The low melody was scattered round the kitchen like hidden easter eggs.

The chopping, a slow, stable dissonant of steel against wood, like a mechanical process.

The stiff posture of a man he used to love, as if devoid of any emotion, or as the saying goes, like a wind-up pindoll.

The air seemed stale, and the smell of it salty. Outside the windows still a pitch black, unearthly glow, an aureole or fog settling down the corners. Nothing could be seen; not the shape of the fields or the outline of trees - just a black, blank canvas.

There was a tap against the sink, a rhythmic pulse, and the creaks of the doors emanating from above their heads. The long, gaunt fingers of a man he used to love, curled around the peppers like hatred crushing a skull.

“Wonwoo?”
 

The man he used to love, without glitches and flaws, had buttons in his eyes.

☻

Wonwoo turned around, a knife angled awkwardly in his hand, grinning the cheshire grin at the most unexpected, most hospitable visit.

Or, Mingyu figured, he had hoped it was Wonwoo.

“Hey, Mingyu.” Wonwoo said, the honey in his voice a stark contrast from his usually grating, cold tone. “I’m setting the table, get ready for supper.”

Mingyu hadn’t the words. They were there, somewhere in his mouth, but all he could do was stare.

Obsidian, almost, two sleek round buttons.

Wonwoo had a teasing smile on his face. “What are you waiting for, trouble? Hurry up, or the food will get cold.”

Trouble. Mingyu gaped quietly. It was Wonwoo, it had to be.

The hazy, dim memories of a relationship once tighter than any known cynic could claim otherwise: their college days when Wonwoo winced at the tumble Mingyu took on the stairs trying to court him, the hearty laughter that rippled through the hallways and Wonwoo’s strange penchant of naming Mingyu trouble when he saw it fit.

Get used to it, Wonwoo would say, in between collapsed breaths and wholesome laughter; Mingyu could never stay in line. Stop fidgeting, he’d say, or don’t break anything in the museum. The taller of the two was agile, yes, but his speed in movement was often too quick for people to evade, or for his own eyes to see where he was going. He wasn’t necessarily clumsy - more of an athlete who didn’t know how to control his own prowess and tempo. He broke a vase, once, when paying respects to Wonwoo’s parents in a house visit, and he remembered his face flushing up when Wonwoo kept giggling while picking up the shards, the broken pieces Mingyu had left behind.

The smell was overpowering, momentarily, and all of a sudden from salty it became mouth-watering, the aroma of chicken and spice intertwined. Mingyu looked over to the table.

He quietly slid the chair out to sit after grabbing a cup of water and two pairs of chopsticks to place on the table. There was a feast, he noticed, for no occasion at all. Heck, it was supper, damn it, and it seemed like it was New Year’s lunch. There were all the dishes he’d told Wonwoo to cook; Samgyetang, actual stir-fried vegetables, Bokkeumbap, to name the least.

He swallowed and cleared his throat. “You know, there’s no way we can eat this much.”

Wonwoo turned around to face him and he flinched, slightly, though his spouse continued to smile.

“It’s fine. We can keep some, and the others I can make again.”

Mingyu mumbled a thanks and started to dig in, along with Wonwoo’s calm and gentle gestures of spooning the ingredients into Mingyu’s bowl.

He used to do that once, too. Every relationship was once caramel sweet; even they had their days of feeding one another in sickly sweet smiles, or piling each other’s bowl with more food till they were comparable to Mount Fuji and beyond.

To counter such a surprise, as if those things on Wonwoo’s eyes weren’t the most of them all, he silently piled a bigger portion of vegetables into his spouse’s bowl. His spouse said nothing, but his expression said the most of it.

How the little things they took joy out of in the past suddenly became a stark movement, Mingyu would never know.

“By the way,” Mingyu tried casual, and he tapped his fingers beside his eye, “what’s with the buttons?”
Chills wouldn’t describe it wholly - he felt a strong urge to believe they were just some sort of accessory Wonwoo had donned to play a joke, or a hardy feeling that they couldn’t be real.

Wonwoo tapped his, too, right on the buttons. “They’re eyes,” he said, “for seeing.”

Mingyu rolled his eyes to Wonwoo’s polite smirk, and somehow he felt a little deja-vu, like he’d gone back in time to a genteel, alluring spouse-to-be. He looked down at the steaming rice, the respite he felt from weeks of cold food Wonwoo had made for dinner, and he decided he wouldn’t probe further. He would, eventually, he thought with resolve, but for now the buttons seemed too real to comprehend.

“They’re eyes,” he’d said, “for seeing.”

☻

They’d finished supper, with Mingyu almost feeling like he could regurgitate everything he’d eaten, and Wonwoo stacking the dishes to wash in soap.

Mingyu hovered around for a while, looking over his spouse’s shoulder wondering if he should help to clean up. Wonwoo turned to him, another flinch, more contained, and he smiled as if reading his mind. “Go on, maybe you’d want to look outside? I planted some flowers.”

Mingyu pushed the thought of telling him flowers wouldn’t grow well in this weather, unless specified, away. He sunk it down and forced a smile, taking a few steps back as Wonwoo continued humming that song. The same verse, same melody, an ongoing dirge.

Then, behind the corner that led to the hallway, he broke into a sprint to find the door.

☻

He was back in his room, no doubt, but that house was a replica and he had no way of knowing.

“Wonwoo?” Mingyu timidly called out, in the ill-lit hallway accompanied by the flash of the air-purifier. He quickly turned the knob of Wonwoo’s door, opening to find a bewildered spouse staring back at him with his eyes wide open.

Mingyu sighed. Wonwoo had eyes. Wonwoo had irises, and scleras, and lens and pupils, alive.

He heaved a heavier sigh and tumbled into the bed with Wonwoo, who still looked confused, circling his arms round his spouse’s waist to hug him closer. He exhaled shakily into Wonwoo’s shoulder, part terrified, part bewildered.

“...creepy as .”

Wonwoo lifted his eyebrows. “What did you say?”
 

Mingyu hugged tighter. “Nothing. By the way, there are rats in my room. Take care of that, will you?”

His spouse rolled his eyes. “Says the person who reiterates every second that he’s the manlier of us two.”

Mingyu frowned. “I am. But you’re better with animals, so you deal with it.”

Somehow, it was easy to calm himself down in the embrace of Wonwoo’s warmth. His breathing became regular again and he found himself more drowsy. He liked to compare Wonwoo to rainy days; that some may complain that it was livid, grey, boring, but others liked that it was comfortable, the sound of it in time with the fall and rise of functioning lungs.

Momentarily, he forgot about why he hated Wonwoo in the first place, and the feeling he used to be overpowered with hurtled back in full force, the one that made him helpless in wanting Wonwoo around every minute. His breathing was regular, his heartbeat no longer erratic, but he noticed several times as his head pressed to Wonwoo’s chest the lone skip of a heartbeat of the other in bed. He smiled quietly, listening to the beeps of the air-conditioner and that tiny but significant skip in Wonwoo’s pulse.

Why did you do it in the end?

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