Eunhyuk/Donghae | PG | non!au | 1756 words

In Paris, Donghae thinks about the lives they could have.

*

It’s a chill breeze on his lips when Hyukjae whispers lovesongs into his skin, his hands pushing at his thighs and rearing over his torso. The Parisian lights are glowing in Donghae’s eyes and Hyukjae leans near, fingers closing around the edges of Donghae’s hips and tongue dipping into Donghae’s mouth and they sigh, a melody ringing softly at the back of their ears as the night cradles them back into sleep. It’s only the first day and there are so many things to see and Donghae starts to plan their remaining days out – one night spent walking around the Seine, having breakfast the next day with freshly baked bread and butter, later an afternoon just for them two. It’s going to be perfect – just as perfect as Hyukjae’s skin feels against his and they mould together and it’s everything what Donghae wants.

¨ ¨ ¨

The journey has begun and Donghae’s sweaty palms start to slip away from Hyukjae’s grip by the end of the day. Hyukjae’s promised him no one would care, it’s Europe after all – homouality is as common as Christianity but Donghae doubts it and anyways, it’s not like they’re not known around the world.

“Stop worrying so much,” Hyukjae says, his fingers curving around Donghae’s a little bit harder. They strolled along the river only linking pinkies before and Donghae starts to feel nervous because what if. There are always what if’s and but’s and how’s and it’s not just pinkies now, it’s hands, hands weaving together and swaying in between them until they let go.

Hyukjae says he doesn’t want to let go. He’s been waiting since forever to hold his hands like this and he’s not going to give this up just because. Donghae stirs but can’t hide his smile anymore and Hyukjae beams at him, the beauty of his face leaving Donghae speechless.

They split when some teenage girls cross before them. They giggle and whisper into each other’s ears and Donghae knows they are talking about them. He feels anxiousness creeping into his veins but Hyukjae pulls him over to the other side. He grins reassuringly at him, gums peeking over the creases of his lips and Donghae just wants to kiss it, wants to kiss his smile and get immersed in it, stuck there in the middle of the street with fingers pointed at them and weird looks exchanged as they walk further on without looking back.

He can’t. Holding hands seems to be okay but they still have to part if somebody stares so much and he starts to wonder how it would feel to be accepted and not frowned upon.

He will probably never know but he likes to pretend they are only regular people. He pretends Hyukjae teaches children dance and comes to pick Donghae up at four pm. He parks before the café where Donghae works and Hyukjae brings them home, leftover coffee and the bulgoggi they ate last night already grown cold on the kitchen counter. He pretends they have an apartment in Busan and they drive to Hyukjae’s parents’ on Mondays, and visit Donghae’s mother at the weekends.

It sounds so normal and cosy but they’ve never been the normal kind, never been ordinary kids with crayons in hand, lines crooked into paper and paint dip-dried on their fingers. Donghae played football instead until all the falling strained both of his knees green. And that is what it’s all about, falling then getting back up on your feet and running a thousand miles again.

Donghae snaps his head up when they step by a café and Hyukjae greets the old barista with wobbly French. He only realises Hyukjae’s hand is gone from his a bit later and he gulps down the emptiness that fills him along with steamy hot black coffee.

¨ ¨ ¨

The next morning they have bread with butter as promised. Donghae’s eyes are roaming through the crowd swirling before them. Paris spazzes with life and Donghae notices no one’s stopping to gape at them with wide eyes.

“I said there’s nothing to worry about,” Hyukjae says, a piece of bread dangling from his lips. Donghae laughs and pokes him in the side until Hyukjae almost chokes and screams at him.

Hands falling to his sides, Donghae takes a moment to look at Hyukjae. Paris matches him or Hyukjae matches Paris he doesn’t know; it’s just as if Hyukjae was born to sit there, the daily news spread out before him written in a language he doesn’t understand so he just thumbs it over, legs crossed on a curvy compound chair and hands stretching out on the table. The vividness of Paris engages him in and Donghae understands now, Hyukjae’s obsession of this city, the yearning for the lights and the wish to live their life like this once when they’re able to.

Paris gives so much more than it takes; the mellow music melting into ground and thumping under their toes, the sounds of other people talking oppressing them into stillness but they still keep going on. It’s somewhere they wouldn’t have to worry who sees or who cares. It’s a place where they can be who they really are. A place they could easily call home and it wouldn’t sound strange on their mouths.

¨ ¨ ¨

Paris is not only about the Eiffel-tower or the Louvre continuing in the Tuileries Gardens. Over discarded flyers and scattered empty juiceboxes we find that the real Paris everyone is searching for is hooded in narrow cobblestoned alleys where the streetlamps cast warm yellow lights on every face passing by. It’s a courtesy of the ones walking around with eyes open, the ones that are not afraid to see or touch and feel.

“It’s the best place if you want to freshen yourself up spiritually,” Hyukjae says while walking through the city streets.

“We should go there tonight,” Donghae says, slowing down when Hyukjae stops before a show-case. “I want to be able to open my eyes. I want to know everything. I want to know what freedom is.”

Hyukjae doesn’t listen. He mulls over a Dolce & Gabbana suit from afar but doesn’t take a step further. It’s something he could get easily; just a snap of an opening briefcase and he wouldn’t have to wake up the next morning regretting missing this chance.

He doesn’t move. Donghae can’t help but think, how many times will this happen until Hyukjae realises it’s not that complicated. How many years would it take to Hyukjae to roll the dice, how many decades would it take to run away.

“It’s too expensive,” Hyukjae says turning back. His face is all smiles, curves burnt into his skin but it’s not the real thing. “Let’s go eat something instead.”

Donghae looks at him apologetically and puts his hand around Hyukjae’s shoulder. Hyukjae doesn’t tense, doesn’t pull away; for now, they are just two friends walking down the streets. But later when Hyukjae turns and gazes at Donghae and Donghae looks back, some sparks start to stretch their way into the air. It’s the looks that they send, the smile they shed away before anyone could notice, the lingering fingers at their arms that give them away.

“Let’s run away,” Donghae whispers into his ears and Hyukjae’s almost ready to just bend and run, the air only a cold kiss on his skin before he stops and reaches the end of the world.

But no running away could solve this and Hyukjae turns away because he can’t stand the intensity of Donghae’s eyes boring into his soul. “We can’t, you know that.”

Donghae looks to the side, the sigh that leaves his lips barely audible. His reflection in the show-case darts black spots onto the ground. “Let’s just run away for this night then.”

Hyukjae pulls at his fingers, “Okay,” and doesn’t let them go.

¨ ¨ ¨

It takes them almost an hour to find it. Donghae keeps pushing Hyukjae into the wrong direction but Hyukjae’s legs know the way, and when they find it, Donghae loses the words on his lips.

On the other side of the road there is a small diner with roses planted in front and low jazz music in the background that weaves itself into Donghae’s ears. They sit behind a tree, away from the noise but not too far to be unable to observe the world playing right before them. It’s the life they thought they could never have.

Hyukjae sings along with the music but he doesn’t know how, voice cracking at the highest pitches he tries to copy. Donghae laughs at him with a hand on his mouth but the other never lets go of Hyukjae’s arm.

“Isn’t it just magical,” Hyukjae asks, right after he spills his orange juice over his shirt and jeans. “This whole chemistry the people have here.”

Donghae nods, not really thinking about an answer. He’s enamoured by the sounds, the faces, the romances that dare to bloom in front of them. They were true when they said Paris is the city of love and it seems so simple now, looking into the eyes of your beloved one without feeling ashamed.

Donghae is not afraid anymore.

When they walk back, Donghae lets Hyukjae’s fingers tangle into his and doesn’t care to frown back at faces.

¨ ¨ ¨

Donghae stands by the balcony on the last day. The shows have been done and he just wants to lie down on cold sheets and spread his limbs. He doesn’t want to wave goodbye yet, so he just stands there and looks down at the street.

“Did you like it?” Hyukjae comes up behind him, arms itching to draw out and enclose him into his warmth.

Donghae turns and smiles, says, “I did but I want to stay.”

It would be too easy. They could stay here. They could throw away their phones and names and they could be only Donghae and Hyukjae. They could have a suburban house with a garden at the back and a swing and lots of willow trees. They could call his mom over and have her sleeping in the guesthouse. They could invite Hyukjae’s parents and Sora. They wouldn’t have to worry and they wouldn’t have to hide.

He runs his hands up Hyukjae’s arms and pulls him into a hug. When they leave, the fragrance of Paris stuck in between their bones and creases are just faint reminders of five days spent in happiness.