Hayi’s words do a lot to alleviate his fear. He’s still nervous, still feels butterflies flutter in his stomach but they’re butterflies he can manage and when the doors finally open Hanbin feels a calm settle over him. Jinhwan and Yunhyeong are the first of his friends to show up and they greet Hayi again warmly. Jinhwan hugs Hanbin tightly with watery eyes and whispers in his ear.

“I’m so proud of you.”

Next is Junhoe with Soo-hyun smiling and pretty on his arm and Chanwoo shows up shortly after with a little bouquet of flowers which he gives to Hayi. Hanbin has to press a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing out loud and Junhoe doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. She thanks him politely if a little awkwardly, but when she turns to find a vase Hanbin can see a little smile on her lips. He flashes Chanwoo a thumbs up. Donghyuk can’t make it but he sends a sweet text that makes Hanbin smile and promises to let Hanbin show him around later. Hayi invited friends as well and she introduces Hanbin to them and he smiles and shakes their hands and does his best to remember all their names. The small gallery starts to fill, Hayi’s invited a few journalists from smaller newspapers and blogs and a couple come over and ask Hanbin for comments. Hanbin even sees his senior year art history professor at one point and has a nice conversation with him. It’s a little surreal, Hanbin’s spent so long imagining this moment and now that it’s here it’s better then he could have ever dreamed. This is his first opportunity to show his work to the world not through a scholarship or university but standing on his own two feet as an artist, he’s made it in the real world.

It’s a success, there’s endless rounds of congratulations from friends and strangers alike. It’s a success, but Hanbin can’t help but feel something (someone) is missing. Through out the evening he furtively checks his phone, waiting for anything that would explain Jiwon’s absence. Nothing comes and Hanbin tries to push it to the back of his mind. Tries to tell himself it’s not important, that it doesn’t bother him, that he didn’t expect anything (but they’re all lies and Hanbin’s never been good at lying). He thinks about slipping away to call him but as he’s walking towards the door Hayi’s voice calls out his name,

“Hanbin! There’s somebody I’d love for you to meet.”

And with a sigh he slips his phone back into his pocket, pastes on a smile, and turns back to Hayi. Jinhwan knows, he thinks. He’s the only one Hanbin told about inviting Jiwon and as the evening progresses he sees him casting Hanbin worried gentle looks but he shakes them off and smiles back as if to say I’m fine. Eventually as the dusky light outside fades to darkness and the gallery slowly empties Hanbin has to accept Jiwon isn’t going to show. It hurts sharp and bright in his chest to admit that.  He tries to brush it off by reminding himself of the blinding success the nights been but in his pockets his fingernails dig into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

Later, when everybody has left and the doors are closed Hayi pulls out a bottle of champagne. The pop of the cork echoes loudly in the empty studio and it rings in Hanbin’s ears long after the sound fades away. She pours two glasses, handing Hanbin one she raises hers,

“To the first of-many- successful exhibitions!”

Hanbin smiles, and gently clinks the rim of his glass against hers.

“I can get behind that.”

He takes a sip and the bubbles burn against the roof of his mouth. It’s good, not the cheap kind Hanbin’s used to but something fruity and light, the taste fades in his mouth and turns to ash though. Jiwon’s still not here.

Hanbin is the last to leave. Hayi looks at him with concern when he tells her to go, frowning and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I can finish closing up Hanbin, it’s fine. You should go home, or out, or somewhere that’s not here. Celebrate, you deserve it!”

He just shakes his head and smiles though.

“I don’t mind, seriously. You were here before me this morning anyways.”

Eventually she does leave, pulling on her jacket and scarf she walks out the door with a last lingering glance at Hanbin. He watches her go and tells himself he’s not waiting for Jiwon. It’s a lie, but it makes him feel a little better. He’s upset, he thinks, because even now Jiwon changes things with his absence. Today was a victory, it went without a hitch and Hanbin should be gloriously ecstatically happy and he is, but it’s tainted now because of Jiwon. Whenever Hanbin thinks of today he will remember that Jiwon did not come. And he knows that the note Jiwon wrote him was nothing but paper and ink, but it had meant something more to Hanbin even though he had tried not to let it. He had stupidly let himself hope that this would be different, today would be different, Jiwon would be different. But the truth is people are hard to change and Jiwon more then most and he should’ve known from the start that this was a lost cause. He had still hoped, though, and that just makes this moment more bitter. The worst part is that behind the anger and disappointment and hurt there’s fear, curled bitter and stifling in his throat. Fear because Hanbin’s running through a list of reasons in his head Jiwon could not be here and none of them are good. He calls and it just goes to voicemail, he doesn’t leave a message.

He’s just finishing up in the gallery when he hears the sound of someon knocking on the glass. He turns, startled, and standing there outside on the sidewalk is Jiwon. Open mouthed and gasping and so beautiful is Jiwon. He looks a little crazy, he’s just wearing a thin jacket and it’s ped and falling off his shoulders and his hair is wild and un-brushed. His face is white and pale and the tip of his nose and cheeks are red from cold. More then that though, there’s a look in his eyes, a look that’s just as wild as his hair. He taps on the glass again, mouthing something Hanbin can’t hear. For a second Hanbin’s frozen and they both just stand there, staring at each other in silence, one in and one out. Hanbin scans his face for anything, there’s no bruises or cuts, he looks fine. Jiwon taps on the glass again and the moment is broken. Once Hanbin’s done being afraid the anger sets in.

He’s furious, the kind of furious that settles in the hollow of your chest and burns cold and fast. He’s furious because he wanted so badly for this to work, because this is so like Jiwon, because he was actually stupid enough to believe that things could ever change. Because Jiwon had made a promise and he had let himself believe that that meant something. He slowly and deliberately turns away from Jiwon, finishing sweeping the floor he takes his time to put away the broom and dust his hands off. Then he shrugs on his jacket, switches the lights off and makes sure the security alarm is on. The whole time he feels like ice, cold and hard and unforgiving. Jiwon’s still tapping at the windows and Hanbin ignores him. Once he’s finished in the gallery he walks out the door, locks it behind him. As soon as he turns around Jiwon’s there, he can hear him now.

“Hanbin, I’m so sorry, you have to believe me, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean-”

He doesn’t listen to the words, too angry (too hurt). Once he’s done locking the door he spins on his heel and starts down the street. He stalks away from Jiwon, ignoring him as he calls out his name. He thinks this time, this time he’s done. No second chances, no more tries. This is it. He doesn’t get far though before there’s a hand on his wrist swinging him around and Jiwon’s fingers feel like ice. The street is dark, the lines and angles of Jiwon’s face thrown into harsh relief by the fluorescent streetlights. Even in his fury Hanbin still think’s he’s beautiful and that just makes him angrier. There’s a desperation in Jiwon’s face, a hungry look and his fingers are tight enough on Hanbin’s wrist to hurt a little. He’s close now, and Hanbin can see every little detail on his face, see the sweat glistening on his forehead, see his breath clouding in front of him, see each individual eye lash. His eyes are staring right at Hanbin and there’s something off about them, something a little glassy and disconnected, the pupils a little wide. Hanbin feels his stomach drop,

“Are you ing high right now?”

Jiwon doesn’t say anything, but’s his eyes flit away for a second and the guilt on his face is enough of an answer. Hanbin stumbles back a step. And it feels like he’s been punched in the chest, the air rushes out of his lungs. A deep aching pain rises, it feels like the time Hanbin fell off the monkey bars when he was a kid and got the wind knocked out of him, it feels like a snake curled in his chest, it feels like betrayal, and he struggles to take a breath.

“I can’t ing believe you. After everything, after all the second chances.  You promised me, Jiwon. You ing promised you’d be here.”

He tears his arm away then, and the anger’s grown from his chest to his throat to his tongue and now he’s yelling. It’s ugly and small and even as he shouts Hanbin hates what he’s doing but he can’t stop because he’s tired, tired of hoping and hurting and tired of giving Jiwon second chances and tired of loving. Jiwon doesn’t say anything, just stands there and takes it with that desperate look and broken shoulders. He stands there for a while listening to Hanbin spew hurt and hate and words that burn his tongue like acid, eventually though something shifts in his face, the desperation changes to determination. Something changes and Hanbin feels it in the air.

 Jiwon grabs him by the shoulders hard enough to bruise and kisses him on the mouth under the street lights and stars, and at first Hanbin fights it. Fights it like he’s been fighting himself ever since the first time Jiwon opened the door to their apartment. Fights like this is a battle he can actually win. His hands reach to Jiwon’s chest, pushes him away hard and violent and Jiwon stumbles back. They stand there, close but far all at once under the lamplight. They’re both panting, breath coming short and sharp. Jiwon’s lips are swollen, hair ruffled and messy and the neck of his shirt is stretched too wide to reveal pale skin and sharp collar bones. He’s a mess, ed up and wild and there’s something tragic about the lines of his face. He’s a mess, but Hanbin is too and standing there on an empty street Hanbin feels something in him break and he’s tired of fighting something he’s known inside all along. Something breaks and hands that pushed away pull close and he presses his lips hard against Jiwon’s. skin is cold like a marble statue’s and Hanbin feels like he’s burning up. Jiwon’s icy hands reach up to his face, thumbs pressing into the soft skin where Hanbin’s neck meets his jaw, nestled just beneath the bone and he can feel each of Jiwon’s fingertips like fire against his cheeks. Together they melt, together they disintegrate into something pure and whole and better and Hanbin doesn’t even mind that he’s falling apart.

They stumble back towards the studio door, Hanbin’s hand fumbling in his pocket for the key never breaking contact for a second. Their fingers run wild through hair and across skin. Jiwon’s hand snakes it’s way under the hem of Hanbin’s shirt and up his back to grip his neck and Hanbin bites down hard on his lip. For a second Hanbin presses Jiwon up against the glass of the front door and then the key turns and they’re falling forward into darkness. The way they kiss is rough and hard, there’s no love in it. Now is not the time for love, love will come in the morning, and every morning after it but right now is about lust and loneliness and wanting and all the days they’ve lost.

They in the art gallery, and Jiwon leaves Hanbin breathless. It’s not perfect

And that’s the thing, nothing is perfect with Jiwon. It’s not perfect, but it’s real. Jiwon’s the realest thing Hanbin’s ever tasted and he can’t get enough. Jiwon is if nothing else honest and sometimes it hurts but that’s the truth for you, it’s not always pretty. And they’re not pretty, in this moment, they’re vicious and rough, Jiwon digs his nails into the skin of Hanbin’s back, Hanbin wraps his fingers in Jiwon hair and yanks. It’s not pretty, but it’s what they need. They need to hurt so they can start to heal.

Afterwards they lie on the floor on top of Jiwon’s jacket, skin against skin and sticky with sweat. He slides his thumb under Jiwon’s lip, feels the scrape of his thumbnail against calcium-hardened teeth. Presses his fingers into the sides of Jiwons face, tracing spider web lines between the scars and birthmarks like he’s tracing constellations (and he never could find the sky above as beautiful as he finds the arrangement of Jiwon’s face) Jiwon whispers, and his voice echoes in the darkness.

“Why did you wait?”

“I had forgotten all the times we’d loved each other”

And the truth is that he'd forgotton what it was to love and being loved all at once, and being with Jiwon is like finally waking after being asleep for too long. 

He wakes up in Jiwon’s bed the next morning. It’s early, the sun has only started to filter through the curtains and Jiwon’s still asleep, arms and legs tangled in the sheets. He sits back and takes a moment to just look at Jiwon, to drink in the way his lips part a little when he’s asleep, the little mole in the dip of his throat, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the sharp line of his jaw, in a way he hadn’t let himself until now. Quietly he reaches across the space between them and brushes Jiwon’s hair away from his forehead, lets his finger run down the side of Jiwon’s face. There’s an empty place inside of him that finally feels full, finally feels right lying here in bed with Jiwon with the morning light trickling through the windows and casting hazy shadows across Jiwon’s face. He realizes, now, that he had left pieces of himself in Jiwon, and he could never feel whole till he found them again.