Doojoon’s a selfish person.

          He wants Yoseob to stay, doesn’t want Yoseob to leave even if it’s the younger man’s dream. He wants Yoseob to stay (stay forever and ever and ever) even if Yoseob wants to leave. He wants Yoseob to stay and thinks Yoseob should stay because Doojoon loves Yoseob and that’s supposed to be a good enough reason for the younger man to stay only it’s not.

          Doojoon’s a selfish person. He’s selfish and wrong because he thinks Yoseob should stay just because Doojoon loves him.

          But if Doojoon wants him to stay because Doojoon loves him, that just means that Doojoon doesn’t love him enough. If he loved Yoseob enough, he’d want him to leave.

          He’d just want Yoseob to be happy.

          Doojoon is selfish.

I won’t make petty excuses anymore

          They have the night before Yoseob has to turn in his decision—his forms and papers that state whether or not he’ll be going or not. Yoseob has them all filled out and all he needs to do is turn them in if he wants to go or rip them up if he doesn’t.

Don’t use that expression

          They’re at Doojoon’s apartment, the rain pouring outside the same way it poured the first time Doojoon ever climbed into a yellow taxi.

          Yoseob is binding up the last of the papers into his folder, in mid-movement of slipping them into his book bag when Doojoon stands next to the kitchen table, one palm flat on the wooden surface and the other cupping Yoseob’s chin—tilting the younger man’s face upward. Doojoon leans in until their faces are just breaths apart, until all they can see of one another are the blacks of each other’s eyes.

          Doojoon hates the look Yoseob is giving him.

          He always hates when Yoseob looks at him like that—hates when Yoseob wears that expression at all. He hates when the corners of the younger man’s lips are turned down, jaw tight, eyes a little too raw and weary even when there aren’t any tears. He hates how Yoseob looks apologetic right now—hates how Yoseob looks like he might be thinking of Doojoon when he makes his decision when Doojoon just wants Yoseob to think about Yoseob.

          It’s not about what Doojoon wants—it’s about Yoseob’s dream.

I only wanted you to have happiness

          When their lips meet, Yoseob’s head instinctively tips upward, following when Doojoon pulls back slightly—following, standing up from the chair and letting Doojoon lead him backwards (his hand on the younger man’s waist) towards the bedroom. One of Yoseob’s hands fist at the hem of Doojoon’s shirt, and the other scrunches itself up in Doojoon’s hair. They kiss and kiss and kiss across the entire apartment until Doojoon feels his back hit the doorway of his bedroom.

          They kiss and don’t look at each other once until Doojoon stops Yoseob from pushing him back any farther into the room.

          Doojoon draws back, lips slowly off of Yoseob’s, and looks at the younger man’s face—overly bright eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, mussed hair, awful (awful, awful, awful) expression. Yoseob reaches up and cups Doojoon’s face the same way that Doojoon cupped the younger man’s just minutes ago. His thumb brushes over the older man’s cheekbone—back and forth a few times.

          It’s selfish—so selfish—but Doojoon wants to make Yoseob stay. He wants to make Yoseob realize that Doojoon will give Yoseob anything (everything) as long as Yoseob doesn’t leave. It’s selfish and stupid because Doojoon knows that just because he’ll give Yoseob everything he has, doesn’t mean that he has everything that Yoseob wants.

The day you melted my cold hands

          Yoseob can’t stop laughing.

          The younger man can’t stop shaking, convulsing, one hand over his eyes the way he always does when he’s laughing too hard—eyes scrunched shut and mouth unable to close. It’s gone past the stage of laughter that echoes everywhere—progressed into that stage where it’s less laughter and more pre-seizure. Doojoon’s arms hold him up above the younger man, palms on the dark green grass on either side of Yoseob’s head.

          “When normal people are attacked and pushed onto the ground in a field, in the middle of nowhere, at night,” Doojoon says, amused, “they kind of get scared—sense of self-preservation and all.”

          Yoseob calms down laughing just enough to snort at that, slapping one hand lightly against Doojoon’s cheek. “Yeah, hyung—okay.”

          Doojoon raises an eyebrow although he’s not sure if Yoseob can see it since it’s so dark and far from the city that they can see the stars. “You don’t think I could hurt someone?”

          The taxi driver grins, wrists locking against the nape of Doojoon’s neck. “No—you’d never hurt me.”

Thank you for giving me good memories

          “Says who?” Doojoon demands teasingly. “Says who?” he repeats and sneaks his hands underneath Yoseob’s shirt, shaking the younger man playfully while Yoseob bursts into laughter again at the same time that he starts kicking Doojoon’s shins because your hands are cold, hyung.

          Doojoon rolls them around so that he’s the one lying on the grass and Yoseob lies on his stomach on top of Doojoon. He threads his fingers at the base of Yoseob’s back, securing their bodies together while Yoseob calms down again. The younger man rests the side of his face against Doojoon’s chest, fingers absently coming up and through Doojoon’s hair.

          It’s quieter now—no more laughter, no more smiles—just soft thoughts, the breeze blowing the grass around them, the stars lighting up the sky above them. “Your heart’s pretty steady considering you have someone this hot on top of you, ahjusshi,” Yoseob says, voice playful even though Doojoon can’t see the other man’s expression.

          Doojoon smiles upward at the black sky. “I don’t have anyone hot on top of me, though.”

          Yoseob smacks the side of Doojoon’s head (the older man chuckles). “Yah,” he says, grinning as he props himself up on one arm, the other hand coming back to touch Doojoon’s cheek. He leans in as Doojoon curls his fingers against the back of Yoseob’s neck. “I’m ing y, okay?” the younger man murmurs against Doojoon’s lips.

          Doojoon breathes a tiny laugh into Yoseob’s mouth. “Prove it to me.”

Don’t look at me with worried eyes—I’m fine

          There’s no other way.

          Doojoon knows that.

          He knows that if he really loves Yoseob, there’s no other way—nothing left for Doojoon to do. He can be selfish all he wants, can cling to Yoseob all he wants, can even make Yoseob stay—he knows that it’s not impossible at all, that it would be relatively easy to make Yoseob stay. He knows that Yoseob would stay if Doojoon asks him to. He knows that, but he’s not going to ask—he’s not going to stand in between Yoseob and his dream.

          Not when Yoseob’s worked this hard and this long for it.

          Doojoon knows this—

          But he’s not sure that Yoseob does—not yet, at least.

          So he takes Yoseob’s hand—the hand that was cupping Doojoon’s face—and holds it in his own. He takes both of Yoseob’s hands in his own, pulling their bodies together until there’s no space left between. He has to let Yoseob know that it’s okay—that it’s okay if Yoseob leaves because Doojoon will be okay. He wants to let Yoseob know that even if Doojoon isn’t okay, that doesn’t mean anything at all—Yoseob should choose for himself and not for Doojoon.

          He wants Yoseob to know that, but he doesn’t know if he can say it out loud.

          Doojoon is selfish—he can’t say it out loud—so he says something else. He presses his lips against Yoseob’s hair and says, staring off into the distance—at some point on the wall behind the younger man, “Hot tea really helps with plane sickness.”

          Barely a moment passes before Yoseob draws back, slipping his hands gently out of Doojoon’s and putting his palms against the older man’s neck again, thumbs brushing on Doojoon’s jawbone. Doojoon takes his gaze away from the point on the wall so he can look at Yoseob—take in Yoseob’s expression—when the younger man’s lips are suddenly back on his with something too different than before.

          The way he kisses Doojoon is desperate, painful, hurt (just so desperate) and Doojoon doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to reassure Yoseob—how to tell the younger man that things will clear up, that it’ll be fine, it’ll be okay, it’ll get better (will it?). He doesn’t know how to do anything when his heart feels like it’s shattering into a million pieces.  

My heart will heal eventually

          They both know that it’s the last time they’ll have .

          They can both feel it—Doojoon feels it and he knows Yoseob feels it too.

          It’s all that runs through Doojoon’s mind as they fall onto the bed, lips barely ever parting for more than a few seconds, clothes being torn off with the desperation that seems to be lacing every single thing they do. Doojoon doesn’t even know what either of them is desperate for. There’s nothing else to be done—no way to stop or fix anything. It’s an impasse, a two-forked road and all they can do is part at the junction. Yoseob has to leave for his dream and Doojoon has to stay with his.

          Doojoon has been through too many goodbyes to count—goodbyes to countless homes, countless friends, countless teachers, countless schools, countless neighborhoods, even a few boyfriends and girlfriends. He’s been through more goodbyes than most people will ever have to go through during a lifetime, only without any of the hurt that will be in those goodbyes because unlike most people, Doojoon is used to it. Goodbyes have always been a part of Doojoon’s life. They sting like a paper cut, but they heal just as fast—they never hurt him.

          This hurts like a bullet to the stomach—Doojoon can feel himself bleeding and bleeding with nothing to staunch the wound.

          Every time he brushes his hands, flattens his palms and curls his fingers, against Yoseob’s skin—warm to the touch, flushed and pale and soft—every time Doojoon touches Yoseob’s chest, waist, thighs, arms, face—it feels like Doojoon is running his hands over knives. Every time Doojoon kisses Yoseob (each kiss closer to the last), tongue sweeping all the nook and corners of Yoseob’s hot, wet mouth—it feels like someone has cut Doojoon’s tongue off. Every time Doojoon s in and out and in and out (and in and out and in and out and in and out) of Yoseob, it feels like the noose around his neck is being pulled higher and higher.  

          Every time Doojoon looks into Yoseob’s eyes (tears mingled with sweat with tears with sweat with tears), it feels like swords pushing into Doojoon’s eyes.

Just throw it all away and go already

          Yoseob is beautiful.

          He’s always been beautiful, will always be beautiful, and he’s beautiful right now, lying on his side, facing Doojoon—still breathless from , sweat (and tears?) matting his hair to his forehead and the sides of his face, eyes a little wet and raw, blanket loosely and barely pulled to his waist. He’s so beautiful that it hurts to look at him and it hurts even more knowing that soon Doojoon won’t be able to look at him anymore at all.

          “What time do you have to drop the papers off?” Doojoon asks quietly, one hand absently through Yoseob’s hair—they lie so close together on the bed that one pillow is completely unused on the side. Yoseob’s breath ghosts against Doojoon’s chin when the younger man exhales.

          “Around noon,” Yoseob says in a small voice—one arm rests lightly on Doojoon’s hip. “You want to come with?”

          Doojoon trails his fingertips down to Yoseob’s cheek. “Sure.”

          They lie like that for a while until Doojoon feels his eyelids getting heavier and sees Yoseob’s own eyes starting to flutter closed. Doojoon reaches over and flicks the lights down (not off, just dim enough for Yoseob to sleep but light enough so Doojoon can still watch the younger man’s face). He doesn’t want to fall asleep yet—it’s wasteful to spend time sleeping when every minute gets closer and closer to the last that Doojoon will be able to spend with Yoseob.

          He fights sleep for as long as he can—for at least an hour, it feels like (and probably is, according to the flashing numbers on the nightstand clock that he can barely make out because he’s so tired). Doojoon is just about to reach over and turn the lights completely off when he feels a tug against his bare arm. He stops mid-movement and props himself up on his elbow, hand framing Yoseob’s face gently, the younger man’s cheekbone as Yoseob rustles around. “Yeah?”

          “Hyung,” Yoseob says in a tiny, tiny whisper that—of all things—sounds afraid, frightened, terrified. “Hyung, you—I mean—you know I love you, right? You know—I—I’m not—I’m not leaving because I don’t love you—I just—you know that, right? I—”

Before I change my mind and make you stay

          Doojoon closes his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around the younger man, bringing their bodies right up against each other beneath the sheets—he feels Yoseob bury his face in the older man’s chest. “Shh,” Doojoon whispers, keeping his eyes firmly closed because he isn’t sure what will end up flowing out if he opens them (he can’t cry—he can’t). “I know.”

          He does. He knows.

          Yoseob is doing nothing wrong—has done nothing wrong. Yoseob loves Doojoon plenty (Yoseob has given Doojoon everything—so much and more that Doojoon never would’ve hoped to experience, to feel, up until a year ago). It’s not Yoseob’s fault—Doojoon doesn’t blame Yoseob for choosing to leave.

          After all, it’s Doojoon (selfish Yoon Doojoon) who doesn’t love Yoseob enough to let him leave.

Know this before you go

          Doojoon just doesn’t want Yoseob to forget him.

          Yoseob means so much to Doojoon—is this one defining thing, this one defining person in Doojoon’s life—the person who’s taught Doojoon more in one year than Doojoon has ever learned in his entire life. Yoseob is everything to Doojoon, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Doojoon is everything to Yoseob. Even though Doojoon knows (how could he not with Yoseob telling him so desperately, so fearfully?) that Yoseob loves him, he can’t know if he’s as central in Yoseob’s life as Yoseob is in his.

          Doojoon came to Seoul looking for a home.

          And he found one—he found a home in the city where he was supposedly born in, where his mother and father have always told him he’s from even though he’s never been to it. He came to Seoul looking for a home and found a home.

          But without Yoseob, Doojoon doesn’t think that it would’ve even mattered.

          Without Yoseob, Doojoon wouldn’t even know what a home is.

I was the one man that only loved you

          Doojoon has no way of knowing who Yoseob will meet (make friends with, fall in love with) once the younger man leaves Korea. It’s none of his business to know who Yoseob meets (makes friends with, falls in love with) after the younger man leaves Korea because after that last night, they’re no longer together. Yoseob is no longer his lover and he’s no longer Yoseob’s lover. They’re only friends and all Doojoon can do is be there for Yoseob.

          Arrogance usually accompanies selfishness and Doojoon goes right along—is no exception whatsoever. It’s arrogant and wrong and terribly inaccurate, he knows, but he can’t stop himself from thinking about it while he watches Yoseob pack his bags. Yang Yoseob is easy to be friends with, even easier to fall in love with, so Doojoon knows that he’s absolutely wrong in thinking (in deluding himself into believing) that there will never be anyone that will love Yoseob as much as Doojoon does.

          It’s just more of his nonsensical reasoning caused by awful selfishness. It’s just Doojoon hoping against hope that maybe at the last minute, Yoseob will realize that—will realize that there won’t be anyone who loves the younger man more than Doojoon does—that Doojoon will literally give Yoseob everything he has (even if he doesn’t have everything Yoseob wants). He wants to show Yoseob all that the younger man is leaving and how it would be worth so much more to stay than to go.

          Except it’s not.

          It’s not worth anything at all to stay because it’s Doojoon versus a career program that only one in every few thousand are selected to take part in, and if Yoseob chooses the first option, then Doojoon probably would never forgive himself for letting the younger man do that anyway.

If I keep you by my side forever

          He walks beside Yoseob through the airport.

          They can’t kiss.

          They’re only friends.  

You might have a hard time

          “Make sure you eat a bit before boarding,” Doojoon says, hands needlessly adjusting Yoseob’s backpack straps on the younger man’s shoulders. When there’s nothing left to adjust (there was nothing to adjust in the first place—Doojoon is just fidgeting), his hands move to Yoseob’s hair, through it absently just because he needs something to do. “They’ll feed you, but you won’t know if it’s good or not.”

          Yoseob smiles weakly. “I got it, ahjusshi.”

          “And if you have any problems with the baggage claim when you get there, make sure you tell one of the desks right away,” Doojoon goes on, “and try to fall asleep before take-off—the flight’ll seem a lot shorter that way. And if you get sick, remember the hot tea and remember to eat even if you don’t think you have an appetite because—”

          “Hyung,” Yoseob says, stepping forward (tiptoeing) and wrapping his arms around Doojoon’s neck, “I got it.”

          Doojoon curls his own arms around Yoseob’s waist tightly and buries his face into the younger man’s shoulder.

A person that will make you free

          He watches Yoseob leave—watches the younger man as he heads for security check. He watches because that’s all Doojoon is supposed to do, but apparently it’s not something his body knows. Yoseob is barely five steps away from Doojoon when (he can’t explain it—doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to) the older man’s arm springs out and grabs Yoseob’s wrist.

          Yoseob spins around, surprised. “What’s up, hyung?” he blinks.

          Doojoon’s mouth opens—

          “I—I—nothing,” Doojoon says, shaking his head hastily. “Sorry.” He lets go of Yoseob’s wrist, and this time, when Yoseob turns around to leave, Doojoon wraps one arm across himself, folding in on himself until he’s absolutely sure that Yoseob is well past security check.

Will come to your side