Hyukjae is, generally speaking, a happy man. He has just arrived home from a honeymoon, with a fruit basket in one hand and his wife by his side. There is a smile tugging at his lips; his eyes and hands automatically find themselves over her body before they could even stumble into their apartment. She protests, saying things about having to visit the in-laws first and making lunch, but Hyukjae loves her. He loves her so he kisses her and kisses her, because he knows that she likes it. Seeing her laugh makes him happy; familiar strings tug up something warm and delicate in his heart.

The blonde realizes that he’s been here before. Not this place or with this person but in this position, chasing someone’s giggles with his lips and eyes. He pauses for a second, trying to remember who was in his arms the last time, when his wife twirls out of his embrace and flips on the television.

Hyukjae snaps out of his reverie, about to go after her again. He hears a name and stops. A familiar name, but one that he can’t remember having passed in ages. The syllables bring back a rush of sweet memories: snuggling in white forts of pillows and blankets, pools of sunlight warming empty coke bottles, two bodies sprawled over one another, wrestling for the last biscuit. They flash before Hyukjae’s eyes one after another, quickly, afraid of being recognized and pinned down, like baby butterflies swirling amongst sheets of orange leaves. Hyukjae remembers heated bodies, hard digits digging into his pelvis, tongues flickering between his toes and under his earlobes. His fall through the vortex is rescued by three little words.

“Has committed suicide.”

His wife rushes by his side, latching onto his arm and muttering condolences but Hyukjae can’t really notice her. He puts down the fruit basket he’d brought back for his parents and pushes a hand through his messy blonde locks. Though he thinks that his face must be squeezed into some ugly thing between a frown and a scream, the same smile remains over it, just as gummy, just as big… just a little less bright.

“Oppa, are you alright?” Her words finally worm into his consciousness, and he’s relieved to hear it. Hyukjae pull her into a tight embrace, trying to hang onto some tangible manifestation of this romance. He kisses her, fervently.

“Oppa,” She begins again, breaking away from his lips, “are you—”

“I’m perfect,” Hyukjae’s smile regains its brilliance, “I’ve got you, after all.”

He makes love to her. Monotonous words reword Donghae’s death in a thousand different ways, providing the rhythm to their pitched moans.

--

Donghae steps out of his car and immediately dozens of cameras are shoved into his face, but he’s used to those. What he’s not used to is Hyukjae's flat smile. Donghae feels guilty for a second; he’s never thought that he would be in this position. A wedding crasher. Of course, no one knows but he can tell that Hyukjae doesn’t want him here. Hyukjae doesn’t want to hurt him, but little did Hyukjae know, it’s not possible to hurt someone already dead inside.

The clouds in Seoul are white and fluffy. Donghae’s heart lightens at the sight of them floating against the blue sky, like little pieces of cotton candy drifting over a blue ocean. He strides over to Hyukjae’s side under these little white blessings, or at least so he thinks as he ignores the way his knees wobble.

“Congratulations,” Donghae says, his voice straining. He’s done this countless times for the past few weeks to the bathroom mirror, but ultimately saying it to his own face is much easier than saying it to Hyukjae’s blank stare.

“You… don’t have to be here,” Hyukjae pulls a smile and tugs at Donghae’s sleeve as they pose for the camera. They’ve done this so many times that it’s a second nature to Donghae.

As soon as the cameraman becomes sidetracked by Kyuhyun’s car pulling up the curb, Hyukjae drags Donghae away to the back of the church, where the blue sky is no longer visible and the green grass has been frozen by black shadows. There are no eyes here. Just Donghae and Hyukjae, one with a wife and the other with a girlfriend. Or rumored to have one.  Two guys talking.

“Please let me stay,” Donghae pleads, clutching onto Hyukjae’s shirt. And then he realizes what he’s doing and quickly releases the fabric, muttering apologies. He tries to smother out the wrinkles frantically, but clumsiness overrides his better intentions. It’s clear to Donghae that he should apologize and he does so, looking up with wide yes at Hyukjae’s worn gaze.

He can tell that Hyukjae is tired. Hyukjae is tired of him, tired of feeling ashamed and immoral. He knows that. He knows that he’s a burden, a clingy affair in those gorgeous eyes. He knows that he shouldn’t be here. But he wants to prove something to the blonde. He’s woken up now. He’s come to the light. He realizes that it’s wrong.

“You should’ve at least called,” Hyukjae admonishes dryly. His words break and crackle and he avoids looking Donghae’s pink eyes, “I would’ve reserved a seat for you.”

“Sorry,” Donghae smiles. He’s grateful for Hyukjae’s kindness, albeit they both know that the lines were nothing but lies. It’s easy for Donghae to guess that Hyukjae is acting right now, just as easily to him as to the cameras. Donghae knows that Hyukjae thinks he’s incapable of understanding his agonies. But Donghae can. Donghae understands. Donghae wants to prove that. Donghae wants to show Hyukjae that he’s happy; he’s happy for Hyukjae. He genuinely is, if he squints hard enough.

“Come on, let’s go inside,” Hyukjae’s hand falls to Donghae’s arm and for a split second the brunette prays that those fingers would wrap around his own. It’s an old addiction that he’s never quite gotten rid of. Of course they don’t, and in some ways Donghae’s alright with that.

The dancer drags his friend into the wedding chapel, hand to elbow. To the eyes of their friends and family, it’s a familiar sight because even now, they radiate the warmth of inseparable friendship. If only they could see that it was already over. The dream was over. What was left was just the hollow shell of how things should have been.

As Hyukjae walks out of the church and down an aisle with a beautiful woman in his arm, his eyes flutter into Donghae’s for the slightest second. Donghae can see regret in those black orbs but he doesn’t refrain from reaching forward and catching Hyukjae’s shoulder. He’s careful about the details as he envelope Hyukjae in a hug: long, as should be between best friend, but not too long. Close, but not too close. Warm, but not hot. Fanservice hours were over, after all.

Donghae pushes Hyukjae out of his arms without lingering a second longer than necessary. He hopes that Hyukjae wasn’t embarrassed by this latest act of his and concludes with a soft, saddened tilt of the lips, “I’ve… woken up.” 

He looks at Hyukjae’s bride for the first time in two years. She’s beautiful, a real butterfly. He lets them go together.

--

Rain. It always rains when Hyukjae goes on dates. Sometimes the blonde thinks it's some kind of curse, but other times he thinks that perhaps fate is simply jealous of him. He fingers the little velvet box in his pockets and tells himself to remember this moment. This is bliss. Eighty years from now, Hyukjae thinks, I’m going to think of this time and smile.

He flips the container open and shut, pushing his finger tip into the empty slit where a ring used to sit and grins upon recalling how perfectly it slid over her finger. He wonders if he should sit back and relax tonight; postpone fixing his dance schedule until tomorrow, because he ought to celebrate this. Maybe with a bottle of soju? Should he call Siwon over? Or Kyuhyun?

The elevator comes down slowly. Hyukjae leans against the opposite wall and blow at strands of his hair as he watches the numbers change over the digital plate. Six. Five. Four. Hyukjae stops blowing at his hair immediately when he remembers that it was Donghae who taught him to do that. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t think of Donghae. He has a right to be happy.

Three. Two. Hyukjae pull himself off the wall and watch his own shoes kick their way towards the metal barriers, but he catches something from the corner of his eye. He prays to god that this isn’t who he thinks it is, that a neighbor had simply picked a different cologne, that…

“Hyukkie…”

Hyukjae’s heart swells and collapses on himself. He tries to shoulder past Donghae but everything stops as soon as their arms touch. Everything spirals downwards. He can’t remember what it feels to have been happy anymore. He clutches at the velvet container in his pocket and tries to remember his priorities.

“Stop bothering me, Lee Donghae-ssi,” Hyukjae pronounces his words carefully. He wants to push Donghae away but he doesn’t want Donghae to fall over. There’s a delicate balance between the two wishes, one that Hyukjae is too crass to strike. He watches, stunned and stupid before the little trickle of tears that begins rolling off Donghae’s cheeks.

Donghae has lost weight; he’s smaller, almost. Thinner and shriveled up and hair a little disheveled. His lower lip is swollen and red at the parts; has he been chewing them? Has he been waiting? Hyukjae holds down the urge to touch those lips and pulls himself away from Donghae. It’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. There are tears in his eyes too but he knows that he can’t afford to cry.

“Just…need to see you…one last…sorry.” Donghae’s words crop off and he leans forward. Hyukjae catches him on instinct.

Instincts are bad. Instincts nurture mistakes. Hyukjae knows that, but it doesn’t stop him from looping his arm around Donghae’s back and trying to mend the broken pieces back together. Donghae mutters incoherent things about butterflies and pins but Hyukjae doesn’t want to listen, so he doesn’t.

Hyukjae hasn’t ed Donghae in a long time. He’s almost not used to the chiseled, calloused, angular figure of a man; the rough kisses; the heat; the chaos and the pain and the deep moans. It's wrong but it’s not his fault. It can’t be his fault.

And so when his fiancée opens the door and spots the two of them in a sweaty mess on the couch, Hyukjae doesn’t know what to do but put the blame on Donghae. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s trying to survive too. He hates how Donghae doesn’t protest, how Donghae merely grabs his cloths and walks out and pretends that there isn’t anything welling up in his eyes. He hates Donghae. He hates how Donghae doesn’t fight back, how Donghae doesn’t protest, how Donghae’s letting himself fall away… 

Donghae calls later that night. Again and again. Hyukjae puts his phone on silent but he can’t take his eyes off the ways the light turns up every five minutes. It’s like Donghae is crying out to him in neon colors, streaming silent tears. Hyukjae shoves his head into the pillow and prays for Donghae to show up to the door again. This time he’ll throw away everything. But Donghae doesn’t, because Donghae loves him enough to know what’s good for him. 

The blonde gives up, flips the phone upside down, and e-mails his fiancée a long letter of apology.

He wakes up the next morning and calls Donghae for the first time in months—a year, even: “Just… just wake up, Donghae. We can’t be friends. Stop corrupting my dreams.”

It’s the first time their call hasn’t ended in a proclamation of love; Hyukjae feels odd, but he knows that he should get used to it.

--

From the way the world is tilting around him, Donghae knows that he’s drunk. He’s not too drunk, just kind-of-sort-of. Drunk enough to lower his inhibitions but not drunk enough to forget what he was here for.

Donghae hiccups, rubbing his hands together to gain a little heat. It’s raining big droplets of melted hail today. He’s cold. So cold. He’s been cold for months now; the winter hasn’t really thawed out of his bones. Donghae turns and knocks on Hyukjae’s door one last time. Part of him thinks that Hyukjae is avoiding him. That Hyukjae is home and just doesn’t want see him, that he’s a bother. He shouldn’t be here. He should be at home or out with a girlfriend. He should go see his girlfriend, but he can’t remember if they’ve broken up or not.

He draws little circles on the door and they magically turn into hearts. He doesn’t like that because it reminds him of how annoying and immature and delusional he is. He shouldn’t be here. He’s troubling Hyukjae. He should move on. He ought to move on, no matter how much he needs Hyukjae. Needs a little ray of sunshine.

Donghae encourages himself, making pep talk in all sorts of different voices—Han Geng’s, Heechul’s, Leeteuk’s—as he fumbles along the dark hallway for the elevator. He tells himself that if he doesn’t run into Hyukjae on the way out, then he’ll never bother the blonde again. It’s a promise with God, Donghae thinks, facing his distorted reflect on the steel doors, God please be gentle. Please don’t let me see him.

He’s not sure how he can recognize Hyukjae, whose head is bent and hair covered with a hat and eyes hidden behind big sunglasses, when the door slides open. Maybe it’s a fate thing. Maybe God wants this to happen.

Donghae doesn’t know if he’s sobbing or grinning as he holds Hyukjae tight. He doesn’t care. His little moth heart is throbbing and it’s all he ever wanted from this world.

--

“Well, um, this is…” Hyukjae fiddles with his napkin and finally meets Donghae’s confused gaze, “We should stop this.”

“Stop what?” Donghae lets the straw tumble over his lips, “You wanna go somewhere else?”

“No, I mean,” Hyukjae thinks it’s better to rip the bandaid off in one shot, so he does it, “Let’s break up. Suju’s done, so we don’t have any excuse to be together anymore. I mean, it’s hard… it’s hard to be together.”

Donghae doesn’t say anything. He peers down at his mango smoothie and it up slowly, trying to gulp down his own tears. Hyukjae tries all the excuses in the book. Parental disapproval. Societal condemnation. Criticism. Pressure. Their careers, their children, their friends. Donghae isn’t really paying any attention, but Hyukjae says it anyway, because he knows that he’s the one who needs to hear it most. Donghae has realized those facts long ago, after all. Donghae has been living in reality, suffering all this time while Hyukjae rolled around in fantasies.

This time Hyukjae decides to open his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hyukjae whispers, letting his fingers part from Donghae’s, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. You’re… you’re in love with Eunhyuk, Donghae, and Eunhyuk died along with Super Junior. I’m sorry.”

It breaks Hyukjae to see how Donghae wipes the tear and snot off his face and tries to pull a smile. It’s a big, gummy smile, the dullest Hyukjae has ever seen.  

--

After , Donghae always feel a little off. A certain kind of emptiness fills him up, as he stands in the shower and lets Eunhyuk wash his hair. He slumps over a little as Eunhyuk busies himself with his hair and shampoo. It’s like Eunhyuk doesn’t really see him, doesn’t really see how he’s shriveling up like a dead moth and how he’s shrinking further and further behind his eyes, sinking deeper into an ocean of overwhelming loneliness.

“Will we be together?” Donghae asks, his voice soft and strained. He can always blame it on the practices and he knows that Eunhyuk wouldn’t doubt it.

“Why not?” Eunhyuk’s response always came too quickly, too lightly. Donghae knows that Eunhyuk doesn’t understand what it means to like another man, but he likes Eunhyuk too much to break it to him. Instead he lets the water swallow him up and flush him away.

“Why are you so distracted?” Eunhyuk yanks Donghae’s head back with a handful of his hair. Donghae doesn’t struggle; he merely falls into Eunhyuk’s arms. Gentle arms. He whispers, hoping that Eunhyuk would never hear, “This is like a dream…”

“Then let’s never wake up.”

He decides to love Eunhyuk as the two towel each other off. The man has taken a liking to Madama Butterfly and Puccini and hums it as his hands work around Donghae’s biceps. The song strikes Donghae’s fancy for a fleeting second, so he stops Eunhyuk’s arm on his arm to ask, “What song is this?”

“Come una mosca. The one that Butterfly sang before she killed herself. You know, after she found out that her lover had gotten a wife and all.”

“Oh,” Donghae wonders if he’ll ever have to be the butterfly. He must have looked broken for a second, because Eunhyuk suddenly cups his face in both hands and kisses his nose. Before he knows it the two are off messing themselves up again.

--

Eunhyuk likes seeing the way Donghae laughs. It doesn’t matter if the fans are cheering or screaming, because all he can hear is Donghae’s rounded chuckles. The way his Adam apple hitches and his lips stretch wide and eyes narrow. Eunhyuk chases after Donghae with a water gun and, when he finally has Donghae in his arms, he presses a chaste kiss to Donghae’s cheek.

It’s their first kiss but Donghae doesn’t even protest. It’s as if they were meant to do this. He catches Leeteuk glaring and realizes that he’s forgotten to sing his line.

An hour later, Eunhyuk has ran all over the stadium but he inevitably finds his way back to Donghae. This time it’s a peck on the hand, and Donghae isn’t laughing. He’s looking.

Eunhyuk likes Donghae’s dreamy eyes so much that he forgets his lines. For the second time. And then he forgets his words entirely backstage, where the two click in the shadows and Eunhyuk kisses Donghae’s hand again and this time directs it to his zipper. He tastes Donghae’s tongue. It’s salty.

--

“Because he looks like a butterfly,” Eunhyuk quickly corrects himself, “I mean, he’s pretty enough to be one.”

“You are just… awkward,” Kangin scoffs, wheeling himself out of the room with a snarl over his lips. Donghae feels at once self-conscious and out of place in his seat, but he can’t help glancing up at the boy named Eunhyuk.

“Sorry,” Eunhyuk quickly apologizes, unveiling a nervous smile, “I just—you’re good-looking, I mean.”

Donghae’s heart flutters ever so slightly. He tries to cover up his smile with a cough but it’s no good. Though the room is cramped enough as it is, Donghae leans closer towards Eunhyuk, until their hands touch.

Neither of them moves.   

--

While shaving in the bathroom, Hyukjae spots a moth on the windowsill. He crushes it with a wad of toilet paper, drops it in the toilet, and stares as the water rushes up to swallow it. The insect struggles a little, half alive, but is eventually dragged down.

“I’m sorry,” Hyukjae flushes the toilet, “Maybe I shouldn't have told you to wake up.”

Poorly written. Whatever. I don't care. LOL.