Usually Kikwang would be with Yoseob.

          On a normal, usual day he would be with Yoseob at the office because while Doojoon and Yoseob are in Korea, Yoseob has nothing to do since Doojoon has no trouble speaking Korean—naturally—which means that he usually keeps Kikwang company (although Doojoon says it’s Kikwang keeping Yoseob company and away from distracting Hyuna from her work and not torturing Doojoon to death so he can no longer do his). He and Yoseob would usually wander around the office, helping with tiny errands here and there, eating twice their weight downstairs at the café, making the female workers laugh and chatting with the male ones.

          During a normal, usual day, Kikwang would be with Hyuna sometimes too. She would show him the calls she has to make, the people she has to talk to, the files she has to sort and all this for Dongwoon now since he’s taken Junhyung’s place and it’s still that period of time when the younger man has to adjust to everything after the hasty promotion. Sometimes Hyuna would make Kikwang take files into Dongwoon to be looked over and signed because she says that even though Dongwoon is rarely ever in a bad mood (unlike Junhyung who was rarely ever in a good mood), he gets things done ever quicker when Kikwang is involved.

          Occasionally, even Doojoon would be a part of Kikwang’s days at the office—passing by Kikwang with a grin and showing him new projects that he’s getting ideas for and working on in between all the dealings he has to go through while being back in Korea. Kikwang doesn’t know if it’s because Doojoon’s the oldest, or the highest in position amongst all of them, but even though Hyuna and Yoseob talk to him the most, Doojoon talks to Kikwang about Dongwoon the most. And Kikwang knows it’s because Doojoon cares about Dongwoon, but sometimes (he doesn’t want to tell the older man, doesn’t want to tell anyone) it scares him.

          “I’m more than sure that idiot would take a bullet for you,” Doojoon says, rolling his eyes when he’s talking to Kikwang about a new action movie that’s going to come out.

          It scares him.

          It’s been so long since Kikwang’s meant this much to anyone. It’s been so long since anyone’s meant this much to Kikwang.

 

 

 

          That’s a usual day.

 

 

 

 

          Today isn’t a usual day.

          Today and tomorrow there are going to be large conferences with all of the department heads, with Dongwoon being part of both conferences while Doojoon is only part of the one today. Either way, today isn’t the usual day because Dongwoon and Doojoon and Yoseob and Hyuna are all inside one conference room or another and Kikwang is left to wander around the office by himself—not alone, exactly, since he’s made friends here and there with the other workers and employees, but there’s no one who know-knows him to accompany him.

          He walks along the sunlit hallways, surrounded by plenty of clear glass windows—displaying all of downtown Seoul bustling in the late afternoon. A few workers, two women and one man, bow to him as they pass and he bows back instinctively as he continues on his way down the hall, fingertips lightly scraping the stainless steel railing that overlooks the floors beneath, spiraling all the way down to the glossy lobby at the very bottom.

          Kikwang gets close to the elevator, watching it reach the floor and wondering if maybe he should go down to one of the cafes and buy something for Dongwoon to drink when he finishes the conference since he knows that the younger man has to give a presentation and is always thirsty afterward. The doors part and there’s only one person inside, a young man with high pale cheekbones and sweeping dark hair—attractive—and familiar because Kikwang remembers Dongwoon passably introducing him as the head of the financial affairs department.

          He gets ready to bow his way past Hwang Dongsun (a bow on the low-side since Dongwoon says that Dongsun is even a year older than Doojoon) when the older man suddenly puts a hand on Kikwang’s upper arm lightly and stops him, smiling. “Lee Kikwang-shii, right?”

          Kikwang blinks for a moment and then smiles back hesitantly. “Yeah.”

          Dongsun tilts his head over towards the direction of the conference rooms. “I’m only due in there tomorrow, but I heard Dongwoon-shii has to go both days.”

          “Oh,” Kikwang says, “Yeah, he does.” He’s sort of working on autopilot at the moment because he’s had zero contact with Dongsun, mostly just passing him wordlessly in the halls or watching him go and in and out of Dongwoon’s office for files and papers. The fact that Dongsun wants to make small talk with Kikwang all of a sudden is rather bewildering since there’s not much reason to. So because it’s been conditioned into him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

          Dongsun smiles again, broader this time. “I do, actually.” He motions to one of the doors next to them along the wall. “I have some boxes in there that I need in my office, but I let a sunbae borrow my secretary for their conference so I could use some help.”

          “Oh,” Kikwang says again, surprised, glancing at the door. “Oh—sure, yeah.” He watches as Dongsun opens the door, holding it open after himself for Kikwang, and he follows him into the darkened conference room—the windows closed because it seems unused for the day. Dongsun opens just one of the blinds—just to let barely enough light filter in so that Kikwang can see the boxes stacked up in the corner.

          Kikwang waves his hands towards them, pointing across the room. “So, those?” he asks, turning back to look at Dongsun.

          He turns back to look at Dongsun—

          Only he supposes, afterward, that he didn’t even need to because Dongsun is right behind Kikwang—directly behind the younger man, so close that it makes Kikwang take a subconscious step backwards. Dongsun’s eyebrows are raised, expression promptly curious as he takes another step forward with every step backward that Kikwang takes. “Y’know,” Dongsun says slowly, “there’s this place that I go to.”

          They continue their one-step-backward and one-step-forward dance all the way until Kikwang is pressed up against the corner near the windows and his heart is thumping loudly and painfully because this is a situation that’s all too familiar for him—a situation he hasn’t been in since high school because after high school, he resigned himself to being willing because that hurts so much less than being forced.

          “It’s a club,” Dongsun continues and leans in so his breath ghosts over Kikwang’s lips, “but it’s not just a club. There’s a backroom business that goes on and, y’know, I think I’ve seen you there a few times.” He smiles. “I’ve seen you there, and I’ve seen you with Dongwoon-shii. But apart from him, you had a lot of other—clients too, right?” He presses his body against Kikwang’s. “What made you pick him?”

          Kikwang doesn’t understand.

          He doesn’t understand why suddenly every cell in his body is rejecting Dongsun with every fiber of strength they have when Kikwang has been in this position tens of thousands of times both willing and forced and either way, he’s gotten so used to it—up until a few months ago, it was his job—he’s gotten so used to it that it’s nothing to him, so he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden, now, every cell in his body is rejecting Dongsun the same way every cell in his body was screaming out of fear the first time this happened to him in a foster home.

          “What made me pick him?” Kikwang repeats because he doesn’t understand this either.

          Dongsun rolls his eyes. “I’m sure there are a lot of your clients who’re higher up on the food chain that Son Dongwoon. Is it because he’s younger so it’s not as gross to have with him? Because, I admit,” he shrugs, “the higher up they are, the older they get.”

          Kikwang stares. “I’m—you,” he says haltingly, quietly, “do you—do you think I’m with Dongwoonie so I can live off of him?”

          The other man laughs lightly. “If you’re going to try and bull me about how you love him and the usual e crap, you really shouldn’t. It’s not like I was born yesterday, but apparently Dongwoon was,” Dongsun snorts. And then he reaches up and takes Kikwang’s face in his hand, cupping the younger man’s chin and turning him left and right. “I mean, I don’t blame him or anything,” he says, “it’s hard not to believe anything a face like this spouts at you—even if it’s complete and utter crap.”

          Kikwang doesn’t know what to feel—he doesn’t know how to feel and doesn’t know what kind of emotion is bubbling up in him right now, but it’s something awful. It’s something dark and terrible that stings at the backs of his eyes and begs for him to escape, pleads for his body to do everything it can to get out of here right now because there’s impending danger and his heart is already in flames—stinging and painful and horrible with every word that comes out of Dongsun’s mouth.

          “Did he you last night?” Dongsun goes on cheerfully, hand shifting against the side of Kikwang’s face and thumbing the younger man’s lips. “Pretty mouth around his ?” He sighs, almost disapprovingly. “Someone who looks like you could really get someone a lot better off that Son Dongwoon. He’s just starting out and all, y’know? Did you just not know where to look or something?” With another sigh, his other hand up Kikwang’s side, “Pretty, pretty, pretty.”

          It’s strange.

          It’s strange and terrible, Kikwang thinks, because it’s not like this is anything rare to him, but for the first time—the first time in so long he can hardly remember the last time—for the first time, Kikwang feels the long lost urge to push Dongsun away. He feels the urge to fight back instead of just waiting for the inevitable because willing hurts so much less than forced in the world Kikwang used to live in until just a few months ago. But for the first time in too long, Kikwang would rather be forced and hurt than willing, and not to protect himself.

          Not just to protect himself.

          The first time this happened, and all the times afterward, it was because Kikwang never wanted to do this—because it was frightening and wrong and horrible and Kikwang never wanted any of this and that’s why he wanted to fight back and run away and escape and escape and escape.

          And right now it’s just that—it’s still all of that, but it’s something else too.

          Now, it’s not just because he doesn’t want this.

          It’s because this isn’t the person he wants it with.

          So he pushes—he shoves Dongsun away, but after the first moment of surprise that takes Dongsun, the other man slams his body back against Kikwang’s, spins Kikwang around face first into the wall and holds him there with all of Dongsun’s weight. “Are you stupid?” he laughs into Kikwang’s ear as he holds the younger man’s arms twisted together—painful and bruising. “Do you really think that’s the smart thing to do? I mean—if you want to get Son Dongwoon into trouble, then sure—go ahead, hit me.”

         

 

 

          Kikwang doesn’t hit him.

          Dongsun leaves, then—leaves after cupping Kikwang harshly between his legs and stealing a rough kiss that leaves Kikwang’s mouth tasting like acid.

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s Hyuna who finds him—she finds him sitting on one of the chairs in that room, empty-eyed and blank, and she drags him up cheerfully, asking him what he was doing in one of the unused conference rooms, telling him that Dongwoon’s done for his meeting and since that that was all that’s scheduled for today they can all go home early since it’s only Hyuna who has to stay after to turn in some papers. She doesn’t seem to notice how quiet he is, most likely because Kikwang never talks much anyway.

          He lets her lead him down the halls—sunlight already starting to fade because the sun is beginning to set (it’s winter so the days are short), smiling to humor her and because he likes her and she’s kind and pretty and she’s Hyuna so of course Kikwang loves her. He listens to what she’s saying, but at the same time not really because his mind is in a whirlwind and his entire body aches even though Dongsun, in actuality, barely touched Kikwang.

          And it would’ve been one thing if Dongwoon had just been waiting for Kikwang, standing there and grinning like he always does. That would’ve been one thing. But it’s another thing entirely when Dongwoon appears from literally thin air, even making Hyuna squeak in surprise, sweeping Kikwang into his arms and into the younger man’s office before Hyuna can even get a word in edgewise about how Dongwoon at least has to finish signing those papers so she can—

          He doesn’t even kiss Kikwang.

          It’s something that surprised Kikwang at first—when he first moved out of the club, when he spent his first days living with Dongwoon, it was something that made him incredibly surprised—made him hugely surprised. Kikwang was surprised—immensely surprised—at how, when Dongwoon came home, when Dongwoon came back from wherever he had to be, when they saw each other again at the end of the day after Dongwoon is wherever he needs to go, Dongwoon wouldn’t kiss Kikwang right away.

          It’s the way Dongwoon always treated Kikwang at the club (more so in the beginning than towards the end, but still), so when Dongwoon began to not-kiss Kikwang right away, he was surprised. He wondered if it was because, at the club, Dongwoon didn’t have all the time in the world to spend. He wondered if it was because now—maybe—just maybe—Kikwang dares to think—maybe—he dares to hope—just, just maybe—

          Maybe it’s because he likes seeing Kikwang’s face first?

          Maybe Dongwoon (just, just maybe) wants to know how Kikwang was? How his day went?

          They’re the kinds of thoughts Kikwang’s always heard about in songs and dramas through his television or the screen of his laptop or even from Hongki’s lyrical rants, so he wonders if maybe—just maybe—they could ever apply to him. He can’t read Dongwoon’s mind, of course, and it’d probably be more towards reality to knock these thoughts out of his own head because Kikwang loving Dongwoon isn’t the same as Dongwoon loving Kikwang.

          Kikwang knows Dongwoon loves him—he just doesn’t think it’s as much as Kikwang loves Dongwoon (but sometimes he wonders and hopes that it could be).

 

 

 

 

 

          Dongwoon doesn’t kiss Kikwang—not right away.

          He just slams the door of his office shut (clicking the lock even though that’s not a guarantee at all if Hyuna gets overexcited with her bobby pins again) and rests his arms on Kikwang’s hips, hands folding together firmly against the curve of Kikwang’s back. And then that’ll be it—Dongwoon will just have Kikwang in his arms, and he’ll just stand there, looking down into Kikwang’s eyes expectantly—like he’s waiting for something.

          And Kikwang doesn’t know what it is.

          He’s been trying to figure out what it is ever since Dongwoon’s looked at him that way (ever since Dongwoon started looking at him like that all the way back at the club) and he doesn’t think he’ll ever figure it out.

          But he tries his best, guessing every time and filling in the blanks because Dongwoon always seems to want things from Kikwang that no one’s ever wanted from him before. He tries to fill in the blanks as best he can, so that’s what he does right now, wetting his lips and raising his eyebrows. “Meeting go okay?”

          Dongwoon tilts his head from side to side, eyes narrowing as he makes a playful show of thinking it over. “All right,” he shrugs, and then wrinkles his nose, “Kind of boring.”

          Kikwang smiles, eyes widening. “It’s a meeting,” he snorts. “What kind of exciting did you want it to be?”

          “Exciting enough to keep me awake,” Dongwoon shoots back and Kikwang laughs. He feels Dongwoon’s arms tighten around him, bringing their bodies closer. “If you were there, I wouldn’t fall asleep,” he says, hooking his chin on Kikwang’s shoulder and leaning his head against Kikwang’s. “Except,” the younger man goes on thoughtfully, “I probably wouldn’t listen anyway.”

          Kikwang blinks, pushing Dongwoon away just slightly so he can look at the other man’s face. “What—how come?”

          Dongwoon grins—a stupid, stupid grin that makes Kikwang’s ears heat up—a dumb kind of grin that makes Kikwang bite his lip to keep from smiling too widely because then he’ll look just as stupid and dumb. “Too distracted, hyung,” Dongwoon says with that ridiculously huge grin and Kikwang thinks that if his ears were separate entities, they’d already be dead from heatstroke by now.

 

 

 

 

          When Dongwoon does kiss Kikwang (and he always eventually does), Kikwang never has to ask for more. He never has to try and somehow convey that he wants more tongue or less tongue—never has to try and drawback for less pressure or lean in for more pressure—never has to tip his face this way or Dongwoon’s face that way for a better angle. Kikwang never needs anything when Dongwoon kisses him because somehow (Kikwang is dumbfounded) Dongwoon always just seems to know.  

          Dongwoon always seems to know exactly how Kikwang wants to be kissed at that particular, precise, absolute moment. And right now is just that—it’s just that, except Kikwang has no idea how he wants to be kissed in the seconds where Dongwoon is leaning and both of them are closing their eyes. He has no idea how he feels right now (most of him is just numb and the rest is just confused) but when their lips meet and Dongwoon’s are gentle and warm (and familiar—Kikwang’s never really had familiar and now he does and he doesn’t want to lose it again ever but he’s terrified he will) and there’s no tongue, there’s no force, there’s just tiny bits of pressure and it’s perfect and there’s—

          Dongsun springs up behind Kikwang’s closed eyelids.

          Kikwang doesn’t know why, but Dongsun and the way he crushed their lips together—Dongsun, and the way he fondled Kikwang in a way that hurts—he doesn’t know why he’s thinking of that when Dongwoon is kissing him like this but the difference—the gaping, vast difference—the contrast—it grips Kikwang’s insides and twists so painfully until he feels like he can’t breathe and his face is too hot and his ears are even hotter and the room is losing air and his eyes sting and his eyes feel wet and he can’t show any of this because Dongwoon doesn’t need the stupid, stupid, stupid kinds of problems Kikwang always seems to bring no matter where he goes.

          It’s not like this is the first time, after all. Kikwang’s no stranger, no newcomer, to this kind of thing and it’s stupid—it’s completely ridiculous—that something as mild as this has him even considering telling Dongwoon. Because telling has never gotten him anywhere in the past and it’s not going to get him anywhere now—especially not now—especially not now, considering Dongsun is who he is. Especially not now considering Dongsun is trusted and a valued director and higher up than Dongwoon and more powerful than Dongwoon and a good sunbae to Dongwoon.

           So he hates the fact that he can’t even hide this well enough (although to be honest, he thought he was doing a good job but then again, Dongwoon’s always been able to see things in Kikwang that no one else can) and Dongwoon pulls away from the kiss and his eyes are worried and concerned and confused. He cups Kikwang’s face in one hand—Dongwoon’s palm more than covers an entire side of Kikwang’s face, fingertips lightly pressed against the older man’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

          Kikwang wants to tell him—he wants to tell Dongwoon because he’s always heard that when someone loves you, it means you can lean on them—that you can confide in them. It’s what Hongki always used to tell Kikwang whenever he crept into Kikwang’s room during their breaks and they’d eat and talk and share stories (well—Hongki would share stories, because the stories Kikwang has are more horror tales than fairytales). It’s what Dongwoon told Kikwang about Kibum when Kikwang asked why Dongwoon has to listen to Kibum talking about Jonghyun if it makes Dongwoon so sad.

          But it still seems so surreal—it still feels imaginary—something that Kikwang’s only ever seen other people do. It still feels like something reserved for everyone except for Kikwang. It feels like something Kikwang just isn’t meant to do—because Dongwoon’s already done so much for Kikwang, more than Kikwang ever would’ve thought anyone would ever even think about doing for someone like him. Telling Dongwoon about something as small as this (something that Kikwang is more than used to dealing with on his own anyway) would make the scale even more unbalanced.

          He really wants to tell Dongwoon though.

          “Nothing,” Kikwang makes himself smile.

          Dongwoon frowns. “Really?”

          Kikwang laughs—forces himself to laugh. “Really,” he says as his chest starts to twist in upon itself and he’s surprised—he’s intensely surprised because it’s not like he’s never dealt with things alone (he’s always been alone) before. He’s always dealt with everything alone before but he’s never hurt like this—he’s never felt like this and it surprises him.

          It scares him.

          Dongwoon still doesn’t look completely convinced, but he smiles back tentatively, dropping his hand from Kikwang’s face and taking the older man’s hand instead. “You want to get something to eat then?”

          “Yeah,” Kikwang says, and holds onto Dongwoon’s hand tightly.

 

 

 

 

          He thinks about Dongsun’s words.

 

 

 

 

          He knows he shouldn’t—he knows that they aren’t words he should listen to—that they’re words he’s heard before and that he knows shouldn’t hurt him anymore because they’re words that he’s been told again and again, over and over. He’s heard words like those so many times, even though he isn’t bothered by it anymore, he doesn’t know if it’s because he’s numb to them or because he genuinely knows not to believe them.

          Kikwang knows, obviously he knows because obviously you know how you yourself feels and thinks—he knows he isn’t with Dongwoon to live off of him. Kikwang knows exactly why he’s with Dongwoon and even though he’s unsure of a lot of things, this is one thing Kikwang never has any misgivings about. Kikwang never, ever, ever has had a moment of confusion as to why he’s with Dongwoon—as to why he wants Dongwoon and needs Dongwoon and loves Dongwoon.

          He’s always known why, and nowhere in that why is there anything about money.

          Kikwang has always known why he loves Dongwoon, but—

          It’s just—

         

 

 

 

          Mirrors mean a lot.

          At the club, mirrors meant a lot and everyone told Kikwang that.

          Everyone from Taemin to Joohyun to Song Qian (in her broken Korean) to Hongki—they all told Kikwang at one point or another, in their own way, how important mirrors are in their kind of occupation. Mirrors mean a lot—they show you exactly the way you look, exactly how much more eyeliner you need to draw or smudge or wipe off—exactly how much more you need to cover the darkness under your eyes so you don’t look tired to the clients, exactly how much more you need to pin your clothes to make them fit tighter around your body.

          They mean a lot and they meant a lot to Kikwang even before he came to the club. They mean a lot after Kikwang’s left the club, too. In a mirror, before the club, Kikwang could see everything and all and entirely why what had happened to him at school always happened to him. While he was at the club, in a mirror, he could see exactly why he was so successful. And now, after he’s left, right now after he’s just finished taking a shower, wiping the condensation so he can better see his reflection—right now, he can see exactly why, can see all the reasons why, Dongwoon initially came to him just like all the others.

          He wraps a towel around his waist gingerly, fingers slowly leaving the cloth after he’s tucked it in against his hipbone. His hands grip the edge of the sink and he stares at his face, stares into the mirror, stares at his reflection. He knows that most people think it’s a compliment—feel flattered and happy when they’re told that they’re good-looking or hot or attractive or pretty or beautiful. It’s something that most people shrug off or wave away or deny because they have to—they want to be modest or sometimes they really don’t believe that they are.

          Kikwang knows he is.

          He knows he’s good-looking and hot and attractive and pretty and beautiful, but he’s never felt that any of these are compliments. He’s never felt flattered or happy and he’s never shrugged it off or waved it away or denied it because he doesn’t think any of these words are things to be modest about. To Kikwang, someone telling him that his smile is pretty or his body is hot—to Kikwang, someone saying that to him is the same as someone telling him that his shirt is red.

          It’s red.

          So?

          The fact that it’s red isn’t really good—it isn’t really bad either. It’s just red, and it’s the shirt. It’s not him—it’s not Kikwang. He doesn’t think his face or his body is anything to really be proud about when people compliment him because it’s like someone complimenting you on your clothes. It’s exactly the same because no matter how pretty a skirt is and no matter how happy you are that someone else thinks so, you can’t be proud of it unless you’re the one who designed or sewed or produced the skirt.

          Kikwang’s never understood why some of his older, richer clients would pat his face and sigh and tell him about how they wish their wives looked even half as pretty as him. He’s never understood why some of his younger, not-so-rich clients would look at him longingly and ask him how he manages to stay so fit and if it’s really that hard to work out for a body like that. He’s never really understood—not at all—because his face and his body aren’t things that he earned. They were just given to him (and they’ve given him nothing but terrible, terrible, terrible memories anyway).

          All of his clients, on the other hand—they all earned the money and positions and status they have. Most of his clients are nice and polite to him and they’re all always smart—so smart—and they’ve all gone to schools abroad or elite schools in Korea and Kikwang knows that even if they bought their way into it, they had to work hard to get through it and that’s something that they all earned.

          So he can’t understand why they want to trade all of that for something that brings nothing but pain, and something that’s more or less useless anyway.

         

 

 

 

          Kikwang’s eyes drop from his face to his body—droplets of water still clinging to his skin, dropping down from the ends of his hair and landing on his shoulders, his chest, collarbone, the contours of his arms, abs, stomach, hipbone—

          He knows that when true love happens, it’s supposed to happen because of what’s on the inside and not just what’s on the outside—and he thinks it’s true. He does. He thinks it’s true and he thinks that he knows it’s true because he’s seen Dongwoon at his best (suited up with every strand of hair perfect, ready for a large-scale conference) and he’s seen Dongwoon at his worst (late night after dealing with Junhyung, bags hanging onto the bottoms of his eyes, clothes sagging on his frame) and he loves the younger man on whichever end of the spectrum he’s on.

But that’s because the inside of Dongwoon is just as amazing as the outside. And Kikwang isn’t the only one who thinks that way—Doojoon and Yoseob and Junhyung and Hyuna and Hyunseung must all think that way too, the way they protect him and care for him and baby him.

          Supposedly, Dongwoon loves Kikwang for his insides too.

          And Kikwang can sort of believe that—sort of. He kind-of-sort-of can manage to believe that to a certain extent, but even then—even then—it’s just—while Kikwang knows (he’s always been told, always been shown in both good and horrible ways) that he’s amazing on the outside—

          He doesn’t really think there’s anything all that special on the inside.  

 

 

 

 

When Kikwang steps out of the bathroom, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, hair still wet and dripping slightly onto the back of his collar, he sees Dongwoon in the living room. The younger man is seated on the couch, laptop balanced in his lap, his long fingers running all over the keyboard. Dongwoon has glasses balancing on the bridge of his nose and Kikwang watches the younger man’s eyes dart back and forth from the papers scattered on the coffee table back to the laptop monitor. It’s obvious he’s busy.

          Kikwang knows he shouldn’t bother the other man.

          But he wonders if it’d be okay if he does.

          He’s seen Doojoon busy plenty of times, and more often than not, during those times, he’s also seen Yoseob knock away whatever Doojoon is preoccupied with at the moment because the translator needs to tell the older man something or wants something signed and it has to be signed before anything else because Yoseob says so and sometimes, Yoseob will cut through whatever Doojoon is doing at the office just because Yoseob seems to think it’s appropriate. Just because Yoseob seems to think it’s appropriate that at exactly that very minute Doojoon has to kiss him or Yoseob has to tell Doojoon a pointless joke or Yoseob has to inform Doojoon of the level of stupidity the older man’s face is at on this fine, sunny day.

          And of course, no matter how much Doojoon huffs and puffs whenever Yoseob interrupts him, it’s more than obvious—more than crystal clear—from the way Doojoon laughs at the pointless jokes and jabs-at-facial-stupidity to the way that Doojoon kisses Yoseob fiercely and warmly, it’s pretty-really-extremely obvious that Doojoon doesn’t mind one bit.

          Kikwang’s always watched all of this and wondered if maybe Dongwoon wouldn’t mind that much either.

          He’s never really dared to bother Dongwoon while the younger man is working—is immersed in something that’s higher and far more important than Kikwang could ever hope to be. Back at the club, when Dongwoon would get messages or emails on certain going-ons at the workplace, Kikwang would always steer clear (showering or putting things away—keeping himself seemingly busy) of the younger man while he responded to them.

          “Hyung?”

          Kikwang blinks, meeting Dongwoon’s eyes as the younger man looks up and away from the screen, gazes connecting. Kikwang almost starts to automatically shuffle backwards into the bedroom because he really wasn’t intending to try out bothering-Dongwoon-and-seeing-if-maybe-the-younger-man-won’t-be-annoyed tonight. He’d hoped to try it after he planned and premeditated some more on how to go about it. And in all honesty, he has no idea how Dongwoon noticed him because all Kikwang had been doing is standing.

          Dongwoon stands up, blinking. “Need something?” Kikwang shakes his head as the younger man pads across the floor until he’s in front of Kikwang, holding the older man’s hips and looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows. “You’ve been—like—really, really weird today, y’know?”

          Kikwang smiles a little, raising his eyebrows and gripping Dongwoon’s shirt lightly. “So now I’m weird?”

          The younger man just grins, leaning in and tipping Kikwang’s face upward with a fingertip hooked beneath the older man’s chin.

          Their lips meet and it’s gentle and soft at first—it’s exactly like the kiss at the office earlier today, only this time, it doesn’t end at the same place that kiss did. This time, Dongwoon doesn’t stop it after it goes from gentle and soft to warm and insistent. The younger man presses on, moving through the levels swiftly and it’s only seconds before Kikwang is being lifted onto the kitchen counter, hoisted up with Dongwoon between his legs and their mouths never parting—the kisses becoming headier and deeper.

          But it doesn’t feel right—for some reason, something feels wrong, something feels off and Kikwang doesn’t want to do this right now. He doesn’t want to do this when his mind is muddled and filled with everything that’s not Dongwoon—when all he can think about is acid kisses and painful touches. Kikwang doesn’t want to do this right now but he doesn’t know how to stop it—he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do because the last time he tried saying no was years upon years ago—the last time he tried saying no ended up with a fist into his stomach and his face pressed against the dirty tiles of a school bathroom.

          He knows Dongwoon is different—he knows Dongwoon is so incredibly, undeniably, perfectly different. Kikwang knows that—it’s just—he doesn’t—he’s not really sure exactly how different. He doesn’t know to what extent Dongwoon is willing to go for Kikwang the same way he sees Doojoon going for Yoseob or Yoseob going for Doojoon because Yoseob and Doojoon are both amazing on the inside and it makes sense for them to go to such lengths for each other all the time.

          And it feels wrong for Kikwang to continuously test the waters just to see how far Dongwoon will go.

          Because at one point or another, he knows that he’ll reach a level that’s just to deep and Dongwoon won’t want to go out into a level that far out from the edge—a level that’s just too deep for him to swim into even if it means saving Kikwang. And by then, the older man Kikwang will just have to drown by himself.

          But as Dongwoon’s hand slips under the hem of Kikwang’s shirt, his own hand shoots out and stops the younger man’s in mid-movement before he realizes exactly what he’s done. He feels Dongwoon’s lips still against his own and the other man draws away slowly, eyes opening and gazing, confused, at Kikwang. They’re both breathing hard and shallow from the kisses and the heat and Kikwang’s mind is in more of a mess now than it already was beforehand.

          “Can we,” Kikwang whispers because he can’t go back now, “not—?” He bites his lip. “I mean—like—y’know—just?”

          Dongwoon blinks, frowning and still looking fairly confused.

          Kikwang’s heart pounds inside of his chest and he realizes how nervous he is—he’s intensely nervous and Dongwoon is just staring at him and Kikwang thinks that this probably means that the younger man is on the verge of getting irritated and that all of this was just stupid to begin with because after all Dongwoon’s given Kikwang and done for Kikwang then the least the older man can do is have with him when he wants to because it’s—

          “So, Hyuna rented this chick flick, right?”

          Kikwang stares.

          He stares as Dongwoon smiles at him, hands pulling away from under Kikwang’s clothes and arms wrapping comfortably around Kikwang’s waist. Dongwoon steps out from between Kikwang’s legs and stands next to him, leaning against the countertop with his fingers threaded together at the corner of Kikwang’s hip. “And apparently it was so good that she cried,” the younger man rolls his eyes. “So today she like stuffed it into my bag and made me take it home to watch with you.”

          Kikwang continues to stare—wide-eyed and blinking.

          “It’s probably going to be girly and boring but she made me promise I’d watch it with you,” Dongwoon says. He leans his head on Kikwang’s shoulder and pulls him closer, making Kikwang slide across the granite. “Think you’re up for it?”

          He feels his mouth open because he wants to speak but nothing seems to be coming out. He really wants to speak—of course he does—because Dongwoon is watching him with waiting eyes (kind eyes—gentle eyes—warm eyes) and Kikwang wants to give him an answer but really, really, nothing’s coming out of his mouth and he doesn’t know why.

          “If you’re tired, I can just tell her we didn’t get around to it tonight,” Dongwoon says, then, smiling tentatively, drawing away and tugging Kikwang forward off of the countertop. Kikwang catches himself on his feet and keeps on staring up at Dongwoon because he doesn’t know quite what else to do.

          He wants to tell him.

          He wants to tell Dongwoon now more than ever.

          He knows he shouldn’t—he knows it’s selfish because Dongwoon has already done so much for Kikwang and asking any more than that is just unreasonably selfish. Even if Dongwoon does love Kikwang, there are just some things that are too selfish to ask for—some things that would make Kikwang a terrible person, and loading on a burden that Kikwang can carry by himself (has carried by himself) millions of times before is one of them.

         

 

 

 

 

          Kikwang doesn’t go to the office with Dongwoon the next day.

          Partially because he doesn’t wake up on time and partially because Dongwoon doesn’t wake him. Kikwang doesn’t even really understand why he slept so much when they didn’t even do anything the night before—they ended up not watching the movie. Instead, Dongwoon just continued with the work he had on his laptop and Kikwang sat beside him on the sofa, watching the younger man type and calculate to a point where Kikwang isn’t quite sure what happened afterward and finds himself in bed and alone the next morning.

          He so much that he can’t even stay awake with Dongwoon while the younger man is hard at work.

          It’s already lunch time by the time he wakes up, so he showers, changes, pours cold coffee that was probably left from Dongwoon earlier this morning into a lidded cup and heads out in his car. Kikwang briefly thought about going to the office like he sometimes does even when he wakes up late because Hyuna and Yoseob always ask him to bring food that the two otherwise can’t get due to the fact that Doojoon is shaving their noses off against the grindstone (their words) while Doojoon says that they should just eat something from the downstairs café instead of making Kikwang run around town getting bagels (Doojoon’s words).

          He briefly considered going to the office until he remembers acid kisses and painful touches and opts that choice out. Instead, he gets into his car and heads out on the toll road—his mind starts thinking of flowers and blue skies and headstones.

          Kikwang hasn’t been out there in a while, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

          The ahjumma isn’t out there today and Kikwang supposes it’s because it’s deep winter right now and she already seems frail enough even in the sunny springtime. He feels like he vaguely remembers hearing something about snow showers approaching either tonight or tomorrow night—but it really is only a vague memory that he blames on the poor choice of letting Dongwoon neck him while he tries to watch the weather. Which eventually led to the poor choice of letting Dongwoon finger him while the weatherman was emphasizing the possibility of high winds.

          So now Kikwang gets a mild whenever the weather comes on.

          Dongwoon is to blame, naturally.

          Yeah.

          There aren’t that many people visiting today, and he supposes it’s along the same sort of reasoning the ahjumma isn’t at her cart—the weather is cold and it’s a long way out from Seoul to the graveyard so most people probably wouldn’t want to risk the driving conditions to come out here even when it hasn’t started snowing yet (it’s actually still quite sunny).

          The ground is cold, but Kikwang sits down anyway, scarf wrapped around so many times that his face is half covered and he folds his gloved fingers over his lap, looking at the headstones. He hasn’t been out in a while, mostly because Dongwoon always wants to go with him and Dongwoon’s been busy the past few weeks (Kikwang’s been busy too, trying to make sure Dongwoon doesn’t keel over from being so busy). And he isn’t sure if it’s considered unhealthy or weird (it probably is), but even though he hardly remembers them and even though they’re obviously very dead, he still feels like he needs to visit them every once in a while to talk to them.

          The same way Yoseob and Doojoon and Hyuna say they feel when they haven’t been to their parents’ homes in a while.

          Usually, Kikwang just talks to his parents about this and that, random happenings, although in the last few times he’s seen them, it’s mostly been about Hyunseung and Junhyung and venting (probably selfish and stupid) about how even though he hardly knows them and they’re Dongwoon’s friends, he hates them for making Dongwoon look so pale and tired and wishes they’d just get over their problems even though it’s none of Kikwang’s business.

          Mostly, though, it’s usually about Dongwoon.

          And while sometimes it’s just aimless rambling about Dongwoon, today, Kikwang actually has something he wants to tell them—questions he wants to ask them because they aren’t questions he can ask anyone else. He knows, obviously, that he won’t get any answers, but most of him doesn’t really mind. A gust of wind blows by and Kikwang glances up at the sky briefly—for some reason, whenever he visits the graves, the weather often chooses that exact moment to do odd things and considering that it’s too cold for rain, Kikwang just hopes that a blizzard won’t suddenly start while he’s talking.

          He reaches out and pats his mother’s grave stone first, just a light tap on the marble curve. “I think,” he begins, no prelude needed, no greeting or introduction because he knows that they remember what he said the last time he was here no matter how many months ago it might’ve been, “that Dongwoonie is starting to scare me, Umma.”

          Kikwang leans back on his palms, biting his lip and furrowing his eyebrows, last night going through his mind. “Like,” he says, “I said I didn’t want to do it, right? But he started it so he did want to do it, but I stopped him and he didn’t get mad, Umma.” He sits forward again, staring blankly at her headstone and then to his father’s as if they would suddenly sprout mouths and actually answer him. “It’s weird, huh?” Kikwang tugs at the tips of his gloves. “Dongwoonie’s always really nice—but—it’s just—if he’s , then why would he stop?”

          He thinks.

          He thinks back to the way Dongwoon didn’t even blink—the way Dongwoon just smiled back at Kikwang, eventually tugging the older man out of his daze and towards the sofa, tackling him down onto it with innocent touches completely above the waist, merely holding Kikwang’s face and yanking at the corners of his mouth to provoke him into laughter so loud and deep that it hurts Kikwang’s stomach and makes him forget. Kikwang thinks back to how even when Dongwoon had to start back on his reports, he never went more than a few minutes without talking to Kikwang—asking him lightly about if Hyuna’s been harassing him or what he did at the office—never ignoring the older man, never letting it get too silent.

          Kikwang thinks back just to last night and it scares him.

          “Umma,” he says quietly, “he looks at me.” Kikwang glances up at both headstones and feels his throat tighten. “He looks at me—the way he looks at me—it’s scary—it’s scares me,” he whispers. “I—I don’t know if he’s always looked at me like that, but I don’t think I noticed until now.”

          He’s never noticed before exactly how Dongwoon looks at him. Kikwang’s never noticed the way that Dongwoon looks at him—really, truly, honestly looks at him—sees him—the way Kikwang doesn’t think anyone else ever has. Everyone always looks at Kikwang—who doesn’t? Everyone always wants to look at Kikwang because he’s something pretty to look at. That doesn’t bother him—it’s always been like that, and it’ll always be like that and he’ll always get people like Dongsun looking at him because that’s what Kikwang’s there for—to be looked at.

          But Dongwoon looks at Kikwang—Dongwoon sees Kikwang.

          Dongwoon seems to see Kikwang like no one else ever has (like no one else probably ever bothered to). Dongwoon always looks at Kikwang like he wants so much more than Kikwang has to offer and it terrifies Kikwang. When people look at him because he’s pretty—eyes with expectant lust—than Kikwang is relaxed. Kikwang’s spent all his life being looked at like that, and it’s okay—he knows what they want and he knows how to give it to them (whether he wants to or not, because even if he doesn’t, most people will just take it anyway).

          When Dongwoon looks at him, the younger man’s eyes are just expectant—waiting for Kikwang to speak first, wanting to hear Kikwang’s thoughts on this, wanting to hear Kikwang’s opinions on that, wanting to make Kikwang laugh, wanting to know what Kikwang wants to eat, wanting to ask if Kikwang’s tired, wanting Kikwang to make a joke on that article or give his opinion on that song or this movie or those albums. Dongwoon wants so much more than all those others ever did and it terrifies Kikwang because he doesn’t think he has that much to offer—he doesn’t think he’s enough or right or what Dongwoon’s looking for.  

          It’s something he hasn’t thought about before in the beginning but now it’s all Kikwang worries about. It’s all he can think about because what if Kikwang has nothing to say at first? What if Kikwang doesn’t have any particular thoughts on this? What if Kikwang’s opinions on that are wrong? What if Kikwang isn’t in the mood to laugh? What if Kikwang isn’t hungry at the moment? What if Kikwang is wide awake? What if Kikwang hasn’t read that article or doesn’t like that song or hasn’t seen that movie or doesn’t want to look at those albums?

          What happens then?

          He doesn’t want to disappoint Dongwoon. He doesn’t want Dongwoon to regret picking him and taking him the same way Jonghun took Hongki and Nichkhun took Song Qian and Minho took Taemin and Yonghwa took Joohyun. He doesn’t want Dongwoon to regret Kikwang—doesn’t want to be useless to Dongwoon. Kikwang would so much just rather be exactly what he was at the club to Dongwoon, if it means that it’ll keep him for as long as possible with Dongwoon.

          Kikwang doesn’t bet on forever—he knows forever will be impossible for someone like him (even though he wants forever so badly). Even though it’s selfish, if Kikwang can keep Dongwoon from being disappointed long enough (long enough so that it feels like at least half of forever), then Kikwang is fine with that. (He wants Dongwoon to be happy and have someone better than Kikwang, but—he’s selfish.)

 

 

 

 

          He rests his chin on his knees as it starts flurrying (the weather really does take downturns whenever he’s at their graves). “I’m not that terrible, right, Umma?” he whispers. “Is it that bad? If you love someone,” he tilts his head to the side slightly, cheek against his arm and snowflakes catching on his scarf, “you can be a little selfish, can’t you? I think Yoseobie told me that once.”

          Yoseob told Kikwang once that everyone’s a little selfish, that everyone should be just a little selfish, when it comes to loving someone but Kikwang knows that right now he’s being a lot more than just a little selfish. And he wishes he could stop—he wishes he could bring himself to do what’s best for Dongwoon now that Kikwang knows that he should never have hoped for Dongwoon to take him away because just like Kikwang’s always been told—there are some people meant for what Doojoon and Yoseob have, and even what Hyunseung and Junhyung have, and Kikwang just isn’t one of them.

          But he wants to be.

          He wants to be, so much, and he isn’t sure if he’s still allowed to love Dongwoon with this kind of selfishness—all Kikwang knows is that he wants to stay with Dongwoon for as long as possible (forever). All Kikwang knows is that even though the way Dongwoon looks at him is frightening (new and foreign and strange to Kikwang), it makes Kikwang happier than he can ever remember being.

          “Umma,” he says softly, gazing at the patch of ground between the tips of his sneakers. “Do you think—maybe—it’s,” he pauses, teeth digging at his lip, “do you think it’s stupid if I think—like—Dongwoonie really, really loves me back? Like—as much as I do to him?”

          A light breeze passes by then, ruffling Kikwang’s hair and lifting the ends of his scarf just slightly. He feels the wind blow against his face, bringing along with it tiny bits of wetness. His eyes aim upward for a brief moment—sure enough, seeing the snow beginning to fall. Kikwang looks at the headstones and smiles apologetically, standing up because he knows he has to leave before the roads get too bad. He reaches out, one gloved hand on each headstone. “Oh,” Kikwang says, in the split second right before he’s about to take his hands away and leave.

          He smiles again. “Dongwoonie told me to tell you guys that he’s sorry he couldn’t come.” Kikwang pats both headstones. “He says he doesn’t like me going alone, but you and Appa know I can take care of myself, right?” he laughs—and then looks up at the sky, at the falling snowflakes. “I wish I could hear you better,” he says, watching just the tiniest bit of sun filter through the heavy, gray clouds, “since you probably want to tell Dongwoonie stuff too, don’t you?”

          The few people that are at the graves are starting to instantly clear out before the snow starts to pile on, so Kikwang raises his eyebrows and gives the headstones a last look before standing back, waving, and heading back to the parking lot.

 

 

 

 

          When Kikwang gets home, Dongwoon already is.

          The younger man is already jumping up to his feet and padding briskly towards Kikwang the minute he steps through the doorway and tosses the keys onto the kitchen counter. He’s standing, but he doesn’t sweep Kikwang into a hug or a kiss or pin him to the wall or take his hands or touch him or smile at him. Dongwoon really isn’t smiling at all—isn’t even really looking at Kikwang. He’s staring at Kikwang’s feet with an odd expression.

          “What?” Kikwang blinks.

          “Where were you?” Dongwoon asks the floor.

          Kikwang blinks again—frowns, because he’s not sure he likes Dongwoon’s tone. “Out—I went to see my parents. I told you that.”

          Dongwoon’s hands slip into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Yeah—and it started snowing, huh?”

          Kikwang is confused. “I mean—yeah—a little bit while I was there—”

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon glances up now, finally, and Kikwang doesn’t like the facial expression the younger man has either. “Did you know it was going to snow? And ice? There’ve already been two accidents on the toll road.” Kikwang follows Dongwoon’s eyes and suddenly realizes that Dongwoon wasn’t typing on the computer—he was probably watching the news.

          Kikwang frowns deeper. “I—I knew it was going to snow, but—”

          “What if one of those two accidents had you in it, hyung?” Dongwoon cuts him off and Kikwang is utterly bewildered by this point because he’d understand if Dongwoon was upset or worried, but Dongwoon doesn’t look like either of those. The younger man looks downright angry and Kikwang can’t, for the life of him, understand why. He doesn’t know why Dongwoon seems so furious, but Kikwang does know that it’s starting to make the older man irritated right back.

          “I’m fine, Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says and tries not to snap. “I drive out there all the time and the minute it started snowing, I headed back before the roads would get bad.”

          Dongwoon’s eyes glance away for a split moment, obviously getting angrier and that just makes Kikwang more irritable and he doesn’t even know why—this kind of thing is never supposed to happen because why would Kikwang be mad at Dongwoon? What right does Kikwang have to be anything but completely grateful to Dongwoon after all the younger man’s done for him?

          Except he is—Kikwang is. He’s angry, irritable and upset, and he has no idea why.

          “I heard you the first time, hyung,” Dongwoon says, slapping the back of one hand into his palm. “I’m saying that what if you were—”

          “Well then, I guess I’d be dead,” Kikwang interrupts, feeling like he sees what Dongwoon is trying to get at and it’s not making him any less irritated at all, “or in the hospital—or whatever. Things like that happen—you know and I know it.”

          The moment the words come out of his mouth, Kikwang knows exactly the sort of impact—the sort of meaning—they have and how that meaning is so tremendously different when it’s being said between them in particular. He knows exactly what’s going on through Dongwoon’s mind and it just serves to add fuel to the flames because it’s not like Dongwoon is a long-suffering orphan on his own. It’s not like Kikwang doesn’t know how things happen.

          So right now, he’s just angry—irritated—upset. He’s angry because Dongwoon is being irrational because telling Kikwang off for not stalking the weather channel—irritated because all of this is happening on a day when Kikwang’s already spent too much time thinking about Dongwoon—more time than he wants to spend thinking about Dongwoon and not thinking about Dongwoon in the way he wants to. And he’s upset, upset, because it’s not as if Kikwang is scared out of his mind already—Dongwoon just has to pile the terror on even heavier by being concerned (worried) at even the slightest chance of Kikwang getting hurt.

          It’s just been so long since Kikwang’s meant that much to anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

          He isn’t surprised—doesn’t make any moves to stop the younger man—when Dongwoon tears his gaze away, grabs his keys, grabs his coat, and strides out the door without another word, another glance, to Kikwang. The younger man doesn’t take his cell phone.

          Kikwang doesn’t do anything, even after the door slams shut, for a long while. He just stands there, staring at the front door, because he doesn’t even really know what just happened. Clearly, this was a fight—he’s just had a fight with Dongwoon for the first time and he doesn’t even know what it was about. He doesn’t know why he was so irritated over Dongwoon worrying about him—he doesn’t even know how he got irritated or angry or upset at Dongwoon because that never happens. That’s never supposed to happen.

          Dongwoon has given Kikwang everything, and done everything for Kikwang—it makes no sense whatsoever for Kikwang to get angry. Kikwang loves Dongwoon—which means it makes even less sense, and that’s considering the fact that this is already nonsensical to begin with.

          He just thinks it’s ironic (terribly so) that after a visit talking all about how he wants to do everything possible to stay as long as he can with Dongwoon, he goes home and does the exact opposite—does everything in his power to make Dongwoon see the parts of Kikwang wants to stay hidden as best he can so as long as possible (forever) can at least be a semi-reality for the time being.

          At this rate, however, it’d be a miracle in itself if Dongwoon doesn’t throw Kikwang out the moment the younger man comes back.  

 

 

 

 

Dongwoon doesn’t come back for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Kikwang changes out of the clothes he wore out to the cemetery, into sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, and sits on the younger man’s side of the bed—closest to the window—knees to his chest and watching the snowfall grow heavier and heavier. He wonders where Dongwoon went—hopes that at least Dongwoon took his car instead of wandering around Seoul on foot. The younger man hadn’t taken a hat or a scarf or even his gloves.

          He hopes Dongwoon doesn’t get sick.

          The younger man is already tired enough from the huge shift in workload now that he has Junhyung’s position—Kikwang knows that the weariness already has Dongwoon constantly sniffling and coughing sometimes, but if Dongwoon were to actually catch a full-on cold, it would be ten times worse and with all that’s happening at the office, Kikwang knows Dongwoon can’t take even a day off.

          He stretches out on the bed, head on Dongwoon’s pillow, and stares up at the ceiling for a few moments before lightly closing his eyes. It’s already getting dark outside and even though Kikwang hasn’t eaten anything except for the coffee earlier this afternoon, he isn’t hungry at all—his eyes are just tired. Except he can’t do any more than rest them briefly—he can’t just fall asleep after what’s happened—he should at least wait until Dongwoon comes back (he has to come back, right?).

         

 

 

 

 

 

          Kikwang wonders if maybe Dongsun is right.

          He wonders if maybe he doesn’t love Dongwoon enough—if maybe Kikwang isn’t trying hard enough, isn’t doing enough, isn’t being enough (if he’s just not enough).

          Maybe Dongsun is right and Dongwoon is just confused—maybe Dongwoon’s been confused from the very beginning, heartbroken over Kibum and mistaking what the younger man feels for Kikwang’s prettiness for something more.   

          Maybe Dongwoon is just now starting to find out how, despite what Kikwang looks like on the outside, the older man’s inside isn’t even worth looking twice at (the inside of Kikwang is nothing special, and he supposes that no matter how hard he’s tried to keep Dongwoon from finding out, it’s only ever a matter of time until the younger man does).

 

 

 

 

         

          Kikwang doubles over, clenching his teeth together tightly to keep in any sounds (any sobs, any cries, any screams). He bites down so hard his teeth nearly scratch at his tongue when he’s sent colliding into the wall, sliding on the dirty waterlogged bathroom floor—his head hits the edge of the stall’s metal door and he sees purple and white flashes line his vision. He tries to block out the laughs—tries not to hear the jeers, tries to numb everything out because it’ll be over soon—it’ll be over shortly and all he has to do is wait until it finishes—until they finish.

          He curls in on himself as two of them come closer to him, squatting down in front of him—a hand cupping his chin (choking him) and forcing him to meet highly amused, highly entertained (highly lustful) eyes. Another hand (one or two or three, Kikwang can’t keep track because there’s so many of them) reaches down and grasps him between the legs, and Kikwang has to bite down even harder (it doesn’t matter if his lips bleed) to stop from making any sounds.

          “Oh my God,” one of them snorts (so many faces—but they all look the same to Kikwang). “You’re so ing gay—you’re already ing hard as , you .”

          Block it out, block it out, block it out.

          Don’t listen—don’t listen—don’t listen.

          Kikwang shuts his eyes as he feels rough fingertips scraping down his cheek, against his throat, while more hands grab him by the waist and pull him away from the wall (while more hands feel over his body while more hands yank at his pants while more hands pin him to the wet, wet, wet floor while more hands tug at his hair while more hands pat his thighs while more and more and more hands just so many hands).

          More laughs.

          “What’s even the point of you having a ?”

          A slap across his face—a punch at the base of his back before holding him down harder and he feels something press against the backs of his thighs. He hears belts being undone, hears mutters of Do you want to go first? Or can I go first? Don’t take too long, hears mutters of Hurry up, hyung, seriously I’m ing —recess is almost over too.

          “This would be a lot ing easier if you were a girl,” a pair of hands lift his hips up and his fingernails clench in against his palms as he buries his face in his arm because he knows what’s about to come at this point (he knows that the first always makes him feel like he’s being torn in two and if he screams, they’ll just get angrier).

          When he bites down against the inside of his elbow (it doesn’t matter if he draws blood because the teachers don’t care if they notice and his foster parents try not to notice), he hears more laughter from the others, another hand forcefully making him look up just to crash their mouths together in a painful kiss that tastes like acid. “Seriously,” that one says, after kissing him (the s are sloppy, uneven, painful, harsh, they hurt and hurt and hurt and burn and tear at him), “just ing cut off your and grow a and some or something. Your ing pretty face is makes us feel like fags.”

          Block it out—don’t listen, don’t listen—block them out.

          He just needs to wait—he just needs to numb everything out because it’ll end at one point or another—it has to end and all Kikwang has to do is wait until all of them have finished and it’ll end—it’ll stop—and they’ll be satisfied for at least another few days—recess is almost over anyway, like one of them said, and they don’t have much time left so it’s okay—Kikwang just has to wait it out (eyes shut, teeth clenched, and body aching).

          Suddenly, a hand yanks his head up by the hair, forcing their eyes to meet (a different face, yet again—there’s just so many). “You’re such a ing teacher’s pet,” this one says. “If you think being a smartass makes you any less of a , you’re mothering stupid, .” Kikwang feels the hands on his hips pull away at the same time that one pulls out of him, dropping his body completely to the wet tiles. He feels another punch into his side and he barely gets to take a breath before another pair of hands is taking up his hips again and there’s—

 

 

 

 

 

 

          It’s dark.

          The room is dark, the blinds have been closed, and Kikwang is still alone on the bed. He’s still on Dongwoon’s side, only the covers have been pulled over his legs, over his stomach and arms. Kikwang sits up, breath coming out in harsh puffs, hair glued with sweat to his face and neck (shirt glued to his skin), and even though he’s hot, he’s cold too. The clocks on both Dongwoon and Kikwang’s nightstands read sometime past three in the morning even though Kikwang swore that it’d only been dinner time when he’d closed his eyes.

          He hasn’t had that dream (nightmare) in a while—in a really, really, really long while—not since his early days at the club.

          Kikwang is alone in the room—but the covers have been pulled over him and his glasses have been taken off and he sees Dongwoon’s sweatshirt at the foot of the bed. He swings his feet (the cold air hits) out of the bed and onto the floor, standing up and tentatively taking the younger man’s sweatshirt with him—burrowing his arms into it. Kikwang walks out of the bedroom, the entire apartment just as dark. He doesn’t see Dongwoon anywhere (even though the younger man is clearly home) until he gets to the living room.

          Dongwoon is stretched out on the couch on his side, arms folded and slightly hunched in on himself while he sleeps. Kikwang stands and stares at him, and wonders if there’s some magical way for him to levitate Dongwoon back into the bedroom (because obviously it’s not like Kikwang can carry him without him waking up in the middle and finding himself on the floor where Kikwang will undoubtedly drop him to at one point or another).

          If the younger man doesn’t want to be near Kikwang for tonight, then he should’ve woken Kikwang and the older man would’ve been perfectly willing to sleep on the couch. It’s Dongwoon’s bed, after all—Dongwoon’s apartment—and it just confuses Kikwang when Dongwoon does things like this (tiny things like taking off the older man’s glasses and pulling the covers on him). Kikwang hurt Dongwoon earlier, so why would Dongwoon do that?

          Kikwang slips as quietly as he can between the coffee table and the couch, sitting down on the carpet and facing Dongwoon. It’ll be impossible for him to go back to sleep now—he doesn’t want to be alone in the bedroom, alone on the bed. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep (it wouldn’t be the first time the dream—nightmare—picks up right where it left off). He doesn’t want to have a new dream (nightmare) filled with similar memories. He doesn’t want to sleep alone while Dongwoon is out here.

          It’s selfish, but even though Kikwang knows Dongwoon is still probably angry and Kikwang should just apologize and leave it alone—right now—Kikwang wants Dongwoon. He wants Dongwoon to wrap his arms around Kikwang. He wants Dongwoon to stop sleeping and look at Kikwang the way those faces in his dreams (nightmares) never do. He wants Dongwoon to make Kikwang laugh until he’s so tired he falls asleep without any thoughts blurring his mind.

          Right now, he really needs Dongwoon.

          It’s selfish—he knows.

          Kikwang rests his hand on the edge of the sofa, fingertips inches from Dongwoon’s face. He hesitates for just a moment, wondering if he really should or not, before he reaches out because if he’s careful enough then Dongwoon won’t wake up (hopefully). His fingertips press lightly, with infinitesimal pressure, against Dongwoon’s cheek, against the side of the younger man’s face. The skin is warm against his fingers and everything knotted and tight in Kikwang’s chest instantly eases up just by touching Dongwoon.

          He realizes he still has Dongwoon’s sweatshirt in his lap, and puts it on the coffee table so he can scoot closer up to the sofa, hand drifting from Dongwoon’s face into the younger man’s hair. The strands are a little bit damp and that makes Kikwang frown—he would’ve heard the shower go on, which probably means that the wetness is from melted snow. Kikwang starts to debate with himself whether it’d be worth it to wake Dongwoon up (and make the younger man even more pissed) just to get Dongwoon to take a warm shower.

          Kikwang wonders how late Dongwoon got back—wonders how late the younger man fell asleep. If Dongwoon’s hair is still wet, then he can’t have been back for long, and it’s already three in the morning. And Dongwoon has to be awake in three hours and he has another big meeting tomorrow (today) which means that, if Dongwoon flops the presentation, it’ll be Kikwang’s—

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Swears he almost gets a heart attack—

 

 

 

 

 

 

         

          Dongwoon’s eyes flutter open and his hand wraps around Kikwang’s wrist, stopping the older man’s hand in mid-movement.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “Hi,” Kikwang whispers, meeting Dongwoon’s gaze through the darkness.

          The younger man shifts his hand from Kikwang’s wrist up to the older man’s own hand, linking their fingers together slowly—one by one and pressing his fingertips gently against Kikwang’s knuckles once they’re entwined. He reaches out with his free hand and Kikwang’s cheek with the backs of his fingers. Dongwoon’s eyebrows furrow slightly as his hand slows in its motions against Kikwang’s face. “Why’re you awake?” He sits up on the sofa, keeping their hands joined, and slides down onto the floor next to Kikwang.

          Kikwang scoots over slightly, making room for him. He looks at Dongwoon’s concerned eyes and it makes Kikwang want to blurt it all out—makes Kikwang want to tell Dongwoon about the nightmare so Dongwoon will look at him just like that and wrap his arms around Kikwang and hold him close and spin him to make him laugh and kiss Kikwang and talk to him in that voice that’s low and soft and warm (and familiar—now—Dongwoon’s voice is familiar and Kikwang’s never had anything long enough for it to be familiar).

          But Kikwang always wants things that are stupid.

          Like Dongwoon comforting him over something that didn’t even happen—it’s just a dream, based on memories that happened years upon years ago, and even then, it’s still only a dream. Why should Dongwoon waste his time on something that only happened in Kikwang’s mind—something that happened in the past before he even met Kikwang?

           “Don’t like sleeping without you,” Kikwang says, and offers an apologetic smile—tiny and tentative and sorry (so sorry).

          Dongwoon blinks—stares—eyes wide and stretching rounder and rounder, clearly visible even in the darkness and Kikwang finds himself blinking back, confused, because he doesn’t understand why Dongwoon suddenly looks so taken aback. He doesn’t understand why Dongwoon is suddenly slipping his arms around Kikwang’s waist—doesn’t understand why Dongwoon is sliding forward, pulling Kikwang between the younger man’s legs and burying his face in Kikwang’s neck.

          It’s not like Kikwang said anything that Dongwoon shouldn’t already know.

          Right?

          “Sorry, hyung,” Dongwoon says, and his voice is muffled against Kikwang’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

          Minutes ago, Kikwang was confused. Now, he’s utterly perplexed. Maybe it’s because it’s three in the morning—he’s heard that things, and people in general, tend not to make much sense at three in the morning.

          “It’s just,” Dongwoon whispers, cheek against Kikwang’s collarbone and the younger man’s arms rest against the nooks of where Kikwang’s hips meet his waist—Dongwoon’s arms fit perfectly right against the older man and that’s all Kikwang can think about—how Dongwoon’s arms feel like they belong there, secure and warm around Kikwang, forever and ever and ever. “It’s just—I—I want you to be around for a long time.”

          Kikwang feels his breathing still—feels the air escape him completely when he tries to draw breath.

          “Not around me,” Dongwoon suddenly adds, hastily almost. “You don’t have to be around me for a long time if you don’t want to,” he says, but his arms do the exact opposite and tighten around Kikwang. “Just—just around, hyung—like, healthy—like—I mean,” Dongwoon’s voice sounds confused now, like he isn’t sure what he’s trying to get at—doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say, “I just—”

          Dongwoon falls silent abruptly—a short moment of complete soundlessness.

          “I just—I don’t want you to leave,” Dongwoon says softly (pleadingly?) and Kikwang can feel the younger man’s entire body tense up. When Kikwang looks back at him, Dongwoon’s jaw is tight, throat swallowing nervously, and even though Kikwang wishes he could be understanding and gentle and comforting (like someone who’s inside is special enough for Dongwoon), but something entirely different comes out of his mouth before he can stop it.

          “Are you stupid?” Kikwang blurts out, blankly.

          Dongwoon stares.

          Kikwang bites his lip, eyes wide. “Oh—um.”

          “What?” Dongwoon says, clearly dumbfounded, his arms going limp around Kikwang’s waist. “I’m—what?”

          Kikwang gives a tiny sigh—a little puff of breath before he half smiles because, really, there are some moments that are just dumb, and this is undoubtedly one of them. He puts his hands on either sides of Dongwoon’s face. “Yah, Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says with raised eyebrows. “You’re stupid.”

          Dongwoon stops staring at this point, his arms coming back to life around Kikwang’s waist and shaking the older man hard enough that Kikwang goes from side to side violently, kicking Dongwoon under the knees to make him stop. “Take it back first,” Dongwoon says, pushing Kikwang onto the floor (but his hand cradling Kikwang’s head so the older man doesn’t bump into the table). The younger man grins as Kikwang continues to struggle (pointlessly and not a lot because he’s laughing too hard to put any strength into it). Dongwoon pins Kikwang’s wrists beneath the younger man’s hands. “Take it back,” he says again, playfully. “Admit that I’m a genius.”

          “Son Dongwoon—yah—yah,” Kikwang says breathlessly, eyes shut because he can only roll from side to side in attempts to stop Dongwoon from burrowing his face into Kikwang’s stomach (it tickles). “I can’t lie—it’s wrong.”

          Dongwoon looks up at Kikwang, resting his chin on the older man’s stomach. His hands are still holding Kikwang’s wrists to the carpeted floor, but he’s stopped torturing Kikwang, just grinning through the darkness—utterly amused. “You’re the one who started it—it’s wrong to call a genius stupid.”

          Kikwang’s mouth falls open, as he slips his wrists out of Dongwoon’s hands and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Wow,” Kikwang says, “wow.” Dongwoon raises his eyebrows, still grinning broadly and Kikwang rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Son Dongwoon? You’re the one who was stupid first—like—why—what kind of idea was that even? If you meant me leaving-because-I-died, I get it. But me just leaving?”

          The younger man shrugs, arms resting on the floor on either side of Kikwang’s waist. “It could happen.”

          “Yeah,” Kikwang says, blinking, “in a stupid person’s delusional world.”

          “Yah,” Dongwoon slaps the side of Kikwang’s thigh lightly.

          Kikwang laughs. “Yah?”

          Dongwoon smiles, “Lee Kikwang-hyungnim,” he amends teasingly.

          “Better,” Kikwang smiles back, and watches Dongwoon stand up—the younger man reaches out a hand and pulls Kikwang to his feet. There’s barely a half second between Kikwang straightening up before Dongwoon already has his arms back around Kikwang’s waist, rocking them rhythmically from side to side. Kikwang rests his own arms on Dongwoon’s shoulders. He meets the younger man’s eyes.

          “So,” Dongwoon begins lightly, the grin faded into a smaller, quieter smile. “What’s the real reason you woke up?”

          Kikwang stills—arms stiffening against Dongwoon’s shoulders. He stares at the collar of Dongwoon’s shirt. “I don’t like sleeping without you,” he repeats, feeling his entire body go rigid because he wants to tell Dongwoon about the nightmare but at the same time he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to tell Dongwoon something like this just when it seems Dongwoon’s stopped being angry—and it’s too late anyway, Dongwoon has to sleep.

          “Something woke you up,” Dongwoon says softly, “right, hyung?”

          Kikwang continues to bore holes into Dongwoon’s collar with his eyes.

          “Bad dream?” Dongwoon’s hand comes up, cupping Kikwang’s face, fingertips pressing lightly beneath the older man’s ear.

          Kikwang lowers his eyes even more—still not daring to look at the younger man’s face. “Kind of.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dongwoon nod his head once—and then twice, slowly, expression thoughtful as he mulls over Kikwang’s words. The younger man’s hand, still holding Kikwang’s face, lifts it up so that their eyes meet.

          “Want to tell me about it?” Dongwoon asks gently.

          Of course Kikwang does.

          Of course he wants to tell Dongwoon about the dream—of course he wants to tell Dongwoon and hug him so tightly that Kikwang won’t be able to think anymore about being hurt (over and over and over again in every way possible) because all he’ll feel and smell and see is Dongwoon, Dongwoon, Dongwoon and when that’s happening there’s never any room in Kikwang’s mind for anything else because it’s Dongwoon and Dongwoon would never hurt Kikwang (never, ever, ever) so it’s—

          “Hey,” Dongwoon says with a soft laugh, “hey—hyung, Kikwang-hyung, c’mon, what’s with the face?” He pats Kikwang’s cheek, gently playful, and Kikwang feels his throat (and his chest) dry and suffocating and too hot. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he offers tentatively, and slings an arm around Kikwang’s neck, pulling Kikwang closer. His eyes watch Kikwang carefully, narrowing the more Kikwang tries to hide his expression (which probably means the more Kikwang tries, the more the opposite happens).

          Dongwoon’s eyebrows furrow and he frowns. “Hyung, what’s wrong? You’re really scaring me now—say something.”

          Kikwang is still looking straight into Dongwoon’s eyes, watching the progression of concern intensify with every passing second that Kikwang can’t find his voice. “Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says quietly—hesitantly, “can I ask you for something really, really stupid?”

          Dongwoon tilts his head, slightly surprised, gaze intent. “What is it, hyung?”

          Kikwang bites his lip, swallows, “Can,” he pauses, restraining the urge to wince at just how stupid it sounds—at how selfishly stupid, stupidly selfish, “can you—I—if you—you don’t have to—just—” he glances up at Dongwoon again, gripping the sides of the younger man’s shirt tightly (he’s afraid that after he asks Dongwoon will think oddly of him and he can’t let go of Dongwoon ever—Dongwoon can’t ever leave).

          “Can you,” Kikwang whispers, “say that you love me?”

         

 

 

 

 

          It’s such a stupid request—it’s such a selfish thing to ask.

          In all honesty, Kikwang isn’t really sure why he wants to hear it, anyway—and he doesn’t know why he decided to ask right at that moment. He doesn’t know if it’s just because the urge’s been building up little by little ever since the first time Dongwoon kissed him at the club with more than just lust lingering on Kikwang’s tongue afterward. He isn’t sure if it’s because that was the first time they’ve ever fought (that Kikwang’s ever fought with anyone in a way that hurts so much more than fists and blood and bruises ever could). He doesn’t know if it’s because the nightmare tore apart wounds that Kikwang is still working on sewing closed.

          He doesn’t know if it’s because, after painful touches and acid kisses, after everything, Kikwang has just always wondered—just wants to know—wants to hear it at least once (before Dongwoon might leave, so just once while Kikwang still has the younger man, still has the chance) because Kikwang’s never heard it before and he just wants to know. He wants to know what it feels like (even if he knows that Dongwoon does) to hear the words.

          Just once.

          It’s stupid, isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

          More than anything (more than the varying levels and sorts of irritation that Kikwang expected), Dongwoon just looks confused. Which, compared to Kikwang’s other predictions, actually isn’t all that bad of a reaction in the least. Dongwoon’s eyebrows are furrowing again and he’s squinting through the semi-darkness, as though he can’t see Kikwang’s face at all. “What?” the younger man says, sounding absolutely lost. “What—wait—like, I love you?”

          Kikwang blinks. “I—well—yeah. Like that.”

          Dongwoon blinks back. “Wait—that’s it? Just that?”

          “I—I mean,” now Kikwang feels confusion bubbling up. “What else?”

          Dongwoon stares for just a moment (while Kikwang’s confusion reaches a slow simmer) before bursting out into laughter, burying his face against Kikwang’s neck and holding Kikwang tighter and closer than any hug Kikwang could’ve ever planned to ask (hope) for earlier on in his thoughts. The laughter lasts (the younger man’s breath puffing unevenly against the side of Kikwang’s throat) for quite a while, until Kikwang wonders if there are respiratory side effects when someone laughs this hard for this long.

          The younger man draws back, eyes wet from laughing just that hard, and teeth perfectly displayed in a broad grin. “Hyung,” Dongwoon says brightly, “I love you.”

          Kikwang blinks again, multiple times, staring.

          “I love you, hyung,” Dongwoon says, the grin stretching so wide that it takes up his entire face (and beyond, if that’s possible). He hugs Kikwang again, pulling them backwards towards the bedroom—guiding them through the doorway. “I love you—love you, love you, love you, love you, love you, hyung,” and with every love you, Dongwoon goes one step backwards until he has them tumbling into the bed with Kikwang still trying to remember on what plane of existence he’s in because this is just—odd. And unexpected. And just—odd. (In an absolutely amazing, wonderful, perfect way.)

          Dongwoon lowers Kikwang onto the bed first, both their feet still on the ground, the backs of their knees catching on the edge of the bed. Dongwoon’s body hovers closely over the older man’s, and the younger man’s elbows rest on either side of Kikwang’s head. “Lee Kikwang-hyung,” Dongwoon announces in a playfully grand voice that makes Kikwang smile, “I love you so ing much that if you ever left me, I’d quit everything and live in a box on the streets selling cats.”

          Kikwang’s eyebrows furrow. “But why—”

          “Exactly, hyung,” Dongwoon cuts him off matter-of-factly. “So I guess this means you should never leave me so I never have to sell cats and you can keep hearing me say how much I love you forever.” He grins, then, impishly and his head darts down for a swift kiss against Kikwang’s mouth.

          And, of course, as usual, as always with Dongwoon, Kikwang ends up laughing—he has to—he always does.

          No matter how heavy that busy-busy-busy little organ in Kikwang’s chest gets, beating until it’s about to burst in all sorts of pain and distress, no matter how hard it has to work, no matter how furiously it has to pump whenever Kikwang thinks about things that make it threaten to shatter into pieces all over again—

          No matter how many times it’s been walked all over on (and stabbed and mutilated beyond resemblance) without anyone noticing (or caring) that they have, Dongwoon always makes it so light (so happy) that Kikwang has to continuously jump around on his tiptoes to catch it and put it back into his chest.

          Dongwoon does so much for Kikwang (without even trying or knowing). Kikwang just wonders when the day will come when he can do something even a fraction as much as what Dongwoon does for him. (Does Dongwoon even need Kikwang?) 

 

 

 

 

 

Dongwoon has a way of making Kikwang forget about everything bad.

          The bad doesn’t leave—it’s just that Kikwang’s forgotten about it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “You were driving the day of that crazy blizzard?” Yoseob asks, his eyes wide, as he and Kikwang head down the corridor for Doojoon’s office. They were eating a late lunch up until Yoseob’s phone had beeped with a text from Doojoon because he and Dongwoon are holed up in Doojoon’s office trying to figure out why the numbers that they’ve just been sent from New York aren’t lining up correctly.

          Kikwang shrugs. “It wasn’t that bad—I hit the exit kind of about when the wind got going.”

          “Still,” Yoseob frowns, as they turn the corner, “you should’ve called or something. Dongwoonie like flew home when you didn’t pick up and the weather reports all talked about the traffic accidents and stuff.”

          “I always turn off my phone when I see my parents,” Kikwang blinks, eyebrows knitting together because he hasn’t heard this part yet—this part about Dongwoon worrying when it’s not like Kikwang doesn’t go out to the graves all the time. “He knows that.”

          Yoseob raises his eyebrows. “Doesn’t mean he can’t be worried about you, right?” And Kikwang is glad that the other man says that just as they reach the double doors of Doojoon’s office because Kikwang isn’t sure he has an answer to that question—whether rhetorical or not.

          Hyuna is sitting in Doojoon’s large, leather chair behind the even larger, mahogany desk, while Dongwoon and Doojoon are crowded around the computer near the door, stacks upon stacks of papers around the keyboard and Dongwoon’s fingers typing while Doojoon’s hand moves the mouse. Yoseob crosses the room and walks around the desk, plopping himself in Hyuna’s lap. She instantly starts squirming, and Kikwang catches her heels digging into the toes of Yoseob’s shoes.

          “Yah,” Yoseob says, jumping to his feet, and wincing. “Yah—ahjusshi, she stepped on my toes.”

          “He sat on me first,” Hyuna shoots back, and sticks out her tongue, as she burrows backwards deeper into the chair. “Doojoonie-oppa, he sat on me first.”

          Kikwang bites his lip, as Doojoon doesn’t even turn around, waving a hand in the air. “Why can’t anyone be normal anymore?” Doojoon shouts at the computer, clearly distressed as his finger clicks the mouse a little more forcefully than what is probably necessary. Dongwoon backs away slightly, turning his head and meeting eyes with Kikwang—Kikwang has to dig his teeth into his lip even deeper to stop the laughter from escaping when Dongwoon uses his eyes to indicate Doojoon and then Yoseob and Hyuna bickering in the background.

          The younger man reaches out, taking Kikwang by the hand and threading their fingers together loosely. Doojoon looks up from the screen, glancing at Dongwoon. “I’m literally two seconds away from giving up,” he says to Dongwoon, while Yoseob stops trying to sit on Hyuna again and walks over, arms wrapping around Doojoon’s waist as the translator peers at the screen. “I’m literally two seconds away from just sending this back to them and having them recalculate.”

          “Which part doesn’t fit?” Yoseob asks, taking his arms away from Doojoon, then, and typing something in.

          Doojoon draws a circle on the screen with his fingertip. “Around that range somewhere. The total’s right, but the numbers are all ed up so we don’t know how it got to that amount.”

          Kikwang finds himself staring so intently at the screen (while Yoseob takes his turn in trying and typing and backspacing) that he doesn’t notice Dongwoon trying to talk to him until he feels the younger man tugging lightly at their conjoined hands. “Did you eat already, hyung?” Dongwoon asks. Kikwang blinks upward, and nods absently, still staring at the screen as Yoseob swears and Doojoon rubs his eyes. Kikwang’s eyebrows furrow and his eyes narrow as Yoseob deletes and retypes a number again and again only to be given an error message.

          “Hyung?” Dongwoon repeats, his voice confused.

          Kikwang looks up at the younger man. “Dongwoon-ah,” he says slowly, glancing back at the computer (Yoseob is now pledging threats of baseball bats and dismantlement at the monitor), “can I try?” He watches as Dongwoon’s eyebrows go up, a brief pass of surprise shifting through the younger man’s face before he gives Kikwang small half-smile, and lets go of Kikwang’s hand.

          He taps on Yoseob’s shoulder (the translator gladly steps aside after giving the computer an actual slap—which sends Doojoon into a tiny spiel about how that computer costs money and belongs to the company) and takes up the mouse with one hand, fingers of his other hand lightly resting on the keyboard. It’s been some time since he’s worked with this kind of program so it feels unfamiliar and there are different updates here and there that he never remembers using.

          Honestly, Kikwang doesn’t even know why he’s doing this because it obviously has nothing to do with him—he wouldn’t try this at all if he wasn’t sure that he had a chance of fixing it and if Doojoon didn’t seem so upset about it. Doojoon is the one who always tells Kikwang about Dongwoon—who makes fun of Kikwang until the younger man’s ears are flaming red and even Dongwoon is laughing. The least Kikwang can do is try to help Doojoon when he can—Doojoon’s a busy, important man, after all.

          The computer beeps soundly after Kikwang presses enter, and he stands back, turning around to face the—

          Yoseob, Doojoon, and Hyuna’s mouths are open—jaws hanging as their eyes flicker back and forth from Kikwang’s face to the computer and then back. Kikwang blinks back at them and wonders if maybe he entered the numbers correctly but in the wrong file or something—his eyes shift to the screen, but everything looks pretty all right to him. He edges away, confused, as Yoseob and Doojoon throw themselves to the computer, scrolling up and down furiously, eyes glazing over the numbers.

          Dongwoon retakes Kikwang’s hand again, and the younger man’s mouth is the only one not hanging from its hinges. He’s just grinning down at Kikwang as the taller man’s free arm fits around Kikwang’s waist. “Good job, hyung,” he says and Kikwang tilts his head up instinctively to receive a kiss.

          Kikwang blinks, frowning as Hyuna starts jumping up and down (on her heels that are so long, they look like stilts) and hugging Yoseob while Doojoon sends the information to the printer, turning into a puddle of relief. “They’re being kind of weird,” Kikwang whispers up to Dongwoon.

          “They’re just surprised at your awesomeness,” Dongwoon says matter-of-factly, patting Kikwang’s hip.

          Kikwang smiles. “You’re not?”

          Dongwoon wrinkles his nose, and smiles back. “Nah—that’d be like being surprised that grass is green.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Hyuna and Dongwoon want to leave for lunch (because they’ve been holed in Doojoon’s office for the past few hours while they tried to figure out the number fiasco), except Doojoon still needs Hyuna to stay with him and Yoseob to finish up the last of the rechecks for the graphs, so Dongwoon is sent to buy lunch and come back with something to keep Hyuna from passing out as well. Yoseob wants Kikwang to stay too in the case that Doojoon does something wrong again (“Yah—yah, Yang Yoseob, if you’re so smart, then you try—”), but Dongwoon insists on taking Kikwang with him since Kikwang’s already done more than enough.

          “It’s boring in there anyway, right, hyung?” Dongwoon asks, taking Kikwang’s hand as they walk down the hallway from Doojoon’s office.

          Kikwang’s always wondered, infinitesimally Dongwoon’s knuckles with his fingertips while their hands are intertwined, how Dongwoon can just touch Kikwang like this at the office regardless of where they go—of how many employees surround them, of how high in position those employees are. “I like that stuff,” Kikwang says, glancing up at Dongwoon. “It’s like the kind of stuff I wanted to major in.”

          Dongwoon stops walking suddenly and stares down into Kikwang’s eyes in surprise. “What—really? Really, hyung? You wanted to major in business?”

          “Mm hm,” Kikwang says and tugs at their conjoined hands to get Dongwoon walking again—Dongwoon probably isn’t all that hungry, but Kikwang knows Hyuna is probably starving so they should buy the food and return as quickly as possible. Dongwoon needs to get back to work anyway and Kikwang doesn’t want to distract him.

          Dongwoon starts walking along again, but Kikwang still feels the younger man’s eyes glued to him. “How come you never told me?”

          Kikwang shrugs, frowns confusedly. “What’s there to tell?”

          He glances at Dongwoon and watches as the younger man lowers his eyes while they turn the corner, approaching the elevator. “I don’t know, hyung,” Dongwoon says quietly. “It’s just—it’s like you’ve told me all about what’s happened to you—but you’ve never really ever told me about you, y’know?”

          About Kikwang?

          “But I do,” Kikwang says, and he’s even more confused than before. “I do tell you.”

          Dongwoon half-smiles uncertainly. “Only when I ask first though, hyung.”

          Well—

          Of course.

          Of course only when Dongwoon asks first because otherwise Kikwang can’t know what Dongwoon wants to know about Kikwang. If Dongwoon doesn’t ask first, Kikwang is most definitely not going to just tell Dongwoon out of the blue that the older man is hungry or thirsty or sleep or tired or cold or hot because if Dongwoon doesn’t ask then that means Dongwoon doesn’t need to know. If Kikwang just tells things like that, or other trivial things like what Kikwang wanted to major in years ago when he could still pretend that he could go to university—if Kikwang just randomly says things like that to Dongwoon, it’d be stupid.

          It’d be complaining—it’d be bothering Dongwoon—it’d be wasting Dongwoon’s time and attention.

          Right?

          “What d’you want to know, then?” Kikwang asks carefully.

          Dongwoon shrugs, his smile a little bit brighter now. “Anything, hyung. Whatever you want to tell me.”

          Kikwang hates this.

          He hates moments like this.

          He hates those moments that are starting to become more and more frequent—that happen all too often. He hates those moments where Dongwoon wants Kikwang to pull things out from thin air—hates it when Dongwoon looks at Kikwang with such expectation, with so much anticipation—as though he thinks Kikwang is someone who’s as funny as Doojoon, or as bright as Yoseob, or as energetic as Hyuna. Kikwang hates it when there’s so much riding on the line that he knows he can’t possibly deliver up to meet Dongwoon’s expectations. There’s nowhere to go but down—nowhere to head for but disappointment.

          He waits until they’re at the elevator, until after Dongwoon’s pressed the button in the shape of a downward arrow. “There’s,” Kikwang begins hesitantly, “this new software that I was looking up—like, it’s kind of a music-editing thing, but like, it’s just for dance beats and stuff like that.”

          Dongwoon’s eyebrows go up, eyes intent. “Are you going to buy it?” he asks, as the elevator starts rising through the glass column.

          Kikwang smiles a little. “Maybe,” he shrugs. “I’m still trying to see if it’s worth it or not—it’s new so no one knows if it’s all that good yet.”

          “You should ask Junhyung-hyung,” Dongwoon says, patting at Kikwang’s arm. “He always had tons of editing programs that he fooled around with. Text him or something and see if he’s heard of it.”

          Kikwang stares.

          It’s one thing if Dongwoon feels like he wants to be bored by Kikwang, but it’s another thing entirely when Dongwoon suddenly says that it’s okay for Kikwang to bother someone else with little insignificant details that Kikwang should’ve kept to himself and would’ve kept to himself if Dongwoon hadn’t prodded him until Kikwang had no other choice but to say something. It’s not that he doesn’t like Junhyung, but if anything, Kikwang rather thinks that Junhyung would probably be fairly busy right now in Japan trying to—

          “Dongwoon-ah, there you are.”

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon says cheerfully as Dongsun steps out from the elevator. Dongsun claps Dongwoon on the shoulder briskly, firmly shaking his hand. “Doojoon-hyung should’ve messaged you about how we figured it out—you didn’t need to come all the way up.”

          Dongsun shrugs, smiling. “I had to come up anyway—have some papers to pick up, and my secretary’s out sick again.”

          “Oh,” Dongwoon raises his eyebrows, “well—you know Kikwang-hyung already, right?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

          Scary.

          It’s so scary.

          It’s always been scary, it’ll always be scary, but he’s learned to stop being scary by learning not to care (if you don’t care, they can’t hurt you).

          But now it’s scary again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

          “Of course,” Dongsun says brightly—warmly (the kind of warmth that chills Kikwang’s entire body). He’s not looking at Kikwang and all that’s running through Kikwang’s mind is how he wants that to continue happening—he wants Dongsun to keep not-looking at Kikwang until the older man leaves, until he’s cleanly out of sight or Kikwang’s cleanly out of his sight. “So Doojoon-shii already sorted everything out?”

          Out of the corner of his eye, Kikwang sees Dongwoon glance at him briefly—smiling. “Actually, Kikwang-hyung did it.”

          Kikwang stares at Dongwoon (imploringly, pleadingly—to just please shut up for just this moment, just this once, stop being so proud of Kikwang, stop drawing attention to Kikwang).

          It’s right then that Dongsun meets Kikwang’s gaze, smile still plastered across the older man’s face. “Good with numbers, huh?” he says pleasantly. “If I’m not careful, I might get chased out of a job.”

          Dongwoon laughs as Dongsun grins and claps his hoobae on the back.

          Kikwang feels sick.

          “So, you two going downstairs for lunch?” Dongsun asks.

          Dongwoon blinks. “Oh, no—I’m going down to get something to eat and bringing something back for Hyuna. Kikwang-hyung already ate though.”

          Kikwang feels sick—sick, sick, sick.

          (Scared)

          Dongsun raises his eyebrows mildly. “I actually came up to move some files too, but they’re in that old filing cabinet, y’know? So I was wondering if you could help me move it, but you’re probably starving so—” and even though he lets the sentence trail off, Kikwang knows, Dongwoon knows, even the worse-raised Korean knows what it means when a sunbae trails off.

          “Hyung already ate,” Dongwoon offers, tugging lightly at their intertwined hands again and pushing Kikwang forward slightly. “Or do you still want to come down with me?” Dongwoon asks softly, under his breath—and his eyes look directly into Kikwang’s, silently inquiring.

          Kikwang feels his heart beating so loudly that the rush of blood thudding through his ears makes his head spin—makes him dizzy, makes his head ache. He’s staring wide-eyed into Dongwoon’s eyes and he doesn’t know what to do—he doesn’t know what to say. He has no idea how to let Dongwoon know that no, Kikwang doesn’t want to go with Dongsun. That, yes, Kikwang wants to go with Dongwoon—that Kikwang wants (needs) Dongwoon to stay with him (forever).

(That Kikwang is scared.)

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” Dongsun says dismissively, hand on Kikwang’s shoulder and pulling (tearing, ripping, forcing) him away from Dongwoon. “I’ll get him back to you ASAP, Dongwoon-ah,” he adds cheerily and waves Dongwoon off towards the elevator.

Kikwang can only watch—that’s all he can do while Dongwoon is shuttled into the elevator, mildly surprised at Dongsun’s insistency but otherwise suspecting nothing at all (Kikwang doesn’t want to break that—doesn’t want to break what Dongwoon thinks of Dongsun because Dongsun is the trusted sunbae, the reliable hyung who’s probably as much a part of Dongwoon’s life in this company as Doojoon and Yoseob and Junhyung and Hyunseung are and who’s Kikwang to ruin any of that?).

Kikwang always attracts trouble—both pairs of foster parents, even the nuns, all of his teachers (all of them—in the bathrooms, behind the school, in alleyways) have always told him that. He always attracts trouble.

Sometimes he wonders if everyone around him would be so much better off if he took a knife to his face and body.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dongsun pulls (yanks, drags, pushes) Kikwang into the nearest empty room by the elevator—locks the door, corners Kikwang against the wall in all the ways that are too close, that suffocate, that choke and frighten and terrify (and he’s scared—he’s so scared—he’s scared and scared and it’s such a familiar feeling that he wants to vomit). Everything is so familiar, everything is just the way it’s always been—the way Kikwang thought he’d never have to go back to because it’s forced and it’s so much less painful if he goes willingly (because dignity to Kikwang is just a tiny factor—dignity is worth nothing when it happens again and again, day after day, week after week—willing hurts less than forced).

“I really don’t get why you’re scared of me,” Dongsun snorts, patting Kikwang’s cheek, one hand on the younger man’s hip. “I’m making you an offer here—a business proposition. And if you invest in it, you’ll get a lot more out of it than you do with Son Dongwoon.”

Kikwang stares towards the floor. “No thanks,” he says quietly.

Dongsun clicks his tongue impatiently—disapprovingly. “You can’t anyone else when you’re with Dongwoon, can you? I’d let you—”

“I don’t want to anyone else,” Kikwang snaps, and as soon as the words are even half out of his mouth, he’s already regretting it (because silence is always best—silence always brings less pain, less provocation, less offense—he doesn’t know why, but it’s like he’s forgotten the rules—maybe because it’s been so long).

The older man’s eyebrows go up slowly. His hands clamp down even tighter on Kikwang’s hips (bruise-tight), and Dongsun presses closer up against Kikwang, lips inches from the bridge of Kikwang’s nose. Dongsun leans in and then to the side, mouth right beside Kikwang’s ear. “Says the ,” he laughs softly. “Do you even know how many people have ed you by now?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course not.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s something Kikwang would rather not think about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s something he’s always tried to avoid thinking about.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I wonder how Dongwoon feels when he s you,” Dongsun says thoughtfully, smiling brightly at Kikwang. “I’d estimate—like, what—at least a hundred have been in that , right? And Dongwoon knows that,” he muses, absently the back of his hand up and down Kikwang’s cheek. “It’s like having to use an old torn-up dish rag as a towel.” Dongsun wrinkles his nose. “Kind of gross, huh?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kikwang supposes that it is—it is kind of gross, isn’t it?

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Dongsun leaves, he leaves Kikwang choking for breath on the ground, pants pushed off of his waist, liquid white splattered on his own hands from painful touches and acid kisses.

Really, as Kikwang forces himself to his feet—cleaning himself with tissues from the conference table, he doesn’t know why he’s so shaken. This is nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to what he’s been through times upon times before. Compared to all those times before, Dongsun did practically nothing—misplaced and forceful (violent—hurting) touches here and there, kisses that suffocate and burn—but that was it.

Tiny and insignificant in the face of what Kikwang’s gone through hundreds (as Dongsun’s said) of times before—hardly worth telling Dongwoon about.

(After all, Dongwoon already has to use an old, torn-up dish rag as a towel.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kikwang thinks he’s just lucky that, after the late (late) lunch—since it’s a Friday, Doojoon tells Dongwoon that he can head home early because there’s not much more that needs to be done past this little glitch and Dongwoon’s been working overtime all week anyway. Kikwang thinks he’s just lucky that no one seems to notice how out of sorts he is (but then again, why would any of them notice? Why should any of them notice? It’s just Kikwang, after all.)

Dongwoon doesn’t seem to notice either.

Which is good (it’s okay). That’s what Kikwang wants anyway. It’s for the better (easier—simpler). It’s better for Dongwoon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way home, Dongwoon talks about this and that, asking Kikwang what Dongsun wanted help with, telling Kikwang that Hyuna recommended this restaurant, laughing to Kikwang about how Yoseob chucked the computer keyboard at Doojoon’s face. Dongwoon talks about this and that, and Kikwang listens to him—smiles when he should, laughs when he’s supposed to, and wonders why the traffic has to be so terrible because all Kikwang wants to do is sleep right now—curl in on himself and never wake up.

He stares straight ahead when they reach a red light and Dongwoon’s fallen silent after finishing telling Kikwang about Doojoon is continuously pestering Dongwoon about jewelry (rings?) magazines when Dongwoon never thought Doojoon was ever a jewelry kind of person. Kikwang is in the middle of debating if maybe he really should just nap in the car since they still—

A finger against Kikwang’s cheek—

“Hyung.”

Dongwoon turns the older man’s face towards himself. The younger man’s eyebrows are furrowed, eyes intent and boring into Kikwang’s (even though they should probably be on the road). “What’s wrong?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s something Kikwang’s always wondered about.

He’s always wondered, ever since the days at the club, why Dongwoon could always see through Kikwang—why Dongwoon can somehow, so easily, see if Kikwang is upset when even Hongki couldn’t always tell. He wonders if maybe it’s because Kikwang’s acting when Dongwoon’s around or if it’s because Dongwoon is just one of those people with that special ability to read expressions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The light’s green, Dongwoon-ah,” Kikwang says quietly—hoarsely.

Dongwoon takes his hand away from Kikwang’s face, placing it back on the steering wheel just as the cars in front of them begin moving. “Will you tell me what’s wrong when we get home?” he asks carefully, in a low voice, as they cross the intersection.

Kikwang doesn’t answer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rest of the car ride is wordless.

It’s wordless when they reach the apartment.

It’s wordless while Dongwoon changes out of his suit and Kikwang sits on the bed, and watches idly. He watches Dongwoon’s shoulder blades shift beneath his skin as the younger man shrugs off his shirt and reaches for a t-shirt. He watches every muscle move and contract infinitesimally while Dongwoon pulls on sweats, folds his suit, tugs down his t-shirt. Kikwang watches and wonders what it must feel like to be more than just perfect on the outside—to be amazing on the inside too.

“What?”

Kikwang blinks. “What?”

Dongwoon raises his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth curling upward slightly. “I know I’m hot, hyung—you don’t have to stare that hard.”

Kikwang’s face breaks into a smile—easily and effortlessly (but then again, with Dongwoon, that’s nothing new, right?). “Not as hot as me.”

Dongwoon snorts, chucking at Kikwang’s chin gently. “You wish.”

Kikwang laughs.

The younger man smiles back, sitting down next to Kikwang, just inches of space between them. Dongwoon’s hand slips over Kikwang’s and curls their fingers together. They sit like that for a while—in more wordlessness—until Kikwang loses track of the seconds (minutes) ticking by. They sit like that, comfortable and quiet, until Kikwang’s eyelids start getting heavy and he wonders if Dongwoon actually has something to say because, if not, Kikwang really wants to sleep.

Dongwoon’s thumb over Kikwang’s knuckles hesitantly. “Want to tell me what’s wrong now?” the younger man asks softly—carefully.

Kikwang stares at his knees, mouth tight.

“I don’t know if I can help,” Dongwoon goes on, still in that same soft and careful voice—like he’s afraid that Kikwang will refuse if the younger man sounds too insistent, “but I’ll try, hyung.”

Kikwang frowns—still looking downward, and not at Dongwoon’s face. “How,” he begins slowly, “do you even know it’s something that matters? You don’t even know what—”

“It’s hurting you, right?”

The older man’s head snaps up, staring.

Dongwoon’s eyes are steady, boring into Kikwang and now (perfect—perfect, Kikwang’s just made it worse by more or less confirming that something is wrong) more concerned than before. “Hyung—if it’s hurting you, then of course it matters. Even if it’s not hurting you—even if it’s just bothering you, or annoying you, it still matters. You should still tell me.”

Kikwang closes his eyes against the light of the setting sun—filtering in through the blinds that cover the bedroom’s windows. He wades in the darkness like that for only a few seconds before he forces himself to open his eyes again, squeezing Dongwoon’s hand and leaning against the younger man’s side—head on Dongwoon’s shoulder. “Can I sleep first?” Kikwang asks quietly. “I promise that I’ll tell you after I wake up.”

He’s promising—he’s promising right now, but Kikwang really has no idea how it’s going to happen. He has no idea how to tell Dongwoon—he doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to tell Dongwoon because no matter how much Kikwang actually wishes Dongsun is all of it—he knows that that’s not true. He knows that Dongsun isn’t even half of it—Dongsun is just bringing out the worst parts of it, but whether Dongsun exists or not, it won’t change the fact that Kikwang will never stop feeling like what he has with Dongwoon will turn back into a pumpkin when the clock strikes twelve.

And no matter how much Dongwoon might want to make whatever is hurting Kikwang right now better, it’s just the fact of the matter that the younger man can’t. There’s no way for Dongwoon to stay with Kikwang as long as Kikwang wants (forever) without hurting himself. Kikwang wants Dongwoon to be happy and Dongwoon can’t be happy if he stays with Kikwang (forever). It’s something that Kikwang wishes Dongwoon would never realize (so Dongwoon would stay with him forever), and yet, the older man has just promised to tell Dongwoon everything.

Kikwang has just promised to turn all of this back into a pumpkin before the hands are even near twelve.