For the first time after the long months of winter, they had gotten rid of the thick clothes they were restricted in. Waking up with the sun already bright on the sky and accompanying their breakfast with the sounds of birds chirping merrily, Hyukjae was in an awfully good mood. Out of the two men, he was the one sharing Mrs. Lee's excitement about the upcoming planting season of summer vegetables. Donghae had only growled when they were told the chores of the day. And Hyukjae grinning goofily after he was given a left behind T-shirt of the younger's brother didn't help calming his temper either.

"It's just a piece of cotton..." he murmured to no one in particular as the guest spun around for Mrs. Lee to see if it was a nice fit.

Donghae slowly exhaled and convinced himself punching that idiot right there and then would do no good.

"Let's go!"

The brunet was roughly pulled forward by the older, his curse loud enough for his mother to hear. Among threats of no dessert served to him at lunch they departed, Hyukjae carrying a straw basket identical to Donghae's but sporting a completely different view of the day ahead of them. He padded down the downhill, leaving the younger grumpily stomping behind and squinting his eyes against the light. Granting the privilege of wishing good-morning to the village's residents to Hyukjae, the younger kept his dark eyes casted downwards, paying attention to nothing else than the dirt road as he was deep in thought.

"Let's start from the left corner" the older said after what seemed to Donghae as mere seconds.

He glanced around at the strawberry fields stretching all over the far left side of the inhabited area. Combi trucks were already there, men and women setting the pace of the necessary jobs down: who would pick the fruits up, shake the excess dirt off, sort them according to size and quality, pack them and then load the cars, off to bigger companies and then finally reaching people's houses. 

That line of production was truly appealing to Hyukjae - the younger came to realise that after the days they spent doing manual labour side by side. What was that special something about exhausting your body that the black haired man enjoyed so much? What hidden mysteries were waiting under the wet, dark soil for him to discover? Was the feeling of providing more - elicited from the extensive use of his limps? The belief that he could make up form all the years he wasted sitting behind a desk while others had it so much harder?

Was the sweat running down his flesh washing away whatever sins he was persuaded he had committed?

Donghae couldn't decide what applied, the ideas in his head still liquid and flowing untamable. Even though the shape had began becoming distinguishable, a great part was still shrouded in shadows. But  - like a train emerging from the black pits of a tunnel - what he had in mind would eventually acquire a steady form.

Till then, he would keep picking up sweet and ripe strawberries, carefully placing them in the huge baskets. The sun was not yet burning his skin but it was surely hot enough for both him and Hyukjae to take off their T-shirts, working in their tank tops for the rest of the day.

By the time dusk had fallen and they were back at the house, the younger man was even more troubled than before. Sitting across the other side of the rough wooden table, the black haired man was humming an old, trot song Donghae's mother was most likely to enjoy. His head lolling left and right to the rhythm, the brunet had doubts that was the same person as the one who had narrated the long, sad story just a few days ago.

With fingers painted red from the juices of the fresh strawberries they were cutting to quarters, Hyukjae tapped the surface where numerous pots were placed on. He carefully held the sharp knife in his right hand, speculating how he could finish faster the preparations so that Mrs. Lee would bake that tart she wanted ever since the weather had warmed up. He didn't notice the younger had paused his actions, staring at him, a deep frown marring his otherwise cute features.

Hyukjae chose a rather chubby fruit and plucked out the small patch of green leaves. Taking a breath to appreciate the strong aroma, he cut it in two perfect halves, precise with his moves. Smiling at his feat, he chopped each piece to further halves, then placing all of them in a big, glass bowl in the middle of the table.

"You're scary..."

The older man raised his head to look at Donghae, his hand hovering above the plate of still uncut fruits. Puzzled by the sudden remark, he waited for the boy to complete his strange thoughts. Donghae exhaled annoyed and let his own knife fall with a loud clank! on his plate.

"Don't force yourself to feel happy. Not here..."

His eyes bore deep into Hyukjae's for just a couple of seconds before the brunet jerked his head away, his jaw clenched and his stare intense enough to burn a hole through the cupboard he had focused on. The older placed his knife straight next to his cup of tea, his hands facing palm-down the table... Taking a few moments to think of an appropriate answer, his humming had now stopped. The distant sounds of Mrs. Lee's conversation with a neighbor at the garden was the only disruption of the overall silence prevailing in the house.

"Why specifically not here?"

Donghae remained quiet, his expression that of a kid stubbornly refusing to reveal who had broken the window while playing football. Hyukjae sighed and picked up a strawberry.

"Look... don't worry about me. I told you because I wanted and I had to."

He bit the fruit's tip as the younger shot him a side glance. Murmuring about how he wasn't worried in the least bit, only concerned if his gay mood was contagious, Donghae cursed at him and grabbed his knife. Smirking at the boy, Hyukjae continued from where he had left the fruits, smartly avoiding Donghae's kick below the table as the older started humming once again.

Chopping small pieces of red fruits, Donghae found it was very difficult to concentrate on how not to lose a finger than what the guest had said. The brunet tried keepin