PART 1 - Nicotine

The city lights are sickening and calming at the same time. They change from red to orange to yellow and then back to red behind the stained window and somehow they seem alive, having a life different that the drivers of the cars and bartenders of the crowded clubs. The world is loud and obnoxious, behind the grey-ish looking window, and it is more draining than running three marathons in a row. An example of it is now sound asleep next to Minhyuk.

The latter is sitting in his bed, his body partly covered by the thin sheets, his knees pulled against his chest, so he could rest his chin on them, his arms wrapped around his calves. He switches his gaze from the dirty amber colored light coming from the window to the man next to him, lingering on the soft features. Why did they have to be like this?

Gently and carefully, fearing to awaken the man, Minhyuk runs his fingers through the pitch black hair, the neat styling the man had long gone. He smoothes the hair away from the wide forehead and lets his fingers to caress the rounded cheeks, his thumb swiping over the full, now kiss swollen, lips. If only he could love him right, the way he loves Minhyuk.

They have been swirling in this crazy dance since the first time the tall, broad, tanned  man had come through the door, not really knowing what to expect. His eyes were adorably big, hands awkwardly in the pockets of his suit, his eyes not knowing where to look when half Minhyuk had appeared before him. Minhyuk remembered every detail - from the prominent blush on the caramel skin to how his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed nervously. From that moment till now he remembered event too much - the love confession slipping out in a moment of passion, the disappointment of rejection and a promise not to return. Yet here he was again.

For months he promises to leave for good, to not return and stop hurting himself by seeing Minhyuk, but he always returns, every single time a bit more beaten down, a little bit more defeated. Every time he makes love to Minhyuk a bit more desperately, as if feeling that this could indeed be the last time he is in the shabby apartment below his standards, yet every time he comes back again and this painful dance continues. Minhyuk doesn’t stop him. He’s too selfish to do so.

Minhyuk needs him. He needs him more than he needs air, more than he needs the crumbled up cigarettes in the ashtray. The clueless man is his antidote - his only way to breathe freely at least for few hours a week and feel like a human again, like something above a thing any hands can touch if they can scramble up enough money. He felt worthy only in those ridiculously big, a bit clumsy hands; he could breathe only when those almost unbelievably full lips were kissing him. He’s like nalorphine cleaning Minhyuk’s lungs from the layer of tar each cigarette has left there, from the stains of nicotine and aftertaste of tobacco.

With a sigh Minhyuk lifts his hand away from the sleeping man’s cheek, where it was resting all this time, and turns back to the window. If it wasn’t enough of Minhyuk’s selfishness, the whole world used him as well. This was the first time he was allowed to meet the morning light between Minhyuk’s covers, the latter not having the heart to make the half asleep, drained man to leave. At least till morning he could pretend this was something more, until the bills would hit the nightstand again.

They wouldn't stay there long. The moment the front door would close they would join the rest in the box Minhyuk kept locked away. Since the fateful confession he hadn’t spent a single cent the man gave him. He couldn’t. He couldn’t tell him to stop paying but neither could he spend it. A vicious circle - as vicious as their whole coexistence.

Minhyuk lets out a sigh, his eyes lingering on the lighter and half empty pack of cigarettes lying on the nightstand. Oddly enough he hadn’t touched either since the man had arrived, his tired eyes and back hunched in defeat had become Minhyuk’s priority. Even now he didn’t desire the white poisonous sticks as much as he craved for something a lot more simple yet a lot more unreachable.

‘At least till morning, I can pretend,’he gives an excuse to himself before laying down. He moves closer to the sleeping man and for a second he starts to doubt the reasoning behind his actions, yet he gives in almost instantly. Slowly and carefully he moves the sleeping man’s arms - one turning into Minhyuk’s pillow, while other is draped over his middle. He wanted as much and as little as for once to sleep in the embrace he knew could cure his stained lungs and free him at least for few hours.

It’s probably a sleep reflex, but the man pulls Minhyuk closer and the latter’s breath gets caught in his lungs. He bites his lower lip, fearing his own emotions, and hides his head against the sturdy chest, wrapping his arm around other’s middle. He inhales the musky scent of the man and he could swear he had never been able to breathe more free than now.

To his surprise he get’s pulled even closer, literally no space left between their bodies, the man’s rounded nose buried in Minhyuk’s hair. “Minhyuk-ah,” the man grumbles with undeniable delight in his sleep thick voice, inhaling deeply before falling in deep sleep again. Minhyuk fights a lump growing in his throat, blinking away the stubborn salt water that starts clouding his vision. He couldn’t allow his own heart to ruin this, because this time could really be the last one.

“I love you, Hyunwoo, but not in the way you deserve,” he whispers so quietly he barely hears it himself, closing his eyes and hiding as deep in the strong embrace as he can, hoping the morning will not find him there and he will be able to relive these few hours for eternity. A silly hope for eternity in Hyunwoo’s embrace. And for a bit, this hope could erase reality, for a moment Minhyuk was only Hyunwoo’s and that was enough… at least for that second it was enough.