It wasn't his funeral, but Hyesung Shin still felt as though his life had ended.

He stared down at the coffin, listened to the whimpers and sniffles around him. His own tears dried out sometime last week. Not that he needed them; the clouds above were heavy with water, letting it all pour down in fat droplets. It would rain the day of your funeral, Dad, he thought, sighing. Melodramatic. Just like everything else in your goddamned life.

Hyesung glanced sidelong at his stepmother, Miri, and had to stifle another sigh. She had an arm wrapped around each of her daughters, holding them to her bosom as they cried. Did they really mean it, or were they just squeezing out a bit of extra saline? Hyesung had no idea.

Then it came time to throw dirt on the coffin, so he turned and walked away, not caring that he left behind the shelter of all those umbrellas. Shivering in the cold rain. Normally he didn't swear so much—not even in his own head—but this sort of thing gave him the heebie-jeebies. Like, here, come dump dirt on your old dad's corpse. It brought up memories of burying him in the sand at the beach, only the funeral shed a morbid new light on them.

"It's rude to just walk away."

Hyesung turned. The rain obscured his vision, but not enough that he couldn't see Miri's bright red lipstick. "A lot of things are rude."

"Hyesung, Hyesung, Hyesung," Miri sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Let me continue going to art school?"

Miri frowned. "No. I don't think so."

Immediately Miri smoothed her expression into something more neutral. Couldn't frown too much; what a shame, with that fresh facelift barely a week behind her. No one would guess her more than Forty-five, give or take a year or two, with her perfect blond hair and wrinkle-free face.

"I mean," Miri went on, "you couldn't even be bothered to dress nicely."

Hyesung looked down, flushing. Dress nicely in what? The only time he had spare money for clothes had been when his father wasn't away on business. And usually, he forgot clothes; instead he bought extra hours of studio time and equipment for recording, occasionally a new pair of jeans whenever his started getting too worn. So dark denim and a black button down were the best he could do. Besides, that wool suit of Miri's looked uncomfortable.

"I hardly think he's going to mind much," Hyesung retorted. "Being six feet under and all."

"Hyesung!"

"And you know, dad always said he wanted to go out with a bang, but I had no idea he meant literally."

"That is quite enough, young man."

Hyesung snorted. "Yeah, I guess it is. But don't call me 'young man'. You're not my mother."

"And I thank the Good Lord every day for that," Miri responded with a sneer. "I have two lovely daughters; I don't need a good-for-nothing parasite. You can barely keep a roof over your head."

"Yeah, well, being a singer  doesn't pay as well as being a rich man's widow."

Miri drew back, forming a deep red O of shock. Hyesung spun on his heel and stormed away, not giving his stepmother a chance to get another word in. After all the emotional blows he'd had this past week, he simply couldn't take anymore. Everything inside shook and clattered, fragile around the edges like glass full of cracks.

First the call about his father at three o'clock in the morning. He'd listened in numb silence as some man he didn't know explained about the accident. Too many drinks, a dark road on a rainy night, a car crash so bad they couldn't have an open coffin ceremony. Hyesung didn't want to think about identifying the body. His stomach still lurched dangerously whenever the thought crossed his mind.

Then, a day later, while he was still in the throes of initial grief, the venue he had scheduled had called—and canceled. He was too far behind, between school and a lack of inspiration, and they were afraid he wouldn't be ready on time. Truth to tell, Hyesung thought, yanking the door open to his car, so was I. But damn, I need that money.

More so now than ever before. Because a few days after that, his father's lawyer had broken the stunning news: Hyesung wasn't in his father's will. Maybe that was when the tears stopped coming, he didn't know. After everything...after all the years, both after his mother disappeared and after Miri came into their lives, all those years they'd been as close as two peas in a pod, and he'd left him nothing. He couldn't understand it. Didn't he want him to continue art school? His father said he did.

He folded himself into the small car as he reflected on his last bit of misfortune with a wry smile. He'd begged; he'd pleaded; he'd promised. But nothing he said made any difference. Miri had decided not to fund Hyesung's tuition anymore, and that was that.

"," Hyesung muttered. "How did you do it, Dad? How were you so good at attracting lousy, selfish women?"

He figured he was probably destined to be lousy and selfish too. Assuming I live to see twenty-two, he thought, backing the car up into the road. Which at this rate, I won't. How would he pay his bills? Buy food?

Looked like it was time to fall back on a few old standbys. He hadn't used his SoundCloud account in years, but maybe he could sell some songs through there. And Jihoon kept bugging him to do covers; he could do a few of those too. Hyesung wrinkled his nose as he drove down the rain slick road. It felt like pimping himself out, but it was better than pimping himself out for real. There was only one man he'd want to pimp himself out to, and he wasn't the least bit interested.

"How long have we known each other now?"

Eric Mun rolled out from beneath the BMW he was working on. He would recognize Hyesung's voice anywhere; soft and husky. Anyone else he probably would've told to piss off.

He stood over him, hands on his narrow hips. Amazing he could ever look intimidating at all, being slender from head to toe—girliishly so—and maybe five foot ten on a really good day. Today he looked downright ragged: Paler even than usual, his dark circles standing out in stark relief under his eyes, his black hair hanging in lank, soaking strands around his face.

"Since sophomore year, so um, six years...ish?" Eric rolled back under the car. He couldn't stand to look at him like this, knowing he couldn't say or do anything to help. "Wanna hand me that wrench near your foot?"

He heard a sigh. A moment later something settled against his palm. Definitely not a wrench, he thought, rolling back out. He glanced down, smiled as he saw the Saran wrapped kimbap in his hand. How very Hyesung.

"That long, huh?" He flopped down on the ground next to him, heedless of dirt and oil. "And yet, after all these years, you still haven't learned to remember to bring lunch?"

He smiled, but it looked all wrong on Hyesung's weary face. Even his eyes, normally such a rich brown, like chocolate—looked dulled, faded. And those bruises beneath his eyes... For a moment Eric's hands itched right down to the fingertips. He wanted to reach over, catch his face in his hands, rub those dark smears of exhaustion until they disappeared. But Eric knew better. He made a move like that and everything went to hell in a handbasket.

"You make a killer kimbap, though," he insisted. "Want a beer?"

Hyesung wrinkled his nose. "You mean that vile American horse piss you like to drink?" He leaned back against the BMW. "Yeah, sure. Gimme one."

"The funeral was that bad, huh?"

Eric rose and padded over to the tiny fridge at the back of the garage. The place was his, shabby little thing that it was. In a small town like this one he got plenty of business, so he didn't have to worry about whether he could keep it up and running. And he paid no rent, what with the apartment above the garage being a perfectly suitable place to live. Besides, he could live in a cardboard box if it meant having the money for school.

Hyesung had never been up to the apartment. Occasionally he toyed with the idea of bringing him up there, especially when he drank too much. Somehow he always controlled himself. He couldn't bring him up there, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop himself. It didn't matter to him that he didn't have a idols body; that he was, in fact, built more like a peasant boy with absolutely no abs. It never bothered him, Hyesung's narrow face and stubborn chin and his super pale skin, which was all too translucent to make sense with the rest of him. He wanted him.

But Eric knew better than to move. Flighty, skittish creature that he was. Like now, when his fingers brushed against his as he passed him the beer can. He jumped like his touch stung.

"It was a funeral," he said, cracking open the beer. "It was hardly going to be a party."

"What about Miri? Did you talk to her?"

"I...tried. I just couldn't hold my tongue. She's such a ."

Eric sat down on the low wheeled platform and scooted it a little closer to Hyesung...like a friend offering comfort. It was all he could be. Lust wasn't love, he knew that; he could offer him the former, but not the latter.

"We knew that already," he remarked. "So I'm guessing there's been no change of plans."

"Definitely not."

"Well, we'll figure something else out."

"Like what? Have me use all this grease to finger paint models and sell prints on eBay?"

Eric grinned. "That could work. Well, except the part where you can't really paint.."

A smile curved his lips, a real one this time. He leaned over and nudged him with his elbow, then took a swig from his beer can. "Nah, I've got a few ideas. It's just gonna . I might have to quit school for a while."

"If you need some money..."

"No. Way. That hasn't changed either."

He shrugged. "Fair enough." Eric hadn't figured he'd agree, anyway. "What about...well, now that the news is out, has your mother— that is, your real mother..."

Hyesung shook his head, cutting him off.

His real mother had disappeared when he was three, maybe four; Eric knew that. But part of him had been hoping the news might draw her out. Kang Dae Shin had been a rich man, after all.

But then, my old man is plenty well off, Eric thought, and my mom never came back either. Something they had in common, him and Hyesung. Unlike him, he didn't get along with his dad. Neither one of them had other family. No aunts or uncles, no cousins. He had his lousy stepmother; Eric had his father, who hated the way he lived his life.

"Guess that's family for you," Hyesung muttered. "People in general. They just ."

"Aren't you a little young to be so cynical?"

"Aren't you?" he shot back.

"Hey, I'm a whole year older than you."

"Oh, well, a whole year. You're so ancient. I know you got held back a bit during high school, but I always wondered why you had all those wrinkles."

He laughed and crumpled up the Saran wrap to toss at him. Hyesung ducked away from it, bumping into him. Carefully he put an arm around his shoulders, worried he'd scare him. Hyesung went still—then slowly, tentatively, leaned into him. He smelled faintly of cologne, with a tiny hint of grease like he usually did. He Hyesung's hair, letting the brown strands slip through his fingers.

"Isn't there anything I can do to cheer you up a little?"

Hyesung hesitated, bit his lip. He tried not to groan, watching Hyesung's teeth dig into that soft flesh. "Well...you could write me a poem."

He blinked. "How'd you know about that?"

"You told me about it once, when you were drunk. But you wouldn't let me read any of it."

Well, obviously. Just because he liked writing poetry didn't mean it was any good. He'd taken a few classes, yeah, but that wasn't his major. Only a hobby.

Eric looked down at him. He didn't mind so much, being kind of ed up in the head; it ran in the family, far as he knew. But he hated seeing Hyesung this way. He sounded so bitter these days, so unlike the guy he'd known so long. The guy who'd stared into the distance, eyes aglow, talking about all the good he'd do with his music. Gotta fix this somehow, he thought, kissing his temple tenderly.

"Okay, Sunggie. I'll see what I can do," he said.

"Thanks, Eric." Hyesung rested his head on his shoulder and closed his eyes. "You're the best."

"Nah."

He looked up at him, smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, you are."

Hyesung closed the door to his apartment and leaned his forehead against it. He felt a little dizzy from too much lousy beer, a little annoyed, and a little giddy all at once.

Eric wouldn't let him drive home like this. He'd caught him in a headlock and pried his keys from his pocket—then tickled him a little, just because Hyesung wasn't irritated enough at him. By the time he came back from calling a taxi for him, he'd cooled down enough to back a little. It was, after all, his fault for drinking that paint thinner. He'd promised to bring his car back to his apartment tomorrow—and to have better beer in the fridge next time he turned up.

Thinking about Eric filled him with longing. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair, dark as a raven's feathers and always a little too long, like he just never realized it needed a trim. He wanted to feel the roughness of stubble on his jaw, the hardness of the muscle beneath his clothes, trace the tattoos he'd seen occasionally. Hyesung wanted...so many things that would never be.

Hyesung liked that Eric cared about him; he just wished he looked at him as something more than a friend or a brother. He never will, Hyesung thought with a sigh. Never. He knew why he didn't trust people, but he didn't know the whole of why Eric didn't. He just knew most people didn't make it into Eric's  life as anything more than acquaintances or one-night stands.

Of course, there was also the fact that no one found him attractive enough for being more than friends. Not even Jong Min. I'm the only guy I know, Hyesung thought, who's shacked up with a guy who claimed to love him but never once slept with him. Instead he'd taken off with more than a dozen of his best songs and sold them as his own.

"Enough feeling sorry for yourself." He turned away from the door. "The past is done and over with. Can't change it now."

He stepped down the short, dark entry hallway, not bothering to flick on a light. At the entrance to the living room, he paused.

"Not that I wouldn't rip the man's balls off, given the chance. Or maybe I'd just hand him off to Eric."

A giggle. Hyesung jumped, swaying unsteadily and bumping his shoulder into the doorjamb. Giggling? That didn't make sense. There was no one in his apartment to laugh. He had no roommate and no friends he invited over.

"Hello?" He called.

More titters joined the first. They seemed all around him, bouncing off the walls, echoing in his ears. He pressed a hand to his chest; his heart beat wildly with growing fear. The laughter—it didn't sound human. Cold shivers ran up his spine, raising goosebumps all along his arms. He took a hasty step back.

And something flew out of the darkness, straight at his face.