INTRODUCTION

Jung Ewon (Aeon Rhodes)

To temper the icy, harsh picture of Taecyeon I added to the album, the next one is going to show a completely different, and rarely seen, side of him. I took it when he was asleep on my couch a few days after our first date. He looked young and vulnerable when he was at rest, and it was such a contrast to his normally rigid, tense demeanor that when I saw him sleeping, I knew I had to record it on film.

I bet you're wondering why Taecyeon was sleeping on my couch. So was I. Here's what happened.

I had dated a few guys after Nichkhun, but not for long and not seriously. I had come to terms with that after a few years, figuring I'd had my great love young and that was that. So it surprised me when I kept thinking about Taecyeon after that first night and it surprised me even more when the sound of his voice on the other end of my phone two days later had my heart doing a long-since-forgotten flip.

"What're you doing?" he asked after we'd gotten the obligatory hellos out of the way.

"Right now?" I sprayed spot remover on my sofa and scrubbed at it with an old kitchen sponge "I'm cleaning someone else's off the back of my couch."

He coughed and said "Uh, nice. So you're a top? Wouldn't have thought it."

"Right." I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and scrubbed harder "Seriously, though, I think this is set in for life. The guy must have, like, super of something."

He chuckled and said "So Yuri's been bugging me about the pictures. When can I pick up the negatives?"

"Oh, yeah.I was in the darkroom today. I have them ready for you." I sat back on my haunches and sighed in resignation as I looked at the white marks on the dark faux-suede fabric "I'm never having houseguests again."

"Ah, that explains it." Taecyeon said.

"What?"

"Someone elses's on your couch. So is he gone?"

"Who?" I asked.

"Your houseguest."

"Oh. Yeah. He left yesterday, but he didn't mention the little present his trick left on my furniture." I took a breath and started scrubbing some more "Why are guys in Seoul such self-involved, inconsiderate narcissists?"

"Are you talking about me?" Taecyeon asked, deadpan.

I laughed at his joke. Or at what I'd though was a joke until he sai "What? Why're you laughing?"

"Uh." I paused and then told myself he was kidding. He had to be. It was the only reason anybody would respond to a comment about self-involved narcissists by asking if the comment was about him "I was laughing at your joke." I said.

"What joke?" he asked.

Okay, so maybe a joke wasn't the only reason for that type of response. I decided to change the topic "So how're you doing? Anything exciting going on?"

"I'm good." Taecyeon said "Just packing a bag."

"Yeah? You going away for the weekend?" I gave up on the couch and stood up, staring at it in frustration before setting the cleaner and sponge on my kitchen counter, which was within arm's reach, and trying to figure out how I could rearrange my meager furniture to hide the evidence.

"Yup" Taecyeon said.

"Where're you heading?" I combed my fingers through my hair in frustration when I realized the space was too small to accommodate the couch in any other location.

"Sindang-dong." Taecyeon said.

"Sindang-dong?" He lived in Gwanak-gu. Going to Sindang-dong wasn't exactly a wekkend getaway. And I lived in Sindang-dong, so I should know.

"Yup." I heard a door slam and the unmistakabe sound of locks turning "I'm picking up some film from a cute guy and then making a weekend of it."

I shook my head in amusement "Did you just invite yourself to spend the weekend at my place?" I asked.

"Yup."

"What if I have plans?"

After a short pause he said "Do you?"

"No." I admitted "But I'm not sleeping with you. The 'just met' thing still holds."

"We'll see." he said

"Taecyeon, I'm serious." Though I probably didn't sound serious through the chuckling.

"That's okay." he said "We already established your couch is empty. So I can crash there if you kick me out of your bed."

And that's how Taecyeon ended up on my couch, unwittingly posing for the next picture in the album.

Ok Taecyeon

I couldn't stop thinking about Aeon Rhodes. It was ridiculous. I had half a foot and forty pounds on him. He put product in his hair and, I was pretty sure, on his face. When he talked, he flailed his hands around and the mannerisms were so obvious, it made me want to duck and hide my face.

But when I found myself beating off to a mental o featuring captivating blue eyes framed by long lashes, I knew I'd have to take measures to stoop the insanity. It seemed my libido wanted the queen of Sidang-dong even though my brain knew he wasn't right for me in any way. So I decided the solution was give my libido what it wanted and the guy out of my system.Then I could stop thinking about him and move on with my life.

I took the train into Sindang-dong and, as a last-second move, picked up a six-pack of beer, thiking alcohol might make everything go more smoothly. It didn't take long to make it to his apartment, and tree knocks later, I heard the locks turning.

"Hi!" he said brightly when he saw me leaning on his doorframe "Come on in."

He stepped aside and let me walk into his apartment before closing and locking the door.

"Nice pla-" I stopped the automatic comment as soon as I actually looked at his place. It was maybe four hundred square feet with a tiny efficiency kitchen in one corner, a bed in another, and a couch and table occupying the rest of the space. There was a door on one wall, and I hoped it led to a bathroom. Other than that, the walls were covered in pictures.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad." Aeon said, apparently noticing my somewhat horrified expression.

"No, it's not bad." I said to find a remnant of the manners my parents had tried to instill in me before they'd decided I was beyond redemption "It's just small." Which was true. His place was clean, with shining wood floors, colorful tile counters, and stricking photos on every wall.

"Five hundred square feet is plenty when you're living alone, and I'm a stone's throw from the subway train."

"You're right. Sorry." I shrugged "I'm still used to Seoul. In Reno, we have lots of land, so the houses are much bigger."

Something passed over his face and the light in his eyes dimmed "You're from Reno?" he asked.

"Uh-huh." I took a step toward him, wanting to smooth my hand over his face bring back that smile.

"That's in Nevada, right?"

"Yeah. You been there?"

He shook his head "No, but I... No." he gestured toward my hand "Here, let me get your bag."

I handed over my bag and tried to figure out what had gone wrong. Failing that, I held up the six-pack and siad "I brought beer."

He sat my bag down next to the couch, not exactly what I had hoped for, and flicked his gaze to my raised hand.

"Oh, uh, tahnks." he walked into the kitchen "Do you want a glass?"

"Nah." I set the beer on the counter and pulled one out "Bottle's fine." I held it out to him "Want one?"

"No, thanks. I'm not much on beer." he came over, picked up the rest of the bottles, and opened the door to a small refrigerator "I'll put these in here so they stay cold." he pulled a bowl out of the fridge and went over to a glass pan he had sitting on the counter.

"What's that?" I asked, nudging my chin toward the pan before twisting the cap off my bottle and tossing it into the trash can.

"It's going to be baked eggplant." he said as he reached for the bowl and scattered what looked be shredded white cheese into the pan.

"Eggplant?" I furrowed my brow as I tilted the bottle against my lips and too a drink "What do you mean? Eggs come from chickens."

He jerked his head up and stared at me "You're not...are you serious?" he asked. When I didn't answer, he laughed so hard hisface turned red "It's a vegetable. It has nothing to do with eggs." he eventually said, sounding short of breath "You've never heard of eggplant?"

Nothing pissed me off more than being laughed at, so I glared at him and probably spoke louder than I should have when I said "Not everybody is a hippy foodie who eats all that organic !"

"It's not organic." he responded, still looking amused at my expense.

"You what I mean." I barked as I waved at the food, sloshig a little beer over the tip of the bottle "We don't all eat...lettuce and carrots and ."

At that point, he bent over and held his stomach as he cackled "Lettuce"-he gasped-"and carrots"-he gasped again-"and s." when he finally managed to compose himself, he crossed the small space and threw his arms around me. My anger was immediately drowned out by the warmth that flooded me "You're so funny." he said, blinking up at me, his smile back in full force and his eyes bright once again "Thank you." he kissed the base of my neck, and I decided he could laugh at me whenever he wanted if it kept that expression on his face "I needed that."

"Did you have a rough day, baby?" I asked him, wrapping an arm around his waist and combing my fingers through his hair.

He went rigid and I froze. Baby? Where that had come from, I couldn't say. It was out of character for me and out of line to say to a guy I barely knew, and who I planned to stop knowing after that night, or that weekend at the longest.

After a silence that was stretching into awkward, he extricated himself from my arms and walked back to the counter as he said "Just the usual day. Gym. Work. Gym. But then I came home to the couch surprise." he opened the oven door and slid the pan inside "Which, if I'm being honest, wasn't all that unusual either." he winked and grinned.

So we were ignoring my little slip. That was good. I wanted to thank him, but that would mean acknowledging it, which would bring the awkward right back, so I followed his tactic and engaged in the new conversation.

"You hit the gym twice a day?" I said as I dragged my gaze over his body. He was tiny but tight, all lean muscle and not an ounce of fat. I supposed the frequent workouts made sense "I don't think you told me where you work." I added.

"That's because you didn't ask."

Though the words were snippy, his tone wasn't, so I didn't get offended. Plus, he was right. I hadn't asked him what he did for a living. Mostly because I didn't care. But it didn't look like he was getting anytime soon, so we needed to talk about something.

"Oh, uh, what do you do?" I asked.

He got a bottle of water out of the fridge along with some tomatoes, cucumbers, and lettuce. Then he dropped the produse into the sink and popped the top off the bottle, tilted it up, and took several long swallows.

The sight of him- leaning back against counter, shirt moving up just enough to expose a swath of white skin and firl, flat stomach, and throat working to swallow down that water-was unexpectedly . Jesus. I had to get him into bed. Had to.

"I'm a dancer." he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and chucked the empty bottle into the trash can "So the workouts are job related, but I'd probably go anyway." he shrugged and grinned "Love the endorphins."

My brain stalled at 'dancer' and a slideshow of images immediately started flicking through my mind. My hand went straight to my groin and I gave myself a squeeze as I adjusted my hard-on.

"Not that kind of dancer!" Aeon said with a laugh "Does your head come out of your pants ever? You have one setting, seriously." he shook his head and smiled "All , all day."

It was funny-not true, but funny. I mean, I liked as much as the next guy, but my head was usually focused on my schoolwork or my upcoming intership or my class rank. I was two years into a five-year life plan and everything I did, including networking with my drunken classmates the night I met Aeon, was designed to advance that plan. At the five-year mark, I'd fine-tune the next five-year plan and roll it out.

Bottom line was, I knew the only way to live the kind of life I wanted was to set goals and meet them. Which meant my focus was usually unflappable. was awsome. A six-figure salary by the time I turned thirty in three years? Even better.

But even the reminder of my five-year plan wasn't enough to eradicate the images of Aeon wearing next to nothing and gyrating on a stage "What kind of dancer?" I asked as I raised a shaky hand and brought my beer bottle back to my mouth.

"Ballet is my favorite, but I'm pretty versatile." he started washing the vegetables "I'm in rehearsals for a cabaret musical show right now. It's gonna be great."

Aaaand, now I was stalled on 'versatile'.

He looked back over his shoulder and said "Are you going to be okay eating lettuce?" I could tell he was trying to look serious, but his grin broke through. It was the only reason I didn't scowl.

"Ha ha."

I tilted my hand back and forth, watching the remains of my beer splash against the bottle, and tried to think about how to approach the conversation I wanted to have without insulting him to the point where I'd have to work even harder to get him into bed. I was already past my normal limits.

He took out a cutting board, started dicing, and grinned up at me "Tomatoes too. And cucumbers."

"All right, all right. You've made your point." I tossed my empty bottle into the the trash can, grabbed another beer out of the fridge, cracket it open, and took a swig. Then I had an idea "I'm usually more of a beef or chcken guy, but salad is fine. I can be versatile." I paused and tried to make my meaning clear through my inflection when I added "But I'm not versatile in all things."

He scrunched his nose, looking grossed out "Good, because I'm not cooking dead animals for you."

Great. He was completely oblivious to my point. And he was some sort of animal rights activist. I ignored that because it wouldn't matter. I could go a weekend without meat, especially if he was eating mine.

With subtlety failing, I decided to just put it out there "I'm a top." there. That was clear.

He slowly turned his head, look me up and down, and went back to chopping. The lack of response was disconcerning.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" I asked when the silence became interminable.

"What do you expect me to say?" he asked "It's not as if that's a shoker."

I furrowed my brow and said "What is that supposed to mean?"

And, more to the point, why was I taking offence? I hadn't wanted to insult the guy by calling him a big'ol bottom boy, even though, come on, let's be real. But coming across as a top wasn't shameful. I decided it was his inexplicable reaction that was getting to me.

Without so much as turning his head, he said "You drink beer. You wear cargo pants. I don't even want to hazard a guess as to where you cut your hair, but I'm fearful it involves you in a mirrorless room with clippers." he scoffed "Do you honestly believe anybody could think you're a bottom?"

I gaped at him and eventually said "Are you listening to yourself?"

"What?" he glanced over, his expression completely guileless.

"I wear cargo pants? I drink beer? The way I cut my hair?"

He raised one eyebrow and cocked his hip "Am I wrong?"

That stopped me in my tracks "Well, uh, no."

"Okay, then." he went back to chopping "As you lawer types say, I rest my case."

I was pretty sure I'd just lost some sort of debate. I didn't like it.

"There's nothing wrong with my hair." I sputtered as I dragged my hand over my short locks.

He glanced at me, raised his eyebrow again, and then went back to chopping without a word. Neither of us said anything while he finished making the salad and tossed it together in a bowl. Then he donned some oven mitts and pulled the baked aggplant out of the oven.

"This needs to set for a little while." he said "Then I'll make th salad dressing and we can eat." he waltzed over to the couch "You coming?" he asked.

I was following him and thinking about whether I should grow my hair a little longer before I realized what I was doing and gave myself an internal smackdown. The goal was to get in, him, and get out, not to change my appearance or anything else to accommodate him. How the man managed to, once again, get me all discombobulated, I didn't know, but I was going to stay strong and stay on task.

He settled in the corner of the couch and I plopped down next to him, leaving as little personal space as possible so I could make a move. I put my hand on his knee and squeezed as I worked it up his thigh. He twisted to the side, so he was looking right at me. Then he trace my jaw with one finger-oh that felt good-, moved it over to my temple and across my hairline, and started massaging my head.

I moaned and leaned into him "Is it too short?" I asked, apparently unable to stop myself from going back to our conversation "I used to have it longer on top, but it's easier this way."

"It looks good." he said, continuing his massage "But a little longer on top would be nice. Shorter sideburns would be super hot too." he put his other hand on my head, increasing the contact points of those magic fingers.

Before I knew it, I was lying across his lap with my eyes closed.

"You like that?" he asked quietly as he rubbed.

"Uh-huh." It was unexpectedly relaxing, having someone caress my head that way. I felt the tension about school and jobs and family seep from my body and my breathing slow. The last thing I remember was thinking how good he smelled and being too far gone to realize that type of sappy was not in my game plan.