D

Donghae

deadlock, n.

There are times when we can’t agree, a lot of times actually. If Kibum’s in town and Junsu’s flight back here are on the same night, we go out for some ramen at the nearby Japanese restaurant. If I want to watch the premiere of Iron Man and you want to watch some Broadway musical, we look through our stack of DVDs we buy when we’re drunk (an odd tendency, but at least it’s better than drugs). If I want to go back to London for the holidays and you want Europe, we’d take it as a clear indication to start looking for vacation spots in Asia.

Even if neither of us got what we wanted, we found freedom in the third choices.

deciduous, adj.

“But you just bought a pair last year,” I whine.

You look at me before looking back at the shoes on display and shake your head as if I could never understand.

Hyukjae

detachment, n.

You catch me from time to time. When I pull away completely, be in the moment and then step right out of it like a mere passerby. It isn’t always just during , or talking, or kissing. And it’s not like I do it on purpose either, suddenly I’m just dragged outside looking in, unable to really experience and lose myself in where I am. You catch me, and I apologize, and I try to pull myself together but it’s more difficult to get in than to get out.

But listen when I tell you this, and listen really well:

Detachment does not mean I don’t care. It’s possible to look at you from the outside, and still think about you. If I really didn’t care, I would have pulled away. If I didn’t want you anymore, I would have gotten up from bed. I wouldn’t talk to you. Instead, no matter how distant I look or how often I stare at nothing, how often glance away, I still glance back at you.

It’s still you.

It’s always you.

Donghae

disabuse, v.

You were straight when we first met.

We were good friends then, or at least that’s what you were trying to convince yourself. Met by chance, at random, a long chain of mutual friends and the low rhythmic bass of the club music beating through the air somehow made things smoother because I liked to dance and you had this god sent talent for ing your hips. And then, I slip my number into your back pocket and we meet again without the dim lights and the alcohol, and I couldn’t imagine liking that more, but I did. And you seemed to like it too.

So we meet again, and again, and again.

We spend so much time together that jokes about us hooking up are thrown around, and I’m glad to see that you don’t mind that sort of humor. I’m not sure who kisses who first but you look confused so I kiss you again as if to say this is okay, this sort of thing is okay.

I love the idea that an abuse can be negated. And that the things most often disabused are notions.

Hyukjae

disarray, n.

Thump!

It’s one of those days when I look down at the box of crackers that fall from the stack of clothes I pick up from the laundry, or I feel around for a bottle of wine on the top shelf but get a sock instead.

Other times, I would take a photo or tell you about it and we’d laugh about how I feel like I’m living with a ninety-year-old.

Today, I just put them back.

Donghae

dispel, v.

“I have something to tell you.”

Why is it that with a single twist in you tone, a single notch lower of your voice, I could feel the magic drain from the room?

Hyukjae

dissonance, n.

There’s a buzzing in the air.

You’re sitting with your back against a pillow and a book on your lap, but I haven’t heard you turn a single page for the past ten minutes. I’m at the study table, on my laptop and mindlessly searching through the Internet. I don’t know why but this reminds me of those nights when I need to sleep but you’re bouncing on the bed, those days when I feel like we need to talk but you’re too stubborn, those hours when every single noise you make drives me crazy.

There’s a buzzing in the air, and we both pretend we don’t hear it.

Donghae

dumbfounded, adj.

It astounds me to this day, that all the jealousy and insecurity aside; I am still struck with awe that we are together. That someone like me could find someone like you—I may have seemed confident before, but inside, I was trembling. I was scared less. You were straight, and you could have reacted in the worst possible way and I wouldn’t hold it against you because really, what man in the right mind would take me? When all I have for you in the future is even more uncertainty?

But thankfully, you weren’t in the right mind. You still aren’t. And neither am I. In fact, we could both be insane and I wouldn’t care at all because this is the happiest I’ve ever been and your plump lips that trace my neck at night tell me the same.

I told no one of our first real ‘date’. Not until the second one, or the third one, because I wanted to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wouldn’t believe this was reality until it happened again and again and you kissed me again and again.

Then, later on, I would be overwhelmed by the evidence, by all the lines connecting you to me, and us to love.

E

ebullient, adj.

“I could never date someone afraid of a little rain.”

That’s what I told my best friend Kibum back in high school.

So, when the sky started clouding over and rain pelted hard on the sidewalk, I looked to you and thought of this as a sort of test. When you skid to a stop and look up at the sky, I prepare for the disappointment that vanishes the moment your warm hand grabs mine and you look at me with the widest grin.

“Run!” you shout and I stumble after you as we rocket down the street, maneuvering past people in their big black umbrellas and our pants soaked wet until our calves and I’m so happy that I can’t help but slow down. You slow down with me, squeezing my hand as you grin like a happy child and I’m drenched and enchanted at the same time, my words to Kibum feeling less like a silly requirement and more like a foretelling.

Hyukjae

elliptical, adj.

The kiss I like most is one of the slow ones.

We’re in my apartment and I grab a towel, draping it over your head as you drop down on the couch. I’d just made you run through a rainstorm and though you had nothing against it (thank god you had nothing against it), I didn’t want you to get sick on my account.

I sit beside you, absently rubbing the towel over your hair with one hand and switching through channels with the other when suddenly, you grab my wrist, call my name and lean in.

Your thin lips glide over mine in sensual, paced movements and my eyes flutter close as I bring up a hand to grab your jaw and bring you closer because as much as I love to ravish and be ravished, I ing love kissing slow.

It’s as much breath as touch, as much no as yes.

encroach, v.

The first three nights after you moved in, I couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t used to your legs brushing against mine, couldn’t relax with your weight sinking into the other side of the bed, stayed wide awake for hours just listening to your soft intakes of breath.

“Hyukjae,” you mumble half-awake, “can’t sleep?”

I shush you and pat your hair, telling you to go back to sleep, but you try so hard to keep your eyes open. You struggle to start a conversation but drift off mid-sentence and I try hard to keep in a chuckle.

The first three nights after you moved in, I realized I sleep better alone. But it was also during these first three nights that I realize sleep isn’t the most important thing.

ephemeral, adj.

I press send on the e-mail and, as if perfectly timed, I hear the bathroom door opening and closing, your soft footsteps padding the floor. I get up for my turn in the shower but you suddenly block my way, kiss me, and clasp my left hand in your right, your other hand warm on the middle of my back. I’m quick to fall into the same position.

We start slow dancing, cheek to cheek.

There’s no music, just the sound of the night and each other’s heartbeats. Eyes closed, we revolve slowly, and it’s just so easy, so natural.

It lasted the length of an old song, and then we stopped, kissed, and the world resumed.

Donghae

ersatz, adj.

There are times when my love for you can’t overcome my shyness and I would feel like a mere placeholder, an artificial boyfriend, a Donghae-shaped space where a charming and life of the party kind of person should be. I don’t like going to parties because I clam up and I know you try to keep in the disappointment but I still feel it—whether real or of my imagination—coming off your skin in waves and I’m ashamed.

ethereal, adj.

I’m not sure who leans their head in first, but we start slow dancing cheek to cheek.  There’s no music, just the sound of the night and each other’s heartbeats. Eyes closed, we revolve slowly, and it’s just so easy, so natural.

It lasted the length of an old song, and then we stopped, kissed, and my heart stayed there, just like that.

exacerbate, adj.

What was it, you said?

Oh yeah.

‘You’re getting too emotional.’

I’m not sure, on the account of listening to you over the sound of my patience snapping, but I think those were your exact words.

F

Hyukjae

finances, n.

“I’ll just stick it here,” you say and place the list right in the middle of the fridge.

“No, it’s…” I pause for a while, “too public.”

You pout but agree, and really, you should thank me because I’m saving you the embarrassment of showing the world how much money you owe me.

Donghae

fledgling, adj.

Part of the reason why I preferred singing in the shower to was that at least I was good at it, to some extent. Sure, I liked men, but that didn't mean I was exceptionally skilled at having with one because Hyukjae, you are my first.

“Practice makes perfect,” You say as you lure me over and over to the warmth of your bed and eventually, I stop seeing it as practice. So do you.

Hyukjae

fluke, n.

The week before we met, I went on a date that went wrong on so many levels—loud, prissy, a bit of a —that I’d vowed to never see another woman for at least two months. You ask me out after that night in the club and I agree, because technically, I wasn’t stepping out of my boundaries.

You weren’t a woman.

Thank god.

G

Hyukjae

gingerly, adj.

Your grandfather dies a few weeks after we start dating, and it’s without question that you’ll fly to the province for his funeral without me. But that doesn’t stop me from taking you home to help you pack, help you book your ticket, and keep in the questions about how that phone call from your father was so detached, clipped, without emotion for something so emotional. You don’t cry, and that makes me want to cry in your place, to bring you to the airport personally even if you tell me over and over again that I don’t have to. Then I watch you leave and rush home to stay home, cancel my plans for the day and keep the ringer on high. The very second you’re alone, you call me and we talk for a stretch of five long hours, making sure you are reminded of the life you have here with me, and not be absorbed by their dreary and disapproving one there.

You still haven’t cried but you leave the phone beside you as you fall asleep and I stay awake, listen to your breathing until I’m certain that you’re safe. Until I know you no longer need me for the night.

Donghae

gravity, n.

Did you know?

I imagine you as my hero, my savior.

You come back to wrap your arms around me every single time I need you, even the feel of your heart thumping against my fingertips makes life seem more worth living.

And then I wonder if I’m just imagining it.

grimace, n.

Yes, I do get thirsty at night, so I always make it a point to keep a glass of water next to the bed. But the glint in your eye tells me you know it’s also for the morning, so we can each take a sip before kissing.

Hyukjae

guise, n.

It was slow, lazy Sunday. You were half awake, half dozing off with your hand cupping your cheek and your elbow occasionally sliding off the table as I clean up after breakfast. I glance at you from the sink and the light peeking from between the blinds was making your hair glow a shade lighter every time you moved and really, you’re beautiful for a guy. You sense my gaze, and look up.

“What?”

“Just wondering,” I hum, “How do you picture yourself?”

You squint for a second, “I don’t know, I never really see myself. The few times that I do, I’m still an eighteen year old idiot wondering what the hell is wrong with me and what the hell I’m doing,” You rest your chin on the table, “How about you?”

I smile, and tell you that I think of a photo you took of me back in London. You told me to make it a jump shot, so my feet are off the ground, and I asked you why you made me do that.

“It’s the only way to get you to forget about the expression on your face.” You answered, and I realize you’re right. The photo was uncalculated, messy but entirely genuine—exactly how I picture myself, reacting to you.

H

Donghae

halcyon, adj.

A snow day. The subway has shut down, your office called off work, and my office lost electricity so no, I wasn’t going anywhere that didn’t have a working heater. We toe off our shoes and dive back under the covers, racing to find out who could unknot the other’s necktie first. It’s warm beside you and I forget for a moment the piling snow outside as we nestle and trace the whole morning. Hours later, we bundle up and stomp through the snowdrift streets, the city oddly silent, only to be broken by our sudden urge to have a snowball fight. A group of passing teenagers joins in and it takes me a full five minutes to get over how this one kid screwed you over with a direct hit to the groin. We drag ourselves home, frozen and sweaty at the same time, and stir up some hot chocolate before diving back into bed for the rest of the day. We emerge from the warmth of the covers only to wheel over the television, order black bean noodles, and check to see if the snow is still falling.

And it is.

It’s still falling and falling.

Hyukjae

happenstance, n.

You explain to me the story of how he really wasn’t supposed to be at the convention, that his co-worker had called in sick and he only attended as proxy. He wasn’t supposed to be there, nor was he supposed to be in that same bar you went to with Kyuhyun. You tell me that with clear, cautious, half-pleading eyes and I know you’re telling the truth but it doesn’t make me feel any better when it’s as if fate had planned it weeks in advance.

Donghae

harbinger, n.

Do you know about that game where you’d twist an apple while holding its stem, reciting the alphabet, one letter for each turn? When the stem breaks, the first letter of your true love’s name would be revealed—I played that in third grade. Back then, I always made sure the apple broke at H because no one in my grade had a name that started with H.

But come college, it seems like every guy I fell for and broke my heart was an H. It happened so often that I gave up on the letter, and I don’t even think to associate with you until I see your name on the back of your credit card by chance and the only letter I could read from my viewpoint behind your shoulder was that first H.

I admit to grabbing an apple from the fridge the moment I get home that night, but I stop twisting at G and put the apple back.

“Why?” you urge and I smile sheepishly.

“I knew that even if it wasn’t ready yet, I’d pull that stem at H.”

Hyukjae

hubris, n.

Mine. It’s a word I like to claim you with, like a chant I use to remind you, to remind the universe of what belongs to me, what is mine. And the universe should understand why I would like to keep someone so beautiful close to me, but calling you mine could never give me that kind of power. A single word could never be enough.

♦