“You know, everything in your shop is first grade, but your pork loins are something else. I'm recommending them to everyone, I literally say, ‘If you're looking for Heaven, look no further than Lee Eunsook's fresh juicy loins’, can you imagine?” Mrs. Nam clattered at a speed that was enough to send her to space.

Mrs. Lee was listening to her with sullen patience, one hand on her hip.

“Yes, my loins received a lot of praise in their time,” she said dryly.

“And don't even get me started on your briskets!”

“Yeah, let's not go there.”

If Mrs. Lee had hoped that eyeing the clock on the wall in a very obvious manner would tell her palpably adhesive customer anything, she was wrong. Mrs. Nam fixed the strap of her fake Louis Vuitton bag and leaned closer.

“Anyway, when are you coming to visit? We should fix a date and have a mother cookout together! My girls will be happy to see you again!”

Even though the woman was talking to Mrs. Lee, her eyes were glued to Jinki, who was cleaning the floor behind the counter.

“Me or my son?” Mrs. Lee asked, lead audible in her voice.

“Why, both of you, of course!”

“Very nice to know. Last time I saw them, I was standing in the bus holding five kilograms of cat food for Mrs. Oh, and they were sitting with their phones out and pretending they didn't see me.”

Mrs. Nam struggled to keep her smile as wide as before.

“Oh, young people get tired, too.”

“Ah, yes, those blasted Sundays... The most tiring days of the week!”

Jinki, who threw a quick glance at his mother, wondered if the chatty client valued her life at all.

“Ah, Eunsook, let's not argue about the past.”

Mrs. Lee didn't look like she was ready to consider a month-old business ‘the past’.

“I'm sure Jinki would love to visit, but he's currently busy with his studies and helping me here.”

Mrs. Nam gave her a dismissive wave.

“Come on, I'm sure it's possible to spare one evening to visit his mother's old friend. Riiiight, Jinki?” she addressed the young man with a giggle.

Jinki's eyes flickered between his mom's tense figure and Mrs. Nam's saccharine visage. His response was a forced little smile and an awkward laugh. Just like Mrs. Lee, he didn't want to spare any evenings for her.

When Mrs. Nam finally left (disappointed, as no date had been fixed), Mrs. Lee let her frustration out, wiping the counter ferociously.

“‘Mother cookout’, my . The only cooking that would take place would be me burning everything she loves. Old hag.” She turned around. “What are you grinning at? It's only your life I'm saving here.”

“From a woman who just wants to sacrifice me to her daughters? She's your old friend, though.”

“No, she's an old friend of my beautiful meat.”

“I wonder if I count as beautiful meat, too.”

But Mrs. Lee was too irritated to be distracted by jokes. She let the more-than-happy-to-leave cashier go, but not her anger.

When she locked up the shop and they walked down the street together, she brought it up again.

“As if her square heads could ever be a match for my son. Of course – who wouldn't like a smart, hardworking son-in-law who studies in a good university in Seoul and knows how to work a butcher's knife. The only reason they go to Seoul is to chase their idols, dammit.”

Jinki frowned.

“But I'm not that much of a catch, mom. And I'm not that smart... definitely not smart enough to think that I'm better than anybody else.”

Mrs. Lee stopped walking, definitely looking like she had something to say to that, but instead she nodded in the direction of a pajeon restaurant across the road.

“Let's go have some makkeolli.”

It was an old-fashioned restaurant where guests remove their shoes at the door and sit cross-legged on the wooden floor, quite popular among the older people meeting up after a day of hard work. Most of them Jinki's mother knew – it was a small town, after all.

When the seafood pancake was ordered and alcohol brought, she poured some rice wine for her son and herself (she was too impatient to follow tradition and let him do it for her).

“You were the best at your school. Don't ever say that you're ‘not that smart’.”

“Second best,” Jinki argued.

“It doesn't matter. Not everyone can boast being accepted to one of the best universities of our country. Twice.” Exactly. “And how far in life do you think you can go thinking that you're no better than anybody else? Do you think anybody ever succeeded with that attitude?”

They drank the first cup.

Mrs. Lee went on:

“In this country, everything is achieved through competition. The s who reach the top of the ladder and become CEOs believe that they are the center of the damn universe.”

“I don't think that becoming a CEO is my way.”

“If you want to win any kind of game, you have to be confident,” she insisted. “And you have a good reason to. If dumb people like the Nams think they can afford a high self-esteem, why shouldn't you? Nothing makes me angrier than the lack of confidence in those who deserve it and the abundance of it in fools.”

The waiter brought the pancake.

Jinki waited for his mother to take a piece of it first, saying nothing.

“Do you know what's going to be the end of you?”

Not knowing what the hell I'm doing with my life?

“What?”

“Your perfectionism. Eat, don't stare at it. You're so skinny.”

It wasn't normal for Jinki to be slow with his food, but he wasn't feeling normal anyway.

He picked up his chopsticks and tore a piece from the pajeon.

“Even as a child,” Mrs. Lee continued, chewing. “While other kids would draw some crappy flower and hurry to show it off to the teacher, you'd stop mid-process and take a critical look at your drawing, and if it wasn't up to your standards, you'd go and throw it into the trashcan.”

“Did you see my drawings?” Jinki asked.

“Well, I always said you had a knack for abstract art. Whether it's what you intended or not.”

Jinki smiled, reaching for some kimchi.

“Of course, it's good to have high standards. But punishing yourself for your past mistakes forever is not. Nobody is supposed to be perfect.”

“I'm very far from perfection, so I know that,” Jinki muttered.

“I gave you a lot of trouble,” he added, fixing his eyes on his plate.

Mrs. Lee poured him more makkeolli. Just like him, she was no lightweight, and drank at a lively pace.

“Well, you pretty damn did. I'm not saying I was happy when I walked in on you sticking your head up the Choi girl's skirt or...”

Jinki put his cup on the table with a clink and rubbed his forehead.

“Mom, I told you before that she dropped her pencil and I bent down to get it and...”

“She trapped you, yes. She told me everything herself when she came to me crying, because you wouldn't leave your room. Nor was I happy when you bought soju for your friends because you ‘looked older’…”

“Hey, I confessed!” Jinki cried.

“Yes, you were stupid enough to come home and tell me all about it, and what a relief that you did. I was angry, of course, and you were grounded alright, but even after that you shut down and locked yourself up in your room...” Mrs. Lee sighed. “Strangely, you were almost never the source of the trouble you created. Your problem was how easily people could influence you, and how hard it was for you to forgive yourself afterwards.”

“I tried to take responsibility for the choices I made.”

“It's good that you did, but life is not black and white. We can't always control the effect other people have on us.”

“Nobody influenced me to drop out of college,” Jinki argued in a quiet voice.

Mrs. Lee sighed. That was not an easy topic.

“True.” She sat with her arms crossed on her chest, thinking. The old people at a table nearby were watching the evening news and discussing the content eagerly.

“You wanted to be an architect, and I supported you... Did all I could as a parent, I think. I never understood what happened to you, and it frustrated me that you wouldn't share.”

“I know.”

“But what's the point of going over that again... You're back to studying. Your part-time job must be decent, too. You'll manage.” Mrs. Lee nodded as she said those last words, as if convincing herself. “If only you stopped beating yourself up for nothing, that would be great.”

“Why do you think I'm beating myself up?” Jinki mumbled.

The woman chuckled.

“Well, you don't talk to me for nine months and then appear by my door with teary eyes and a sudden enthusiasm for cutting meat and activities for the elderly.”

“I like old people.”

“Doesn't mean you need to turn into one yourself yet. I bet you think you're so tough for recognizing your mistakes and marinating in your disappointment, but strong people learn their lesson and move on.”

Jinki looked down again.

“I'm not the man you wanted me to be.”

“Well, all that bitterness and apathy at your age may be not what I had in my mind, but the only thing that matters is what you want to be... Come on, look at me.”

Jinki raised his eyes.

Openly discussing mental matters and problems was not what they generally did as a family. Usually they both danced around the subject, Jinki himself taking the larger detours, and worries were expressed through blunt remarks by his mother, while awkwardness was present on both sides. But he always knew that she worried about him.

Now, she was being wordy and honest after all those cups of makkeolli her son had lost count of, because that's what alcohol did to her.

“I'm happy to have you near as any mother would, but don't you ever want to hang out with your friends? Watch movies, have drinks, kiss the wrong girls?”

The young man gulped.

He'd done a fair share of unwise kissing, but most of it had been with the same .

“Some people are fine on their own.”

“Some, yes, but not you. Jinki,” Mrs. Lee leaned closer, placing her small chubby hand on her son's. “Do you remember the letters I wrote to you when you were at school? I bet you don't, but in the first one I wrote…”

“‘Don't be alone. Make friends,’” Jinki remembered.

“Exactly. You need someone to love you.”

“I met someone who loved me. And I hurt both of them.”

“Do you love any of them? Or both?”

“I wouldn't call it love. I don't know.”

“What would you call love?”

“I don't know... It's a positive feeling, I guess. You trust each other and you're both at the same place mentally... It makes you happy and gives you a reason to be a better person. Or something.”

Mrs. Lee shook her head slightly.

“Always a perfectionist... And what do you feel for those two? How do you know it isn't love?”

Jinki faltered.

“I... Well, if love is hurting someone before they hurt you, or avoiding someone because they offer more than you can take... Which one of these fits your idea?”

“Mine – neither. But love is not this objective all-conquering charm. For better or worse, it's different for everyone. Sometimes it's beautiful and unselfish. And sometimes it's ugly and painful. Still, it's love.”

“I'm not sure I agree with that.”

“You left a mess in Seoul, didn't you?” Mrs. Lee said after a pause.

Her son, who was fidgeting with the button on his sleeve, nodded slowly.

“Gonna fix it?”

“I don't know if there's anything left to fix. I don't think I wanna talk about it.”

The woman sighed.

“Alright, then. It's been a long day... Let's finish the bottle and go home.”

They didn't talk much for the rest of the time, as both of them had a lot on their minds.

The next morning Mrs. Lee sat her son down and presented him a fat paper envelope full of cash.

“What's this?”

“The money you've been sending me despite me never asking for it.”

“I... I thought it would help.”

Mrs. Lee clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“Which one of us in this room has a stable income and a business of their own?”

“You...”

“If you really wanted to help, you could've come down and lent a hand with redoing the kitchen.”

“You should've told me then.”

Mrs. Lee sat next to Jinki in the couch and gave a reluctant confession, looking at the ceiling:

“Yes, I should've, but I didn't, as I was sulking like a child because you weren't contacting me.”

“But when I first came back here, you told me you hadn't even noticed!”

“Well, I thought that calling somebody a turd was not a great conversation starter... It's alright. My buddies from the ‘50+ and Dancing’ samba club were going to help me anyway.”

“You're going to a samba club?”

“I co-founded it and designed the fliers.”

Jinki blinked.

“Really?”

“Yes, but we digress. I want you to use this money to rent a decent room instead of whatever trashcan you're living in. I know that you're living in the trashcan, because you wouldn't bother coming here every night if you had a nice place to go back to.”

He pursed his lips.

“Yes. So, find a good one-room with a proper window, sort out your girls and stop waiting for the world to end so that you don't have to deal with your life. I'm not disappointed in you and you owe me no debt. I just want you to be happy, so throw that off your shoulders.”

“So... you don't want me to come here anymore?”

“I do want you to come, but sometimes I just miss walking around the house and not having to share the food with anyone.”

“I'm...” Jinki cleared his throat. “I'm sorry for being a turd.”

His mother threw her arm around his shoulders and put a kiss on his forehead.

“It's okay, because you are my turd. You literally came out of me.” She furrowed her brow. “That sounded better in my head.”

“Seems so,” Jinki agreed, hugging her back, and they both laughed.

He closed his eyes.

He knew it was time to go, but he almost wished there was somebody in the world who could look into his heart and see how hard it was for him to do so.

Still, it was time.

Kibum didn't really ‘get’ most of the stuff that was played at the live music club where he frequently went to see obscure indie bands. But it was okay – after all, seeing was the key, and sometimes there was some eye candy behind the keyboard or a bass guitar, and the longer their rambling, often too unconventional to even be called ‘songs’, efforts lasted, the more Kibum could enjoy the occasionally pleasant view.

But today, he was sitting gloomily by the counter with his back turned to the stage and completely ignoring the performing band. His strawberry margarita was melting before his eyes, and so, it seemed, were his hopes for a peaceful life. His pal Minki, a rather feminine-looking young man, was working at the bar today.

He glanced at Kibum's sour mien and said:

“You might wanna check out that drummer. He's quite brisk with those sticks.”

“As he is with his girlfriend's , I'm sure,” Kibum muttered, catching his straw with his mouth – not without some difficulty, as that cocktail wasn't his first that night.

“You're such a fun ruiner.”

“It's not me, it's reality,” Kibum argued darkly.

Minki leaned on the counter and smiled.

“Oh, I know that look... You are going through another hopeless crush and, judging by your choice of drinks, it's that stage where you've realized that it's come to nothing, but you just can't let go yet because of your pride.”

Kibum rolled his eyes and took another sip.

“It's the throes of a dying love... Come on, old boy, you've been through this before. In about a day or two you'll be here with a glass of martini, going, ‘Ah, I wish there was someone in the world I cared about… But I just love myself too much’.”

“It's different this time.”

“Yes, yes, so you say... But then the sun rises again and you laugh at yourself again.”

Kibum's patience bubble finally popped.

“You know what?! You know what, I just...” he grumbled, pushing his glass away and throwing a few crumpled bank notes on the wooden top. He then proceeded to stuff his belongings in his pockets with his nostrils dilated in indignation. “…Go and mind my own business and enjoy...” Kibum dropped his new earphones on the floor, cussed and bent down to get them. “…Not having to listen to people who think that they know everything about me when they don't know . Also, the cocktails slay today.”

Kibum up as much of his remaining margarita as he could in one sip and made his dramatic exit.

“Oh, I heard it's raining outside!” Minki shouted to no avail. “And you left too much money,” he added, inspecting the crumpled papers on the counter.

He threw a glance at the stage as he straightened them out. He could swear that the hot drummer smirked at him.

“It's you who don't know ,” the young man muttered, thinking of Kibum and his stupid stubbornness.

Waiting for him outside was the lukewarm, plentiful shower that he hadn't asked for, provided by nature herself.

Okay, maybe if he ran really fast towards his house, it wouldn't be so bad.

Kibum dashed to the crossing, but as soon as he stepped on the road, the lights changed and the car waiting beside him beeped hysterically.

“ing hell.”

It was one of those huge six-lane roads where the lights took forever to switch.

At least the rain is not that bad.

At that very moment, as if the omnipresent beings of the great beyond had heard him and thought that he needed a shaking, a powerful roar came from the skies, and soon enough the rain became even stronger.

Kibum heard a couple of girls giggling. They were securely covered by a huge rainbow-colored umbrella and also waiting to cross.

He sighed.

What's the point of being mad. It's just a ty day, after all.

He, Kim Kibum, was not going to crack. He slicked his perfectly wet hair back and put his earphones on. The soundtrack from the La La Land started playing right from where he'd left off, and his mood changed to some sort of longing, romantic sadness.

He wished life was like those beautifully edited, bright-colored movies where miracles waited around the corner, people surprised each other with grand gestures and a montage of bad luck would be followed by an impossible, exciting reunion, full of surprisingly coherent apologies and soft piano music. If he was a movie character, now for sure would be a perfect time for such a miracle to happen – after all the waiting for something that he rationally knew wouldn't happen and denying himself so many little pleasures of life because of it, after all the sleepless nights and the preaching of his friends, he simply deserved something very, very good.

But La La Land was not that romantic if you thought about it, Kibum's coat was soaking through, and he was a lonely gay man haunting the streets of Hongdae on a Friday night, while everybody else in the world was dating someone and ing like bunnies.

Man, real life balls.

Tonight, he decided to flip his diet off and treat himself to a huge portion of pasta in front of a TV – so big his stomach would burst. Minho and Gwiboon had gone to spend the weekend with her parents in Ilsan, and the huge screen was all at his command. All he needed was his old DVD of the movie “Ghost”, a bunch of paper tissues to cry into, and a zucchini – for the pasta.

Kibum went to a Lotte Market and there zucchinis were, in spite of his of bad luck.

“Two thousand won,” the old lady at the cash register said grumpily.

Kibum put his hand in his pocket, expecting to find a couple of ten-thousand bills there (he didn't have the wallet on him that day). They were not there.

He gave the woman an apologetic smile.

“Just a moment. Sorry.”

He searched all of his pockets before giving up in the face of the obvious fact: he had left all of his money at the club. He didn't have anything else. Not a coin.

He cracked.

First, his lower lip started shaking uncontrollably, then his eyes filled up with tears as if someone had put them in his eyes with a dropper and an unintelligible noise left his mouth.

This is just too much.

He sobbed under his breath before he lost control of his meltdown and his weeping became louder. There was no one but the cashier and some old man examining the alcohol section to hear him.

“What, now?” the cashier lady inquired curtly.

“Mmny...”

“What?”

“My money... I left it… I have no money...” Kibum covered his pink face with his palm. “No boyfriend, either... No pride... And Jinki is not talking to me after I said that... that I... Oh, life is so unfair!!!”

The woman clicked her tongue in disapproval of his lack of self-command.

“Uh, look at him. A big guy and crying like a little ugly baby...” She took some change out of her pocket and threw it into the cash register. “Now, take your vegetable and go.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you so much!” Kibum cried, wiping his eyes. “I'll bring you the money tomorrow, or I can run home now and then...”

“Just bring it tomorrow, it's fine.”

“Oh, thank you! God bless you!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Peace out now.”

He was so grateful that he almost walked out without his zucchini.

The rain had weakened a bit by the time Kibum stepped outside. He pressed the button on his earphones, the music continued playing, and he let himself think that maybe that night was not that bad after all.

He was humming along to ‘City of Stars’, when the song stopped abruptly. Upon taking his phone out, he discovered that it had switched off because it was out of battery.

“Uh, really...”

It didn't take long for his misery to come back.

Will I ever see him again?

Kibum had sent Jinki a few messages just to ask how he is, without any love confessions for a change, but never got any answers.

‘It's the throes of a dying love...’

Yes, he might be a serial monogamist, and he did have a history of crushes that all seemed to go through the same pattern each time, but how exactly did that fact invalidate his feelings? He was earnest every single time. And Jinki... Jinki was special. Of course, everybody was special in their own way, and he had thought so about every guy before him, but... Jinki was complicated. He wasn't easy, and he had layers.

What did his friends, with their cynical comments and jokes, know about the moments when the two of them were alone and it felt like they had known each other for a few lifetimes? About the way Jinki's eyes crinkled and smiled when he looked at him? About the strange excitement that came from their arguments and the moments when Jinki's chilly exterior gave way to that mood when he was soft, and quiet, and childish?

And now I have probably ruined our friendship.

Kibum's eyes welled up again, and he started crying. He blamed the cocktails.

“Hey! Kimbab!” a familiar voice called from behind. The voice he definitely didn't want to hear right now. “Kimbab!”

The young man stopped, swallowed his tears and turned around with a sigh.

Donkkaseu was looking out of the window of his squeaky-clean silver Hyundai. He looked like a hot mess.

“You shouldn't drive if you've been drinking.”

“Get in the car.”

“No.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Sleep it off and we'll talk later,” Kibum answered wearily and continued walking. The car crept along the curb following him.

“You don't pick up when I call.”

“I've been busy, I told you.”

“Yet you had time to party with your ing friends? Do you think I'm an idiot or something?!”

“Try and guess,” Kibum muttered.

“Get in the ing car! Now!!!” The man shouted, angry spit flying out of his mouth.

That was enough to set Kibum off, too.

“Dude, do you think I wanna get in the car with a screaming, drunken junkie in the middle of the ing night?! So that you can take me to some ing forest and chop me into pieces?! If I say ‘NO’, it's a ‘NO’! Deal with it!!!”

As expected, Donkkaseu changed his tune and resorted to being pitiful.

“How can you say such things? I would never harm you! I just wanted to take you to a motel and relieve some stress and...”

Kibum continued walking. He now reached the tunnel under the bridge, his home was not that far off, and he prayed that Donkkaseu would not take it there. Also, the road was empty, and being stuck in a poorly lit place with a man who wouldn't take no for an answer at this hour was not the best idea.

“Kimbab, Kimbab, wait! I've had so much stress at work, my youngest is having trouble at school, and...”

“It must for you, but I'm not working right now. Please, stop.”

“…I haven't had for three weeks now! Three! Do you know what it's like to have no relief whatsoever?!”

Kibum stopped again and put his hand to his face to rub his tired eyes.

“Donkkaseu, why can't you understand that I am human, and, believe it or not, I have my limits. I've also had a pretty ty day and all I wanna do with my body now is to take it to the shower and then drop it on my nice soft…” He looked to the left because he heard steps approaching. “…Jinki.”

A figure was walking towards him from the direction he had come from before. He only saw the silhouette outlined by the yellow light, but there was something in it that just felt like Jinki.

No, it can't be him.

“Bummie!” the man shouted, waving his arm, and Kibum's breath hitched.

The figure stepped into the dim light of the lamps, and the identity of the fluffy-haired, bespectacled man in a college vest no longer had to be debated.

It was him.

“Jinki!” Kibum cried, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Bummie!” Jinki answered, walking fast towards him. He was wearing a backpack and carrying another bag in his hand.

Kibum could see that he was smiling.

“Jinki.”

He covered his mouth with his hand in a sudden gust of emotion.

“Hi, Bummie,” Jinki said, breathing hard, when he finally stood in front of his friend. His hair was completely wet and there were water drops behind his glasses.

“Hi, Jinki... What are you doing here?”

“I... I called your number, but I couldn't reach you, so I just…” Jinki scratched the back of his neck, suddenly inspecting his shoes.

“You came here to see me?” Kibum asked in an unusually high-pitched voice, his heart beating faster.

Stupid, dumb, rubbish heart.

“I… I just arrived and I brought some meat from my mom, it's fresh and...”

“You wanted to see me,” Kibum helped.

Jinki nodded.

“Yes.”

They looked at each other and smiled. Kibum finally realized that he wasn't hallucinating a scene from a movie and this was, in fact, a real miracle happening to the real him in his real life. He threw himself on his friend, flinging his arms around his shoulders.

“I thought I'd never see you again.”

“Why?”

“Because I ruined everything and now you hate me.”

“Come on, of course I don't hate you. I just dislike the very fact of your existence.”

Kibum hit Jinki's arm.

“Aw. Bummie, you're so dramatic.”

“You?!?!” a voice bellowed from behind.

Kibum let Jinki go and turned around. He'd completely forgotten about his disgruntled client.

Meanwhile, Donkkaseu was getting out of his car and pointing at Jinki.

“You!!!”

The young man furrowed his brow, confused.

“Um… me?” he asked, pointing his forefinger at himself.

“You stole my ing money!”

“But I don't even know you!”

“You gave me a and when I passed out on the floor you robbed me and I woke up without my ing wallet!”

“What?!” Kibum cried, looking at both of the other men's faces. “What's going on?”

Jinki didn't look confused anymore. He remembered.

“This fellow was one of my first clients,” he explained coolly. “I only took a 50 thousand won note out of your wallet and put it back into your jacket and I have no idea what happened to it after.”

“All of my cards were in that ing wallet!!!” Donkkaseu raved.

Kibum noticed that the man was rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, and he didn't like it. He put a hand on Jinki's elbow to pull him away from the drunken guy.

Jinki pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Look, I'm telling you the truth. I only took what you were supposed to pay me anyway and left, and I swear that…”

At that moment, a few things happened in what seemed to be a split second: Donkkaseu dashed towards Jinki, Kibum rushed to prevent the physical attack that was sure to follow, was roughly pushed away, and, finally, Jinki received a punch in his face that threw him to the wall. Blood came streaming out of his nose right away and his lip was split, too. His glasses fell on the ground.

He pressed his hand to his nose to check if it was broken, and looked at the red liquid on his hand in a daze.

“Wow, that was a neat one,” he murmured.

Kibum watched, petrified, as Donkkaseu grabbed his friend by the collar and threw him to the ground.

“Stop, don't touch him!” he yelled when the shock passed and he rushed to stop further violence.

Donkkaseu pushed him again, hard enough for him to lose his balance, too.

“You, er,” he growled, turning back to Jinki, who was trying to reach his glasses lying nearby.

He raised his foot and crushed the glasses with a loud crack.

“No, I got them on a discount! No!” Jinki lamented as if the spectacles were more important than, say, his life. “Dude, why would you do that?!”

Kibum was not a fighter by nature and normally abhorred physical violence, but there was no doubt that this particular situation called for drastic measures.

He picked up his zucchini that had flown out of his hand when he fell, scrambled to his feet and wacked the raging man on the back of the head.

“Get this!”

Donkkaseu gave a small noise and collapsed limply on the ground, unconscious.

“Woah, that was cool,” Jinki complimented his friend from the ground.

Kibum fell to his knees and lifted the other's head gently.

“Honey, are you okay? Do you feel like you have a concussion? Look at my hand: how many fingers?”

“Can't you count them yourself?”

“Jinki!”

“Alright, three.”

“Oh, do you think you can stand up or...?” Kibum asked in a shaky voice. He never got as scared for himself as he did for others.

Jinki raised his hand to touch Kibum's face. His cheek was wet and he hadn't even noticed.

“Bummie.”

“What?” Kibum sobbed.

“Do I look y with blood on my face?”

“You bet. You idiot.”

Jinki grinned and sat up with his friend's help. They looked at each other, breathed, and their lips met.

Kibum was at his wit's end after all of the shock, he was upset, he still couldn't believe that Jinki was really here and that the metallic taste in his mouth was the blood of the person he loved, and together with that he was feeling terribly, inexplicably aroused.

With some difficulty, they carried Donkkaseu into his car and Kibum called the ambulance from the man's phone.

“I hope he'll be fine. Bastard.”

“Thank you for saving me from a scary middle-aged man,” Jinki said, wrapping his arm around Kibum's waist as they walked away.

“Anytime.”

“You should've protected the glasses, though.”

“Uh, be quiet. You needed to upgrade to lenses anyway.”

In the apartment, Kibum treated his friend's battle wounds. It was pure luck that Jinki's nose wasn't broken.

“I'll never badmouth vegetables again – not after my life was saved by one,” the victim promised after Kibum pushed him out of the bathroom.

Next thing he knew, he was thrown on the couch, and his friend climbed on top of him.

“And now prepare for your life to be saved again,” Kibum promised, throwing his shirt off.

He put his hands on the other's cheeks and bent down to crush their mouths together. Jinki's lips responded, parted, he let out a low groan. Kibum felt goosebumps on his skin as Jinki's palm caressed the back of his neck and traced down his spine before slipping under the band of his trousers.

“I missed you,” Kibum breathed.

With his other hand, Jinki pressed him tighter into his own body and bent his neck to put a kiss on Kibum's jaw.

“I missed you too,” he whispered into his neck.

They kissed again, harder, deeper, until Kibum pulled back to undo the other's belt.

“Wait,” Jinki said, his lips. “You should put the meat in the freezer.”

“That's a funny way to ask someone to top you.”

“No, it's... I don't...” Jinki stammered, his ears growing hot.

“What's up with you and the fear of bottoming, anyway?” Kibum's voice shouted from the kitchen.

Judging by the noises he made with the bag and the fridge, he was in a great hurry.

“It's not a fear, it's more like the matter of preference.”

“As you say.”

This time the roles were switched, and as soon as they entered the bedroom, Kibum was pushed roughly onto the bed, face down. Jinki's shirt fell on the floor and he dived in to put a series of passionate kisses on the other man's neck and shoulders.

Kibum moaned as he felt a bite on his neck. His hair was grabbed and pulled back with just the right amount of force to send a electric spasm of anticipation through his body. He turned his face to the side and their lips met again in a fiery, messy kiss.

“You're rough today,” he breathed, waiting for Jinki to get a from the drawer.

“I guess I forgot how to be gentle... Sorry.”

“It's fine. Let the anger out. Put it all into me... Jinki.”

“What?”

“Will you leave me tomorrow?”

Kibum looked at him. His eyes were pleading.

“No, I won't leave,” Jinki promised.

None of them was saying anything for a while. They were lost in thought, both listening to the humming of the traffic in two different parts of the city, the blinding flows of lights and steel taking them further away from each other, pulling them apart.

“I love you,” Taemin murmured.

His voice was so distant and quiet that Jinki couldn't really make out the words. He didn't hear them, but he felt them, distinctly, in the hidden depths of his heart, where they echoed in a secret darkness, again and again.

Jinki opened his eyes in the middle of the night. Kibum was breathing softly into his ear, their bodies pressed together.

“I love you,” Taemin murmured.

“I love you.”

It didn't take him long to fall asleep again. This time, there were no dreams – only the sweet oblivion of the night.