IT'S A FRIDAY, when Donghae receives the text. His desk drawer buzzes and Donghae stops everything he’s doing to unlock the drawer, pull open the false bottom he had installed, and pull out a phone. It’s an old model of the iPhone, one that is easily ancient.

He quickly types the passcode to unlock the phone and sees a single text, from an unknown number.

Maui 2014-03-04
http://bit.ly/2EBbYtC

Donghae clicks the link and is redirected to a plane ticket, giving him the details of his flight in a week. He confirms the flight purchase and goes back to his phone, typing in a response.

Blue
Black
Red

After sending the text, he deletes the entire conversation.

Every aspect of their communication is to ensure no one can ever trace a digital footprint. One can never be too careful, in a world of crazed fans, obsessive stalkers, and the media. He puts the phone back into the bottom of his desk drawer. He locks the drawer again and returns the key to its rightful place, hanging from his neck.

Then he goes about his day as if nothing had happened.

—

He tells Heechul and Jeongsu he’s going back to Mokpo for some time with his father. He tells his mom that he’s going to a meeting in Japan. He doesn’t bother telling anyone else anything about his little excursions; he’s sure Heechul or Jeongsu will fill in anyone who begins to ask questions.

He packs lightly — a single shoulder bag with nothing more than his clothing and some cash.

On the day of the flight, Donghae puts on a blue button-up shirt, a black pair of ripped skinny jeans, and a pair of red running shoes. He pockets his passport on the way out the door.

—

His plane touches down in the Kahului Airport exactly on time. Donghae watches as the flight descends, taking in the beauty of the white sands and the crystal waters from the small oval window to his right. When he gets off the plane, Donghae shoulders his bag and slips on a pair of dark sunglasses and walks through the airport as if he knows where he’s going.

He exits the terminal and continues to walk a straight line. Seconds later, a slender figure is walking next to him. No words are exchanged, but Donghae slows down slightly, letting the other man take the lead. Hyukjae exits the airport and continues walking. Donghae takes the opportunity to take a deep breath, savouring the smell of the sea that surrounds him.

Everything is vibrant, in Maui.

The greenery surrounds him and Donghae looks straight ahead, Hyukjae a few feet in front of him. His heart rate goes up.

Hyukjae leads them to a car several streets down from the airport. Donghae gets into the passenger seat, just as Hyukjae is getting into the driver’s. Their doors close in unison.

“Nice car,” Donghae says, finally daring to speak when they are out of the way of prying eyes.

“Thanks,” Hyukjae responds, shooting Donghae a smile that warms his very core. “It’s not mine. Borrowed it from a friend.” Hyukjae removes his cap for a second, running a hand through flattened, sandy-blonde hair. He replaces the hat before turning back to Donghae.

Their eyes meet for the first time since the last time. For the first time in far too long.

Hyukjae’s skin is tanner than the last time Donghae had seen him.

Donghae forces his eyes away and looks out the window, his hand running over the leather of the seats.

“Still,” he says. “It’s a nice car.” Hyukjae laughs and pushes the button to start the engine.

The car rumbles as Hyukjae peels out of the parking lot, into the streets. Donghae takes in the palm trees, the sand, and the carefree people dressed in very little clothing, without a care in the world. With the window open, the winds of Hawaii comb through Donghae’s hair, and the sounds of Maui reverberate through the vehicle.

Somewhere, somehow during the ride, their hands find each other’s over the gear shift.

—

Hyukjae takes them to a cottage near the edge of the cliffs. It’s silent here, save for the wind through the trees and the calls of the wildlife. Donghae finds the tension in his shoulders begins to disappear as he makes his way up the wooden stairs.

The cottage is wonderfully rustic, with stone walls, a large fireplace, and beautifully crafted wooden ceilings and furniture.

“So, do you like it?” Hyukjae asks. Donghae doesn’t respond.

Instead, Donghae expresses his approval for Hyukjae’s chosen location by slamming him against the door and smashing their lips together.

“Beautiful,” he whispers throatily into Hyukjae’s ear when he pulls away. “It’s gorgeous. You’re gorgeous. I missed you.”

Hyukjae’s chuckle is deep. Donghae can feel it rumbling through the man’s chest.

Hyukjae’s response to his statement is a kiss that makes it difficult for Donghae to remain standing. It’s not a problem. Hyukjae pulls Donghae into something akin to a bridal carry and takes him into the bedroom.

They don’t leave the cabin for two days.

—

“Seven days, huh?” Donghae says when they’re both exhausted and ready for a break. He’s tracing lazy circles on Hyukjae’s abdomen, his head resting on the man’s chest. Hyukjae’s hand is running lines through Donghae’s hair and he has to fight off the urge to purr.

“Yes,” Hyukjae says.

“That’s longer than any other time we’ve met,” Donghae says.

“And is that a problem?”

“The longer we meet, the higher the likelihood we get caught,” Donghae says. They only ever meet for four days. Four days every three months.

That mean Donghae only sees Hyukjae for sixteen days of a year with three hundred and sixty five.

It's not nearly enough.

It will never be enough.

“And the last time we met for four days, and that’s only three days less. Three days more won’t make that much of a difference, but it makes all the difference for me,” Hyukjae says, his hand stopping its movements through his hair. “And what would happen if we do get caught? Could it be any worse than the first time?”

The fresh breeze of the ocean air gusts through the window and Donghae closes his eyes again. He remembers the countless flashing of cameras, the screaming of question after question, voice recorders shoved into his face. The look of devastation on their band members faces as they’re held to question, criticized for every action. The countless news articles, publishing everything and anything they could find about their lives, be it truth or lies.

Donghae’s eyes snap open and he bites his lip, fighting off tears.

“Let’s not talk about this right now,” he says.

Hyukjae’s hand resumes it’s of his hair, and Donghae shuts his eyes again, a tear sliding down his cheek.

—

Hyukjae takes Donghae to an empty beach, the next evening, with a basket in hand. He stops a couple feet from the water edge and puts everything down, pulling out a funky looking blanket.

Donghae chuckles at the pattern: bananas with arms and legs, as well as sunglasses and flip-flops.

“You like it?” Hyukjae says, smiling up at him. “I bought it with you in mind.” Donghae pauses. Then he slaps Hyukjae on the shoulder.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hyukjae laughs, open and free, with his head thrown back. Donghae can’t help but smile back.

“Nothing,” Hyukjae says. He busies himself with pulling out their meal. Donghae settles on the blanket, watching Hyukjae works. He admires the rippling of Hyukjae’s muscles through his loose tank top and tries his best not to drool.

When Hyukjae is finished, he takes a seat next to Donghae, so close their legs are touching. They eat their meal in silence, content with simply being in each other’s presence, savouring the warmth of the other’s body from their proximity.

Occasionally, Hyukjae takes a portion of his food and feeds it to Donghae. Donghae does the same. They never prompt each other to do so, but they’ve long since known each other’s preferences.

They finish their meal and clean up together.

“Earn your keep,” Hyukjae says as they do so. “I can’t keep being your butler.” Donghae slaps Hyukjae again.

They walk down the beach together, their finger laced together and their toes digging into the wet sand. In their other hands are their shoes. As they walk, Hyukjae tugs lightly at Donghae’s hand, signalling to him that they’re changing their paths and Donghae obeys.

They get to the edge of the mountains and wordlessly puts on their shoes. Hyukjae gives Donghae a smile and then they climb. Donghae hoists Hyukjae up the higher rocks and Hyukjae reaches down to pull Donghae up. They make their way to the top of the mountain, stopping at the cliff edge.

Beneath them, the water rhythmically hits the mountains. The sun is setting beyond the horizon.

Donghae takes a seat at the edge, his legs dangling off the edge of the cliff. Hyukjae joins him a second later, once again so close that their legs are touching.

“It’s beautiful,” Donghae says softly, resting his head on Hyukjae’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Hyukjae says. It doesn’t take long for Donghae to realize that Hyukjae is looking at him. He smiles, tilting his head up to meet Hyukjae’s kiss.

Donghae wonders, just for a second, if this could last forever.

“I missed you,” Donghae says.

“I missed you too,” Hyukjae says. Donghae sighs, looking over Hyukjae, whose face is warmed by the soft orange glow of the setting sun.

“I just wish…” he says. “I wish we could have worked.” Hyukjae sighs, his head dropping to his chest.

“We were perfect, Donghae,” he says, his hand finding Donghae’s once again, finger curling tightly around Donghae’s hand. “We were absolutely perfect. I wish we could have worked as well. I just… I don’t know.”

Donghae sighs.

“The world, out there, is against us. We can have many things to ourselves, but at the end of the day, Hyukjae, we cannot deny that we belong to them,” he says. Hyukjae squeezes Donghae’s hand so tightly, he’s sure the circulation in his hand is cut off.

“We’re a product,