HYUKJAE RETURNS HOME TO A TOWN that hasn’t changed. The sun is still shining, the birds are still chirping, and the people of the town still go on with its business every day. Hyukjae’s father barely acknowledges that Hyukjae had left in the first place, only greeting him with a grunt and when he goes to work the next morning, simply tosses him his rag and nothing else.

Hyukjae supposes he shouldn’t have expected anything more.

And so, life goes on.

There is always more work to do and it’s simple to fall back into the comfort of a routine, like old cogs that are well oiled enough to click into place even after months of disuse. And with that illusion of ease, time — months — ticks by, without Hyukjae even being aware of its passing.

Instead, Hyukjae lives passively, with the longing that aches in his chest and the notebook he had stolen tucked beneath his pillow as constant companions.

—

His mom passes away near the end of the year, quietly and peacefully, which is the most Hyukjae can ask. Her death had been an expected affair, but Hyukjae is angry that it doesn’t make it any easier to bear. After her funeral and crying himself dry, Hyukjae pulls himself upright from his bed, drops into the chair at his desk, and pulls out a pen and some paper. With a deep breath, Hyukjae lowers the tip of the pen to the paper and for the first time in months, begins to write.

December 12, 1923

My love Donghae,

It has been arduous several months without you. I had somehow hoped you would write, but I did not write either, so I suppose there is a mutualism in the blame. I apologize. Are you angry with me? For taking your belongings, for sticking my nose in somewhere it does not belong?

I miss having you next to me, having you as someone to talk to. And that brings me to the very reason why I am writing you today.

My mother died three days ago.

It was a long time coming, as I had mentioned passingly in my other letters that her health had been failing (though I am glad you never inquired, I am not one to speak in depth of such issues as you know). However, though I have been expecting her passing for months now, it doesn’t make it any less painful. I suppose it is to be expected, as she is my mother, the only one who has come close to understanding me and my relationship with you and now that she is gone, the pressing reality of loneliness presses heavily against my shoulders.

I wonder, now that there is no way of knowing, if she would have accepted that I love you. If I had told her my feelings for you were far beyond friendship, what would she have said? Me, her son, in love with the freak of town?

Apologies. I did not mean to say that, to bring up unpleasant memories of unpleasant memories. Forgive me, I did not think a second ago, my emotional state is not at it’s best, I must admit.

But on a more positive note, how goes your research? Your larger than life lifestyle in the city? I’ve seen how much you enjoy life in the city, I would like to hear more about it. A welcome distraction at a trying time.

Still yours,
Lee Hyukjae

Hyukjae seals and sends the letter. He pushes his insecurities into the recesses of his mind.

It only takes several days for him to receive a response and when he does, Hyukjae rushes into his room, settling at his desk. He’s so absorbed by the anticipation of the contents of the letter, he doesn’t hear his father come into the room.

“What is this, a letter?” his father says from behind him, ripping the envelope from his hands. “You’re writing letters now? It’s to that freak, isn’t it?”

Hyukjae shoots up making a grab for the letter. His father tosses the letter back onto his table.

“You’re still talking to that man?” he demands. Hyukjae’s eye twitches, anger bursting forward.

“I love him,” Hyukjae bursts before he can stop himself, and when his brain catches up with his mouth, he stiffens, going ramrod straight at his admission. His father’s eyes widen and before Hyukjae can fully comprehend the situation at hand, his father’s hand comes flying outwards, slapping him across the face. Hyukjae’s head snaps to the side, his eyes wide in shock.

Hyukjae’s hand slowly raises up to his cheek, the skin stinging.

He turns to his father, whose face is steadily turning purple with every passing second.

“What did you just say,” his father growls from between gritted teeth. It’s not a question, but a demand. Hyukjae considers his options before he arrives at a decision, raising his head up, eyes narrow, chin jutting out just slightly.

“I said,” Hyukjae, his voice steady. “I love him.” As much as he knows the admission is a mistake, at this exact moment, he can’t bring himself to care. His father’s fist curls into a fist, knuckles white as he takes a step forward. Hyukjae refuses to be cowed, straightening in the face of his father’s attempt at intimidation.

“Don’t ever say such disgusting things in my presence again,” his father growls. Hyukjae scowls, and his father storms across the room, grabbing Donghae’s letter and ripping it apart. Hyukjae’s eyes widened — he hadn’t had a chance to read the letter.

“Or what,” Hyukjae bites out. “Or what will you do.”

His father tosses the ripped pieces of paper into the trash can by his door.

“You better toughen up boy. All these years I let you hand out with that freak, it’s softened you up, turned you into a wuss. There’s a girl you’re going to meet,” he says. “You’re going to marry her. And if you don’t, you can get the hell out of here and out of this town.”

Hyukjae’s blood runs cold — he knows what his father isn’t saying. He holds his father’s gaze for as long as he possibly can before he must look away, his eyes darting over at the wall.

“Fine,” he says. His father doesn’t say anything more as he storms out of the room, door slamming behind him. It isn’t until Hyukjae hears the front door slam as well that Hyukjae collapses onto his bed, chest aching.

—

His father doesn’t bring up their conversation in the following days, but they don’t talk save for several biting commands at the workshop.

Hyukjae slips into the house after a later day at the shop — his father had left about three hours previous, so Hyukjae would assume his father is home. Hyukjae doesn’t want any sort of confrontation, so he keeps his entrance as quiet as possible, toeing off his shoes, and padding into the house with quiet, deliberate steps.

He freezes when he hears a very distinctly feminine laugh.

“I see, sir,” the girl says and Hyukjae frowns further. He makes his way to the kitchen and lingers at the door, floundering at the sight of his father sitting at the dining table across from a young blonde girl. When his father looks up, Hyukjae gives the man a smile, bearing all his teeth.

“Hello father,” he says through grit teeth. “Who is this?” His father’s returning smile is equally tight.

“This is Nadia,” his father says. Hyukjae doesn’t have to ask who his father intends for this girl to be. Instead, he walks up to the girl, tipping his head slightly in greeting.

“How do you do?” he says. Nadia smiles.

“I’m doing well,” she says.

“Lovely,” Hyukjae says with as genuine of a smile he can manage, because no matter how much he despises his father — a burning hot kind of hatred — Nadia does not deserve to be on the receiving end of his frustrations. “It’s always wonderful to hear that a lady is enjoying her day.”

Tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, Nadia laughs, a sweet tinkling sound that is light in the heaviness of the tension in the room. Her eyes crinkle slightly, the light reflecting off her crystal blue eyes. And if Hyukjae wasn’t already so utterly and hopelessly in love Donghae, he can see a world, a simpler world, where he could have loved her.

“I will leave you two alone,” his father says, and Hyukjae glances up in time to see the corner of his father’s eyes tight, his smile fake.

Hyukjae returns the smile with an equally venomous one.

“Of course,” he says. “Thank you.” His father claps him firmly on one shoulder before leaving the room. When he’s gone, Hyukjae turns back to Nadia.

“Sorry about him,” he says. Nadia shakes her head, her lips quirking up slightly. She shakes her head.

“It’s no problem,” she says. “I understand the struggle of overbearing parents.”  Hyukjae allows himself a small smile at her response.

“Yes, I am sure,” Hyukjae whispers. Nadia laughs.

“Well,” she says. “I look forward to talking to you more often. Maybe I can cook you something?”

“Yes,” Hyukjae agrees against what his brain is telling him. “Yes, I’d like that.”

—

“I’m sorry,” Hyukjae says, cutting her off. He feels rude for doing so, but he can’t, just can’t continue hearing her talking like this. “I can’t marry you.”

Nadia stops talking, staring at him with wide.

“I — oh,” she says. “I thought — okay.” Her face falls and Hyukjae’s jaw tightens.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I — I love someone else, and I do not want you to have to give yourself up to marry someone who can never love you as much as you deserve. Y-you’re a lovely lady, Nadia and I like you a lot. I just want you to be treated right.”

Nadia remains silent for a moment before she reaches out, taking his hand in hers.

“Hyukjae,” she says softly. “I think you’d treat me plenty alright.” Hyukjae shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he says. “Not when I love someone else.” Nadia frowns.

“It’s Donghae, right?” she asks, her voice soft. She lets him pull his hand back when Hyukjae flinches. When Hyukjae fails to respond, Nadia shuffles forward in her seat. “I’ve seen you with him. I’ve always seen you with him and forgive me for saying so, your friendship is … it’s quite something.” Hyukjae shakes his head.

“It’s,” he says. “He’s the reason why my father wants me to marry. I love him … more than I should.” The confession slips past his lips and when he’s said it, he bites his lip, gauging Nadia’s reaction. Her face remains impassive for a long, nerve-wracking moment before her eyes soften.

“I see,” she says. She doesn’t look in any way disgusted and Hyukjae can do nothing more than stare. “I see. Well, there’s nothing one can do about that, is there?”

“No,” Hyukjae whispers before repeating the word again with more strength. Nadia offers him another smile.

“I’ll still hold out hope,” she says. “But in the meantime, we can be friends?”

“Of course,” Hyukjae agrees immediately, knowing that he has no other option. They will remain friends because it will satisfy his father momentarily. And eventually, he will have to marry her.

—

Hyukjae’s father is insistent in his efforts to push Nadia with him. Hyukjae follows with his efforts, meeting with Nadia, learning about her.

Nadia is everything that Donghae is not — blonde hair where Donghae has brown, tan where Donghae is pale, talkative where Donghae is quiet … female where Donghae is male.

And Hyukjae hates it.

—

February 21st, 1924

My love Donghae,

I apologize for the delay in responding to your letter. I must confess, I did not have a chance to read the letter you sent me. I made a mistake — in the slip of a tongue, in a single moment, I spilled my love for you. It was a mistake, a mistake that I have been regretting for weeks.

In the wake of my confession, my father is pushing for me to marry as soon as possible.

The girl — I met her yesterday, actually — is quite nice. She’s sweet and outgoing, and dare I say, quite pretty. Her name is Nadia, she’s only a year younger than we are. I don’t remember seeing her around, but I only ever had eyes for you. I confess, Donghae, I can see a world where I could have loved her. But alas, I could never. Not when you own my heart so completely.

For now, we have found ourselves becoming fast friends.

Though I feel like I am betraying you, by being with her.

But it doesn’t seem as though I have a choice. My father is rather threatening in his reaction to my unwitting confession. I have already told Nadia that I cannot marry her and she inferred the reason, and for the time being, simply spending time with her will be enough to keep my father at bay.

For the time being.

I look forward to your letter as always, my love.

Yours as well,
Lee Hyukjae

March 4th, 1924

My dearest Hyukjae,

Since you did not get my previous letter, I will offer you a summary of its contents. I am so sorry for the lost of your mother. I wish I could have been there for you as you did when I lost my father. It is never easy, losing a parent, and offer my metaphorical shoulder to lean on, for that is all I can do from this distance.

It is at times like this, more than ever, that I wish you could be here beside me. I am not, however, truly selfish as to ask that of you.

As for your latest letter, there is no need to apologize. A mistake is exactly that, a mistake, and there is no point in dwelling on something that cannot be changed. However, I know you, Hyukjae, so I will say this now, I forgive you.

I must say, much like you, I do not remember many of the other people our age. Although, I’ve never been much for socialization — the only time I’ve ever made friends is when people choose that I am to be their friend. Much like you, I suppose.

There is not much I can say about your situation. It brings me joy to know that you have found a friend and given your limitations, I will never hold anything you do against you. I will let you do as you so choose. Whatever you choose, I will be happy with.

Never think that you are betraying me, Hyukjae.

Forever yours,
Lee Donghae

—

Whenever it rains, Hyukjae reminisces. It’s rare for it to rain in this small, southern town, where the climate is best described as a desert.

It was raining when Hyukjae first kissed Donghae. The sound of the rain pattering against the window and the walls is enough to transport Hyukjae to that memory, the pure joy and bliss exploding in his chest at the opportunity to express his feelings for Donghae physically and have them returned.

Hyukjae is snapped from his reverie when he hears a knock at the door.

It’s far too late for anyone to be out and about and his father is surely long asleep, so Hyukjae reluctantly pulls himself out of bed and makes his way down the stairs.

The knocking on the front door persists, and Hyukjae grumbles under his breath, jogging to the door. He yanks the door open and is met with the least likely image he could have imagined.

Standing at his door, soaking wet in the pouring rain, is Donghae.

Hyukjae stands frozen for a second, his grip tight on the doorknob before he reaches out grabs Donghae’s by the collar and yanking him inside and into his arms. Donghae’s clothes soak through his own, but any unpleasant chill is overrun by the warmth of Donghae’s grip and the thought of having Donghae close.

“You need a change of clothes,” Hyukjae mutters after a minute of silent embrace in the hall. Mindful to keep quiet, not to alert his father of Donghae’s presence, Hyukjae hustles Donghae up the stairs and into his bedroom.

Hyukjae tosses Donghae a towel when they get into his room before digging through his drawers for clothes. He pulls out a pair tattered pants and a pullover shirt and turns around to find Donghae already halfway undressed.

Hyukjae feels his mouth go dry and he tosses the clothes to Donghae.

“Don’t tempt me in my house,” he says. “Maybe in yours but not in here. Not anymore.” Donghae looks at him with wide eyes, adorably confused as he pulls on the pair of pants and shirt.

“What?”

“Never mind,” Hyukjae says. He steps forward and drinks in the sight of Donghae in front of him, solid and real, not a product of his daydreams. Pulling Donghae into his arms, he buried his head into Donghae’s neck and takes a deep breath, absorbing Donghae’s scent — the scent of paper and ink and something underneath that is distinctly Donghae. “What are you doing here?”

“Well,” Donghae says, his cheek resting on Hyukjae’s, arms wrapped around him. “I wanted to see you. And since you could not come to me… I decided I will find some time to come to you.”

Hyukjae nods and raises his head, pressing their lips together.

“How long are you staying here?”

“Five days,” Donghae says. Hyukjae nods, trying not to look too disappointed as he pulls Donghae in the direction of his bed.

They fall into bed together, but do nothing more than whispers sweet nothings into each other’s ear, compliments and softly spoken declarations of adoration. Eventually, they fall asleep next to one another, savouring the warmth of the body of the one they love next to them.

Neither of them can ask for more.

And in the darkness of the night and Donghae in his arms, the countdown in Hyukjae’s mind begins.

—

In the morning of their first day, Donghae sneaks out of his window before his father can see them together, much like when they were teens and it’s so nostalgic and so hilarious to see a fully grown man squishing through a window, Hyukjae laughs — full bellied and deep — for the first time in years.

Later, after work, he finds Donghae in the bookstore. They sit together, knee touching, books in hand, content in simply sharing space, just like the old days.

—

The next day, they revisit the small diner of the town together and eat an inordinate amount of food that they had shared during a younger, more innocent time. Halfway through their meal, Hyukjae touches his foot to Donghae’s under the table in this public space and feels daring.

—

“Hello Hyukjae,” Mrs. Lee says when Hyukjae walks into the house on the third day. “Donghae is just upstairs.”

“Thank you, miss,” Hyukjae says and makes his way up to Donghae’s bedroom. The door squeaks when he pushes it open to reveal Donghae lying on his bed, book resting on his face, asleep.

Hyukjae shoves his awake quite unceremoniously, with a hand on the shoulder. Donghae flinches awake, the book clattering to the floor as he sits upright. Hyukjae watches intently at the small skin between Donghae’s brow furrow as he bends over to pick up the book from the ground. Hyukjae’s eyes are glued to Donghae’s slender fingers, unable to look away from the way they wrap delicately around the spine of the book.

“Hyukjae,” Donghae says when he straightens, his voice still lethargic and thick with sleep.

“Donghae,” he says, his gaze snapping back up to Donghae’s face. “Sleeping again?” It seemed like that past few days — whenever Hyukjae had gone to find Donghae, he was doing nothing but sleeping, dead to everything around him.

“What else is there to do in this town, but sleep?” Donghae mutters as he rubs his eyes. It’s a childlike gesture, one that prompts Hyukjae to lean forward to run a hand through the other man’s soft, downy hair, pushing it back from obscuring the man’s shining eyes.

Shining eyes. Shining eyes that had been steadily dulling in the past several days.

There is nothing here for Donghae, nothing but endless repeat and stagnation. Four days is already too much.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” Hyukjae asks, pushing his thoughts aside. “Revisit our bridge. For old times sake.”

“Of course,” Donghae says. Hyukjae grins and he leads the way out of the house and down the dirt road into the small forested area to their bridge. Somewhere along the way, when they’re far enough away, Hyukjae’s hand slips into Donghae’s, their fingers intertwined, grip tight, like if they were to let go, they would never find their way to each other again.

When they get to their bridge, they sit, side by side, hand in hand at the edge of the bridge, fitting together like pieces of a mold. Made to be together, made to fit together.

Donghae lets out a long breath, blowing up tufts of hair that shine in the sun.

“I’ve missed this view,” he says.

“No substitute can be found in a city,” Hyukjae replies. Donghae chuckles.

“Maybe the stars,” he says. “I used to look past these two highway lines and wonder what life may be like beyond it. Now I look past the stars and wonder what secrets may hide in its darkness.”

“I see,” Hyukjae replies. Donghae’s feet are once again hitting the stone surface of the bridge, like every other time they spend their time together on this bridge, the rhythmic thumping of his boots mirroring Hyukjae’s heartbeat.

“Although I must say,” Donghae mutters. “The stars are a poor substitute for the ever-changing essence of nature. The way the grass grows and trees sway. There is a life here that I’ve forgotten about.”

“Peace,” Hyukjae says.

“Peace in constant motion,” Donghae agrees. He leans to the side, his movements carrying a silent sort of grace, and rests his head on Hyukjae’s shoulder. His weight is a warm and welcome one, his hair brushing gently against Hyukjae’s skin. Hyukjae rests his own head on top of Donghae’s, taking a deep breath to take in the gentle scent of Donghae from the man’s hair.

Peace.

Peace in the swaying of the trees, the ripples of the water, blooming of the flowers and most of all, the feeling of Donghae pressed against him.

“I have a question for you Hyukjae,” Donghae muses after a moment of silence. He lifts his head and looks over at Hyukjae, eyes sparkling with mirth and curiosity.

“What is it?”

Donghae smiles, a true one, one that stretches across his face, exposing teeth that Hyukjae has sorely missed seeing all these years.

“Do you suppose those fish are trying to escape the pond?” he asks. Hyukjae can do nothing more in the face of that question then laugh.

—

On the last evening of Donghae’s stay, Hyukjae dares to sneak out of his house and climbs into Donghae’s bedroom through the window.

Donghae is sitting at his desk when Hyukjae crawls in but does not look the least bit surprised by his endeavour. Hyukjae supposes it’s not too much of a stretch, as Donghae has seen this particular image many times in the past.

“Hello Hyukjae,” Donghae says, blinking at him owlishly. Hyukjae manages to shuffle the last part of his body into the room, dropping heavily onto the floor.

“Hello,” Hyukjae grunts. He looks up to see Donghae smiling at him, biting his lip and eyes shining in attempts to contain his laughter.

“What are you doing here so late in the night?”

“I missed you,” Hyukjae says, grabbing Donghae’ hand and pulling him upright. It’s a naturally sweeping motion to pull Donghae up and into his arms where they settle into each other’s embrace. “I just wish we didn’t have to sneak around like this. Didn’t have to hide this, didn’t have to pretend.” Donghae hums.

“In the city… in the city we could pretend. We could live together and in the city, where there are far too many faces, far too many lives, no one would ever know,” he mutters. Hyukjae agrees.

He knows what Donghae is saying is true.

He has considered it. Dropping everything he ever had here in this small town, where everyone knows everyone else and go to the city, where the constant motion and life provides a blanket of anonymity. And yet, the thought of living in a city where there is nothing but noise and movement and no peace, Hyukjae is drowning.

Donghae is his lifeboat.

But Donghae can never be around him forever. Not when Donghae is uncontainable, ever curious, and ever wanting. Not when Donghae is ever shooting for the stars and Hyukjae is content on the ground.

Hyukjae reaches out, cupping Donghae on the cheek, the pad of his thumb running across Donghae’s cheekbone, over pale, smooth skin. It grounds Hyukjae, how solid Donghae feels beneath his fingertips.

“I can’t, Donghae,” he says, each word coming with as much difficulty as pulling teeth. “I can’t.” Donghae nods and averts his gaze. Hyukjae sighs and drops his hand.

“Sometimes I like to imagine what can be, had we not had the right love at the wrong time,” Donghae says. “If we could have had —”

"There is no happy ever after for us! There never was and there never will be!" Hyukjae snaps, a surge of anger hitting him like a tsunami.

Donghae doesn’t outwardly react, but his eyes are shining, b with unspoken emotion. After a second, Donghae shakes his head — such a small, imperceptible motion that Hyukjae almost doesn’t see it — his breath coming out in small puffs of air through his nose as tears slip past his eye and trails down his cheek.

“I know,” he says, his voice dying out halfway through. He shakes his head more vigorously, dropping his head to his chest before looking back up at Hyukjae, eyes wide. “I know. You think I don't know that? I know. I've always known. But what's the point of wasting the time we have together thinking about the time we don't?”

“Hae…” Hyukjae breathes, the childhood nickname slipping through his lips before he can stop it.

“I don't know about you,” Donghae murmurs, taking a step forward, his eyes turning to steel in the light of the sun slipping in through the window. “But I would rather live, just once, as if we have forever. I would rather we, just once, let ourselves be happy.” Donghae’s forehead is resting on Hyukjae’s shoulder, the last of his statement whispered into Hyukjae’s ear.

Hyukjae wraps his arms around Donghae almost automatically, the warmth of Donghae’s body against his, seeping through the thin material of his t-shirt, melting him, warming him, destroying him.

He tilts his head just slightly, enough so that their lips touch, a gentle, tentative touch that is more an unspoken question. Donghae opens his mouth and it’s an invitation for Hyukjae to take more. Hyukjae’s hand rises and combs through Donghae’s hair, and the other slipping beneath the other man’s shirt. The heat of Donghae’s bare skin beneath his finger is so enticingly hot, it feels as though it’s burning him.

And then Donghae’s hands come wrapping around Hyukjae’s waist, his fingertips ghosting over his skin as if looking for permission to touch. Hyukjae runs his own hand up Donghae’s back and Donghae takes a clue, doing the same. Hyukjae presses their bodies together so their chests are mesh — he will never be able to get enough of the feel of Donghae’s body pressed against his own. Hyukjae pulls back only when he needs air, but he keeps the rest of his body as close to Donghae’s as possible.

“I love you,” Donghae breathes after a second of silence and Hyukjae’s whole world comes to a halt. All the written claims of the statement are nothing compared to actually hearing Donghae say it — hearing the strength and finality of the tone, the determination in the set of Donghae’s jaw. It hurts Hyukjae, right in the center of his chest, how Donghae’s voice washes over him — a blanket of warmth that wraps around him, curling in the small crevices of his body in a way that has never happened before.

“Say that again,” Hyukjae demands. “Say that again. Please.” Donghae’s eyes rise up to meet his gaze, his warm, dark, sultry eyes glancing up at him through long lashes. Hyukjae swallows.

“I love you,” Donghae repeats. He steps forward as well, closing the gap between them so they are so close they’re almost touching. “I love you. I love you. I love you.” Hyukjae surges forward and presses his lips against Donghae’s, the meeting of lips sending a wave of heat through Hyukjae’s body.

“I love you too,” Hyukjae says when he pulls back — slightly, just slightly enough to speak.

“I love you,” Donghae says once again. “And I will say so over and over again, for every time I should have and couldn’t. I love you.” He kisses Hyukjae, first on the lips, then moving to Hyukjae’s neck. Hyukjae basks in the sound of Donghae whispering the words over and over, between small, feather-light kisses placed on Hyukjae’s skin.

They fall onto Donghae’s bed and the night becomes nothing more than a desperate attempt to create the best moment in the time they have.

—

Hyukjae wakes up to an empty bed.

He allows himself several seconds to stare at the seconds before he rolls over and falls out of the bed. When he pads out of the bedroom as quietly as possible and catches sight of a dark shap