Hyunseung’s first time is with Kwon Jiyong.
 
          It happens—it comes about—one day when the training they had to do for the day just became too much, when more than just their bodies were worn to the core, when they were both frustrated, when the entire team was frustrated, when their coaches and teachers never stopped scolding them for a single moment, when there was too much sound in their ears.
 
          It’s kind of an accident and kind of not, but it doesn’t matter either way because Hyunseung can barely even remember it. He’s fourteen and Jiyong is fifteen and there’s no alcohol in the equation but all Hyunseung remembers is blurry details (he was so exhausted—he was drunk from exhaustion). All he remembers is being tired enough to die and yet frustrated (needy) enough to scramble into his bed with Jiyong on top of him.
 
          He remembers lots of pain, but he doesn’t ever remember asking Jiyong to stop because at that point they were both more than used to pain (more than used to going to sleep with their muscles and joints on fire and waking up with stinging aches). He doesn’t remember any kissing—barely remembers any —all he remembers is Jiyong rutting in and out of him for a few short minutes before they’re both spent.
 
          Nowhere in Hyunseung’s memories is there pleasure.
 
          It’s all just pain.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          Junhyung stares at him.
 
          They’re in Hyunseung’s bedroom, on Hyunseung’s bed, textbooks littering the floor because it’s review week for finals and Junhyung is supposed to be giving Hyunseung the definitions that the older boy missed in English class those few days three weeks ago when Hyunseung had the flu. Hyunseung is sitting against the headboard, a pocket-sized Korean-to-English dictionary in one hand, a pencil in the other, and Junhyung’s head in his lap.
 
          “That’s kind of a random question,” Junhyung says, blinking.
 
          Hyunseung shrugs, waving the dictionary over the other boy’s face. “No—I just passed the English word for . So it’s not that random—answer the question.”
 
           Junhyung blinks again. “I mean—not really. Not—like—real .”
 
          “How do you have fake ?” Hyunseung asks dryly.
 
          Junhyung grins sheepishly. “It wasn’t like—-. It was just like s—we didn’t kiss or anything, which is why I’d never kissed anyone up to you. It was like a friend thing that just kind of happened.”
 
           Hyunseung raises his eyebrows.
 
          “It was with Doojoonie and Joonie-hyung, okay?” Junhyung says, the tips of his ears turning red. “We got bored at each other’s houses sometimes and it was back when me and Doojoonie wanted to know if we actually—y’know—were or not.”
          It’s Hyunseung’s turn to stare.
 
          Because that’s all anyone can do when his mind is imploding from the center outward.
 
          “Wait,” Hyunseung says, “wait—like—at the same time—”
 
          Junhyung shakes his head, tickling the insides of Hyunseung’s thighs through the older boy’s thin sweatpants. “Sometimes with Doojoonie, and sometimes with Joonie-hyung. It was just like a whenever-whatever thing,” he shrugs. And then he glances up to meet Hyunseung’s eyes. “Why?”
 
          Hyunseung turns back to the dictionary, using it to cover his expression and distracting Junhyung with fingers in the younger boy’s hair. “Just wondering.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
          First times don’t mean anything.
 
          High school is supposed to be all about firsts—first kisses for some, first times for others, first dates, first dances, first relationships, first break-ups, firsts, firsts, firsts. It’s all supposed to be special and meaningful and sentimental and precious whether good or bad because it’s the first.
 
          Hyunseung doesn’t think so.
 
          And he’s not the only one—really.
 
          Yoseob doesn’t think first times mean anything either. It’s something they talk about together when they’re both on duty after practice to pick up the equipment and lock it up in the shed.
 
          “He ended up being a bastard,” Yoseob says lightly about his first kiss, as Hyunseung hands the goalie the cones.
 
          “I don’t even remember mine,” Hyunseung says just as lightly about his own, and helps Yoseob close the large shed doors.
 
          His first kiss was a blur—a memory that blurs straight into his first time, which Hyunseung doesn’t remember all that well either. Most times, he’s sure that he doesn’t want to remember it anyway. It’d be too painful, considering how much he hurts already anyway when he thinks about his second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth times (and seventh and eighth and ninth).
 
          First times don’t mean anything.
 
          First times only mean anything if they’re with the right person.
 
          Hyunseung’s wasn’t.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          He steers Junhyung to the bed and pushes the younger boy down.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          It’s the night after their last day of school—their last day as first years.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          It’s the day before Hyunseung and Junhyung are going off with their families—the last day that they’ll see each other before three months of vacation—the next time they’ll see each other, they’ll be second years.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
          A part of Hyunseung actually doesn’t want to—a part of him, no matter how much he wants Junhyung (wants) would rather never have with the other boy if possible (which it’s not—of course it’s not—Junhyung will want to have at one point or another) because he’s afraid that they’ll end up the way Hyunseung and Jiyong did. He’s afraid that after they have , that’s all they’ll have. He’s afraid that Junhyung will do what Jiyong did.
 
          After Jiyong had with Hyunseung, that’s all they had.
 
          But Jiyong didn’t have with Seungri—not while they were trainees. Jiyong didn’t have with Seungri. Jiyong flirted and teased and kissed (loved) Seungri, but he didn’t have with him. It was separate and that’s how Hyunseung learned it. They’re two different things and that’s why first times—that’s why —means nothing. It is what it is and it’s nothing more.
 
          Jiyong had with Hyunseung and loved Seungri (still loves Seungri).
 
          Hyunseung knows he’s risking it big—knows that this might be a stupid decision in pre-retrospect, but he does it anyway. He pushes Junhyung onto the older boy’s bed despite the fact that after this Junhyung might decide the same thing that Jiyong did.
 
          Might decide that Hyunseung is good enough for —good enough for friendship—but not good enough to flirt with, not good enough to tease and kiss.
 
          (Not good enough to love)
 
 
 
 
 
          So he tries not to think about that—he puts it in the back of his mind as he looks down and meets Junhyung’s eyes (round and surprised). He tries to forget about those kinds of thoughts because that was Jiyong and this is Junhyung. Hyunseung is good enough for Junhyung. Hyunseung is enough for Junhyung to love (even though he wasn’t enough for Jiyong).
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
          Junhyung lies across the bed, the entire length of his body stretched out with Hyunseung kneeling between the younger boy’s legs. They stare at each other for a moment—Hyunseung wondering if maybe this should have been more premeditated, and Junhyung looking up at the older boy blankly. The sun has just begun to set and the red-orange light filters in softly through the blinds. They’re both breathing hard, breath puffing from the kissing.
 
          They stay like that, frozen still and blinking at each other until Junhyung asks (blurts), “Do you have condoms?”
 
          Hyunseung remains unmoving for a moment longer (during which Junhyung’s ears take the time to turn red) before he nods slowly, jerking his head towards the drawer of his nightstand.
 
          “Oh,” Junhyung says in a small, nervous voice that almost sounds disappointed, “great, then.”
 
          Hyunseung feels his heart thud unevenly all of a sudden as he meets Junhyung squarely in the eye—he feels his breath catch because everything suddenly feels far too real, like it’s actually going to happen and he doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels as nervous as Junhyung looks and sounds because it’s not Hyunseung’s first time. He doesn’t even know which time this is going to be for him.
 
          Hyunseung opens the top drawer of his nightstand, reaching in and wrapping his fingers around a thin, square package and a small plastic bottle. He tosses it onto the surface of the nightstand and then crawls back between Junhyung’s legs, leaning forward with a hand against the edge of the younger boy’s jaw, coming in close to start kissing him again.
 
          But Junhyung stops him.
 
          Junhyung sits up and stops the older boy with a hand against Hyunseung’s own face. Their lips are only seconds apart when Junhyung whispers, voice so close to Hyunseung’s mouth that he can taste the younger boy’s breath, “I’ve never done this before.”
 
          Hyunseung doesn’t know why he smiles, doesn’t know why he says, “Neither have I,” right before he closes the distance between his and Junhyung’s lips.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
          He hasn’t.
 
          Really—Hyunseung hasn’t had when he thinks about it.
 
          Or maybe he has.
 
          He’s ed—he knows that. He knows that Jiyong has ed him and Hyunseung has ed Jiyong. That part he can be sure of—Hyunseung knows for sure that he’s ed, there’s no doubt about any of that. Hyunseung knows for sure that he’s ed and that he’s never made love. Those are two things that are pretty certain in his mind, and anyone’s mind if they knew about him.
 
          But the middle ground——Hyunseung isn’t so sure about that.
 
          He isn’t so sure about what he hasn’t and has had, but he definitely knows what he’s felt.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          He knows that he’s felt pain.
 
          Hyunseung remembers all too clearly the kind of pain that seared through his chest (and his body) every time he and Jiyong fell into bed, their skinny bodies grinding and sliding over one another, covered in perspiration and soaked in exhaustion. He remembers hazy memories of kissing and kissing and kissing with rough touches that are only done out of pure need and nothing else—no need to pleasure, just a need of pleasure.
 
          He doesn’t remember feeling any warmth—he remembers feeling hot, hot, hot and sticky and uncomfortable, but he never remembers feeling warm. He doesn’t remember feeling the smoldering, scorching warmth that pools in his stomach and works its way throughout his entire body (all the way to his fingertips) as Junhyung kisses every inch of Hyunseung’s skin.
 
He remembers clothes being ripped and torn, soccer uniforms removed hastily because Jiyong says they have to be down for dinner in just ten minutes. He doesn’t remember his shirt being lifted up inch by inch while Junhyung grins against his mouth—he doesn’t remember his jeans being pulled lower and lower as Junhyung’s lips drag across the skin of Hyunseung’s thighs as they’re exposed against the cool air.
 
He knows that he’s felt pain, and right now, that’s not what he’s feeling.
 
Hyunseung doesn’t feel any pain (doesn’t feel scared—doesn’t wonder if he should even be doing this) because he knows that Junhyung would never let him.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          He doesn’t remember smiling.
 
          Jiyong made him smile all the time—Jiyong made Hyunseung smile while they practiced on the field, when they were at the breakfast table, when they woke up with aching joints—Jiyong would still struggle, do the best he could, to make Hyunseung smile and Hyunseung would. Hyunseung would smile back even when he was too tired to, even when he wanted to scream because Jiyong looked like the undead that day but they all had to keep going. He’d smile for Jiyong because Jiyong tried and Hyunseung wanted the older boy to know that it worked (to at least believe that it worked).
 
          Jiyong made Hyunseung smile all the time—just not when they had .
 
          wasn’t something to enjoy—it was something they had to do and they had to do it with each other. During those times, it was something straight out of a textbook. It was this and this and that and that, and there was no such thing as smiling or laughing or smirking or grinning while it happened. It was so routine that it began to frighten Hyunseung but that didn’t matter as long as it was what Jiyong wanted (and Hyunseung wanted it too) because it was one more thing Jiyong did with Hyunseung was one more thing Jiyong didn’t do with Seungri.
 
          Hyunseung doesn’t remember smiling.
 
          But he’s smiling now.
 
He doesn’t exactly know why he’s smiling—doesn’t know why the corners of his lips automatically turn upward when his gaze locks with Junhyung’s as the younger boy slips on top of Hyunseung, pulling the blanket over both of them. He doesn’t know why Junhyung smiles back, almost sheepishly, as he leans down and kisses Hyunseung again while the younger boy’s hand gently slides between Hyunseung’s thighs—parting them hesitantly. Hyunseung doesn’t know why the smile turns into a grin, doesn’t know why he finds it funny when the blanket covers Junhyung’s head like a tented hood.
 
 
 
 
 
          The pleasure is different too.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          With Jiyong, there was pleasure—there’s always pleasure with , one way or another, unwanted or willing. But its pleasure wrapped in pain wrapped in pleasure wrapped in pain. It becomes undistinguishable which is which and what is what until Hyunseung just recognizes all of it as pain because he doesn’t know any other way to. There’s too much to feel at once and the good clashes with the bad until the bad ends up overpowering the good.
 
          There’s pain with Junhyung. There’s pleasure with Junhyung.
 
          There’s pain when Junhyung’s fingers push past the first ring of muscle because it’s been a long time since Hyunseung’s last done this—there’s pain, but it’s not painful—it’s not painful because Junhyung tries to help with the pain with it’s okay, I got you—I’m here—Shh—it’s okay—tell me to stop if it hurts, Hyunseung-ah right up against Hyunseung’s ear in soft whispers. 
 
          There’s pleasure when Junhyung’s fingers hit that spot—hit the perfect spot, curling up inside of Hyunseung gently and hooking against the place that makes Hyunseung grip Junhyung’s shoulders like a vice, fingernails digging into the younger boy’s skin because that’s what happens when there’s too much pleasure—so much pleasure—amazingly overwhelming and overwhelmingly amazing.
 
          But then there’s pain again—more pain—when Junhyung (Junhyung) pushes in and Hyunseung buries his face against the other boy’s neck because it hurts—stings—and he doesn’t want to let the liquid heat that’s burning in the backs of his eyelids to leak out. He doesn’t want that—doesn’t want to cry in front of Junhyung—but it hurts and stings and hurts because it feels like forever since Hyunseung’s had and this time nothing is hazy or blurry and he’s not drunk on exhaustion.
          There’s pain—
 
          Except Junhyung stops it from being painful.
 
          Hyunseung can feel the younger boy’s chest heaving with labored breathing, with the effort to resist ing in and out of Hyunseung immediately like Junhyung wants to (needs to). He feels a hand in his hair, gently, carefully, guiding his face away from Junhyung’s neck and back onto the pillow. Hyunseung lets himself fall back against the mattress (tries not to whimper when that movement presses Junhyung deeper inside because it hurts—pleasure—hurts—pain—pleasure).
 
          Perspiration drips down Junhyung’s face, slides down the sides of the younger boy’s cheeks and a few drops fall onto Hyunseung’s chest. Junhyung still doesn’t move inside of Hyunseung—he just continues to gaze down at the older boy, clearly waiting for Hyunseung to let him move—to tell him that he can because Hyunseung knows that Junhyung would never hurt him. He knows that Junhyung would never let the pain be painful. I’m sorry—I’m sorry, Hyunseung-ah—I’m sorry it hurts, whispers against Hyunseung’s cheek as Junhyung’s lips slide back down to Hyunseung’s mouth.
 
          Junhyung shouldn’t be sorry.
 
          Why is Junhyung sorry?
 
          Are you sure it’s your first time? Hyunseung gives a tiny smile, reaching to the side and catching Junhyung, intertwining their fingers against the pillow. You’re really good at this, Yong Junhyung.
 
          Junhyung smiles back hesitantly, lips coming down to brush against Hyunseung’s mouth. He holds the older boy’s gaze. Can I move?
 
          Hyunseung swallows—nervous (why does he feel so fragile?). He smiles again, infinitesimally (he feels vulnerable). He nods.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          The sun has completely set by now. There’s no light filtering in through the blinds—just the soft glow of the lamps of Hyunseung’s bedroom as the pain disappears little by little—as the pain transforms into pleasure (just pleasure) and Hyunseung stops holding onto Junhyung because it hurts too much—starts holding onto him because it’s amazingly overwhelming again. Overwhelmingly amazing.
 
 
 
 
 
 
         
          Hyunseung always tried his best to keep his eyes shut for as much of it as possible with Jiyong. He knows that most people close their eyes during the same way most people close their eyes when the kiss—it’s something that happens automatically, instinctively. But Hyunseung tried to keep his eyes shut even when they didn’t close on their own. It takes away the hurt that strikes through Hyunseung’s chest even if the pain that sears through his body is still there.
 
          His eyes don’t close with Junhyung.
 
          His eyes won’t close with Junhyung.
 
          They can’t seem to close whether he wants them to or not—Hyunseung is transfixed. He doesn’t understand how he could ever close his eyes watching Junhyung—he’s entranced—completely taken—completely fascinated and breath taken by how Junhyung’s own eyes are scrunched shut in pleasure (by how close he is), by how beads of perspiration cling to Junhyung’s skin like tiny glass pearls, by how Junhyung’s lips are parted open, by how heated breaths of Hyunseung-ah—Hyunseung-ah are now left in complete disarray, are now turned rushed and desperate into Seung-ah—Seung-ah—Seung-ah.  
 
          But Hyunseung’s thoughts end there—
 
          They can’t live for much longer—not when Hyunseung is close too—not as Junhyung crushes their lips together, tongue fierce and hot into Hyunseung’s mouth, as they fall together.
 
 
 
 
 
 
          Junhyung stares. “Wait—what—why?” he asks, sounding somewhere between utterly bewildered and completely baffled and maybe even a little bit hurt, which Hyunseung deems reasonable considering that they’ve just had together for the first time and Hyunseung tells Junhyung this now.
 
          They’re lying side-by-side, Junhyung’s arms cradling Hyunseung’s waist and Hyunseung’s head against the younger boy’s chest. The older boy shrugs. “I just don’t think first times mean anything—I mean, I guess it’s special and all, but just because it’s the first doesn’t make it automatically special.” He looks at Junhyung.
 
          The younger boy looks skeptical, eyebrows raised and mouth set into a frown as his grip tightens around Hyunseung, drawing their bodies closer together (even though Hyunseung personally thinks they’re already close enough, but apparently not close enough for Junhyung). “You’re just saying that,” Junhyung says quietly, “because yours wasn’t.”
 
          Hyunseung half smiles faintly, shrugging again. “Maybe. It’s true though, right? First times only mean something if they’re with the right person. And mine wasn’t.”
 
          Junhyung’s eyebrows knit together slightly as he gazes at Hyunseung for a long moment, before tilting his head to the side and bringing their lips together. Hyunseung feels Junhyung smile slowly against the kiss and, when they draw away, the younger boy’s smile is fully formed—gentle and light. “Mine was.”