“I’m telling Doojoonie,” Junhyung says after the first time they play against each other, as they lie in the middle of the soccer field, flat on their backs, chests heaving and breaths gasping. He’s telling Doojoon, he’s telling Yoseob, he’s telling anyone that will listen because there is something about the way Hyunseung plays now—more than ever, regardless of how good he was already in middle school—something about the way Hyunseung plays now that’s too beautiful.

                It’s beautiful and Junhyung feels like he’d be doing something terrible if he kept it all to himself.

                Hyunseung makes a sound at the back of his throat. “Ah—and here I thought you were this good, little emo kid,” he says with disappointment.

                Junhyung blinks. “I—what—am not emo.”

                Hyunseung sits up suddenly and blinks back down at Junhyung.

                Junhyung raises his eyebrows, waiting.

                “Do you look out of windows a lot?” Hyunseung asks then, curiously. “Like—when it rains and stuff?”

                Junhyung stares, and slowly sits up.

                “I’m not emo,” he says incredulously, voice rising.

                Hyunseung stares back. “What does looking out of windows have to do with being emo?” He inches closer, fascinated. “Do emo people look out of rainy windows a lot?”

                Junhyung shoves him back with his foot. “I’m not emo, so how would I know?”

                The other boy gathers air into his cheeks, lower lip pushing out.

                Junhyung kicks him again—harder this time. “And don’t make that face at me—it’s stupider than Joonie-hyung.”

                Hyunseung doesn’t budge from Junhyung’s kicks—but he collapses onto his back, head thrown back in laughter. His hands are over his stomach as he laughs, legs loosely bent, hair falling backward from his face and eyes closed into crescent moons. “Yah,” Junhyung says, trying to keep his own face from smiling, “Yah, Jang Hyunseung—it’s not funny.”

                But the other boy is still laughing, shaking his head and struggling back into a sitting position. “No,” Hyunseung says breathlessly, “it’s really not—it’s just—” His eyes open blearily.

                Junhyung raises his eyebrows.

                Hyunseung snorts violently and then explodes into laughter again.

                Junhyung sighs.

                He sighs, but he can’t fight the smile anymore, and it stretches from ear to ear. “Okay,” he says, “really—is my face that funny?”

                Hyunseung shakes his head again, this time, maybe because it’s the second bout, calming down more easily. He grins. “It’s not funny—really—it’s just really, really stupid.”

                Junhyung’s mouth opens.

“Your face, I mean,” Hyunseung says, right before he has to dodge the soccer ball Junhyung launches at his head.

                It’s hard—it’s terrible, Junhyung thinks, to have to live up to someone else. It’s even worse, he thinks, to be unable to give the person you love everything they deserve.

I can only cleanly leave your side

                “I hate homework,” Hyunseung says morosely, his shoulders slumped over Junhyung’s desk. “But I hate you more.”

                Junhyung sits on his bed, biting the tip of his pencil and staring at the diagram of a soccer field on his notebook, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He mouths silently to himself, moving Doojoon this way and that, exchanging him with Junho and then Wooyoung and then himself. “Why’s that?” he says absently, and then starts to furiously erase the lower half of the field, realizing that maybe Junsu would be better in place of Kikwang.

                “Because you’re making me do it,” says Hyunseung and Junhyung turns towards the other boy just in time to dodge the incoming wads of crumpled looseleaf.

                Junhyung doesn’t bother to pick up the paper and laughs in disbelief. “What—that’s—if I don’t make you do it, who will? You want to fail and be a hobo?”

                Hyunseung shrugs, spinning around in the wheeling chair. “I like hobos,” he says. “They’re friendlier than you are, anyway.”

                Junhyung blinks. “I—what?” he says blankly. “What?”

                “Did you hit your head on something?” Hyunseung asks curiously, standing up and walking over to the bed. “Your forehead’s kind of swollen-looking today.”

                “ you,” Junhyung says, turning his eyes back to the diagram and unintentionally stabbing a hole into the Doojoon-stick-figure. He means to keep his eyes on the diagram, keep his focus on the diagram, but it gets a little bit more complicated when large, glossy eyes peek up the edge of his notebook, raised eyebrows and long lashes. “You’re such a creeper,” he says and tries to shove Hyunseung away.

                Hyunseung sticks out his tongue and doesn’t budge. “But seriously, Junhyungie,” he eyes the other boy’s forehead critically. “It’s looking pretty huge—like, cabbage shaped.”

                Junhyung is about to try and suffocate himself with his pillow to end the misery when suddenly he feels fingers on his forehead, brushing back his bangs, and warm breath misting against the tip of his nose. Hyunseung is hovering over him, knees straddling his waist, lightly against Junhyung’s bent knees, wide shirt collar loose and hanging from his chest so that Junhyung can see all the way down to Hyunseung’s stomach.

                “Is this why you always have so much hair over your face?” Hyunseung says lightly, fingers through Junhyung’s bangs, sweeping them to the side. “So there’s less of your face to scare kids with?”

                “You’re annoying,” Junhyung says and presses his lips against Hyunseung’s throat—it’s easy, so easy, he barely has to stretch his neck because Hyunseung is close, so close and right there and Junhyung feels him still, feels him catch a little when he feels Junhyung’s mouth on him.

                Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second before Hyunseung’s lips are on his—just a momentary thing, a momentary kiss, fairly brief, fairly innocent, something sweet to start off with, something light with Junhyung sweeping his tongue along the other boy’s bottom lip, with Hyunseung pulling away, tilted smile tugging at his pink mouth. “Better than homework, right?”

You’re trying to leave too easily

                Junhyung loves him. He loves him a lot. He loves Hyunseung when it was only like for the other boy. He liked Hyunseung when it was only –shii for the other boy. He doesn’t know why—doesn’t know why he’s always one step ahead of Hyunseung, doesn’t know why he feels so much for Hyunseung when Hyunseung doesn’t seem to notice—doesn’t seem to care that much back.

                Maybe it’s because he’s beautiful.

                Maybe it’s because he works too hard.

                Maybe it’s because he plays too well.

                Maybe it’s because he’s too weird.

                Maybe it’s because he’s Hyunseung.

                “So—you like Doojoonie,” Junhyung states back at Yoseob as they sit on the stone border of the courtyard and the older boy tries very hard not to laugh. Yoseob looks at his knees with an expression that tells Junhyung the goalie probably wants to punch Junhyung in the face right now.

                Yoseob flicks away a dried leaf next to him. “I hate you, hyung,” he says glumly. “You at advice because you’re too busy ing laughing to give any.”

                Junhyung shakes his head, biting his lips. “No,” he says and feels his mouth tremble, “no, I’m not laughing. And I’m going to give you advice in a second, I swear.”

                “Yeah,” Yoseob says dryly, “after you finish not-laughing. It’s not even funny—why’s it funny?” He starts to look glum again and takes another fallen leaf on the stone hedge and starts ripping it into shreds. “Doojoon-hyung—he’s not ugly or anything, right? I mean, he’s not that ugly.”

                “Definitely not,” Junhyung says sarcastically, “he’s dashingly handsome.”

                Yoseob kicks Junhyung’s ankle so hard that the only thing numbing the pain is the hilarity of this entire situation. Junhyung wants to tell Hyunseung and at the same time thinks it’s probably better that he doesn’t because the older boy will probably die convulsing. “You’re so gay,” Yoseob says irritably, “and if you say anything about this to anyone, Hyunseung-hyung should be really afraid of never being able to have with you again. I’ll—“

                The goalie stops as the doors leading into the school open, and leans forward to see who’s coming into the courtyard.

It’s Doojoon and Hyunseung, with Joon trailing vaguely behind, immersed in a Bible-sized green book. Doojoon sets off towards them at a run as soon as he sees Yoseob and before Yoseob can even stand—before Junhyung can even stand—Doojoon’s sweeps low and hoists Yoseob up into his arms, running away with the goalie’s outraged shouts of Put me down before I cut off your echoing after them.

Junhyung thinks that Yoseob probably doesn’t have much to worry about.

                Joon plops down on Yoseob’s empty seat, face still buried in his massive book.

                Junhyung stands—he stands because he wants to put his arms around Hyunseung’s waist, wants to kiss him under the colored autumn leaves, wants to sit on the grass with him, surrounded by barren trees—he stands and leans out towards Hyunseung, stands and—

                Hyunseung is on the phone.

                Their eyes meet and Hyunseung grins at him, holding a palm up—signaling Junhyung to wait.

                “Yeah?” Hyunseung says into his cell phone, as Junhyung leans back and away against one of the nearby poles. “No—school’s over right now. Yeah—and shut the up.” There’s a smile on Hyunseung’s face—bright and perfect and full of sunlight, full of energy, enthusiastic, eager. “Sure—maybe—what—no, really? Is Seunghyunnie even like—alive anymore after that?”

                Junhyung raises an eyebrow at the name.

                Hyunseung catches that.

                The older boy smiles again, and mouths—

                It’s Jiyoungie-hyung

Frosty, chilled voice

                It doesn’t surprise Junhyung—it’s not shocking, not something that he gets worked up about, not something that constantly pegs at his mind. It’s happened before, happened again and again, and he doesn’t mind. He understands. He understands that Hyunseung would want to keep in touch closely with his ex-teammates. Hyunseung never does it in the blatant presence of the others, but sometimes when they’re alone, when they’re on Hyunseung’s bed or Junhyung’s bed—on their backs, on their stomachs, laptops out and homework sprawled around them—it’s not rare for Hyunseung to answer texts from Daesung, messages from Youngbae, emails from one Seunghyun, posts from another Seunghyun—

                And of course, phone calls from Jiyoung.

                Lots and lots and lots of phone calls.

                Phone calls that make Hyunseung laugh so hard he’s paralyzed on the ground. Phone calls that are so long, it doesn’t matter how charged his phone is, it’ll always be out like a light when the call ends. Phone calls that make Hyunseung smile in a way Junhyung’s never seen him. Phone calls that make Hyunseung’s eyes light up like stars. Phone calls that make Hyunseung run around his room, jump up and down, and roll around on the floor grinning.

                Phone calls that seem to make Hyunseung so happy, it doesn’t even matter if Junhyung is in the room.

What do I have to do?

                “If it bothers you,” Hongki says, one day after school when Junhyung has decided to mope a little bit in the band room, “then just tell him to cut back on the calls a little. I mean, don’t—like—scream at him, but if you ask like a normal person, then it’s not like he can just ignore you and say no.”

                Junhyung stares at the blinking red light of the tuner as Hongki strums at his guitar and adjusts the pegs. “It doesn’t bother me,” he says and pretends not to hear Hongki snort. “It doesn’t. I just—I mean, I know he doesn’t like Jiyoung—just—it’s—you know.”

                “Not really, no,” Hongki says dryly.

                Junhyung wants to knock the tuner off the stand. “It doesn’t,” he insists, as Yonghwa walks in and throws his backpack near the choir cubicles, because it doesn’t bother him. He knows Hyunseung and trusts Hyunseung and it doesn’t bother him—he just thinks that maybe when he’s in the room, Hyunseung should actually acknowledge his presence more.

                “Yah,” Yonghwa says, tapping Hongki on the shoulder as he passes to get his own guitar case. “Jonghunnie’s looking for you.”

                “Why?” Hongki asks irritably, ears turning a violent shade of red, and Junhyung’s eyebrows go up, amused. “I don’t want to see him—tell him to off.”

                “Troubles in paradise?” Junhyung says and is more than prepared to dodge when Hongki half-swings his guitar in the direction of the soccer player’s head. Yonghwa’s shoulders hunch and even though Junhyung can’t see his face, he knows the other boy is laughing too.

                “I don’t like him,” Hongki says heatedly. “He’s boring and too nice—I don’t like him.”

                “You know,” Yonghwa says, turning around when the laughter is off his face and he isn’t in danger of being whacked by Hongki’s guitar, “just because you’ve been crushing for like ten years on someone who should’ve been locked in an asylum from birth doesn’t mean you can’t start liking someone nice and normal.”

                “Oh no,” Junhyung says coolly, “Heechul-hyung would’ve found a way to blow up the asylum with his diapers.”

                Yonghwa grins.

                Hongki kicks his music stand gloomily and the tuner falls off. “I don’t like Jonghun-hyung,” he says, and it sounds more like a pout than a dark, heart-wrenching denial. “He’s boring—why would I like him?”

                “Everyone’s boring compared to Heechul-hyung, Hongki-ah,” Junhyung says, and stands up to leave since it’s become pretty clear that this is not the place to come to when he needs advice—not that he needs advice because everything is perfectly fine and there is no green-eyed monster involved anywhere in the equation that is him plus Hyunseung equals nothing-is-wrong-at-all.

                He swings on his backpack and leaves the band room

                Junhyung finds Hyunseung leaning against the stairwell right outside. He finds Hyunseung, tie untied around his neck, shirt falling out of his waistband—wrinkled and ed at the collar. He finds Hyunseung clearly waiting, waiting for him, and when he finds Hyunseung’s gaze, the older boy walks up slowly—casually—hands in his pockets and smiles at Junhyung.

                Their lips are close.

                “Thought you went home,” Junhyung says and he takes even a step closer—closer than they already are. His hands join Hyunseung’s in the older boy’s pockets and pulls the slender hands out, twining their fingers together. Their locked hands swing at their thighs.

                Hyunseung’s smile stretches to show flashes of white teeth. “Couldn’t,” he says playfully, “Geurimie would kill me if I went home without you. You’ve been busy helping Hongki with his concert stuff so she misses you.”

                Junhyung’s raises his eyebrows. “Just Geurim?”

                “Yep.” Hyunseung blinks back calmly.

                “Are you sure only Geurim misses me?”

                Hyunseung looks thoughtful. “I mean—I think my mom might miss you. Maybe. I’m not sure.” He pauses. “Should I ask her?”

                Junhyung stares. He thinks that maybe when Heechul blows up an asylum, Junhyung will make sure he himself is in it somewhere. “Never mind,” Junhyung sighs. He lets go of one of Hyunseung’s hands and makes to start pulling the other boy down the stairs. “I’ll sleep over, then.”

                He makes to start pulling Hyunseung down the stairs, except Hyunseung isn’t moving. He stares. “What?” he asks, and tugs at the older boy’s hand again. But Hyunseung tugs back, so Junhyung lets himself be pulled close again, confused. He lets Hyunseung step up against his body again, lets Hyunseung’s fingers grip the back of his neck—

                Lets Hyunseung kiss him.

                He lets Hyunseung part his lips apart with the older boy’s tongue, lets Hyunseung breathe into his mouth, lets Hyunseung push him back into the wall, lets Hyunseung grip his shirt, lets Hyunseung’s hands slip beneath his shirt and grip his bare sides as they kiss deeper—as they kiss longer—as they kiss and kiss and even though winter is barely starting to end, Junhyung suddenly feels too hot—suddenly feels so hot that he thinks he might start sweating.

                It’s Hyunseung who pulls away.

                Junhyung stares at him because pulling away in the middle of something like this is about as unforgivable as it gets. Hyunseung just smiles back at him. “Are you sure,” Junhyung says, “are you absolutely sure, that it’s just Geurim who misses me? And maybe your mom?”

                The tip of Hyunseung’s tongue sticks out of the side of his mouth as he fists the edge of Junhyung’s shirt and starts pulling him down the stairs. “A hundred-percent sure,” he says playfully and laughs.

You are my everything

                Junhyung knows that he’s not Kwon Jiyoung. He knows how fiercely Hyunseung loved Jiyoung. He knows how hurt Hyunseung was when he had to leave his dream school. He knows that sometimes Hyunseung still hurts over it—knows that sometimes Hyunseung still hurts over Jiyoung. He knows that compared to Jiyoung, compared to everything Jiyoung gave Hyunseung, compared to everything Jiyoung could’ve given Hyunseung—he knows that compared to Jiyoung, Junhyung can’t give Hyunseung anything.

                He knows that compared to Jiyoung, Junhyung is nothing.

                Junhyung has no illusions—he sees himself for exactly what he is, not more and not less. He knows he’s smart, knows he’s good at soccer, knows he nags a lot, knows he’s funny, knows that while he doesn’t have crowds upon crowds of XY chromosomes like Joon does Junhyung still has lines of girls bumping into him in the halls. He knows what he is and knows what he isn’t. He knows himself and he knows that if he were with anyone else, he’d feel like he was enough—he’d feel good enough.

                He never feels like he’s enough for Hyunseung.

                He knows that Hyunseung could do better—knows that despite this, Hyunseung wants Junhyung for some reason. He knows that at any moment Hyunseung could realize that he could do better—knows that someday Hyunseung will realize that he can do better.

                Junhyung wishes that day would never come.

I’m not a different man

                “You’re going to come back, right?” Junhyung says, phone sandwiched between his ear and his shoulder. He scribbles answers hastily to a geometry problem, and glances the digital clock on his nightstand every few seconds or so.

                The other line is quiet for a moment. Then, “I don’t know,” Seungho says. “I don’t think I should. It’d just make more trouble for your dad.”

                Junhyung’s eyebrows furrow and he stops writing, his pencil rolling to the center of his textbook as he grips the phone with one hand. “What—no, hyung, Appa’s already smoothed everything out. It’s all covered—it doesn’t matter if you come back or not so why can’t you just come back—“

                “I really don’t think I should, Junhyung-ah,” Seungho repeats quietly. “I need to find a new job first anyway.”

                “There’s one here,” Junhyung blurts out, his mind racing through everything on the boards at school, racing through everything he’s heard snippets from out of the staff. “There’s an opening, I think for—for a teaching assistant? I think for the English department. Come back and teach at my school, hyung.”

                A long silence. A long, long silence that stretches out for minutes—stretches out until Junhyung almost thinks that Seungho has hung up. It goes on for so long that Junhyung finishes the problem he’s on before he finally decides to say hesitantly, “Hyung? You there?”

                “I’ll think about it,” Seungho says. And then a lighter voice, “’Sides, I want to meet this kid you talk so much about that I don’t even get to ask about how the rest of your family’s doing.”

                Junhyung grins to himself. “He’s awesome, hyung,” Junhyung says, “he’s weird as .”

                Seungho laughs.  

I can’t hold it in anymore

                Junhyung doesn’t know how or when things started going wrong.

                He just knows that they start fighting.

                The first time starts off with them kissing.

                It starts off with them kissing after school, kissing at the end of the hallway behind a row of lockers, kissing for long enough that Junhyung is dizzy with Hyunseung’s scent in his lungs, Hyunseung’s skin beneath his fingertips, Hyunseung’s tongue and lips and throat in his mouth and teeth, Hyunseung’s body against his, Hyunseung’s hips grinding into him, Hyunseung and Hyunseung and Hyunseung.

                It starts off with Hyunseung’s hands holding his face, with Hyunseung’s fingers grazing up and down his chest, with Hyunseung the collar of his shirt, with Hyunseung sighing into his mouth, with Hyunseung’s breath huffing along his jaw, with Hyunseung smiling against his throat, with Hyunseung murmuring and whispering meaningless things that make Junhyung grin—that make Junhyung laugh under his breath.

                It ends when Junhyung hears footsteps coming closer—he hears footsteps so he draws away,      catching a glimpse of Hyunseung’s expression and ignoring it. He ignores it because there’s nothing to be done about it if people are coming. He backs away just slightly so he can see who’s approaching them—he leans back to see who’s walking down the hall—

                He grins.

                He grins and walks down the hall himself with large strides until he reaches them and throws his arms around Yoseob.

                “Yah,” Doojoon says and hits Junhyung’s head. “Let go of him—you’re going to make the bruises worse.”

                “Stop being a jealous boyfriend,” Junhyung says and lets go of Yoseob to hit Doojoon back—harder.

                Doojoon sniffs. “Stop being a boyfriend,” he retorts and motions to Hyunseung coming out of the corner, walking up slowly to them, hands in his pockets, hair tousled from Junhyung’s gripping fingers, face flushed as red as Junhyung knows his own must be, lips swollen and clothes askew on his body.

                Yoseob snorts laughter into his hand and gets pulled backwards into Doojoon’s arms. “Wow, Junhyung-hyung,” the goalie says, grinning, “you guys just totally made me and Doojoonie-hyung into ers.” Doojoon’s hands hold the younger boy’s waist, swaying him left and right gently.

                Hyunseung stands inches beside Junhyung.

                Junhyung doesn’t touch him.

                “What d’you mean we made you into ers?” Junhyung snorts. “You are.”

                “Ouch,” Doojoon laughs. “That hurts.” He tilts his head a little and grins at Hyunseung, “Look on the bright side—your neck’ll match your tie tomorrow.”

                “Yah,” Hyunseung says, “yah—I’ve seen Yoseobie’s neck purpler than Barney, Yoon Doojoon.”

                Yoseob almost falls to the ground laughing, and Doojoon turns a shade of bright red as he struggles to hold up the goalie. Junhyung tries his best not to bang his head on the edge of a locker—the held in laughter is shaking him so hard that he hopes he doesn’t go into convulsions. He wants to kiss Hyunseung right now—he wants to cup Hyunseung’s face in his hands and laugh against Hyunseung’s lips.

                But he doesn’t.

                There are people here—so he doesn’t.

                “C’mon, hyung,” Yoseob says when he isn’t crying from spasms anymore. He hugs Junhyung briefly around the waist, and Junhyung claps the goalie’s shoulders and rubs his back as the smaller boy passes hand-in-hand with Doojoon. “Let’s leave before they get blue balls.”

                “Yah,” Junhyung yells after them, laughing. He laughs and he’s still smiling when he turns, pivoting lightly on one foot to take Hyunseung by the hands and pick up right where they left off. He turns, he turns, swinging around and reaching out—

                Hyunseung backs away.

                Junhyung blinks.

                Hyunseung backs away and starts heading to leave the hall.

                Junhyung jogs and catches his wrist. “What?” he asks—because this is weird, this is weird and he doesn’t get it.

                “What?” Hyunseung says back, stopping and looking at Junhyung.

                “Where’re you going?” Junhyung tries to pull Hyunseung in, tries to tug him close again, tries to put a hand on the other boy’s hip—

                Hyunseung doesn’t let him. “Home,” he says simply.

                Junhyung frowns, keeping his hand wrapped around Hyunseung’s wrist. “Why?”

                “Because I want to go home,” Hyunseung says and his tone is a little sharper, a little shorter, his eyes a little narrowed. “Let go of me, Junhyung-ah.”

                There’s something very wrong about this. There’s something about this that sets of alarms screeching in Junhyung’s mind, that sets off pains in his chest, that sets off turbulent waves in his stomach, that sets off huge storms of rejecting throughout his entire body because something like this isn’t supposed to be happening. “No,” he says firmly, “tell me why the you’re being weird.”

                Hyunseung’s eyes narrow a little bit more. “I’m not being weird, Junhyung-ah so let go of me. I want to go home.”

                “You were fine before Doojoonie and Yoseobie came so why are you acting retarded now?” Junhyung says, his eyes are wide because this doesn’t make sense, and his voice is loud, it rings through the hall and hurts his own hears.

                The other boy’s eyes go from narrowed slits into round circles. “I’m retarded now? You think I’m acting retarded just because you ditched me in half a second to go talk to random people that just happened to come into—“

                “They aren’t random people—what the —they’re Doojoon and Yoseob and what was I supposed to do just go on and start ing you while they watch—Hyunseung-ah, what the ?” Junhyung shouts, because Hyunseung is being incomprehensible, is being insufferable and Junhyung doesn’t understand why this is happening.

                He immediately regrets saying anything—regrets each of his words—regrets his tone—regrets opening his mouth—regrets doing anything except taking Hyunseung’s hands and apologizing over and over even if he doesn’t know what he’s sorry for—regrets and regrets the moment he sees Hyunseung’s expression.

                Junhyung shakes his head, eyes open wide, breathing frozen, hand reaching out because he can’t—he can’t leave it like this—he has to tell Hyunseung—he can’t—this isn’t right—he—

                Low, thrumming rings from Hyunseung’s back pocket, and Hyunseung reaches in and looks at his phone’s screen. He glances at Junhyung one last time before continuing to walk out of the hall—he leaves the hall but not soon enough—not before he picks up the phone as he goes out the doors—not before Junhyung hears—

                “Hey, Jiyoung-hyung.”

I’m getting burned all over

                Junhyung doesn’t stop calling Hyunseung.

                He calls and calls and calls from the moment he gets home—he thinks that an hour and a half should’ve been enough time for Hyunseung to get off his call with Jiyoung (he knows that’s not true, he knows that Hyunseung could still be talking to Jiyoung, he doesn’t want this to be true, it can’t be true). He sits on his desk and calls—ignoring his homework. He sits outside on his deck and calls—not eating dinner. He lies on his bed and calls—forgetting sleep.

                He calls and calls and calls but he can’t get through.

                He doesn’t stop.

                He keeps calling and calling and calling and it’s fifteen minutes past one before he finally gets through and it goes straight to voicemail. It goes straight to voicemail and Junhyung doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He talks into it over and over again and prays that Hyunseung won’t delete right away. He whispers I’m sorry he whispers I love you he whispers I’m sorry and I love you he whispers I love you and I’m sorry he whispers I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry he whispers I love you I love you I love you again and again and again—

                When the voicemail ends and Junhyung is about to put his phone away, he gets a call.

                It’s Hyunseung.

                Junhyung picks up.

                “I’m sorry,” he says before the other boy can speak, “I’m sorry.”

                “I know,” Hyunseung says back, softly.

                “I love you,” Junhyung says.

                “I know.”

Wipe my tears and tell me I’m so crazy

                But it happens again.

                It happens again and again—it happens as many times as Junhyung said I love you, as many times as he said I’m sorry after that first time. It happens over and over and over again and he doesn’t know why—he doesn’t think Hyunseung knows why either. They don’t know why but it keeps happening and every time it does it hurts more. It hurts more and more and Junhyung doesn’t know why he always has to be the one apologizing—he doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

                He just knows that someone has to apologize and it has to be him—it has to be him because Hyunseung won’t and if no one apologizes then he’ll lose Hyunseung. He’ll lose him that can’t happen.

Please don’t leave me

                Junhyung knows it was bound to break.

                He could see the rope getting thinner and thinner, pulled tighter and tighter—could see the threads that made it up start getting shaved off, start fraying at the edges, start coming undone. He knew it was bound to happen, knew that it had to happen—he knew and knew and knew but he didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to think about it—didn’t want to acknowledge it because it couldn’t—it couldn’t—it hurts and hurts—it hurts so much—so ing much.

                It happens the same way all of the times before happened.

                It happens because of something Hyunseung sees—something he sees that Junhyung doesn’t see, that Junhyung doesn’t understand. It happens because Hyunseung is angry, Hyunseung is upset and Junhyung doesn’t know why. It happens because Hyunseung starts shouting, starts accusing Junhyung of things that Junhyung didn’t know was even wrong in the first place. It happens because Junhyung gets angry back, gets furious and irritated and tired—it happens because Junhyung starts shouting starts yelling words that come into his mind and leave his mouth unfiltered and uncensored.

                It happens the same way all of the times before happened and it should’ve ended the same way too—it should’ve ended with Hyunseung storming off and Junhyung letting him storm off—it should’ve ended with Junhyung calling him that night and apologizing over and over again like always.

                It should’ve ended like that except this time—

                This time Hyunseung looks at Junhyung different—he doesn’t avoid his gaze, doesn’t look away upset. This time, Hyunseung looks straight at Junhyung and his eyes are different—his expression is different, his expression is one that Junhyung’s never seen before and it scares Junhyung. It scares the out of Junhyung, and something tells him that this is different, that this is real—that this is final—something tells him that, but his entire body, his entire being is aching and he doesn’t care.

Scream out, call out

                He doesn’t care so he calls Hyunseung later that night.

                He calls and calls and calls like he always does when this happens—he calls and calls and calls and doesn’t care how late it is, doesn’t eat, doesn’t do homework, doesn’t shower, doesn’t move from his bed, doesn’t listen to his parents calling him, doesn’t do anything except call. He calls and calls and pretends that he didn’t notice something different, didn’t notice that Hyunseung looked like this was the last time it would ever happen because it can’t be—it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t be, it can’t.

Loudly yell out, call out

                Hyunseung doesn’t pick up.

                He doesn’t pick up, doesn’t pick up, doesn’t pick up but Junhyung keeps calling him and calling him and calling him because he has to pick up, he has to pick up. Junhyung leaves thousands of voicemails. He leaves one every time it goes straight through and keeps calling if it doesn’t. He whispers I’m sorry so many times he’s lost count. He whispers I love you until those words spin his head dizzy. He whispers I’m sorry and I love you so many times that his throat hurts. He whispers I love you and I’m sorry until the sun rises.

This is not the end

                He tries the next day.

                He tries all day, every single time he sees Hyunseung in the halls, in class, at practice—he doesn’t care if the others find out like this. He doesn’t care, he just needs to make it right, needs Hyunseung to come back because it hurts. It hurts more than Junhyung ever thought it would and he can’t have this happening. He can’t have this happening even though it’s supposed to happen. He doesn’t care—can’t find it in himself to give a —he doesn’t care that Hyunseung deserves better anymore because Hyunseung isn’t allowed to have better anymore.

                He loves him too much.

                And it hurts.

Please don’t throw me away, baby

                Junhyung goes home with Yoseob that day.

                He goes home with Yoseob and sleeps in the car because he didn’t even fall asleep five minutes the night before—he didn’t sleep in classes, didn’t catch a nap at the nurse’s office because he was chasing Hyunseung the entire day. He goes home with Yoseob and he’s thankful, is grateful, that the younger boy doesn’t say anything much. The goalie just asks simple, meaningless questions.

                Yoseob asks him what he wants for dinner—asks him if he has a lot of homework—asks him if he wants to watch the game that’s on tonight—asks him who he thinks will win—asks him if he has any tests tomorrow—asks him for help on a math problem—asks him if he wants to go to bed early, or in a few hours.

You don’t seem to be able to hear me anymore

                Hyunseung avoided him. Hyunseung ignored him in class—escaped when Junhyung tried to talk to him in the halls—ran on opposite ends of the field—refuse to work with him even when Junho told him to—left practice early when everything became too tense, when the rest of the team noticed something terribly wrong, when Junhyung started shouting apologies, started screaming for Hyunseung to just ing listen because he’s sorry, he’s sorry and sorry and sorry.

Now sick of crying and crying, I’m fainting

                Junhyung doesn’t sleep much that night.

                He lies in bed with Yoseob, his head pillowed in the younger boy’s chest, the goalie’s arms around Junhyung’s shoulders. He lies like that and doesn’t cry—doesn’t talk about how much it hurts, doesn’t talk about Hyunseung, doesn’t think about Hyunseung, doesn’t really function, barely even breathes. He lies like that with his eyes closed but not sleeping. He likes like that with his eyes wet underneath his eyelids, but no tears.

                He lies like that and tries not to think about the searing pain in his chest.

I’m okay

                Junhyung stops trying.

                He decides to stop trying the next morning because when he wakes up, he wakes up to Yoseob sleeping soundly, arms still wrapped tightly around Junhyung’s shoulders. He wakes up to Yoseob’s face, weary and sad and a little bit red below his closed eyes. He decides to stop trying because he knows it hurts Yoseob—he knows that Yoseob blames himself, and he knows that when Yoseob hurts Doojoon hurts. He knows that when Doojoon hurts, Joon hurts. He knows that when Joon hurts, Yonghwa and Jonghyun hurts.

                Junhyung knows that he’s hurting everyone.

                He knows that he’s hurting everyone so when Yoseob wakes up, Junhyung makes sure that Yoseob wakes up to Junhyung showered and ready for school and teasing and asking Yoseob what’s for breakfast because the older boy is ing starving.

                Yoseob doesn’t look convinced.

                Junhyung pretends not to notice.

It hurts so much

                Junhyung knows that he should never have hoped—knows that getting into this is all his fault because it would’ve only ever ended up with him hurting. He knows that it’s his fault—knows that it’s all his fault because Hyunseung gave him a chance—Hyunseung loved him even though he didn’t have to. Hyunseung loved Junhyung even though Hyunseung could’ve done so much better.

                And Junhyung ed it up.

                Junhyung ed it up and he knows that he can’t ever show how much it hurts. He can’t complain, can’t talk about it, can’t ask for help, can’t show any of how much he’s hurting to Yoseob or Doojoon or Joon or Jonghyun or Yonghwa because it’s his own fault that he’s hurting and he can’t have any of them blaming Hyunseung. It wouldn’t make any sense anyway.

                It wouldn’t make any sense for them to blame Hyunseung for finally getting rid of less than he deserves. It wouldn’t make sense for them to blame Hyunseung when it’s Junhyung who’s never been enough.

                Junhyung has always known he’s never been enough for Hyunseung.

                He’s just always hoped that Hyunseung would never mind.

You make me cry

                Junhyung stares. “I—you—I am not a girl,” he sputters and shoves Hyunseung off of his lap.

                Hyunseung falls to the ground laughing—falls to the ground and doesn’t seem to care that the soccer field is wet and muddy, he just falls off Junhyung’s lap and starts rolling around laughing and Junhyung stands up off the bleachers indignantly because he actually does value his dignity.

                “Yeah, you are,” Hyunseung grins, still snorting into his hand every few seconds or so. “I mean—not really because I know you have a , but a little bit. Like—you act like a girl. I don’t think guys are supposed to turn that red when they get kissed.”

                “Practice just finished,” Junhyung says, folding his arms, “I’m still catching my breath.”

                Hyunseung stares up at him from the ground. “Practice was like two hours ago—everyone’s left and it’s getting dark. And you were breathing fine before I kissed you.”

                “You sat on my lap—you’re heavy.”

                “Fine,” Hyunseung says, looking amused. He stands up, brushing some of the grass sticking to his shorts and wiping the dirt off of his hands on his jersey. “I won’t do it again.”

                Junhyung looks at him quickly. “I mean—you don’t—sitting on me wasn’t bad or anything,” he says and hates how he sounds just because he’s trying to make sure that Hyunseung does sit on his lap sometime again in the very near future because Hyunseung isn’t heavy at all—Hyunseung is warm and soft and thin and Junhyung’s arms fit perfectly into the nooks of his hips and—

                “You’re sweating really hard right now, you know that?” Hyunseung asks, grinning, one hand lightly on Junhyung’s folded arms. “It looks like you’re crying.”

                “Yeah,” Junhyung snaps, but he unfolds his arms and wraps them around Hyunseung, hands lacing together and resting against the curve of Hyunseung’s back. “Crying because of how much you stress me out.”

                Hyunseung laughs, and dances out of Junhyung’s arms carelessly, slipping his hand into Junhyung’s and tugging him towards the locker rooms. “I’d never make you cry,” Hyunseung says playfully, “since you’re not a girl, right? You’re all manly and crap, so you’d never cry because of me.”

                “Yeah,” Junhyung says and tugs at their interlocked hands—one swift, decisive pull so that Hyunseung falls into him. He catches Hyunseung by the waist, catches him by the lips before Hyunseung can react. Junhyung pulls away and grins, almost laughs, at the fact that now Hyunseung’s face is red. “I don’t want to be a girl, so you’d better not make me cry, Jang Hyunseung.”