You don’t know my heart

                These days, Dongwoon still has trouble believing reality—he has trouble believing reality because it’s so dreamlike these days. It’s so dreamlike because lately, recently, his dreams have become reality—the dreams he’s had for so long have become reality so he doesn’t know where his dreaming ends and where reality begins. It’s almost too good to be true but not quite because Dongwoon is young and he’s naïve and even though someone less naïve about the world would’ve killed his feelings and lost hope years ago, Dongwoon never did—never could.

                So these days, Dongwoon has trouble believing reality.

                Especially when reality consists of him being able to spin Kikwang into his arms.

A hundred times a day, I think about you but you don’t know

                The second year laughs when he feels Dongwoon’s arms around his waist, and the first year’s chest against his back—chin on his shoulder, dragging them both backwards and outside towards the courtyard. “Yah,” Kikwang says, playfully indignant, “Son Dongwoon.”

                Dongwoon grins and when they reach the courtyard, when they fall through the double doors, he turns Kikwang around to face him and presses the older boy against the brick wall, hands resting on the second year’s hips. Kikwang is biting his lip, no longer smiling, just a simple expression of expectancy, waiting, promptly looking up at Dongwoon with round eyes.

                “What?” Dongwoon finally says, raising his eyebrows.

                Kikwang blinks. “What?”

                “I’m not going to kiss you, if that’s what you thought,” Dongwoon says like it’s obvious, and grins so wide he thinks his face is going to break.

                Kikwang blinks again and stares at him for a long moment, their faces centimeters apart. He stares at Dongwoon for a long moment—a long moment during which Dongwoon is trying his best not to burst into laughter. “Wow,” Kikwang says, drawing out the word, and laughing, “Wow—wow, really? Mature—that’s hilarious, Dongwoon-ah, really.”

                Dongwoon laughs too and holds the side of Kikwang’s face, thumb brushing over the bridge of the older boy’s nose, over his full lips, over his cheekbone, lightly beneath his eyes. “Just trying to be unpredictable, hyung,” Dongwoon says, “If I do everything you expect, then you might get bored.”

                The second year snorts and pretends to bite Dongwoon’s thumb when it comes near his lips again. Dongwoon wrinkles his nose and pinches Kikwang’s cheek before taking his hand away. “Who’s taught you this?” Kikwang asks. “Is Jonghyunnie teaching you how to flirt?”

                “It’s not flirting,” Dongwoon insists, smiling.

                Kikwang narrows his eyes and smiles back. “Liar,” he says, shoving at Dongwoon’s chest lightly. The first year slips his hands over Kikwang’s wrists gently and threads their fingers together. “I bet that’s the only time you think about me, right? When you want to make-out and flirt.”

                The first year leans down until their faces are level and presses Kikwang absolutely flat against the wall, until their noses are nearly touching, until all Dongwoon can see are huge, surprised eyes—dark, glossy pools. Kikwang blinks, surprised and confused at the sudden proximity. Dongwoon grins and kisses him softly, quickly, on the lips and draws back out as abruptly as he’d swooped in.

                He falls backward away from Kikwang, but he keeps their hands securely interlocked and pulls the other boy along with him until now it’s Dongwoon’s back pressing up against the opposing brick wall with Kikwang against him, the second year’s hands against Dongwoon’s chest. “Hyung,” Dongwoon says, “if you could read my mind and tried to count every time I think about you, you’d lose track by first period.”

I get nervous every time I think about you

                Dongwoon knows it’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid because he’s been best friends with Kikwang, has slept in the same bed as Kikwang, has showered with Kikwang, has eaten and played and laughed and cried and hugged and held and held hands and fought and made-up and learned and been with Kikwang since they were so young, their parents didn’t think either of them remembered. He knows it’s stupid because it’s not like he hasn’t been with Kikwang before—hasn’t been near the older boy for over ten years.

                He knows it’s stupid, but it still happens. He doesn’t know why.

                “That’s amazing,” Kikwang says with wide eyes, as he leans closer, fascinated. He pats the soaked cotton pad a little bit more on the blooming bruise on Dongwoon’s forehead. “Your face gets red like a foreigner’s too. Are you sure you’re Korean?”

                “Hyung, you know my family.”

                “I mean—you could be adopted.” The second year shrugs and crumples up the cotton pad as it starts to dry up. Behind him, Dongwoon sees Doojoon still trying to get Yoseob to breathe regularly again and Dongwoon frowns because he doesn’t see the humor in this at all—at all. He doesn’t, at all, see the humor in him getting hit on the head by one of Yoseob’s throws because he was too distracted in Kikwang talking to him because there is no humor in the power of Kikwang’s eye-smile coupled with that Dongwoon-ah, Dongwoon-ah thing the second year does while he taps at Dongwoon’s arm excitedly.  

                No humor at all.

                There is even less humor in the fact that Dongwoon’s face has turned bright pink because of Kikwang tending to the vast bruise that is now taking up occupancy on his forehead. There is even less humor in the fact that Kikwang’s eyes look like melted chocolate in the dimming late afternoon sunlight—less humor in the fact that Kikwang’s cheeks are flushed from the cold (because Doojoon is still being a douchebag about practicing outside in the winter), breath fogging in visible puffs from his lips.

                Dongwoon fails to see how this is so amusing that Doojoon is now sending Hyunseung to the nurse to get calmed down before he faints, while Yoseob is face first on the grass convulsing.

I want to show you my everything

                Their first date is simple. It’s simple and Dongwoon doesn’t even know if they should bother to call it a date because it’s something they’ve done thousands of times before. It’s simple—it’s Dongwoon walking to Kikwang’s house on a snowy, Saturday morning before they have to start worrying about doing their winter break homework. It’s Dongwoon picking Kikwang up and walking through the downtown area near their houses—near the school.

                Their first date is simple. It’s Dongwoon holding Kikwang’s hands as the snow starts to fall. It’s Kikwang with one gloved hand on the back of Dongwoon’s neck, bending the first year’s head down so their lips meet at a street corner. It’s Dongwoon’s ears turning so red that Kikwang laughs and says he might melt the snow in his hair if he keeps it up.

                Their first date is simple. Their first date is at a café—it’s getting coffees and going back outside into the cold and walking past the big Christmas tree at the square. It’s standing for a few moments and watching a group of little girls cling to each other trying not to fall on the ice rink. It’s stopping to pet a passing shih tzu puppy that starts jumping onto Kikwang’s foot. It’s having the puppy’s pretty owner smile up at them and tell them that they make a good couple. It’s both of them turning so red that they should’ve melted the snow off the entire square.

                Their first date is simple. It ends with Dongwoon kissing Kikwang at his doorstep, hands roaming softly around Kikwang’s waist, gripping his elbows—sliding down to the older boy’s wrists, stopping just before Kikwang’s hands. It ends with Dongwoon walking away. It ends with Kikwang turning to go back into his house. It ends with Kikwang hanging up his coat at home and realizing that there’s something in the pocket.

                It ends with Kikwang retrieving a beanie—clearly new, dark blue, soft, and still warm from probably being in someone else’s pocket the entire evening, probably waiting to be transferred to Kikwang’s pocket, probably waiting for Kikwang.

But, you don’t know

                Dongwoon doesn’t know.

                He doesn’t know how they’ll end up. He knows that he doesn’t know, because he knows that this is how Doojoon and Yoseob started. This is how they still are today. This is how Junhyung and Hyunseung started. This is how Dongwoon wonders if they’ll ever be again. This is how it always starts so Dongwoon doesn’t know what it’ll be like in the middle, what it’ll be like at the end—he doesn’t know if they’ll be like Doojoon and Yoseob. He doesn’t know if they can be like Doojoon and Yoseob and not have an end in sight.

                He doesn’t know if they’ll be like Junhyung and Hyunseung, still trying to undo their ending.

                Dongwoon doesn’t know himself most of the time—he doesn’t know if Kikwang knows either. Best friends, no matter how close and how long, there’s still a difference between that and lovers and Dongwoon doesn’t know how to make that shift as smoothly as possible. He doesn’t know how, so it’s bumpy, he knows. He knows that he can’t guide and lead Kikwang because he’s still learning too. He knows he’s going to have to ask Kikwang to help him sometimes, to clarify things for him.

                Dongwoon has spent so much time dreaming about loving Kikwang, has spent so much time loving Kikwang that there was no time for him to love someone else—even if not fully—to love someone else so he knows how to love. He doesn’t know how to be with someone because he’s always dreamed about being with someone impossible. He’s always dreamed about loving the impossible so when someone becomes possible, Dongwoon doesn’t know how to love him.

                He doesn’t know, but—

                “Yah—Son Dongwoon,” Kikwang grins, “you have to tell me where you bought that beanie. It’s the warmest thing ever.”

                —he’s learning.