Don’t Be Shy

Lanky, blondish, nerdy glasses over round, almond eyes, stuck with honey dashes. The prototypical Californian boy, just like he likes (looking lost and abandoned, leaning on a wall in a faraway land, out of place and, yet, as if he belongs here, to this corner of the road, to the horns of the cars, the flashing lights, the rush and the wind and the mellow yellow of the street lamps). There is something lonely in his expression that reels him in, that makes him come closer, wanting to talk to him, to lift the shadows, his solitude, to replace his sour expression with a smile, to put colour in his ashen, frail face (all bones, no jowl).

"Hey man!" he greets him with a wide grin, showing white teeth, coming closer until invading all of his personal space. But he doesn't back out, he remains there, a raised brow, looking at him approaching with curiosity popping up from his expression. He feels trapped but in a good way, the beginning of something good (he breathes and fear goes away). This boy is not threatening, despite board back and impossibly long legs coming his way. It is the smile breaking the stillness of his handsome face, his almond eyes shinning like a swarm of little dragonflies. 

"Hiya" he replies.

"You look like you need to be feed," Seunghoon says casually, a mischievous expression twinkling between his pursed lips, a hand on the wall, side by side with the boy, half-pinning him. This near, he is not that tall but he can trace the blue rivers of his arms, all sticking out from beneath the pale flesh (skinny and pale, this boy looks gloomish). "What's your favourite dish?" The boy blinks, surprised, a bit caught up. This is completely weird and, yet, much better than being cat-fished on-line: at least the boy is direct and he is asking about food, not his number though, for a pick-up, it’s the strangest line he has ever get (and he snickers because this is a first). He looks slightly up before replying, not even thinking much about it (there is no harm in talking about food).

"Anything with lobster is my fav dish", he says, eyes gleaming, salivating at the mere mention; as if already tasting it in his mouth.

"Lucky you," Seunghoon claps his hands, "I know a receipt or two. Though it has to be frozen lobster if you don't mind," and he smiles, offering his hand.

"What do you mean?" he asks, a glint of delight twinkling behind the glass (but he steps back, cautious, because as nice as he seems to be, he has learned to be prudent around strangers).

"My treat," he points out as if it was obvious (as if he was stupid for even wondering). "Come on", and he jerks him, dragging him by the extended hand. Not that the boy is resisting much, he follows him voluntary, still shocked, eyes brows rise in a perfect arch of surprise, his lips parted in a little O. Seunghoon walks with large steps but he isn’t a match for the boy, who steps on his shadow, with graceful movements hide behind long, gangly legs and frayed jeans. It takes him a minute to understand the situation he is in, the fact that he is leading somewhere, he has been lured in with the prospect of free food (and now he is caught and with nowhere to go). 

"Wait, why are you doing that? Are you going to kidnap me?” Seunghoon laugh is high and annoying but he finds it thrilling, wants to hear it again: like rain in summer, watering his veins. His heart shakes, reassured, even without an answer (even before it, he gets the hint: this man is inoffensive, uncanny, but kind). 

"Gosh, no! You look like a beggar, I don't think you have any money to spear," he explains, between guffaws, "and you are here alone. How expensive would be to call your family to ask for a ransom?" he wonders and he finds the logic (he really is a low budget, has moved a month ago, has come to his motherland looking for better options, has ended alone, trying to fit in a society that he doesn't understand, different from what he thought).

"Right, but I don't know you or your reasons. You are weird," he sighs, halting their walk, looking worried and distant. 

"I'm just a good Samaritan, doing this for the sake of my fellow citizens," he explains, shrugging, smirk still in place.

"I'm not even a Korean citizen," he says, but Seunghoon only smiles broader, pats his shoulders, shows no interest.

"Just a technicality" and he grabs his hand, pushes him again. "I'm Seunghoon, by the way."

“This makes no sense,” he says, shaking his head, blond flocks swirling every-way.

“I’m offering you free food because you look as if you needed it. That, and a friend,” he explains, heaving. “Now, if you don’t have more complains, let’s go before I change my mind”.

“I’m Jae,” he yells, bouncing with excitement. He can do with that (with free food and a friend, even if it’s one that threatens you on the streets, one with a broad back and strong, fierce glance and a willing heart).

“Nice to meet you,” he says, turning around to face him, who is running, chasing after him. Seunghoon gleams, reaching to shake his hand and Jae takes it, warm, rough, hefty, firm (it holds a promise of never letting go).

Seunghoon is the first person to ever approach him, to talk to him, to be disposed to spend time with him. Jae has always been a loner, the kid that was always alone, looked down because of his constants allergies and so, he grew up thinking he was undeserving. Until Seunghoon, who shines on him with pure light, who takes him in despite all of his flaws, despite all of the bickering and fights. Seunghoon pours his endless supply of kindness and affection on him and, like this, Jae feels rooted, feels at home.   

It’s been two years and Seunghoon continues to feed Jae, three times a day, on the daily. He has given him his food, his wits, his heart and Jae has adapted to it, welcomed him like the sunset, unavoidable, lovable, becoming part of his life, setting on a routine of loving Lee Seunghoon, who is bright and fun and all that’s good (he is all he wants, all he cares about). 

“Have you eaten?” Seunghoon opens the door and greets Jae with a nod of his head, his eyes glinting.

“No, I was waiting for you,” and he rushes to add, “hyung,” when Seunghoon stares at him, raising his brow with malice. He is just months older but likes to be treated appropriately, likes to follow norms and to keep his life tidy and clean. It’s easy to fit in, Jae thinks, it’s easy to get along with Seunghoon, who is kind and sincere and always giving, always doing and thinking. He has given Jae a home, a family while abroad, has put smiles and filled his eyes with stars, has touched his heart, taken it away (Jae has handed it down for him to keep). He has never minded, not when Seunghoon sits next to him and his head falls on his lap naturally, his hands tossing his hair, now a shade of dark brown. Jae purrs under his ministrations, Seunghoon chuckles from above.

“For a puppy boy, you do really act like a kitten,” he snickers and Jae pinches his side, makes him squeal, squishing him with his arms.

“I can bark if you want, hyung,” he jokes, mocking him.

“Want to be Haute competition?” he wonders, amused. “You can’t beat him, he will bite your ,” and tosses him out of his lap, letting him fall flat on the rug.

“Hyung!” he squints his eyes threatening, “I’m not that weak,” he moues and it’s so cute and adorable that melts Seunghoon’s core. He helps him get up and allows him to lay atop again, kisses away his pouting face. “I was the captain of the badminton team!” he elucidates, proudly.

“Yes, yes, with these sticky looking arms of yours,” Seunghoon brushes them, feels the blood running below like blue-birds. Jae rolls his eyes, has heard it all before.

This is nothing new, Seunghoon worrying because he is skinny is the usual (but he burns the food as he eats, there is nothing to do). Seunghoon is skinny, too, but he gets it from hours at the gym, push-ups and jogging along the Han river. He has muscles, strong and firm, and Jae looks for them, touches them with his fingertips, feels them beating, likes them (always will: Seunghoon’s body is a masterpiece that he has crafted with efforts and exercise). He burns like a shooting star, alive, free, and Jae can get lost contemplating his eyes, wants to stay between his arms, curled, loved, affection peppering all over him, pampered, cherished.

"Anyway, I wouldn't force you to choose between Haute and me, I know I would lose," he says, burning his face in Seunghoon's shirt, letting his hands to mess his hair (it falls everywhere, like a mop, sticks in all directions and Seunghoon has to flatten them, put them where they belong). 

"Well, you are both my babies and I have to take care of the both of you," he frowns, thinking, "but I rather sleep with Haute than with you. At least he doesn't steal the blanket or kicks me out," and he chuckles, much to Jae's discomfort. "But I would rather be kissed by you than to be by him," he hums, tapping his chin, pensive. 

"Worry not," Jae sulks, getting up, sitting cross-legged on the couch, "from now on, all you'll get is from Haute, nothing from me," and he has to run away from Seunghoon's hands, threatening him with countless trickles and unbearable laughter. 

How did he fall so deep in love? He honestly doesn’t know, but wouldn’t change a thing, not when he feels so good with Seunghoon, not when he gets to eat home-cooked-meals, gets to sleep cosily with his head resting next to Seunghoon, their colours blending, their hands entangled, not when he blows away his preoccupations, replaces them with kisses and soft glances, makes his heart feel, fills his chest with good things and snickering, not when he turns his blemishes into his fortes, not when he just fits there (between his lips, within his hands: inside his head and tongue). 

Why Seunghoon? Perhaps because he was the first one to wreck his walls, to peel off his reservation, his shy demeanour, uncovering him, revealing him to the world. Maybe because he has been the one helping him navigating this new city, keep him company, teach him, including him in gatherings, introducing him to his own circle of friends. He has shared all, has taken care of his needs. And loving Seunghoon came to him instinctively, like falling rain, he has been soaked from the beginning, from the start, from the first smile till the last one.

Seunghoon grins at him.

“Don’t belittle me, hyung,” Jae complains, nuzzling. Seunghoon has opened the cabinet door for him, instead of letting him tip-toe his way, fidgeting with the door, about to get his head smacked. 

He has never done that, though. It’s just that Jae is so tiny, feels his bones crushing under his palms, he looks so lost, so helpless, he has to protect him, has to ensure his safeness, his well-being. He knows Jae is more than capable, that he can do just fine on his own, but he wants to be needed, wants Jae to stick with him because it’s him who can’t live without Jae around, in a world where Jae isn’t his sun. Jae brings in his better side, makes him be his best version, wants to impress Jae with his abilities and intelligence and to soak him with the love that he lacks (with all the things that were neglected to him before, Seunghoon wants to handle them all to Jae). 

“I won’t, I promise,” and he kisses him.

“I know I’m a noddle, don’t need to remind me constantly,” he pouts, gently, holding into Seunghoon’s chest, snuggling closer.

“But you are my favourite noddle, Jae,” he reassures him giggling, putting colour in his flesh, shaking with a creeping smile in his face.

“Thought it was ramyon,” Jae jokes and earns a ruffle on his hair.

“And then you complain that I’m not a romantic,” Seunghoon sighs, amused.

“But you are too shy for this kind of demonstration,” Jae points out, smirking, cheeks flustered and his hair a mess under Seunghoon's ministrations.

“You are one to talk,” Seunghoon retorts, smiling brightly. “Maybe I’m shy, but I asked you out first,” he nags, proudly. That's just right. 

“Are you going to bring this out every time?” Jae isn't amused, not with this old, lame excuse that he uses whenever he wants to win a lost conversation.

“Until the moment you do something alike, then I will shut up,” he explains, grinning, sure that this will never happen (that Jae is not one prone to great gestures).

“Marry me!” Jae exclaims, out of the blue, beaming. “Now we are tied,” he jokes but there is a shadow in Seunghoon’s eyes, something serious that doesn’t match the discussion. “Seunghoon? Hyung?” he tries to shake him out of his mind, to get a reaction.

“If I say yes, will you keep your word?” and his voice is low, solemn. Jae nods, unsure of this change in Seunghoon, in a clouded trance. “Because I want to spend my whole life with you. I don’t care if we marry or just living together like now, but I’m sure, completely sure, of loving you.”

Jae rubs the tears shimmering on the corner of his eyes, smiles through the haze of all the love that Seunghoon has, all that he is earnest to do, realizing that he is loved without reservations, without doubts. And that he is ready, ready to give back everything that Seunghoon does (all the love that he has and that belongs to Jae, warm and shiny like a distant star). Because maybe they fight but there is always an immediate make out; because they are flawed but are a perfect match and there are aspects of Seunghoon he would like to change, but he wouldn't trade him for anyone (because his name is embroidered deep in his heart, a love that has no way out, and he is sure, so sure, that Seunghoon is the best thing in his life). 

“Yes, I want that, too”.

“You know, this is the less romantic proposition ever,” Seunghoon complains, later on, while trying to tide a plastic band around his finger.

“But you can’t take it back. I said the words, we are tied now,” Jae replies, a shimmering foil wrapped in his ring finger, an evergreen smile stretching his lips, a never-ending love beating through his heart.