Haechan didn't like being the submissive one. Well, he supposed it was fine when it came down to it—it was just the term "submissive" that bothered him. Yeah, he knew Mark was taller than him. He knew Mark was more experienced than him. And of course, everyone knew that Mark was more popular than him. But Haechan felt, sometimes, that it was he, not Mark, who cared more. And that's what really pissed him off. The fact that Mark could turn around at any moment and end whatever it was between them with a simple, "Haechan, I don't think this is going to work" or a "Haechan, this is too weird."

He knew Mark cared about him; their mothers had been best friends since they were twelve. The boys had been raised to like each other, naturally. But not long after Haechan figured out that he liked boys did he figure out that he liked Mark. Mark, eventually, decided to inform Haechan that he liked him, too. Haechan remembered it like it only happened the day before.

They'd been swimming in Mark's pool. Mark pushed himself up onto the pool deck, his biceps flexing and unflexing as he did so. He shook his head like a dog to rid his light reddish hair of excess water. He sat on the edge of the pool, his feet dangling in the water, and he looked straight at Haechan. "Hey, Haechan, you like someone, right?"

Haechan had been taken aback. He hadn't told anyone; he assumed Mark knew because he was Mark, and Mark simply knew everything. "I guess so."

"Could you be a little surer, please?"

"Yeah. I mean, yeah, I do."

Mark's brown eyes looked earnestly down into Haechan's dark brown ones. You. But Haechan couldn't say it . Mark shook his head. "Haechan" he reprimanded, "tell me."

"I…" Haechan's throat constricted. "You'll hate me."

"I will not hate you, ," Mark said gently.

"You."

Haechan didn't need to say anything else, because Mark understood. He stood up before diving back into the water, coming up beside Haechan, and kissing him, full on the mouth. It had been Haechan's first kiss. He remembered thinking that kissing was not as great as everyone said it was. There was nothing wrong with it, or with Mark; the contact of their lips fused together created a heat so startlingly scorching and so amazingly calm and gentle all at the same time. It was how a kiss was supposed to feel. But Haechan decided simply that he liked hugging better. More contact, for one, and it somehow felt more intimate.

Like hand-holding. Haechan was very much into hand-holding. There were some types of PDA that bothered Haechan greatly, like making out against a wall or a tree, or rolling around on the grass together. Haechan didn't like to watch people do these things, and he didn't like to do them himself. But his insides jumped like a schoolgirl jumped rope when he and Mark would sit with their friends at lunch and Mark would just take Haechan's hand in his and squeeze it, intertwining their fingers, and then letting their joined hands rest on the bench between them. It was less public than other public displays of affection, and it made Haechan feel special. If he was the only one who knew it was happening, Haechan thought, then that meant Mark was doing it only for him, not for anyone else.

And that, Haechan thought, was when it started. The creeping feeling in the pit of his stomach that came when Haechan sensed that he cared about Mark more than Mark cared about him. Haechan hated that feeling. He hated it more than being "submissive," and he hated it more than PDA's. He wanted to take the biggest gun he could get his hands on and shoot that feeling to the ground.

Haechan got that feeling quite often. First, there came the overwhelming adoration of Mark, the feeling that told him that Mark was what he'd always needed. And now he had Mark. And for a brief moment, Haechan would be happy. But then the other feeling, the feeling that Haechan wanted to shoot, would come. And Haechan would pull away from Mark and he'd want to cry. A look of concern would come over Mark's face and he'd put his arm across Haechan's shoulders and kiss his cheek softly. "Haechan, what's wrong?"

Haechan would shake his head. "It's nothing."

"Why do you always get like this?"

"I said it's nothing, Mark."

And Mark would sigh and pull Haechan closer to him, folding the other boy underneath his arm to lean on his chest. He would Haechan's dark hair and say, "You know, someday you're going to have to tell me what's bothering you. You're lucky I'm a pushover today."

When Mark would leave, Haechan would cry a little bit. Mark said that every time.