Jiho hurts people.

He can’t help it, the feeling, of being in complete power burns through his body, from the bottom of his foot to the tips of his fingers, up his neck, around his ears, rushing to his head; he’s long since fallen in love with this feeling. The feeling of being so in control, so in power, that someone could, would, just crumble in his presence.

Jihoon had been taught from the moment he could comprehend words to use everything he could to get recognition, status, and to top of the food chain. Jiho had seemed like an express ticket to the top. Jihoon uses Jiho, uses his strength, to become a predator himself, but what he forgets is that sometimes Jiho scares even him; Jiho can make Jihoon tremble and stiffen like any prey, and he does it too, when he gets too caught up in a fight, a fight too short, too unsatisfactory, over before the fire in Jiho’s eyes die. When his eyes are still lit with bloodlust, Jihoon becomes prey.

Jiho is the king- he is the one who stands above all others. Jiho is the one who crushes and burns others as he pleases. Jiho is the definition of power, the epitome of strength. Some say he is mad, some say it’s just an angry phase, maybe it’s both, Jiho can’t tell the difference when all he sees is red. When he’s young and strong, no one can take him on, no one can question him, no one can turn against him, betray him, anger him. Jiho sends fear further than anyone could tell. Jiho is a man.

No one could change that.

Until Park Kyung comes back.

New Zealand was hell.

Despite the language barrier, Kyung did well in school, coming up to being the top student, the place was nice, the air was cleaner than it was in Seoul, but he missed the tall buildings and the bright lights, the never ending streams of human life, and the noisy surroundings.

Most of all, Kyung missed Jiho.

Jiho was Kyung’s best friend, had been since third grade; when Jiho had entered the school, he looked straight at Park Kyung in his seat at the front of the class and asked to be best friends with him with a toothy grin. Park Kyung, aged 9 and a half, already had a best friend; his friend that he had made in the beginning of second grade, when the classes had first changed and he was stuck in a new environment. Park Kyung’s best friend had told Jiho to back off right away, because Kyung was his friend first.

Jiho had told him that if they were best friends, Kyung would choose him over Jiho.

Kyung had looked between the two of them, one of which was someone who Kyung was familiar with (1 and a quarter years was a very long time for someone that was only nine), but Jiho was funny, and tried to sit next to him in every class, and he made jokes that only Kyung would understand.

Kyung chose Jiho.

They were inseparable, always partners for every project, always mysteriously seated next to each other even though it was a “lucky draw”.  They were joined by the hip, and no one could pull them apart if they tried.

They had grown up. By the time they were thirteen, they had both grown miles in height, but Jiho had become stronger, broad-shouldered, and thicker. Kyung had grown taller, yes, but he was half the size Jiho was when it came to width; his shoulders were narrow, his legs were still stick thin, and his chin still stayed the angled way it always was.

When they turned fourteen, Jiho had grown and grown until he had begun to tower of Kyung, almost a head taller than his best friend. Jiho was already a young man in terms of body figure and physique, but his mind was still innocent and excitable, still amused by whoopee cushions and water guns.

Kyung had barely grown, the tips of his hair only tickling Jiho’s chin when they would hug [away from other people, anything to keep people from calling the Woo Jiho gay] , but Jiho had stuck with the smaller boy nonetheless.

When the summer of their fifteenth year came to, Kyung left. His parents had been planning it for months and it was never a secret to Jiho, but the both of them had chosen to ignore the way that time seemed to be going by a lot faster than before and the date that neither of them would ever mention was drawing closer and closer.

When the date arrived, Jiho had been the first to cry.

They had clung to each other, tears soaking each other’s t-shirts as Kyung’s parents brought boxes upon bags to stack into the car.

That had been the last time Park Kyung saw Woo Jiho.

They never kept in contact, the email ‘everyday’ became an email ‘every week’, which eventually became a once in a month occurrence, which in the end stopped altogether after five months.

When Kyung had heard that two years later, they would be returning to Korea, he’d almost cried of joy, but he wouldn’t, not now- not now that he was 17 and a young man; still scrawny, but a man now, nonetheless.

The few days leading up to their return had been full of excitement and nervousness. Kyung would often be found going through old Korean textbooks to bring his Korean back to the standard it had been, not wanting to embarrass himself in front of his family, old friends, old teachers, and Jiho. Jiho. Jiho was what Kyung had been looking forward to the most. It excited him to be reunited with his best friend, someone who could understand him as if they were the same person.

When they had finally landed at Incheon, Kyung could barely breathe. The lights were so much more impressive, the airport a whole lot larger than the one they had in New Zealand.

The drive back to his childhood home was uneventful. The neighbourhood had barely changed, but there was a sense of hostility that was never there before that made Kyung more nervous than he was willing to admit.

The next day, Kyung was more jetlagged than excited.

The day after, Kyung enrolled into his local high school.

That same day, Kyung saw Jiho for the first time in two years.

That same day, Jiho sent a single glance at Kyung and turned away faster than Kyung had ever seen.

“Don’t you dare come close to me.”

That same day, Kyung had realised how much of a paradise New Zealand was compared to the reality of his delusions.