He was leaned against a car he didn’t own, didn’t know who did own, smoking a cigarette he’d found in the pocket of his jacket; it tasted stale and a little bitter but Juhyeon didn’t really care. The electrical buzz of gas station neon; he was watching the sky without realizing, counting the constellations, the airplanes. He wondered fleetingly was that a helicopter toward the north, or something bigger? a UFO—aliens, he thought with a smirk. But with the filter between his teeth, mind reeling over half formed questions, Juhyeon heard the clatter of the store’s front doors erupt open, and Heojun: barreling out with a 12-pack thrown over his shoulder. The owner was right on his heels.

Juhyeon didn’t have to be told when to run. He wasn’t stupid. He knew with a grown man of forty chasing after him he shouldn’t really dawdle. But there he was, still leaned to the car, cigarette falling with a small burst of flaming embers to the oil dirtied pavement. And he waited with sweating palms and a chill touching the very base of his spine for Heojun—who felt miles away—to pass by him, hand outstretched. It was how they’d always done it.

No man for himself.

Heojun’s hand touched Juhyeon’s shoulder—a heavy, almost painful smack against his bones—and with that, like a spark igniting, Juhyeon grabbed the tail of Heojun’s jacket—

and ran.

*

There were mornings when Juhyeon woke with his hair matted to his forehead, sweat on his neck and his bones aching. He’d wake and look over and find Heojun by the apartment’s bay window, holding a beer from the night before, warm but still drinkable. And Juhyeon would watch him, wondering: how could he be so handsome in only his boxers? the curve of his spine to his lower back, slope of his shoulders; all of him: beautiful, and Juhyeon, hiding his bare chest behind thin sheets, wishing with a sort of ferociousness to be touched.

*

The sun was setting; it washed everything in a thin orange haze. Shadows leered on the ceiling overhead, fingers grown to ten inches long; Juhyeon made puppets out of his hands—nothing very good. A bird, a rabbit, something that resembled a dog. He twisted his hands until the shadows looked like something alive, content with lying in Heojun’s overheated bedroom, missing his shirt. The traffic, the trains, all of it was loud through the open window.

He heard when the front door opened and the following shuffle of Heojun’s cotton socks on imitation wood floors. He heard the drop of Heojun’s backpack, and something clattering on the kitchen counter. A book? Maybe a binder.

Then, silence; and Juhyeon, twisting under a mess of sheets, tipped his head back to look toward the doorway. Heojun looked back, smiling.

He asked, ‘Have you been in bed all day?’ Eyebrows pulled tightly together, he said much more seriously: 'Did you remember to eat?’

'Yeah, yeah—’ suddenly too warm, Juhyeon kicked off the sheets. He reached for the cigarettes on the nightstand, thin sheen of sweat over his chest, his upper arms. He would have covered himself had he half the mind to.

'I ate, uh, earlier? I dunno.’ Flicking the lighter, it wouldn’t ignite. 'We can get something to eat if that’s what… you’re asking— what are you doing?’

Heojun froze with his shirt partway over his head. His arms extended, he looked every bit as awkward as he must have felt. 'Er— getting comfortable. With you.’ And with his shirt tossed aside, waistband of his underwear peeking over the top of his jeans, Juhyeon could see Heojun’s chest flush a deep pink.

Then he was crawling into bed with his hands shaking enough to be seen. Fit between Juhyeon’s side and the edge of the mattress, Heojun took Juhyeon’s hands and placed them flat on his sides, fingers fitting in the dips of Heojun’s ribs. His own hands, palms clammy but not cold, rested on either side of Juhyeon’s face as Heojun pulled him closer, kissed his mouth with slow regard. And Juhyeon thought he tasted of coffee, of the old spearmint gum that he always chewed, and underneath it all he tasted of nerves and shyness, a boy too embarrassed to ask to be kissed so he did whatever he wanted instead.

But Juhyeon, struggling to stay afloat as his bones melted to water, could think of nothing he liked more than the feel of Heojun’s hands against his face, his tongue in his mouth.

*

They scaled the back wall, Juhyeon climbing on Heojun’s shoulders to pull himself up, and though they could have used the main entrance it was always more fun to break a couple rules and risk getting caught.

Heojun, panting, his cheeks a bright red, sat with his knees apart and his head tipped back; looking at the sky and the constellations there, looking at Juhyeon and whispering, 'You’re very pretty tonight.’

Juhyeon collapsed in Heojun’s side, allowing himself to smile brightly, touched by the tender way Heojun’s fingers trailed over his face.

Heojun said, 'Make sure to watch the movie.’

He said, 'Don’t hide in my shirt all night.’

When the screen—almost too far to really be seen—lit like a neon sign against a backdrop of vehicles, mountains, chattering people so small in the distance, Juhyeon tipped his face away from the warmth of Heojun’s chest and pretended to watch the movie. At least for a second.

He didn’t like drive-ins. But he liked Heojun’s arm around his shoulders, his ear pressed over the rising pulse within Heojun’s chest. He liked when, half asleep and slumped over, Heojun would tip his face back and kiss his mouth, ask, 'Juhyeonie… why do you do this every time?’