They stopped by a CU supermarket near Kibum's place. The streets in the vicinity were empty, it being late and cold.
They poured some hot water into their ramen and sat by the window, waiting for it to get ready. Jinki's mood changed, and he was quiet now, scrolling through something on his phone. Kibum wasn't saying anything either.
He copied his friend and took his phone out, but there was nothing interesting there. Or maybe his mind was too restless to focus on anything.
He opened Kakao to message Jonghyun.
“He's gonna sleep at mine tonite. Do u think it's a bad idea?”
Kibum hesitated. It's not like Jjong is my parent and I need his permission to invite my friend over. I should use my own reason to figure out whether it's a good idea or not. They wouldn't even be sleeping in the same room, for god's sake... But even if they would? It's not like necessarily has to lead to complications or any of them had anything to hide.
He thought of Taemin and the look of his tired, bloodshot eyes grazing his face as he had told him to go and tell Jinki that he was waiting for him.
He told him his real name, Kibum had thought then. It had made him testy and unreasonably resentful.
No, this is wrong.
He deleted the message and typed a new one:
“I kissed him”
So what? We're adults. It's not like he should feel guilty for exchanging some saliva with his geek pal who happens to be good-looking. Except… he had told Jonghyun – no, he had told himself that he was going to be his own man from now on, and quit lying to himself, and stop caring so much.
It was late, too. True, Jonghyun, with his insomnia, was probably awake, but did he, Kibum, really need to be told that he is a ‘ing idiot’ at this hour by somebody other than himself?
They broke up some hours ago.
Maybe inviting Jinki to spend the night was a mistake. He started wishing something happened and his friend changed his mind.
The ramen was ready now, and Jinki was slurping with great appetite, but Kibum just sat there propping his cheek with his hand and frowning.
“Why aren't you eating? Didn't you say you were hungry?”
He picked up the chopsticks and stirred the noodles a little, but his mind was too busy being torn apart by conflicting thoughts to be tempted by food.
“Is it really over with the brat?”
“Yes, we're done,” Jinki replied through a mouthful of noodles.
“Really done or ‘done-until-he-calls-again-crying’ done?”
“Really.”
“And how are you feeling now?”
“I'm alright.”
Kibum was both unconvinced and annoyed.
“You broke up with a guy who has you on speed dial and who threatened to slit his wrists if you don't spend a weekend with him in the countryside and you're ‘alright’?”
“What's done is done. There's no way back.”
“You said you felt like at the bar.”
“Feelings change.”
Kibum shook his head.
So ing stubborn.
He couldn't even tell why his friend's impassiveness irritated him so much suddenly. It was just wrong.
“Well, what do you want me to say? That I'm heartbroken and full of regrets?”
“If that's the truth.”
“It's not. I got drunk to feel better, it worked and we had fun together. And now I am okay.”
“Bull.”
Jinki took a tissue to wipe his mouth.
“I don't get it. Do you want me to feel like a piece of ?”
“I want you to save yourself some time and beating around the bush and be honest with yourself for once. You see, I don't know if you don't trust me enough so you're pretending to be dead inside or if it's the turning-your-brain-off thing again, but I wish you opened up to yourself and realized that it's okay to not feel alright all the time. Because you're not supposed to, anyway.”
“I don't remember hiring you as my therapist.”
“You're a wreck, Jinki,” Kibum said without a shadow of irony.
The other cussed and pushed the ramen bowl away.
“When you're in your ty gosiwon, you tell yourself that you're not really there. When you're ing someone for money, you tell yourself that other jobs are no better. When you were with Taemin and listened to his whiny crap you tried to convince yourself that you felt nothing for him and it was your choice.”
“Well, he didn't keep me against my will, did he?” Jinki argued, getting irritated. “He didn't force me to listen to that ‘whiny crap’ or take his money or pick up his calls or whatever.”
“Oh really? So harassing you online and basically stalking you in real life to sob all over you and pull on your heart strings until you give in doesn't count as forcing?”
They glared at each other. The old man at the counter who was watching a TV show on his phone, put the volume up.
Jinki was the first to look away.
“It's a very one-sided perspective. If he did all that, it was his choice, and I... No matter how strong the pressure is, what we do is our choice in the end, and nobody else's.”
“Ever heard of abusive relationships?” Kibum asked bitterly.
“I don't see myself as a victim, so don't paint me as one.”
“Why was it your choice to stay, then?”
Jinki bit his lip. He said nothing.
The cashier laughed together with the unseen audience.
“You don't have to tell me,” Kibum continued. “But answer that question to yourself. There's nothing worse than living your life always repressing your true feelings. It weakens, it degrades. It kills.”
He was sober enough to know that he would be embarrassed about his frankness later, but drunk enough to go through with it.
To his surprise, Jinki chuckled.
“A guy who can't stop falling for his best friends would know a lot about repressed feelings, I guess,” he said sarcastically.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“First that Japanese guy in college, then that straight what's-his-name who complained to you about his girlfriend, then Minho…”
“Stop,” Kibum hissed through clenched teeth.
“…who is it now, then? Jonghyun? Me? Who are you to tell me that I'm not in control of my life when you can't accept it when you are not loved? If you're so smart, why do you allow yourself to turn into a sappy pathetic mess for everyone?”
Their eyes met again, for a few heavy, agonizing moments that felt like forever.
Without breaking the strenuous link, Kibum acknowledged his feelings. He wanted to punch Jinki till he bled like there's no tomorrow, wanted to do and say nothing and storm out. Wanted to find that perfect combination of words that would punch through the armor, reach where it hurts the most and leave an ugly scar. Wanted to kiss him, maybe. And just a little bit, partly because of the alcohol – to cry.
He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and let it all pass through him, like the wind outside that he hated so much. When he opened them again, his vision was clear.
He picked up his chopsticks and pulled his ramen bowl closer. He ate with big appetite, but without any hurry, and drank the spicy red soup, too. Kibum didn't spare his friend a glance. Wherever Jinki was now – indignation? anger? regret? – he was there by himself, because Kibum had decided not to follow him, for the sake of his own peace.
He wiped his mouth with a tissue like Jinki had before and dumped the trash into the bin. He put his phone in his pocket, zipped up and walked outside. Again, he didn't rush, and Jinki had enough time to clean his own stuff up and hurry after him. Kibum allowed him to catch up and walk by his side in silence.
He knew Jinki was not feeling proud of himself. He was like a guilty puppy hiding his tail between his legs, anxious, but just too cowardly to say anything.
They stopped at a crossing. The road was perfectly clear, without a single sign of approaching headlights, but they waited for the lights to change. Normally Jinki would lose his patience and cross, and be lectured by Kibum about something his grandma had said about drunken drivers running over people at night in their speedy cars, but today he waited.
“You gonna say anything?” Kibum asked, looking at the ground.
Jinki cleared his throat.
“Well, maybe you wanna go first...”
“How do you know I have anything to say?”
“When do you not?” the other joked sheepishly, because he believed that humor could resolve anything.
Kibum rolled his eyes.
“I never said I was smart, Jinki. And just because it's difficult at times to follow my own advice, it doesn't automatically invalidate it.”
His friend agreed:
“Sure... Listen, I didn't mean what I said back there. You're not sappy or pathetic and I know that you're not into Jjong and, hell, definitely not into me.”
Kibum snorted in contempt.
“You're shorter than me.”
“And I have rabbit teeth.”
“And you smile like an old woman.”
“And I have baby hands, look!”
Happy that Kibum was playing along, Jinki raised his hands and wiggled his chubby fingers, making the other laugh.
“I'm sorry, I'm an ,” he said when Kibum crossed his arms and fell quiet again.
“What a convenient way to put it.”
“Okay. I'm an who chose to behave like an and I'm sorry.”
“That's more like it. Be consistent.”
“Do you forgive me, then?”
Kibum sighed.
“I always do, don't I.”
Jinki smiled and gently unfolded the other's arms to take him by the hand. They crossed the road and walked through the dark alleyway, their fingers interlocked – the only bit of warmth in the persistent wind.
When they finally reached Kibum's house and he opened the front door, Jinki faltered.
“Bummie... If you feel like it's a bad idea or if you'd rather be alone now, I can go home, it's alright.”
“Do you feel like it's a bad idea?” Kibum asked.
“No, I'm thinking of you.”
He gulped. He was too tired to think hard. He imagined Jinki having to wait for the first bus on the deserted bus stop, shivering in the cold, for his block was too close for a taxi driver to agree to take him, and too far to go by foot.
“Come in, don't be silly,” Kibum muttered, pushing his friend through the door.

It was almost four in the morning.
“When will this bloody day be over?” Jinki muttered, dropping on the couch.

“After you shower and go to bed. Feet off the table.”
He obeyed as Kibum walked past by him to his room.
Jinki yawned and stretched out his arms.
“I'm too tired to shower.”
“Haven't you heard about the guy who got a mouth infection and died because he never brushed his teeth after drinking?”
“I can brush my teeth without showering,” Jinki protested through another intense yawn.
“Nobody stinks in my house. Bottom line.”
Kibum was taking his clothes off. He hadn't bothered to close the door behind him, and was aware of Jinki watching him from the couch without making any effort of hiding it. If they didn't always change together at the gym, he would've wondered what the other thought of his body.
He saw Jinki in the mirror. His feet were on the coffee table again.
“Wanna bang?” Jinki suggested casually.
“That wouldn't be wise,” Kibum replied, taking his jeans off.
“Nobody has to gain wisdom, Bummie.”
“Still... There are better things than hooking up with your friend after a weird breakup that involved somebody's mom.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the joy and pure simplicity of a sincere friendship,” Kibum recited readily.
Jinki laughed, grunting. He was fiddling with an Iron Man pen he had found on the table.
“Why do I feel like Jonghyun is coming out of your mouth suddenly? I thought he only came in.”
Kibum turned around with an open mouth, scandalized, making his friend even more amused.
“It happened only once and I only remember the fact.”
“Well, as the person who walked in on you, I remember more than that.”
Kibum huffed and came back to the living room to grab his towel from the drying rack.
He then remembered that Jinki also needed one and started opening drawers looking for it.
“Does he know that we've done it already?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know we've done it more than once?”
Something cracked. He broke the pen.
Kibum bit his lip.
“No.”
“Screw him then... Unless you really don't want to do it, I mean.”
“Regardless of what my body might want,” Kibum said, throwing a clean blue towel at Jinki. “My mind needs some rest.”
“Fair enough. Bummie.”
Kibum turned to his friend, his hand on the handle of the bathroom door.
“What?”
“Can I take shower with you?”
Jinki was giving him an innocent, sheepish look.
“Why?”
“If I go alone, I'll fall asleep standing up, and hit my head on something, and die.”
“What an optimist. Okay, but no grabby hands.”
Jinki grinned.
“I'll leave them here,” he promised. “So that they don't bother you, but are nearby in case you want me to fetch 'em quick.”
Kibum rolled his eyes.
“Hurry up, then. I'm tired and .”
He opened the door and walked into the bathroom.

Kibum had planned to wash up quick and bed down, but he just stood there, unmoving, as if the warm water streaming down his body had put him under a spell. He wanted to stay there forever.
“Can you scrub my back?” Jinki asked, and Kibum had to open his eyes reluctantly.
He sighed, took the sponge and turned to his friend. Soon after he started rubbing, Jinki gave a light gasp.
“What?”
“Shoulder.”
“Overworked yourself again?”
“Maybe. You know I lose track of time.”
Kibum sighed. His rubbing became softer. After he put the sponge away, he started massaging his friend's back.
“Where does it hurt?”
“Up. To the left. More. Yeah, that's it.”
He liked how broad Jinki's shoulders were, but didn't like how hard it was control the direction of his own thought flow.
Kibum sighed again.
“Look at us, we're like an old married couple.”
“Yeah, I can imagine you forty years after, with a perm, making kimchi and nagging.”
Kibum chortled.
“I can imagine you with a big belly, sporting a balding head and being utterly useless.”
Jinki laughed.
“You're so tense here. You need to relax your muscles.”
“I'm trying, I can't.”
“Forget everything that happened today. Throw away all the meddling, forget about your paper and studying. Leave out the distractions, too.”
Kibum's hands were slowly working their way up.
“That's better, good.”
Jinki's breath became deeper, more even, and Kibum's touch – less tentative.
But the silence changed, too. Jinki had left the distractions behind, but something else must have caught up with him. Something that always stayed there, but was usually buried in the noise.
“I'm not alright,” Jinki confessed in a different, quiet voice.
It didn't come as a revelation, as he was stating an obvious fact, yet within the voice itself a bigger sadness, bigger honesty unfolded, like tears that couldn't be seen in the dark.
As an answer, Kibum wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders. Jinki put his hand on his wrist and it with his thumb.
“In the bar, you said you overlooked something. I think... I think it's your own feelings, Jinki.”
“Could be, yes.”
Kibum released him, and Jinki turned around to face him. He couldn't express with words how much he preferred seeing him like this – hair smoothed back, those ridiculously big glasses nowhere to be seen, and the cute, but somewhat cynical grin off, too. His dark eyes were actually warm, even though melancholy was shining through them now. His full lips were slightly open, as if he was trying to find words to express his thoughts, hesitating if he should voice them at all. Vulnerability made him beautiful.
For someone who openly hated sports, Jinki was in a pretty good shape. Kibum wasn't sure if he was glad that he had rejected Jinki's offer or regretted it, because if it was repeated again, he might as well say yes.
Sweet mother Mary, help me.
Kibum gulped and tried to focus.
“Well, he may have been horrible to you, but it's natural that… for now, you're not happy it's over. He was a part of your life, after all, so...”
“I haven't called my mother for eight months.”
Kibum didn't know what to say at first. He had not expected that turn.
“I didn't even go home for Chuseok… I mean, I still send the money, but...” Jinki's voice trembled. “It's just some hour away from here, 's sake.”
“You can still call her now, it's okay.”
“The more time passes, the harder it is. What if it's too late now and she doesn't want to see me or talk to me anymore?”
Kibum put his hand on the other's shoulder.
“It's not too late. She's your mother and she loves you.”
“I don't know if she does anymore. I'm... I'm a terrible son.”
When he raised his eyes, they were b with tears.
“Come here.”
Kibum pulled him in for a tight hug.
“You're going through a tough time, you're busy studying. Trying to find your place in the world. She knows.”
Jinki sniffled into his friend's shoulder.
“She had such hopes... I was a different person when I was leaving Gwangmyeong. I don't know how I got so ed up.”
“You're not ed up... Well, to some extent, but you're not lying in a trench somewhere with a needle in your arm and you didn't give up studying.”
“But the job... If she found out...”
“She doesn't need to know. Our job is not exactly good, but it's not exactly bad either, remember?”
“Yeah, I know that, but she…”
Kibum pulled back to cup Jinki's cheeks and look him straight in the eye.
“There will always be things that our parents are not supposed to know. You're not a terrible son, and you're not a bad person for not having your together.”
Jinki's eyes were red and his lips trembled before he whispered:
“Thank you.”
Kibum put a light kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“It's okay.”

 The lights were finally off, the bed (as well as the couch) made and the temptations overcome. Kibum was more than ready to put an end to that hellishly long day, and was falling into unconsciousness… but he couldn't actually land. Each time he drifted off he was awoken by the sound of his friend tossing and turning on the couch. When it happened again, he groaned.
“Jinki, what's going on there?”
The noise stopped.
“This mattress is so damn bumpy. Can I sleep in your bed?”
“With me in it?” Kibum asked, yawning.
“No, with your aunt's Bible study group in it.”
“Oh, okay... Bring your own pillow and blanket, then.”
Kibum groaned again when he had to move to make room for Jinki. He turned to the window and hoped he'd be able to pick up where he'd been before once Jinki settled, but the sleep was gone. Something was still bugging him.
He rolled to his back.
“Do you think Taemin really loves you?”
“I don't know. Do you think he does?”
“It seems that he does.”
“Why do you think so?”
Kibum looked at Jinki.
“Why wouldn't he?”
The other smiled. The look in his eyes became so tender, so unguarded and together with that so wistful it made Kibum's heart sink. Jinki had never looked at him like that before – unless Kibum had been so wasted there was no recollection.
He was scared to think of its meaning.
“Don't look at me like that. Stop it right now.”
Jinki leaned closer.
“Don't you ing da–”
“Goodnight,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Kibum's forehead, and turned to the wall.
Kibum wanted to say the same, but no sound came out of his mouth when he tried.
And all was quiet.

Taemin lay on his bed in his street clothes and coat, not quite asleep, not quite awake, aware of the whispers behind the door that came and went before disappearing for good, of the heaviness of the clothes, of the never-ending, high-pitched sound of blood flowing inside his body. And the pain. But the pain was merely the background. Nothing compared to the atrocious whistling in his head.
How could humans ever get used to it?
The light of the bedside lamp bothered him, but it was so hard to move. Nearly impossible.
He could never fall asleep like that, though, he knew. He needed some sort of relief.
With his eyelids half-closed, Taemin made an almost inhuman effort and shuffled out of his coat. He then rolled to the side of the bed, and d for something under it until his fingers touched something metallic. He retrieved the object from the floor and put it next to him. It was a tin box that had once contained cookies he had bought at the airport in Japan with pictures of the Gudetama egg all over it. It was one of the few physical objects he was actually attached to –so much, in fact, that he felt the need to check on it from time to time just to see if it was still in place. Not that anybody would really take it away – the maids and his mother knew better than touch his personal stuff – but he felt better knowing that it was waiting for him under the bed.
He opened it. It was full of random objects of different colors that had one thing in common – they were all sharp: pieces of broken glass, push pins, little nails, etc. Taemin took a handful and clenched his fist so tight his knuckles grew white.
People who thought they knew him would say that his mind was all over the place, but he was capable of absolute concentration when he felt like it. He was so focused he couldn't feel the rest of his body. There was no tension in it, even his haggardly pale face didn't betray any sign of physical or emotional effort. His eyes watched dispassionately as his hand clutched, veins swelling under the skin.
Finally, he could see blood snaking through the creases. He pressed harder. A few red drops trickled down his hand and stained the blanket.
He released his hold and breathed deeply. The pain was gone, and even the whistling noise stepped back, giving way to serenity. Now he could fall asleep.
Taemin poured the contents of the box back inside it, closed the lid and put it back under the bed. Then he pulled out the drawer in the bedside stand, took a few wet tissues and wiped his hands with them. He knew it wasn't enough to stop the bleeding, but he had put so much energy into causing it that there was none left now. He flicked the light off and covered himself with the coat.
The last thing he thought of before falling asleep was Jinki's face – that expression he had when he was studying, his lips moving subtly, following the text. Taemin could always tell when he had to read the same sentence a few times because he was too thick to understand it. Sometimes when there was nothing else to do he read Jinki's textbooks with him, upside down from across the table, and he could guess exactly which sentence caused the repetition. And it usually took him, Taemin, no more than about twenty seconds to get at least the general meaning. When he couldn't find the answer in his own knowledge, the context usually gave it away.
But Jinki never thought of asking him for help, and Taemin never offered it. Not because he liked to watch Jinki suffer, but because he was so fond of that hopelessly stupid expression.
He smiled.
“You're really gone now, are you,” he said into the emptiness, as if it was only a passing comment on the color of the sky or other obvious thing.

When Kibum woke up on the next morning, he was naive enough to hope that perhaps he misunderstood whatever he had seen in his friend's eyes and had felt in that last kiss. But that sunken feeling, like a perpetual fall, awoke with him.
When he opened his eyes, through the doorway he saw Jinki getting dressed in the living room.
“What time is it?” he asked coarsely, propping himself up with his elbow.
“Eleven something.”
“Where are you going?”
“I've got a lecture today.”
“Oh.”
Jinki threw his vest on and was pretty much ready to leave. He walked into the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed.
“I don't think I will be moving in here, Bummie.” He pushed his glasses up his nose. They made his eyes look slightly bigger.
He looks like an old cat.
“But thanks for your offer, I appreciate it.”
Kibum pouted.
“Why?”
“I made calculations, and even without the utility fees the difference between my place and what I'll be paying here is too big.”
But Kibum was barely listening.
“Is it something I did?”
“No, of course not,” Jinki assured him, sounding ever so matter-of-fact. “I want to take a break from work, clean my mind... I'll need the money.”
“I understand,” the other said after a pause. “But remember that you can ask me if you're ever in need.”
Jinki smiled.
“Come here.”
And he pressed Kibum's stick thin body to his chest.
“Do you know what will be the death of you?”
“Tall boys who look good in black trousers?” the younger man mumbled into the other's shoulder.
“Your kindness might kill you first.”
“I'm not kind.”
“Yes, you are, and it's almost gross.”
“I hold grudges, judge people on what they're wearing and get mad at slow walkers. I'm mean.”
Jinki patted his back before letting him go.
“You'll have to try harder, still.”
Why does it feel like a goodbye?
He gave Kibum that same unbearable look as the night before and ruffled his hair. Then he left.
Kibum shut his eyes for a moment after the door closed.
He took his phone, dialed Jonghyun's number and lay back down.
“What, child?” Jjong's voice greeted him.
Kibum sighed. For the first time in his memory, he didn't know what to say.
“Did he stay at your place?”
He nodded.
“I assume you nodded. Did you sleep with him?”
“Yes, but no.”
“You're speaking Kibumian again.”
“I slept with him, but I didn't sleep with him.”
“You mean you didn't have ?”
“Uh-uh. But... Jjong... he knows.” His voice shook. “He knows everything. I think he knew before I did.”
He couldn't fight anymore. The tears were choking him and he cried out loud.
“He knows...”
Jonghyun listened to him quietly.
“Even I had my doubts, but... Oh, Jjong, this is too much...”
“When did you know?” he asked.
“Last night, I think... Or this morning... That day was so damn long.”
Kibum couldn't stop crying, and his friend knew that it couldn't be helped. Minutes passed, and the sobbing subsided and came again in waves, and Jonghyun was there with his supportive silence.
“Wanna order a pizza?” he asked after another wave ebbed out.
Kibum sniffled.
“Yes, but you'd better come fast. You know I get hungry after I cry.”
“You know that coming fast is not my style.”
He laughed through his remaining tears.
“Feeling better now?”
“It takes more than one lewd joke to mend my heart, Jjong.”
“I can come up with about three more. Then you'll have to help me out.”
“I'll see what I can do... See your here in twenty-five.”
“Okay, boss.”
Kibum hung up and looked at the window. Bright rays of sunshine streamed into the room through the jalousie, filling it with warmth.
It was hard, he figured. It would be hard for a while. But it's so damn good to be alive.