December 2011

“Ah! Fuc- What the hell?! Hakyeon?!”
A very angry, and very sweaty, Taekwoon stumbles into the bedroom and looks at Hakyeon with a blaming glare. He’s holding onto a copy of Norwegian Wood in Japanese and softly shaking it in Hakyeon’s direction.

“You don’t speak Japanese.”
It’s more a question than a statement, but Hakyeon just shrugs. He’s sitting by his desk, well it wasn’t just his but he was basically the only one using it, and reading a brand new copy of Tristan and Isolde that he just bought. On the floor around him there are piles and piles of books strewn all over, chaotic yet somehow methodically and thought through with outmost care. One of them, or maybe a couple, had fallen over and spread out when Taekwoon stumbled into the bedroom. Hakyeon had a strong suspicion that might have been the reason the younger looked ready to murder someone.

“What are all these books for?” Taekwoon asks and carefully dodges a pile of 19th century novels with The Picture of Dorian Gray on top. Hakyeon hands him the book he’d been reading and points at a pile of undated european books so he’d know where to put it.

“My mom dropped them off,” He then says and grabs the last of the books from the last box that his mother had brought. All in all there were hundreds of books now strewn over the bedroom.

“I’m supposed to sort them so she can put them in the bookcase the way I want in the new apartment. She’ll pick them up later tonight.”

Taekwoon flips through some books, and Hakyeon observes his fingers as they move over the pages and the covers, as careful as if they were made from glass. Taekwoon was always careful, but the frail pages looked even frailer in his big hands, so maybe that was why he was methodically going through page after page with absolute precision, and putting every single book back in it’s original spot.

“Why do you even read so much?” He asks and looks up from Crime and Punishment. His eyes are dark and Hakyeon wonders for a second if Taekwoon could read his mind. Maybe he could read it like Hakyeon read books, so he knew every single tingling feeling he felt whenever he met those raven eyes.

“Because…” Hakyeon starts, but has to stop to clear his throat. “I don’t have time to travel, and I can’t go back in time. But I’ve been to India, because I’ve read Slumdog Millionaire, and I’ve seen the swedish countryside thanks to the works of Astrid Lindgren. I’ve even walked the streets of 19th century London thanks to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

Taekwoon doesn’t look convinced.

“But…” He says. “You can never be a part of those worlds. Not really.”

Hakyeon could see that driving Taekwoon crazy. He could see Taekwoon falling so deeply into a book he doesn’t know how to tell between real life and his fictional home anymore. But he wasn’t like that. Hakyeon never really wanted to become a part of the world the books painted for him. He just wanted to see them, hide there for a few hours so that he could come back to real life and do even better. He wanted to meet interesting people and learn their stories so he could use their expertise in his own life. Hakyeon didn’t like to read, he like the feeling afterwards, when the book was done.

“I don’t need to,” He explains, taking one of Taekwoons big hands in his without thinking. He doesn’t pull back, so Hakyeon softly intertwine their fingers and the tiny, invisible hairs on his sunburned knuckles. The raven had paled down immensely during his months as a trainee, so most of his once golden skin was now close to a milky white. But his hands, broad and strong and warm, were still a soft caramel tone against Hakyeon’s hazel ones. He told him once, when Taekwoon grabbed his hand during a horror movie and Hakyeon dared press it to his lips to comfort himself with the scent of the youngers skin, that they were a good match for a dessert, his hazel and Taekwoons caramel. Taekwoon laughed at that.

“Why?”
Hakyeon looks up, their eyes meeting again. There’s tears in Taekwoons dark eyes, tears that seem to have wanted to well up for a long time. So he stands and hugs him, even though Taekwoon tries to move away. He holds him close until Taekwoon stops struggling and just slumps in his arms.

“Why what?” He asks then, softly whispering it in his friends ear. Taekwoon sniffles.

“You said you don’t need it. Those other worlds.”

“I don’t,” Hakyeon says. He leans his head against Taekwoons and pulls in a deep breath, savoring this rare moment when the other allowed him to see his vulnerability.

“Because I have everything I need right here. Everything I will ever need.”

He had Taekwoon, and that was enough. Would always be enough.

April 2016

Sanghyuk clings onto his arm as the nurse takes a blood sample from him.

“Hyung…” He groans, burying his face into his shoulder like a small child. “Hyung…”

Hakyeon holds him and whispers comforting words in his ear, but he can’t help with the pain. All he can do is pray it will soon be over. It’s been hours since the younger woke up, hours and hours of doctors and nurses and tests and brain scans and Hakyeon was ready to crawl out of his own skin. Sanghyuk started crying by the very first blood sample, and hadn’t stopped since. His cheeks were stained, and as Hakyeon kisses his skin to distract from the pain, he can taste salt on the youngers pale face.

“How much more of this?” He asks the nurse when Sanghyuk gasps and bites down into Hakyeons shoulder. “He’s hurting!”
The woman grimaces and nods.

“Just one more, sir. Then it’s best if you can get him to sleep a little.”

She finishes her work and then puts a bandaid over the softly bleeding wound. Sanghyuk breathes harshly against Hakyeons warm skin, but at least he doesn’t seem to be in any more pain.

“I will drop this off at the lab, and then a doctor will come speak with you. Is there anyone we should call? His parents? Any friends?”
The nurse looks on as Hakyeon softly peels his little brother off of him and helps him lay down. He doesn’t let his hand go though, and he makes sure he’s sitting close enough for Sanghyuk to hea