He blinks at it, standing on his tiptoes and reaching up because it’s pretty—it’s white and shiny and he thinks that maybe if he just stretches a little bit more, he’ll be able to reach it. He’s got it, he thinks, just a tiny bit more so he jumps a few times—his eyebrows furrow when he still can’t reach it. He still can’t reach it, and to make things worse, it’s taken out of his reach completely when he’s picked up off of the floor and whisked away into another room in the unfamiliar house.

          His arms wrap around her neck and he rests his head on her shoulder. She laughs into his ear. “It’s glass, honey,” she says. “That means if you hold it and it falls, it’ll break.”

          “I’m not gonna drop it,” he says, looking back wistfully.

          “Mm, we’ll see,” she smiles again and sits him in a chair while she helps put together the rest of the food. His legs dangle as he watches her cross this way and that around the kitchen, even though this isn’t even their house. It’s a party, she told him earlier, but since they’re her friends, she’s helping them along with the food. “Do you know what it is?”

          He shakes his head as she takes down plates from a cabinet. “It has wings,” he says and flaps his arms a few times, “like a bird. But it’s a boy.”

          “Yep.” She tastes a bit of the boiling, red stew now as the doorbell rings a few times and more people start to flood the living room. “It’s an angel, sweetheart. They’re like us, only they have wings and they protect you.” She puts the lid on the pot and walks around the granite island to kneel in front of him, taking off the scarf that he’s had on since they arrived, and ing his coat. “Everyone has one.”

          He holds his scarf against himself, pulling his hands away from her reach because he can take his mittens off by himself now. She laughs. “I have one?” he asks.

          “Give me your scarf, honey,” she says taking his coat, mittens, and scarf out of his arms. “Everyone has a guardian angel.” She holds his winter clothes in one arm, and scoops him up back against her hip with her other arm. She smiles at him and pats his cheek. “Someday, when you’re all grown up and I’m not here anymore, he’ll look after you.”

          He frowns—he doesn’t like to hear that—doesn’t like to hear about growing up because he wants her, wants his father, wants all three of them to stay together forever. He doesn’t want to grow up if that means they leave. “I’m not growing up,” he says, pouting.

          She just laughs again.

You’ve heard my deepest feelings for you

          He yawns, staring down at his cell phone, resting in his lap. He’s thought about calling, thought about texting, but he knows that there’s no point in that. He knows that Dongwoon’s on his way home, and it’s probably taking longer than it should probably because of either traffic or because Dongwoon ended up being held back at the office for yet one matter or another again—it’s happened before, it’s happened a lot, especially in the past few weeks.

          Kikwang takes a deep breath and stands up, putting his cell phone on the table across the sofa because it’s pointless to just keep staring at the time—minutes won’t tick by faster just because he watches them, just like Dongwoon can’t come home sooner just because Kikwang is waiting for him. It’s not like Kikwang needs to be with Dongwoon all the time—it’s just that he’s restless, he’s sleepy, because usually the witching hour is the busiest for Kikwang but now he has to get used to doing nothing.

          He can’t go to sleep yet either.

          Not until Dongwoon comes home.

My trembling heart seems like it’ll burst

          When Dongwoon comes home, he’s too tired to say anything, too tired to do much except kiss Kikwang on the lips and shuffle his feet towards the bedroom. Kikwang follows him warily, wordless as well, and watches as the younger man collapses face first onto the bed. By the time Kikwang reaches the bed himself, bending over and checking Dongwoon’s face—

          He’s already fast asleep.

          Kikwang carefully turns the younger man onto his back, tugs him by the long arms and arranges his head on the pillows. He crosses over to the closet, pulling out a t-shirt and some sweatpants, throwing them on the bed and gets started on changing Dongwoon out of his suit. He figures that at this rate, he won’t have to worry a whole lot about Dongwoon waking up in the middle.

When the tears hurt you

          Kikwang opens his eyes to darkness penetrated only by a shine of strong light coming from beside him. He already knows what it is—he’s already become familiar with waking up in the middle of the night like this, already familiar with the scent of worry and anxiousness, already familiar with Dongwoon sitting up in bed beside him, the glow of the younger man’s cell phone illuminating his bare torso and features. He’s already more than familiar after the past few weeks with Dongwoon’s fingers flying over the touchscreen, texting over and over again to someone who won’t reply.

          He slides over hesitantly, forehead pressing against the skin of Dongwoon’s hipbone, hand resting uncertainly over Dongwoon’s wiry wrist. The younger man blinks through the semi-darkness, his face slightly surprised—which makes sense, makes a lot of sense, because Kikwang usually pretends to be asleep. He knows that if he actually let Dongwoon know he’s awake, the younger man would just tell him to go back to sleep anyway because nothing is wrong.

          Even when a lot is.

          “You should text him in the morning,” Kikwang says quietly.

          Dongwoon stares at his cell phone, teeth visibly digging into his lip. “But—maybe—what if he’s somewhere where it’s morning right now? Maybe if I catch him while he’s looking at his phone—”

          “I think,” Kikwang says, hesitantly, sitting up and down the sides of Dongwoon’s hair, “he’s definitely getting them. But if he’s not ready yet, then it doesn’t matter what time you text him at.”  He offers a tiny smile, unsure, uncertain, because he doesn’t really know what to say—doesn’t know if he should’ve said what he just said at all because these aren’t his friends, and this is none of his business.

          This is none of his business—

          But Dongwoon is.

          Dongwoon is Kikwang’s business, and right now his eyes—deep, deep eyes that made Kikwang wonder if the younger man could speak Korean he first saw him at a dinner party over a year ago—right now, Dongwoon’s eyes have gone back to his cell phone, to the text waiting to be finished, and Kikwang doesn’t know whether it’s the glow of the screen, but the younger man’s eyes suddenly are shining a little too brightly, a little too much wetness.

          “I wonder if he’s doing okay,” Dongwoon says quietly, his fingertips sliding over the screen, saving the text to a draft.

          Kikwang lies back down, staring at the ceiling. He stays like that, completely silent, and doesn’t close his eyes until Dongwoon’s breathing is even, doesn’t close his eyes—doesn’t fall asleep—until he’s sure that the younger man is.

I’ll always be your strength

          He doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t stop and stare, doesn’t give himself any time to be dumbfounded or bewildered or shocked, doesn’t even let himself have any second thoughts when Dongwoon comes home one night and yanks Kikwang out of the apartment door and down into the parking garage because Junhyung is passed out, drunk and possibly high—probably very high—sprawled across backseats of Dongwoon’s car.

          He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t stop and stare, doesn’t give himself any time to hesitate when Dongwoon opens the back doors and Kikwang sees Yong Junhyung—sees someone he’s only seen once or twice before—unconscious, clothes in states of terrible disarray, suspicious stains across the front of his collared shirt and suit, dried blood in the corners of his mouth and forehead.

          Kikwang looks up at Dongwoon. “Get in the car,” he says, already slinging one of Junhyung’s arms—the one towards the car door—around his shoulders, “and grab his other side.”

          They carry him like that, slung between them, through the lobby (thankfully empty because of how late it is) and into the elevator. They’re able to lean him slightly against the walls after that, having to stop every few steps because he keeps slipping and threatening to fall to the floor. Kikwang’s eyes narrow as he accidentally breathes a little too close to Junhyung’s face, and stares at Dongwoon as they reach their floor.

          “What?” Dongwoon says tiredly.

          “Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says, biting his lip, as they walk down the hallway, “he smells like some of my customers—the ones that’d show up stoned all the time.”

          Dongwoon looks away as they lean him one more time against the wall so Dongwoon can unlock and open the apartment door. “I don’t know what he did, hyung,” Dongwoon says. “He could’ve done anything and everything for all I know—I just found him because Hyuna found him at some bar near the office. I think he might’ve gotten into a fight, too.”

          From here, Dongwoon carries Junhyung on his own to the sofa while Kikwang goes to the bathroom to run water, and tries to decide on a mix of his own and Dongwoon’s clothes since Junhyung is probably somewhere in between them—probably Kikwang’s shirts and some of Dongwoon’s more ill-fitting pants.

          “Does he usually smoke?” Kikwang asks.

          “No,” Dongwoon says quietly. “Not pot—and he doesn’t usually drink that much either.” He stares for another moment at Junhyung, lying across the sofa, and he starts to pace back and forth, palms rubbing at his eyes. “Hyung, what’re we going to do?”

          Kikwang stands with his arms folded, teeth digging into his lip again as he thinks, looking into Dongwoon’s eyes from across the living room. The water is still running in the bathroom—probably already scorching hot by now—and Junhyung looks like he’s starting to breathe a little easier, turning ever so slightly against the cushions of the sofa. “Clean him up,” he says after a moment, “and let him sleep here. Call Doojoon-shii and Yoseob-shii, and then tell Hyuna-shii how he’s doing in a few hours. If he wakes up, we’ll give him something to eat and I’ll go buy hangover medicine later.”

          Dongwoon nods tersely, his eyes flickering back worriedly to Junhyung.

          Kikwang crosses over to the younger man and hits him lightly with the towels he’s gotten out for Junhyung. Dongwoon stumbles back a bit, surprised at the suddenness. “Yah,” he says, smiling as best he can. “Son Dongwoon. You already look old enough—don’t make it worse by looking so sad.”

          Dongwoon’s lips curve upward tentatively. “Thanks, hyung,” he says softly.

Beautiful eyes, nose, lips

          “You know, oppa,” Hyuna says one day when Dongwoon’s brought Kikwang to the office, “you could do a lot better than Dongwoonie-oppa.” She nods a few times for emphasis and smiles brightly. They’re sitting together on one of the cushioned benches pushed up against the walls of the spacious, open hallway—filled with dying sunlight—as he waits for Dongwoon to finish his last meeting and Hyuna waits for Junhyung to take the notes he’ll come out with after the conference.

          Kikwang laughs. “Really?” He likes Hyuna—he thinks that if it weren’t for her, Dongwoon probably wouldn’t have been able to convince him to come to the office even if the younger man’s told him time and time again that Yoseob used to come all the time for no other reason than to annoy Doojoon and slow down the work process. But Hyuna makes it less nerve-wracking—gives Kikwang someone to be with while Dongwoon’s busy because he doesn’t want Dongwoon to continuously have to deal with Kikwang.

          She snorts, folding her thin arms. “I know you know,” she says. “You’re almost prettier than me, oppa. And Dongwoonie-oppa isn’t that cute—he’s just really tall.”

          He raises his eyebrows playfully, smiling, and she laughs right back. She laughs, and when she quiets down again, he’s about to say something further, about to maybe by asking if she’s absolutely sure that she’s that pretty—

          But—

          That’s before the conference room doors open and Kikwang feels himself being whisked out of his seat and pulled into the next empty conference room so fast that he barely even sees Hyuna’s shocked face, barely even remembers being lifted off of the bench, barely even gets to hear the empty conference room being opened and then closed and then locked.

          He stares. “You’re really good at that,” he says with wide eyes, as Dongwoon collapses into a conference chair, grinning broadly and breathing hard. “Maybe you should quit. You’d make a lot more money being a kidnapper or something.”

          The younger man wrinkles his nose. “Nah.” He stands up, taking Kikwang’s hand playfully and tugging him to Dongwoon’s body. “It’s only fun if I get to kidnap you, hyung.” Kikwang widens his eyes further as Dongwoon leans in and presses his lips to Kikwang’s just for a short moment. “C’mon,” he grins, drawing away—only their hands remaining conjoined, “it’s too dark in here anyway—can’t even see you.”

          Kikwang likes Hyuna—he does. He likes her a lot, and it’s easy to talk to her, easy to agree with her on a lot of things, but he thinks that just this once, she’s definitely wrong. He thinks that she’s definitely wrong about Kikwang being able to do a lot better than Dongwoon—he thinks that it’d be wrong even if she said that Kikwang could do just better than Dongwoon.

          You can’t get much better than the best, after all.

Brighter than the morning dew

          Dongwoon needs the weekends. He sorely, sorely needs the weekends and Kikwang knows that. Dongwoon needs all the rest, all the downtime he can get so that his mind doesn’t combust and Kikwang isn’t left sweeping up the remains of Son Dongwoon’s destroyed cranium off of their apartment floor. But even on the weekends, sometimes, Dongwoon ends up going to the office because of how hectic everything is with all the trouble Junhyung’s been getting into and how reporters are not only suspicious of that but why Hyunseung transferred so quickly and suddenly as well. 

          Dongwoon goes to the office even on the weekends sometimes, but this weekend, this time around, it’s been a quiet week and Junhyung seems to be doing better lately—still a little more silent than they’d like him, but he seems better and thus, Dongwoon seems better, too.

          This weekend is something Dongwoon needs.

Even when we’re together, I miss you

          This weekend, this Saturday, Dongwoon gets to sleep in.

          Dongwoon doesn’t wake up until lunchtime because both of them were up all night, tangled in the sheets while they do things that would make the walls blush if they had eyes. Kikwang wakes up earlier, wakes up first—dragging the top, thinner blanket with him, wrapping it around his waist and shoulder, and letting it trail out with him from the bed. He pads quietly out of the bedroom and into the living room, opening the curtains and letting the morning sunlight filter in.

          It’s autumn now, and everything is falling off its branches. The weather is right at that border where it’s about to become shivering cold, but the sun is still warm enough to put that aside. Kikwang stares out of the windows that lead out to the balcony for a few more moments before he crosses back into the kitchen, wondering if he should bother to make coffee or if they’re going to eat out today.

I can’t fall down—I can’t let you down

          When Dongwoon comes out of the bedroom, he comes out shirtless with sweatpants. He comes out silently and almost scares Kikwang to death by twirling him into the younger man’s arms and lifting him up onto the kitchen counter in one go. Dongwoon kisses him before he can say anything, before he can make any more remarks on how maybe Dongwoon should honestly just kidnap people for ransom because the younger man is just way too good at this.

          But Dongwoon’s kissing him.

          So of course, it’s not like Kikwang is going to remember what he was planning to say before that. It’s not like Kikwang expects himself to be capable of rendering coherent thought previous to Dongwoon kissing him because he considers himself lucky if he can even breathe regularly after being kissed the way Dongwoon kisses him. It’s not like Kikwang expects to be able to focus on anything except the way Dongwoon’s arms are warm and secure around his waist, the way Dongwoon’s body is wiry and taut while the younger man stands between Kikwang’s legs.

          “Someday,” Kikwang says while Dongwoon bends down, leaning forward against the edge of the counter and starts kissing his way up from Kikwang’s stomach. “You’re going to do your weird kidnapping thing again, and I’ll actually die of a heart attack.”

          Dongwoon’s lips stop when they arrive back on Kikwang’s lips, tongue doing a brief round inside Kikwang’s mouth before he draws back and smiles, amused. “Hopefully not any time soon,” he snorts. “You look pretty healthy to me.” His hand up and down lightly over Kikwang’s arm.

          “Well, not when we’re old and wrinkly,” he says, sticking the tip of his tongue out—only to have Dongwoon lean in again and meet it with the edge of his own tongue. Kikwang almost falls backwards on the countertop. “Yah,” he kicks Dongwoon’s thigh. “Don’t do that.”

          The younger man laughs. “Why not?” He cups Kikwang’s face in one hand. “But hey, hyung, this means you’re planning on sticking with me until we’re old and wrinkly, right?”

          Kikwang blinks, his thoughts pulling to a sudden halt. “What?”

          Dongwoon raises his eyebrows.

          “I mean,” Kikwang tilts his head to the side, confused, “I guess. Do you want me to be with you until we’re old and wrinkly?”

          “Why wouldn’t I?” Dongwoon asks back, starting to look just as confused.

          He shrugs, smiling a little. “Old and wrinkly isn’t very hot,” he says.

          Dongwoon stares for a moment. “Hyung,” his voice is almost disbelieving, but there’s amusement leaking into it. “If you think I’m with you because you’re hot, then maybe we really do need to get your head checked like Doojoonie-hyung said.”

          Kikwang blinks again. “I’m not hot?” He frowns.

          Now Dongwoon’s expression is completely disbelieving and utterly amused. He turns his head away laughing loud and hard—the bright sound echoing throughout the entire apartment—before he settles for muffling his face against Kikwang’s neck until the laughter dies down. “Hyung—hyung,” he grins, as Kikwang continues to think maybe Dongwoon bumped his own head on a hard surface and is actually the one who needs to get a cranium-check-up. “You’re y as , okay? You’re y as and you’re staying with me until we’re old and wrinkly even if I have to handcuff you to me in the retirement home.”

I must admit that I’m in love with you

          Kikwang doesn’t know why he can’t stop smiling as he stares at Dongwoon with wide eyes. “You’re crazy,” he laughs right before the younger man kisses him again.

Close your eyes—listen to my heart

          Dongwoon has given Kikwang everything.

          He’s given Kikwang everything Kikwang has lost, everything Kikwang never had and all of it up to the point where now, Dongwoon is giving Kikwang what some people—what a lot of people—either lose or never find at all during their entire lifetimes. He’s given Kikwang so much and he does it all looking at Kikwang, watching Kikwang, acting as if Kikwang is something that makes him so happy, it’s almost unbearable.

He does it all while laughing, while smiling and grinning—while kissing Kikwang like he’s the only thing that’ll ever matter, while holding Kikwang like he never wants to let go (and sometimes it’s Hyuna who ends up having to tug Dongwoon away before he’s late for his meeting), while making Kikwang laugh until he can’t breathe, while making Kikwang smile until his cheeks hurt. He does it all like it’s so easy—like it comes as easily as breathing in and out.

Always look at my eyes and tell me

          Kikwang’s barely given Dongwoon anything.

“Like the beginning—I’ll wait at the same place”

          “He’s with you because you’re you,” Junhyung says, looking at him with raised eyebrows. “And,” he nods, almost to himself, thoughtfully, “probably because you’re too hot for him. But mostly because you’re you—not because of his weird- it’s-the-least-you-can-do-thing you’ve got going on.”

          Because Kikwang’s Kikwang?

          He pulls air into his cheeks mindlessly as he rolls that over and around in his head. Of course he’s heard things like that before, about how you love someone just because they’re them.

His customers, the ones who’re customers because they’re a little muddled in their heads about their own love lives—they used to tell him things about the men and women they were in love with. And they used to tell him things like that—about how that’s what love is, about how even though millions of people in the world might be funny, might have dimples, might prefer eating with the wrong end of their chopsticks, it only matters in this one person—this one young man or woman, because that’s who they love.

But—

Even then, he’s pretty sure there’s not much—not for him. He tries, for a moment, to think about it. Tries to go through himself objectively, and after Junhyung inches forward a bit more, all Kikwang’s come up with is his dancing and that he’s hot—which he’s still pretty sure Dongwoon could find in a lot of other places with a lot of other people. People that could maybe give him better and more than Kikwang can.

Oh—wait—

He glances at Junhyung. “I’m too hot for him?”

Junhyung seems to be taken aback, sliding down a little in his chair and glaring at the road. “Never mind that part,” he mutters.

Kikwang laughs—in all honesty, he still doesn’t understand why everyone keeps saying this. He doesn’t know whether it’s because it’s hard to see your maknae in that kind of light, but personally, Kikwang thinks Dongwoon is quite attractive. But then again, he’s probably biased. A lot.

Dongwoon’s tongue does that to you, after all.

I love you—I can’t help it

          Kikwang still doesn’t know what he’s given Dongwoon—doesn’t know, and is pretty sure, that he hasn’t really given him anything, and if he has, then it’s probably nothing much. Probably something Dongwoon could’ve gotten from someone else anyway, and probably could’ve gotten it better. There was once a time when Kikwang wouldn’t have to ask this question to himself because it’d be obvious back then—. Back when it was still obvious, Kikwang didn’t have to worry because if Dongwoon came, then obviously even though he could get somewhere else, he wanted it here.

          Now, it’s different.

          It’s a little more confusing, and sometimes it’s painful—when Dongwoon hurts, Kikwang hurts—when Dongwoon is tired, Kikwang wants him to sleep so Kikwang can take care of whatever else needs to be done—when Dongwoon misses Hyunseung, Kikwang wishes that he could bring him back even though he barely knows the other man—when Dongwoon has to take care of Junhyung, Kikwang wishes that Junhyung would just tell his family because he’s too drunk to see how much Dongwoon is worried.

          Things are different—things are harder now, and Kikwang doesn’t always know which way to turn, which way to go, when to stop, when to speed up, and when to slow down. He doesn’t always quite know what to do anymore, and sometimes, it’s Dongwoon who ends up leading him by the hands. It’s Dongwoon who leads him even though sometimes Kikwang has to lead, too—they take turns and even if they don’t always get where they need to be—

          It’s worth the ride anyway.

You’re my angel—I’m your guardian angel

          Kikwang stops in front of a window—a window display.

          He stops and when he stops, Dongwoon gets tugged back because they’re holding hands and Kikwang stops a little too suddenly—the younger man stumbles over his feet, managing to steady himself and peer at where Kikwang’s eyes are looking into. Kikwang sees Dongwoon furrowing his eyebrows, amused. “A little early for Christmas decorations, don’t you think, hyung?”

No matter what happens, I won’t hurt you

          He looks up at the younger man and smiles. “Yeah—I was just looking. It’s pretty, huh?”

          Dongwoon glances again, one last time before they resume their walking. “The angels? I mean, yeah, I guess so. My parents used stars for our tree, though. They just put the angels on the shelves and stuff like that.”

          “I don’t remember—I think I was too little,” Kikwang says quietly, lightly. “I just—I just remember my mom telling me about guardian angels. It was probably the last Christmas before they died—at some dinner party, probably.” He bumps their arms together playfully because he starts to sense Dongwoon falling into seriousness. “Believe in angels, Dongwoon-ah?”

          The younger man shrugs, smiling slightly. “Never really thought about it. I mean, it’s nice to think that my parents are somewhere happy like that, but yeah—I don’t know. Do you, hyung?”

          Kikwang meets Dongwoon’s eyes and smiles back. “Of course.”

          Of course Kikwang believes in angels. Angels have to be real—you can’t hold hands with thin air, after all.