Kang Hyunggu is the real name of Pentagon's Kino. He's crazy talanted! (and cute). Music for ambience: https://youtu.be/1uQ22cQ2iGE?list=PLyyTrBPmGlp46V2VJG0uEA2Xs8hd-pbYd  ,  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_jcE4awpY8

Hansol pulls his hood tight over his head, quickening his step as soon as he exits the convenience store. The light drizzle that began when he escaped inside fifteen minutes ago is now a steady downpour beating down on car roofs and umbrellas — splashes of color moving laggardly in the rain, mixing with the misty gray of the city nightscape. Soon enough he finds himself running in a pair of old soggy sneakers and drenched mismatched socks, attempting to get his earphones out of the depths of his tattered messenger bag without dropping the groceries in his right hand on the ground, or slipping and breaking his neck.

An energetic, bass-heavy EDM beat fills Hansol’s ears when he finally plugs his earphones into his phone and selects shuffle. He lets the music guide his movements, his shoes skidding across the sidewalk as if he doesn’t have any control over his legs.

Hansol almost ends up crashing into a handful of innocent pedestrians before he realizes he’s missed his bus stop by about a whole hundred meters. His soles screech angrily, threatening to fall apart beneath his restless feet, when he pivotes on his spot and sprints back along the street he originally came from; the music which blares through his earphones when he spots the correct stop through the abundance of coated figures shuffling on the sidewalk then changes into a dark and crawling jazzy lilt — perfect for a stormy weather.  

The front lights of the bus come into view a second or two before the rest of it does, and Hansol arrives just in time to get in line to board it, struggling to find his student pass between the endless number of books and papers stuffed haphazardly inside his bag.

Damn. He should really invest in a new wallet. And maybe — just maybe — finally get on properly organizing his things, like a responsible adult would do.

Only when Hansol is crammed between a small group of high-schoolers returning from cram school and a prematurely balding businessman talking importantly into his Bluetooth headset, does he remember he was supposed to drop his mother’s phone off at the repair lab across his campus. But before he can further contemplate jumping out to the street and making a mad dash across the city in order to do so, the bus revs up with a low grumble and the idea gets lost in his mind as the hot air from the vents above him starts taking its effect.

He feels guilty for breaking his promise, though, so he decides to text his dad a brief apology along with a new promise to convince the owner of the repair lab (a genius student in his uni named Lee Jihoon) to go down on the price of his initial offer even more.

Right after Hansol presses send, a new message notification pops up on his screen. It’s from his course mate and friend, Kang Hyunggu, saying he’s just finished reading through their Ethics assignment and polishing any sketchy parts he could find.

Another message dings into existence right under the first one a second later, wishing Hansol good night and a safe travel back home. Two additional seconds and a third text shows up; this time containing a GIF of a fat cat pushing books off of a desk together with a caption that reads: ‘SWEET FREEDOM’.

Hansol chuckles and saves the GIF to send to his dad.

He really misses his cat sometimes. He should adopt a kitten in the future, when he’s not spending almost his entire day out of the house, either in school or at one of his ever-changing part-time jobs.  

The hook part of Dance (A$$) by Big Sean infiltrates Hansol’s pet-related musings after a while, and he shakes out of his daze just to notice a little girl staring at him curiously from across the aisle at the same time as Nicki Minaj’s rap comes pouring in;   

Wobbledy wobble, wo-wo-wobble, wobbin'

so fat, all these es' is throbbin'

Bad es, I'm your leader, phantom by the meter

Somebody point me to the best -eater...    

Hansol switches off the song when the chorus of , , begins blasting through his earphones for the second time, a sense of wrongdoing pricking repeatedly at the back of his neck, although he knows the girl can’t hear or understand the English words and is probably looking at him for the same reason anyone else does; his foreign features.  

Too bad the next song that plays starts off with: Goddamn, Goddamn How the hell you get all that in them pants? and includes lyrics such as: Bend that over; let me see how you work it Poppin' and shakin', get on your knees hit the dirt, in the very first verse.

Why does he have so many songs about asses, anyway?

Hansol lowers the volume of the music a couple notches and turns his head toward the rear door of the bus for the rest of the ride, opting to watch the world blurring into an unrecognizable cluster of LED lights and parka-clad people through the screen of rain instead of agonizing over tainting the innocence of unsuspecting children.

If you've got an like the girls in the videos, go and bring it my way

so big it could swallow up a stripper pole

I ain't playin', no I ain't playin'

Bust it down on me I need it, throw it a boss wanna see it…

Four more minutes. Hansol bites down on his lips to contain a full-blown dopey smile.

Just give me a call and I'll beat it

I'll be all where your seat is

Mary jane got me moving slow, I blow that by the (ounce)

Drop it down on it

Made me get a couple bands drop it down on it

Make you get a couple friends drop it down on it

Turn around drop it down, drop it down on it...

Three and a half more minutes until he gets home.

Do it for a real nigga, do it for a boss

Do somethin' for a boss, do somethin' for a real nigga

Go and do somethin' for a boss

Do somethin' for a boss, do somethin'...

When Hansol gets off at his stop the music inching through his earphones is chill and rhythmic Jazz-Hop. He feels like the hero of his own noir movie as he quickly makes his way in the direction of his apartment complex, smooth trumpet synth accompanying his otherwise graceless stride. He hurries up the flight of stairs and almost drops everything he carries on the floor once he reaches his flat entrance, falling all over himself in the process of fishing his keys out.

Hansol enters the apartment and locks the door behind him, kicking off his shoes and leaving them to dry on the welcome mat as to not make a complete mess of the floor. He hangs his wet jacket on the coat rack, right above the umbrella he forgot to take with him that morning.

Once he’s finally out of the cold, Hansol allows himself to take long and deep breaths in order to calm his racing heart down. The air smells of comforting home-cooked meals and citrusy floor detergent. He notes how everything seems ninety percent cleaner than when he last left the house, and how he can now see his reflection from practically every surface.

The source of the mouth-watering smell turns out to be a pot of soup bubbling away on the stove in the kitchen. Hansol lifts the lid to take a peek, and is delighted to learn that the visual of the dish boiling inside matches the rest of the sensory experience; it’s packed to the brim with a bunch of seasonal vegetables, spices, and most importantly: meat.  

All those cooking classes paid off, after all, he thinks as he throws his bag over the kitchen island and starts unpacking the groceries; snacks into the small upper cabinet in the far corner, commodities such as salt, corn syrup and canola oil in the one beside it etc. etc.

Hansol grabs the bottles of chocolate milk (for him) and banana milk (only sometimes for him) from one of the shopping bags and opens the fridge, revealing his untouched homemade lunch sitting inside. Affixed to the top of the bento box there’s the usual ‘HAVE A MARVELOUS DAY~’ sticky note with the added cheesy inspirational quote surrounded by little hearts; just now it adorns a frowny face at the bottom instead of the smiley one Hansol recalls seeing when he first left the apartment.

He doesn’t mean not to take his food with him, he just can’t bring himself to remember about its existence when he needs to head out. It isn’t like he finds it disgusting or something (only mildly inedible). And he always eats it when he comes back anyway. So he doesn’t really understand what about his behavior today would warrant a frowny face.

He needs to get to the bottom of this.

“Babe?” Hansol calls toward the back of the flat, laying the rest of the groceries out of their bags.

No response.

He swipes the two containers of shaving cream off the kitchen counter and pads down the hallway.

Halfway to his destination, Hansol stops and smirks. It’s just like he’s suspected; when he comes closer to the bathroom he can clearly hear a soulful voice dribbling from inside, singing a watery rendition of a Sung Si-Kyung's ballade.

Hansol doesn’t waste another second, he rushes to get his hoodie and undershirt over his head and begins ping his pants. In no time he’s shuffling from foot to foot in nothing but boxers and balancing himself against the wall so he can slide off his socks.

He shimmies out of his underwear and lets it fall into the fresh pile of discarded soaked clothes at the center of the hallway, before reaching for the bathroom door handle and pressing down on it as quietly as he can.

Hansol slips into the bathroom with as much stealth he can muster up, lingering at the entrance for a few long seconds to properly admire the magnificent backside of the man standing away from him in the shower, washing his hair while belting out complex vocal runs. His back muscles flex beautifully under the heavy stream as he stretches his arms up, water cascading down his lightly-tanned shoulders in steady rivulets and tapering at the deep arch that sits just above his full and perky ; where it splashes outward and slithers enticingly down his shapely, taut legs.

Hansol wants nothing more than to eat the out of that man’s booty (and maybe convince him to ‘drop it down on it’).

He sneaks across the bathroom and places the shaving cream he’s brought with him on top of the vanity, then proceeds inside the shower, his arms naturally wrapping themselves around his boyfriend’s waist.              

“You’re cold,” Seungkwan says but doesn’t flinch away.

“You’re hot,” Hansol hums into his shoulder. His hands travel on Seungkwan's skin, caressing along his navel and hips in addition to absorbing up his body heat.

The faint sound of raindrops tinkling on the roof can be heard from outside in the time of them relaxing into each other, not a single word or move being made except for Hansol’s occasional pecks to Seungkwan's neck and shoulders and the gentle sway of their bodies.

“Did you leave your clothes on the floor again?” Seungkwan asks.

“No...” Hansol says, but his hesitation causes it to come off as more of a question.

Seungkwan chuckles and turns around to face him, right palm immediately coming up to one of his cheeks. Then there’s only the two of them, slow, lazy kisses, the rush of water upon their heads, and the distant tapping of rain outside, further vivifying how cozy the situation truly feels.

Steam collects gradually in the air as the minutes tick by, and the shower walls turn foggy, but Hansol doesn’t ever think about stopping.

Seungkwan’s mouth, his tongue, his body, his hands; everything about him is warm, soft and wonderful. Everything about Seungkwan is just the right thing to make him forget all about the ty stuff that happen to him on a daily basis; all the rude people at his current retail job, all the deadlines and tests he needs to prepare for and the bills they haven’t yet paid and are presently thrown on the coffee table in their tiny living room.

Seungkwan draws back from the kiss and leans his forehead against Hansol’s, a serene smile painting his face. “Want me to wash your back?” he asks, nibbling on Hansol’s lower lip.

“Want you to wash my everything, baby.” Hansol pulls Seungkwan’s lips between his teeth in return, on them passionately then into his mouth, letting the muffled gasp that echoes throughout the bathroom right after to fuel his growing lust -- his hands settling on Seungkwan’s , massaging the cheeks in circular motions and bringing them apart.

Seungkwan pushes Hansol’s chest off in a half-hearted protest and pours a handful of body wash into his hands. It’s cucumber and lime scented and feels cool and creamy on Hansol’s skin when Seungkwan starts lathering it in, rubbing down his shoulders and arms in a deliberate, unhurried pace, and taking even more time when working it into his chest.  

“Just a little lower,” Hansol encourages after Seungkwan spends far too much time on smoothing his hands down his torso, tracing teasing lines around his abs and hip bones.

“You want soap in your eyes?” Seungkwan warns.

“I’ll gladly go blind for you.”

“How sweet.” Seungkwan brushes his fingers along Hansol’s leg, letting them flicker up, up then toward the inner side of his thigh... “Do it yourself.” He slides his hand behind Hansol and gives his a good, meaningful squeeze, before detaching himself from him completely and exiting the shower.

Five minutes later, when Hansol finishes washing and comes out of the bathroom, the hallway is devoid of clothes and Seungkwan’s cheerful humming dribbles invitingly through the opened bedroom door a short distance away.

Seungkwan sits back on the bed and plays with his phone. He’s dressed in a pair of sweats and one of Hansol’s oversized sweatshirts which is even more oversized on his frame.

“We should adopt a cat.” He lifts his head to glance at Hansol when he enters the room.

“I was just thinking that less than an hour ago.”

“How does Schrodinger sound?”

“Schrodinger was a physicist, not a cat.” Hansol clicks his tongue, shaking his head playfully as he slides into a comfortable pair of boxers and a simple dark t-shirt.

“How about Crookshanks then?” Seungkwan offers when Hansol plops down on the bed beside him.

“Like Hermione’s cat?”

“Yeah, obviously. Don’t you like it?”

“No, I do. I’m just surprised you actually remembered the name.”

Seungkwan laughs. “How can I not when Harry Potter's your second biggest obssesion after bad Drake songs?”

“Fair point.” Hansol nods, already climbing on top of Seungkwan and making a trail of kisses down his neck. “Crookshanks it is.”  

“Aren’t you hungry?” Seungkwan inquires, a little breathless. “I made soup.”

“Later,” Hansol murmures against Seungkwan's jugular, and pushes his sweatshirt (which was already threatening to fall off) further down his left shoulder.

Seungkwan sighs softly when Hansol’s hand moves to his crotch and begins palming him through the fabric.

“How did you make soup when there was no salt?” Hansol wonders aloud after a shiny purple mark onto Seungkwan’s collarbone. He pushes Seungkwan sweatshirt up to his armpits and begins and down his chest and stomach, creating a masterpiece of pink love bites as he descends his torso.

“W-what do you mean ‘there was no salt’?” Seungkwan stammers and grips the sheets, cheeks dusted prettily with a rosy tint. “There a-are two still full salt shakers where the tea box and coffee jar are.”

“That’s sugar,” Hansol says between kisses, his lips and tongue connecting the moles around Seungkwan’s belly button. “Remember moving it into them after you ripped the bag while trying to bake that cake for my birthday?”   

“Oh my god, I emptied like ten kilos of that when making the soup!" Seungkwan panics. "It’s completely ruined!”

“Worry about that later.” Hansol yanks Seungkwan's sweats down and up his half-hard .

A tiny moan escapes Seungkwan’s lips and he instantly angles his hips up from the bed, making Hansol smirk triumphantly and along his shaft. Needless to say, Seungkwan doesn’t dwell on his cooking mishaps from that point on.   

~

The sound of thunder booming loudly in the distance stirs Hansol out of his sleep in the middle of the night, and for a moment, his heart thumps up against his ribcage in a clinically scary rate.

Seungkwan tugs the covers up to their chins and pulls Hansol closer to him, sketching abstract shapes up and down his arm gently with his fingertips.

“Everything’s fine, it’s just the rain. Go back to sleep.”

Hansol nods absentmindedly in the darkness, and shuts his eyes, focusing on Seungkwan’s soft arms around his waist and the warmth his body radiates instead of the storm rampaging outside.

He falls asleep to the sound of a steady heartbeat pounding against his back and the harsh tapping of rain hitting the window.

~    

Come morning, they give the soup to the regular customers of Seungkwan’s experimental cooking (the stray cats) and eat instant ramen instead.

After breakfast, Seungkwan shoves an umbrella and a bento box into Hansol’s hands and reminds him to deliver his mother’s phone to the repair lab before his afternoon classes. He scribbles the instructions on a note and tapes it around the cord of Hansol’s earphones just in case, and Hansol doesn't even have the will to grumble about Seungkwan treating him like a child when multiple smooches litter his face right after; one for each cheek, two on his nose and forehead respectively, and a deep and long, time-binding kiss smack dab on his lips.

“I asked Chan to switch shifts with me so we can go out for dinner for a change,” Seungkwan says upon the parting of their lips, adjusting Hansol’s jacket on his shoulders.

“Sounds like a plan.” Hansol laces their hands together, only allowing his own to fall back to his side once Seungkwan ushers him toward the door and unlocks it.

“Six at the monument outside Shinyang Hall, don’t forget. And check your messages.”

“Six, gotcha. I won’t forget.”

Another prolonged kiss, then Hansol is back outside; back to the cold.

He checks the time on his phone as he climbs down the stairwell of the building; 9:15

About nine more hours to six.

Nine more hours until he gets home again.