soohyun only comes to him at night, when the shadows cast by the setting sun have long since disappeared and everything exists in shades of gray. his car is jet black with tinted windows and kiseop likes to pretend that even when he's looking out the window directly at the car, he can't actually see it parking in front of his building. there's always a spot for him, kiseop notices, and a staff member or resident always lets him in without a word. it's always so easy for him to make his way into places he doesn't belong.

kiseop steps out of the bathroom after washing his face, cleaning off the makeup for the day, and he doesn't have to look at the clock nor the street below to know that soohyun should be arriving any moment now. he shuts the light off as he leaves but quickly doubles back and turns it back on. soohyun would turn on every light he could find as soon as he walked into the door, always wanting the room to be bathed in light as if it were in the middle of the day.

kiseop waits for him on his bed as soohyun opens the door that had been left unlocked, leaving food on the counter that neither of them will eat. by the time the older man steps into the room, hitting the light switch on his way in, he's already only a layer away from bare skin. kiseop doesn't move, only watches, and when he finally gets to touch, soohyun's skin is like fire.

soohyun shies away from the cold, just like he always does, and instead sits across kiseop's lap, hands reaching out to his face. soohyun traces kiseop's features softly, slowly mapping out his entire face as if he hadn't been seeing it for years already. times like these kiseop wonders if soohyun is going blind or if he's dying or planning to quit. but he never says a word, never voices these questions, and soohyun is always there the next day with the others, seemingly in perfect health.

soohyun's fingertips slide across his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, splaying out for a moment on his cheeks before they concentrate back to his lips and even along the line of his jaw. soohyun always makes this path once, twice, before he's slipping his eyes shut. with his eyes closed, soohyun's fingers press harder, tracing along every bone until kiseop is left sore. but still, he keeps silent, sometimes closes his own eyes too, and allows soohyun to keep the illusion for a few moments longer.

after the fourth time, soohyun's fingers would stop and instead rest on kiseop's neck as he pressed their foreheads together. soohyun's eyes open at this moment and stare directly into kiseop's as if trying to see right through him into what lies underneath, to discover the secrets that create the exterior he traces out every night but always seems to forget come morning. kiseop can only meet his gaze for a second or two before he shies away, eyes closing almost subconsciously as soohyun's grip on his neck gets marginally tighter.

sometimes they spend hours like this, soohyun pushing harder and harder in an attempt to memorize every inch of kiseop's face and burn it onto his fingertips. even on the nights soohyun doesn't show up, kiseop can feel the whisper of fingertips across his skin, trailing down his arms and stomach as well as his face.

sometimes kiseop tries to talk, when soohyun is shifting off of him and he's certain the other boy has had his fill, but soohyun quickly silences him with a harsh kiss. kiseop doesn't fight back, doesn't try to make it a sentimental affair. soohyun is always rough, his movements angry and quick but his mouth always stays closed and he never makes a sound. kiseop would sometimes wonder if he was even there but he knows he is, not because he could see him but because he could feel him—fingers tugging at his hair, bites across his chest and always, always, the ghost of fingertips on his face.
 


 
the massages, the exercise, the medication, the prayers; it's never enough. he finds himself insatiable, grasping desperately at an ideal, an intangible theory, a pathetic desire that he harbors so deep inside himself that it managed to consume him whole before he even noticed.

during the day he can still feel the cold, cold skin underneath his hands but what was comforting by evening just enrages him by dawn. he contains it easily, forcing himself and the others, to work harder and harder. if he pushes himself enough, he'll have no sense of existence whatsoever, he's certain that must be what happens, and he already knows that if he pushes them hard enough, they'll grow to hate him.

if he glances at the other boy during practice, the boy is always staring directly ahead, watching his own movements in the mirror. he'll mouth along to all the lines that would never be his and never lets his eyes leave his own face. watching him for too long makes soohyun sick, makes him want to destroy the other boy—not necessarily physically, but slowly and methodically from the inside out.

soohyun thinks it's typical for the pretty boy to be so consumed in himself that nothing else matters. he's praised for it in public but soohyun knows it's more than he even realizes himself. he notices everything—the mirrors throughout his home and in his belongings, how he enjoys touching and spending time with kevin when their hair matches, how his eyes follow only one form when they watch their playbacks.

soohyun wants to scold him (wants to make him cry and scream and then force him out of his life forever) but bites his tongue because losing him means losing his only chance, the only one who could give him what he wants. it wasn't a risk he was willing to take by any means, the prize he could receive worth far more than the boys standing on either side of him, or the people waiting for him back in a small town.

what kiseop had, harbored just below the smooth surface of his skin, was freedom, was compensation, was raw power. all soohyun had to do was claw his way in, turn him inside out, and all of that was his.
 


 
kiseop stares directly into glossy black as long as he can until it hurts, lets the music wash over him as he stands in his designated spot within the line. he keeps his mind blank but the voices on either side of him pass through his mind without his control. his mouth moves along and by the time he notices it is, a distinct, powerful voice is ringing through the entire room, possibly the entire world, his entire world. he draws the notes in, letting them settle somewhere within him that he can't reach. the words have long since been engraved in his mind and he softly sings along to himself.

if he stares hard enough at the reflection in front of him, he can block out everything else and find himself in a world where those sounds are coming from his own throat. but if he watches for too long, the image morphs back to a haunting face, a firm body, blazing hot fingertips.
 



the rare times kiseop goes to soohyun first, the man is anything but silent. he allows himself to be free, to create a symphony of sounds which would encompass kiseop entirely if he wasn't careful. kiseop revels in the noise, pushes himself to trace his hands across every inch of soohyun's skin until he learns to play him like a piano, knowing where to go for what kind of sound. if soohyun were to be painting an image in his mind using only the colors he can only pull from kiseop's visage; then kiseop found himself composing  a symphony with the smooth highs and lows of the voice he can only collect from the surface of soohyun's sweat-slicked form.

if kiseop's secret was hiding under his skin, needing to be dug into and pulled out; then soohyun's was simply covering him and kiseop knew he needed to push it back in, back somewhere deep where soohyun could never retrieve it but always feel it.



 
sometimes soohyun would pose for cameras, would examine himself in the reflection of a car or a shop; and sometimes kiseop would sing at the top of his lungs, would talk and talk until he was begged to stop.

and sometimes, sometimes, worlds would collide and expand, oceans would go dry and crops would burn, and they—they will love.