The next few weeks went by in a lull, things didn’t change because they couldn’t. Kyungil and Yijeong spent their lunches together talking about stupid things and it meant everything to them. Stolen glances and small facial expressions only discernable by the other; aside from them no one else noticed and that was okay. They wanted it because it was all they could do to be together.

               However, the longer you are with someone the harder it is to control your desires. For Kyungi, love was being able to look upon Yijeong’s face everyday and know he was safe; for Yijeong, it was knowing Kyungil looked at him that way. Love is a messy thing though, even the purest feelings get muddled by an animalistic need to touch and be touched.

               Keeping control over oneself is like fighting or time itself. The best cold shower in the world was the watch of the guards. Cold showers only work as a deterrent for so long.

               On a particularly nice day, the sunlight was shining through the large pane windows of the domed ceiling during lunch. Everything felt so warm and so right. There was always the inescapable feeling of being watched even when he was doing nothing wrong. When he was straying off course he could feel the edginess build up, every time he looked or his fingers brushed against the other. There was a overwhelming feeling that bristled out of him. More than that feeling of anxiety and dizziness that ricked through him—it was the electric current that ran down his spine, the sudden stop of his heartbeat, and the way the other looked at him. He wanted to touch more directly and this made him braver. Being brave was not an quality he needed to stay alive at this point. Being brave would get him killed.

               He needed to think things through. To be smart.

               When rationality and needs are put head-to-head, rationality will always lose.

~

               Kyungil turned his head, only the corner of one lip pulled into a smile as he watched Yijeong pick at his fruit salad. The boy’s dark hair was unkempt today and kept falling making Yijeong constantly push it behind his ears. It was ridiculously cute.

               “Kyungil,” he held up a cut of watermelon on his fork and poked it towards the man, “stop watching me eat.”

               “It’s almost one, Love,” he ignored Yijeong, still staring at him, “I was wondering how much longer you’re going to spend eating those few bits of fruit.”

               Yijeong shrugged and bit some of the watermelon off, even though it was already bite sized, “I could push it to another ten minutes.”

               “Well, how about you eat it quick and I’ll walk you back.” Yijeong shoveled the food into his mouth to keep from grinning, Kyungil never took him back, he said it was too risky.

               They dropped their trays near the trash and walked towards the elevator, bodies close but not touching. The two stopped near the doors, furtively grateful the small lift was crowded. Kyungil pulled Yijeong into the corner of the elevator, the crowd pushing onto them uncomfortably.         There were cameras in the elevator, for sure, the other people hid their bodies though.

                The younger desperately latched onto Kyungil’s arm to keep them from being separated. The feeling was so foreign to both of them. Everything before was nothing except quick brushes, things that couldn’t be considered real contact. Yijeong had one hand on his forearm and the other between his bicep and ribs, clinging to him like his life depended on it.

               Yijeong squeezed Kyungil’s arm, his hands barely covering half the width. His breathing was heavy, whether from the congested space or the uneasy warmth filling him. He hugged Kyungil closer to his chest, memorizing the feeling because it was one he never wanted to let go of. Even if he did have to, he wanted to at least commit it to memory. Kyungil looked down at the dark haired boy burying his nose into his shoulder and laughed. Yijeong was undeniably adorable, it took every ounce of restraint in him to not pull the boy into his chest and hug him. At least Yijeong was getting some fulfilment out of this.

               “Do I smell good?” Kyungil bent his head, ghosting his lips across the boy’s hair.

               Yijeong grinned, “you smell like heaven.”

               “I guess that’s good,” Kyungil righted himself as the lift stopped.

               “Hey,” Yijeong leaned up on his tiptoes and planted a kiss just above Kyungil’s collar bone, “to keep you company.”

               In that moment Kyungil felt everything burn through him and he wanted nothing more than to do the unspeakable to Yijeong. Instead, he forced himself out of the elevator with Yijeong still holding onto his arm. They made it halfway down the mall before heavy footsteps fell in with their own. Kyungil tensed immediately, it took Yijeong a few seconds to catch up.

               “Song Kyungi, Jang Yijeong,” the metal tipped voice announced, “observe the laws.”

               Yijeong felt a prickle run up his spine from his back to the base of his neck, a disgusting feeling tearing through his body. His nerves were splitting, it felt like a cold fire had spread over his skin. It was so contrasting to the warmth he felt earlier pressed against Kyungil. Now, he wanted this feeling to disappear even though he knew it would linger.

               All the oxygen was pulled out of his body and now he did cling to Kyungil, frantically, trying to keep himself upright, trying to keep himself breathing. The guard took another heavy step towards them and Yijeong dug his nails into Kyungil’s forearm. The horrid feeling had reached his throat and he could feel bile pushing and coating his mouth.

               “Song Kyungil, Jang Yijeong, explain.”

               Yijeong doubled over and promptly threw up.

               Kyungil pulled the boy back onto his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist, “I’m sorry peace officer. He was feeling sick and having trouble getting to the bathroom.”

               He was grasping desperately for words that made sense in this situation. The guard looked between them registering the genuine sickness on Yijeong’s face. They could practically hear the ticking of his brain as he assessed the situation. It was suspicious and their continual meetings didn’t help them at all.

               “Showing goodwill towards your fellow man is admirable. However, your age difference is unlawful. Observe the law or punishment will be inevitable,” the guard stood straight, snapping his legs and feet together before stalking off.    

               Kyungil waited a second before hauling Yijeong off to the closest bathroom. He lifted the boy onto the sink counter, moving away momentarily to dampen a paper towel and wipe Yijeong’s mouth with it. The boy shivered as the adrenaline dissipated, not that it really helped him in the first place.

               “Here,” Kyungil knelt down in front of him and handed him a clean, wet towel. Yijeong laid the towel over his face, letting the cold paper calm him down. He sat there with his head against the mirror letting out shaky breaths while Kyungil squatted between his legs, gingerly rubbing his thighs. For the moment, the threat of cameras and guards was out of their heads. They had already been caught, in a way.

               Yijeong pulled the towel from his face and stared at Kyungil. His expression said it all; the man’s brow was furrowed, his small mouth pinched tight and his eyes stern and full of concern. Yijeong knew what was going to happen and knew what he had to say already. It wasn’t what he wanted at all, this was torture. Being with Kyungil, being without him, either way he was going to end up unhappy.

               So he said it, the three words. Just not the three words either one wanted to hear.

               “You were right.”

               Kyungil sighed and pressed his forehead against Yijeong’s knee, pushing his thumbs into the inner part of his eyes. He could feel it stinging just below the surface and he didn’t want to be weak in front of Yijeong.

               Yijeong who he liked so much, who he wanted the world for, who he’d give up everything for. Yijeong…It was no use; tears pricked at his eyelids and fell past his lashes onto his cheeks. He should be the strong one. He needed to be the strong one.

               “I know,” Kyungil finally lifted his head, his eyes still glistening from spilled tears.  He stood up, cupping Yijeong’s face as he rose and tilting the boy’s head upward. He wanted to kiss him so badly, kiss away all the pain and regret and tell him everything would be alright.

               But it wouldn’t and they both knew it.

               Kyungil smoothed back the boy’s bangs and kissed the pale patch of skin between his eyes. Yijeong’s skin burned under his touch, the type of feeling that would last for hours afterward.

               “I’m sorry, Yijeong,” he backed away sliding his thumb across Yijeong’s cheek one last time before separating completely. He was sorry for so many reasons; everything that had been done, things that never had a chance, and everything that was going to be done.

               “Goodbye,” Kyungil bowed before turning around and swiftly exiting the bathroom. The room was quiet, quieter than quiet, as if someone placed headphones over his ears. Yijeong slammed his head backward into the mirror, all he could hear was the ringing, steadily growing louder. He raised his hands to his face and gripped his hair in anger. Everything else was silent except for the tinnitus reminding him that everything good about his life was gone.

               “Goodbye, Kyungil,” he whispered into his knees, pulling his legs up to his face as he cried.