily at the shivers it causes, and says, “I love you, too, idiot. Now go to sleep.”
The sun is shining the next day, peeling apart otherwise dark skies and the pollution in the air. Kikwang feels good, better than he has in a long time despite the aches in his body.
“Where are we going?”
Hyunseung’s gaze shifts to him briefly, considering. “Somewhere special.” Then, he makes a noise and tugs harder on the hostage shirt sleeve in his grip.
Kikwang leaves it at that, smiling alongside Hyunseung once he matches their paces.
The streets are not too busy this early in the morning, girls with linked arms cutting class for the day and people in suits talking on their cell-phones. Hyunseung drags him by the sleeve of his shirt through the many people around, and they receive no looks of disgust from any passerby. They don’t care because they don’t know; all they see are two male friends enjoying the first day of nice weather this winter. And Kikwang’s content with just this much.
Hyunseung snaps him out of his thoughts by stopping. And the easy smile from just seconds before drops from his face.
“Hyunseungie. I-”
Hyunseung interrupts him, and he’s glad for that because he really doesn’t know what he wants to say to this anyway.
“I know we haven’t talked about it,” Hyunseung starts, uncertain in his own way. He fiddles with his phone, not really looking at it but squeezing it in his left hand every so often. “But I wanted to show you that I was serious.”
“You want to… adopt?”
“Mm.” Hyunseung’s eyes drop to their joined hands; his is sweaty, but so is Kikwang’s. “It’s been six years now, so.” He rubs the top of his head with his left hand, phone still in his grasp, obviously frustrated at not knowing how to explain himself. “It’s not like there’s anyone else out there that I’d be willing to do this with.” His gaze trails up, and Kikwang meets Hyunseung’s very determined eyes with his own. “Just you.”
Kikwang glances away quickly after that, the chill of the morning or the weight of Hyunseung’s statement sending a rush of tingles up his arms. He looks to the adoption agency just ahead of where they stand in a less populous area on the sidewalk, from the happy welcome sign to the characters on the name-marker. Small children inside-children that could be theirs if they wanted it enough, tried hard enough.
He tightens his grip on Hyunseung’s hand. He hopes that that is an answer enough.
“I’m sorry,” the lady behind the desk at the agency says. She glances up briefly before going back to organizing paperwork, an odd sort of habit, Kikwang guesses, when she is trying to ward off any unwanted visitors. “You do not meet the criteria to adopt, being what you are-”
“‘Being what you are’?” Hyunseung cuts in flintily, stepping closer to the desk. Kikwang reaches for his hand, words a whisper, as he tries to appease him, “don’t, please, Hyunseung,” but Hyunseung ignores him as he is likely to do at times. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The lady, if anything, straightens even more in his her chair, eyes narrowed on his face in some sort of challenge. But she doesn’t drop her professionalism, Kikwang notices, even in the face of an aggravated man.
“Single men do not meet the requirements set by the country.”
She turns to her computer, conversation seemingly over, but Hyunseung doesn’t seem to consider the warning signs. She spares him one last glance, and Kikwang can see that her eyes focus solely on the way their bodies lean into one another. He knows she isn’t a fool, the signs are telling of what they are, but she’s staying tight-lipped about the matter. She tips her head, her short bobbed hairstyle slanting with the movement.
After her assessment, she waves them away, saying, “You are free to leave. Have a nice day.”
Kikwang circles his fingers around Hyunseung’s wrist, tugging gently. Then, he bows to the woman, thanking her for her time and apologizing for Hyunseung. Hyunseung remains stiff by his side, all the way to the bus station, and even then he keeps his distance, eyes always somewhere else.
Dinner is slow, tense. Hyunseung still seems to look through him, and their conversations are composed of the movie playing on their TV and the clanking of their utensils on bowls. Kikwang tries to smile at him, laugh about something that had happened in the office earlier that week, tell him about the new guy in his department, Son Dongwoon, and how nice he is despite being less experienced in the job. And Hyunseung nods, sometimes even smiling into his plate, albeit barely-there and gone in the next second.
It’s like living alone, Kikwang finds, and it’s a terrifying thought. To know that Hyunseung is just a touch away from him physically, but so far away in every other way imaginable. But he hears Hyunseung shuffle about, speaking so quietly to his mom on the phone, and it eases some of his worries away. Hyunseung still kisses his temple while Kikwang washes the mismatched dishes they own.
He understands, though; he closes himself off whenever something doesn’t go right for him, for them. Hyunseung is scared and upset. But Kikwang is, too.
It carries well into their nightly rituals.
Hyunseung showers quietly, ignoring Kikwang’s offer to help wash his back and hair, and doesn’t sing like he usually does. Kikwang would like to break the silence, and he opens his mouth a few times to do so, but nothing seems to make it past his lips. And Hyunseung doesn’t look like he wants to talk, not yet anyway.
“Sleep well, Hyunseungie,” he whispers when he pulls the covers over his body later. And the answering grunt feels like a kick in the gut.
“Kikwang.” He feels a hand grip the knob of his shoulder, shaking him gently. After the shakes grow in intensity, nearly to where he falls off his side of the bed, he hears Hyunseung again. “Kikwang, wake up.”
“Mm-wha?”
Hyunseung sighs, somewhere kind of distant from his dream world, but then a weight settles across his chest. He blinks slowly, wondering what’s wrong and why Hyunseung is waking him up so early. He glances to the alarm clock in assurance that they both hadn’t overslept; he can’t miss work twice in one week.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in his best not-asleep voice. He rolls over, away from the extra body heat to his side, and snuggles deeper into the covers gathered at his chin. It doesn’t bring as much comfort, but he’ll manage.
Hyunseung doesn’t speak for a long time, so Kikwang brushes it off as sleep-talking. Sometimes Hyunseung does that when stressed, Kikwang finds, and he reaches behind him to pat blindly at Hyunseung’s body.
“Yesterday didn’t go as planned,” Hyunseung says into his neck. The movement sends a tingle to his toes that has them curling almost on reflex; a familiar, pleasant rush, and Kikwang relaxes further into Hyunseung’s chest. “Not that I thought this would be easy.” Hyunseung exhales, one arm flopping onto his hip, not gripping but there. “We’ll try again, alright?”
Hyunseung nudges the backs of his calves with his toes, bending his knees just so, and Kikwang wants to make a comment about them being big spoon, little spoon. He even opens his mouth to do so, but Hyunseung is still and Kikwang is too tired to pretend right now. Maybe some other night.
Next time is met with another failure. As is the next, as is the next, as is the next, until Kikwang’s not sure why they’re even trying anymore.
“You are without work,” says the latest agent.
Hyunseung stands rigid at his side. “I have a job as a dance instructor-” he protests.
“Part-time.” The woman sets their file aside, all the long moments of paperwork and their honesty tossed aside so easily. She clasps her hands together in front of her, beady eyes peering at them through wire-framed glasses, and leans closer to them. “Do you understand how much effort and money it takes to raise a child? Let alone a baby?”
“Yes, but-”
“I’m sorry, but I must reject you.”
And it goes like this well into the month. Hyunseung is aggravated more often than not, but he’s determined too in a way Kikwang’s never seen before, taking extra hours at the studio and circling job offers in the classifieds. Kikwang knows the clench in his chest is pride and hope, but he doesn’t let it swell too much. He’s not ready to take another hit again.
On Tuesday, slipped in between papers he needs to file away and information about his next project, there is a letter.
gays don’t deserve children rot in hell faggot
On Wednesday, Hyekwang calls his office line.
“Are you still living with the freeloader?” is the first thing he asks after they breeze through greetings and I-miss-you’s.
“Hyunseung isn’t,” Kikwang sighs, leans back in his chair, and decides better against wasting his time defending Hyunseung to his brother. His family doesn’t listen, and Hyunseung deserves much better than all this. “Did Mom tell you to call?”
“Not really,” Hyekwang says, maybe even shrugs for all the way he says the words. “I got a new place in the city and thought maybe you’d like to move in with me. Mom said it’d probably be better for you to get away from the negative energy or whatever it is that surrounds you where you are now.”
“I’m happy where I am now, but thank you.”
“Anytime.” He pauses, then, “Just remember that the offer still stands.”
“I will,” he says to the dial tone.
Thursday is his last day at work.
“You’re firing me?”
His boss just shakes his head, says, “Word got around about you… and your partner’s situation and.” He rubs his hand across his balding scalp. “This could be problematic to the other workers and for business in general.”
Kikwang bows, smiles politely. “I understand,” is what he tells the man automatically, even though he doesn’t really understand at all.
Hyunseung is telling him something later on, but Kikwang for once isn’t listening to him.
“Maybe we should stop trying.”
Hyunseung looks up at him, red marker stilling over the classifieds in the newspaper. “What do you mean,” he asks, voice pitched low as though he hopes he has misheard Kikwang.
“I read an article earlier today,” Kikwang says as best he can, smile trying to find a place on his lips and failing in the end. Hyunseung looks at him so expectantly, and this is breaking Kikwang to even say the words. “Gay adoption is considered child abuse.”
“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”
Kikwang glances to the clock on the wall, and he dully notes they have missed dinner. “I don’t know what I want to believe anymore.” He shrugs his shoulders, clears his throat to swallow back the feelings he cannot bring himself to admit to; feelings of anger, despair, mostly hopelessness.
This is when Hyunseung rises to his feet, letting the marker drop from his fingertips, and heads to the entryway.
“Where are you going?”
Hyunseung shuffles into his shoes, not even bothering to tug the back over his heels. “Out,” is what he says; then, he shakes his head, saying, “I can’t deal with this right now.”
Kikwang would have preferred if Hyunseung had told Kikwang he couldn’t deal with him right now instead.
Hyunseung doesn’t come home that night, and Kikwang doesn’t want to be alone.
“Mom, it’s me, Kikwang.” He knocks on the door harder this time, in time with the rain that falls outside. He waits a beat, pulls his jacket so it hugs his body tighter, and huddles in on himself. He raises his hand to knock again, and he knows they’re inside listening to his pleas. “Mom. Dad. Please, it’s Kikwang.”
There is still no response. He tries again, desperate.
“Please, open the door. I lost my job, fought with Hyunseung, and I don’t know where else to go.” He rests his forehead against the cool surface of the door, fists curled loosely to either side of his face. “I’m still your son. I’m still your Kikwang. Please.”
The response given to him this time is, “We don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry.”
A week goes by with no sign of Hyunseung, and Kikwang decides that if this stalemate will end, then he’s going to have to be the one to end it.
Doojoon barges through the door on the second day of Hyunseung being gone, frown on his face and hands on hips, questioning.
“Are you giving up? After trying so hard and for so long?”
Kikwang stacks the now-clean dishes in their respective places; they weren’t dirty to begin with, he just needed something to do. Doojoon exhales loudly from somewhere behind him, and he continues after a brief moment of silence.
“Do you think Hyunseung deserves this? From you of all people? Do you honestly believe you deserve this for yourself?”
Kikwang stills, then. “I-I don’t want.” He clears his throat and turns to Doojoon, suddenly feeling vulnerable-an emotion he’s never liked feeling around anyone, especially Hyunseung. “Every rejection-every time they told us no-”
Doojoon sighs, a sad sort of smile on his face, as he claps Kikwang on the shoulder almost brotherly. He looks into his eyes, then, encouraging in every way Kikwang’s real brother has never been. Kikwang looks down, smile wavering but there.
“It’s not about that,” he finally whispers, finding the strength to glance back to Doojoon. “I don’t like having to look at his face after every appointment,” and quieter, he says, “I’m not strong enough.”
“You’re not doing this alone, you know,” Doojoon says, bumping him a bit to the side in a playful manner. He tightens his hold on Kikwang’s bicep. “Hyunseung’s there with you, and more than anything, you need to be there for each other. Good and the bad.”
After Doojoon’s pep-talk and another day of holing himself in their apartment, he finally finds the courage to apologize. It’s not hard to find out where Hyunseung is currently at; if he’s not home, he’s at his mother’s, and she nearly cries when she hears his voice.
“He’s not mad at you,” is what Hyunseung’s mother says to reassure him, and even if Hyunseung was, he would have gotten over it by now.
Geurim says, “He’s too lazy to focus all his energy on being angry,” and then whispers, conspiratorially, “He’s been moping around the house playing whiny love songs since he’s been here.”
“It’s about damn time,” says Hyunseung, hoarse like Kikwang and too tired to fight any longer.
“I’m an idiot,” Kikwang mumbles later that night, curled up on his side of the bed with the phone on Hyunseung’s pillow. The receiver picks up Hyunseung’s laughing, and Kikwang smiles. “I’m sorry and I won’t do that again.” His voice drops, and even then, he knows Hyunseung can hear him. “I need you.”
“You are an idiot,” agrees Hyunseung. Then: “I guess I can live with that.”
It takes another week to pick up where they left off with their lives.
“Doojoon says they’re hiring where he works,” Kikwang says over a dinner consisting of rice and eggs. A poor man’s meal, Kikwang had joked when making it in their tiny kitchen, Hyunseung’s hip bumping against his. “It won’t be much, but it’ll pay bills for a while until I can find something better.”
Hyunseung reaches over, the pad of his thumb running along the underside of Kikwang’s bottom lip. “So messy,” he comments, frowning. Kikwang grins, sheepish at best, in turn. “That’s good. Yoseob, a coworker from the studio,”
“The one with the weird laugh?”
“Yeah, that one,” agrees Hyunseung, lips stretching wide over his teeth as he looks to Kikwang. “Well, he said there’s an opening as a secretary for a firm not too far from the studio.” Hyunseung pokes around in his bowl, mixing the egg and rice until they’re unrecognizable. “Apparently boasting about being a secretary for the fire department during my three year military term looks good on a resume.”
Kikwang barely registers the distinct clang his chopsticks make against the tiny bowl before him, his eyes wide with amazement and shock and hope. It’s still there, that feeling.
“It’s getting better,” Hyunseung nods to himself even as he says this, obviously agreeing with the feelings rising up Kikwang’s throat, as if he feels it too.
Kikwang swallows. The food is forgotten between them and probably cold by now. “No more hiding?”
“Not unless you want to,” Hyunseung says, resting his elbows on his knees.
Kikwang reaches for Hyunseung’s hand, smiling, “Not anymore, Hyunseungie.”
On Friday, Hyunseung receives the call from the firm.
He never really tells Kikwang what they said, but Kikwang can only guess to it being good news. Especially when he finds his back to their mattress and Hyunseung’s hands on his hips. He would have asked, but his mouth was busy at the time.
“Hyunseungie,”
Hyunseung grunts, but he rolls over anyway. “Huh?”
Kikwang grins, places his hand on Hyunseung’s neck, thumb brushing just below his ear. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Hyunseung works out through a yawn; he pokes at Kikwang’s chest, “but you really need to stop waiting until I’m asleep to tell me these things.”
They’re quiet a moment, and Kikwang relaxes against Hyunseung’s body. Hyunseung kisses the corner of his mouth. Kikwang can’t find it in him to tease him about missing because he knows Hyunseung will blame it on him being sleepy and it being dark in the room. But he does allow himself a small laugh, one that Hyunseung silences by kissing him this time.
“Kikwang.”
“Yeah?”
Hyunseung finds his hand under the covers. “Go to sleep.”
“Hyunseungie.”
There’s not an answer this time, just the rustle of sheets, but he knows Hyunseung is listening. He always is.
“I’m happy with you, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”
original post | notes
10,249 words. rated pg-13.
♦ kikwang tries to be what society deems as normal while also trying to be happy; he finds that it’s not so easy.
♦ thanks to my er team ♥ for gameofbeasts's minibang.
Kikwang is shopping on Wednesday when Hyunseung calls him.
At first, he worries because today isn’t Hyunseung’s day to work and, he had just seen him a few hours before, was he in pain. Then, he calms because this is Hyunseung and the most life-threatening thing he could do right now is fall off the couch. He reasons that Hyunseung had thought of another thing they really didn’t need, and he’ll have to spend another half-hour trying to explain why it isn’t needed. He’d buy it anyway, though, and pretend to be unhappy about it.
"Hi, Hyunseungie," Kikwang greets without much thought, still deliberating between the different types of noodles laid out before him.
Hyunseung, however, skips out on the pleasantries, and says, "I finally unpacked the last box."
Kikwang blinks. "And?" His brows pull downward and he just decides to grab whatever noodle brand is closest to him. It’s too hard to work out what Hyunseung is trying to tell him while he decides what they should have for dinner. "Couldn’t this have waited until I got back?"
"No," Hyunseung points out, "this means we’re officially moved in."
"I thought it was official when we signed the contract."
Hyunseung chooses to ignore him. "This calls for a celebration." Kikwang rolls his eyes, but his mouth seems to stop on a smile, and he knows he’s going to agree with whatever Hyunseung says anyway. He looks at the noodles in the shopping cart, shakes his head, and places them back on the shelf.
"Take-out?"
He can hear the excitement in Hyunseung’s voice when he replies, "I’ll buy the soju."
"So."
Kikwang grins, places his own dinner on Hyunseung's back, and pokes him with a chopstick. "So?"
"We have a lot of room to spare," Hyunseung begins slowly. His eyes remain on the boxes in the corner, the ones labeled hyunseung's porn and dumb stuff that might have sentimental value; Kikwang is reminded that he needs to recycle the boxes within the next few days.
Kikwang hums in agreement. Hyunseung stretches his arms out, careful not to spill the leftover noodles in the box by his elbow, and says, "It looks empty."
"Empty?"
"Yeah." Kikwang watches him, the way Hyunseung rests his chin on the floor and keeps his body still. "I noticed earlier when I called you."
Kikwang removes his food from Hyunseung's back, places it somewhere behind him, and shoves at Hyunseung until he rolls over. Hyunseung keeps his eyes on the ceiling, lost in some train of thought that Kikwang knows he'll probably never understand, and the only noise in the room comes from the television some distance away. Kikwang takes this as an invitation to rest the upper half of his body against Hyunseung's, brushing his nose against the fabric of Hyunseung's t-shirt. He closes his eyes when Hyunseung's fingernails graze over his scalp, no particular thoughts behind the action and no pattern to follow as they curve around his ear and trail along his nape.
He thinks he could fall asleep like this, however awkward his position may be and granted he would wake with more than a few aches. He likes the feel of Hyunseung against him, warm and hard and his. He buries his face against Hyunseung’s chest, breathes in deep for the first time in a while, and his body relaxes just that much more from the feelings alone.
"Hey." Hyunseung wriggles underneath him, fingers having long ceased their wandering. "You have work tomorrow, you know."
Kikwang tries to burrow himself deeper, but Hyunseung only serves to push and prod until Kikwang is groaning and making idle threats. Hyunseung just laughs, eyes dark and mischievous, and Kikwang leans in because nothing has felt more right in his entire life.
"You smell nice," he mumbles against the line of Hyunseung’s jaw. He jokes, "We could christen the bed in honor of tonight?"
Hyunseung punches him with as much strength he can muster while simultaneously trying to remove Kikwang’s shirt. Kikwang can feel the other’s irritation in his movements alone, so he can only laugh and tug Hyunseung closer. The scent is intoxicating. It’s a light smell; aftershave, citrus-scented shampoo, faded cologne, something masculine and clean. Kikwang pulls away.
He touches his face, and Hyunseung scowls at him.
"I’m happy," Kikwang says sincerely, and it’s true; he’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. Hyunseung’s expression softens just slightly, Kikwang knows in the way his body gives in, and they’re less guarded now. He kisses his temple. "You know that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Hyunseung says and Kikwang can only grin because Hyunseung always tries to opt out of being romantic. "I’m tired; let’s sleep."
On Thursday, Kikwang goes back to his tiny cubicle on the fourteenth floor of the building where he works in advertisement. It means paperwork and headaches and pulling a nine-hour shift away from Hyunseung. He prefers his days-off spent in his own apartment at the corner of the complex, windows open and radio on and loud, Hyunseung laughing over the sitcoms that have never gotten old.
Being at the office means being normal. It means being straight.
Sometimes, it means office parties with alcohol and women and some co-worker nudging him in the ribs, painfully, whispering, “How about her? You do her?” Those nights mean coming home late, smelling of sweat and beer, and Hyunseung not speaking to him but pouring him a glass of water and reheating dinner to help ease the pain anyway. Other times it means phone numbers tucked in his jacket pocket, pretty ladies that have seen something in him. Hyunseung’s reaction is always better then, curling into him and wanting to prank-call the women, and Kikwang will only laugh and tell him he needs to grow up.
It gets lonely more often than not, even with all the voices that laugh with him during his lunch hour. He looks at his cell phone during every break, waiting for a call that he knows will never come. Hyunseung doesn’t call while he’s at work, says it might raise suspicions, and he would rather not cause trouble over something so trivial.
Still, though, Kikwang wishes they could both throw caution to the wind and not have to care about what others might think.
He would like for Hyunseung to show up to his office one day, windswept hair and flushed face, because he ran the entire distance between their apartment and Kikwang’s workplace. He’d be holding Kikwang’s forgotten lunch in his hands and scolding him for not remembering to get it before leaving that morning. Kikwang would be sheepish, glance down at the floor, and Hyunseung would sigh then, or maybe he’d hit Kikwang for making him miss his favorite dramas.
Or, maybe during a particularly stressful day, full of impending deadlines and uncooperative coworkers, Kikwang would sneak away from his office and into the unisex bathrooms. He would call Hyunseung, wait three rings before there would be an answer. Hyunseung’s voice would be thick with sleep and slight annoyance at having been disturbed at such an ungodly hour. But Kikwang would lower his tone, slip into any unoccupied stall, and ask him in his most gravelly voice, “what are you wearing?” And Hyunseung might laugh then or complain about how Kikwang should be doing something productive. Kikwang would like to think he’d respond, maybe play along, but in all actuality, Hyunseung would most likely hang up on him.
The thoughts keep him entertained, though, when there is nothing of interest going on. Most days are boring and slow, and Kikwang has taken to rearranging the paper weights on his desk that is empty of anything personal. Nothing to tell a human takes up this space; no cards, no decorations, not even pictures of his family or friends. Just papers to be signed, pens with the company’s logo, and a calendar to let him know of important deadlines.
It’s a normal workday with a normal routine.
Everything falls into place like clockwork, and Kikwang still leaves three minutes before five so he can catch the bus ride to their apartment. He’ll make an extra stop to buy them dinner if Hyunseung hasn’t sent him a text saying he’s cooking otherwise, one filled with emoticons that make Kikwang smile. Sometimes, if he’s had a better-than-usual day, he’ll make that extra stop and purchase the flavor of ice cream Hyunseung likes the most.
They’ll greet each other when Kikwang toes of his shoes at the doorway; have dinner on their make-shift table of leftover cardboard boxes; watch any movie playing at the time; ignore said movie in favor of each other. They’ll fall asleep side-by-side, on the floor or on the bed, and the rest of the world will be none-the-wiser.
Kikwang’s not pleased with the situation-his musings make for a much better reality-but it’s enough for him to simply have the moments shared with Hyunseung for now.
Weekends usually mean them together, at least during the morning hours or until Hyunseung gets ready for the studio on the off chance he actually goes.
A nudge against his cheek, and, “Good morning, sleepyhead.”
He looks up from his spot on Hyunseung’s bicep to see sleepy eyes staring intently at his forehead. Kikwang grins, warm and comfortable, as he tries to become one with Hyunseung’s side. He can feel Hyunseung relax further into the pillows and the sheets that are slipping off the bed on one side.
“We should probably get up,” Kikwang whispers, but there’s no intention of moving at the moment. Hyunseung knows that much, he’s certain. It explains why neither move from their respective places on the tiny bed.
“Maybe,” a yawn, then: “we’re supposed to have dinner with the new neighbors or something, remember?” Kikwang closes his eyes, thinking, maybe the day can be spent like this if he does. Hyunseung groggily mumbles, “Do we have to?”
He feels Hyunseung move, and he makes this breathy noise that Kikwang thinks is similar to a laugh. Kikwang wants to shift closer to the sound.
“We should try to make a good impression,” Kikwang says, though, and he can feel the ends of his fingers against his side, willing him to move so that Hyunseung can have his arm back.
“Your head is full of lead.” He makes a move to flex, and his elbow pops. “My arm is numb.”
“Be careful, old man.” Kikwang smiles up at Hyunseung, propped up on his elbows with his chin resting on Hyunseung’s knee.
Hyunseung frowns at him, pokes his forehead. “You’re one to talk. At least I’ve still got my looks-and my hair.”
Kikwang knows it’s meant to be taken lightly, but he cannot help but to feel self-conscious about it. He touches his hair lightly, one of his many insecurities, and knows there are probably a few lighter hairs mixed in with the black. He looks down to the rumpled sheets and tries not to think too hard about it when he feels another hand resting atop his head.
“Hey,” Hyunseung says in that one special gentle voice he rarely uses. It’s borderline affectionate, and he’s thumbing down the side of Kikwang’s face. “I know you’re stressed. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
But he had still meant it, Kikwang knows, because they’ve never said anything to each other that wasn’t meant. In college they had promised each other one-hundred-percent honesty. That thought alone is enough to keep his worries from completely vanishing, but the look Hyunseung sends him along with the tiny smile on his face has him relaxing again.
“Come here,” Hyunseung says and Kikwang goes willingly; he always does. He wraps his arms around Kikwang’s waist, cheek to his shoulder, and rubs what he thinks are soothing circles against Kikwang’s back. Sometimes, he digs the heel of his hand into his spine, painfully hard, but Kikwang doesn’t say anything about that.
“I don’t care how old we get, or if you lose your teeth tomorrow,” at which point he pauses, and Kikwang stifles his laughter by biting into the cotton material of Hyunseung’s t-shirt, “We’re in this together, and you said you’re happy and you wouldn’t change anything. Well,” he coughs because this is getting too sappy for him, but Kikwang’s not going to stop him and he doesn’t want him to stop. He needs this, that much he is sure of, and he knows Hyunseung does, too.
“Just so you know,” he says lightly, hands still on Kikwang’s back and breathing even, “I wouldn’t either.”
“If they were actually our neighbors,” Hyunseung says, “then they’d at least live on the same floor as us, right?”
Kikwang laughs, but doesn’t answer. Hyunseung catches up with him in a matter of steps, still grumbling under his breath because he didn’t know there’d be stairs involved and the elevator takes too much time to go from floor-to-floor. Kikwang tries to appease him best he can, walking as close to him as possible and borrowing his warmth. Their hands bump along the knuckles, and sometimes Kikwang catches himself twining their fingers together. No one is around, so he doesn’t pull away from the hold and he knows Hyunseung doesn’t mind anyway.
“I’m trying to make conversation, and you’re not helping,” Hyunseung says as they walk slowly. Hyunseung’s steps are more fluid, purposeful; long, easy strides that shame Kikwang’s heavy footfalls and lack of grace. But they keep to the same foot, so they match in some sense of the word, and they never outpace one another. “Being the strong, silent type was my role, you know.”
“Really?” Kikwang cants his head to the side, just a brush away from Hyunseung’s shoulder. “I thought your job in the relationship was to stare at people until they were uncomfortable and forced to look at someone else?”
Hyunseung makes it a point to glance over at Kikwang, unblinking, and Kikwang bites his bottom lip to keep from smiling. “That too.”
“They’re going to think we lost our way.”
“Or had better things to do.” Kikwang pinches him for that comment. “It’s the weekend. Normal people don’t mope about their house all day.”
“You do it all the time.” Kikwang is pinched in return for saying this, but it’s only half-hearted. Kikwang laughs as they approach the stairwell. They’re already late for the dinner date anyway.
Hyunseung scoffs, loosens his grip on Kikwang’s hand, and takes the first step up. “I do not mope. I brood. You think it’s sexy.”
The way he says it reminds Kikwang of a time years ago, and how they were just boys then. The feeling is warm, familiar. Hyunseung takes the steps two at a time with Kikwang trailing behind, and the view is something Kikwang can appreciate even if he misses the feeling of Hyunseung by his side, hand in his. Kikwang grips the guard rail instead, cold where Hyunseung’s palm had been warm, and takes the last steps in stride.
The neighbors turn out to be much better than expected.
Yoon Doojoon works at a law firm in the heart of the city. He says it’s not much; he’s not really an important part of the system as a whole, but he finds the job interesting and the pay is steady. His wife, Jieun, takes care of the apartment while he’s away and she doesn’t mind having to give up a lot of her freedoms to make sure there is food for dinner and someone to watch the baby.
“Being a housewife is as good a hobby as any,” she had said with a smile when asked about it.
Kikwang tunes them out when they go into detail about how they met and their marriage. He doesn’t mean to, but the blue bundle in Jieun’s arms steals most of his attention. His mind could never stick to one topic for long and he was easily distracted. Hyunseung had always teased him about that. But the baby is tiny, her fists curling up and clenching in her mother’s sweater, and he can see the barest hint of a pink nose peeking out from behind the blankets. His heart swells, and he can feel the telltale signs that something is missing in his life.
Kikwang looks away, trying to focus on the conversation again, but Hyunseung seems to have noticed that his mind had been wandering. He offers Jieun a small, sheepish smile when her curious brown eyes glance at him because he cannot bring himself to acknowledge the life he had given up. So, he looks back to Doojoon, who continues his story with grand hand gestures and the occasional jokes, and provides as much interest as he can.
Hyunseung shifts at his side, disrupting Doojoon’s speech, as he waves his hand in the baby’s direction. “What’s her name?” Kikwang quickly glances to him, wondering if he also feels it when he sees the girl in her mother’s arms.
“Eunmi,” Jieun answers with this peculiar expression on her face, as if she knows what Kikwang really wants; he shrinks back into the sofa.
She stands from her place on the chair opposite them, walks until she is in front of Kikwang, where she bends and offers to let him hold Eunmi. “Mind her head,” is all she says as she situates his arms; and, he doesn’t know exactly what’s come over him, but he’s cooing at her and he knows his eyes are probably adoring.
Hyunseung leans into his side then, mouth against the back of Kikwang’s shoulder, and he slips one arm around his body just to touch one of the small hands waving about. Eunmi offers him a spit bubble for his trouble, and it feels like she’s theirs. The thought comes naturally to Kikwang, turning his head just slightly to better glance down at the top of Hyunseung’s dark hair. He wouldn’t mind sharing this-a real family with pets and children and love-with Hyunseung.
Doojoon clears his throat somewhere in his peripheral, sending them a suspicious look, and Kikwang becomes consciously aware of how he and Hyunseung must look at that moment. Domestic, together, in a relationship. Kikwang gives Eunmi back to her mother with a bowed head.
“Where did you two meet?” There’s no particular emotion on his face, and that worries Kikwang.
“College,” Kikwang answers at around the same time Hyunseung says, “Bathroom.” Kikwang bristles; Hyunseung seems to ignore this and corrects them both, “College bathroom.”
Doojoon’s eyes widen, shock evident in that action alone, but there is no disgust when he gets over their place of meeting. Kikwang knows how it must sound, a casual hook-up while other classes were going on, but that wasn’t exactly how it had happened. His pant’s zipper had managed to get stuck, and, embarrassed, he asked the only other person around to help him. Thankfully, Hyunseung didn’t mind, and within a span of a few awkward seconds, all was well again. After that, they just kind of gravitated toward one another, bonding over their time at the gym and health drinks, until they became what they are now.
And he would very much like to not think about the gift Hyunseung had given him for their one year anniversary. “These pants only have buttons, so we don’t have to worry about a zipper getting stuck. Especially during sex,” he had whispered at the time, his own face flushed.
But Doojoon only laughs at them, shaking his head, and Kikwang begins to relax when neither he nor Jieun attempts to throw them out. They have dinner together, all of them, and Jieun lets Kikwang hold Eunmi again while she cleans up. Doojoon tells him they’re welcome anytime, he’s enjoyed having someone else around, and, then, whispers to Kikwang, “keep your chin up.”
Kikwang’s not too accustomed to acceptance, but it’s a nice feeling. And he likes being able to cuddle up to Hyunseung without having to worry about what the other people in a room might think. The elated feeling carries him through that night, pinning Hyunseung down on their bed and wrestling for a few moments until their breathing calms.
Sunday finds them walking around downtown with one another. They pass by multiple shops and people that don’t really look at them, until they reach a store advertising baby clothes and carriers. Hyunseung dawdles when Kikwang sighs and continues to walk away.
“I want one,” is all he says, and Kikwang turns slowly to see what he’s referring to. But Hyunseung’s more of the cryptic sort, so Kikwang knows he probably won’t ever guess correctly.
He tries anyway, coming to stand at his side. “A bassinette? I don’t think you’ll fit.” He holds his hands out in front of him, outlining the shape between their bodies, before looking back at Hyunseung.
“No,” he answers, eyes faraway and voice light. Kikwang takes the time to admire their reflections in the glass window; they look nice together, hands barely grazing at their side, and the scarf Kikwang bought him for his birthday wound around Hyunseung’s neck. Kikwang adjusts his beanie, pulling so that it covers his ears completely, mindful of his glasses. That is when Hyunseung starts speaking again.
“I want a baby.”
Kikwang feels his heart pound and knows it’s somewhere in his throat right now. He swallows, trying to form some coherent response, but all he can manage is a hoarse, “Really? A baby?”
“Yeah,” is all he says back, taking Kikwang’s hand in one of his moments of affection, and tugs him away from the store, physically.
But, mentally, he’s still at that store, except they’re not reflections rather inside with the bassinette before them. And there’s a little boy or girl, quite like Eunmi, reaching up to them with tiny, welcoming fingers.
He wants that, too.
Hyunseung checks the mail every morning while Kikwang readies himself for work.
There is usually nothing worth going down there for: advertisements of some sort; Hyunseung’s magazines; bills that need to be paid; cards from Geurim or Hyekwang, usually cute and pointless; surveys about the effectiveness of some product they’ve never even heard of; junk mail. But Hyunseung says he needs the exercise and the time away from Kikwang, so there are never any protests. They live like this, peacefully tucked into their corner of the apartment complex, and he’s usually back by the time Kikwang’s toweling his hair dry.
“You look like you tried to drown yourself in the shower,” Hyunseung says.
He places the mail on the kitchen table and turns to rummage through the refrigerator. Kikwang throws his damp towel at Hyunseung’s face in response.
The mail is no different than usual, but there’s a scrap of paper with hateful, red letters glaring up at him from the stack. Beneath it are pamphlets about “finding your way back to the path of God” and the usual threatening letters from not-so-nice neighbors on how “faggots have no place in the world”. Kikwang stares a little harder because his eyes are blurring it all together.
He should be used to it now, the burning in the back of his throat and the clench in his chest. Mail like this is commonplace, and Hyunseung never even bats an eye at it. Sometimes Kikwang sits and wonders how Hyunseung can just push aside the hatred so easily. He doesn’t understand how he can act as if it’s all right, take the comments and the jeers, and still curl into Kikwang every night with something like a smile on his face. It takes strength, and Kikwang isn’t so sure he has that-if he ever has had any strength to begin with.
“Hey.” He feels Hyunseung press against his back, sharp hipbone to his side. “I told you to ignore those.” He reaches around and removes them all from the stack, and then he rips the letters one by one and throws the pieces away. “We’ve already been through this and…”
When Hyunseung trails off, he is looking at Kikwang’s face, searching. Kikwang wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. Then, Kikwang grins.
“I’m okay,” he says, still smiling, and goes to sift through the rest of the mail, throwing out what is pointless. “I think my contacts are drying out.”
“Kikwang.”
“I need to get ready.” He fumbles back to their room and goes through the closet, shifting through his clothes mixed with Hyunseung’s. The pants have long creases down the legs, but Kikwang’s sure they’ll go away after he wears into them. Hyunseung is lingering in the doorway, just staring at him with that calculating expression of his, and Kikwang doesn’t have the time or will to sit down and talk things out. “Have you seen my tie? The blue one?”
Hyunseung’s brows furrow, annoyed. Kikwang finds his tie hanging on the bedside lamp.
“Kikwang, I think-”
He follows him out into the foyer, where Kikwang struggles to slip his feet into the scuffed dress shoes. Hyunseung in his sweatpants and wifebeater, looking every bit the man all the girls adored in college. Kikwang had wanted him then, and he still wants him now.
“I’ll see you tonight,” Kikwang presses on, needing to assure Hyunseung that he’ll be more willing to talk later and he’ll be fine for now. He reaches over and pulls Hyunseung to him, nose to collarbone.
When he loosens his hold and goes to open the door, Hyunseung is shaking his head but his eyes are still questioning. “Why do I live with you, again?” He crosses his arms over his chest, sighs all long-suffering and very much the put-upon spouse, and says, “Tonight, ok.”
“Tonight.”
An hour before his lunch break, Hyunseung calls his office phone line.
He considers not answering because he still isn’t sure as to what he should say about earlier, but he knows Hyunseung wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. He never calls him at work, though, and the thought has him reaching across his desk and speaking into the receiver before he can think anything more of it.
“You turned your phone off.” He can hear the frown in Hyunseung’s words along with the thumping sound of bass in the background.
“Are you at the studio?”
Hyunseung says something, muffled, most likely directed to someone else in the room. Then, he hears him again. “Yeah.” The background noise is still booming, persistently so, and he can barely make out Hyunseung saying, “I’ll be working late today, so come by the studio after work.”
Kikwang settles the phone between his ear and shoulder, accepting the stack of papers another employee hands to him. He smiles in thanks then resumes the conversation with Hyunseung when the man leaves his desk.
“Is that all?”
“You’re kind of a jerk on the phone, you know.”
Kikwang grins, tapping his pen to an irregular beat against the papers that he still needs to look through. “Hyunseungie-”
“Mom and Geurim are coming by sometime after we’re off work,” he says, voice quiet, slow.
The music in the background is just soft noise now, and Kikwang can imagine Hyunseung molding himself into a corner somewhere in the room, finger pressed to one ear just to block out everything else. Hyunseung with his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead and temples, shirt probably discarded somewhere, and body warm from exertion. Kikwang drops his pen.
He hears Hyunseung say, “yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a second, Junhyung,” and knows it’s time for him to get back to work as well. He understands why he and Hyunseung have never called one another while they were at work before.
“You should probably go…”
“Wait!” And Kikwang stalls then, body hunched into his desk. Hyunseung’s voice drops even lower, uncertain. “See if your parents can drop by the apartment sometime. Maybe tonight?”
Kikwang shifts in his chair, suddenly uncomfortable, and he digs the fingers of his left hand into his temple. He exhales, then, smiles again so Hyunseung won’t worry anymore, even if he cannot see it. “Sure, I’ll call them during my break.”
“Remember to come by. We’ll go home together.” There’s a pause. “I, yeah. Bye.”
He tries to focus on work, but the papers seem uninteresting, all black lines on white pages and no gray area between. And when all the other workers head out for their lunch break, Kikwang holds the phone in one hand and tries to list all the pros and cons of inviting his parents over. Somehow, he knows the cons far outweigh the pros, and the fact scares him more than he ever could have thought possible.
The other line rings three times before a female voice answers. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mom,” he greets in his smallest voice.
Her tone seems to change suddenly, and it’s almost unnoticeable. But Kikwang knows better than that; he can hear the rigidity of her words. She’s so falsely sincere it hurts.
“Hello, Kikwang,” she speaks politely, a voice she’d use with a stranger, not her son. “How are you?”
He swallows. “I’m fine.” Then, he tries to press on, “Hyunseung and I-”
“Your father has a coworker with a beautiful daughter.” Her tone lowers, just from the mere mention of Hyunseung. “She’s well-mannered, polite, and comes from a very good family.”
“That’s great,” he replies weakly, clicking his pen with his thumb. “I’m sure Hyekwang would like to meet her.”
“She’s around your age, I think,” she says, some sort of steel in her voice then. He realizes what she is really saying; she isn’t exactly subtle.
Kikwang knows what she is trying to do. His parents have been like this since he came out to them about Hyunseung after he finished college. He doesn’t blame them for harboring ill thoughts about him. He’s sure they wanted more from him, expected more of him.
“Oh,” he says unintelligently. He should be stronger than this; he wishes he was stronger than this. He should be able to say no, for his and Hyunseung’s sake. “Mom, I’m not. I don’t want.” He clears his throat and ignores her attempts of trying to steer him back onto the right path. “Hyunseung and I wanted to invite you and Dad over for dinner tonight. You haven’t seen the apartment yet, and…” His voice gets lighter the more his resolve weakens.
“I’m sorry,” she says but she’s not; she never is, “but you know your father is still struggling with the side effects from his back surgery.”
“He had that surgery two years ago,” he reasons with her, but she isn’t listening.
“I’m sorry, Kikwang.” He bites his bottom lip. “Maybe some other time.” He thinks she’ll hang up then, leave everything as it is, but she continues, “Come home sometime so your father can set up a meeting with his coworker’s daughter.”
He doesn’t say goodbye and doesn’t hang up either. He waits the long minute until all he hears is the steady beeping of the dial tone, and then he sinks his head into his hands. The hand positioning on the clock at the end of the hall signifies that the end of the break is nearing.
Kikwang throws his lunch away. He isn’t hungry anyway.
Hyunseung is waiting for him outside the apartment when he arrives later.
His hands are in his pockets, shoulders hunched as if he is trying to preserve his body heat, and just the bottoms of his ears and bangs stick out from under his black beanie. The temperature has dropped since noon, their breaths come out in little white puffs before them, and Kikwang has never been fond of the mid-winter season.
Hyunseung’s eyes are appraising when they land on him, taking in his loosened tie and the wrinkles in his white shirt. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, but he does take his hands from the deep pockets of his pants to remove Kikwang’s tie.
Kikwang startles, says, “You don’t have to do that.” Then, he ducks his head, nervous and embarrassed, and he feels the chill of Hyunseung’s fingers brush over his throat with every movement.
He looks cold, and Kikwang knows he didn’t think about the weather outside when he left the apartment that day. He still has on his dark gray sweatpants and a loose white sweater with too-long sleeves. Kikwang wonders how long Hyunseung has been standing outside their apartment door, waiting. Hyunseung smoothes his hands down the length of Kikwang’s arms, disturbing his thoughts, and then he has this small grin on his face.
“My nose is cold,” Hyunseung says by way of telling Kikwang he’s arrived late. Kikwang would have preferred him to have told him as much because he knew he was much, much too late.
“You should have stayed inside then.”
Hyunseung fiddles with the wristwatch he wears, contemplative. “Maybe.” He pulls at the fabric covering Kikwang’s chest. “Mom and Geurim are already here.” He walks with him to the entryway of their apartment, continuing, “I take it your parents aren’t coming.”
Kikwang tries to laugh it off, watching as Hyunseung unlocks the door, and catches himself making excuses for his parents. “Dad’s back is causing him trouble again. Maybe some other night.” Hyunseung believes that as much as Kikwang does, he knows, but doesn’t press the issue.
Hyunseung hums in some sort of acknowledgment, staring at a point on the wall as he pushes through the doorway, and places his shoes neatly by the others nearby. Kikwang follows suit, leaving his dress shoes in a pile on Hyunseung’s, and greets Hyunseung’s family.
Kikwang doesn’t like having to hold himself back whenever they’re around, afraid he’ll come to expect his own parents and brother to be as accepting. Hyunseung knows the issue is sensitive, and Kikwang thinks that he must have told Geurim and his mother some time earlier in their relationship. They never mention their missing presence or the many cancelled dates between the two families.
They try to make it up to him as best as they can, and Kikwang appreciates the effort. He likes sinking into Geurim’s side while Hyunseung’s mother shares stories of when she was younger; stealing food from Hyunseung’s plate and receiving a playful shove afterwards; Hyunseung’s mother trying to embarrass Hyunseung who is usually never affected by her exaggerated tales of him as a child; Geurim teasing him about his sex life, that familiar flush from his toes to his cheeks.
He likes the warmth of their bodies against his when it's time for them to leave. “I put the leftovers in the fridge for tomorrow,” Geurim says, winding her scarf around her neck, and then she takes another moment to kiss him on the cheek.
Hyunseung is still speaking with his mom, slightly bent into her, and Kikwang can hear him say, “Yes, Mom, we’ll be fine,” and, “Get home safely.”
And when they're gone, Hyunseung tugs him inside their bedroom. He's mostly quiet, except for the sounds he makes as he slips off his outer clothes and settles himself in bed. But he doesn’t pull the sheets and bedspread over him, waiting for Kikwang to join him.
“I’m sorry,” Kikwang says, breaking the silence.
Hyunseung's eyes aren't on him, but Kikwang prefers it that way. “What for?” he asks, though, and pats the open space beside him for Kikwang to crawl in.
“We didn’t get to walk home together.” Kikwang curls into his body heat, brushing his bare toes against the arch of Hyunseung’s foot.
He has his eyes closed, but he knows Hyunseung is staring at him as he feels him hover over him; fingers on his cheek; breath on his forehead. But he doesn’t seem to think too much of Kikwang’s absence earlier.
“Work is work, and you’re busy,” is the only thing Hyunseung tells him, nonchalant, as he scratches his nails down Kikwang’s jaw. Kikwang turns his face away, eyes no longer shut. Hyunseung sighs, rests one hand down beside Kikwang’s head, and positions his body so that he looms over Kikwang more fully. “I want to take you somewhere. Tomorrow.”
“You know I have work tomorrow.” Kikwang pokes Hyunseung in the chest. “And you do, too.”
“Junhyung’s covering for me.” He shrugs. “Call in sick.” Hyunseung uses his free hand to tilt Kikwang's face to his, saying, “This is important.” It’s as close to begging as Hyunseung will ever get, Kikwang knows; he also knows that Hyunseung won't let this go either.
Kikwang nods and rolls them both over, and Hyunseung goes with a frown on his face but willing. Kikwang takes him in, all of him: the shadows under his eyes and nose, the tilt of his mouth, jaw line, pronounced Adam’s apple, collarbone, the rise and fall of his chest.
Hyunseung groans, impatient. “And you say I have a staring problem,” he hears him grumble. Hyunseung curls his fingers around the hemline of Kikwang’s shirt, the ends of his nails scratching along the dark hairs at his navel and the skin around it. “Hurry up and strip.”
Kikwang buries his face against the side of Hyunseung’s neck, laughing quietly. “I think patience is one of the virtues,” he says, amused, content for the moment to just lay there and breathe.
Hyunseung shifts against him, nudging at Kikwang’s hips with his knees and pressing cold toes to his calves. His hair is dark, falling on his forehead messily, and his eyes are even darker as he draws Kikwang closer. And Kikwang has never known anyone this perfect, dipping his face down to press tiny, teasing kisses to pouting lips.
He lets his arms fold, forearms relaxing onto Hyunseung’s shoulders and fingers tangling in the hairs around his ear, as he moves forward. Uncomfortable, maybe, but intimate; Hyunseung doesn’t complain, but encourages as he strains his neck to meet Kikwang somewhere halfway. Kikwang sinks his hips down to roll against Hyunseung’s as an act of apology for going so slow, and Hyunseung accepts it by stretching his legs out further.
“Patience,” Hyunseung whispers, voice hoarse and fingers insistent at the elastic waistband of Kikwang’s pajama pants.
He seems to lose his trail of thought, more focused on the reactions he gets from Kikwang, but Kikwang’s mind is too hazy to really comprehend much more than how good Hyunseung’s hands feel on him, cold and light and all too amazing. He pulls his shirt off, noting the way Hyunseung’s eyes follow the path upward until the shirt is somewhere in the floor and no longer in his way. Hyunseung jerks his head down again, hand rough and heavy in his hair, and kisses him then. And when they part, he must have remembered what he’d been trying to say earlier.
Hyunseung’s bottom lip brushes against the area just below his own, and says, “Patience applies everywhere but the bedroom.”
“Hyunseungie?”
A gurgle of acknowledgement comes from his left, the arm across his chest heavy but comforting along with the leg tucked between his. Kikwang turns over on the bed, letting the arm over him curl around his ribs, and bends his arms between their bodies. Hyunseung is blinking at him sleepily, Kikwang’s fingers on his lips, tracing there and over to his cheeks.
“I love you.”
Hyunseung smiles and closes his eyes for a while before opening them again, answering, “Me, too.”
His eyes remain shut afterwards, leaving Kikwang to his thoughts and the dark of their room. He dwells too long on the conversation with his mother, wondering if he’s a bad person, a bad son. He remembers the first and last time she’d ever called their home phone, while he was helping Hyunseung move his things from storage to his apartment after Hyunseung’s time in the military had been served. She’d been furious at the time, demanding to know where she went wrong raising him and how he had the nerve to do something so immoral. And Hyunseung’s eyes that day. He had looked so tired, so sad, and Kikwang had promised himself that he’d never have to see such an expression in those eyes again.
Kikwang pulls the blankets over their bodies, until all that’s left uncovered is their ears, eyes, and hair. As if by doing so he can protect them from everyone wanting to hurt them.
“Hyunseungie.”
“What, Kikwang?”
“I don’t regret this,” he pauses, “being with you, I mean.”
He hears him laugh, kind of breathless and mostly tired. “I’m glad. It’d have been a waste of nearly a decade of our lives if you were to start.” His arm tightens around him, though, obviously understanding.
“And Hyunseungie?”
“What now, Kikwang?” he takes notice of the obvious annoyance in that voice, but also the fondness of the way he says his name.
Kikwang smiles. “I really do love you.”
“Mm,” Hyunseung mumbles, moving his body a touch closer and his hand to Kikwang’s damp hair. He runs the side of his thumb along the curve of Kikwang’s ear, grins a bit drowsily at the shivers it causes, and says, “I love you, too, idiot. Now go to sleep.”
The sun is shining the next day, peeling apart otherwise dark skies and the pollution in the air. Kikwang feels good, better than he has in a long time despite the aches in his body.
“Where are we going?”
Hyunseung’s gaze shifts to him briefly, considering. “Somewhere special.” Then, he makes a noise and tugs harder on the hostage shirt sleeve in his grip.
Kikwang leaves it at that, smiling alongside Hyunseung once he matches their paces.
The streets are not too busy this early in the morning, girls with linked arms cutting class for the day and people in suits talking on their cell-phones. Hyunseung drags him by the sleeve of his shirt through the many people around, and they receive no looks of disgust from any passerby. They don’t care because they don’t know; all they see are two male friends enjoying the first day of nice weather this winter. And Kikwang’s content with just this much.
Hyunseung snaps him out of his thoughts by stopping. And the easy smile from just seconds before drops from his face.
“Hyunseungie. I-”
Hyunseung interrupts him, and he’s glad for that because he really doesn’t know what he wants to say to this anyway.
“I know we haven’t talked about it,” Hyunseung starts, uncertain in his own way. He fiddles with his phone, not really looking at it but squeezing it in his left hand every so often. “But I wanted to show you that I was serious.”
“You want to… adopt?”
“Mm.” Hyunseung’s eyes drop to their joined hands; his is sweaty, but so is Kikwang’s. “It’s been six years now, so.” He rubs the top of his head with his left hand, phone still in his grasp, obviously frustrated at not knowing how to explain himself. “It’s not like there’s anyone else out there that I’d be willing to do this with.” His gaze trails up, and Kikwang meets Hyunseung’s very determined eyes with his own. “Just you.”
Kikwang glances away quickly after that, the chill of the morning or the weight of Hyunseung’s statement sending a rush of tingles up his arms. He looks to the adoption agency just ahead of where they stand in a less populous area on the sidewalk, from the happy welcome sign to the characters on the name-marker. Small children inside-children that could be theirs if they wanted it enough, tried hard enough.
He tightens his grip on Hyunseung’s hand. He hopes that that is an answer enough.
“I’m sorry,” the lady behind the desk at the agency says. She glances up briefly before going back to organizing paperwork, an odd sort of habit, Kikwang guesses, when she is trying to ward off any unwanted visitors. “You do not meet the criteria to adopt, being what you are-”
“‘Being what you are’?” Hyunseung cuts in flintily, stepping closer to the desk. Kikwang reaches for his hand, words a whisper, as he tries to appease him, “don’t, please, Hyunseung,” but Hyunseung ignores him as he is likely to do at times. “What the hell does that even mean?”
The lady, if anything, straightens even more in his her chair, eyes narrowed on his face in some sort of challenge. But she doesn’t drop her professionalism, Kikwang notices, even in the face of an aggravated man.
“Single men do not meet the requirements set by the country.”
She turns to her computer, conversation seemingly over, but Hyunseung doesn’t seem to consider the warning signs. She spares him one last glance, and Kikwang can see that her eyes focus solely on the way their bodies lean into one another. He knows she isn’t a fool, the signs are telling of what they are, but she’s staying tight-lipped about the matter. She tips her head, her short bobbed hairstyle slanting with the movement.
After her assessment, she waves them away, saying, “You are free to leave. Have a nice day.”
Kikwang circles his fingers around Hyunseung’s wrist, tugging gently. Then, he bows to the woman, thanking her for her time and apologizing for Hyunseung. Hyunseung remains stiff by his side, all the way to the bus station, and even then he keeps his distance, eyes always somewhere else.
Dinner is slow, tense. Hyunseung still seems to look through him, and their conversations are composed of the movie playing on their TV and the clanking of their utensils on bowls. Kikwang tries to smile at him, laugh about something that had happened in the office earlier that week, tell him about the new guy in his department, Son Dongwoon, and how nice he is despite being less experienced in the job. And Hyunseung nods, sometimes even smiling into his plate, albeit barely-there and gone in the next second.
It’s like living alone, Kikwang finds, and it’s a terrifying thought. To know that Hyunseung is just a touch away from him physically, but so far away in every other way imaginable. But he hears Hyunseung shuffle about, speaking so quietly to his mom on the phone, and it eases some of his worries away. Hyunseung still kisses his temple while Kikwang washes the mismatched dishes they own.
He understands, though; he closes himself off whenever something doesn’t go right for him, for them. Hyunseung is scared and upset. But Kikwang is, too.
It carries well into their nightly rituals.
Hyunseung showers quietly, ignoring Kikwang’s offer to help wash his back and hair, and doesn’t sing like he usually does. Kikwang would like to break the silence, and he opens his mouth a few times to do so, but nothing seems to make it past his lips. And Hyunseung doesn’t look like he wants to talk, not yet anyway.
“Sleep well, Hyunseungie,” he whispers when he pulls the covers over his body later. And the answering grunt feels like a kick in the gut.
“Kikwang.” He feels a hand grip the knob of his shoulder, shaking him gently. After the shakes grow in intensity, nearly to where he falls off his side of the bed, he hears Hyunseung again. “Kikwang, wake up.”
“Mm-wha?”
Hyunseung sighs, somewhere kind of distant from his dream world, but then a weight settles across his chest. He blinks slowly, wondering what’s wrong and why Hyunseung is waking him up so early. He glances to the alarm clock in assurance that they both hadn’t overslept; he can’t miss work twice in one week.
“What’s wrong?” he asks in his best not-asleep voice. He rolls over, away from the extra body heat to his side, and snuggles deeper into the covers gathered at his chin. It doesn’t bring as much comfort, but he’ll manage.
Hyunseung doesn’t speak for a long time, so Kikwang brushes it off as sleep-talking. Sometimes Hyunseung does that when stressed, Kikwang finds, and he reaches behind him to pat blindly at Hyunseung’s body.
“Yesterday didn’t go as planned,” Hyunseung says into his neck. The movement sends a tingle to his toes that has them curling almost on reflex; a familiar, pleasant rush, and Kikwang relaxes further into Hyunseung’s chest. “Not that I thought this would be easy.” Hyunseung exhales, one arm flopping onto his hip, not gripping but there. “We’ll try again, alright?”
Hyunseung nudges the backs of his calves with his toes, bending his knees just so, and Kikwang wants to make a comment about them being big spoon, little spoon. He even opens his mouth to do so, but Hyunseung is still and Kikwang is too tired to pretend right now. Maybe some other night.
Next time is met with another failure. As is the next, as is the next, as is the next, until Kikwang’s not sure why they’re even trying anymore.
“You are without work,” says the latest agent.
Hyunseung stands rigid at his side. “I have a job as a dance instructor-” he protests.
“Part-time.” The woman sets their file aside, all the long moments of paperwork and their honesty tossed aside so easily. She clasps her hands together in front of her, beady eyes peering at them through wire-framed glasses, and leans closer to them. “Do you understand how much effort and money it takes to raise a child? Let alone a baby?”
“Yes, but-”
“I’m sorry, but I must reject you.”
And it goes like this well into the month. Hyunseung is aggravated more often than not, but he’s determined too in a way Kikwang’s never seen before, taking extra hours at the studio and circling job offers in the classifieds. Kikwang knows the clench in his chest is pride and hope, but he doesn’t let it swell too much. He’s not ready to take another hit again.
On Tuesday, slipped in between papers he needs to file away and information about his next project, there is a letter.
gays don’t deserve children rot in hell faggot
On Wednesday, Hyekwang calls his office line.
“Are you still living with the freeloader?” is the first thing he asks after they breeze through greetings and I-miss-you’s.
“Hyunseung isn’t,” Kikwang sighs, leans back in his chair, and decides better against wasting his time defending Hyunseung to his brother. His family doesn’t listen, and Hyunseung deserves much better than all this. “Did Mom tell you to call?”
“Not really,” Hyekwang says, maybe even shrugs for all the way he says the words. “I got a new place in the city and thought maybe you’d like to move in with me. Mom said it’d probably be better for you to get away from the negative energy or whatever it is that surrounds you where you are now.”
“I’m happy where I am now, but thank you.”
“Anytime.” He pauses, then, “Just remember that the offer still stands.”
“I will,” he says to the dial tone.
Thursday is his last day at work.
“You’re firing me?”
His boss just shakes his head, says, “Word got around about you… and your partner’s situation and.” He rubs his hand across his balding scalp. “This could be problematic to the other workers and for business in general.”
Kikwang bows, smiles politely. “I understand,” is what he tells the man automatically, even though he doesn’t really understand at all.
Hyunseung is telling him something later on, but Kikwang for once isn’t listening to him.
“Maybe we should stop trying.”
Hyunseung looks up at him, red marker stilling over the classifieds in the newspaper. “What do you mean,” he asks, voice pitched low as though he hopes he has misheard Kikwang.
“I read an article earlier today,” Kikwang says as best he can, smile trying to find a place on his lips and failing in the end. Hyunseung looks at him so expectantly, and this is breaking Kikwang to even say the words. “Gay adoption is considered child abuse.”
“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”
Kikwang glances to the clock on the wall, and he dully notes they have missed dinner. “I don’t know what I want to believe anymore.” He shrugs his shoulders, clears his throat to swallow back the feelings he cannot bring himself to admit to; feelings of anger, despair, mostly hopelessness.
This is when Hyunseung rises to his feet, letting the marker drop from his fingertips, and heads to the entryway.
“Where are you going?”
Hyunseung shuffles into his shoes, not even bothering to tug the back over his heels. “Out,” is what he says; then, he shakes his head, saying, “I can’t deal with this right now.”
Kikwang would have preferred if Hyunseung had told Kikwang he couldn’t deal with him right now instead.
Hyunseung doesn’t come home that night, and Kikwang doesn’t want to be alone.
“Mom, it’s me, Kikwang.” He knocks on the door harder this time, in time with the rain that falls outside. He waits a beat, pulls his jacket so it hugs his body tighter, and huddles in on himself. He raises his hand to knock again, and he knows they’re inside listening to his pleas. “Mom. Dad. Please, it’s Kikwang.”
There is still no response. He tries again, desperate.
“Please, open the door. I lost my job, fought with Hyunseung, and I don’t know where else to go.” He rests his forehead against the cool surface of the door, fists curled loosely to either side of his face. “I’m still your son. I’m still your Kikwang. Please.”
The response given to him this time is, “We don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry.”
A week goes by with no sign of Hyunseung, and Kikwang decides that if this stalemate will end, then he’s going to have to be the one to end it.
Doojoon barges through the door on the second day of Hyunseung being gone, frown on his face and hands on hips, questioning.
“Are you giving up? After trying so hard and for so long?”
Kikwang stacks the now-clean dishes in their respective places; they weren’t dirty to begin with, he just needed something to do. Doojoon exhales loudly from somewhere behind him, and he continues after a brief moment of silence.
“Do you think Hyunseung deserves this? From you of all people? Do you honestly believe you deserve this for yourself?”
Kikwang stills, then. “I-I don’t want.” He clears his throat and turns to Doojoon, suddenly feeling vulnerable-an emotion he’s never liked feeling around anyone, especially Hyunseung. “Every rejection-every time they told us no-”
Doojoon sighs, a sad sort of smile on his face, as he claps Kikwang on the shoulder almost brotherly. He looks into his eyes, then, encouraging in every way Kikwang’s real brother has never been. Kikwang looks down, smile wavering but there.
“It’s not about that,” he finally whispers, finding the strength to glance back to Doojoon. “I don’t like having to look at his face after every appointment,” and quieter, he says, “I’m not strong enough.”
“You’re not doing this alone, you know,” Doojoon says, bumping him a bit to the side in a playful manner. He tightens his hold on Kikwang’s bicep. “Hyunseung’s there with you, and more than anything, you need to be there for each other. Good and the bad.”
After Doojoon’s pep-talk and another day of holing himself in their apartment, he finally finds the courage to apologize. It’s not hard to find out where Hyunseung is currently at; if he’s not home, he’s at his mother’s, and she nearly cries when she hears his voice.
“He’s not mad at you,” is what Hyunseung’s mother says to reassure him, and even if Hyunseung was, he would have gotten over it by now.
Geurim says, “He’s too lazy to focus all his energy on being angry,” and then whispers, conspiratorially, “He’s been moping around the house playing whiny love songs since he’s been here.”
“It’s about damn time,” says Hyunseung, hoarse like Kikwang and too tired to fight any longer.
“I’m an idiot,” Kikwang mumbles later that night, curled up on his side of the bed with the phone on Hyunseung’s pillow. The receiver picks up Hyunseung’s laughing, and Kikwang smiles. “I’m sorry and I won’t do that again.” His voice drops, and even then, he knows Hyunseung can hear him. “I need you.”
“You are an idiot,” agrees Hyunseung. Then: “I guess I can live with that.”
It takes another week to pick up where they left off with their lives.
“Doojoon says they’re hiring where he works,” Kikwang says over a dinner consisting of rice and eggs. A poor man’s meal, Kikwang had joked when making it in their tiny kitchen, Hyunseung’s hip bumping against his. “It won’t be much, but it’ll pay bills for a while until I can find something better.”
Hyunseung reaches over, the pad of his thumb running along the underside of Kikwang’s bottom lip. “So messy,” he comments, frowning. Kikwang grins, sheepish at best, in turn. “That’s good. Yoseob, a coworker from the studio,”
“The one with the weird laugh?”
“Yeah, that one,” agrees Hyunseung, lips stretching wide over his teeth as he looks to Kikwang. “Well, he said there’s an opening as a secretary for a firm not too far from the studio.” Hyunseung pokes around in his bowl, mixing the egg and rice until they’re unrecognizable. “Apparently boasting about being a secretary for the fire department during my three year military term looks good on a resume.”
Kikwang barely registers the distinct clang his chopsticks make against the tiny bowl before him, his eyes wide with amazement and shock and hope. It’s still there, that feeling.
“It’s getting better,” Hyunseung nods to himself even as he says this, obviously agreeing with the feelings rising up Kikwang’s throat, as if he feels it too.
Kikwang swallows. The food is forgotten between them and probably cold by now. “No more hiding?”
“Not unless you want to,” Hyunseung says, resting his elbows on his knees.
Kikwang reaches for Hyunseung’s hand, smiling, “Not anymore, Hyunseungie.”
On Friday, Hyunseung receives the call from the firm.
He never really tells Kikwang what they said, but Kikwang can only guess to it being good news. Especially when he finds his back to their mattress and Hyunseung’s hands on his hips. He would have asked, but his mouth was busy at the time.
“Hyunseungie,”
Hyunseung grunts, but he rolls over anyway. “Huh?”
Kikwang grins, places his hand on Hyunseung’s neck, thumb brushing just below his ear. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Hyunseung works out through a yawn; he pokes at Kikwang’s chest, “but you really need to stop waiting until I’m asleep to tell me these things.”
They’re quiet a moment, and Kikwang relaxes against Hyunseung’s body. Hyunseung kisses the corner of his mouth. Kikwang can’t find it in him to tease him about missing because he knows Hyunseung will blame it on him being sleepy and it being dark in the room. But he does allow himself a small laugh, one that Hyunseung silences by kissing him this time.
“Kikwang.”
“Yeah?”
Hyunseung finds his hand under the covers. “Go to sleep.”
“Hyunseungie.”
There’s not an answer this time, just the rustle of sheets, but he knows Hyunseung is listening. He always is.
“I’m happy with you, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.”
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