I think I’m going to go crazy

          They never wait for each other.

          It’s an implicit rule, silently and mutually agreed upon without discussion, without any thoughts wasted on it because it’s a rule—it’s like a law, it’s basic protocol that in something like this, a relationship like this (it’s not even a relationship—just barely, in the loosest sense of the word), it’s every man for himself and if you’re caught, then you’re caught and you don’t bring down the other parties involved with you.

          So they never wait for each other.

          Hyunseung never waits when he finishes first—something that happens often, that happens most of the time because even though he can tell that Junhyung isn’t new to this, he can tell that Junhyung isn’t as old at this as Hyunseung is. Junhyung hasn’t been at this for as long as Hyunseung has, or maybe hasn’t done this as many times as Hyunseung has, so Hyunseung is usually the one to finish getting ready first—he’s dressed and on his feet, perspiration wiped off, redness gone from his cheeks and lips.

          He leaves first most of the time, kissing Junhyung on the lips as a goodbye, as a see you later, as a thank you, as a see you at work tomorrow—sometimes as a see you at the meeting in a few hours.

          The kiss is a courtesy, like holding the door open for the person behind you, and it doesn’t mean anything—it means just as much as all the kisses exchanged between them before, during, and then after. It means as much as all of those kisses, and for Hyunseung, those kisses mean nothing.

I’m a bad boy that can’t be satisfied

          “I don’t think I like him,” Dongsun says offhandedly as he watches Hyunseung lie spread-eagle, , on top of the conference table. Hyunseung has a long message about the state of trade between two locations in Japan scattered around him, a few pages even on him—he doesn’t bother brushing them off because it’s too much work and he knows it turns Dongsun on more anyway.

          “Who?” Hyunseung asks even though he’s pretty sure he already knows. “Yong Junhyung-shii?”

          Dongsun finishes putting on his pants, shirt slung over his shoulder as he takes a seat on the edge of the table, leaning down on an elbow and running his fingers through Hyunseung’s hair. “I don’t get why you’re letting him you,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “He’s not even hot.”

          Hyunseung glances up from the paper he’s looking over. “Neither are you,” he says, and then looks down. “And you’re sitting on page seventy-three.”

          “I’m not hot?” Dongsun asks, and uses the hand that he has in Hyunseung’s hair to tip Hyunseung’s face upward so their lips meet—warm and thorough with curling tongues and catching teeth and lingering lips.

          Hyunseung blinks, eyebrows raised as he sees Dongsun sliding a little bit to the left and takes this chance to grab page seventy-three. “Your tongue is nice, I guess,” Hyunseung says mildly and wonders if page seventy-three is in a different font color for a reason or if that’s just the wrinkles from Dongsun making it appear that way.

I’m not falling for you

          Unlike Dongsun, Hyunseung thinks Junhyung is quite likeable. He also thinks Junhyung is considerably, mildly, fairly, passably good-looking. And in all honesty, Hyunseung knows that the only reason Dongsun dislikes Junhyung is because there’s something about sharing that no one ever seems to like when it comes to Hyunseung. Before Junhyung, before Dongsun, there was someone else who Hyunseung had and who had Hyunseung to himself before Dongsun came—and then the two had to share. And before those two, in college, at the end of high school, there were others who had to share when another one came along.

          But unhappily—always unhappily and reluctantly when they had to share. They’re always the happiest during that small interval before Hyunseung finds someone else—that small period of time when they don’t have to share because the other one left, or changed jobs, or graduated, or got transferred.

          Or decide that they’re done—

          And leave to find a real relationship.

Let me blow your mind

          Hyunseung thinks there’s something going on with Yoon Doojoon.

          He thinks there’s something going on with Yoon Doojoon because normally, Yoon Doojoon would either take the subway home or hitch a ride home with Junhyung or any other colleague of theirs except Hyunseung (for reasons that he can’t quite figure out because the last time Doojoon carpooled with Hyunseung, he thought it actually went rather well). Doojoon usually takes the subway or hops a ride, but for some reason, lately, he’s been taking taxis a lot.

          Doojoon still goes by subway, but even that’s started to become confusing—the CEO’s son always insists on leaving for the subway at a certain time, taking a certain route down the sidewalks and all sorts of other directional equations that make Hyunseung’s head hurt so he ends up throwing paper in Doojoon’s face to shut him up.

          “Weird?” Junhyung says, when Hyunseung asks one day as they’re getting redressed in their usual conference room. “Doojoonie’s always weird.”

          “Yeah, I know,” Hyunseung says, “but weirder than usual, I mean.” He frowns to himself as he struggles with redoing the top buttons of his shirt—a new shirt, that Geurim somehow forced into his closet without him knowing because she thought it made his skin look prettier (it might’ve been his hair or his eyes or his arm, he doesn’t really remember). It’s a new shirt, so the cloth and the buttons are still stiff and he isn’t sure how he put this on in the morning in the first place.

          He continues to struggle with the buttons as Junhyung goes on about how he’s noticed Doojoon being odd too—more or less ever since Junhyung called a taxi for Doojoon because it was raining and if Doojoon got a cold, the entire office would give them hell for it, and ever since then, Junhyung starts talking about how he supposes that Doojoon just likes taxis better than the subway and it’s not like Doojoon’s going to run out of money for them or anything—

          “Hey,” Junhyung says suddenly, and Hyunseung looks up from his fight with the buttons. The other man seems to have finished getting dressed, ready to leave whenever he wants and Hyunseung wonders why he hasn’t already. “Need some help?”

          Hyunseung blinks, mid wrestle with the second button from the top. “What?”

          Junhyung blinks back, and starts taking steps toward Hyunseung, walking around behind him when he gets there so that Hyunseung’s back is pressed against Junhyung’s front, Junhyung’s arms encircling him, hands covering Hyunseung’s and taking over the battle with the buttons. “Here,” Junhyung says, voice quiet beside Hyunseung’s ear, and fights a bit with the two top buttons just like Hyunseung, but unlike Hyunseung, the fight only lasts a few seconds before their deftly fastened.

          “Thanks,” Hyunseung says as Junhyung draws away and goes back to the front of the room.

          Junhyung gives him a half-smile and picks up his laptop, his suit jacket, his briefcase. “No problem,” he says, before he casts Hyunseung a last look and heads out the door.

Don’t wanna try no more

          Doojoon doesn’t seem so weird anymore one night when Hyunseung is passing the front doors on his way for a last-minute spree to the main fax machine. He definitely doesn’t seem so weird anymore when Hyunseung passes the CEO’s son standing just outside the office, under the awning, very visible through the clear glass doors and windows. Doojoon doesn’t seem so weird anymore, and his un-weirdness is exactly what makes Hyunseung slow his walk—slow down and stop and stare.

          It’s obvious, it’s easy to tell—especially for someone like Hyunseung—that the arms around Doojoon’s waist, that the body Doojoon’s own arms are wrapped around, aren’t a woman’s arms, isn’t a woman’s body. And then, when Hyunseung takes a few more steps forward, and then a few steps closer, it’s not only obvious—it’s visual and utter proof that Doojoon isn’t kissing, isn’t laughing with, isn’t smiling at, doesn’t look completely happy and perfect with a woman.

I’m scared that these stars will hurt me

          His name is Yang Yoseob. He’s a college student. He’s studying to be a translator for more languages than Hyunseung knew existed. He’s a taxi driver. Amongst other jobs. He’s cheerful, he’s funny, he’s witty, he’s sarcastic, he’s not the kind of attractive that Hyunseung would want to slam into tables, but he’s the kind of attractive that piques Hyunseung’s interest—the kind of attractive that would get Hyunseung double-taking if he ever saw him in the streets, at least.

          Hyunseung and Junhyung and Hyuna all find out about this just the next day—the day after Hyunseung caught them outside the building doors. There’s not much of a reaction, unless you count Hyuna invading Yoseob’s personal space and Yoseob invading Hyuna’s right back. Junhyung is friendly, is polite, seems to take to Yoseob considerably after just a few minutes and Yoseob gives Hyunseung a few smiling glances as well.

          It’s not like there’s much to discuss anyway—not much to think about or talk about considering the fact that Doojoon does relationships. Doojoon really, really does relationships because he’s never been able to really do relationships until now—but he’s always wanted to, that’s clear. It’s clear because the CEO is never seen without his wife and half of the policies and projects that are developed are because of Doojoon’s mother’s collaboration.

          So it’s not surprising that Doojoon really, really, really does relationships.

          It’s just kind of surprising that, considering the person Doojoon’s doing this relationship with—

          It just surprises Hyunseung a little that Doojoon doesn’t seem to care who finds out.

Bad when it comes to pain like that

          Being the CEO’s son, it’s not like anyone can raise very many words against Doojoon—at least not without having to fear for his or her job. And after a while, not many people want to raise any words against it. Everyone likes Doojoon and now everyone likes Yoseob, and therefore everyone likes Doojoon with Yoseob. The women in the office take to it faster because Yoon Doojoon-shii is so attractive and kind and now they see him with another young man who’s just as attractive—who smiles at all the women and waves to them even when Doojoon tries to drag him off.

          The men in the office take a little longer, most of them just try to settle and bear with it through gritted teeth. They take a little longer, but not too long—not too long because Yoseob is probably not what they expected. Yoseob is all smiles and little jokes for the women, and witty and sarcastic and easy to talk to with the men. He’s witty and sarcastic and extremely easy to talk to and it’s something Junhyung grabs onto faster than anyone else in the office.

          Hyunseung doesn’t blame him—it’s not even a week after Doojoon tells them (and Yoseob doesn’t even come around the office that often) that Hyunseung has Yoseob’s phone number himself. Yoseob is easy to talk to, is good-looking, is kind, is funny, is smart, is all things someone like Doojoon deserves and if there was some way for over three-hundred people to give one mass relationship approval—

          Then Hyunseung is pretty sure that’s what their office is doing.

I try to avoid it

          He doesn’t know why he asks—it’s a stupid question, he knows, but he ends up asking anyway even though he knows it’s pointless. He knows there’s no reason for him to ask, that it’s something he’s deemed useless anyway, but the way Doojoon and Yoseob do it—it just—it makes it seem different and Hyunseung hates how something like that, just watching it, can make him start wondering all over again.

          So he asks.

          Dongsun blinks down at him, his palms against the table, framing Hyunseung’s head, and he stops in mid-action—probably about to kiss Hyunseung, probably about to press and drag his mouth against Hyunseung’s throat. He stares at Hyunseung for a moment and Hyunseung merely looks back, waiting. “I mean,” Dongsun says slowly, snorts, and a dismissive smirk tugs at his mouth, “not really. Commitment , and plus—” their lips meet and his tongue ropes Hyunseung’s into curling and twisting against his “—y’know you’re too able for commitment.”

          Hyunseung doesn’t know why he asked, and now that he asked, he knows that he shouldn’t have. It was pointless, he knows that, and he knew that he’d regret asking because the answer is always the same every time anyway. It’s something Hyunseung can never have and every time he tries hoping, it’s useless anyway.

          It’s a waste of time.

My personality to drag it out—say no

          Hyunseung supposes that he should’ve just gone home—he should’ve just gone home right away after Dongsun instead of responding to Junhyung’s text and waiting until the other man finished his meeting. Once again, he doesn’t even know why he bothers waiting when he’s already had for the day and usually it’s either-or and not both in a single day. He doesn’t understand, but it’s not like there’s ever a thing as too much , so he finishes himself up in his and Dongsun’s usual conference room and moves on to his and Junhyung’s usual conference room.

          He should’ve known to go home because while he can hide things from his secretary, from Doojoon and his other colleagues in passing, there’s only so much he can hide before it leaks out onto his face—and things like that are harder to hide the closer someone is. It’s harder to hide the closer someone is and when you’re about to start , that’s about as close as two people are going to get distance-wise.

          “Nothing,” he says when Junhyung asks what’s wrong. Hyunseung makes to continue kissing him, his hands shifting from Junhyung’s shoulders to the buttons on the other man’s shirt. He doesn’t understand why Junhyung would ask anyway—it irritates him, itches and scratches at him a little bit because it’s not in any place of Junhyung’s to care.

I – I – I freeze you

          Junhyung takes Hyunseung’s hands away from his shirt—both of Hyunseung’s wrists fit in Junhyung’s single hand. “What’s wrong?” he repeats, a little bit more insistently, but he acts as if he hasn’t already asked once before—as if Hyunseung hasn’t already refused him an answer once before.

          “It’s okay,” Hyunseung says quietly. He tries to wriggle his wrists out of Junhyung’s hand. “Let me go—if you’re not planning on ing me in the next ten minutes, let me go home.” He raises his eyes to meet Junhyung’s. “I have work to do.”

          Junhyung doesn’t let Hyunseung’s gaze drop or break away. He holds it for a few seconds, silently and in a way that makes it so that Hyunseung doesn’t dare look away. They stare at each other for those few moments before Junhyung suddenly pulls Hyunseung by his wrists, heading for the door. “C’mon,” he says, ignoring the fact that Hyunseung immediately starts digging his heels into the floor because this is like the beginnings of a kidnapping scene, “get your stuff.”

          “You’re insane, right?” Hyunseung asks, wondering if he can stop this by sitting down on the floor and refusing to budge (Junhyung can only be so strong after all, and Hyunseung is willing to bet that there is no way the other man can carry his briefcase and Hyunseung all at once). “You fell asleep during a meeting and hit your head on your laptop again, didn’t you?”

          Junhyung abruptly switches—trades in Hyunseung’s wrists in his hand to standing behind Hyunseung, placing his hands on either side of Hyunseung’s waist and guiding him a little more gently to the front of the room. As if Hyunseung can’t find his way there by himself—yeah, thanks. “I didn’t fall asleep,” Junhyung says indignantly, letting go of Hyunseung’s waist momentarily to hand Hyunseung his briefcase.

          Hyunseung takes it and watches as Junhyung picks up his own briefcase and suit jacket from the table underneath the projector. “Well,” he says, “whatever you were doing, you were making snoring sounds.”

          “Those were sinus problems,” Junhyung sniffs, and then he straightens up, grinning. “And you should be nicer, you know, to someone who’s about to take you out for the most amazing bimbimbap ever.”

          Hyunseung blinks. “What?”

Take my soul, take my heart back

          Okay—

          So—okay. Okay, so it is kind of the most amazing bimbimbap ever.

          The place isn’t too far from the office, just a couple of blocks, about fifteen to maybe twenty-five or so minutes of walking and it’s not like it feels like more than three minutes anyway—not with Junhyung. For some reason with Junhyung walking beside him, with Junhyung grinning at him and shooting remarks right back whenever Hyunseung says something that would usually warrant odd silences with Dongsun and sometimes even Doojoon and Yoseob—with Junhyung next to him, it feels like they reach the restaurant not even two steps out of the office.

Love is not for me

          Hyunseung knows he shouldn’t ruin something like this—he knows that he should just take it as it is, accept it as face value and not try to get anything more out of it. It’s not like he’s interested in Junhyung, and it’s not like Junhyung is interested in him—at the most they’re just friends, and at the least, Junhyung hasn’t been at this with Hyunseung as long as Dongsun has so Hyunseung doesn’t even know how Junhyung works and it’d be dangerous to prod him otherwise.

          He knows he shouldn’t ask, but he ends up doing it anyway because he can’t ever seem to kill that stupid, ing, useless thing called hope.

          He asks.

          Junhyung looks up, spoon in mid-scoop. He raises his eyebrows thoughtfully, shrugging one shoulder. “’Cause you looked upset,” he answers with a small, easy smile. “And, I mean, we haven’t done anything together out of that conference room—so—I don’t know.”

          “You don’t want to me when I’m upset?” Hyunseung says, eyebrows meeting in the middle because he thinks it’s obviously unfair that everyone considers Junhyung normal and Hyunseung weird when it’s the other way around, clearly.

          Junhyung breaks into a wider grin, amused, and uses his chopsticks to move the last few dumplings from the serving platter into Hyunseung’s bowl. “Honestly,” he says, “I think you’re a lot hotter when you’re happy.”

I look for you

          He knows he’s weird. He knows that while quirkiness can be charming, and randomness and spontaneity can be endearing, there’s a line that’s drawn across things like that, and for Hyunseung, that line happens to be drawn between him and everyone who always wants to pursue him. It’s not that the long list of women, of men, of men and women, of boys, of girls, of boys and girls—the long list that stretches from just a few days ago to a few years ago to years upon years ago to maybe even Hyunseung’s first day of preschool where a little girl told him she wants to be friends with him because he’s cute—

          It’s not that that long list of men and women, of boys and girls, it’s not that they don’t find him charming and endearing—it’s just that all of them would rather have that perfectly fine in Hyunseung as a friend, as a best friend, and then later during high school, throughout college, throughout now, as a friend to call on when the days are boring and hot and stifling and there’s the need for a quick tumble in the sheets—except that’s only metaphorical, because Hyunseung doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he’s actually went at it in the sheets.

          It’s usually in a bathroom stall or a conference room or an office room or a car or a closet or—

          Everyone always wants Hyunseung.

          But no one ever wants to keep him—not for long, and not the way Doojoon and Yoseob want to keep each other.

Below the moonlight that illuminates me

          It hurt at first—it hurt the first few times, when Hyunseung made the mistake of thinking that when a boy with bright eyes and a bright smile led him to a couch at the back of a party—when he made the mistake of thinking that something like that meant the boy wanted Hyunseung beyond the one night, the two nights, the three nights. When he made the mistake of thinking that meant the boy still wanted Hyunseung after the night was over.

          Not to say that the boy, the boys, the girls, the men, the women, didn’t want Hyunseung anymore. Because they did—they always do—it’s just—they never want him during the day, in the sunlight, in public, where everyone can see them. They only ever want him behind hidden doors, in the dark, in dim club lights, in backrooms, at night.

          Hyunseung never stops hoping, but he’s too tired to say no—too tired to fight it and make it clear that he wants something real because it’s all the same—it’s like Dongsun said (because Dongsun is right—so right) – Hyunseung is too able for commitment.

I still don’t understand love

          Doojoon frowns toward the other side of the room, and then glances at Hyunseung as they lean against the bar at the dinner party. “Did you know?” he asks and sounds unhappier and unhappier about this as the seconds tick by.

          Hyunseung shrugs and shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t know—it’s not like it’s his business to know, it’s not his business to care just like Junhyung didn’t have to care that Hyunseung was upset that one day a few weeks ago. And it doesn’t change anything—he knows that, too. He knows that Junhyung is going to show up tomorrow at their usual conference room and things will pick up as always because this isn’t the first time it’s happened. Dongsun’s done things like this, the man before Dongsun has, the man before that has, and the man before that—

          “He shouldn’t do that,” Doojoon says, eyebrows furrowing, “I mean, he’s with y—”

          “He’s not with me,” Hyunseung says, sipping at his drink. “We’re ing.” He exchanges a look with Doojoon—a final look—a look that clearly sends the message that Hyunseung doesn’t care, doesn’t have any opinions or thoughts, doesn’t care about Junhyung laughing and chatting with his colleagues, the higher-ups, with his arm resting on the waist of a pretty heiress that his father had connected him with.

Tonight, pitifully alone once again