It’s kind of a fantasy—every guy’s fantasy—to at least be in one relationship where they can be a little heartless, a little cruel, a little controlling, and still come off as attractive. They want to be a little callous, but they don’t want to be taken as a complete . It’s the bad boy fantasy, and everyone guy thinks about it, imagines about it, daydreams about in once in a while, and it’s probably why every guy—at least once in his life—ends up as the bad guy, the one making the girl cry, the one that’s totally wrong for the girl in every sense.

          Jonghyun’s had that fantasy—had that daydream—but he’s never thought about actually doing it, actually making it happen, actually being that guy.

          But it happens for him without him even trying—without him even wanting it to happen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Kim Kibum is an architect.

          He’s a young architect who’s riding on the wave of success all the way from his penthouse in downtown Seoul to the designer shops that line the streets nearby. The clothes he uses to work out in cost more than at least twice Jonghyun’s apartment rent. He’s the kind of person that Jonghyun would otherwise never meet in his entire lifetime, and would never want to meet in his entire lifetime, except they do meet. They meet because Jonghyun is a freelance sculptor and Kibum hears of his existence through a friend of a friend of a friend, and hires him one day to sculpt something for one of Kibum’s client’s new house.

          And then they kind of end up having .

          They end up having the first day they meet—with Jonghyun delivering the commissioned sculpture, and Kibum directing him to store it in the small studio where Kibum keeps all his blueprints. They end up having with Kibum bent over the desk and knocking over all of the papers onto the floor, and Jonghyun wondering if this is maybe a fantasy that he conjured while still sleeping on his couch with the remote control lying on his stomach.

          They kind of end up having , and then (Jonghyun still isn’t sure how it happened—to this day) Jonghyun kind of asks Kibum to go out with him and Kibum kind of says yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A guy who can’t keep his promise to you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Kibum looks livid.

          Jonghyun aims his eyes at the ceiling, hands loosely on his hips, and he’s willing himself (forcing himself) to keep his voice at speaking level. He starts counting steadily and evenly in his head, absolutely putting a chain around his vocal chords because he cannot shout. If he shouts, everything goes down the drain and that’s already happened one (or five) too many times.

          “You are never,” Kibum says in a low, dangerous voice, just as Jonghyun reaches twenty-five, “allowed to touch my blueprints. You ing know that.”

          Jonghyun takes a deep breath. “I was trying to find my tools. I put them on the counter but then you moved them so I had to look through your—”

          “You’re supposed to wash your tools before you put them in the kitchen,” Kibum cuts him off in that same low voice. “They got clay all over the—”

          “I left your blueprints exactly the way they were, but you moved my tools,” Jonghyun says and he forces (forces, forces, forces) his voice to stay even and quiet except it’s not working out so well.

          Kibum’s eyes narrow. “Except you didn’t, hyung,” he snaps (Jonghyun’s nerve snaps). “You didn’t leave my ing blueprints exactly the way they were and that’s the problem because I left two unlabeled but in order and now I don’t know which one comes first because you moved—”

          “Then I guess you should’ve ing labeled them or at least left my ing tools where they were—” Jonghyun starts, his voice rising because he doesn’t even care, isn’t even bothering anymore at this—

          “Then you should’ve ing washed your ing tools or put them somewhere else until you could, hyung!” Kibum shouts, full-on shouts, and Jonghyun knows that now this situation is gone—is headed down the drain and is already too far down—Jonghyun can’t fit his hand and pull it out at this point. Kibum steps up until their faces are inches apart, jaw tight and lips thin. “And don’t ever ing tell me what to do with my work,” the younger man says vehemently.

          Jonghyun can already see it falling apart like it always does, but the words come out before he can stop them (he can never stop them in time). “So why did you ing with my work first?” he yells, straight into Kibum’s face and taking a step forward so Kibum stumbles a step backward, “why are you such a ing hypocritical , Kim Kibum?”

         

 

 

 

 

 

A guy who failed to even say a pretty word to you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The door slams shut after Kibum runs out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even in my mind

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Jonghyun knows the younger man will be back. He knows that Kibum’s gone to Dongwoon’s—he knows that Kibum will be back by midnight tonight at the latest, if not one or two in the morning, and that Jonghyun will apologize and Kibum will apologize and Kibum will forgive Jonghyun and they’ll kiss and fall asleep and forget about it (or try their best to) in the morning and that’ll be that.

          Jonghyun knows that Kibum will be back because Kibum always comes back.

          That’s the problem.

 

 

 

 

 

Someone like me

 

 

 

 

 

 

         

          The problem is that Kibum keeps coming back when he’s not supposed to. It’s a big problem—a huge problem—because when they started this whole thing, Jonghyun already knew that they aren’t supposed to be together. He knew, but he loves Kibum and Kibum says he loves Jonghyun (another rather large problem). He loves Kibum, but he knows that that’s not enough because Kibum needs someone better. Kibum deserves someone a lot better and Jonghyun knows that.

          So it’s a considerably sized problem that Kibum keeps coming back when Jonghyun wishes the younger man wouldn’t. It’s already difficult enough to maintain a normal relationship. It’s nearly impossible—too hard to describe—to maintain a relationship with someone who’s so much better than you are. It’s nearly impossible—too hard to describe—to make someone happy when you know you’ll never be enough for them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Really isn’t suited to be with you

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Jonghyun’s always hated watching those dramas, those movies, reading those books, about relationships with expiration dates because one-half of the main couple is scheduled to die in six months from terminal cancer or the like. He’s always thought that it’s pointless to read or watch about a couple that has a surefire tragic ending. He still hates watching and reading stories like that to this day, but now he at least feels like he understands them—not quite sympathizes, but he empathizes.

          Even though he doesn’t know the exact expiration date—can’t quite receive a diagnosis for how long—he does know that there is one. There is an expiration date to his and Kibum’s relationship and the only difference is that rather than depending on how quickly a tumor grows, it depends on how long it takes for Kibum to realize that he can do a hell of a lot better than Kim Jonghyun.

          Jonghyun is just waiting until the clock strikes twelve and it all becomes a fairytale dream—one without a happily ever after.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you go—just go

 

 

 

 

 

         

          Kibum’s eyes are huge, eyebrows raised until they almost disappear behind his bangs as he walks around the small circular table. The blinds are open in the room, and it’s just reaching a few hours before noon—the sunlight streams in soft and strong, and Jonghyun stands back. He’s a little nervous and he isn’t sure why because it’s pretty obvious that Kibum likes it (and even if Kibum doesn’t, it’s for one of Jonghyun’s customers so Kibum’s opinion doesn’t even matter).

          “Hyung,” he says, one hand resting lightly on the edge of the table. “This is so cool.” Kibum looks up briefly to give Jonghyun a smile. “How did you even get it like this? It’s like barely on the table but it’s all sturdy and—”

          “You can touch it,” Jonghyun says, pointing. “It won’t fall or anything.” He steps to the table and lightly brushes his fingers against one of the curves of the blue figurine. “See?”

           The younger man bites his lip, intently watching Jonghyun touch the sculpture. “I’m kind of scared to,” he says sheepishly. “I mean—you ing worked on this for like a week without sleeping, hyung.”

          Jonghyun steps behind Kibum, chest pressed against the other man’s back. “C’mon,” he laughs lightly. “It’s fine, seriously.” He slips one palm against the back of Kibum’s hand, their fingers intertwined as Jonghyun reaches their hands out towards the tip of the glass, blue spiral. Kibum is absolutely still against Jonghyun’s body and Jonghyun has his free arm loosely around Kibum’s waist.

          Jonghyun gently brings both their fingertips to meet with the cool, smooth surface, tracing down the spiral waves—against the sleek, blue glass. The pads of their fingers have barely touched the sculpture when Jonghyun suddenly shakes Kibum, playfully and abruptly, and Kibum jolts—whirls around in a split second and shoves Jonghyun away. The older man laughs.

          “ing,” Kibum says with wide eyes, even though a grin is appearing on his face too—slightly incredulous, completely surprised. “Yah—hyung—I’m here trying to keep your week of hard work from shattering into a billion ing pieces and you ing scared the out of me.”

          Jonghyun takes Kibum’s hands and pulls him away from the table, spins him around and corners him against the doorway. “Aw,” Jonghyun says teasingly, “you were all scared because you thought you’d knock over my sculpture.”

          Kibum rolls his eyes (his ears are a little red) as Jonghyun’s hands slide onto the architect’s hips. “You’re a , hyung,” he says.

          Jonghyun just grins again, and leans in—mouth a moment away from Kibum’s. “Then I guess it’s a good thing for me that you like .”

          The younger man rolls his eyes again—

          And then covers the rest of the distance between their lips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t ever look back

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “I’m sorry,” Jonghyun says, while his head is pillowed in Kibum’s lap and they’re outside on the balcony. Kibum is sitting on the edge of the swinging chair, pushed near the railing and overlooking the nightlife of the city. Jonghyun lies across the seats, head against Kibum’s thighs, the younger man’s fingers through his hair.

          Kibum swallows tightly, his lips and looks out into the bustling traffic below. “Me too,” he says quietly. He meets Jonghyun’s eyes then and gives a tiny, half-smile that doesn’t quite reach the rest of the younger man’s face.

          Jonghyun wishes that Kibum would just leave—it’s like watching a rose wilt, petals falling off one by one. Jonghyun wishes that Kibum would realize the younger man doesn’t have to lose his petals (doesn’t have to lose what makes him beautiful—what makes him Kim Kibum—can have someone who’s right for him). Jonghyun wishes that Kibum would hurry up and realize faster that there’s someone out there for sure who’ll take care of Kibum better than Jonghyun ever could.

          It’s like that fairytale.

          All Jonghyun can do is keep the rose in a glass case and watch the petals fall one by one as time runs out.

 

 

 

 

 

Go and find a good guy

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The first time Jonghyun ever meets Son Dongwoon is two weeks after Jonghyun’s moved some of his things into Kibum’s penthouse and Kibum’s moved some of his things into Jonghyun’s apartment. They meet at neither Jonghyun’s place nor Kibum’s—they meet in Dongwoon’s apartment, something big and expensive but not as big or expensive as Kibum’s. Dongwoon is a lot like Kibum—he’s young and attractive and already loaded (clearly) and is sort of riding the wave of success from his vast apartment all the way to the high-end stores lined up nearby.

          His things aren’t as flashy as Kibum’s (because no one in existence is flashier than Kim Kibum), but they’re obviously closer to Kibum’s price range than they are to Jonghyun’s. The only difference is that unlike Kibum, Dongwoon isn’t a girl about them (because Jonghyun gets pens poked into his arm—yes, the sharp end—if he puts his feet up on Kibum’s glass-lined, silver coffee table).

          Son Dongwoon is tall, good-looking with deep eyes and high features that make Jonghyun wonder if some of that money was put into things other than nice furniture and cars. Dongwoon is the vice-head of department of advertising in one of Korea’s biggest companies and, like Jonghyun’s said before, is riding that wave of success from his apartment to the bank to the stores and back.

          He and Kibum met in college, have been friends since, have never been anything except friends, have never dated, have never had , have never kissed or fooled around or been curious, and Jonghyun—for the life of him—can’t understand why.

          Jonghyun doesn’t understand, as he watches Kibum hit Dongwoon’s shoulder because Dongwoon put way too much sugar in Kibum’s coffee when the taller man should know better than that by now and all Dongwoon does is grin and offer Kibum a sip from Dongwoon’s own cup. The sculptor doesn’t understand why Kibum and Dongwoon aren’t dating right now because Dongwoon is clearly perfect.

          Perfect for Kibum.

          Better than Jonghyun.

 

 

 

 

 

A guy who can’t prepare a birthday party

 

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s the eve of September twenty-third when Kibum comes sprinting through the doors of Jonghyun’s apartment, throwing his arms around the older man even though the architect’s arms are already full with bags upon bags. Jonghyun catches him by the waist, a little surprised when lips are instantly pressed against his mouth—he closes his eyes instinctively and lets Kibum kiss until the younger man is satisfied.

          “What’s all that?” Jonghyun asks, blinking, after Kibum draws away and drops his bags near the kitchen. The younger man collapses onto the sofa, taking up the entire space, limbs sprawled every which way.

          Kibum yawns. “Dongwoonie took me shopping,” he says absently, “to make up for the fact that he has a meeting all day tomorrow.”

          “So he took you shopping for your present?” Jonghyun says, raising his eyebrows as he pulls Kibum’s legs off of the sofa to make room for himself. Kibum merely puts his legs back up on Jonghyun’s lap.

          The younger man snorts. “No—that’s his apology present, hyung. For not being able to spend time with me tomorrow. His actual present’s in that black bag.” Kibum points towards one of the smaller bags near the kitchen counter. He stretches his arms upward then, back arching before he relaxes back into the cushions of the sofa.

          Jonghyun catches one of the other man’s hands as Kibum’s arms come back down. “What’d he get you?”

          Kibum shrugs. “Shoes, some watches.”

          From the sofa, though, Jonghyun can see the label of the black shopping bag and knows that even though to Kibum and Dongwoon they’re probably just shoes, and some watches, to Jonghyun they’re the kinds of things he could never give Kibum (because Jonghyun isn’t right for Kibum—but it’s not like Jonghyun didn’t already know that).

 

 

 

 

 

 

Someone like me doesn’t deserve to love

 

 

 

 

 

 

          If Kibum hadn’t found it on his own, Jonghyun would’ve never given it to him.

          It’s a little porcelain house—molded and dried and baked and painted right in Jonghyun’s apartment in the span of about the two weeks leading up to September twenty-third. It’s a little model porcelain house with all the dimensions that Jonghyun managed to write down after sneaking looks at Kibum’s latest blueprints.

It took Jonghyun at least five tries for each railing to stand up on its own (because they’re so thin compared to the rest of the house, but those are the dimensions and Jonghyun didn’t want to change them) and at least four hours on each window because he had to fit in real, tiny pieces of glass into the frames and it’s the first time he’s ever done anything like that with any of his projects. There are three coats of paint with six different colors and Jonghyun blotted the porcelain with paper towels after every coat to make sure the shades came out right.

It was Kibum’s birthday present until Jonghyun realizes that it’s never going to be anything compared to what Dongwoon gives, can give, does give, will give, Kibum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

When you go—don’t cry like a baby

 

 

 

 

 

 

          But Kibum finds it himself while Jonghyun is showering on the night of September twenty-third (because Kibum says he felt like sleeping over instead of spending the day at the penthouse), and when Jonghyun comes out of the shower (he let Kibum shower before him because the younger man says he hates being sticky and sweaty for too long), Kibum is holding the porcelain house in cupped hands and gives Jonghyun an odd look.

          Kibum doesn’t even need to ask, doesn’t even need to say about how the miniature house is exactly like the one the younger man has been working on for the past few months. He just narrows his eyes in confusion, tilting his head as Jonghyun crosses the space between them slowly until he stands right in front of the architect. “I was going to get you something better,” Jonghyun says, shrugging it off, shrugging it away like it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t—it shouldn’t.

          “But I like this,” and Kibum frowns. “I love this.”

          Jonghyun has to force himself to ignore the happiness that instantly shoots throughout his entire body because even though he knows Kibum never bulls around with compliments, he also knows that Kibum isn’t about to tell Jonghyun something as terrible as the fact that what Dongwoon gave Kibum is ten times better and thus even though Kibum loves the porcelain house, he probably loves Dongwoon’s gifts ten times more.

          The older man holds out his hand. “Here, give it,” he says, curling his fingers a few times, motioning for Kibum to hand it over. “I’ll get you something better—I’ll take you shopping like—”

          “I can take myself shopping,” Kibum says incredulously, and takes a few steps backwards, hands suddenly wrapping tightly around the porcelain house like a shield. “But I can’t make myself one of these, hyung.”       

         

 

 

 

 

 

Before my heart gets more hurt

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Jonghyun nearly stumbles backwards when Kibum stops too (way, way too) abruptly while they’re walking along shops sometime during mid-morning. They’re holding hands and Kibum’s grip is tight around Jonghyun’s so when the younger man suddenly stops walking, Jonghyun is yanked backward and is left to find footing by himself while Kibum stares in rapture at the window display that’s caught his eye (and apparently proved itself more important than whether or not Jonghyun’s brains are dashed on the pavement).

          “Thank you,” Jonghyun says, “for caring so much about if I hit my head on the ground or not.” He takes a few steps forward and looks at what Kibum is staring at.

          “Shut up, hyung,” Kibum says dismissively, one hand cupped against the window to block out the sun’s glare. The younger man sighs a little. “Hyung—look—seriously, I want one.”

          Jonghyun peers into the glass—it’s a store filled with modern, abstract vases of the Son-Dongwoon-persuasion. “Then buy one,” he says. “But if you make me carry it, you’re retarded.”

          Kibum snorts, raises an eyebrow. “I said I want one—I didn’t say I wanted one from here,” he says as if it’s obvious and Jonghyun is stupid (which is usually the way Kibum says everything when he talks to Jonghyun). “You have to make me one.”

          The older man stares, as a pair of toddlers sprint away on the edge of the sidewalk with their mother running after them. “What?”

          Kibum starts walking again, tugging Jonghyun forward by the hand. “You’re going to make me one, right? I want one that’s blue like that glass one you made a few months ago. But with the same porcelain stuff like my birthday present, okay? And make sure it’s not too big because I want it on one of my bookshelves.”

          “Why can’t you just buy one?” Jonghyun asks because he doesn’t understand why Kibum is even saying all of this when they were right next to that store of the Son-Dongwoon-persuasion (which entails everything designer and fancy and fancy and designer).

          Kibum frowns. “Why would I buy one when you can just make me one that’s like ing ten times better?”

          They are in broad daylight, in the middle of downtown on a weekend morning filled with families with kids and young student couples on dates. They are in broad daylight in the middle of a street and Jonghyun carts Kibum up by his waist and spins him around and around and around until they’re both dizzily stumbling into the wall of a nearby building. Jonghyun doesn’t even mind when Kibum kicks him in the shins later on for doing that because it was uncalled for and unnecessary and Kibum doesn’t even understand and wipe that stupid grin off your stupid face, hyung—despite the fact that Kibum doesn’t seem to be able to wipe his own away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Curse me—it’s okay to hit me too

 

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s nothing particularly special—nothing especially eventful. It’s just another day, another moment, another time when they’ve torn at each other’s throats and chewed at each other’s heads for just a little too long and both of them need space but neither of them are willing to be the one that backs down because they’re both stubborn and they’re both loud and it’s always like this.

          And, as always, Jonghyun is the one who ends up going one step too far (because he’s not perfect like Son Dongwoon—because he always makes Kibum hurt whereas Dongwoon always makes Kibum smile), he’s the one who ends up saying something that cuts a little deeper than regular arguments between couples are supposed to. But even though it’s nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary that Jonghyun is the one that goes a little too far, this time Kibum says something he’s never said before.

          Maybe it’s because this time is one too many—maybe it’s because Kibum’s finally started to realize what Jonghyun wishes the younger man had realized a long time ago before Jonghyun fell too deep (deep enough that he can’t get out anymore even if he wanted to).

          The architect is steps away from the door of Jonghyun’s apartment.

          There aren’t any tears in Kibum’s eyes—just lots of pain, lots of confusion, lots of hurt (all caused by Jonghyun).

 

 

 

 

 

So that your heart can be opened

 

 

 

 

 

          “Sometimes,” Kibum whispers—he whispers from all the way across the living room, but Jonghyun can hear him loud and clear anyway, “I wonder if you even want me around.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you could just forget me

 

 

 

 

 

         

          Jonghyun doesn’t say anything—he never does. He never says anything to hold Kibum back because every time he watches Kibum leave, he hopes that it’ll be the last time he ever sees Kibum walk through the door. Every time Kibum leaves is another time Jonghyun has to wonder if the last petal has finally fallen from the rose—if the spell has finally fallen flat.

          It’s not that Jonghyun doesn’t want Kibum to stay—it’s not that Jonghyun doesn’t love Kibum (because he does, he does, he does, he does—how dare anyone ever say he doesn’t). It’s not even that Jonghyun wants to stop hurting Kibum because Jonghyun isn’t that selfless—he’s not that good of a person and that’s the entire problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forget me and be happy

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s kind of a fantasy—every guy’s fantasy—to be the bad guy in a relationship at least once in their lifetime.

          Jonghyun wants to tell that guy—wants to tell every guy—that it’s only a fantasy when it’s still a fantasy. He’s tired of playing the bad guy—he’s tired of being the bad guy that constantly tries to save a wilting rose without any water, without any soil, without anything to groom and clip its thorns. He’s tired of being the bad guy while Dongwoon gets to play the good guy.

          He’s tired of it, and he wants Kibum to leave.

          He wants Kibum to stay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m a bad guy

 

 

 

 

 

 

          The phone rings for at least twenty seconds before Dongwoon picks up. His voice is light and polite, the way it always is because Son Dongwoon is the good guy—the perfect prince. “Hello?”

          “Hi, Dongwoon-ah,” Jonghyun says, as he stares out his bedroom window.

          “Jonghyun-shii?” There’s rustling in the background and faint voices that Jonghyun can’t make out or recognize (he should be able to recognize it—it should be Kibum’s voice).

          Jonghyun bites his lip for a moment because this is where he’s never gone before—he’s never called to make sure Kibum is okay because if Kibum’s left for good, that’s not something Jonghyun should do. “Is—how’s Kibummie?”

          There’s a short silence on the other end before it’s punctuated by a completely unfamiliar voice—one that Jonghyun has never heard before, and it’s a little too muted and far away for him to decipher the words, but he hears Dongwoon reply to the background voice with a clearly playful, “Just a sec, hyung.”

          “Who’s that?” Jonghyun asks before he can stop himself.

          “What—oh, a friend,” Dongwoon says absently. “But—Jonghyun-shii, Kibummie isn’t here. I’m not even at my apartment. Did he run out again or something?”

         

 

 

 

 

 

Now you don’t need

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “No—I just—never mind,” Jonghyun says, “I—sorry for bothering you.”

          He hangs up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

A guy like me

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Kibum comes back.

          He comes back just the very next morning while Jonghyun is deep asleep (because he didn’t go to sleep until the sun nearly rose—watching his cell phone all night in case the younger man calls) and sets out the breakfast he bought on his way to Jonghyun’s apartment. It’s like it always is except that Kibum usually comes back during the night and never late into the next morning. It’s because Dongwoon always sends Kibum back so he and Jonghyun can reconcile except for some reason either Kibum didn’t want to go to Dongwoon or Dongwoon wasn’t available.

          (But Dongwoon always has to be available because he’s the good guy to Jonghyun’s bad guy—the prince to Jonghyun’s beast—the one who keeps the rose alive.)

          Everything is the same and Kibum is the same and they don’t talk about last night because they never do. They have make-up and that’s that because talking about it will just make it hurt more and Jonghyun is never good at talking (just too good at making things hurt). Talking is what Dongwoon does for Kibum to make him feel better and run back to Jonghyun. Talking is Dongwoon’s thing (the perfect, princely thing to do).

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leave me just one word

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Jonghyun doesn’t want much—isn’t asking for much—has never asked for much.

          He knows, as he slips his arms tight around Kibum’s waist and kisses the younger man until they’re both breathless, that he’ll never be the good guy. Jonghyun knows that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be the prince—he’ll never be able to keep the rose alive on his own. Dongwoon (sometimes Jonghyun hates him) needs to always be there to help Jonghyun keep the spell, the rose, alive. Dongwoon is the prince and Jonghyun is the beast.

          Jonghyun can’t be both.

          Jonghyun is the one keeping the rose imprisoned in the glass case so he has no rights to ask for much at all, so he doesn’t. All he asks is that when Kibum leaves (like Jonghyun knows he will), Jonghyun wants Kibum to never make the mistake of being with someone like Jonghyun ever again.

          He wants Kibum to be with Dongwoon—he wants Kibum to be with someone who’ll keep the spell glowing around the rose forever, wants Kibum to be with a good guy, a prince who’ll sweep him out of the tower and out of the glass case.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then throw me away and go

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Jonghyun would give up every one of his limbs and senses if he could be that prince.

          But that wouldn’t work.

          A prince can’t be limbless—can’t be senseless. That’s not a prince because princes are perfect from head to toe and they never let their roses wilt. They’re never bad guys—they’re always good guys because good guys always win.

          Good guys always win, and Jonghyun never will.