Ⅰ，《Who, being loved, is poor?》

 

If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it. The entrance to the shop is down a side-street, between a boarded up hairdresser’s and a place that sells porridge in the mornings and seafood noodles in the evenings. There are two points to look out for. One is the sign above the wooden door, white with scrawled black hanja painted directly onto the concrete wall. (Sunggyu had been disappointed to learn that the hanja said nothing more interesting than ‘Old Lee’s Second Hand Bookshop’). The other is the wooden barrel outside – taller than an average 1^st grader and fatter than the eponymous Old Lee. It sits unassumingly a little way from the shop’s door and is filled with several hundred battered, dog-eared manhwa. The man who’s noble duty it is to roll out this barrel every morning is Kim Sunggyu. Sunggyu hasn’t had his porridge yet and would very much appreciate it if the world would leave him alone until he has. Unfortunately, the boy who works at the breakfast joint isn’t one for reading cues. Or he’s selected not to when it comes to Sunggyu. Everything’s possible. Sunggyu feels the boy’s eyes on him before he offers,

 

“Need some help? I’m not busy.”

 

“’s okay,” Sunggyu grunts.

 

“You sure? I guess you have got those wild arms, but I bet it’d be easier with two people.”

 

Sunggyu falters. The barrel very nearly rolls over his toes.

“I- I can manage. I’ve got a tech. Thanks though.”

 

“No problem.”

 

The boy goes back to stirring the various vats in front of him, however, Sunggyu’s pretty sure he’s still watching him wrestle with the manhwa barrel. (Only ‘pretty sure’ because it’s not as if he’s going to look up and risk catching the boy’s eyes). Job finally done, he scurries back inside the densely packed shop, cool compared to the muggy summer morning outside. He sidles in behind the counter and plops the bag containing his breakfast in front of him, in between the hefty, grey calculator and a small stack of sci-fi novels he needs to price. He pokes his biceps through his baggy cardigan a couple of times. Wild arms, hey? How ridiculous, he scoffs. He’ll accept the compliment anyway though, since it was offered. Sunggyu’s breakfast tastes especially good that morning.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

Business picks up as the morning progresses – in so far as their business ever “picks up”. At one point there were four separate people browsing the shelves and Sunggyu felt just a little overwhelmed. Myungsoo comes in around 10 o’clock. He’s a college student and the Younger Lee is very (excessively, in Sunggyu’s humble opinion) accommodating of his uni schedule. Myungsoo comes in at erratic hours – two hours one day, six the next, then nothing for a week. It’s always like that. Still, he’s a good kid, so Sunggyu enjoys his presence when he’s there and has given up pondering if he ought to be assigning him tasks or otherwise moulding him to this hectic business environment.

 

Today, after stashing his satchel in the closet that is their staffroom, Myungsoo set about cleaning the window. Cleaning it in a manner of speaking. That is to say, wiping one square centimetre of it over and over again and sighing at it a lot.

 

“Something up?” Sunggyu enquires from his stool behind the counter. He’s trying to decide the best way to index their soon to be inaugurated ‘Cutlery, history of’ section and the squeaking of Myungsoo’s cloth on the (surely spotlessly clean by now) glass is making it difficult for him.

 

“Hm? No… No, nothing’s up,” Myungsoo replies, punctuating his words with another sigh.

 

Sunggyu arches an eyebrow. He places the papers in his hands on the desk in a stack that looks neat but which is in fact 100% out of order, and turns to Myungsoo. The small amount of light able to reach their window glows on Myungsoo’s pale face and jet black hair. The thought comes that he looks like the second lead in a drama, who’s just begun to reconcile himself to giving up chasing the woman he loves. It’s a strange thought, but Sunggyu’s found ideas like that spring up a lot around Myungsoo.

 

“Sure?”

 

The student nods and resumes his wiping. Sunggyu counts the seconds in his head. When he’s reached seven, Myungsoo flaps his arms, throws the cloth on the windowsill and lets out the biggest sigh yet.

 

“It’s just… Hyung, how do you know when you’re in love?”

 

Eyes bulging, Sunggyu coughs, shuffling the papers for no particular reason. That’s a question he hadn’t been prepared for.

 

“Sorry. It’s only because Hyung’s been in love before, right?” Myungsoo’s mumbling now, talking into his shoulder, “I never have. So, I mean, what’s it like? If… If someone were in love, how would they know?”

 

Sunggyu has to strain to hear everything the student’s saying as he squirms bashfully on his perch. This is another thing about Myungsoo. He’s tall and chic with a mysterious aura and a face that belongs in fashion magazines. Conversely, the kid’s also innocent, bumbling and shy – and kind of an otaku. Sunggyu knew that already, but he still gets surprised sometimes. On the other hand, Sunggyu’s unathletic, with small eyes sitting above steamed-bun cheeks. (And with wild arms, supposedly, he reminds himself). He is a perennial inhabitor of the friendzone with most girls he knows. Whatever about Myungsoo’s real personality, the concept that this guy with the looks of an idol should be asking for his guidance is disconcerting to say the least.

 

“Well,” Sunggyu begins, “Well, your heart does stuff.”

When Myungsoo just watches him, apparently all ears, Sunggyu clears his throat and goes on. Who knows – if he talks long enough, he might even come up with something profound.

“Your guts do stuff too. And your head. They’re all doing stuff. And the thing about it is, that all the stuff that they’re doing is directly related to what you-”

 

The chimes above the door jangle as a new customer enters, saving Sunggyu from figuring out how to finish that sentence. Sunggyu notices Myungsoo pout and thinks it must be nice to have that much faith in Sunggyu’s advice-giving abilities. He should try having faith in his abilities himself more often.

Maybe.

Maybe sometimes.

 

“Excuse me.” The customer is standing in front of the counter. Sunggyu’s eyes travel up. He takes in the slim, muscular body, the tight shirt and too-big denim jacket, along with the remarkably handsome nose before recognition belatedly sets in.

 

“Oh!”

 

“Hi. Sorry, but do you have any books on love?”

 

Sunggyu neatens the stack of papers as if what was there were in any way vital.

 

“Er, yes. Yes. That we have.”

 

So, Porridge Man wants to know about love too.

 

☆☆☆

 

The Porridge Man’s name is Nam Woohyun. He’d offered it, unbidden, whilst Sunggyu had been showing him books of love poetry. Woohyun liked the poetry. He’d bought three volumes, including a prettily illustrated one of Russian poets.

 

Where does this tenderness come from? And what shall I do with it? Young stranger poet just passing by, you and your lashes – longer than anyone’s.

 

The words he’d randomly read out stayed fluttering in Sunggyu’s mind. It was a nice poem. And Woohyun had a nice voice when he’d read it aloud. That’s all

 

When Sunggyu gets his usual breakfast the next morning, he feels compelled to add a ‘Thank you, Woohyun-sshi’ and is aware of his ears treacherously turning red the moment the name escapes his lips. Woohyun only smiles his usual smile and utters his usual greeting. Except, later, as Sunggyu’s rolling out the manhwa barrel he hears out of the blue,

 

“Beautiful weather, isn’t it, Sunggyu-sshi?”

 

He glances up. Woohyun’s looking over and waving with a ladle.

 

“Oh. Yeah, it’s really summer now.”

 

“Eung. But you eat the same thing regardless of the weather,” Woohyun jokes.

 

Sunggyu cringes inside.

 

“I guess I can’t think what to change it to. Recommend something to me next time.”

 

He gives Woohyun a smile, brushing it off, and gets back to manoeuvring the heavy barrel before his arms start to shake.

 

“I thought as much,” Woohyun comments once Sunggyu’s finally positioned the thing correctly, “So I made you this.”

 

Eyes wide, Sunggyu peers back. Woohyun’s waggling a small take-out box at him.

 

“Don’t worry, Sunggyu-sshi. It’s on the house.”

 

Objections stymied by Woohyun’s insistent grin, Sunggyu shuffles over to the partition between the breakfast joint and Old Lee’s shop-front. He takes the cardboard box in his hands. It has a picture of a bear in a sunhat on the lid along with some English gibberish in curly lettering.

 

“Put it in the fridge and have it cold for brunch. Tell me if you like it. OK, Sunggyu-sshi?”

 

Sunggyu mumbles a thank you and that he will and hurries inside. Inside, where it’s dark and peaceful – where there are no handsome men smiling at him and saying his name that way.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

Towards afternoon, the odd, embarrassing feeling from that morning leaves Sunggyu alone. For one thing, he’d realised yesterday that the Russian literature section could do with re-arranging. Once he’d finished eating, he’d headed up to the bowels of the first floor and has been happily shuffling around here all morning. Myungsoo’s lurking downstairs to man the counter. Cross-legged on the floor, Sunggyu sits on the thin, navy carpet with books piled around him – social realists on his left, 18^th century satirists on his right and a musty paperback of Russian folktales open in his lap.

 

The river maidens passed in parade before Sadko. Each was more lovely than the one before. But Sadko’s heart was heavy, and he barely looked at them.

“What’s wrong, Musician?” the king said merrily, “Too hard to choose? Then I’ll wed you to the one who fancies you! Behold-”

 

“See! Do you see? You see, right?”

 

“I see. I see that you know about melittology!”

 

“I know that this work is out of date and only a moron would use it!”

 

“This whole dusty, rising-damp ridden shop is out of date! What about it?”

 

“ you, that’s what!”

 

Sunggyu flees, with far more haste than he’s accustomed to, down the squeaky staircase, stumbling his way to the counter. Myungsoo and a tall boy with fluffy, chestnut brown hair are staring daggers at each other over a small stack of books. Sunggyu sees a couple of manhwa, a Stephen King and three thick books about bees.

 

“Hello, can I help you, Sir?” Sunggyu pants in the most pleasant and professional manner he can muster. The tall boy makes a sort of hiss and slowly turns to face Sunggyu’s faultlessly business-like smile. On second thought, he’s not just ‘tall’. He's long. His legs are long. His arms are long and skinny, looking a bit lost in the black hooded jacket he’s earing. His hair is long, curling at his nape. Even his nose is long, high and thin. His eyes are frowning, lips set in a scowl.

 

“I would like to buy some books,” he bites out.

 

“Certainly, Sir.” Sunggyu breezes over to tap all his purchases into the cranking beige brick  that is their till. Meanwhile, Myungsoo stalks away, drifting to the window to pretend to clean and to burn holes in the customer’s back.

 

“What was that about?” Sunggyu cries once the customer (and his vaguely intimidating… length have exited). Myungsoo’s not glaring anymore. The couple of times he and Sunggyu have argued, Myungsoo’s needed at least a half an hour of sulking before being ready to accept an apology. But now a far off look clouds Myungsoo’s eyes. His cheeks are flushed pink and he’s tugging his sleeves around his fingers.

 

“Hyung…”

 

Sunggyu stares, at a loss, waiting for Myungsoo to spit out whatever's on his mind.

 

“Hyung!...” The boy meets his eyes with determination – which flitters away in a moment. He’s back to mumbling into his shoulder when he explains,

“Hyung… That’s him?”

 

Sunggyu his head in confusion,

“Who?”

 

“Him. That’s him. That’s the person I think I like.”

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

Sungyeol – that’s the tall boy. He’s one year older than Myungsoo and is his senior in the drama department. Disconsonantly, he’s also a member of the robotics society, the experimental chemistry society, the forestry preservation league and, most recently, founding member of their university’s beekeepers’ association. Not enough Korean’s appreciate the importance of bees, as Myungsoo earnestly informs Sunggyu.

 

Myungsoo met him during orientation, when Sungyeol was earning some extra cash by showing wide-eyed first years around campus. Since then, their association has never gone beyond quick ‘hello’s as they pass in the halls or stilted small talk at bus stops. Bar in Myungsoo’s heart.

 

The student tells Sunggyu all this, stuttering over some details, as they sit in the window, sharing the concoction Woohyun gave Sunggyu for brunch. (The concoction, by the way, is really good. It’s a sweet purple rice porridge with nuts and beans and unidentifiable berries. Sunggyu decides he’ll have to order it again).

 

“But why were you arguing?” Sunggyu questions, feeling exasperated already by Myungsoo’s heartfelt story of one-sided love.

 

“I just wanted to talk to him,” Myungsoo mutters, pushing a peanut around with his spoon.

 

“But you insulted him,” Sunggyu points out, stealing the peanut.

 

“Yeah,” Myungsoo agrees, brow creased in thought, “I’m not good at talking to him.”

 

A wave of snark crashes in Sunggyu’s head. He chews slowly and methodically to calm it. The task makes him feel quite drained.

 

“I wanted him to notice me,” Myungsoo concludes, “He hasn’t noticed me all this time, I think. At least it’s a start. Right, Hyung?”

 

His small, bashful smile is so sweet and fragile that Sunggyu can’t help but smile with him.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

At 7 o’clock, Sunggyu is back on his own. A couple of high-school girls are upstairs rifling through the self-help section. Sunggyu will shut up shop once they leave. In the mean time, he’s retrieved the book of folk-tales. The nose-wrinkling, musty smell of the pages and the blocky illustration of a witch on this 1970s edition attracts him.

 

Yet sometimes still on a quiet evening Sadko would walk out of the city alone, sit on the bank, and send his tinkling music over the water. And sometimes too a lovely head would rise from the river to listen – or perhaps it was only moonlight on the Volkhov.

 

Sunggyu leans his head on the counter, a sentimental mood coming over him. The frantic whispered chatter of the girls upstairs and the fuzzy hum of the radio playing an old pop song feel distant; the cramped, narrow aisles of the shop feel endless. He should probably eat something at some point, it occurs to him, noticing that he hasn’t eaten since he shared that snack with Myungsoo hours ago. But all he really want to do is slope off home and plug his guitar in. Softly he mumbles some lyrics he’s been working on recently.

 

You saw me, right? I’ll protect you until the end. Do you hear me? Do you hear me…

 

“Hey!”

 

Shocked out of his reverie, Sunggyu in a breath as he sits back up.

 

“Heeey!”

 

Right then. That shout definitely wasn’t in his head, and it was too masculine to be the high-school girls. Sunggyu cautiously shuffles to the door and pokes his nose out, opening it so slightly that the chimes barely tinkle. The street is still and peaceful in the dying light of the evening. As the Sun sets, a clingy chill winds in on the long shadows. There are legs – two thereof – and they are in his manhwa barrel, kicking at the sky.

 

“Hello…!” a familiar voice calls, “Anyone?” His voice is dulled by the old wood and all the books. Sunggyu rushes over and hauls Woohyun out and to his feet. Today, Sunggyu muses, is a bit of an odd day.

 

“Good evening, Sunggyu-sshi. Thanks.” Woohyun runs a hand through his hair, which shifts back into place as if nothing out of the ordinary just took place. The blazing red colour of his forehead is the only giveaway.

 

“Good evening, Woohyun-sshi. Er… what…?” Sunggyu trails off, not knowing how to politely phrase the question. Woohyun turns an even more vibrant shade of scarlet, the colour spreading across his collarbone and his cheeks, to the tip of his distractingly attractive nose.

 

“I was looking for something. Looking for a book. I thought I saw the cover and, well – Well, that thing’s more spacious than I’d estimated. Oh hey, it’s this! I did manage to grab it.” In his other hand, Woohyun excitedly clutches a copy of Remains Of The Day, graphic novel version. Sunggyu peers at it in the dimming light.

 

“I had no idea we had that.”

 

“It was way at the bottom,” Woohyun intones, eyebrows rising for emphasis. Sunggyu hesitates, unsure what to do with himself. Happily, the girls save him, calling out the door that they’re ready to make their purchases if he’s still open. Sunggyu bustles back inside to ring up their books about winning a guy’s heart (‘Is everyone in love lately?’ he wonders wistfully) and Woohyun’s hard won graphic novel.

 

Woohyun lingers for a while, asking if Sunggyu always works this long (not always, but recently it’s unavoidable) and how long he’s worked there (approaching two blurry,  musty paper smelling years) and a raft of other questions. Sunggyu feels a tad guilty for talking about himself so much. However, whenever he looks over, Woohyun’s looking back at him with this smile – this sincere and cute smile and cheeks tinged with pink and dark eyes and it’s all a bit disarming. For some reason. Truly, Sunggyu doesn’t understand himself. In any case, Woohyun ends up helping him shut up shop for the night. (Sunggyu still refuses to let him help roll the barrel back inside). They even stroll down to the bus stop together. Woohyun leaves him there with a murmured, “Good night, Sunggyu-sshi,” before darting back down their slumbering side-street.

 

☆☆☆ 

 

Ⅱ《A very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly.》

 

Woohyun’s not at the breakfast joint the following day. Sunggyu supposes this situation must have happened many times previously and he’s only noticing it now because he knows Woohyun’s name. Anyway, he squints at the menu board hanging above the counter as he tries to work out what the thing Woohyun gave him yesterday might be. He only spots one dish with purple rice and, from the picture, that looks like it’s more jelly than anything else. To save himself embarrassment, he orders his usual yet again.

 

The man behind the counter is dancing, twirling a wooden spoon in his hands and sort of crotch ing at his cooking pots. He’s a hundred times too perky for this time of the morning, Sunggyu inwardly grumbles. The man abruptly pauses his dancing when Sunggyu approaches, hands frozen in the air and an indecipherable expression on his face. His plump lips are slightly parted and his brown hair is jutting out at odd angles underneath a green bandana with the café’s logo. Sunggyu sniffs. ‘Ah,’ he decides, nodding to himself, ‘He’s surprised by how handsome I am. Naturally.’

 

When Sunggyu makes his order, the man quickly snaps out of his transfixed state. Trudging around to work a few minutes later, breakfast in hand, that seems to be that. However, as Sunggyu’s rolling out the manhwa barrel he hears,

 

“Hey! Are you Sunggyu-sshi? I didn’t think you were. But are you? You are, right?”

 

Sunggyu blinks at the stand-in Porridge Man in bewilderment.

 

“Yes? I’m Kim Sunggyu.”

 

The man twirls.

 

“Awesome. That’s awesome. I have something for you. You should come get it. Whenever you’re ready, I mean. You should. I’m Jang Dongwoo, by the way. Woohyunnie’s friend. Colleague. Friend and colleague.”

 

Sunggyu nods uncertainly. Presently, he’s traipsing back over to the breakfast joint. Sighting him, Dongwoo gesticulates wildly, jumps around and ducks into the giant fridge behind the counter. Sunggyu inches up. There’s an old woman in a pearl pink gilet sitting nearby, slurping up barley porridge through her dentures. Judging by her grimace, Sunggyu guesses he’s not the only one finding Dongwoo’s energy level hard to compute. A take-out box is slid under his nose. This one has a picture of a happy basset hound and a mouse sheltering under one of Its floppy ears.

 

“Woohyunnie’s too- He’s sick. He couldn’t come in today,” Dongwoo explains with a nervous giggle, “He made you this to try. Sorry I didn’t recognise you from his description at first. But now I know. This is yours. Enjoy~!”

 

Sunggyu glances between the hound and Dongwoo, who’s sporting a broad grin, full bottom lip practically jiggling in contentment.

 

“Description?” Sunggyu prompts, intrigued.

 

“Yeah! Yeah, well. He was like, well…” Dongwoo rubs his nape, sheepishness coming over him, “Well, Woohyun-ah was all, like, tall and handsome, pretty hands, eyes like sparks and wild arms. And I saw you and I was, like, his arms aren’t that wild. But then you were bringing that thing out and actually your arm are pretty wild! And you’re Sunggyu-sshi. So yeah. So this is yours. Enjoy! Thank you for shopping~”

 

Dongwoo’s red faced. Sunggyu decides to rescue him – and himself – from further embarrassment, so nods quickly, mumbling a thanks and lopes back out of the café. When he’s in the safety of Old Lee’s he peeks inside the box. It contains a sandwich on nutty brown bread, bursting with mixed salad leaves, ham, mushrooms and fragrant pesto, plus an individually sized tart with crumbly pastry and a lilac coloured taro cream filling. Nothing like that is served at the breakfast joint. In the evening they only sell noodles and seafood. Sunggyu slides the box into the shop’s tiny fridge and forces questions from his mind. He waits until Myungsoo comes in hours later to take it out again.

 

“What’s the occasion, Hyung?” the student enquires innocuously.

 

Sunggyu shrugs.

 

“Nothing much. No reason. Just in a good mood.”

 

Intently munching on some rocket leaves, Myungsoo seems satisfied with that blundering answer. To be certain, Sunggyu distracts him by asking if he’s apologised to Sungyeol yet.

 

“Not as such.”

 

“Myungsoo-yah…”

 

“I bought him the books he’d wanted,” Myungsoo cuts off Sunggyu’s impending lecture, “And I got him this other one, the latest edition of a guide to bombus ignitius. I hope he likes it.” Myungsoo scrapes some pastry crumbs up on his fork, a watery smile on his face.

 

“Did you give them to him yet?”

 

Myungsoo’s lips turn down into a moue.

 

“Myungsoo-yah.”

 

“I gave them to the societies secretary!” Myungsoo defends himself, once again deflecting Sunggyu’s rant, “Or, to be precise, it wasn’t me. I asked Dasom to give them to the societies secretary and tell him to pass them on to the secretary of the beekeepers’ association, which is Sungyeol. And Dasom’s reliable! Mostly. I wonder if he received them already.”

 

Myungsoo twiddles his fingers. His eyes shine like stars. Sunggyu gets a forkful of the tart and holds it up to Myungsoo’s lips. Myungsoo takes it and grins, chewing happily. Sunggyu finds himself hoping Sungyeol likes the books too.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

A warm evening drifts over the city. Outside, the side-street is alive: students chatting as they go home or to cram school; two women cackling together, happy to be done with work for the day; the din of the dinner rush next door. Inside the shop, it’s serene: no noise but the buzzing of the radio and the occasional turning of pages. Myungsoo left for a class some time ago, so at this present moment, Sunggyu’s only company is Sungjong. Sungjong’s a high-schooler who comes in for a couple of hours a few times a week. (For what purpose, it’s not always clear). He’s as beautiful as a fairy with a speaking voice to match. He spends the majority of his time at work either doing his homework or reading gory light novels about teenagers getting butchered during summer break. Sungjong’s upstairs right now, supposedly dusting. Sunggyu tends to leave him to his own devices.

 

The fair Princess, Marya Morevna, carried him off into her own realm.

 

They spent some time together, and then the Princess took it into her head to go a warring. So she handed over all the house- keeping affairs to Prince Ivan, and gave him these instructions:

 

`Go about everywhere, keep watch over everything; only do not venture to look into that closet there.'

 

He couldn't help doing so. The moment Marya Morevna had gone he rushed to the closet, pulled open the door, and –

 

A great clattering jerked Sunggyu out of his book. Sitting ramrod straight, he blearily observes the chimes banging against the old wooden door and the tall student clutching the handle, knuckles turning white. Noise from outside scrabbles in and Sunggyu wraps his arms around himself. Sungjong appears at the top of the stairs just long enough to tsk at the newcomer before sinking back to his “dusting”.

 

Sungyeol takes care in closing the door. He breathes deeply the smell of old paper, gazelle like eyes searching around the shelves and tables filled with books, peering into the maze-like depths. Eventually, he turns to Sunggyu. His eyebrows are set in a line and his soft hair is scraped into a short ponytail. Sunggyu can’t tell if Sungyeol’s angry or just a man on a mission. He stands up in an ineffectual bid to feel less graceless and plain.

 

“Hello. Sunggyu-sshi, wasn’t it? Is Myungsoo here today?”

 

Sunggyu tells Sungyeol that he was, but left a few hours ago. No, he doesn’t know what class exactly he had. No, he won’t be in at all the next day. Yes, Sunggyu had heard something about Myungsoo purchasing a few bee books. Sunggyu tries to subtley suggest that Myungsoo’s terribly apologetic, he really didn’t mean to tell Sungyeol to himself, he’s a nice and good dongsaeng most of the time… Sungyeol purses his lips.

 

“I knew it wasn’t Dasom. The societies secretary kept giving me the look because the prettiest girl on campus seemed like she likes me. But there’s no way. Besides, Dasom doesn’t like anything other than food and dramas. And turtles maybe…” Sungyeol’s mouth snaps shut, the fact that he’s rambling at a relative stranger hitting him. He sniffs.

 

“By the way, er, hyung?” Sunggyu balks at the sudden familiarity, but schools his countenance into neutrality. Is Sungyeol wishing to endear himself? “Hyung, that place next door, the seafood place?”

 

“What about it?”

 

“The server looks familiar, don’t you think? Is he… Is he always there?”

 

Sunggyu frowns in incomprehension. Shuffling out from the counter and around the table with their display of Scandinavian crime fiction, he pokes his head out into the fresh air. The restaurant is lively, diners squeezing inside or sitting under the canopy to enjoy the long evening while they slurp their food. Others hang around for bowls of take-out before rushing home. Sunggyu can’t see the server from this angle, so he takes a few steps outside. Leaning his hip against the barrel, he contemplates the scene. There, under bare lightbulbs, is Woohyun. Steam billows around him, making his face and bare arms flushed. He has a charming smile for all the customers.

 

He doesn’t look sick.

 

“So what about it, Hyung? Is he there a lot?” Sungyeol whispers conspiratorially. Sunggyu wants to question why Sungyeol’s acting this way. What’s so interesting? Does Sungyeol like Woohyun? He hopes not. Only because he doesn’t need Myungsoo being even mopier than he already is. Sunggyu bites his lip, remembering Myungsoo’s innocent smile and the delicate taste of the tart. In the end, he brushes Sungyeol off.

 

“Sometimes. Yeah, sometimes.”

 

☆☆☆

 

It is nine in the morning and Sunggyu is making use of Old Lee’s wi-fi. He’s crumpled over his desk, a Finnish noir novel under his chin and his phone in his hands. He watches his video a couple of times before making it public. It’s just him and his guitar. Band posters are tacked up on the wall behind him to make his poky flat look less miserable. Sunggyu doesn’t wear a mask since he’s singing, but he obscures his face with his fringe and a baggy grey hoodie. In the poor lighting, his tiger-print guitar strap looks the same colour as his hair. Sunggyu tugs at it self-consciously. He used to sing in a band in high-school. He used to go for auditions after graduation, every week turning up at another company, offering them up his dreams in his hands. That all seems very far away now, although it hasn’t even been two years. Nowadays, even putting up a video like this makes anxiety claw at his bones. Sunggyu wonders how the younger him ever managed at all.

 

I think about the words you said to me

Later on after a long time has passed,

even though we may not be together

Please remember this moment

that is so beautiful it seems to glow.

 

He shoves his phone away from him. Sitting back up, he turns his gaze back to the book. Getting lost in the frozen, mist shrouded Finnish forest is far more appealing than contemplating the past. The detective is interviewing members of a remote village about a child’s disappearance. The page is full of unusual names. Sunggyu silently mouths the strange syllables, his brain struggling to process who’s who.

 

Tuu- uulikkie? I…kä (?) mieli…Vuok…ok- okko… Juuti- Juutilainen…

 

“International-Fashion-Neverending-Troubadours!? Inconceivable!”

 

Sunggyu ogles Myungsoo. The student is glaring at his phone screen.

 

“Why are you here?” Sunggyu asks.

 

Myungsoo whips his head around, shocked expression suggesting he hadn’t noticed he was already inside.

 

“Hello, Hyung. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

 

“Over the Moon,” Sunggyu yawns, joints everywhere clicking as he stretches, “But why are you here?”

 

Myungsoo opens his mouth to speak, then reconsiders. He slips behind the counter, dragging a plastic stool up close beside Sunggyu’s. He finds something on his phone then points the screen at Sunggyu.

 

“Have you heard of I-F-N-T?” Myungsoo asks urgently.

 

Sunggyu stares at the picture he’s being shown. There are five boys in a photo studio. The backdrop is plain white. The boys are wearing tight blue jeans and colourful printed T-shirts bearing the letters I, F, N, T and an exclamation mark in that order. They’re posing with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. It all looks like any other picture of idols only that Myungsoo, or whoever uploaded the photo, has scribbled over ‘N’s face in red and drawn an upside-down cross above his head.

 

“I- er…”

 

Myungsoo snatches his phone away.

 

“No. I didn’t suppose you would have. What about them?”

 

The next photo he shows Sunggyu is much more pleasant. It’s a girl group wearing loose, lacy sweaters, hot-pants and white heels. The four are perched on a pink sofa, simpering prettily at the camera.

 

“Ah! These are those girls you like! The ones with that o music video,” Sunggyu announces. It’s probably a good thing there are no customers around to hear him yelling. Sunggyu couldn’t help it, he was proud of himself for getting one right.

 

“It’s not o!” Myungsoo squawks, hastily pocketing his phone, “But yeah, they’re those girls.”

 

“Why did you come in to show me the o idols?”

 

A strangled sound escapes Myungsoo’s throat. His ears have turned a fiery red. Sunggyu hides a smirk behind his hand. Myungsoo gets flustered so easily when it comes to his idols. The temptation to play with him is too much to ignore.

 

“It’s because- Well, you see, Sungyeol-hyung and I, even before orientation- I never told you this, but we… One thing we have in common- But he… He was… Well, I said he should- If…”

 

Myungsoo silently stares at his feet as if doing so might pull the secret of cold fusion from the twists of his shoelaces. He sighs. Whether it’s Sunggyu’s blank incomprehension or whether what he has to say is genuinely too complicated to explain, he’s decided to give up. Sunggyu’s thankful. It’s nice that Myungsoo’s willing to talk about his idol-fan side with Sunggyu, because he knows the kid doesn’t share that with everyone for fear of being made fun of. At the same time though, when Myungsoo does, Sunggyu’s eyes rapidly glaze over. On the one hand, it dredges up some uncomfortable memories. On the other hand, there are too many terms he doesn’t know and matters which seem trivial but which, judging from Myungsoo’s reactions, are crushingly important. It’s a confusing world to Sunggyu.

 

“Was that server with the nose there this morning?” Myungsoo queries, out of the blue.

 

“Huh? Oh. No, he wasn’t.” Sunggyu’s eyes light up. “He made me mandu though. Would you like to share?”

 

“He… What?”

 

Sunggyu cringes, already drifting over to the staff room that houses their mini-fridge, coffee machine and not much else.

 

“Yeah. He’s the one who made those brunches the last couple of days.”

 

“Ah. But they don’t serve that sort of thing nextdoor.”

 

Sunggyu just hums. Yes, he’s aware that they don’t make that there. The questions on the tip of Myungsoo’s tongue are all ones he’s already asked himself, he’s sure.

 

“And you said he wasn’t there.”

 

Sunggyu doesn’t bother commenting. He grabs the box from the fridge and strolls back to the counter, holding it in both hands. This time the box has a simple cartoon of a sunflower with some handwritten words scrawled messily around it.

 

A flower cannot blossom without sunshine, and Man cannot live without… loaf? Loue?

 

Shaking the illegible quote out of his head, Sunggyu flips open the lid before Myungsoo has a chance to scrutinise.

 

“But he made this for you? These for you?” Myungsoo amends, peering down at the snacks. There are four baked mandu huddled together. Their fat bodies have been shaped to look like mice – black dots for the eyes, round ears and string tails with tags saying the fillings, green beans, red beans, sesame and peanut. Seeing the look Myungsoo’s giving him – scrutinising, suspicious, and also just plain hungry – Sunggyu’s regretting opening his mouth.

 

“Eat up,” he urges. Fortunately, Myungsoo shares Sunggyu’s love for food and cute things (actually, he more than shares the latter) so he needs no further encouragement. He bites the head off the sesame mouse, then lets out a long, low, vaguely disturbing moan.

 

“Hyung, it’s delicious! Wow. He likes you a lot, huh?”

 

“Nothing of the sort,” Sunggyu denies. (His nose feels hot. Why does his nose feel hot?!). He casually picks up the Slytherin paperweight and places it on the lid to keep it open. Feeling irritated by Myungsoo’s stupid handsome smirk, he mentions,

 

“By the way, when did you start calling Sungyeol ‘hyung’?”

 

Myungsoo chokes, shoving the entire rest of the mouse mandu into his mouth. He masticates the huge mouthful slowly, eyes darting. Nibbling on the green bean mouse, Sunggyu simply stares him down.

 

“We’ve, er, we’ve been discussing… stuff,” Myungsoo finally confesses, hiding his mouth behind one hand.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

That evening, the two students return, Myungsoo and Sungyeol. The taller boy is wrapped in a dark, unseasonable coat, collar popped. Myungsoo’s gaze seems fixed in that emotionless daze that he tends to default to. His eyes return again and again to linger on the sliver of Sungyeol’s long neck not obscured by his coat. Sungyeol, by all appearances, is unaware of this. They drift around the shop, giving each other these serious glances. Urgent whispered exchanges snap into tense silence. Occasionally, Sunggyu could swear they’re whispering about him. The whole atmosphere is putting him on edge. (Alternatively, having too grossly attractive college students floating around is making him uncomfortable). Perhaps he’s just feeling strange, he tells himself. After he finished that Finnish noir this afternoon, he came across a book about fairytales from the region. The sketchy, dark illustrations of ghouls and skeletal warlocks have been plaguing him ever since.

 

After some time, the conniving students move outside. Eventually, Sunggyu’s curiousity (and the fact that he keeps imagining murderous child ghosts watching him from the gaps in the bookshelves) gets the better of him. Sunggyu finds the pair leaning against the barrel. Myungsoo has a battered copy of some girls manhwa in his hands, hiding half his face behind it. He’s talking to Sungyeol whilst reading. (Although Sunggyu questions how much reading he’s getting done. Even from the doorway, he could see how Myungsoo’s eyes continue to drift back to rake over Sungyeol’s silhouette, sparkles seeming to light up in his gaze every time). The object of his affections, on the other hand, is steadily watching the restaurant across the partition. Sunggyu, fists in his jeans pockets, wanders over to join them. As expected, Woohyun is working again tonight – same captivating smile, a red bandana holding back his thick, black hair. He still doesn’t look sick, Sunggyu notes, pouting unconsciously at the scene before him.

 

“Why are you staring at the server?” he asks straightforwardly, not anticipating a straightforward answer.

 

“Hello, Hyung,” Sungyeol greets. Sunggyu again wonders at what point he gave permission for Sungyeol to address him that way. “We’re, well… Well. Well, Myungsoo said you don’t recognise him, right?”

 

Sunggyu squints in confusion. Sungyeol sounds so serious – there’s a touch of desperation even.

 

“He’s Nam Woohyun. He serves porridge. And also seafood noodles sometimes. And he makes tasty brunches.”

 

Sungyeol’s round, owlish eyes fix on him. Sunggyu holds his gaze, resisting the urge to fidget where he’s standing.

 

“He’s that alright, Hyung,” Sungyeol finally declares with a low, unamused sort of chuckle, “That and much more.”

 

Strange kids, Sunggyu decides, opting to get back inside. He takes one last look at Woohyun behind his cooking pots. That’s the moment which Woohyun chooses to glance his way. Heat erupts in the night. Woohyun smiles, tired and handsome and so genuinely charming even at this distance. He gives Sunggyu a quick wave, and Sunggyu waves back, ignoring how MyungYeol’s gazes are burning into him. Another customer approaches, and Woohyun turns his attention away.

 

“See? Apologise soon, Sungyeol-hyung,” Myungsoo mumbles into his comic book. Sunggyu doesn’t dally to find out what Myungsoo’s on about and hurries back to the safety of his books.

 

☆☆☆

 

Ⅲ《He chose a certain path in life, it proved to be a misguided one, but there, he chose it, he can say that at least.》

Nam Woohyun, who makes nice brunches, is back at the breakfast joint the next morning. It’s a dry, sunshiny day. The air is crisp compared to the recent sweltering days, and a little bird is perched on the canvas awning, singing things to his kindred. That must be kind of good, Sunggyu supposes, to start your morning effectively by shouting at your neighbours. All he manages is an awkward cough and,

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hi, Sunggyu-sshi.” Maybe it’s because Woohyun is so much more placid compared to Dongwoo. Maybe that’s why his smile seems more effecting than it did before. Whatever the case, Sunggyu wishes his face would agree to be less warm when Woohyun says his name.

 

“Your… colleague said you were sick,” he mentions, “Are you alright now?”

 

Now Woohyun’s face is red, so at least, as Sunggyu assesses it, things just became more even.

 

“Oh, yes! Don’t worry. I’m all- Well, I’m- Yeah… I wasn’t sick.”

 

Sunggyu can’t help the giggle (a very masculine giggle, he’ll have you know) that escapes.

 

“You were serving here in the evening. I saw you,” he remarks, only to watch Woohyun squirm. It’s adorable.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I saw you too, Sunggyu-sshi.”

 

And, oh hell, now it’s backfired a bit because Sunggyu’s brain is conjuring up images of last night, the cool and dark evening and Woohyun’s smile like starlight.

 

“My aunt and uncle run this place,” Woohyun goes on, “I wrangled them into letting me switch to the evening crowd for a while.”

 

“Why? Didn’t want to see my face?” Sunggyu teases.

 

“Kind of, yeah,” Woohyun confesses. Sunggyu’s face falls. Woohyun flaps his hands around frantically, “Ah! No, no, no! Not like that.”

 

Sunggyu huffs,

“Then like what?” Rude. Poor customer service. Would not recommend.

 

“I was embarrassed, Sunggyu-sshi!” Woohyun half-yells, quietening down when a couple of dull-eyed customers quirk their heads up at his outburst, “I fell into that fat thing and you had to rescue me. Not that I minded being rescued by your cute self. But gosh! It was humiliating. I couldn’t sleep afterwards. Honestly. I spent the whole night baking to try to get over it. Baking and reading that novel and the books you suggested to me. (Which were great suggestions by the way. Really heartbreaking. I loved them). But Dongwoo’s said you liked the food I made. He said you looked really happy about the mandu. I would have liked to see that. Did you enjoy them?”

 

Sunggyu needs a moment to find his tongue, twisting his fingers around the string on his light hoodie.

 

“I did. They were very… You just called me cute.”

 

“Let me get you the usual, Sunggyu-sshi,” Woohyun says softly. His voice makes Sunggyu’s nerves ache. Discomfort is flooding back to him, washing along with it an annoying amount of shyness. The sound of Woohyun capping a pen draws him back to the present. The server slides the bag with his usual across the counter. The bag is sitting on top of another cardboard take-out box. “Maybe if I pop over after my shift you can tell me what you thought.”

 

Sunggyu doesn’t look at the box until he’s slipping it into the fridge at work. It’s another sunflower one with a quote, the fresh ink slightly smudged.

 

If you are under the impression you have already perfected yourself, you will never rise to the heights you are no doubt capable of.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

When Woohyun, who writes pretty quotes in messy handwriting, does pop over, it’s half past three. Sunggyu’s wrapping up a book about Pre-Raphaelites, thick with colour illustrations, for a mum who’s giving it as a 16^th birthday present to her daughter. (Sunggyu wouldn’t have appreciated that kind of gesture when he was 16. He trusts Mrs.Ok’s daughter is nicer than him). Myungsoo is upstairs, cleaning and arranging. This is because, as Sunggyu will later speculate, sometimes the Universe offers small mercies. As soon as Woohyun greets him, Sunggyu hears scurrying upstairs. A moment later, he has to stifle a squeak when he spots Myungsoo peering down, nose between two banisters, body obscured by ‘Feminist fiction, sci-fi’.

 

“Good afternoon, Sunggyu-sshi. Did you eat?”

 

“Yes. I shared it with my dongsaeng. It was delicious like always, Woohyun-sshi.”

 

“That’s good. It wasn’t anything special.”

 

That’s a shameful lie. It was green tea mille crepe surrounded by fresh berries and wonderfully thin savoury seed cookies on the side. ‘Not anything special’ indeed…

 

“You keep preparing food for someone you barely know,” Sunggyu scoffs, “You haven’t asked for money. Should I be paying you? Ah! I get it – are you slowly poisoning me?” he jokes, dramatically pressing his hands to his chest.

 

Woohyun laughs, high and musical.

 

“It’s not that big a deal. I like cooking. Let’s say you’re giving me a chance to make something other than porridge, how about that?”

 

Sunggyu hums. It still doesn’t make sense to him. Perhaps there’s something he’s missing, he wonders. But anyway, who is he to refuse free food? Or the attention of a good looking guy who might possibly be flirting with him?

 

“When you put it like that, I’m happy to be of service.”

 

Woohyun smirks. He has a fang tooth, Sunggyu notices. He sees it for a flash, white pressing into Woohyun’s plump bottom lip… Good gosh, why is noticing things like this? A few days ago, he was only aware that the server at the breakfast joint was ‘sort of cute’, now it’s come to this. Is this the effect of being fed so deliciously? He’s never thought he'd be the type to fall for someone just because they cook for him. Not that he’s falling for Woohyun! Certainly not. What a suggestion… Oh dear. Now his throat is dry. He should have Myungsoo make them all tea, that’s what he should do. Out of the corner of his eye, he spies Myungsoo still with his nose between the banisters, eyes locked on Woohyun and he whilst rapidly tapping out a message on his phone. Alright then. Maybe acknowledging Myungsoo’s presence is not what he should do right now.

 

“Say, Sunggyu-sshi, if you’re not busy, could you recommend some more reading material to me?”

 

“Yes!” Sunggyu replies quicker than he intended. Recommending literature is far easier than indexing what’s inside his head.

 

“That’s great. I’m enjoying your last recommendations a lot.” Woohyun looks honestly pleased. It occurs to Sunggyu that this makes another junior who has faith in Sunggyu’s advice-giving abilities. What a delectable turn up for the books.

 

“What sort of thing are you looking for?”

 

Woohyun presses his lips together, considering the question. He scans the bookshop, the dull light filtering in and the photocopied signs tacked to the shelves and tables, marking different sections. (Myungsoo ducks. Thankfully, Woohyun doesn’t seem to spot the handsome weirdo lurking above).

 

“Something about moving on,” he utters at last, “Letting go of a dream. Something like that.”

 

“Oh,” Sunggyu breathes, “I’m not sure I… No, I can try.”

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

His trying seems to be a success. It’s only that it takes a long time. They end up wandering up and down nearly every aisle in the shop. Sometimes Woohyun will lightly hook fingers around Sunggyu’s wrist to get his attention and ask him about a particular book or section. Other times, Sunggyu leads, letting his eyes roam the shelves for anything that gives him the right idea. While they wander, Woohyun’s dropping questions about Sunggyu. Each one is spoken with an air of only casual interest. Even so, Sunggyu has to pause often to decide just how much truth to tell. It doesn't sit right with him, again talking about himself so much. At the same time, he wants to tell Woohyun a lot – he has a feeling the man would understand. But that’s just a feeling and Sunggyu has long learned not to trust them too strongly.

 

All the same, Sunggyu tells him some things – the sort of books he reads himself, what music he’s listening to lately, what he does when he’s not at or in transit to this cave of books… He does also learn one or two things about Woohyun. The man had been doing some sort of apprenticeship up in Seoul, which  ended abruptly not long ago. His aunt and uncle have given him a job and a place to stay while he works out what he wants to do.

 

“I’ve missed a lot,” Woohyun admits, fingers sliding over an illustration in an old hardcover of an early mystery novel – a young woman, her emaciated face slashed by her hair, her ragged white dress standing out against a background of an inky night sky and a country lane. They’ve made their way upstairs to the ‘Victorian novels, epistolary’ section, sitting on the thinning carpet to pull out the large, weighty books on the bottom shelves. Their knees brush and Sunggyu can hear each breath Woohyun takes. He could almost forget that Myungsoo is downstairs, probably still trying to eaves drop. “I didn’t go to university. Barely scraped through high school. There’s so much I don’t know.”

 

Sunggyu grunts acknowledgement. He didn’t make it to uni either, the opportunity and the funds never coincided. In other ways too, Woohyun’s words hit close to his heart. He consciously turns his eyes away to examine the other titles on the shelf. He feels a bit stupid for how much he keeps focusing on Woohyun’s hands – the rough fingers tracing the fragile pages, the veins in the back, trailing up his tanned, strong arms in the incongruously bright yellow T-shirt.

 

“Do you still sing?” Woohyun mumbles. Sunggyu freezes in the middle of hauling out a volume of short stories. He hadn’t mentioned singing. He knows he hadn’t – he barely mentions it to anyone. Also, did Woohyun say ‘still’? He can’t have said ‘still’. He spoke so quietly and Sunggyu wasn’t paying good attention. No, he definitely didn’t say ‘still’, Sunggyu simply misheard. Reassured (sort of) the older man once again answers with a measure of truth.

 

“Yes, sometimes. Sometimes I sing.”

 

Woohyun smiles then. It’s wide and pleased – and even relieved. Sunggyu can’t imagine what he did to deserve such a smile, but he returns it on impulse.

 

“I like this,” Woohyun declares, suddenly changing the subject, eyes lingering on Sunggyu’s. Pushing his gaze back to the book, he ruffles his hair, “Let the music speak to us tonight, in a happier language than our own. Isn’t it pretty, Sunggyu-sshi?”

 

Sunggyu nods. They wind their way back to the counter in silence. Sunggyu rings up Woohyun’s purchases and the server leaves with a ‘see you tomorrow morning, Sunggyu-sshi’, dusting a blush across Sunggyu’s cheeks as he departs.

 

Four eyes watch Woohyun do so. Two of those do not belong to Sunggyu, who’s busy pretending to be occupied with some papers on the desk. Before Sunggyu’s face has cooled down quite sufficiently for his liking, he’s startled into looking up.

 

“What to do?!” Sungyeol cries.

 

Myungsoo’s face meets the piled high stack of pastoral poetry he’s alphabetising.

 

“You said you’d do it, Yeol-hyung,” he gripes into the top book’s cover. (Sunggyu raises an eyebrow at the increasingly familiar terms of address). “What did you rush over for if you weren’t going to take action?” He picks himself up and shoots the older student a glare. The power of the glare is somewhat lessened by how his hand reaches the short distance to hold the hem of Sungyeol’s hoodie.

 

“Hey, I can take action. I take all kinds of action!” Sungyeol counters, unconcerned with what Myungsoo’s hands choose to do.

 

“Then what was that? Clinging to my shoulder while Nam Woohyun’s right in front of your face, hitting on Gyu-hyung.” (Sunggyu’s brows shoot right down at that. ‘Hitting on’ is such a strong way of putting it and he’d appreciate it if his uncommonly attractive dongsaeng wouldn’t get this ugly hyung’s hopes up, please and thank you).

 

“Hey! Whoa, hey! I did not ~cling~. Who clung? Certainly not I!”

 

“Look here, Yeol-hyung-”

 

It’s all escalating much too quickly. For the sake of the shop’s peace, Sunggyu’s sanity and Myungsoo’s love life, Sunggyu slaps the Review of Books against the counter as hard as he can. The students petrify mid-slanging match. They slowly turn and blink at him like two confused cats. Or a cat and some sort of out-sized, leggy owl-creature with fluffy feathers. Sunggyu clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

 

“You two tell me what on earth is going on. And do it quickly.”

 

MyungYeol send each other significant looks, as if telepathic messages are flying back and forth. Sungyeol steps forward, but Myungsoo places a hand on his arm.

 

“This hyung barely watches TV,” he remarks. Sungyeol looks between them. His expression sinks into a pensive frown.

 

“In that case… Hyung, if I say ‘ship’, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?”

 

Sunggyu squints. Somehow he’s sure that ‘maritime transportation’ is not the correct answer.

 

☆☆☆ 

 

Contrary to his words, Woohyun’s not there the next morning. When Sunggyu groggily ducks under the awning, he’s met with neither Woohyun’s brilliant smile not Dongwoo’s boundless energy. Instead there’s a muscular man with dark hair framing a square face, eyebrows that Sunggyu would secretly describe as the manliest things he’s seen in weeks, and a jaw that could cut diamonds. His face is somehow familiar. However, Sunggyu dismisses that thought, sure he would remember if he’d met this man before. The man is counting out 10won coins as old Mrs. Shim hands them to him. Sunggyu knows Mrs. Shim. She used to run a florist’s a couple of doors down. She spent a lot of time making beautiful bouquets and wreathes for events, when she had to be perfectly polite to even the most ridiculous of demands. Nowadays, she spends her retirement happily being as contrary as she likes to whomever she likes. Sunggyu suspects that that’s the sole reason she’s paying for her tray-full of purchases in the manner she is. Seeing the new guy’s unfailing courtesy as he arranges the fiddly coins into stacks of ten, Sunggyu somehow can’t blame her. Even if his stomach is whining for sustenance.

 

At last, Mrs. Shim makes her purchases and tottles over to a table with a spring in her step.

 

“Hello. Good morning! How may I be of service, Sir?”

 

Hesitantly, Sunggyu steps forward, struggling to suppress a snicker. ‘By giving me food’ seems rude, but how else is he to answer?

 

“Quite. Good morning.” Sunggyu makes his usual order and watches, lightly amused, as the man inexpertly dishes out food – splattering it on his counter, accidentally letting go of his wooden spoon and almost losing it in the broiling vat, ultimately serving Sunggyu a portion about twice as large as it ought to be. Well, the man’s covered in muscles – for him that might be a normal amount of food, Sunggyu concedes, feeling a little subpar in the oversized band T-shirt he threw on earlier. He pays for his breakfast and is about to take it and hurry off to blast the bookshop’s A/C – the drop in temperature earlier was only a lull before a greater assault – when his curiousity wrestles control of his tongue.

 

“Woohyun-sshi’s not here today?”

 

“Hm? No, he’s having me cover for him.” The corner of the man’s lips turn down ever so slightly and he tugs at his apron. He almost seems more uncomfortable than when he was counting out Mrs. Shim’s coins.

 

“Having you cover for him? You owe him a favour?”

 

Now his countenance dips into a full blown pout.

 

“Something like that. More like I lost a bet.”

 

“Ah,” Sunggyu comments for want of anything to say. The new guy notices with a flinch how informal he was being and shoots back to his overly polite demeanour – straightening his spine, rolling his broad shoulders back, wiping his hands off his apron and spewing forth a rote reply.

 

“Thank you for coming, Customer! Please enjoy your… Hey?”

 

Sunggyu clutches his bag of food closer to his chest.

 

“Er, yes?”

 

“Are you Sunggyu-sshi?”

 

Sunggyu merely nods. This feels a bit déjà vu-ish.

 

“Sunggyu-sshi who works next door in the bookshop?”

 

“Yes, that’s me.”

 

“Oh. Oh, alright.” The man is visibly flummoxed. Not giving Sunggyu a chance to ask what the issue is, he rambles on, “It’s just that you don’t match Woohyun-hyung’s description. No, you do. You kind of do. But he specifically mentioned about ‘wild arms’, so I… Well, no accounting, I guess. But anyway, since you’re Sunggyu-sshi, I have something for you.”

 

“Ok. Thank you,” Sunggyu squeaks. He wonders if he can play off his red face as being caused by steam from his breakfast. That’s not unreasonable, surely, he decides, holding the bag of food directly under his chin.

 

☆☆☆

 

Ⅳ《It lay in the path, glittering like a flame; for the sun was on it, and it was a feather of pure gold. Then he knew why there was no singing in the forest.》

The following morning is even warmer and more stifling than the last. Sunggyu takes it as a sign that the momentous moment has arrived to change his usual order. His sleep-deprived brain is still churning through what else people eat for breakfast when he ducks into the shade of the café.

 

“Good morning, Sunggyu-sshi. Hoya told me he talked to you yesterday,” Woohyun greets him, skilfully fixing the bandana holding down his hair.

 

“Hoya?” Sunggyu tries the strange name out on his tongue, the memory of the self-consciously polite server making him smile, “Yes, we talked a little.”

 

“Was he nice?” Woohyun asks with a grimace, “Sometimes he forgets to be nice.”

 

Sunggyu laughs,

“He was fine.”

 

Woohyun grins, relieved (and enjoying the sight and sound lighting up his morning). He moves to dish up Sunggyu’s usual order. Sunggyu, realising with a start what Woohyun's doing, blurts out,

“I’ll have- That is, today I will have, er… I’ll have pinenut porridge.”

 

Momentarily frozen, Woohyun stares at him. A chuckle shakes the man’s chest.

 

“Excellent choice, Sunggyu-sshi. Let me get that for you.”

 

Sunggyu stands around, fiddling with the earphones hanging around his neck. He thanks Woohyun for yesterdays brunch. Sunggyu has no idea what it was, in all honesty – a thick, aromatic dish with slivers of vegetables and smoked meat, a fiery colour and a delicately spicy taste. He doesn’t want to dwell too much on how much time and thought Woohyun must have spent on it because he knows that Woohyun will respond as he does.

 

“It’s nothing, Sunggyu-sshi. Don’t mention it,” he repeats with a small shrug.

 

Sunggyu glowers at Woohyun’s predictable response while the server can’t see him. Shaking himself, he wills his expression back to normal and side-eyes the few other customers around. There’s old Mrs. Shim in a dashing purple cardigan. (Sunggyu doesn’t doubt she’d hoped the funny young man from yesterday would have returned). Then there’s a mum yawning as she scrolls through something on her tablet, and her six-year-old daughter, drawing patterns with her spoon in her bowl of food. Deeming himself sufficiently ignored, Sunggyu quietly comments,

“My dongsaeng’s talked about you.”

 

Woohyun’s shoulders stiffen. It lasts a fleeting moment. Sunggyu could convince himself he hadn’t seen it. Nonetheless, Woohyun simply sends a guileless smile drifting his way.

“Oh yes?”

 

“Eung,” Sunggyu nods, pulling at his fringe. He takes a deep breath. He’s begun now, so he really needs to go on, he reminds himself. “One of them wants to talk to you. He means well. He’s a bit strange though. I’m not sure… He said, well…”

 

Sunggyu becomes aware that Woohyun is staring at him. There’s a hint of worry in his dark eyes that Sunggyu wishes wasn’t there. There’s also a host of indescribable things that make Sunggyu want to dive into a vat of ice-cubes.

 

“But anyway. The upshot of it is, I was thinking that maybe-”

 

Woohyun finishes bagging Sunggyu’ breakfast and slides it neatly towards him. It’s sitting on top of a familiar, white take-out box. Sunggyu hadn’t noticed Woohyun spirit that out at all. His voice catches in his throat.

 

“Yes, Sunggyu-sshi?” Woohyun prompts, making words spill from Sunggyu’s lips.

 

“Would you perhaps like to get coffee together? After your shift? My treat – since Woohyun-sshi’s treated this hyung so often.”

 

It takes a moment for Woohyun to respond. The grin spreading across his face makes Sunggyu’s insides warm in a way so much more pleasant than the stifling heat of the day.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

Woohyun wriggles happily in his seat, holing a fork full of strawberry shortcake out to Sunggyu the moment the man returns with their drinks.

 

“I’m supposed to be treating you,” Sunggyu points out, plucking up a fallen pettle from the peony sitting in an empty Pepsi bottle in the centre of the table and playing with it between his fingers.

 

“Nevertheless,” Woohyun replies, nudging the cake towards Sunggyu’s lips. Defeated, Sunggyu takes it, choosing to pout even as the delicious tartness of the strawberries makes him sigh in satisfaction.

 

They sit in companionable silence, close together on a couch in the chain coffee shop. A saccharine ballad is coming through the speakers and traffic is backed up outside the window. But Sunggyu feels quite content right where he is.

 

“You never told me what sort of apprenticeship you were doing in Seoul,” he mentions. Woohyun takes a long sip of his flat white, mulling over how to respond.

 

“Your dongsaengs told you about me,” he states. Sunggyu inclines his head, although Woohyun’s not looking at him. “Then you’ve seen my videos?”

 

“No, not yet.”

 

“Would you like to?” Even if he hadn’t, Sunggyu thinks, the apprehension lacing Woohyun’s voice would have made him say  ‘yes’ straight away.

 

“Sure,” he shrugs.

 

Woohyun pulls out his phone. He hunches over the table scrolling through items. When he’s been like that for several minutes, Sunggyu gets tempted to peek, but Woohyuns’ whole stiff, uneasy stance tells Sunggyu to stay put and wait.

 

“Here,” Woohyun sighs finally, sitting back and rolling a crick from his neck. “This one’s OK.”

 

He hands his phone to Sunggyu, gesturing for him to put the earphones in. It’s a video from a music show. There are the usual bright lights and pyrotechnics and five fresh-faced boys in heavy make-up dancing on stage. Sunggyu recognises Woohyun on the edge in a pink camo-jacket and white ripped jeans. At the dance break, Sunggyu gasps softly. It’s Hoya, blond then, wearing an orange shirt and black trousers so tight that he really ought not to be able to do the splits so stylishly in them.

 

The song’s terrible. The melody’s reminiscent of children’s anime songs from a decade ago and the lyrics don’t make any sort of sense. The lead singer, as pretty as he is, has a voice so nasal it makes Sunggyu’s brain hurt. However, near the end, when Sunggyu’s about fit to yank the earphones out no matter how rude that would be, Woohyun’s centre stage for the first time. Camo-jacket slipping off one shoulder, he shoots for this high note. Sunggyu’s stunned. Who knew the dimutive Porridge Man With The Nose had such a voice. It’s so clear and powerful and rich with emotion. Woohyun sings the last refrain and Sunggyu catches the feeling. The dire lyrics seem almost meaningful. As the performers’ take their ending pose, chests heaving, Sunggyu’s cheeks hurt from a smile that's appeared without him knowing. The boys on stage are smiling cutely, eyes swimming around for the camera with the red light. The video cuts off.

 

“Oh,” Sunggyu takes the ear phones out and hands Woohyun back his phone, “Wow,” he adds intelligently.

 

“You don’t have to pretend to like it, Sunggyu-sshi. I know the song wasn’t good,” Woohyun declares, smile a little crooked.

 

“You were though. I like your voice.”

 

“I like yours too,” Woohyun mumbles.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Never mind. Do you really? I’d like to show you another clip or two if you do… Be honest, Sunggyu-sshi.”

 

“I’m impeccably honest,” Sunggyu proclaims, nose in the air. A beat later, he grins, resting a hand on Woohyun’s bare forearm to assure him. “Show me.”

 

They watch a couple of videos. Woohyun introduces each one with a long preamble. (“This show, we called it the cougar show, because the VJ would always grab our bums. Actually, she’s not a bad sort. She just really loves bums. So does Taehyun, so they had that in common. Anyhow, the day this was filmed I was sick because I’d gone on an apple diet the week before and it had kind of missed me up-”).

 

Sunggyu begins to interject. Surprisingly quickly, he’s gotten used to the notion of having coffee with a pop idol. (“Why would you go on an apple diet? What is that? Is it what it sounds like? Why would you do that?”

 

“Yes, it is what it sounds like. And I just wanted to try it. We live and we learn, Sunggyu-sshi. But that’s not the point-”

 

“Nor is it something you’d have to go to university to learn not to do. I can promise you that.”

 

“Have you considered that I may not be a very smart specimen of humanity? Anyway, as I was saying…”).

 

In the blink of an eye, it’s an hour later. Sunggyu sends Myungsoo a quick text, apologising and promising to not be too much longer. He’s hoping the student hasn’t tried to engage with any of their customers. It doesn’t always go smoothly when Myungsoo decides to do so. Sunggyu shivers, recalling that time the guy took it into his head to sell a guide to Nihilism to a middle schooler and ended up making the pimply teenager cry. 

 

“Of course, all things come to nothing.”

 

Sunggyu turns to Woohyun. The man’s tracing the knots in the varnished table top, a doleful look in his eyes. Sunggyu touches his hand to gain his attention. When Woohyun’s gaze travels up to his, Sunggyu tilts his head in a question.

 

“Ah, sorry. It’s fine. Only it’s over. Our contracts were all terminated. It got finalised yesterday. That’s why Hoya’s come down. He’s stopping for a few days on his way back to his parents’ place near Busan.”

 

Sunggyu pats Woohyun’s arm absentmindedly. He fixes on the phone lying silently between their empty cups, as if that will tell him what to say.

 

“It seemed like you had some fans. There were a lot of screams in that radio show clip you showed me.”

 

“Yeah, we were gaining a few fans,” Woohyun allows, “What we weren’t gaining was any money. Sajangnim had already mortgaged his house. In the end, he had no choice but to file for bankruptcy.” Woohyun laughs suddenly, “He says he’s going to return to Namwon and grow medicinal herbs like his grandfather used to. We’ll see.”

 

They stay that way, a hush between them, Woohyun reminiscing and Sunggyu not knowing what to do but to be there for him. The peace is nice, in its way, and soft. Sunggyu’s gaze flows over Woohyun’s profile, seeing details he hadn’t picked up on previously – the sloping curve of his eyelashes and the sweeping line of his cheekbones, the turn of his lips and the freckle on his jaw. Woohyun has a tendency to bite the corner of his lip while he’s thinking, his white fang tooth appearing for a millisecond. Sunggyu’s hand finds Woohyun’s, who laces their fingers together. Their linked hands rest on Woohyun’s thigh.

 

“You don’t remember at all, do you?” the man whispers, making the silence surrounding them shudder. Sunggyu his head. He’s reminded of a few days ago – them close together between the bookshelves, the question he’d thought he’d heard Woohyun ask him. Woohyun lets out a heavy breath. He explains,

 

“You auditioned for the same company. Don’t worry, I didn’t think you would remember me. But I thought, well, maybe.”

 

Images sieve through Sunggyu’s mind of all the auditions he’d been to back them. There were so many and he’s endeavoured to think of them as little as possible. It’s a mosaic of disappointment and humiliation and in none of it can he pinpoint a boy so charming as Woohyun. Surely at the very least, he thinks somewhat desperately, he ought to recall that nose.

 

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, having trouble finding his tongue, “I don’t...”

 

“Like I said, don't worry about it. You didn’t see my audition, so there’s really no reason you would remember me. I saw yours though. You were number 51 and I was number 53. 52-nim was throwing up in the bathroom.”

 

Woohyun pauses. Seeing Sunggyu’s pensive expression - lips pushed out cutely and hair falling into his eyes – Woohyun’s mouth opts to keep talking, blithely disregarding his brain’s protestations. He gently sweeps Sunggyu’s fringe back with one finger and confesses,

 

“I was about set to join 52-nim, but you made me stay put and encouraged me. You said you’d already been rejected 14 times and if that was going to be the 15^th time then so be it. You’d succeed eventually is you worked hard. That’s what you told me.” (A croak escapes Sunggyu’s throat. That does sound like exactly the kind of nonsense his younger self used to spout). “Then later you sang that song ‘Together’ and I vowed I’d be your fan, despite the panel not looking so impressed. I’m your fan, Sunggyu-sshi,” Woohyun smirks, making a weak cheering gesture with his free hand. Sunggyu scoffs, cheeks the same colour as the lonely peony,

 

“Thank you for your support.”

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

When Sunggyu gets back to Old Lee’s, it has not been burned down and everything appears peaceful. Sungjong’s come in for his shift and he, Myungsoo and Sungyeol aggressively (in Sunggyu’s opinion) stare at Sunggyu the moment the door-chimes tinkle. Sunggyu mutters an apology for taking so long, bowing his head slightly. He’s not surprised to see Sungyeol there – he’d half expected the man to barge in on his lunch date meeting with Woohyun. However, he’s somewhat surprised when Sungjong sidles up to him, edging along the counter, and stage-whispers,

 

“Are you spying for the North, Hyung? These hyungs have been acting seriously strangely waiting for you.”

 

Sunggyu lets out a dry laugh. He waves off Sungjong, telling him that it’s nothing and not to mind the college students. In response, Sungjong huffs, casting  a haughty appraising glance MyungYeol’s way.

 

“Well, I assumed I shouldn’t,” he concedes, slipping back behind the counter to continue glaring at his English book.

 

With zero subtlety, Myungsoo shoves Sungyeol forwards from where they’d both been leaning on a special display of 20th century speculative fiction.

 

“So,” Sungyeol starts, fixing his ponytail and suddenly avoiding eye contact, “How’d it go?”

 

“Fine,” Sunggyu replies, directing his interest at an accounts book from two months ago. Myungsoo coughs pointedly. Sungyeol whimpers.

 

“I guess you’re seeing him tomorrow, right? Any more plans maybe? Only, y’know, only since you two are getting on so well. I just happen to be curious. Just a general curious-” Myungsoo coughs again and Sungyeol’s mouth snaps shut. Sunggyu greets Sungyeol’s jumpy gaze with a lazy smile.

 

“Myungsoo didn’t mention? I’m off for two days. I presume I’ll see him again after that.”

 

“Oh. Right!” Sungyeol shoots a glare over his shoulder at Myungsoo. Unconcerned, Sunggyu flops down beside Sungjong and opens up youtube on his phone. Unexpectedly, he’s more in the mood to watch videos – his own and other singers’ – than read novels. Despite his efforts not to listen, he overhears a few snatches of the students’ arguing. He puts in his earphones and turns up the volume.

(“I’m not the one who told you to wimp out again, Yeol-hyung.”

 

“Hey! I was being considerate, I’ll have you know!”

 

“Sure. A considerate wimp.”

 

“Blow me! Anyway, he’s not going anywhere. There’s still time.”

 

“Gladly! And that’s time you keep considerately wimping away...”)

 

☆☆☆

 

Ⅴ《A kiss is a secret which takes the lips for the ear.》

Although he doesn’t have work, Sunggyu does see his boss. Owing to Old Lee’s increasing years and waistline, the Younger Lee – Sunggyu’s boss and something of an uncle figure to him – is having to take more and more time out to care for his father. Having given himself an afternoon to unwind, he instructs Sunggyu to meet him for Italian. They sit in the restaurant's small but beautiful garden beside a burbling water feature. The ground is made up of flagstones in different shades, from rosy pink to brown the colour of jasmine tea. The two men eat and chat, sipping wine and flicking grains of rice to the birds hopping around their feet.

 

The Younger Lee regails Sunggyu with tails of depressing ingenuity – grinding vitamins into his father’s coffee, sneaking fibre pills into his burger, and a myriad of ways of tricking the elderly man into exercise. Sunggyu barely comments. It’s clear that his boss needs the catharsis of letting it all out. When he has, they sit quietly for a while, soaking in the peace of the garden against the background bustle of the city and the pleasant, crisp taste of the wine. Heaving his shoulers, the Younger Lee squints at his employee.

 

“Sorry about that.”

 

“Don’t be. It’s OK, Sajangnim,” Sunggyu assures, lightly, “You can talk to me.”

 

“I can!” the older man agrees, lifting his glass and tilting it towards Sunggyu, “You too, Gyu-goon. What are you up to these days? Is anything drawing your nose out of the books and into the real world?”

 

Sunggyu clears his throat. How awkward – until his boss added that second question, he’d been on the cusp of gushing about the Icelandic political thriller he’d found last night, lost in a shelf of Japanese poets. In the circumstances, he blabbers,

 

“I met a new friend lately. Not lately, actually. But he works nextdoor. You might know his family, come to think of it. Maybe him too. He’s got a memorable face. When you look at it, it’s memorable.”

 

It dawns on Sunggyu that the Younger Lee is ogling him like he’s sprouted a new head. Sunggyu clears his throat again and spills out everything he’s learned about Nam Woohyun.

 

“I see,” the Younger Lee intones once Sunggyu’s fumbled his way to yesterday’s brunch of focacia and stewed fruits and the revealing meeting later at the coffee shop. “It sounds like he’s expressing himself.”

 

Sunggyu furrows his brow.

 

“What? Expressing himself through brunches?”

 

“Why not?” the Younger Lee counters, plucking up a toothpick in order to rummage in his back teeth. “He’s putting his thoughts into it. You can hear an author through their novels. Why not taste a chef through their dishes?”

 

Sunggyu dwells on this. (The woman at the table nearby must be on a diet, he notices. Every time her partner looks away, she accidentally-on-purpose drops food on the ground. It can’t be long before the man realises - her high-heeled feet are islands in a flurry of brown feathers, the birds having quickly caught on to her ruse).

 

“So I’ve been tasting Woohyun?” Sunggyu checks, not wishing to dwell any longer.

 

“Something like that, Sunggyu-goon,” his boss agrees amiably.

 

“But he made everything unique. How am I supposed to know what he’s been trying to express?”

 

“Perhaps you can find out tomorrow,” the Younger Lee suggests, peering at the molecule of salad leaf he just excavated from his molars, “it seems like he wants you to know.”

 

Sunggyu grimaces at the check table cloth. Tomorrow. A matter he didn’t especially feel like sharing with MyungYeol, is that he’ll see Woohyun twice the following day, once in the morning and once in the evening. They arranged a date entirely platonic cinema outing.

 

☆☆☆

 

He tells Myungsoo in the end. That is to say, he sends him a text leaving out most details. Myungsoo’s not in that day. Instead, Sunggyu’s got Sungjong, who’s chuckling delightedly at a light novel which features a pair of bloody severed heads on the cover. Sunggyu’s a bit disappointed with himself for caving when Myungsoo isn’t even around. After what Sungyeol confessed to the other day, Sunggyu’s a bit nervous that they’ll track him down somehow and spoil the friendly evening out with his friend-who-happens-to-be-exceedingly-handsome-sweet-and-charming. Nonetheless, he’d felt bad for keeping something from his precious dongsaeng. Sunggyu mentally kicks himself.

 

Evening arrives and Woohyun meets him outside the shop in skinny jeans, an expensive looking shirt and with his hair freshly gelled. Sunggyu tells himself that he doesn’t feel under-dressed in his normal white v-neck and loose grey cardigan. They catch a bus to the cinema and watch an American superhero flick. They’re quiet together - little awkward even, as they flounder through stiff conversation. Sunggyu can’t help but think that Woohyun has something on the tip of the tongue. They’re only two friends catching a movie together- reminding himself of this does not quell the confusing mix of relief and disappointment and other things he can’t name.

 

After the film, they ramble down to a Mexican restaurant and share a plate of taco rice. They sit on metal chairs out front, people-watching and making the smallest of small talk.

 

“Say, Sunggyu-sshi,” Woohyun starts, his lips like it’s taken him the whole evening to pull up these words. Sunggyu notices that fang tooth worrying his bottom lip.

 

“I told you – call me ‘hyung’,” Sunggyu mumbles, attention dragging to a group of college girls waiting to cross the road, noisily caterwauling the hook of a recent pop song over and over.

 

“OK, Sunggyu-hyung,” Woohyun murmurs. Sunggyu’s eyes widen - a hum of electricity buzzes under his skin. He soothes his palms over his jeans twice before allowing himself to turn his face back to Woohyun. “You said you still sing,” the man continues, “I’d like to hear.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“If you don’t mind.”

 

Sunggyu tentatively reaches for his phone in his pocket. His fingers curl. Anxiety grabs at his chest. He asks, as breezily as he can,

 

“Do you? Still sing, I mean.”

 

Woohyun pushes his lips out, mulling that over seriously.

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t felt much like singing in a few weeks. Which isn’t like me. But it also… It feels like I’m missing something. In here.” He taps above his heart. “Like my vocabulary was depleted in one move. That doesn’t make sense.”

 

His shoulders sag.

 

“No. It does,” Sunggyu grits out, words feeling like weights. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been… reading. Reading so much. People express themselves through what they read. Maybe you want to patch over what’s missing.”

 

The last words hurt like barbs. Sunggyu sweeps invisible strands of hair out of his eyes, flustered under the long look Woohyun’s giving him. He orders his fingers to uncurl and he jerkily takes out his phone.

 

“I do still sing,” Sunggyu admits, as Woohyun absentmindedly  reaches over the small table to push his fringe behind his ear, “I don’t usually show anyone. But since you’re asking… There’s no wi-fi here though.” His cheeks are scarlet - Sunggyu resigns himself to the matter this time. He watches the smile bud and bloom on Woohyun’s lips.

 

“Let’s go somewhere where there is then,” the man suggests, lying his hand over Sunggyu’s. Sunggyu grins and let’s himself be lifted up.

 

Ӝ Ӝ Ӝ

 

Myungsoo slurps on the dregs of his tea latte, then glares at the ice-cubes for being noisy. Sungyeol pinches his arm hard.

 

“Keep it down!” the elder hisses, “It’s like you’ve never done surveillance before.” Myungsoo does not deign to reply.

 

Carefully bending down, he places his plastic cup on the tarmac. He sneaks another glance out of the dingy alley. His curiousity is more in the form of ‘when can I leave?’ than ‘what are they doing?’ Nonetheless, the sight that greets him makes his eyes bulge. He whips his head back into the safety of the dark, narrow alley.

 

“What? What’s going on now?” Sungyeol whines, frantically poking Myungsoo’s biceps. Grumbling under his breath, Myungsoo makes a gesture for Sungyeol to see for himself. Sungyeol bites his lips and shuffles closer, standing in front of Myungsoo. Almost pressed against his chest, in fact. Myungsoo’s face burns like fire. He watches Sungyeol’s cupid’s bow lips form an ‘o’. Sungyeol’s not like Myungsoo – he keeps watching.

 

“Myung-ah,” Sungyeol’s voice is startlingly soft. It makes electricity crackle up Myungsoo’s spine and sparks explode behind his eyes. “Will you make fun of me if I back out again?”

 

Myungsoo gulps. He digs his nails into his palms. When he speaks, he’s proud of how steady his voice is. It might be good that Sungyeol’s still watching what's out in the street – if he were to turn back to Myungsoo, he would see how Myungsoo’s eyes shine, devouring Sungyeol’s profile illuminated in the dim street light. His pierced ears, his nose, his jaw, his soft pouting lips, his lips, his lips...

 

“No. No, this time it’s OK, Yeol-hyung.”

 

Some metres away, Woohyun and Sunggyu stand in the harsh light above Sunggyu’s front door. Sunggyu’s waist in Woohyun’s hands and Sunggyu’s long, pale fingers twisting in Woohyun’s black hair. Sunggyu’s back against the door and Woohyun’s heart shyly racing as his lips meet Sunggyu’s. “My heart expands as your hurt grows. Come to me, it’s because I like it when you smile,” he sings Sunggyu’s song, voice a whisper ghosting the shell of Sunggyu’s ear. Sunggyu laughs and wishes him ‘good night. His lyrics, he thinks, sound so much better on Woohyun’s tongue. No such song has he heard before in the darkness of the night.

 

☆☆☆

 

Epilogue《Lee Sungyeol and the Purging of the Soul.》

It takes a week. Sunggyu doesn’t feel like much he's changed. However, he has accepted that he’s now officially dating the Porridge Man. He still prefers novels to real life and the cramped, decaying bookshop to the outside world. He still gets anxious from watching his youtube videos. But a new song is forming at the tips of his fingers, one Woohyun’s writing the lyrics to. It sounds nothing like those he usually writes. The moon always stay there, I’ll always be here for you, want you, And, can you smile? Perhaps, he can admit, he’s changed a bit.

 

For his part, Woohyun didn’t intend to start singing again. In fact, he didn’t notice he was, until Mrs. Shim requested he stop belting rock songs while preparing her breakfast. He has since switched to crooning old g.o.d numbers when she appears and taking pleasure in her palpably reduced levels of narkiness. At the same time, he’s been raiding the gothic romance secion of Old Lee’s bookshop. He thinks Myungsoo and Sunggyu make fun of him every time he goes to make a purchase. But he can’t really tell. (Nor does he care, when Sunggyu squeezes his hand and brushes a kiss against his cheek as he leaves).

 

The Younger Lee sent Sunggyu a video message of congratulations as if Sunggyu were the gay son he never had. He had his father join in, afterwards magnificently convincing him to celebrate with a stroll to that one bakery that happens to be 12 blocks away.

 

One who doesn’t feel he’s changed is Sungyeol and – as Myungsoo reminds him daily – time is passing. Sungyeol wants to change, he does. He wants to lay things to rest. So he psychs himself up and he psychs himself up some more. He misses the robotics fair and is even too distracted to remember a word of the special lecture from a visiting apicologist he'd been looking forward to. Finally, weeks later, he deems himself ready. At noon, he storms into Old Lee’s. Sunggyu and the couple of customers glare at him for making the door-chimes clatter. Myungsoo helpfully calls him over to where he’s working in the ‘Japanese literature, Class S’ section. Sungyeol hadn’t clearly planned what to do if his target wasn’t here yet. Embarrassed, he lets himself be pulled to sit on the tatty carpet in Myungsoo’s bubble of peace. He waits.

 

At 14:47, Woohyun strolls in, crooning that song that Sunggyu’s been working on under his breath. Sungyeol shoots upwards before his nerves have a chance to overwhelm him yet again.

 

“Woohyun-sshi! I have to apologise!”

 

Pausing mid-step, Woohyun goggles at him in surprise.

 

“You can call me ‘hyung’, Sungyeol-ah. Why are you suddenly using formalities again?”

 

Behind the counter, Sunggyu grips the Arnaldur Indriðason paperback in his hands and makes himself stay put despite his racing heart.

 

“Woohyun-sshi,” Sungyeol insists, the hem of his jacket, “I’m a big fan of Estrella’s Kim Gayoung.”

 

“Oh, ah,” Woohyun stutters. He tugs at his collar, laughing nervously, “I guess you saw our episode of Romantic Rookies? I, er, yeah. I know her fans weren’t very happy with me back then.” The customers ears’ are perking up to their conversation. Woohyun spies intrigued glances and even out right stares being directed his way. He chokes back a whimper, feeling more flustered by the second. “I’m sorry, Sungyeol-ah. It was all scripted, you know? But I accept that we got too into our roles. I’m sorry, I-”

 

“No!” Sungyeol interrupts, looking more flustered even than Woohyun. One of the customers has now given up pretending to read the book in her hands, gawking at the scene before her, “I really have to apologise, Woohyun-sshi!”

 

Woohyun coughs, attempting to inch away to invisibility. He has a strange feeling – he hopes it’s just his nerves making him paranoid.

 

“Why ever would that be?”

 

Sungyeol doesn’t speak. He’s petrified, like a statue – mouth refusing to function, arms hanging limply in front of him. Myungsoo pokes his calf with a biro. Sungyeol jolts.

 

“I used to be kind of obsessive. I’m not like that now, I swear. But I used to be and I really regret some things I did back then. And at that time I was totally angry with you for acting so close and touchy with Gayoungie. I was enraged, I mean and, and well… Do you remember one time when your van got replaced by a few sets of pogo stilts?”

 

“Yes… Yeah. They were all lined up in the parking space where we’d left the van. The tallest ones had my name on them,” Woohyun embarrassedly recalls, voice unsteady, “The security guard swore that’s what we came in with. The van was parked outside, but it’d been spray painted with hot pink gang signs.”

 

Book still in hand, Sunggyu slides his stool over so he can link his fingers with Woohyun’s.

 

“Right,” Sungyeol nods, pursing his lips, “That security guard was easy to bribe. Also, do you remember that variety show where you had to play Russian roulette where one of the sushi rolls would be filled with wasabi?”

 

“The one where they were all filled with wasabi for some reason?” Woohyun sweats at the memory, “And the studio’s water supply suddenly cut off so the staff could’t find us anything to drink at first?”

 

Sungyeol smoothes his hands down his sleeves a few times, dower expression on his face. “That one took a lot of preplanning and wrangling to get enough insiders agreeing to the plan. I’m very regretful. Really, I am!”

 

Woohyun coughs, tightening his hold on Sunggyu’s hand. He only came in to flirt with his boyfriend, why is it turning out like this? Truthfully, he’d suspected the students of eyeing him weirdly several times. But Sunggyu claimed that was simply what they looked like all the time, so he’d told himself to forget about it.

 

“Is that everything?” he squeaks. his lips, he adds, “It’s OK. I’ve moved on from that life and you’re sorry, so… It’s OK.”

 

Sungyeol squirms, cuffs fisted in his hands.

 

“I… Yeah. Yeah, that’s about it.”

 

Myungsoo pokes Sungyeol’s calf with the biro again, harder this time. Sungyeol yelps.

 

“Well, also… OK, also, do you remember this one time at ShowChampion when your stage costume got replaced by a women’s hanbok?”