Do Kyungsoo awakens into the familiar sterility of yet another hotel room. The white walls, the modern-but-inoffensive grey and red accents, the over-starched bedding. The only thing present that bears familiarity, that has meaning attached to its presence in a room intentionally designed to depersonalize, is Kai's body lying in bed next to him. Kai is still asleep, and Kyungsoo knows that he should be as well, but the same thoughts that held back the solace of sleep for an agonizingly long time returned to him in his dreams. He looks at the clock. 4:17 a.m.: Such is the life of an insomniac.

 

The rhythm of Kai's breathing reminds him of the dream that awakened him, reminds him of the day that left him deeply scarred. All of Exo-K are on stage, performing a smaller promotional showcase in Busan before returning to Seoul for the evening. They are singing their second-to-last song of the set when Kai breaks choreography and casually wanders up to Kyungsoo. Taken aback, Kyungsoo stares, panics, calculates his next move as Kai approaches. Before he can move back into his position to prepare for his verse of the song, Kai kisses D.O. firmly on the lips, and then returns to his original position on stage. D.O. regains his composure to finish the song, but the rest of the evening is a blur.

 

Kyungsoo thinks back to the weeks after that kiss, his unbridled flirtations with Kai, and Kai's frigid response--only warming, of course, in front of the fans, their cameras, and on stage. Kyungsoo was only able to understand Kai's hot/cold attitude toward him after Chen pulled him aside after one particularly tense practice to tell him that management had instructed Kai to perform the kiss at the showcase to please those fans that live their lives behind computer screens, engrossed in their twisted fantasies of the lives of others. The embarrassment washes over D.O., and once again, he fights the impulse to commit an act of violence against himself to distract from the shame. Instead, he buries his head in his pillow. His infatuation with Kai had become a point of leverage for other group members; at every opportunity, they used Kyungsoo's infatuation to embarrass him again and again. Last night was only the most recent example of this, when all of the other members had quickly paired as roommates, thus forcing D.O. and Kai to share a bed.

 

Kyungsoo is eventually able to drift back to sleep before his alarm goes off, alerting him and Kai of the start to their long day. They are scheduled to perform at the Sochi  2014 Olympic Games opening ceremony this evening, an exhausting task made even less appealing by the jet lag, the dismal cold, and the absence of remuneration for their performance.

 

---

 

After the opening ceremony, all of the performers are invited to attend a welcome party held by the game organizers. Kyungsoo observes from the corner of the room as the rest of his band mates attempt to engage in conversation with some of the lanky ballerinas with which they performed. Do smiles to himself as the interaction degrades into a game of desperate charades, the ballerinas’ possessing poor Korean, and his band mates’ Russian being just as bad. He wonders why they aren’t at least trying to speak English, given that all of them are equipped with at least an intermediate proficiency in the language. Suddenly, Kyungsoo feels the heavy weight of an arm against his shoulders. The man, significantly taller than Kyungsoo, speaks.

 

“Your performance was excellent.”

 

Kyungsoo is taken aback as he realizes that this is not any man: This is Vladimir Putin.

 

“Thank you,” he manages to say, sloshing the drink he is holding in his hand as the man’s powerful arm squeezes Kyungsoo into a side hug. Kyungsoo ends up standing with his head in Putin’s armpit. He is not comfortable, but at least Vladimir Putin’s armpit smells nice. Kyungsoo can’t describe the scent, but it is earthy and piney and clean.

 

“You are not like them, I can tell.” Kyungsoo follows the Russian President’s gaze to the table where his band mates are seated. Baekhyun is folding a napkin into a tiny square. Kai is staring at his phone. Chanyeol is twirling a fork between his fingers, clearly having given up on the ballerinas. The rest appear strung out, exhausted from their trip, performance, and the taxing social atmosphere of the party.

 

“Come with me,” Putin commands.

 

Kyungsoo follows him. Putin’s presence is commanding, but at the same time, he feels that the overwhelming sense of authority he possesses is an act, just like Kai’s public affection toward Kyungsoo. The two slip out the door together unnoticed, and make their way to the entrance of the swaggin’ hotel where the party was held. Kyungsoo thought about the raspberry clafoutis he had eaten at the party. It was not the worst raspberry clafoutis he had ever had. He told Vladimir Putin this.

 

“I ate raspberry clafoutis at that party. It was not the worst raspberry clafoutis I have ever had.”

 

They step into a black car with deeply tinted windows waiting for them at the hotel entrance. Kyungsoo spots a smile playing at the corners of Putin’s mouth, a change that softens his usual stern expression.

 

“You like to cook, don’t you, D.O.?”

 

“Yes, everyone thinks that I am the Exo umma because I enjoy cooking and organizing, but in fact I just can’t stand to live in the messes of others. Where are we going?”

 

“We are going to my residence in Sochi. I want to treat you well as my guest.”

 

“Why are the others not coming with us?”

 

“D.O., you understand that by necessity I am an intensely private man. I sense that you are, too. Why invite others into the privacy that we have worked so hard to create for ourselves, why give them the chance to slowly peel away that privacy and dissolve the barriers between our real selves and our public selves? I have many secrets, D.O., secrets that I cannot trust everyone with.”

 

They ride the rest of the way in silence, but Kyungsoo’s mind wanders to the memory of Kai asleep in bed early this morning. He immediately flushes red, feeling a strong sense of betrayal against himself. He had worked so hard to deconstruct the feelings he had developed for Kai, but it was a difficult task. Just as he is about to plunge further into his own regret and embarrassment, he feels Vladimir’s hand slide across the seat and gently grasp his own. This simple gesture brought him back to the reality of the present.

 

The car pulls up  in front of a large but secluded house. The two men exit the car, making their way inside the austere grey building. Kyungsoo instinctively removes his shoes, and Vladimir does the same, not wishing to make his guest feel uncomfortable.

 

Shoes off, Putin takes Kyungsoo’s hand and leads him to the sitting room, but they did not sit. Instead, Putin quickly but gently positions Kyungsoo so that his back is against one of the white walls, with Putin’s hands positioned on Kyungsoo’s narrow hips. For a while, they stare into each other’s eyes, and Kyungsoo feels an uncomfortable pressure growing in his trousers. Slowly, Putin leans in and just brushes his lips against Kyungsoo’s. Hesitantly, Kyungsoo leans into the kiss; he does not like to be teased.

 

“Hyung,” the word slips out of Kyungsoo’s mouth before he can contain himself.

 

Putin’s touch is electric; unlike Kai’s businesslike handling of Kyungsoo on stage, Putin is gentle and loving and fatherly and everything that Kyungsoo has ever wanted a touch to be. They kiss deeply for what feels like hours before making their way to the sofa, where Kyungsoo, exhausted from the day, stretches out, his head resting on Putin’s lap.

 

Vladimir notices the tautness of the fabric of Kyungsoo’s pants across his groin, and suggests that they move into the bedroom. Kyungsoo agrees, and they make their way across the sitting room to the house’s master bedroom. Vladimir swings open the door, and the first thing Kyungsoo notices is a large tapestry taking up the entire wall across from the bed. The tapestry depicts Karl Marx, Friedrich Engels, and Peter Kropotkin sitting at a table as they watch Vladimir Lenin, Leon Trotsky, and Joseph Stalin wrestle in a pit of mud below them.

 

“Do you like it?” Vladimir asks. Kyungsoo is transfixed on the piece.

 

“It is unique, but why does it depict Lenin, Trotsky, and Stalin in such compromising positions?”

 

“They are the swine that erted the ideas of Marx and Engels, two of the greatest thinkers of all time. Communism was never meant to be implemented in the structured setting of the state; you see, as Kropotkin rightly asserted ‘the State idea means something completely different from the government.’ In transmitting the worker’s fervor from the October Revolution to the creation of the Soviet Union, the legacy of Marx, Engels, and many of their admirable contemporaries was forever sullied by Lenin. Trotsky compounded this process, while Stalin radicalized the classist ideals of the most fervid Hegelians in his bureaucracy of murder. You now know my secret; I am a Marxist anarchist.”

Kyungsoo stands in the middle of the room, unsure of how to respond. Instead of words, he uses actions. Taking Vladimir’s hand, he gently guides him to the bed. It bears the scent of Putin’s earthy, piney cologne, and the springy softness of well-prepared raspberry clafoutis.