Son Dongwoon is tall and young and attractive and, in another situation with different circumstances, Hyunseung probably would’ve tried to find a way to be alone with him an empty conference room some time after hours. But as it is, Son Dongwoon is tall and young and attractive and it only takes a few meetings for him and Doojoon to latch themselves to each other, and after that Dongwoon meets Yoseob, gets yelled at by Junhyung for losing paperclips, and nearly suffocates after Hyunseung asks him if his nose is made out of play-dough.

 

 

 

I’m still at the same place

 

 

 

          Dongsun stops him in the hall after a meeting—stops him right as everyone is filing out of the conference room, pulls Hyunseung to the side so that to everyone else, it looks like both of them are just taking another way to the elevator. It looks like they are just taking a different way to the elevator, a shortcut, maybe a smaller hall in the case that they need to talk privately about what happened in the meeting.

          That’s what it looks like.

          What really happens is a little different.

          What really happens is Dongsun pushing Hyunseung into one of the unused conference rooms at the end of the corridor, crushing their lips together, He crushes their lips together, familiar as ever, hand gripping the back of Hyunseung’s neck, arm looping and catching Hyunseung’s waist, and it’s all the way it always is—the way it should be and always has been for a while now and usually Hyunseung would kiss back, would hook his fingers on Dongsun’s belt—

          But for some reason, today—

          He doesn’t.

Hyunseung pushes away, pulls away. Dongsun doesn’t let go of his hands. “What?” he asks Hyunseung, frowning. “What’s wrong?” As he says it, as his hands are still around Hyunseung’s, he starts pulling back—starts trying to pull Hyunseung’s body back to his.

          “Just—not today,” Hyunseung says, anchoring his heels into the floor so Dongsun can’t close the space between them. “I feel sick today.”

          Dongsun blinks—frowns deeper. “Then go take some pills and come back,” he says, as if this is obvious.

          Hyunseung shakes his head, slipping his hands out of Dongsun’s slowly and backing towards the door. “Not today, Dongsun-ah,” he says, “Sorry.”

 

 

 

Still by your side

 

 

 

          “So,” Hyunseung says, leaning back against Junhyung’s chest as the younger man’s hands button up Hyunseung’s shirt, “you met this one before?” Junhyung shifts slightly after he finishes the last top buttons, sliding his arms down to wrap around Hyunseung’s waist tightly, cheek against the older man’s shoulder.

          “Kind of,” he replies slowly, “like, the last one—she was just some random heiress kid of one of Appa’s partners, but this one, I think, I met when I was twelve or something at some dinner party I got dragged too. I don’t know—we probably won’t remember each other, but that’s how it always is.”

          Hyunseung pulls out of Junhyung’s arms a little bit, giving him room to turn around and face the other man—he turns around so he can face him, and when he does, Junhyung’s eyebrows are raised playfully, questioningly. “What?” Hyunseung asks, blinking.

          Junhyung’s lips curve into a small grin. “What?” he echoes back teasingly.

          Hyunseung blinks again, lower lip pushing out, and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I think she’s pretty,” he offers. “She has nicer hair than the last one. Except the one before the last one had prettier eyes.”

          The grin widens and a moment later, it’s covering Hyunseung’s mouth—Hyunseung kisses back, mildly surprised and still confused as to where this is going or he’s having regular with someone so ing weird. He should have waited—he definitely should have waited until Dongwoon arrived because not only is Dongwoon taller and fitter, he’s probably less weird, too.

          When Junhyung pulls away, he has his fingers smoothing Hyunseung’s bangs to the side and then coming down to brush his fingertips gently and carefully against Hyunseung’s eyelashes. “I mean,” Junhyung says with a cheeky grin, “I’ve seen prettier.”

          Hyunseung stares. “Really? Wait—who?”

          He supposes it just proves further than he should’ve waited out for Dongwoon when Junhyung buries his face into Hyunseung’s neck to muffle the laughter because Hyunseung honestly doesn’t even understand what’s so funny.

 

I’m tired of wandering

 

 

 

 

          “Nervous?” Hyunseung asks, looking over to Doojoon as they ride the elevator up to the restaurant’s private level. His hands are currently tying Dongwoon’s tie, but his eyes are amusedly watching Doojoon adjust his collar for the seventh time since they entered the lift.

          Doojoon gives him a waspish look. “What—and you’re not?”

          Hyunseung shrugs and tugs the maknae’s tie down. Dongwoon suddenly grabs Hyunseung’s forearm, his eyes scrunched shut. “Oh,” Hyunseung says, “sorry.” He pries the cloth back apart, undoing the knot slightly, and glances back to Doojoon. “It’s not like they know their son’s ing me. You’re the one who should be nervous.”

          “Hyung,” Dongwoon says, looking to Doojoon around Hyunseung’s head, “you’re the Sajangnim’s son. What could they possibly do to you?”

          Doojoon sighs. “I don’t know. Throw fruit at me?”

          “You’re gay,” Hyunseung says. “Not a purple dinosaur.”

          He manages to dodge Doojoon’s elbow just as the elevator dings it’s arrival to the restaurant’s top floor.

          As they step out of the elevator, Hyunseung honestly thinks it might’ve not been all that bad of an idea except that Doojoon’s father clearly overlooked (or maybe just didn’t care, since that sounds like the kind of thing Yoon-sajangnim would find funny) the part where Junhyung can’t even come out to his parents, and Doojoon is publicized in the socialite news, complete with photographic proof, every so often shopping in Hongdae with his boyfriend.

           

 

 

          Nothing remotely noteworthy happens until Doojoon has to go off and greet a business associate who recognizes him across the restaurant. Once Doojoon is cleanly out of earshot, Dongwoon gives Hyunseung a discreet look that resembles something between panic and fear and it would almost be funny if Hyunseung wasn’t echoing the same emotions in his head.

          “He’s a good boy,” Junhyung’s mother says, looking at her son and then to Dongwoon and Hyunseung.

          “Shame,” Junhyung’s father says, shaking his head. “It’s a shame, right, boys?”

          “What?” Dongwoon says, looking up from staring into his water glass. Hyunseung kicks him underneath the table. Junhyung gives a little quick shake of his head, eyes widening infinitesimally.

          Junhyung’s father reaches over and pats his son’s back. “Ah, well—Yoon-sajangnim knows best, eh? It’s probably just a phase anyway. Best to let those kinds of things run their course when you’re young.” He nods wisely, taking a thoughtful sip of champagne. “Then,” he goes on, leaning forward in a fatherly manner, “when you’re older, you’ll be able to focus on work and family—things that really matter, you know?”

          Hyunseung and Junhyung nod simultaneously—automatically. Dongwoon is frozen—staring at the two parents with wide eyes, made even wider with the fact that they’re the maknae’s eyes, deep and foreign-looking. Hyunseung kicks him again, and that sets Dongwoon off like a bobble-head, nodding rapidly.

          “We met him,” Junhyung says then, suddenly—Hyunseung and Dongwoon glance at him quickly, alarmed. Junhyung doesn’t meet their eyes, looking directly at his father instead. “He’s crazy smart, Appa,” he continues. “He’s on full scholarship at SU, and—”

          Junhyung’s mother frowns delicately. “Scholarship?”

          Junhyung sighs.

          “That’s,” Junhyung’s father glances to Hyunseung and Dongwoon, most likely wondering if they’ll say anything about this to Doojoon, “that’s nice—admirable, I guess.”

          “Appa—”

          This time, it’s Junhyung who Hyunseung kicks underneath the table—gently at first to make sure he’s got the right foot, and then hard right in the younger man’s ankle to cut him off. Their eyes meet and Hyunseung sees everything he expects to see in Junhyung’s eyes. He sees outrage—sees disbelief that’s clear and deep even though Junhyung knows his parents back and forth, the younger man still doesn’t want to believe that they would pull these kinds of words against someone who’s become his best friend—who’s become his best friend and makes his other best friend happier than anything else in the world.

          “Hyunseung-shii,” Junhyung’s mother says with a warm smile, “how about you? A lucky lady waiting in the wings?”

          He tears his gaze away from Junhyung and smiles back. “Not right now—just focusing on my career.”

 

 

 

 

          Junhyung sees his parents off in their car first, shaking hands with the driver and waving them off from the restaurant’s front entrance. He hugs Dongwoon and then Doojoon who get into their own cars and start off closely after. Hyunseung knows he probably should’ve done the same—probably should’ve just hugged Junhyung and set off towards the parking garage. It’s what he should’ve done, probably the smartest thing he could’ve done, but Hyunseung supposes that there was just something in that steak that made him stupid tonight.

          Or maybe it’s the fact that Junhyung doesn’t even glance at the elevator that leads down to the garage—he swings right around, headed straight for the bar entrance embedded into the other side of the restaurant.

          Hyunseung grabs the other man’s arm before he starts walking away—catches him in mid-turn, and whirls him right back around so they face each other. When he gets a proper look at Junhyung’s face, he starts to sincerely hope that it’s just the wind and the nighttime darkness that makes Junhyung’s eyes look raw and worn out like that. He takes a look around briefly before taking the younger man’s hands lightly, swinging them against his and Junhyung’s sides.

          Junhyung doesn’t meet his eyes.

          “Hey,” Hyunseung says softly. “I like them.” He nudges the toe of Junhyung’s shoe with his own. “Your mom’s really pretty—you have the same eyes.”

          The younger man’s gaze is still glued to the ground—but Hyunseung catches a tiny tug of his lips.

          “And your dad’s funny,” he goes on, taking their conjoined hands and spreading their arms as far out as they’ll go—Junhyung’s stretch out longer than Hyunseung’s. Hyunseung lets them drop to their sides again before a full-blown smile (little and hard to spot, but Hyunseung sees it) sneaks onto Junhyung’s face. “He’s fails at life just like you.”

          “Yah,” Junhyung says, looking up. “I fail a lot less than my dad.”

          Hyunseung raises his eyebrows.

          Junhyung blinks. “Wait—I mean—no, I don’t fail—”

          Hyunseung laughs—his eyes closing upward and it’s only a few moments before he hears Junhyung’s laugh start up. He hears the younger man laugh, and when he opens his eyes, Junhyung is smiling—an odd smile, a little unsure, apologetic, and sadder than the younger man is ever allowed to be in Hyunseung’s eyes. “I like them,” Hyunseung repeats firmly. “They’re nice.”

          Junhyung snorts softly, humorlessly, looking away again. He stares at something next to Hyunseung’s foot for a few moments, wordless, before whispering, “I hate them.” His hands are tense and tight around Hyunseung’s.

          Hyunseung slips his hands gently away, bringing them up to hold Junhyung’s face and make sure that their eyes connect. “No you don’t,” he says, just barely above a whisper.

          Junhyung smiles sadly. “I don’t,” he echoes. “But I wish I could.”

 

 

 

Today, again, I’m still spinning

 

 

 

          Before Yoseob leaves, he drops by the office one last time.  

          Most of the women cry, most of the men give him bear hugs and put on faces like they’re trying not to care, and in the end, it takes all four of them combined in order to pry Hyuna off of Yoseob. Yoseob himself is all smiles, waving and bowing and hugging and not letting go of Doojoon’s hand throughout the entire time he’s here. He only lets go to hug Hyuna, then Dongwoon, then Junhyung, then Hyunseung, before he leaves for the airport with Doojoon.

 

 

 

          It’s not permanent, Doojoon tells them in the days that follow. It’s just for his studies, Doojoon says. It’s something Yoseob’s worked ages to get, Doojoon explains. It’s something Doojoon’s been encouraging Yoseob to do, Doojoon says to them. Doojoon tells them and says to them and explains all of this to them lightly, his voice light, his gaze light, his expression and tone light, and everything is so compressed beneath a dark wall that it hurts Hyunseung—hurts everyone—to talk to Doojoon.

 

 

 

          Hyunseung wonders, wonders out loud, with Junhyung’s arms wrapped around him, both of them curled into a conference room chair with Hyunseung sitting across the younger man’s lap, legs dangling over the arm rest—he wonders out loud—wonders how you could leave someone who loves you so much.

          And Junhyung looks at him, holds him tighter, warmer, closer and wonders out loud, too. Junhyung wonders, out loud—

          How could you let go of someone you love so much?

 

 

 

That’s how I’m here now

 

 

 

          There’s a dinner party at least three times a month.

          Junhyung is never with the same girl more than once.

          He tells Hyunseung, head in the older man’s lap as they sit on the glossy conference table, that his parents get frustrated sometimes, but they’re used to him being like this by now. He tells Hyunseung in a quiet voice that feels like feathers against Hyunseung’s ear, that Junhyung’s just like Hyunseung—he doesn’t do relationships because he can’t. He doesn’t want to hurt someone that he loves because he can’t give them forever—he can’t give them what Doojoon can give, did give, Yoseob.

          He can only give them quick, rushed moments in hidden rooms, against tables and walls and floors. He can only give them muted conversations in cars with the windows rolled up—can only give them dinners at his house with the blinds closed and the curtains pulled tight. He can only give them something that lasts a few months at most because they get tired of it anyway—they tell him that he’s great, he’s perfect, there’s nothing wrong with him—there’s nothing wrong, and it’d be all right, it’d be fine—

          It’s just—they’re tired of hiding. They want someone who can give them what Junhyung can’t. So they leave.

         

 

 

You knew, you knew of my aching heart

 

 

 

          “I won’t,” Hyunseung says, cradling Junhyung’s head in his arms. He doesn’t know what he’s saying—doesn’t know what any of this is, doesn’t know what any of this means. All he knows is that Junhyung’s hurting—that Junhyung’s always been hurting, and Hyunseung wants to do what he can to stop that. He doesn’t want Junhyung to hurt, and even though men before Hyunseung didn’t want to hide for Junhyung, Hyunseung doesn’t mind.

          Junhyung turns his head, pressing his mouth against the skin of Hyunseung’s bare stomach. “They all say that at first,” Junhyung says. “When they still think that it’ll be easy—when they still think that I’m worth it.”

          Hyunseung’s fingers run through Junhyung’s hair. “They all say that,” he says as Junhyung looks up, as their gazes meet, “but I mean it.”

 

 

 

I hurt more when you smile

 

 

 

          Sometimes Hyunseung thinks that it’d be easier—it would be so much easier, less painful, less strenuous—sometimes he thinks that it’d be so much simpler if Junhyung passed by like any other member of the long, outstretched line in Hyunseung’s life. Sometimes he thinks that it’d be better, it’d be so much better, if Junhyung wanted nothing more from Hyunseung than quick, tumbles in the conference room. Sometimes Hyunseung thinks that it wouldn’t hurt as much if Junhyung was like any of the others because if he was, Hyunseung could still be rolling by with his life—peaceful as ever, ing Dongsun and ing Junhyung and looking through the inflow of newcomers as potential-conference-room-partners.

          Sometimes, Hyunseung wishes that Junhyung doesn’t always wait for him after they finish—doesn’t ask if Hyunseung is okay, if he’s tired, if he’s hungry or thirsty. Sometimes Hyunseung wishes that Junhyung doesn’t lure him out of the office when they’re both turning in for the night—doesn’t take him to old, little restaurants that Hyunseung would’ve otherwise missed completely passing by. Sometimes Hyunseung wishes that Junhyung doesn’t spend long moments before they even have just holding Hyunseung by the waist, holding Hyunseung in his arms, kissing Hyunseung softly and talking with him, laughing with him, asking him how the day went.

          Sometimes Hyunseung wants Junhyung to stop acting like he loves him.

         

 

 

How much longer must my tears fall?

 

 

 

          It’s only sometimes, though.

          It’s only sometimes because they only have dinner parties sometimes.

          Hyunseung only sometimes sees Junhyung laughing and cheerful and introducing yet another girl to higher-ups and colleagues and employees.

          It’s only sometimes, but Hyunseung feels it all the time.

 

 

 

Believing in that promise

 

 

 

          Hyunseung looks down at his papers, shuffling them needlessly, adding redundant notes with his pen just so he has something to do with his hands—so it looks like he’s busy. Everyone else, Doojoon and Junhyung included, have already left the conference room after the weekly head of departments meeting. He pretends to take longer gathering all of his files, closing his laptop, tucking away his thumb drive because maybe if he takes long enough, then Dongsun will give up waiting and leave.

          He hopes for it—waits for it—

          But like most things Hyunseung hopes for—

          It doesn’t happen.

 

 

 

The lies telling me to wait

 

 

 

          “I don’t get you,” Dongsun says with narrowed eyes, standing on the other side of the conference table, leaning forward with his palms pressed flat against the laminated wooden surface. “You’re the one who said that you don’t do relationships, but of all ing people, you start dating Yong Junhyung? The over-privileged, under-parented bastard who gets everything in life handed to him on a silver platter?”

          Hyunseung doesn’t say anything, simply continues to page through the printed slides in his binder.

          Dongsun bangs his hand on the table. “Yah,” he says, louder, “yah—Jang Hyunseung. He’s not going to come out for you.” Dongsun’s voice is the only noise in the empty meeting room—the door is closed and the sun is setting, lights bright and painful bearing down on them. “Of all people you start to do relationships with, why’d you pick the one who’s never going to do anything for you? You know it, too, right? That if his family takes it all away, he won’t have anything left, and he’s too scared to risk his money. He’ll marry a girl before he risks it.”

          Hyunseung gathers the papers into his binder, tucks the file in the back pocket, swings his laptop into his arms and stands up. He pushes the chair in and heads for the door without looking back at Dongsun. He doesn’t look back, and Dongsun doesn’t call after him—doesn’t make any advances, doesn’t give any effort because Hyunseung knows that isn’t the reason Dongsun wanted to say what he said.

          After all—

          It’s not like anything he said were lies.

 

 

 

Even my deceived selfishness

 

 

 

          When the roads start to lose their familiarity, he glances at Junhyung with wide eyes, blinking. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again, deciding to look out his own window one more time to make sure that they had honestly missed the turn that would’ve taken them to one of the usual restaurants they go to. Hyunseung peers out his window as best he can considering the darkness and how all of Seoul is whizzing by in a whirl of lights.

          “Um,” Hyunseung finally decides to speak up, puffing out his left cheek, “so—um—I think you took a wrong turn.”

          Junhyung raises his eyebrows, amused and with his eyes still glued to the road. “Really now?”

          “Yeah,” he glances to his own window one more time, just to make sure, “yeah, I think you did.”

          They come to a red light and Junhyung pulls to a smooth stop. He stops, and then turns his head to meet Hyunseung’s eyes, smiling broadly—excitedly, almost. “No,” Junhyung says, one hand reaching out and gently poking Hyunseung’s blown-out cheek with his knuckles. “I’m pretty sure I know the way to my own apartment.”

 

 

 

Is now tired and worn

 

 

 

          Junhyung’s apartment is everything Hyunseung expected it to be—not much less and not much more. It’s sleek, it’s dark, it’s modern, it’s private, it’s near where Doojoon lives—in the new apartment rises by the river, the ones that are more tiny-penthouses than actual apartments—and it was probably given to him by his parents on a silver platter whenever he’d decided to move out.

          Hyunseung expects Junhyung to kiss him—thinks that the first thing Junhyung will do after closing the door is to kiss Hyunseung. He expects Junhyung to push him against the walls, to lift him onto the kitchen counter, to pull them both down onto the sofa—pull them into Junhyung’s bedroom, push Hyunseung down on the bed. He expects all sorts of things that they always do in the conference rooms before they go out for dinner or after they come back from a lunch break.

          He expects Junhyung to do any or all of those things only this time without having to worry about being quiet or taking too long.

          But like a lot of things that Hyunseung expects—

          It doesn’t happen.

 

 

 

There is no excuse to laugh

 

 

 

          Junhyung just takes Hyunseung’s hand—just leads him past the small entryway where they toe off their shoes. He just takes Hyunseung’s hand, tugs him forward softly, a little hesitantly, almost shyly, and brings him into the middle of the living room—past the kitchen, past the doors that are probably the bedroom and bathroom and closet. Junhyung brings Hyunseung into the middle of the living room without turning any of the lights on.

          The only source of light comes from the large glass windows overlooking all of Seoul—the lights of the city.

         

 

 

And pretend not to know

 

 

 

          Hyunseung doesn’t understand—he’s confused, a little bit alarmed, puzzled because everything in his mind is tangled into so many knots—knots that are so tight and chaotic that he can’t separate them one from another. Everything is jumbled together and he doesn’t know how to react, doesn’t know what any of this is, doesn’t know anything at all when Junhyung wraps his arms around Hyunseung’s waist and buries his face in Hyunseung’s neck.

          They’re standing in the middle of the living room, wordless since they arrived at the apartment, in the darkness, and Junhyung is holding him so tightly that in a lighter situation, Hyunseung would’ve tried to pull away because it literally feels like all of the oxygen is being squeezed from his body.

          His own arms come up, fingertips gripping Junhyung’s shoulders. “Nice place,” he says, lips against the younger man’s ear. He keeps his tone light, keeps it airy and weightless because he’s confused as and he doesn’t know what else to do. “Impresses girls, I bet—and guys.”

          Junhyung’s arms tighten even further—bruise tight—around Hyunseung’s waist and his face is pressed so deep into Hyunseung’s neck that Hyunseung can feel the tip of Junhyung’s nose, Junhyung’s lips, Junhyung’s warm breath—he can feel everything against the skin of his own throat. And he feels Junhyung’s mouth move when the younger man speaks—when the younger man says, “Probably would.” He pulls away then, searching Hyunseung’s face and giving a fragile sort of smile. “Except I haven’t taken anyone else here—so I wouldn’t really know.” 

 

 

For not making you love me more

 

 

 

          It’s Junhyung’s fault.

          It’s Junhyung’s fault and Hyunseung hates it—hates him.

          He hates how Junhyung has so many masks hanging on the walls of his office, on the walls of his apartment, that Hyunseung’s surprised the younger man himself hasn’t lost track of them. He hates how Junhyung wears a different mask for every girl he appears with at dinner parties, at balls, at banquets, at galas, at benefits. He hates how Junhyung wears a different mask for his parents, for the people he has to introduce himself and his multiple girlfriends to.

          He hates how Junhyung only takes those masks off around Dongwoon and Doojoon and Hyuna and Hyunseung. He hates how when Junhyung takes those masks off, Hyunseung can see all of the scars, all of the wounds and injuries and cuts and bruises, and Hyunseung is powerless against it. He hates how he can never bring himself to turn Junhyung out whenever the younger man shows up bleeding all over the carpet in Hyunseung’s office.

          He can’t stop himself from nursing Junhyung back to health, can’t stop himself from wasting all of his own medicine and energy on Junhyung even though Hyunseung hasn’t even managed to staunch his own bleeding yet.

 

 

 

It’s my mistake

 

 

 

          It’s Junhyung’s fault.

          It’s Junhyung’s fault and Hyunseung hates it—hates him.

          He hates how Junhyung smiles. He hates how when Junhyung smiles, the younger man’s lips curve upward, how his entire face lights up like something completely innocent—like pure, genuine amusement that’s so sincere regardless of why he’s smiling. He hates how Junhyung laughs—how his wrist moves in front of his mouth, like he’s trying to hide his grin even though Hyunseung doesn’t understand why anyone would hide something that perfect.

          He hates how Junhyung holds Hyunseung. He hates how the younger man holds him like Hyunseung is the last thing on earth—holds him tight and close like a child with a stuffed toy, but gently enough, softly enough, that Hyunseung still feels like he’s being held like spun glass. He hates how Junhyung kisses him. He hates how Junhyung kisses him in a way that Hyunseung’s never been kissed before—kisses him softly, carefully and hesitantly at first, always letting Hyunseung take what he wants. Junhyung always kisses Hyunseung gently even when it’s hot and rough and careless and quick, somehow—somehow—it’s always gentle and even Hyunseung doesn’t understand how Junhyung manages it.

 

 

 

For making myself love you more

 

 

 

          Hyunseung goes home a few times a month—home as in family-home, as in to visit his parents, to visit Geurim, to eat food that he doesn’t have to stare at before putting in his mouth because he’s never been the greatest at cooking and with enough money to eat from restaurants, he’s never really bothered to improve.

          He doesn’t know why he does it.

          But he decides to bring Junhyung with him this time.

         

 

 

It’s my mistake

 

 

 

          He drives to Junhyung’s apartment on a sunny Saturday morning and drags the younger man, shuffling and nervous and immaculate and perfect in khakis and a t-shirt, into the passenger seat. He’s asked Junhyung ahead of time, asked him a week before, and doesn’t even understand why Junhyung said yes so easily because Hyunseung still has no idea why he’s doing any of this, but he guesses that Junhyung at least has a vague thought as to what all of this even is.

          Junhyung spends the entire drive bombarding Hyunseung with questions while quizzing himself with note cards on everything Hyunseung’s told him about Geurim and his parents.

          Hyunseung tries his best not to laugh and turns the AC on high so Junhyung doesn’t flood the car with sweat.

 

 

 

For not making you love me as much as I wanted you to

 

 

 

          Hyunseung’s parents know. Geurim knows.

          His entire family knows because he told them in his freshman year of high school and all it took was two weeks of neither of his parents speaking to him. Two weeks of Hyunseung wondering whether he had to move out, whether his parents would let even let Geurim talk to him, even let her around him—two weeks of that, but that was that.

          So even though Hyunseung introduces Junhyung to his parents and Geurim as a friend from work—

          His mother looks away with a small amused smile, his father claps Junhyung on the shoulder, and Geurim starts tugging at Junhyung’s hand and asking him if he maybe has a younger brother in high school that’s about her own age.

         

 

 

It’s my mistake

 

 

 

          After dinner with Hyunseung’s family, while Geurim goes to her night classes, while Hyunseung’s father goes out because he wants to take a look at Hyunseung’s new car, while Hyunseung’s mother stocks up on side dishes and snacks for Hyunseung and Junhyung to take back with them—

          Hyunseung takes Junhyung out to the deck.

          He doesn’t say anything when Junhyung leans into Hyunseung’s arms, hiding his face away against Hyunseung’s collarbone—doesn’t say anything even when he feels something wet against his neck and shoulder. He doesn’t say anything when Junhyung’s fingers start gripping at Hyunseung’s waist, wrinkling and scrunching the cloth in his hands.

          He doesn’t say anything until Junhyung’s shoulders stop shaking, until the younger man’s breathing evens back out. Junhyung lies limp and lifeless in Hyunseung’s arms now—the only sign of life he shows is his death grip on Hyunseung’s waist. “They like you,” Hyunseung says softly, as Junhyung shifts so that his head rests in Hyunseung’s lap, face tipped up toward the night sky.

          The younger man’s eyes are raw and wet, pink and swollen. “I like them, too,” he says hoarsely.

          “Geurimie thinks you’re hot,” Hyunseung smiles. And then he makes a face. “Except I think my mom does, too.”

          Junhyung laughs hesitantly, weakly. “Cool,” he says. “I like your dad.”

          “My dad?” Hyunseung raises his eyebrows as Junhyung reaches up and runs his fingers absently down the side of Hyunseung’s face. “My dad’s weird as . He’s probably trying to paint my car orange right now.”

          “Like father like son,” Junhyung teases, rolling his head to the side barely fast enough to dodge Hyunseung’s elbow.

         

 

 

Knowing that I can’t have you

 

 

 

          Hyunseung wants Junhyung to know that even if the younger man’s family might not want him for who he is—

          Hyunseung’s already does.

 

 

 

After waiting alone by myself

 

 

 

          He overhears it because he thinks it’d be impossible not to.

          Regardless of the thick walls of the offices designed for the heads of departments, standing right next to the door, it’d be impossible not to overhear Doojoon and Hyuna’s voices because it’s Doojoon and Hyuna. It’s Doojoon and Hyuna in Junhyung’s office, and Hyunseung is right in front of it because he has to give Junhyung the files for tomorrow’s meeting.

          It’s two against one.

          And it becomes pretty clear that Doojoon and Hyuna are winning.

          Hyunseung hears everything.

          He hears How long are you going to keep this up? He hears Do you know how much this is killing him? He hears If you’re not going to ing do something, if you’re not going to ing grow a pair, then at least borrow a pair so you have enough to let him go. He hears thumping sounds, chairs being pushed, hands banging on tables, Hyuna’s heels stomping back and forth. He hears Just because he hides it in front of you, do you think we can’t all see it? Even Dongwoon is ing hurting from seeing all this —but you’re so caught up in hiding that I bet you don’t even know your own assistant director, your dongsaeng, is spending half of his paychecks at a club, do you?

          He hears Doojoon and Hyuna’s combined shouting stop suddenly—hears a chair being pushed back, the legs sliding against the carpet, the wood knocking against the wall.

          He hears Junhyung’s voice.

          Get the out. Both of you—right now.

 

 

 

After regretting all alone by myself

 

 

 

          “What happens,” Hyunseung asks, lying spread-eagle and on the conference room table (because if they spend too many nights at Junhyung’s apartment, the younger man says he’s afraid that they’ll see Hyunseung leave together with him in the mornings), “when your parents make you get married?”

          Junhyung is lying on his stomach, right beside Hyunseung, one arm framing the older man’s head like a halo, fingertips mindlessly through his hair. “What d’you mean?” He frowns at Hyunseung. “Of course I’m never—”

          Hyunseung’s look alone cuts him off. “I don’t think they’re just going to keep letting you blow off girl after girl forever.”

          “I know,” Junhyung says quietly. “But—I can’t—I can’t tell them. They’d cut me off. My apartment, my accounts, this job, everything—it’s all theirs. The only things that are actually mine, the only things I have are what they absolutely couldn’t get me. If they could buy me my high school and college diplomas, they probably would’ve. Everything else—it’s theirs.”

          Except it’s not, Hyunseung wants to say. He wants to say that Junhyung is forgetting a few things. He wants to say that Junhyung is forgetting five extremely important things aside from his high school and college diplomas that are very clearly Junhyung’s and not his parents. He wants to say that Junhyung seems to have forgotten about those five little things. Five little things like Doojoon and Hyuna and Yoseob and Dongwoon and Hyunseung.

          Hyunseung pulls away slightly, puts space in between their bodies. “So what, then? You’d get married? You’d really marry one of the girls they set you up with?”

         

 

 

In the end my real mistake

 

 

 

          Junhyung doesn’t meet his eyes.

          He sits up and faces away from Hyunseung, pushing himself off of the table and onto his feet, taking up his clothes and suddenly starting to dress himself.

          “It’s not like I have a choice,” Junhyung says quietly.

 

 

 

Was loving you

 

 

 

          She’s the heiress of a company that his father’s had an eye on for a few months now. She’s small and sleek with shiny black hair that rests just above her shoulders, bared by a backless dress that scrunches up at the base of her back—right where Junhyung’s hand rests as he introduces her as his new girlfriend to the higher-ups, to the other heads of departments, to his employees.

         

 

 

I must look like such a fool

 

 

 

          When the girl is smiling prettily and answering a question asked by one of the trade executives from Japan, while the small crowd of people surrounding Junhyung are talking amongst themselves, while Hyunseung is nursing his umpteenth flute of champagne—his eyes glance up involuntarily and he catches Junhyung looking—catches the younger man’s eyes.

          He knows what they’re saying.

          He knows they’re saying sorry—knows that Junhyung is apologizing for this like he always does every single time it happens. He knows that Junhyung knows all of this is the younger man’s fault. He knows that Junhyung knows that Hyunseung hurts every time. He knows that Junhyung’s always sorry—always so sorry.

          Junhyung does know, however, that sorry is useless.

          It’s useless to be sorry when it’s not your even your fault.

 

 

 

I knew I would get hurt and couldn’t let go

 

 

 

          It’s not Junhyung’s fault.

          Junhyung shouldn’t be sorry—shouldn’t be yelled at by Doojoon and Hyuna—shouldn’t be blamed for Dongwoon’s problems—shouldn’t have to look at Hyunseung like that from across rooms filled with people that only know the younger man when he’s covered up with masks until he’s unrecognizable to the people who really do know him.

          It’s Hyunseung’s fault.

          All of this—everything—it’s all Hyunseung’s fault. Everything that’s happened between them should be blamed on Hyunseung because Junhyung did nothing. Hyunseung is the one who made all of the mistakes—he should have known better. He should have known better than to make the mistake of thinking, of believing, of hoping, that Junhyung would do any differently for Hyunseung than the younger man had done for all of his past lovers. It was a mistake—Hyunseung’s mistake.

          Junhyung was a mistake.

 

 

 

Please forgive this kind of me

 

 

 

          Doojoon’s hand rests on Hyunseung’s hip as they make their way down the dimly lit hall—darkened because the dinner party only takes place in one part of the building and after hours, the custodians shut everything else off. Doojoon’s hand is on Hyunseung’s hip, but Hyunseung leads the way to the conference room.

 

 

 

The me who loves you