I said I’m sorry—should I get on my knees?

                Junhyung glances over to him—glances at Yoseob’s ringing phone as the vibrations are gradually making it slide over the table top. He glances at the phone since it’s right in front of him—since he’s sitting at Yoseob’s desk in the goalie’s bedroom. He glances at the phone and then glances to the younger boy—all the way across the room, sitting on his bed, back against the pillows, scribbling into his notebook. “Aren’t you going to get that?” His eyes search the screen.

                Yoseob doesn’t look up. It comes naturally—there was once a time when he’d have to tell himself, when it was a conscious effort. Now, by now, now it comes naturally—it comes naturally, ingrained into him, and easy as breathing. “No,” he says and looks back at his English book and writes in the last part of a definition. “Just leave it, hyung.”

                He can feel the older boy worried—can feel the older boy concerned, maybe wanting to ask, but most likely knowing that he shouldn’t interfere. Yoseob looks up at Junhyung and gives him a reassuring grin. “Hyung, relax. It’s nothing.”

                “Yoseob-ah, you know that Doojoon’s not—”

                “I know, hyung,” Yoseob says and wonders why Junhyung constantly reminds him about this. It’s not like he doesn’t know—he knows—of course he knows and he acknowledges that, so why does the older boy keep telling him this? It’s nice to hear once or twice, but beyond that point, it gets into nagging territory—which, admittedly, is where Junhyung lives anyway. “It’s fine—I’ll text him later or something.”

I don’t think I can comfort you with ‘I love you’ anymore

                He doesn’t text Doojoon back that night.

                He doesn’t call Doojoon back, either.

                Junhyung heads home after he finishes his homework and gets the help he needs from Yoseob, and then the goalie eats dinner, showers, and falls asleep with his phone still on his desk. He doesn’t bother to check the number of missed calls or messages. He’s caught a glimpse once or twice what it was all about, and after figuring out that Doojoon just wanted to talk—probably just wanted to ask how the studying went with Junhyung—Yoseob climbs on his bed and falls asleep with his phone on his desk.

                It’s easy, now, for him to pretend that he didn’t want to pick up the call.

                He almost believes it himself.

Doojoon is waiting for him at school the next day, not in the cafeteria, but right outside in the courtyard, a little bit behind the gates at one of the school’s side entrances. He’s waiting there for Yoseob, hands in his pockets, backpack on his back, hair still a little bit messy and damp from the shower, shirt not yet tucked in for classes, and his expression is a little downcast, a little worried, just like it should be—just like it should be because that means that Yoseob is still in the running.

The older boy catches sight of Yoseob and while the tiny hints of sadness are still there, he smiles slightly—grins slightly, and Yoseob grins back. Yoseob grins back and as soon as he gets to Doojoon, as soon as he reaches Doojoon, he throws his arms around the other boy’s neck and kisses him—kisses him full on the mouth, tongues twisting and gliding against each other, pressing the older boy’s body into the brick side of the school, breaths quickening.

He kisses Doojoon before Doojoon can say anything—before Doojoon will even have time to formulate his thoughts on what he wants to say about last night. He kisses Doojoon to placate him, to make him forget, to make him not care, to make it up to him—he kisses him because that’s what Yoseob is supposed to do. That’s what Doojoon wants, no matter how nice, how kind, the older boy is as a friend, Yoseob knows that as a boyfriend, that’s what Doojoon wants and that’s okay.

But then the kiss ends and Doojoon’s grin is a little wider, his face is a little brighter just like Yoseob knew it would be—they’re always brighter after a kiss, after a little tongue, after some body-to-body. “Hey,” Doojoon says and he ruffles Yoseob’s hair.

Yoseob grins back, “Hey, hey.”

Doojoon’s smile falters a bit then and his eyebrows knit together. “How come you weren’t picking up again last night?”

“I don’t know,” Yoseob says easily, shrugging. “Junhyung-hyung and I were really into something. I think I forgot to turn my phone off silent after school, too. Why? Did you have something to tell me?” He can see it Doojoon’s face—he can see that the older boy can’t shrug it off anymore as much as he wishes he still could. Yoseob can see that after the first time, second time, third and fourth and fifth and sixth and seventh, Doojoon is starting to care—to get worried about this.

“I mean, not really,” Doojoon says, and his voice is casual—is trying its best to be casual and calm and as unaffected as Yoseob seems to be. “I just wanted to talk—see how it was going with Junhyung.” He grins then, a small grin, but something playful and teasing. “Yah—cheating on me already?”

Yoseob can’t help it—he’s trying, but sometimes with Doojoon it’s harder than with the others (is Doojoon really different?) and he can’t help it—it breaks and he doesn’t know how to control it—it’s times like these where he finds himself laughing, finds himself wishing that he had picked up the call so they could’ve talked like this all night. “Definitely,” he says, struggling to keep a straight face. “I had mad passionate with Junhyung-hyung all night and then Hyunseung-hyung dropped by and we made it a . You should’ve joined. It would’ve been amazing.”

Doojoon laughs, laughs hard and loud and when he talks, he’s doing that thing where his eyes are disappearing and he has to struggle at keeping them open and he looks happy—so happy—and Yoseob wishes he didn’t have to do this but he has to protect himself—he has to protect himself because this’ll probably be Doojoon’s first cut, but Yoseob’s already had seventeen bullets. “I bet,” he says and then frowns—suddenly and out of the blue, he frowns and sidesteps slightly, tilting his head and looking at something behind Yoseob.

The goalie blinks. “What? Who?” He whirls around, but there’s no one behind them.

“Nothing,” Doojoon says, suddenly putting his backpack down. “It’s just—your backpack is like bigger than Taecyeon-hyung. Did you stuff your entire locker in there or something?” He takes Yoseob by the shoulders and turns him around so that the goalie’s back is facing him.

Yoseob is confused—is utterly bewildered. “Um—no, I mean—I had a lot of homework and I had to bring the books that Junhyung-hyung needed home because I need to show him when we were going through it. It’s not—it’s not heavy, I don’t feel it or—”

The weight on his back suddenly decreases to an extent where Yoseob realizes that maybe he did put his entire locker in there yesterday. It decreases, but he has no idea what Doojoon is going to do with all those books because he has to bring them back to school, obviously, and—

“Hyung—don’t—”

Doojoon glances up as Yoseob turns around—he glances up from where he’s down on the ground on one knee, loading half of Yoseob’s backpack contents into his own. He grins up at Yoseob. “You’re already short enough. We can’t have you shrinking because you’re carrying around all this crap.” He finishes stuffing in as much as he can into his backpack and picks up the rest of the books into one arm.

Yoseob stares with wide eyes as Doojoon straightens up to his feet and uses his free hand to hold Yoseob’s.

“Come on,” the older boy laughs at the look on Yoseob’s face, “before Joonie-hyung starts losing more IQ points wondering why we’re not there yet.”

You are who I really cherish

                Yoseob knows it might be hard to believe. He knows it doesn’t sound believable, maybe it doesn’t even seem possible, maybe it just sounds stupid—he knows it doesn’t sound true, can’t be true, but Yoseob loved each and every one of those seventeen. He loved every single one of them as a friend, as a best friend, and as a boyfriend. He knows that after the third or fourth, he should’ve stopped—should’ve stopped hoping, should’ve saved himself from pain again and again, should’ve stopped convincing himself that he was playing them too because he wasn’t.

                He was playing them in some ways—rejecting them at first, making them worry and bite their nails, dumping them without listening. He was playing them in some ways, but even he knows that it’s only because all of them hurt him first. Each every one of them hurt him first, cheated on him, gave up on him, told him that he wasn’t trying hard enough, that he acts like he doesn’t care—

                But he loved them. All of them. They were terrible, but they were his friends—his best friends before they were his boyfriends.

                Doojoon was his best friend too.

                Doojoon was his best friend and now he’s Yoseob’s boyfriend. It’s the same pattern, but a little bit different. It’s a little bit different because even when Doojoon was just his best friend, Doojoon was more of his best friend than all of the others. Yoseob doesn’t even know why—he doesn’t know if it’s because Doojoon is funnier than all the others, if it’s because Doojoon’s smile seems so much brighter than the others, if it’s because Doojoon doesn’t seem to care how indifferent Yoseob acts towards him, the older boy always cares—always, always cares, and always, always listens regardless if Yoseob cares and listens back.

                Doojoon is kind—so kind, ridiculously kind, unbelievably kind—he’s kind and perfect and Yoseob is terrified. Yoseob is terrified that Doojoon will wake up and realize that Yoseob is adorable—yes. Yoseob is cute—yes. Yoseob is funny, he can flirt, he’s smart, he’s good at soccer—yes, yes, yes, and yes. Yoseob is all of those things, but he’ll never be as kind as Doojoon—he’ll never be able to do for Doojoon what Doojoon’s done for Yoseob. He’ll never be able to be the kind of person someone as perfect as Doojoon deserves.

                Yoseob knows this and he knows that Doojoon doesn’t. He knows that Doojoon still has illusions that Yoseob is this amazing person who’s been hurt seventeen times and like the kind person he is, Doojoon just wants to fix him—wants to fix him, maybe wants to get some kisses, some touching out of it—probably wants to hold Yoseob and flirt with him and laugh with him because Yoseob knows he’s entertaining, exciting, and warm and soft and—yeah. He knows he is. He also knows that he isn’t as kind or gentle or caring as Doojoon deserves. He knows and Doojoon doesn’t.

                So he’s terrified when Doojoon does—he doesn’t want Doojoon to leave because after being through seventeen deserts, Yoon Doojoon is like Yoseob’s oasis. He doesn’t want to have to leave it. He doesn’t ever want to leave it, so he’s pulling all the protective mechanisms he has—all the ones that he can find and build and he’s pulling out all of the tricks he’s learned over the years to make Doojoon keep wanting him. He knows it can’t last forever, but he has to try.

Because I only learned bad words, bad actions

                Doojoon puts down his calculator and looks at Yoseob from across the older boy’s room. “Then what do you want to do tomorrow?”

                Yoseob continues to page through the chapter of a novel he’s supposed to be writing a summary of, complete with character development analysis and plot development. He continues to page through and tells himself, makes-believe, pretends, tells himself that he doesn’t want to see a movie, or shop, or go to the park, or do homework, or study, or eat out with Doojoon tomorrow afternoon. “I don’t know,” he says. “What do you want to do?” He doesn’t look up to meet Doojoon’s eyes.

                “I just listed everything I want to do, Yang Yoseob,” the older boy says and he sounds exasperated, sounds irritated. “I don’t have any more ideas—that’s why I’m asking you.” Yoseob decides to glance up then, discreetly, and sees genuine upset in Doojoon’s face—upset framed with frustration because Yoseob has been at this for the past hour, and it’s not the first time either.

                “We don’t have to do anything, then,” Yoseob says and he’s glad that there’s upset, that there’s frustration—those two are positive things, those two mean that Doojoon still likes him, that Doojoon still cares enough to try. Once the upset is gone, once there’s no more frustration in situations like these, it means that they aren’t interested anymore—it means that they don’t want him anymore. Yoseob has been through this seventeen times and each time, whenever Yoseob starts to let up, starts to show them that he does love them—

                Seventeen times, they run for the nearest girl.

                They run for the nearest girl because once Yoseob lets them know that he loves them, that they’ve got him fallen—once they know, they think that’s done, that’s covered, it’s safe to cheat and off they go.

                And while Yoseob knows that Doojoon won’t cheat (probably won’t, he can’t be sure, but probably won’t), he knows that Doojoon might lose interest if there’s nothing left to chase. He thinks that Doojoon might realize that Yoseob can’t be entertaining and exciting and funny twenty-four-seven, and he might leave. He might leave and Yoseob can’t have him leaving.

Something always gets twisted, twisted

                “You mean, we don’t have to do anything at all?” Doojoon asks, and his voice is suddenly stony—it’s stony and a little bit cold and makes Yoseob bolt upright on the bed, sitting up straight and staring. “Like, ever?” the older boy says and that gets Yoseob out of the bed completely.

I, who thought ‘What’s love, just keep pushing forward’, was stupid

                It gets him out of the bed completely because it isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to be like this. Doojoon is supposed to want him more. Doojoon is supposed to like the chase—is supposed to want Yoseob more the more Yoseob shows that he doesn’t want Doojoon because that’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s how it’s always worked and Yoseob doesn’t get it because the goalie has done everything right—he’s kissed Doojoon and made out with Doojoon and he’s let Doojoon touch him, he’s let Doojoon touch him however the older boy wants, he’s let Doojoon spend time with whoever else he wants however long he wants, he’s—

                Yoseob ends up out of the bed and standing right in front of Doojoon, standing right in front of Doojoon who’s turned around from his desk on the chair. He’s turned around and they are facing each other and at least now Doojoon doesn’t look so stony—at least he looks surprised instead because of how abruptly Yoseob scrambled out of the bed. “What?” Yoseob asks, and he hates how his voice is a whisper.

                Doojoon blinks—he’s surprised, surprised for a moment but when he regains his bearings, his expression isn’t stony anymore. It’s not stony—just weary—weary and sad and resigned and for some reason, he looks at Yoseob and smiles a little. He smiles, but it’s not bright and Yoseob hates that kind of smile. “Do you—I don’t know—do you—you know, you don’t have to go out with me if you don’t want to.”

                Bull.

                “Hyung—”

                “I know it’s weird,” Doojoon continues, looking apologetic and upset and sad and torn and Yoseob hates this—he hates and hates and hates and hates it so much. He hates that expression on Doojoon’s face—hates anything other than grins and smiles and smirks and laughs on Doojoon’s face. “And, I don’t know, awkward knowing that I like you and all. But if you want to just be friends, you don’t have to go out with me—I mean, like, I’ll try not to act weird and—”

I’m sorry—I’ll do better

                Yoseob doesn’t know why he does it—

                He doesn’t know why he throws himself at Doojoon—throws himself at Doojoon and kisses Doojoon fiercer and deeper and harder than he’s ever kissed Doojoon before. He doesn’t know why his arms are like wrought iron around Doojoon’s neck—doesn’t know why all of a sudden he’s kissing Doojoon because that’s the only way the hurt in his chest is being alleviated and he doesn’t know why it hurts so much in the first place because while he’s familiar with pain like this (he’s had it seventeen times), he’s never felt it this intensely before.

                Doojoon pulls away first and that makes the pain sharpen until Yoseob is burrowing his face in Doojoon’s neck, holding himself tighter and closer and outright clinging to the older boy because he’s not going to let go even if Doojoon has to cut off the goalie’s arms with garden scissors. “Please don’t leave,” Yoseob whispers into the collar of Doojoon’s shirt. “Please don’t leave—please don’t.”

                The older boy can’t leave. He can’t. It’s not allowed. It’s not legal. He can’t leave. He can’t. At least not like this—not now. He can’t leave. He can’t leave because he’s the first person who can understand Yoseob.

Doojoon is the first person, the first after seventeen, who gets that when Yoseob is kicking him in the shins, it’s because he doesn’t want Doojoon to see how red his ears are. Doojoon is the first person, the first after seventeen, who understands that when Yoseob pulls out of a hug, it’s because he wants to be hugged tighter. Doojoon is the first person, the first out of seventeen, who never seems to get angry no matter how indifferent Yoseob is—doesn’t seem to care if Yoseob doesn’t reciprocate things like buying the goalie food, switching seats in class when Yoseob’s seat is right in the way of the AC, carrying his books for him in Doojoon’s own backpack—doesn’t seem to care and does all of those things anyway.

He can’t leave.

He can’t.

Just watch over me a bit more

                Doojoon pulls away first, but his arms suddenly encircle Yoseob’s waist, hands folding against the goalie’s back. Yoseob waits, waits and waits for Doojoon to say something while he tries to tell his heart that squeezing and contracting like that isn’t going to make anything happen—it’s not going to change anything other than the fact that maybe Yoseob’s life cuts a few years off itself.

                Yoseob waits, but it’s hard, it’s harder and agonizing to wait without looking at Doojoon’s face—it’s agonizing to look and agonizing not to look, but Yoseob doesn’t want to wait in silence and not even have a gauge of the other boy’s expression, so he draws back to look at Doojoon. He draws back to look at Doojoon and sees that the other boy’s expression is surprised—highly surprised with raised eyebrows and wide eyes.

                “I’m sorry,” Yoseob says quietly—desperately—and his hands are holding Doojoon’s face, “I’m sorry.” He grits his teeth and bites his lip. “Please don’t leave—please.” Doojoon is watching him intently now, surprise fading into something else—he’s watching Yoseob and Yoseob knows that he has to try harder, that he has to say more, that he has to make Doojoon stay. He knows he has to say more but he doesn’t know what else he can offer—Yang Yoseob is cute, is adorable, is exciting, is entertaining—

                There’s not much else after that.

Alright, let’s stop crying now

                Doojoon takes one of his arms away from Yoseob’s waist—takes it away and uses that hand to run his fingers down Yoseob’s bangs, sweeping them lightly to the side, dragging his fingertips down the side of Yoseob’s face, brushing his cheek gently, up and down with the back of his hand. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just Yoseob’s cheek—doesn’t say anything for a moment and his expression is softer, is warmer now and Yoseob thinks that at least for the time being, he can breathe.

                The older boy doesn’t say anything for a moment, and when he does speak, when he does open his mouth, he just says one word—a question, but his tone his firm, is steady, almost like he already knows the answer. Doojoon looks into Yoseob’s eyes, hands taking the goalie’s away from the older boy’s face and threading their fingers together. “Dongsuns?” he asks in a voice so quiet, Yoseob almost misses it.

                Yoseob doesn’t answer—he doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can bring himself to answer, knows from the look on Doojoon’s face that he doesn’t need to answer. All he can do is continue to stare into Doojoon’s eyes and wonder why his own are starting to sting and burn and water. He wonders why his own eyes suddenly have such difficulty staying open without watering and is about to turn away when Doojoon suddenly laughs.

                Doojoon laughs (and Yoseob thinks that maybe all this stress has driven him insane) and pulls Yoseob into his body—tugs Yoseob into a hug, onto his lap, into his arms and laughs soft and low into the goalie’s ear. The older boy’s arms are wrapped securely around Yoseob’s waist and he says, “Yah—Yang Yoseob, if you start crying on me, everyone at school’s going to punch my balls.”

                Yoseob grips the back of Doojoon’s shirt with his hands and buries his face into Doojoon’s neck again. He breathes in deep—breathes in deep breaths against Doojoon’s skin and closes his eyes, shuts his eyes tight and grips Doojoon tighter and tighter. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry.”

Isn’t that much better?

                “Sorry for what?” Doojoon says with a laugh and his voice is gentle. “Sorry that seventeen guys who shouldn’t be breathing are still out there? Yeah, I’m pretty sorry for that, too.” He draws back and cups Yoseob’s face in both of his hands, holding him so that their gazes meet. “Yah,” he says again and starts tugging at Yoseob’s cheeks abruptly, pulling at his face and clearly trying to make him smile in the most painful way possible.

                Yoseob elbows Doojoon in the forearm and slaps away the older boy’s other arm away from the goalie’s face. “Hyung,” he says and despite his now-aching cheeks, can’t stop the smile that starts to curve his mouth. “You’re so annoying.”

                Doojoon grins softly and grabs Yoseob in with both arms again, playfully burrowing his face into Yoseob’s stomach so the goalie doubles over with a burst of laughter because even if he’s not ticklish that kind of thing is just surprising and he shoves at Doojoon’s shoulders, almost falling to his knees because Doojoon is strong and the older boy has a stupidly huge face and Yoseob’s stomach is going to get holes in it or something and—

                “Hyung—you’re so ing annoying,” Yoseob laughs, completely breathless, as Doojoon holds him up by the waist and tugs him back onto the older boy’s lap.

                “Is that why you don’t want to do anything with me?” Doojoon teases, and hugs Yoseob to himself so tightly that Yoseob thinks he might as well have died from laughing too hard seconds ago because it’s not like he can breathe right now either.

                Yoseob leans back into Doojoon’s chest, head tipping back against the older boy’s shoulder, eyes staring at the ceiling. “No,” he says. “I want to do stuff with you. I really like doing stuff with you. And I like talking with you on the phone at night. And I think you shouldn’t carry stuff for me because it’s heavy for you, too.”

                Doojoon is quiet—silent. He just rests his cheek against the side of Yoseob’s neck, hands patting a steady, comforting rhythm against Yoseob’s hips while his arms are wrapped around the younger boy. Yoseob wonders if he’s heavy, despite his size—wonders just as a passing thought if he’s heavy on Doojoon’s lap. He waits for Doojoon to say something—and even if Doojoon doesn’t, that’s fine too. It feels nice—it always feels nice with Doojoon, even if they’re just sitting there, even if there aren’t even any words between them.

                “What do you want to do?” Doojoon asks, then, breaking the silence. He’s lifted his head and he’s looking at Yoseob—he’s looking at Yoseob, so Yoseob sits up a little straighter, too and meets the other boy’s eyes.

                Yoseob takes one of Doojoon’s hands and spreads the other boy’s fingers—spreads them one by one so that he can thread his own fingers with the older boy’s one by one, slowly and playfully. “I want to go out and eat,” Yoseob says. “And then—let’s hit the park. There are cool bands that play at night on Saturdays.”

                “Eat and then park?” Doojoon echoes. Yoseob nods, and rests his head against Doojoon’s shoulder again, leaning forward slightly so his forehead presses against the side of Doojoon’s neck. “Care where?”

                “No,” Yoseob says thoughtfully, glancing up. “I kind of want fish, though.”

                Doojoon grins at him. “I’ll look something up, then.”

We’ll go for a long time—longer than any couple

                “Yah—, you didn’t have to hit me,” Junhyung says irritably, rubbing the side of his head as he gets up off the floor and stumbles back into the desk chair. “How fast do you expect me to be able to give it to you? It was like on the other side of the room and you have like loads of crap in your backpack.”

                Yoseob kicks the leg of the chair, even though it’s the goalie’s own chair. He kicks the chair and immediately redials the number listed on his phone. “I did have to hit you because it was in the front pocket of my backpack. I told you that, and you were too deaf to hear anything, you .”

                “You didn’t have to hit me that hard,” Junhyung tries again and looks offended. “And being deaf doesn’t make you an .”

                Yoseob waves a hand dismissively at his friend when he hears the other end pick up. He grins at the sound of the voice and says, “Hey there, captain.”