There’s a bruise over his knee.  

It’s a violent purple, the edges bleeding into a dull pink.  It hurts when he touches it, hurts when he takes his finger and pokes at it, wincing when he presses a little too long.

Jaewoo sits next to him, can of soda in one hand, the other swatting Hwanwoong hand away.

“Stop making it hurt,” he says, his earring catches in the sunlight, sparkling with it.

Hwanwoong slums back, elbows resting on the wooden porch, eyes squinting at the sun high in the sky, not a cloud in sight.

He doesn’t say anything, Jaewoo takes a sip from his drink, crushes the can between his fingers.

“It would have been gone by now, you know,” Jaewoo raises a hand to cover his eyes, looks at what Hwanwoong is looking at.  Nothing but pale blue skies.

He has a cut on his knuckle, a small line of red, scarring over.  Jaewoo’s gaze flickers to him, turning away.

“You don’t get hurt as much,” Hwanwoong says, sighing, “you don’t have to deal with this.”

Jaewoo leaves the can on the wooden porch, leaning forward, covering his hand over with the other.

“I don’t like to prolong pain,” Jaewoo shrugs, eyebrows burrowing, “is mostly just soreness at this point.”

Hwanwoong raises an eyebrow in question, leaning just a bit more up on his elbows.

Jaewoo snorts, “I don’t know what this kid does but between my dancing and his thing I feel like I’m a second away from falling apart.”

-

Hwanwoong wakes up with a yellowing bruise on his left shin.  It’s oddly shaped, uncontained.  This person must be a walking disaster.  He pushes his knuckle into it, hisses when he digs just a little too much, watches as his skin breaks into a pink hue, fading back into a sickening yellow.

He brushes his teeth, takes a shower, makes breakfast.  

Sundays are his days off.  The summer hours run over the waves of heat, the maddening sluggish ticking of time.  

Hwanwoong loves his job but summer always runs him thin, the heat, of the sun, of people, it creeps up on him and he can’t seem to make the distaste leave him.

He turns on his television, sipping carefully at his tea, air conditioner on to fight off the heat.  The channel plays a clip of entertainment news, the pretty MC introducing their next segment, voice bright.  

Hwanwoong watches as the clips of idols fuse together, pretty boys and girls dancing on stage, a ranking for best dancer among the rising idols.

Hwanwoong tunes it out after number six and rises to wash out his cup.

-

Jaewoo waits for him, leaning against the wall of a shop, silver hair down, face mask covering half his face.

He pulls it down when he sees Hwanwoong, walking between the forming crowd of people.

“What is this, anyway?”  he asks, eyes moving to where Jaewoo pulls out two tickets.

“It’s just a show,” Jaewoo shrugs, “for indie and underground performers.”

Hwanwoong looks at him, eyes still questioning, “Dongmyeong is performing with his band and he wanted us to come see him.”

“You’re letting Dongmyeong run into these kind of things?” Hwanwoong hisses, horrified.

“I’m not letting him,” Jaewoo puts his hands up, “he’s not a kid.  He can do what he wants.”

“You very well know that for his birthday all he asked for was cute plushies and a Pikachu cake.”

“You’re a working adult with responsibilities and you still like cute things,” Jaewoo answers, crossing his arms.

Hwanwoong deflates.

-

It’s an empty warehouse.  The floors are all gray stone and a makeshift bar is at the corner of the open space.

The stage looks better made, and there’s a band already playing when they make it in.  It’s some soft indie sound, Hwanwoong does a double take and spots Dongmyeong’s head of pink hair, white keytar strapped over his shoulder.

Jaewoo pulls him through the crowd, managing to push past people until they’re at the very front.  

They play the last notes of their song and the boy with black hair presses the microphone to his lips, “that was Feeling Good, we’re MAS 0094 and this next song is Make Some Noise.”

Hwanwoong claps along with the rest of the crowd, letting himself be swept by the movement, the sound of the band.

They move on to a top hits medley and Hwawoong watches as Dongmyeong tries to hype the crowd, urging them to sing along as the sound of Block B’s HER begins to fill out the room.

-

Dongmyeong is sweaty when he presses his forehead to Hwanwoong’s neck, smiling wide, vibrating with the energy from the crowd.

“Hyung, you came!” he shouts, pulling away, sitting on an empty stool.  Jaewoo comes back from the opposite side of the bar, holding two drinks.

Dongmyeong watches with wide eyes as Jaewoo passes the tall glass of beer to Hwanwoong.

“Don’t even think about it kid,” Jaewoo pulls his seat closer, sitting with an arm around Dongmyeong, “a baby,” he coos.

Dongmyeong crosses his arms, pouting for all he’s worth.

Hwanwoong takes a sip of his drink, turning away from them, eyes scanning the crowd, looking over the gritty walls, going to look at the harsh lights from the high ceiling.

The room has gone quiet, seconds only filled with buzzing, murmurs from the crowd.  Hwanwoong’s eyes shift to the stage, watches as someone finally comes out.

He’s tall, at least a head taller than Hwanwoong, hair parted at the side, long arms awkward looking.  

Hwanwoong watches as the others start to fill in, three other boys going to their own instruments.

He plays the keyboard, Hwanwoong looks as the boy on stage nears his stand.  

Hwanwoong sees them then.  The other is wearing shorts, just above his knees.  His keyboard stand does nothing to hide his legs, milky white, strong looking.

There’s a bruise over his knee.

Violent purple, the edges bleeding into a dull pink.

A yellowing bruise on his left shin.

It all condenses to that one moment, his hand reaches for his knee, pressing against the rough denim of his jeans, pressing until pain blooms, hot and uncomfortable.

He watches as the boy on stage makes a face, grimacing, hand twitching as if trying to reach his own knee.

Hwanwoong can’t hear anything, can’t focus.

“Hyung!” Dongmyeong calls out, past the dense fog Hwanwoong has fallen under.  His hand reaches his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Hyung!” Dongmyeong repeats, pulling him away from the stage, facing him, “did you like our stage?”

Noises rush back to him but all he hears is

“...and I’m Lee Gunhee.”