Archive of Our Own

The sun of early October yawns in its slumber behind mighty skyscrapers when Jisung quietly shakes out of the unfamiliar blanket, freeing himself from tangled limbs of sweaty skins in a room reeking of burnt magnolias.

A dull ache on his back worsens the pounding in his head, digging a slow, stuttered exhale out of him as he collects his clothes from the floor. The room spins for a few seconds before he steadies himself on the wall.

As he tries to slip on clothes, a familiar voice saying words of yesterday’s events echo between his rock-shelled skull. “Jisung-ah, listen, I don’t think this is a good idea. Things like this can’t cure—”

Jisung had stopped him there. Because it didn’t matter anymore.

Simply because it is not a good idea doesn’t mean I will not do it, he snickers in silent, boring down any guilt that had started resurfacing the sea under his ribs. 

He rummages through the stuff he has in his bag, fetching out three sachets of red ginseng extract and a water bottle, a sticky note with his handwriting coming along.

Sorry I have to leave early. I left you these, I hope you don’t hate it. It does have a strong taste, so I also left you some mint candies. I hope you don’t hate mint candies. 

Sorry if you do, that’s all I have. 

Without making any sound, he slides everything onto a wooden table next to bed, ceasing to look at the face of yet another sleeping body he had left in the hands of slumber. 

At his first time, it was hard to leave without making any sounds. It was hard to walk without having his little toes caught up on furniture’ legs. It was hard to open the door quietly when he was never familiar which spot would creak upon a slightest drag. 

But it gets easier. 

And even when the ease starts to trigger a full body shudder every time the door closes behind him, Jisung doesn’t know how to stop. 

And when he doesn’t stop, the scent of burning magnolias continues to sting. 

#

There was a bird at the branch of a pine tree. Or a rib. The bird was not old enough to know the difference.  

The bird held a flower in its beak. The white giant petals swaying from one side to the other as red consumed it diligently. Little by little. The bird remembered when its eyes landed on the flower for the first time, the color was white. It was as if moon had littered kisses across its surface. 

But the bird couldn’t keep red away from reaching the flower. 

Everything burned around the bird. Even the branch, its one and only home. 

The flower was not an exception. 

Many moons had gone by, although sometimes the bird had forgotten to count from how blurry the moon looked from here. But the bird knew it had been a lot of moons. The flower now looked like a carcass of ruined thing. 

Only a petal out of five remained untouched by the fire.  

Has it been fire? Or perhaps it has been blood? Or a mix of both? 

Despite many moons that had passed, the bird was still — and will always be — not old enough to know the difference. 

#

“Dammit, dammit!” Jisung can’t identify the kind of voice that comes out from how hard his head drums against his apartment door, but the way it scrapes its way out of his throat is enough of a sign that he is yelling.

He stands, feet still wobbly and weak as he tries to free the key that had stuck to his door. Again. And again. No matter how hard he pulls and twists, the key remains unmoved. 

“Move, you dimwit!” he curses again, kicking on his door repeatedly before his balance slips away, causing him to crash butt first to the floor. 

The pounding in his head intensifies in the last frustrated kick he lands on the piece of wood. 

He shoves a hand into his hoodie’s pocket in search of his phone, groaning when he realizes he had left his belongings in his car. He doesn’t even have a phone with him, how is he going to call for the… lock, fixer, what are they called? lock healer. Lock… technician. That doesn’t sound right. Lock… people…

His shoulders sag in defeat as he buries his head between his knees. 

“Uh…” A voice comes from where the stairs should be, the tone a mix of tenderness and confusion. 

Jisung had never heard a voice so flowery before. Is he one of the neighbors that live upstairs? Is someone new moving into the building? 

His thoughts wander as he makes no move from his position. 

The voice, probably rendered even more confused by Jisung’s lack of response, throws another question into the air. “Are you, uhm. Okay?”

Jisung lifts his head weakly to look at the source of voice. 

True to his thought, it came from a young man standing on the staircase. The overhead lamp casts a warm hue on his face, his features drowned in boyish nature. His light blue shirt appears slightly green from where they are neatly tucked, accentuating the waist. 

He looks young. His voice is even younger. 

“Do I look like I’m okay?” Jisung hisses, gesturing madly at his surroundings before his hands collapse on their own emptiness. He realizes the only thing around him is himself. And the key stuck to his door. What an embarrassing set of scenes.

“My question was more of an offer of ‘can I help you’ instead of rhetorical,” he clarifies, or tries to, as he reaches out a hand in front of Jisung’s face. “I see you are not quite fond of mindless chit-chat, so here. Let me help you.” 

Jisung stares at the open palm before his eyes. It is too close. His muscle memory demands him to slap it away, the taste of remaining youth flickering from it. A glimpse of unwanted things. 

He is too late to realize he doesn’t have enough energy to push the palm away. 

What Jisung intended as a slap arrives in such a weak force: their palms touch each other’s and Jisung shudders. The other mistakes it as an affirmation. 

Cold fingers close around him, a solid weight in the spring of his palm. A yelp slips from his lips as he is being yanked upward, the man’s other hand catching his shoulder. 

He finds himself being gently guided to sit on the bottom of the other stairwell before his feet get a chance to give up on him again. 

“You look,” the stranger suddenly says, tilting his head aside, “kind of flushed. You alright?” 

“It’s October. It’s cold outside,” Jisung tries to reason, burying his face in hands as he feels the other’s gaze not backing away from him. “Will you stop staring at me? What do you want ?” He snaps, the ache gripping his head makes itself known again. 

“What do I want? I want so many things,” he says, quite excitedly, his tone adopting a more boyish side into it. “I want a house by the lake, a job I love, I want bubble tea, and then…” 

Jisung groans at his stream of wishes that seem endless. “God, please just kill me…” he murmurs into his hands. 

“Oh yeah! I forgot,” the other suddenly says, once again extending his hand in front of Jisung’s face. “I’m Seungmin! Kim Seungmin, I moved in here last night.” — he flicks his chin to point at the room across Jisung’s — “What about you? What’s your name?” 

It takes Jisung an unreasonably long time to formulate an answer. “I’m Jisung, actually, I,” he pauses, his hand hung up in a pointing motion as his mind short-circuits. Collapsed on itself. What is that word? Vile. Evil. Veil. Leiv. What is it?

The other wears expectation in his features before confusion bleeds back into his face at Jisung’s questionably long silence.

“Is your apartment across from mine?” he finally asks again, and Jisung realizes there is something weird and extremely unsettling about how he is reacting to this man’s whole existence. 

Live. Jisung’s brain finally clicks. Live. What a cheeky word. 

“Yeah,” he finally answers. “Yeah, I live there.” 

The hand Jisung doesn’t take finally withdraws from its place, pointing at the door of Jisung’s room. “You appear to have put your car key in your door lock. Are you aware of that?”

Ah, Jisung will dig a hole and bury himself alive under these staircases if only his limbs are not failing in every five seconds. “You don’t have to restate the obvious,” he hisses, shifting his gaze aside. 

“Why did you put it there?” Seungmin asks again, his relentlessness somehow setting Jisung’s nerves ablaze. 

“Why?” he laughs, his voice already a terrible thing: scratched like skin covered in wounds. He didn’t realize his voice had been so wound up. “You want to know why? Let me tell you why. Because everything I do repulse me to the bones and I’m fucking tired of the crypticy my brain produces. Now tell me, have you ever thought of rolling yourself down the stairs just so you can no longer talk? Have you ever thought of burning flowers on the edge of a mountain so the withering trees can see their fate and crumble under their own desire? Does someone like you have any idea what I should do when I-” 

Seungmin looks at him for a solid second before he sighs. “If you ramble like that again someone might call a police on you,” he states, soft chuckles falling like petals out of his thin lips. “Or a therapist. Whichever comes first,” he adds. 

Jisung doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. His eyes hold the gaze they have on the other, wondering why he hasn’t left him yet. Jisung had screamed at him. Had thrown sarcastic comments against him, violence dripping from his sour tongue like black, burnt blood. 

Yet Seungmin doesn’t seem like he minds. Doesn’t look affected at all: his soft glow remains like a moon watching the world succumbing to apocalypse without doing anything. 

“Anyway,” he says, still with the same, soft tone that makes Jisung confused. “Call a locksmith. That’s what you should do.”

Seungmin is so unbelievably composed it freaks Jisung out. Something inside of him tickles, pounds, like there’s a beast being beaten to death under his ribs. Pecking against his chest in a desperate attempt to see the world. 

Jisung’s heart continues to pound it to death.

“I don’t have my damned phone on me,” he says, pausing for a breath before he adds, “asshole.” 

Seungmin’s face twists into a frown that lasts for three seconds, but then he laughs. 

The sound of his laughter somehow is perfectly what Jisung needs for his pent-up anger and frustration to melt away. He lifts his head to look at Seungmin in disbelief while the other is still wheezing, as if Jisung had just told him a joke instead of calling him names. 

“What is wrong with you?” he whines, still struggling to believe the image of Seungmin wiping his tears from the force of his laugh is real. He lets out a heavy exhale, feeling the pounding in his chest slowly fading away. 

“Sorry,” he quietly says, looking away from Seungmin’s face. 

Seungmin is still heaving out breath as the last bits of his laughter finally slip away. “Sorry sounds about right,” he concludes with a nod. “Next time if you so desperately want to offend people, don’t take a long pause before calling them a foul body part. You’re just making it sound hilarious.”

 He looks at his watch before moving to sit next to Jisung, his head resting on the upper staircase as he lets out a soft sigh. “I have class in an hour.” 

Jisung doesn’t know what he is supposed to do with this news, doesn’t even understand Seungmin’s intention in telling him that. After a few beats of silence, he finally lets his curiosity speak: “And?” 

Seungmin glances at him, then makes a sound akin to chirping birds. 

Jisung has to shift his gaze until his face becomes fully visible to realize that Seungmin is chuckling. 

“I’m giving you a chance,” Seungmin finally says, glancing at his watch again before he pulls out a set of keys in front of Jisung’s face, wiggling it around. When he catches Jisung’s confused expression, he finally stands with a sigh. 

“Whatever, you’re so dense. I have a phone in my apartment, you can use it to call the locksmith. I’m leaving my keys on you, so you can stay for a while until you can get into your own room.” 

His explanation does nothing to solve Jisung’s confusion. “Why would you give your keys to me?” he asks, the whole idea does not make sense even to his exhausted mind. “And what if I have to go after this?” 

Seungmin lifts an eyebrow. “How are you going to go without your car key?” 

“I can walk?” 

“Oh please,” Seungmin laughs. “You can’t even stand. ” 

Before he can formulate an answer, he is being yanked up again, the strange feeling he felt earlier resurfacing as Seungmin’s hand anchors on his shoulder, a steady weight. 

A few giggles slip out of his lips again as Jisung fails to coordinate his feet. 

“Such an old man,” he comments, and Jisung flinches at the way his voice sounds too close to his ear. 

Panic bubbles in his throat, his muscles tensing as a fight against the urge to relax but Seungmin’s movements are quick. He sits Jisung down on the couch in the middle of his apartment before Jisung’s muscle memory manages to push him away. 

The moment their bodies no longer touch, Jisung can finally let out a breath of relief. “Thank you,” he manages to say, hearing a distant you’re welcome! from somewhere further inside the apartment, probably from Seungmin’s room. 

Seungmin flashes him a gentle smile as he comes back with a phone in his hand. 

Jisung still isn’t sure how he is supposed to react. 

“Here,” he says, putting it on the coffee table with a piece of paper. “That’s the number of the nearest locksmith.” — he then walks aside to open the refrigerator — “I have orange juice, and uh, some apples? I had toast for breakfast so there’s nothing left. You can take anything you want, just not everything.” 

Jisung watches Seungmin move swiftly from one place to another, wondering how someone could maintain such energy to check over everything so thoroughly. Jisung doesn’t even remember what day it is.  

“Last one,” Seungmin says, the warmth in his tone tickling his brain. He feels as if he is a child being left at home alone for the first time. “If, let’s say, your door is already fixed and you need to go somewhere, do me a favor and return my keys first so I don’t have to succumb to the fate of destitute.” 

Jisung feels strange. “How?” he asks. His movement feels sluggish as he mouths the question. Did he use his voice to ask that? Did Seungmin hear him? There is something heavy pressing against his eyelids, a weight hanging on his lashes. There are invisible hands trying to lure him somewhere, somewhere, anywhere—

“My last class will end at five,” Seungmin’s answer pulls him back from the daze. He is checking his watch again. Jisung doesn’t know if Seungmin does it out of habit or is he just anxious. “You know the art university just on the corner of this street?” 

Jisung’s eyes widened. “The National University of Arts? You go there?” 

“Mm,” Seungmin hums. “I’m a theater major, first year. If you’re going to return it, meet me in the cafeteria after five, okay?”

He is already standing in front of his opened door as he looks at Jisung again, waiting for an answer.

“Sure,” Jisung says, pondering with his choices before he decides to add, “I’m a creative writing major, second year.” 

Seungmin stares at him for exactly five seconds before he blinks. “We’re probably around the same age, then. I enrolled late. When’s your birthday?” 

“September fourteenth, year two thousand.” 

Seungmin’s face lights up at that. “We’re only a week apart! Mine’s twenty-second.” He pauses as if studying Jisung’s face. “So, Jisung, right?” he suddenly asks, his voice wraps around every syllable in a way that makes his name sound more than a name. “Perfect, Jisung-ah. I believe you won’t get lost, then.” 

There is a smile being offered to him before Seungmin disappears behind the closing door, and Jisung isn’t sure if he wants to catch it on his palm or let it fall to the ground like the fate of a bird’s feather. 

Upon further thinking, he decides there is no harm to keep it in his pocket. 

Jisung thinks it’s strange that the burning magnolias no longer sting in his nose. The scent is there, crisp and burnt, but faint. Like something had successfully overlapped it. He looks around the room to see if there is any kind of Febreze or aromatherapy. 

Seungmin looks like someone that would use aromatherapy. An air diffuser, perhaps? 

But as far as Jisung can see, there is none of that.

He thinks again about the weight pressing against his eyelids. He blinks slowly to see if something is hanging on his lashes. The same invisible hands pull him back into himself, like his existence has been reduced to a black matter collapsing on itself, a star descending into a black hole. 

Amidst the strange fog trickling against his skin, Jisung finally realizes the hands that had pulled him were slumber. 

#

The air around him is thick as blood with the buzz of people’s voices. 

Jisung looks around, still groggy and confused from the short, surprising nap he just had inside Seungmin’s apartment, not even noticing the locksmith had fixed his door until the poor man came knocking on the door. 

He looks around the area to see what the fuss is about, then freezes in his place when he sees Seungmin in the center of attention. It is not weird for one of the theater students to be the center of attention, but this attention doesn’t radiate awe nor applause. 

So he walks closer, trying to blend within the crowd. 

“You’re such a drama queen.” A voice says, and it took him a few tries shifting his gaze around until he sees the other guy that is talking with Seungmin. 

Jinyoung, he recognizes, one of the annoying students that had tried to humiliate Jisung when he was still a first-year student. He remembers the sweet revenge he had done, leaving the poor kid afraid of him. 

Jisung is not afraid of him. Yes, Jinyoung is way bigger; all muscular in the right places desired for masculinity, way taller too. But not enough to scare him. 

“I got caught up in my role,” Jinyoung says, his tone mean and unbothered. “Everyone does that all the time, what’s the big deal?” 

He shifts forward and sees the sight of Seungmin’s hands hanging limp on his sides with red bruises littered like cuffs. “What’s the big deal?” Seungmin says, on the verge of yelling, “One could argue you were trying to snap my wrist off! And just yesterday you pushed me down the stairs!” 

“But you are alright!” Jinyoung suddenly roars, just as Jisung is about to enter the scene. His step halts, Seungmin’s keys still between his fingers. He doesn’t know if he should wait for this to end or throw his dignity and save him. 

Jinyoung’s hand rests on the skin of Seungmin’s shoulder, pressure on the juncture of his neck. A display of power. He sees the way Seungmin’s eyes clench as they fall shut, palms balling into fists. 

Jisung-ah, Seungmin’s voice. His name between Seungmin’s teeth sounds like it is more than a name; more than a plea for help, more than control, more than a remnant of his father. It feels like identity; like freedom. 

He balls his own palms into fists and something in his chest clench as he calmly walks into the scene. His mind malfunctions as he realizes he hasn’t thought of what to say and a line from his favorite movie spills out of his mouth.

“ There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking for you .” 

His hand moves in its own accord to peel Jinyoung’s hand from where it is pressing on Seungmin’s shoulder, prompting to loop his own hand there instead. 

At the familiar voice, Seungmin’s eyes peel open. “Hm?” 

It is awkward, but Jisung pushes through it. It must’ve been awkward to lend a phone to a stranger too. It must’ve been awkward to let a stranger stay in your apartment too. It must’ve been awkward for Seungmin too, but he did it anyway. 

Why can’t he do the same? 

So he swallows his nerve back to where it belongs and curls a small smile. “Hello there,” he greets, smile going wider as he witnesses a mix of realization and understanding taking over Seungmin’s features. 

“Jisung?” he says, and Jisung shudders at the sound of his name said by his voice again. 

Then Jinyoung’s voice comes between them; ripping Jisung’s attention from Seungmin’s voice. “ You? And him…? ” he trails off, pointing at Jisung then moves his finger to Seungmin’s direction. There are trembles in his sentence, pride no longer sitting on the top of the throne. 

Oh, this is fun. 

“I’m what? ” he asks, moves his hand experimentally to Seungmin’s waistband. He pauses to look for any flinch, and continues when there are none. 

Jinyoung still doesn’t look convinced, so he decides to do more. Before hesitation can keep up, he turns Seungmin to face him, fingers closing on his shoulders as he inches closer, lips ghosting over the forehead. 

He feels the body in front of him tenses up, so he makes sure his lips don’t actually touch the skin. After a few seconds that stretch into minutes, he glances at the look of defeat settling deep in Jinyoung’s face and pulls back with a smile. 

When he looks back to Seungmin, he is staring at him, trailing his gaze through every dip of his face. “Your mole looks like it’s smiling,” he whispers, though it seems to come out absentmindedly. 

“Let’s go home,” he says, still with the same, gentle voice that had him wondering where it possibly comes from. “And you,” — he changes his tone as he turns to glare at the other man, still standing frozen in his spot — “you’ll get to learn to not touch someone else’s belonging.” 

With that, Jisung turns Seungmin in his hands and walks out of the scene, hand still circling around his shoulder. “Sorry if I went out of the line,” he whispers, then, in a much more hushed way. Somewhere in the depth of his chest he fears Seungmin might hate him. “That brat won’t leave you alone otherwise.”  

A few chuckles fall from his lips. “It was fine,” Seungmin says, it feels like a reassurance. “Unless you kiss me on the lips,” he adds, as they make a turn into the garden. “If you did that, I would beat your ass right away.” 

Jisung laughs softly at that, then removes his hand from Seungmin’s shoulder once they sit on one of the benches. “Does it hurt?” he asks quietly, failing in concealing the concern that had been clinging on his tongue.

Seungmin frowns. “Why would it? You only held my shoulder.” 

“Not that,” Jisung laughs again, although the sound of his laughter doesn’t sound as cheery. “I meant your wrist. There are fingerprints there,” he points at Seungmin’s hands on his lap. “Those might bruise.” 

Seungmin looks at his hands, then his shaky fingers unfasten the left cuff button and peels his sleeve back. The red spotted all over the underside of his arm, all the way to his elbow. 

Jisung feels his heart clench. His own hand reaches for Seungmin’s but he stops them midway, touch ghosting above the skin. He fears he might ruin it. 

“What kind of play were you two doing?” he asks, the rawness of it surprised him. 

Seungmin pulls his sleeve back to conceal the mark with a sigh. “Julius Caesar,” he says, his voice a thin whisper Jisung fears it might get lost in the wind. 

“Julius Caesar, alright. And you were…?” 

“Brutus,” Seungmin murmurs, the name barely escaping his lips. 

Jisung lets out a heavy exhale, not even sure where the anger comes from. “And that brat’s the Caesar?” 

Seungmin hums. He is looking at his hands. He is quiet for a while, staring at the palms of his hands intently; bottom lip between his teeth. Then, he speaks, “Say, Jisung-ah.” 

Jisung still thinks the way Seungmin says his name is strange. It doesn’t feel like identity; not an extension of himself, but rather something akin to freedom. Like the syllables can fly anywhere at any moment. 

Like each syllable is the feathers of a bird.

“Never mind. It’s nothing,” Seungmin retreats. 

And Jisung should’ve let it be, right? Should’ve let Seungmin retreat and not chase after him. But instead a piece of words he read a few months ago pops in his mind; and for some reasons he cannot name, he decides to voice it. 

“I build a life & tear it apart, 

& the sun keeps shining.” 

Seungmin seems to be startled by the suddenness of his action, his eyes widening before they soften. It feels like the words had allowed him to shed the invisible burden off his shoulders. 

“Are you trying to tell me to cheer up?” Seungmin smiles, looking at Jisung’s face that somehow had grown warm after the words left his mouth.

It is embarrassing. Jisung had never felt so lost from control before; like everything in his head demands to be said.  Like there is no room for lies.

He reaches a hand out and catches the sunlight with his palm. “Perhaps,” he says, but then he thinks Seungmin needs a reassurance, so he adds, “I think you’ll do Brutus just fine.”  

“Just fine?” Seungmin pouts, his face scrunching up like a lost puppy. “Not even ‘good’? ‘incredible’? ‘perfect’?” 

Jisung coughs out a laugh. Perfect is such a distant word. “Perfect? No one would make a perfect Brutus. Not even the man himself.” 

“Not even the man himself?” 

He feels like he shouldn’t have said this; a sight of his that will be too cynical for someone like Seungmin to touch. But his mouth runs without his control: “Do you think Brutus ever wanted the life he had thrown himself into? Do you think he lived without regret? To play a perfect Brutus means the acts were played flawlessly; everything should be justified for ‘being himself’. Did he?” 

It is terrifying to watch colors bleed out of Seungmin’s face. He is silent again, so Jisung decides to just watch him think. “I think you’re onto something,” he finally says. 

“I just think that, as much as you can categorize and analyze someone’s character, you can never understand them perfectly. Not even yourself,” Jisung adds, cursing at his mouth for running by itself again before he finally manages to stop it.

“That is all.” He concludes, his hands crossing on his chest. 

“Got it,” Seungmin says, and Jisung is thankful for him to finally end the conversation. 

After a while, Seungmin suddenly adds: “Someone will really call a police on you if you say that on public.” 

The tense on Jisung’s shoulders melts for a few inches as he softly giggles. “A police or a psychiatrist?” 

“Dunno,” Seungmin shrugs, his smile growing wide. “Maybe both.” 

They share a laugh for a few minutes, not loud enough to attract anyone in the middle of the garden but enough for Jisung to sense the burst of emotion scattering all over Seungmin’s laughter. 

At one point his laugh seems like a genuine happiness, but slowly, it morphs and changes its trajectory into an empty shell — like he had thought so low of himself he couldn’t help but laugh. 

A desire to argue about Seungmin’s worth and show him how big its value truly is sprouts in his chest like flower. But he stops himself before his mouth starts running by itself again and scaring the other boy. 

At last, he waves Seungmin a goodbye as he starts his car, flashing him a light smile before he disappears behind a corner of the street. He’s glad he had returned Seungmin’s keys safely, thanking him for the trouble — but he still thinks about the sweet smile left all over Seungmin’s apartment; given Seungmin himself had confirmed that he doesn’t have either febreeze nor aromatherapy.

He thinks it might come from Seungmin himself. 

But the thought quickly being moved to the back of his mind as he drives his car into the parking lot of familiar cafe; a little beast jerking under his chest. 

#

Jisung flips through the pages of his book, skimming until his thumb is stopped by a little piece of paper — the book page who’s in its existence, had folded its purpose to a bookmark. 

Ever since he reads, Jisung never really uses a proper bookmark. He tried, once, when the bookkeeper had given him one as a bonus for his purchase. 

It didn’t last long before Jisung lost it. 

Jisung doesn’t find it as something worth an extra purchase anyway, to buy a piece of paper specifically crafted to act as a mark of how much he had read. A mark of where he had left it. A mark of memory. 

It’s like slamming a nail to pin a photograph into place, displaying it until Jisung is ready to revisit, to get his heart gauged out of his chest like what a knife does to an apple core. Like seed, it’ll be thrown away, and his flesh will be left open without a core. A gaping hole in the center of his being. 

And what will happen to the knife, you ask? 

The knife will leave him to blacken under the sun.

Jisung doesn’t like a bookmark because it is something waiting to be picked up. Jisung doesn’t like picking up a bookmark because lifting it means he is ready to move forward. 

And Jisung is a lost cause living in a cycle of coreless apple blackening like shadows under the sun. 

He sighs, pencil spinning between his fingers as his eyes tip-toes through the written words like stepping stones. Sometimes I want it to crave apples / but it wants red meat. He underlines it with his pencil, then continues. Sometimes I want to walk peacefully / on the shore / and it wants to take off all its clothes / and dive in. 

That pretty little beast, he recites silently, curving a line from a phrase to another. 

He adds a star next to the title, because his chest thrums with falling apples. Then another, because he thinks it might get lonely. He lifts his head and wonders if there will be dancers. Then he adds another star. 

“Jisung-ssi,” A voice calls, pulling his eyes from the words, lines and stars. 

A man stands in front of him, a figure so small he looks drowned inside layers of his clothing. “Hello,” Jisung greets, pulling shards of his face to tug a smile. He closes his book and puts it back into his bag. “You’re early,” he says, gesturing to him to sit. 

“You came even earlier than me,” he giggles, and Jisung laughs. It burns its way out of his throat. “Have you…?” He is gesturing at the table, or perhaps the waitress. Jisung isn’t sure. 

“I’m not really in the mood to eat,” he answers, trying to sound as casual as he can. “I already had a cocktail earlier, while I waited,” he adds, then, upon the other’s look of guilt: “You can order yourself something to eat, Doyun-ssi, I wouldn’t mind, really.” 

Doyun looks conflicted. He flips through the menu in his hands, scanning through the pages. “I think I’m good,” he finally concludes, prompting his head on hands to look into Jisung’s eyes. “You look nothing like your picture, by the way.” 

Jisung hums. Silently, he thanks his past self for convincing him to get here early. “Really? Is it disappointing to you?” he asks, though he is aware it sounds more like a tease. “Were you wishing me to look different?” 

Doyun squints, like he is thinking. After a few beats of silence, he finally speaks, “I think I like you more than your picture. You’re like, crazy hot.” 

“Thought so.” Jisung’s lips move into a slow smirk, a practiced muscle memory. “Say, Doyun-ssi, by refusing to order a food, are you implying you want to move forward to our next arrangement?” 

The face in front of him breaks into a wide smile, coral blush flushing his entire face. Down to his neck. He runs his fingers through his hair, squirms and breathes loudly like the air is limited. “Maybe yes? I would rather satisfy my hunger… in a different way, anyway.” 

“Oh,” Jisung looks at him in the eyes, heaving a sigh as magnolias sting in his nose. “So bold, huh. You better be this bold in bed as well, Doyun-ssi, or I would be the one leaving with disappointment.” 

“I am. For starters, start thinking of another way to call me.” He is looking at Jisung’s face, but their eyes do not meet each other. Jisung realizes he is staring at his lips. 

“We should get going, then,” he states, his fingers clammy against his bag. Something in his chest burns, but he thinks about a movie where red blood cells are humans walking down the passageway to convince that the heart is not fire hazardous. 

They cross the street into a tall building against the chilly wind and Jisung pretends the wind can blow the burning in his chest. They walk in the hallway and Jisung pretends the scent of old rug can grip his olfactory senses instead of burning magnolia. They close the door behind them, limbs tangled on each other and Jisung pretends.  

The air grows in thickness as Jisung’s clothes fall off him like bandages. His skin is slippery with something he later realizes is too cold to be sweat. It is hard to breathe when your purpose of existence has never been in your hands to begin with. It is hard to breathe when the air carries a scent that you despise. 

The face underneath him gasps and pants for air and for a second Jisung thinks the burning in his nose is real and maybe, just maybe, he can smell it too. 

His wish gets its innocence shattered when a moan erupts between them. 

A laugh barks its way out of his throat. “I barely did anything and you’re already losing your mind, huh?” 

Then he lets go. Memories flood into his muscles, twitching and leaping out of his skin. Plunge his fingers inside a heat and pretend it’s a splinter being caught inside a rabbit flesh. A moan after moan climbing in pitch like a song in broken radio. A hand gripping around his own and a repetitive please. 

Jisung does not stop. He tries to breathe without feeling like his stomach is being gutted out with a plastic knife. It works for a while before it doesn’t anymore. 

A hand finds his hair and pulls weakly. There are cries. Jisung stops his fingers from moving only to hear another cry in a pitch higher than before.  

“What do you want?” 

Do not stop, he hears. A voice sounds so distant it’s like they are conversing underwater. Please don’t stop, another pulls on his hair. I’m so close, as nails rake on his shoulder blade, forcing him to lean down. 

His fingers hurt. His wrist snaps and cracks as he changes its trajectory. But nothing could surpass the burning in his sinuses. It’s hot, it burns, like there’s a carcass being cremated right inside his lungs. But Jisung cannot stop.

The walls tighten around his fingers as the body arch like a loaded bow, and warmth splatter across his face. Jisung finds it funny how his first thought was that he had murdered someone. 

He wipes what he had thought as blood from his face. Sorry, he hears, but pays no mind to it. There is nothing he could lose if he had never had anything. There is nothing left to be tainted in his corrupted being. 

They agreed to continue, so Jisung does. He snaps his hips in one, languid movement, and the world grows mute around him. The sharp cries and laced pleas no longer loaded against his ears like arrows, his mind no longer hyper focused on the way everything burns . 

But the hands clawing against his back start to make him restless. 

So he takes them away, gather the fragile wrists between his fingers and pin them against the sheet—

Streaks of cruel red painted over fragile skin flashes before his eyes.  

His hand flinches away, a retraction too abrupt and harsh his own body shakes with it. The hands laid limp on the spot Jisung had put them in, only twitching slightly as the head below it trash around — drowned in pleasure. 

“Keep your hands there,” he whispers, taking a breath in hope the trembling of his hands will stop. 

When it doesn’t, he grips the sheet below him like a lifeline and snaps his hips in a practiced, repetitive movement. He shifts a little and there is a gasp crashing onto his eardrums. He relishes in the feeling of a knot in his stomach swelling. 

It should be over soon. 

Doyun calls for his name, he thinks, as his body squirms under him like a butterfly erupting from the skin of pupa. He calls for his name in a way that makes it sound like a name and nothing else other than its given identity. 

Jisung closes his fingers around the other’s length and it bursts.  

Desire, like monster, crawls out of the lake.  

A scream tears its way out of the other and his body shakes with it, as if something too much for it to bear just pass through. His limbs tremble and flail weakly, like limp wings of fallen butterfly.

Jisung closes his eyes as pleasure flows out of him in a gentle river. A feeling of dissatisfaction resurfaces, and he clenches his eyeballs hard it summons stars in his vision.

If I fell through the floor

I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire 

disgust me.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his palm strokes over the slowed rise and fall of the belly’s breathing. In a way that he hopes is gentle enough. “Did I hurt you? Are you okay?” 

His mind whispers in his head: “He said he wants you inside him and you split him open with a knife.” But Jisung is used to pretending to be deaf against his own mind. Instead he reaches for a towel and begins to wipe the traces of his murder. 

It doesn’t take him long to get rid of all the substance that might as well be blood with his practiced muscle memory. Tossing the towel to the floor, he pulls the blanket over them, the other’s breath slowing to a steady pace. 

“It was good,” he whispers with a slow exhale, his whole body shuddering through it. “Didn’t hurt me.” 

Jisung forces a last smile out of his system. “Good, then. Go to sleep,” he says, in the same thin whisper, so thin it barely trickles its way out of his throat. He feels the body move slightly against him, hot breath calmly hitting his chest. 

In that one moment Jisung wonders if he could ever feel at peace. 

Then he remembers the flash of cruel red carved on fragile skin, remembers the voices in his head reflecting the same hue of red, the burning carcass in his lungs, and he lays awake until the sun yawns behind the tall building.

#

The Apple Pencil spins between his fingers as he mindlessly stares at the front of the lecture hall, watching Professor Boo’s jaw moving up and down. He is explaining about something, he thinks, but the last time he paid attention to what the professor was saying the projector displayed a PowerPoint slide different than now. 

He balances what he had started to imagine as a branch of Himalayan Birch on two of his fingers, marveling with its solid weight. The presence of a certain finger comes to mind. Jisung toys with it, spins it and holds it gently — his fingers closing around it. 

He opens his palm and sighs when it doesn’t change into a finger. He closes it again, eyes clenched shut in hopes the complete darkness will solidify his imagination, condensed its worth strong enough to shift reality. 

He opens his eyes again, but the one sitting coldly on his palm is still an Apple Pencil.

“….Jisung can read it for us?”

The sudden mention of his name hauls him back to reality. To where he has been sitting for hours his coccyges throb with a dull ache. To where the professor has been explaining about how nature can be included into writing. How to turn something naturally beautiful into something cruel and disturbing, yet to still find beauty within. 

He stands up so abruptly his head spins. “Yes?” 

“Can you read this paragraph for us?” The professor says, gestures his pointer to circle a paragraph in the boards with a dot of red light. 

Jisung fixes the placement of his glasses and squints. His hands are prickled with bumps from standing hair. His classmates’ gaze intense as they burn and corner him with it. “Uh,” he starts, fiddling with his Apple Pencil in a desperate search for solid weight to anchor his nerves down. 

“When I was five years old, a bird plunged from the sky to kiss the earth below my feet, wings spread with empty spots where it should’ve been filled with feathers.” His voice wavers, but he takes a deep breath and focuses on the next words. They sound familiar. “I looked up to where the sun was smiling down at us both.”

 He takes another gulp of air, because the words he tries to say feel too thick with familiarity on his tongue. “Did I squint at the scorching heat of light burning my skin? I wasn’t sure—but it rendered my face warm.” He shifts from one leg to the other, his body about to explode from the silence engulfing him except for his own voice. The silence he is assigned to break. 

“Feathers, then, blue and gentle like fallen leaves adopting the hue of the sky, danced around me. They fluttered, bouncing and flowing with the current of the wind,” — he takes a breath even though he knows he shouldn’t — “before they kneeled around the bird like prayers.”

“Okay, stop,” the professor says, and Jisung had never felt more relieved. “Good job, Jisung.” His lips curve into an almost smile, one that Jisung can almost taste — he feels like he’s about to be given a candy. 

“I,” he starts, but chokes on his own word. “I’m just reading it, professor. Thank you.” The last two words feel like they are squeezing their way out of his throat. It doesn’t matter, though, because now he can sit. Because now his professor had broken the silence with his own voice again instead of assigning the task to him. 

But the professor tilts his head, squinting at him before saying, “This is your work, though?” 

Is it? He squints and looks at the next paragraphs, scanning through the content as quickly as possible. “Oh,” he says, finally recognizing everything. Devotion. To love someone and surrenders your whole being into it — loving someone and cease to exist. “Sorry, I, I didn’t realize…” 

“It’s fine,” he flashes him a small smile, then shifts his gaze to the rest of the class. “Now, is anyone here interested to present their thoughts about this one, specific paragraph?” 

Jisung sighs and starts scribbling on his iPad. His classmates’ opinion about the work he had submitted two days ago buzzes around him, blending into one brown noise. 

“From what I can see perhaps the bird is quite foolish.” — “I think the bird plummeting to the ground is implying a relationship which the world cannot accept.” — “The feathers are missing from how hard the bird had tried to stay in the sky, but at the end it succumbs to its own desire.” 

He’s glad he doesn’t have to break it. He doesn’t know if he can break anything again for a while. 

When the class is finally over, Jisung shoves his iPad into his satchel and slings it over his shoulder. A stream of reddish sunlight peeks from the west-facing window. The light bursts like blood gushing out of a peeled tangerine. Like when you are so excited to eat it the juice splashes into your eyes. 

Jisung takes out his phone and starts typing. 

I look into your eyes and I see a burst of blood from a poorly peeled tangerine. I’m sorry I was too blinded by the desire to split it in half. I take out my carpal bone and place it in your palm. It sits coldly next to your share of our half-split tangerine. You swallow it, my bone and my tangerine. I feel myself shaking and I hope my skeleton will hatch some flowers. 

I hope my carpal bone will grow tangerine in your heart.

He doesn’t realize he has been walking out of the building as he types until there is a hand tugging on the sleeve of his coat. 

“You’re going to hit a wall if you keep walking like that.” A voice says, the hand on his sleeve pulls him to pivot on his foot. A familiar face appears in his sight. 

“Long time no see, Jisung-ah,” Seungmin greets, his expression looking more at ease than the last time Jisung saw him. There are spots of vermillion littered around his cheeks from where the evening sun streamed through the leaves. 

Jisung feels his features trip into a smile. “Hi,” he says, putting his phone away. “Has it really been that long?” 

Seungmin pulls his hand back. “I think so? Maybe not that long, but it has been days. Have you been busy?” He squints his eyes and leans, so their eyes are at the same level. “Gosh, Jisung, if they are still casting zombies for the Train to Busan movie I’m sure you can pass the audition just fine.” 

He can only sputter out some laughter at the other’s comment. “I’ve been okay,” he says, but then he catches the disbelief crossing Seungmin’s expression and adds, “I just, I have been staying a few nights late doing assignments.” 

Seungmin hums thoughtfully. “Were you having fun?” 

“Huh- What?” 

Seungmin blinks at him once, like he doesn’t understand which part of his question that threw Jisung off. “I was asking if you were having fun, you know, doing the assignments.” 

His question doesn’t seem strange, but Jisung had never heard anyone asking him about this before. “Uh, I guess, yeah? I mean, I like writing, so it was enjoyable.” He looks around and smiles as his brain finally comes up with a question to shift the topic. “Anyway, how’s Caesar? You killed him yet?” He nudges Seungmin’s side, aligning his step with the other as they walk. “Please tell me you did.” 

Seungmin lets out peals of pleasing laughter. It makes Jisung think about a dessert. Something like cheesecake but not really, something that will sit longer on his tongue instead of immediately vanishing; a mix of sweet and something else—

“Okay, wait, I have to show you this!” Seungmin suddenly jumps, grabs the cuff of Jisung’s coat and drags him to a bench next to the fountain, in the middle of the university garden. He pushes him to sit. 

“So,” he starts, pacing around his spot. “This is how it goes. I have done this so many times I can do it over and over again without reading the script.” 

Aren’t you supposed to remember it anyway, is what Jisung wanted to ask, but he swallows it down. He notices there is a certain brilliance laid so deep within Seungmin’s excitement he almost glows with it.

Seungmin stares at the empty space in front of him, a bold contempt grows in his features. He kneels, and the air shifts.  

Jisung watches closely, his eyes fixed on Seungmin’s face: the slight twitch of his furrowed eyebrows, the shape of his eyes and the way they dim like there is no light in the world could ever pierce through them, the clenching of his jaw, and the way it seems to bleed all the color out. 

Seungmin’s face looks white and cold as he rises to his feet. 

He steps forward, his gaze burning with violent satisfaction upon the empty space in front of him — like it had been a murder. Like he is watching the world burn while being in the center of the flame; like there is no pain in the world he would not bear to see the tyrant burn to ashes. 

His words are thick with hatred and underlying disgust as he mimics Caesar’s line: 

“Et tu, Bruté?”

He takes another step forward and stops — his form steady, almost at ease. His lips rise into a slow smirk as he places an imaginary knife against the neck of his imaginary villain. 

Is he a villain? Is he a friend? Or simply a human falling to doom? Maybe a bird, whose feathers are being picked raw because it flew around too much it has caused tornadoes around the world? 

“Then fall, Caesar.”

Seungmin slides his hand like he just slit a neck open, and Jisung imagines the color of sunset tinted on Seungmin’s skin. He clenches his teeth and tries not to remember the very same color smeared all over his body. Flowing in his veins. The burning beast inside his rib cage. 

He is relieved to see Seungmin standing up with a satisfied smile — that boyish, innocent smile, with yellow littered all over its surface instead of red. 

“See?” he cheers, plopping down to sit next to Jisung. “I can even recite it in my sleep, I remember everything! I’ve killed that brat plenty of times now!” 

Seungmin is laughing, the notes of it falling around them like shower sun. Jisung watches him laugh while letting out some of his own, although not too loud. He fears he might make the shower sun feel less dreamy. 

“Good job,” he says, fighting back the urge to land his palm on the other’s head. It feels illegal. 

“I know!” Seungmin acknowledges it so easily, peals of laughter still falling from him. Jisung hopes he will stay like this forever. “Oh yeah,” Seungmin suddenly says, “you know, ever since Jinyoung saw us the other day, he kept asking if you are my boyfriend.” 

“He asks that? When I literally kissed your forehead in front of him?” Jisung gasps, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “What was he thinking? That I’m your cousin? Your dad??”

Seungmin laughs. “You are certainly not my father,” he says, voice wet and breathy from laughing too much. “I don’t know, maybe he thinks we’re just friends? Or some, I don’t know, platonic relationship. Definitely not a boyfriend.” 

Jisung hums. “Do whatever you need to do to get him off your back, then,” he blurts out without thinking. “I’m fine with anything.”

Seungmin is looking at him with a gaze Jisung can’t read. “It’s fine?” he asks, then crosses his hands in front of his chest. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? A boyfriend? It’s not funny if I got someone off my back only to have another one, you know.” 

It is Jisung’s turn to burst into laughter. It bubbles inside his throat, like a can of soda being popped after it’s shaken for too long. 

“Me??” he points at his chest, another laugh explodes through him. His shoulders shake in the force of it and Jisung thinks he had never laughed this hard for so long. “Me? A boyfriend? Girlfriend? Hah! You’re so funny, Seungmin-ah.”

“What’s wrong with my question??” Seungmin frowns, a pout threatening to form on his lips. 

“I don’t think I would ever get a significant other,” he states, coughing out his remaining laughter into a fist. “And I’ve never been in any relationship at all, so? Yeah. I don’t want to try.”

Seungmin still has a frown etched on his face when he asks, “I think I would regret this, but I will ask anyway: Why?” 

Jisung hums. He thinks about the burning flower somewhere in his sinuses. He thinks about what he had thought as blood splattered across his face, thinks about a carcass being cremated inside his lungs. He looks at Seungmin’s curious gaze and smiles. 

“If I said it makes me feel like I want to crawl out of my skin because every act of asking for a flower is like having a splinter being caught in between your ribs and still having an urge to push it down until it is seated in your pulsing heart, will you call a police on me?” 

Seungmin giggles and pats his shoulder in a way that tastes like the aftermath of a rain. “As long as you don’t say it in public,” he reassures, then laughs again. “Okay, then. Here’s a proposal for you: be my fake boyfriend.” 

“I thought I already am?” 

“Are we?”

Jisung tilts his head in confusion. “Didn’t you tell Jinyoung I’m your boyfriend?” 

“No?” 

“Seungmin. I kissed your forehead. In front of him. What do you think I was trying to imply?” 

Seungmin blinks. “That we are very close?” 

Jisung doesn’t have time to stop himself from swaying Seungmin’s body back and forth, screaming: “Why would I do that just to imply that we are ‘very close’??? I kissed your forehead, silly!” 

“Wait, wait!” Seungmin holds his shoulders to stop him in motion. “You mean, all this time, we are already?” 

“Well maybe not, but at least at that time, we are. I thought if Jinyoung is under the impression that I am your boyfriend he would stop trying to snap your wrist off,” Jisung explains, releasing Seungmin from his grip. “I thought you understood what I meant because you said ‘unless you kiss me on the lips’, so it turns out you didn’t understand?” 

Seungmin shakes his head, then laughs as he whips his iPad out of his tote bag. “I thought we weren’t… you know, since we didn’t really talk about it. So, I made a contract to ask if you want to be my fake boyfriend…” 

He shows a document, scrolls it page to page in a way that makes it look endless. “Crap, it even has all the listed benefits and everything. Will you sign it?” 

“Kim Seungmin, as much as I love reading long novels and burying myself in word documents,” Jisung sighs, pushing Seungmin’s iPad back to his lap. “Respectfully, please get that thing away from me.” 

Seungmin looks at him weirdly but doesn’t ask any questions, instead he curls another wide smile that spreads from one cheek to the other. “So, fake boyfriend, do you want to go on a fake date somewhere?” 

Jisung doesn’t see the point of a fake date, but his stomach decides it is the best time to start a riot against him — by rumbling in a force strong enough to knock out skyscrapers, metaphorically — and before he realizes, Seungmin is already dragging him into a café behind the campus. 

And that’s how he ended up here, sitting on a window-facing table next to a boy he barely knew. In the middle of his fourth Americano sip he realizes he had only known Seungmin three days ago. 

He looks at his hands, the steady jittery that runs through it, and sighs. He looks at Seungmin and spots some crumbs littered on his knitted scarf. They look like stars, like gold paint being splattered and swirled in the sea of indigo. 

But then he remembers about Seungmin’s clean apartment and his evenly tucked blue shirt, and he feels bad for thinking of them as stars.

Jisung pulls out a tissue from its box and slides it to Seungmin. “You have crumbs on your scarf.” 

“Oh,” Seungmin says, “Why did you… Nah never mind, it’s okay. Thank you.” 

He frowns but then he realizes his mistake. “Oh yeah I was a dumbass, why did I slide it on the table…”

“It’s okay,” Seungmin flashes him a toothy smile, unwrapping the scarf from around his neck and wipes the crumbles off it. “It’s just for the scarf anyway, it’s fine.” 

Jisung hums. He takes a small bite of his cheesecake and his gaze drifts back to Seungmin, still busy with his scarf. 

Seungmin doesn’t look like a clumsy person. His apartment is neat and clean despite only moving the night before; his fridge filled with labeled containers and his shoes are tucked neatly in individual lockers. 

Jisung doesn’t even have a locker for shoes, he just threw them across the empty space of floor behind his door, scattered and struggling to find their match. 

Silently, Jisung wonders if Seungmin can peel tangerines. 

“You know,” Seungmin suddenly says, wiping his lips with a new sheet of tissue he had grabbed by himself. “We should do this more often. I think hanging out with you is enjoyable.” 

He can’t bite back a smile that had bloomed across his face, even though he thinks “blooming” is a verb he had lost so long ago. “What’s so enjoyable about eating in silence? I didn’t even talk that much.” 

“What do you mean by silence?” The face in front of him twists into a frown, and for a second Jisung thought he had seen two Seungmin instead of one. “We’re talking now, aren’t we?” 

“I guess I can’t argue with that.” 

“Mhm, bet you can’t,” Seungmin says, the air shifts as his giggles float inside it, like it’s thinning in a way that makes it easier to breathe. 

Like living is not such a heavy task, after all. 

Jisung thinks he would never get the hang of Seungmin’s emotion. For now, he likes looking at it, the flow and connection between one and another. It feels like watching a play, so he looks up to Seungmin’s eyes and mutters: “I think doing theater suits you a lot.” 

Seungmin’s eyes light up like a lighthouse in the middle of a sea and Jisung doesn’t really mind that he is looking at two Seungmin again. He feels warm, but it’s not unpleasant. So he entertains himself by watching the color of sunset bloom in Seungmin’s face. 

Ah, the word ‘bloom’ seems to suit Seungmin more.  

“You think so?” Seungmin asks, his tone excited. “I always appear to be on the quiet and calm side, you know, so, people don’t always think those traits fit to be a theater major at all…” His voice grows quiet. 

Jisung hums softly. He had lost count of how many times he fought back the urge to hold Seungmin’s hand. Or his fingers. This thought makes him think he might be drunk but there is no probability of alcohol’s existence in his body. Maybe he had gone insane.

“Yeah, so I guess there’s just always this doubt in me, you know? Whether or not I am fit to be here… Anyway!” — Seungmin claps his hands awkwardly, the color of dusk already seeping to his ears and neck — “Do you have class after this?” 

“Nope,” Jisung answers. 

“Should we head back together? Or do you have any other plans?” 

Jisung stares at Seungmin’s face. Normally, he would’ve said, I have plans I need to attend, and slips away from Seungmin’s company so he can tame the beast inside of him and get a goodnight sleep. But the past three days have become solid proof that the beast gnawing under his flesh had refused to be tamed. 

And without the beast being tamed to its false contentment, there is no way for Jisung to sleep peacefully, or at all. 

Seungmin suddenly drags his chair back so Jisung stands up due to muscle memory, albeit too abruptly that his vision swims. He looks at his hands again then looks at Seungmin’s face with confusion written all over it. His brain catches up and he realizes Seungmin wasn’t trying to leave. 

“I don’t,” he starts to answer but he is seeing two Seungmin again and as he blinks to make Seungmin back into one the dizziness he didn’t realize had been there intensifies. 

The room is undulating like he’s underwater. He loses his balance, putting a hand out to the table to steady himself and missing. 

Seungmin catches his missing hand and there’s a cold palm pressing on Jisung’s forehead. 

“Jisung what the hell, you’re burning. Can you stand? Do you need to sit down? Oh my god you look so pale maybe you should just sit—” he asks and answers his own question, panic prominent in his tone.

Jisung tries to answer him, but the world turns black too quickly and his awareness slips along with it.

#

There was a bird on a pine tree in a once-was-forest.  

When the bird hatched from an egg, the world was green. The sun streamed through the parted leaves in an array of amber lights, the branch steady under its claws. Little bird came to the world with a flower in its beak, a white bud of life sprouting and growing along with it. 

The little bird, entranced by beauty, made a promise to protect it. 

And so began the journey of the little bird and the white flower. 

The little bird often hopped from one branch to another. It took eleven hops for little bird to greet its geese friends after bathing under the sun. It took another eleven to come back home. The little bird never really knows how to count, but now little bird knows how important it is to know.

 After the sun there would be moon. When the life in its beak had bloomed, little bird thought the moon must’ve kissed it silly. The flower and the moon shared the same color, it even glowed the same. Little bird wished he had known its own color, just so it can stop wondering whether the moon had kissed it silly too. 

But unknowingness opens a door for imagination, is it not? 

So little bird decided: it was kissed silly by the moon too. 

When the moon appeared, the other lights in the forest had fallen asleep. Birds sleep too, but ever since little bird decided it was kissed by the moon, it started taking naps under the sun. So when the moon rises, maybe it can give little bird another kiss. 

The little bird waited and waited. Its claws could fully grip the branch without falling off now, but the moon still didn’t give it another kiss. Little bird started to wonder if the moon had never kissed it after all. 

When the fire consumed the forest raw, the moon was hung up in the sky like a yellow skull. The little bird that was no longer little clutched onto the top branch with its claws, watching the green of moss and leaves turn into red of burnt bones and flesh. 

As the fire, or blood, or both, reached its precious flower, little bird felt like there was no use of growing big. Little bird looked up to the sky and roared for the moon to save them. But the moon stayed in its place, the yellow skull now bloody with reflection of war and upcoming sunrise. 

The little bird closed its eyes and wished for the moon to kiss its cheek. 

The little bird didn’t know the moon had been blowing her kisses through the chilly wind every night, for the moon was bound by vow to never leave her throne in the sky. 

#

Jisung half wakes with something cold pressing on his head. There are weights hanging on his eyelids that when he tries to pry his eyes, they are not fully opened. Only enough to see a sliver of white light. 

“Oh!” There is a voice, then, one he recognizes to be Seungmin’s, and somewhere in the back of his mind Jisung thinks he will never mistaken Seungmin’s voice for anyone else. “Hey, you’re awake?” 

Jisung blinks. He thinks he might need his glasses because everything is still undulating; there is a round light illuminating his vision. 

He closes his eyes for a few seconds longer and when he opens them again the light morphs into Seungmin’s face. “Huh?” 

The grounding coldness on his forehead leaves and moves onto his cheek. Turns out it has been Seungmin’s hand all along. He flinches at the gesture that feels too gentle than he deserves and Seungmin frowns. 

“Sorry, my hands are always a little cold,” he says, pulling his hand back to where they belong instead of Jisung’s burning skin. “Your fever is better now, I think.” 

Jisung tries to frown. His head feels like it’s about to explode. “I have,” he tries, feeling the word upon his tongue. It’s strange how words are so palpable yet still the tongue has the ability to misuse it. “I have a fever?” 

“Yeah,” Seungmin confirms, then he whips out a glass of water out of nowhere and Jisung starts wondering if he is a witch. Or maybe Seungmin has found a way to meet the blue cat robot from the future and it has given him a door-to-everywhere. “Can you sit up? You have to drink this, and take your medicine.” 

Jisung blinks again. He doesn’t remember he has a body. He tries to say it but by then Seungmin’s hands already found their way around his shoulders — covered by white duvet — and sits him up. “Woah,” he says, his head spins wildly.

 “Easy now,” Seungmin’s voice sounds appealing against his eardrums. Like a trickle of rain. Like the shower sun. Jisung isn’t used to this kind of tenderness being offered to him — always prefers to be the one offering instead of receiving. 

It feels strange. 

Seungmin brings the glass to Jisung’s lips, so he drinks as much as he can. He faintly realizes there is a burning in his chest but not enough for him to act upon it. He treats it as something that’s naturally there. Pretend it’s not a bother. 

Seungmin left him in a half sitting position — his back slumping against the couch —  and walked away. He flashes him a small smile when he comes back. 

Jisung thinks Seungmin looks like a part of a celestial body, maybe because the room is dark and his sight is blurry and Seungmin is glowing under the overhead lamp. Or maybe because Jisung had simply gone insane again. 

“.... he said he will be back tomorrow.” 

“Huh?” 

Seungmin looks at him with his head slightly tilted. “What huh?” 

“Sorry,” Jisung says, then he pauses because his voice sounds weird but it’s intriguing so he tries to speak again: “There are loud voices in my head and they may have talked over you just now. Can you repeat that?” 

Seungmin laughs. “Your sick voice sounds so funny,” he teases. “What I was saying is, there was someone who said that he’s your friend? We met at the lobby and he helped me to bring you here because the stupid elevator decided it was the perfect time to be under repair.”

“My friend?” 

“Yeah, he said he wanted to see you, but you didn’t answer your phone so he came here. Anyway he told me he needed to go to take care of some business so yeah. He will be back tomorrow.” 

Jisung doesn’t have a lot of friends. Acquaintances, yes, but not friends. A face comes to mind when he tries to understand Seungmin’s story but then something else distracts him. 

“Wait.” He blinks and everything becomes clearer and he realizes there is a blanket wrapping around his whole body and the room around him is Seungmin’s apartment. “You brought me here? Why?” 

Seungmin looks befuddled. “Why? Because you fainted in the cafe and your body was so hot I could probably turn you into an omelet cooker?” 

“I fainted?” 

“Yeah???” 

That does not make sense. Jisung has never… fainted before. Twenty-one years of his life he had gone through it without ever fainting and even if he did fall sick he had never lost consciousness so easily. He had always had trouble with that. Even falling asleep has never been an easy task, so why- 

“I don’t,” he huffs. “I don’t faint.” 

Seungmin looks bemused. “Then what do you do? Pretend to be dead? Did your soul get transferred to some other realm?” 

Jisung decides to ignore that remark. “How long was I…” he trails off, but Seungmin’s answer comes immediately. 

“Probably about seven hours ago? It’s two a.m. now, so yeah.” 

Jisung’s eyes widened. Seven hours? That’s longer than his usual sleep! He’s been out of the world for seven hours and he is still feeling sluggish, like his limbs are not his. He has been sleeping for that long and his eyes are still heavy. 

“Wait, it’s two a.m.?” 

Seungmin nods as he reaches for a can on his coffee table and yawns. “Mhm, what is it? If you have assignments due at midnight you really have to let it go.” 

No, it’s not an assignment problem. “It’s two a.m, and you’re not sleeping?” 

Seungmin shrugs as he chugs the remaining liquid inside of his can. “What were you expecting me to do? Go to sleep and leave you dying?” 

“I’m not dying, this isn’t that serious—” 

“I really don’t want to argue with you about lifestyle but please at least take care of yourself,” Seungmin cuts him off with ease and gives him a tablet of medicine with a glass of water. “Drink this and go back to sleep before I seriously turn you into a freaky omelet machine.” 

Jisung fights back the urge to pout at the sight of pills. “I can’t,” he starts, his voice coming out as half whine. He averts his gaze away from Seungmin’s steady one. “I can’t swallow… pills.” 

Seungmin looks like he’s trying to stop himself from bursting out in laughter. “Of course you can’t,” he giggles, then takes the medicine with him into the kitchen where he fetches two spoons. 

“You don’t have to—” 

“Too late,” Seungmin, again, with ease, cuts him off. Jisung decides that once he’s healthy enough to bicker he will cut off everything Seungmin tries to say. “Don’t worry, I’m good at this.” 

Jisung watches as Seungmin puts the pill onto one spoon and uses the other to crush it, the solid pill reduced into a yellow, powdery substance. Seungmin looks up to meet his gaze and smiles. “You want it with honey?” 

“Do you have honey?” 

Seungmin laughs. “I don’t. But I was trying to figure out if you usually take it with honey.” 

Jisung pouts for real this time. “I don’t. I can take it with water.” 

“Alright then,” Seungmin says, still half giggling, as he pours the water expertly into the spoon. He hands it in front of Jisung’s face and Jisung swallows it in one gulp. The bitterness makes him shudder. 

“Good,” he smiles, the back of his palm gently pressing against Jisung’s forehead. “You’re getting warmer again, go to sleep,” he says, and easily maneuvers the cocoon of Jisung back into sleeping position. 

Jisung blinks slowly, staring at Seungmin’s face as the drowsiness of medicine starts to fog his mind. He thinks he is glad that his hands are not free. He doesn’t know if he will be strong enough to not try to hold Seungmin’s fingers. 

When the hands of slumber gently coax him into the dreamland again, his vision vignettes into Seungmin’s face, his gaze steady as he stares into his phone. 

Jisung thinks he can make out some lines of words from the reflection on Seungmin’s glasses but the world turns to black before he manages to read any of it. 

When he wakes again, there is faint chatter murmuring around him. He stirs, rolling his body so he isn’t facing the back of the couch. Then half-yells when Seungmin’s face suddenly appears way too close than he expects. 

“What the hell!” Seungmin yells back, almost falling to the floor if not for his reflex being quick enough to find the coffee table. “Why are you screaming at me?” 

“You scared me!” Jisung defends himself, trying to sit up. Thankfully the room doesn’t seem to remember how to spin anymore. “Why were you staring at me like that?!”

“I was trying to check on you! I don’t have a thermometer so I tried to measure your temperature with my hands but the last time I did that you flinched so I thought I shouldn’t startle you again and I’m aware that my hands are cold. So I tried to use my forehead but suddenly you rolled back and I didn’t expect it,” he rambles, a hue of red flushed all over his face. 

Somewhere in the room he hears a familiar laugh and finds Minho leaning against the wall. 

“And you,” Jisung says, tilting his head. “Why are you here?” 

Minho chuckles lightly, pointing at Seungmin with his chin. “Didn’t Seungmo tell you I was here yesterday too?” 

“For the sixth time, my name is Seung min .” 

“Seung mo. ” Minho insists, sticking out his tongue. 

Jisung sighs. He decides to ignore their bickering and the thought of Seungmin measuring his fever with his own head comes back to mind. 

“You know, Seungmin-ah,” he mutters, trying to sound as soft as possible. “Thank you for, you know,” he gestures at himself and around, happy to have his limbs listening to him again. “All of this.” 

Seungmin smiles. A smile of his that never once falters even when Jisung says the most ridiculous thing. Jisung had never really been fond of smiles, for in his eyes they are an act of separation between two lips. 

He doesn’t mind it on himself for there is nothing worth prying in his own being but seeing a smile on someone else feels like he’s opening a door he shouldn’t have tried to touch. An opened door to the face in the shape of a crescent moon. The flashing teeth as white as rabbit’s bones. 

But then there is a soft light glowing like a halo around Seungmin’s smile and Jisung thinks maybe a smile isn’t something so bad after all. 

“Mhm,” Seungmin hums, grinning wide. “Please come to me whenever you get sick so I can cook eggs on your forehead again.” 

“Please let me witness it,” Minho chimes in, another laugh coming from him. “Yah, Seungmo, please, I would do anything for you to let me see that.” 

“Start by calling my name properly, then,” comes Seungmin’s reply, this time he is the one sticking his tongue out at the elder. 

Jisung laughs at that but there is a strange flutter under his ribs where there should be a carcass of beauty being cremated for eternity and Jisung fears a splinter might’ve pierced its way through his aorta. He looks at Seungmin again and reminds himself to limit the time he would spend with the gorgeous boy in front of him. 

#

Jisung’s plan of time limitation fails miserably.

Seungmin doesn’t seem like he is going to leave Jisung alone any time soon. And Jisung, for he was raised by his mother’s example to say yes whenever someone calls their names, is never able to resist him. 

One fake date in a cafe that dominoes into an unfortunate event of immobile Jisung in Seungmin’s apartment turns into more fake dates than Jisung can keep track of. 

He isn’t even sure if the term ‘fake date’ is still suitable to describe everything that has been going on between them. Not that he ever wanted to change it. There has been a shift in the little beast under his ribs ever since Seungmin entered his life. 

Jisung was sure it had always been beast. A violent beast, like monster, like desire. A force so strong it would keep him awake if not tamed. Jisung never found a way to properly tame it, other than shove pleasure down its throat and let it faint from overfullness. 

But then Seungmin arrived and Jisung is no longer sure whether the beast is still a beast or had it become something else; not sure whether it had become something more monstrous or the opposite. 

“There’s this puppy cafe just on the corner of the street I just found yesterday…” Seungmin had said in the last week of October, and they ended up tangled between little puppies savoring Jisung’s whole being with as many kisses they could whip from between their canines. 

One of them had bitten Jisung’s finger, the mark engraved like a ring. 

Both Seungmin and Jisung played with them until the puppies lost their energy and began napping on their laps. Two on Jisung’s, one on Seungmin’s. Jisung looked at the fondness residing in Seungmin’s face like the rising sun and smiled.

Seungmin met his gaze and returned his smile in a way that made him lose all definition of smile he ever had. Like the words were slippery and out of his reach, left his tongue and traveled down to his stomach where they churned and metamorphosed into butterflies. 

It was a rather pleasant feeling, but Jisung didn’t like the implication of it.

His mind and soul had screamed at him to run away from the strange boy that was Seungmin, but everywhere he went the ghost of Seungmin’s smile would follow him, like smoke bleeding out of a forest fire except the fire was within himself. Hours would go by and suddenly the ghost looked too real and it started waving towards him. 

Then Jisung would realize that Seungmin had been real. 

Jisung had found himself stranded in the most random places; in the geology section of the public library, next to the door of a public swimming pool beyond its operation hours, the corner of the laundromat where dust piled up in little balls, and still — Seungmin would find him. 

Which he shouldn’t have, because they are different. Too different. Seungmin is an apple pie baked just right, putting effort in everything he is doing in life; everything he touches seemingly gains meaning. And Jisung, Jisung is still a lost cause living in a cycle of coreless apple blackening under the sun. 

Engaging with Seungmin was a mistake. Letting Seungmin see him under the shadow of vulnerability was a mistake. Jisung is a mistake. 

“What are you doing here?” Jisung had always asked, once quietly behind his annotated Frankenstein and once he yelled those words out since they were alone under the dim lamp with balls of lint falling around them like memories. 

Seungmin would smile. Like he had always expected whatever thing came out of Jisung’s lips. “What are you doing here?” he had asked, and Jisung had shifted his face away from the other’s gaze. 

Seungmin would chuckle, as if he had also expected Jisung to do that.

In times like these Jisung had wondered if Seungmin would be surprised if one day burning blood sputtered out of his mouth instead of words. Silently, he wondered what kind of face Seungmin would be making if he did. 

“You know, there’s this museum I found…” Seungmin had said, and Jisung sighed, closing his book and shoved it back to where it belonged.

At the laundromat — the kind that would have a gambling room under its facade — it would not be a rare sight for the lamps to be dim. In his childhood, Jisung would find this kind of place as the safest one out there. A place to be hidden from the world. 

For if it was able to conceal the chaos of gambling addiction, it should also be able to conceal the burning in his system. It had started to act as a shelter for him. Then the owner started spending more time with Jisung’s father and the shelter morphed into a lighthouse. And then it was a monster: a home and a warning, all at once . 

This laundromat wasn’t the one he had spent his childhood days hiding in; but the thrum of washing machines and the clinking of coins against each other replicate the vibes he needed. It probably didn’t even have a gambling room underneath it, but Jisung likes to think it does. 

“So, what do you say? You wanna go to this museum with me?” 

Perhaps it was the monster’s effect, or perhaps one of the microscopic lint he had inhaled through hours of hiding had contained some sort of substance that made it easier for him to decide things without considering the future. 

Perhaps it was the fact that there was already a hue of dusk tinting Seungmin’s skin from the west-facing window — it created an illusion where Seungmin was not so paper-white, rather someone a little more like Jisung — so he let go of the splinter he had clutched so hard in his palm for the past few days. 

Decided to stop fighting against it and let it pierce through his atrium. 

He looked at his hands and decided if a gambling room could be hidden under a laundromat then it might as well be a place to commit his sin. “Okay,” he had said, trying to sound at ease. He even curled a smile in an attempt to mirror the other.

Seungmin’s smile widened and he took Jisung’s hand. 

“Take me home,” he said, as if it was already normal for them. “I swear I will pick so many good songs on our way home, Jisung-ah.” 

Jisung thought he would never get used to the feeling of his name in between Seungmin’s teeth. 

“Fine,” Jisung answered, unable to peel his gaze from their hands. 

The curve of Seungmin’s fingers reminded him of a rib. Jisung started thinking if rib cages were made of hands cupped around each other and the thought clung to his mind even when Seungmin’s apartment door closed behind him. 

In the museum, between the displayed painting of a bird on top of a branch tree and another painting of the moon hung up over the ocean, Jisung had asked, “Don’t you have other friends you can hang out with?” 

Seungmin didn’t even pause to think before he answered: “I do, but I want you.” 

At the idea of being wanted, Jisung was defeated. 

In the second week of November, Jisung found himself sitting atop the red couch inside Seungmin’s apartment, the cushion had grown accustomed to his presence. His eyes scanned through highlights and comments his professor had left on his story, keyboard rattling under his fingertips. 

Seungmin plopped beside him with a yawn, his pajama the color of night sky and his hair a nest of birds. He stretched his hands back and Jisung giggled at his crooked glasses. 

“Oh shut up,” Seungmin grumbled, rubbing his eyes and fixing his glasses. He glanced at Jisung and his laptop with a frown. “What are you doing so early in the morning?” 

“Just this,” Jisung said, shifting a little to show Seungmin his screen, “going through the comments and notes my professor left on my short story.” 

Seungmin hummingbirds to the air between them. “For the fiction workshop you told me yesterday?” 

Jisung forgot he had told Seungmin that. Did he really? Why would he? “Yeah.” 

“How’s it looking?” 

“Eeh, pretty good actually, I think?” 

“You don’t sound so sure.” 

Jisung huffed out a laugh. “There’s nothing in this I can be sure about, Seungmin-ah.” 

“Can I ask what the story is about?” 

Jisung looked at him with a silly grin. “You can ask. But I won’t tell you.” 

“You’re no fun,” Seungmin whined, rolling his eyes as he fetched the TV’s remote. “Is it okay if I watch Netflix or should I turn the closed caption on?” 

The question felt strange to Jisung but he masked his perplexed demeanor with a shrug. “I’m fine with it,” he answered, dragging his gaze back to his laptop. 

Seungmin hummed, turned the TV on and began choosing a show to watch. 

Jisung found himself watching the other, his eyes constantly finding their way to glance at Seungmin no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. His entire senses had become aware of the presence that was Seungmin: the bouncing of his leg and the occasional tilt of his head. 

The beast under his skin is quiet whenever Seungmin is around. Jisung couldn’t understand how, but around Seungmin, there were no more nights of rolling around the mattress until the sun yawns behind the horizon; no more sting of burning magnolias filling his sinuses wherever he goes. 

Seungmin had been—

“Focus on your work, Jisung-ah,” Seungmin teased, giggling quietly at the view of blushing Jisung. “Why are you staring at me like that?” 

Jisung ran his hand through his hair in hopes it would transfer some of the jittery. “I wasn’t watching you,” he said, his fingers tip-toed clumsily on his keyboard in nonsensical words. “I was just thinking.” 

Seungmin was still giggling even when Jisung threw one of the pillows at him — the cushion bounced right off his shoulder. 

“You seriously have some loose screws,” Jisung finally said, using the last pillow remaining on his side as a barrier between them. “Don’t mess up with my screws too, Kim Seungmin.” 

Seungmin chuckled at that, pressing the remote in his hand before he stood up and walked towards his coffee machine. “Your screws are too tight for me to lose them anyway. Coffee?” 

“Sure.”

Seungmin stood beside a window overlooking the east, an amber hue of sun rays jeweled on his cheek. Jisung looked at him and thought: I would rather look at you than any portraits in the world. The thought washed over him like a storm of realization. 

Two moons passed, and under the gentle warmth of the evening sun Jisung read his story about blood-shot tangerine and an offering of carpal bones with Seungmin’s smile tucked in between his phalanges. 

Then he looked towards the crowd and his eyes found the familiar face sitting on one of the seats; a smile etched on his features. Jisung’s voice had wavered when their gazes locked, tripping over his words. 

I hope my carpal bone will grow tangerines in your heart, he read, the illusion of judgemental eyes from his classmates didn’t matter anymore. Seungmin was there; and suddenly, not even the universe mattered. It’s bloody, it’s messy, and it’s probably burning, — because what else would it be if it comes from Jisung? — but I hope in you, it could grow beauty.  

Applause didn’t matter. He felt euphoric, but not from the crowd. He looked at Seungmin’s smile again and he wanted to cry. Jisung walked down the stage to the figure his eyes had vignetted to, and Seungmin had patted his head softly like he was a child. 

Jisung’s childhood was not all fairy-tale and rainbow-river, but the prospect of being a child in front of Seungmin didn’t repulse him at all. 

Underneath his skin, he felt the little beast purred.  

Jisung had lost count of how many nights he spent simply chilling with Seungmin on this very couch, doing whatever they each had to do until one of them fell under the hands of slumber. 

Jisung had lost count of how many mornings had greeted him like this: blinking awake under a blanket he didn’t remember had put on, from a dream that didn’t even feel like a dream. 

Today he wakes up next to Seungmin who had fallen asleep on the floor, his back leaning on the couch with laptop on his lap. The scent of apples and honey caresses his nose, so Jisung leans into it and finds Seungmin’s hair on the bridge of his nose. 

He inhales a whiff of the scent and hopes he can plant it in his lungs. 

It soothes the burning in his chest. Morphs it into something less like a carcass and more like a life. For the first time in forever Jisung can breathe without worrying about smoke puffing out of his nose. 

Then Seungmin shifts and his eyes flutter open in front of Jisung’s face. The hands of dream linger around his gaze, prominent from the way he blinks slowly as if to refocus his vision. Yet a smile still manages to softly find its way into his face as he finds Jisung’s eyes. 

“Hi,” he whispers, so quiet like he’s afraid something around them might shatter if he speaks too loudly. 

It is the moment Jisung realizes the intensity of his thumping chest. He can feel it under his palm, a crack the beast had pecked continuously, to break free from the chaos that was Jisung and reach for the moon. 

Seungmin’s presence overwhelms him. The fact that Seungmin exists overwhelms him. 

So Jisung crashes into the only person he has in mind with his problem. 

“I think I’m going insane,” he whines, throwing his body onto the couch. “ Hyung, please. I’m seriously going insane. Maybe I already am. Oh my god have I turned into some sort of crazy person now—” 

Minho sighs loudly. “As far as I know you, you have never been normal, Jisungie.” 

Jisung makes a sound akin to a sneer. “Oh please. If there’s someone that isn’t normal in this room, it’s you.” 

“Yeah and that not-normal person is about to lose his goddamn mind over his very-very-not-normal friend,” he says, smacking Jisung’s butt. “Scoot. This is my spot.” 

Jisung wriggles from where he was lying down to give Minho some room. He pulls his knees flushed to his chest and buries his face in the space it has left. “I’m going to die…” he huffs. 

“We’ve talked about this, Jisung,” Minho’s voice suddenly sounds stern. “No dying plan. Yes we’re all going to die but there’s no need to rub it on your face every single day.” He pokes Jisung’s cheek with a soft laugh. “Get out of there and talk to me or else I’m kicking you out of my house.” 

Jisung huffs again and he thinks one day smoke might come out of his mouth if he keeps huffing whenever things take an unexpected way. The thought of smoke coming out of his mouth reminds him of the smiling ghost morphing into Seungmin’s face. 

Minho pokes his cheek again and Jisung finally unfurls. Like a leaf. Perhaps he could also fly away and get eaten by caterpillars. Or turn red under the autumn sky. 

“It’s not working anymore,” he finally mutters, fiddling with his fingers. They look like puzzle pieces of a ribcage.

“What is not working?” 

Jisung bites his lip. “The thing,” he starts, the remaining of broken sentence dancing in his mouth. Clacking on the roof and slides all over his tongue. Jisung swallows but they cling onto his papillaes. “The thing you told me to not do but I do anyway.” 

“There’s like,” Minho says, but then he pauses to laugh. “There’s a never ending list of that, Jisungie. Which one are we talking about?” 

Jisung sighs again. This time, a puff of mist appears. And dissolves. “The sex thing.” 

“ Oh. ” 

And there is silence. Jisung never really minds silence when it comes to his friend, but this silence feels unpleasant. He wants to furl back into a branch of a tree. 

Minho finally speaks. “If I say ‘I told you it’s not going to work’, will you hate me?” 

“I beg to differ. It worked.” 

“Yeah but not for long.” 

“It was plenty of time.” 

“Plenty of suffering and self-destruction, you mean?” 

“That’s not entirely true,” Jisung denies, although a part of him shatters in realization. “I didn’t, it wasn’t—” 

“Half true, then.” 

 “A quarter.” 

Minho laughs. “This isn’t the place for haggle, dummy.” 

“There is always room for some bargains, everywhere,” Jisung replies, sticking his tongue at the older. 

“Yeah but apparently not when it’s against you because I remember clearly how hard I bargained for your ‘sex thing’ and you didn’t even listen.” 

Jisung pouts at that. “Sorry, hyung,” he mutters under his breath. “I really can’t see any other way.” 

He hears Minho’s little sigh, then there’s a shift of the couch as Minho turns over to face the younger. “Talk to me,” he says, there is no chance of bargaining in his tone. “It didn’t work anymore, so how have you been doing?” 

Jisung feels like he should’ve at least winced at the rise of this topic but instead he finds his lips curl into a small smile. He glances at Minho and finds that the older one finds his smile to be strange as well. “So uh.” 

Minho blinks slowly; waiting. Jisung hopes the earth will swallow him whole. “Do you remember the, uhm.” 

“Spit it out, Jisungie.” 

Jisung finally decides, fuck it, he’ll just throw the words to the air and hope some of it make sense. “Do you remember the boy — okay a boy might not be a good term, a man? but he looks too young — ANYWAY, him. The one with brown hair and dark eyes and the shirt and glasses and—” 

“Seungmin, you mean?” Minho asks, putting a stop to Jisung’s mindless rambling. 

Jisung feels his insides flutter. Somewhere in the depth of his mind he wonders why butterflies would be interested to swarm and live around the taxidermy of chaos under his sternum. “ Yes. ” 

Minho hums. “The kid who dragged you into his apartment and almost turned you into an omelet cooker? Hell yeah I remember. Keep going.” 

“He’s strange,” Jisung begins, but Minho’s sudden burst of laughter prevents him to continue. “What now?” 

“It’s just,” Minho says, sputtering words between his laughter. He looks at Jisung and another peal of laughter comes out uncontrollably. “It’s hilarious that you, out of all people, are saying that someone is strange.” 

Jisung kicks his knee. 

“Ow!” Minho yelps, glaring at him as he lands a smack on Jisung’s thigh. “Elaborate your thoughts or I’ll be the one kicking you out of my house.” 

A sigh escapes Jisung’s lips again. “Fine. Seungminnie’s okay, he’s just. I don’t think it’s him, is it me? He has been following me around and I have this urge to just, I don’t know? Push him away? I have a reason for that, though…” 

Minho hums thoughtfully, the look of teasing dissipates from his face. Somehow, it worsens the twisting in Jisung’s gut. He swipes a pad of finger on his fingernails to steady himself. 

“So, the, yeah, you know me, I don’t, I can’t sleep, that easily,” he continues, trying to choose which thread in his head he should’ve marked red. “That’s why the, thing, I did it. But ever since Seungmin is there I can’t?” 

“By can’t, you mean you can’t do the thing or the thing doesn’t work anymore?” 

“The latter. Whenever Seungmin is around I keep falling asleep everywhere.” 

Minho makes a confused sound. “I don’t see this as a reason for you to push him away.” 

“Because I’m afraid of what I will become after him. He’s nice, he’s kind, his hair smells like apples and honey and I enjoy it but I can’t shake this feeling of — I don’t know, fear? Like what will I do if he’s no longer here? So I keep wanting to push him away.”

“Jisung-ah, the man’s barely twenty and you’re already thinking of him disappearing into the thin air.” 

“That’s not the main problem, hyung. The problem is that I can’t,” — his voice wavers slightly — “I don’t know what it is that he has on me but I can never say no to him. So it’s hard to keep a distance with him.” 

“Probably his puppy face.” 

“I can ignore a puppy even if it’s clinging on me to snatch my hotdog.” 

“For the record, that puppy did snatch your hotdog.” 

“But I did ignore it.” 

“ Ignoring it does nothing to stop it from wanting your hotdog,” Minho says, his tone light but it shifts into something heavier as he adds, “Probably it’s the same with Seungmin, too.” 

“What do you mean it’s the same?” 

Minho rolls his eyes. “You really need me to spell it all out for you, huh?” 

“Just tell me.” 

“Same with that puppy. You did ignore it, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t want to share your hotdog with it — don’t you dare deny it in front of my face — and it doesn’t mean the puppy will just, I don't know? Stop. And for the record, you didn’t even try to run away from the puppy, dumbass.” 

Jisung blinks as things start to click like little puzzle pieces. 

“Do you get what I mean, now?” 

“I do. But I don’t like the implication of it.” 

“Yeah well too bad,” Minho says, as he walks towards his boiling kettle. “This is the part where I can’t help you.” He glances at Jisung and sighs. “Oh, I can, but I know you won’t let me so I won’t even bother trying.” 

There’s a sound of rack opening and glass clinking against each other, a cheer from the silence of a lonesome rack. A mug waiting to be filled. The gaping hole. Coreless apple waiting for a chance to escape its blackening fate. 

A thought that had crossed his mind way too often and had been brushed away even frequently comes into his head again, although Jisung thinks it never leaves after all. 

“Hyung,” he mutters, dragging the syllable in uncertainty. The glasses continue to clink on each other. The water drops from where they came. Jisung wants to be water. Or a finch overlooking water from the tree, if he ever is worth being one. 

Jisung ponders with all the signs heading into an implication he had always denied, looks at Minho’s figure washing his dishes and wonders how Seungmin would look with his sleeves rolled up. 

Then he realizes what it does to him and he thinks the prospect of breaking apart isn’t so bad afterall. Not when it comes to Seungmin. 

“You know what?” he half-yells, rushes on his feet to sling a bag on his shoulder. “I’m going to try it. See ya, hyung!” 

Then he runs for the gorgeous boy that has always been Seungmin. 

Seungmin, however, is nowhere to be seen when Jisung decides to open his apartment door after his knocking left unanswered. “Seungmin?” he calls, finding the unlocked door strange. Seungmin had never forgotten to lock his door before. 

He traces his way towards Seungmin’s bedroom, finding the other’s backpack sprawled on the floor — its content pouring out.  His eyes land on a pair of shoes next to it, and his heart thumps wildly under his ribs. 

He knows Seungmin had his last practical finals today. Seungmin should be home early. 

“Seungmin-ah? Where are you?” he tries again, going back to the living room and the kitchen, both looking untouched. The air in the room feels strange, like every atom is yelling for something; their silent hopes weighing the atmosphere so thick Jisung finds it hard to breathe. 

There’s a splash coming from the bathroom and Jisung realizes it is the only place he hasn’t checked yet; so he runs to the door and knocks on it. “Seungmin?” 

He doesn’t hear the voice he so wanted to hear, but there’s a constant ripple and trickle of water against tiles — too quiet to be someone showering — that brings him back to his childhood. And just like that, he no longer has control over his limbs. 

A hand that doesn’t feel like his reach for the handle door and pushes it open. 

The sight of Seungmin on the floor, with his head half-drowning in the bathtub — his hair a mop of shadowed fig in the middle of a rippling current — appears and Jisung’s soul leaps out of his body. 

“Seungmin!” 

His hands — now they feel like his own again — grabs Seungmin’s underarms and hauls him away from the tub, realizing midway that Seungmin had been gripping the edge of the tub so hard with his hands to keep his head underwater. 

Seungmin bursts out of it with a gasp, and Jisung catches him before he can sink again. “What the fuck were you trying to do?!” he roars, the back of his eyes burning. He slings Seungmin’s hand around his neck as he coughs violently, water and bile sputtering out of his mouth. 

“Seungmin-ah,” he calls again, a hand around Seungmin’s rib. “Can you hear me? Can you breathe okay?” 

Seungmin nods weakly, the color on his face slowly coming back. He chokes again, coughing out water to the floor as he leans on Jisung, his whole body shivering. Jisung watches him taking in a shaky breath and feels his own throat tightening.

“I’ll get you to your room, okay?” he decides to say, his other hand finds Seungmin’s knees and hoists him up. Seungmin’s face is closer this way, but Jisung has no intention of looking away from him for even a second. 

He doesn’t even dare to blink. His hands are holding on Seungmin’s body so tight like at any moment he could crumble to nothingness. Suddenly the idea of a smoke morphing into Seungmin’s face that had haunted him in the past few weeks seems to be more terrifying than it was. 

He lays Seungmin sideways on the edge of the bed and kneels on the floor next to him. His shaking hand reaches for Seungmin’s equally trembling one, like a branch of a tree fighting against a typhoon. 

“Seungmin-ah,” he whispers, afraid of what to become. 

Seungmin squeezes his palm weakly, his eyes blinking open with a shaky sigh. “Hi,” he says, another cough follows. He doesn’t quite look like himself. A few drops of water cling on his eyelashes and trail down his face like tears. He looks so fragile Jisung is scared to even breathe .

“ Sorry, ” Seungmin whispers again, his voice hoarse. He takes another gulp of breath successfully without coughing it out. “I was trying to practice my breathing technique. They said… they said I,” he pauses, his trembling lips twisting and disappearing into a thin line. “They said I breathe too much.”

Jisung can’t pick up the meaning behind ‘breathing too much’ other than the terrible implications his mind immediately comes up with, so he stills. “Just breathe, now. Just breathe normally,” he says, almost like a plea. He never remembers himself sounding so desperate.

Seungmin nods, taking slow deep breaths and exhaling it through his nose. “I’m okay, Jisung-ah,” he says, although how weak his voice sounds defeat the whole point he is trying to deliver. “I’m fine, you don’t have to worry.” 

Nonsense, Jisung wants to say, wants to cry the word out over and over again so Seungmin remembers it. He wants to smile and say something along the line ‘your pants are on fire’ but he doesn’t have the strength to. 

Instead he gathers the shards of his face and tugs them into a smile. He touches Seungmin’s damp hair that had been lying limp on his forehead and tucks them behind his ear. “Close your eyes,” he mutters, then rests his palm above Seungmin’s eyes. 

He presses a kiss against the inside of Seungmin’s wrist in hopes it’s enough to convey how much Jisung cherishes its pulse.

Seungmin makes a confused sound but doesn’t pull away. 

There’s a growing warmth under his palm, the skin slippery above where Seungmin’s lips begin to tremble again, his jaws clenching and shoulders rattling; like an emotion so big for his body to handle just wash past it. 

Jisung thinks about the sleepless nights he spent years ago in the room across the hall — the beginning of forest fire and war —, and so he keeps his hand over Seungmin’s eyes as he watches his resolvement crumble with the force of it all. 

#

There was a moon on a cloud of the sky . Or a person. The moon never knew where it had lived, only that it could never move from where it was seated. 

The moon thought its life in the sky had always been lonely. Occasionally, little stars scintillate around it, wink at the moon and laugh at it. The moon never liked the stars; it thinks their pride is too big despite being little. 

And they burn. 

One night, when the moon fiddled with the cloud’s fibers, something strange flew into its hands. A flower; ivory white and oh so soft, being carried by the breeze from its place on earth. 

So the moon asked the stars around it that had begun whispering chatter among themselves. “Why such a small being fly its way so far to the clouds?” 

The stars didn’t answer, couldn’t even hear the moon’s question from how loud they were talking with each other. The moon felt ignored, so it stroke the cloud underneath it and woke it up from its slumber. 

“Don’t owls usually the ones to give you offerings?” The cloud said, eyes opening in little slits. “Don’t you think it’s them?” 

But the flower felt too warm in its palm. “Owls never brought flowers,” the moon explained quietly, shifting its gaze towards the forest of trees underneath the sky. “They offer souls, usually mice, or crickets. And not for me; they’re for the stars.” 

The cloud frowned, but it was almost its time to drift back to slumber — for if clouds were to stay awake for too long the rain will start pouring on earth. “Someone else, then,” it concluded, its eyes disappearing. 

“Someone else, but who?” The moon thought, then walked towards the edge of the cloud and looked down. It was hard to find it from here. The forest and its beings were too far away. Even if it wasn’t far, the moon couldn’t shine bright enough to illuminate its sight. 

But the moon, in its nature, was never one to give up easily. 

The moon took the flower in its hand and tucked its rib under the petals. It trailed kisses all over its surface and blew it back down to the earth, hoping a part of itself could finally grow on earth. 

And so the white flower trailed with moon’s kisses and rib tucked between its fold found its way back to earth; in between beaks of a little bird that had just hatched out of its egg. 

#

“Hey, I just realized this. How come we never hang out in your apartment?” Seungmin asks, turning the TV off as credits of the movie they watched begin rolling. 

Their finals are over now, Jisung no longer feel like his brain is about to explode and set the world on fire while competing with time to study all materials he needed; and Seungmin no longer has a constant frown plastered on his face as he mumbles word after word he has to memorize. 

So Jisung found himself chilling on the familiar couch, watching a few episodes of The Chainsaw Man on Netflix with Seungmin’s head over his belly. Occasionally he runs his hand through the locks of his hair, taking in the sweet apple scent to his heart’s content. 

“It’s messy,” he answers shortly. His finger twirls around a strand of the other’s hair, it loops around his skin like a brown vine of a fairy-ring. Seungmin turns over and pouts. 

“You still should’ve shown me around a little. How come only you get to go here all the time but I don’t?”

Jisung hums. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with his apartment, it’s not really that messy, either. He’s just not sure whether he wants Seungmin there. Not sure whether he would be able to handle the ghost of Seungmin’s presence tucked in every corner of the room. 

He can’t bring Seungmin to his apartment. It’s where the smallest version of Jisung still lives. The little, obsessive Jisung who would glare at everyone that tries to enter the room. The little Jisung that would chase the same person he had glared at when they stood up to leave. 

The little, obsessive Jisung who would promise himself to never let anyone enter anymore. 

So he looks at Seungmin’s face — still expecting an answer — and says, “One day.” 

Seungmin looks disappointed, but he nods anyway. “You better be real. I’m holding you on that,” he threatens, although it doesn’t sound like a threat at all. It makes Jisung laugh quietly. 

“Oh yeah, on the other note,” Seungmin speaks again, now shifting to sit up and face Jisung properly — Jisung quickly withdraw his hand that has been hovering over Seungmin’s cheek — “Will you come with me to my cousin’s wedding this Saturday?” 

A frown finds its way to bleed into Jisung’s face. “A wedding??” 

“Yeah,” Seungmin confirms, his eyes twinkling with hope. “Please?” 

“What makes you think I would want to go to a wedding?” 

“Nothing! I just thought you could, I don’t know, go with me?” 

Jisung still doesn’t understand. “Yeah, but why? I don’t know any of your relatives, and I’m not even that good at talking with people. What do you want me to do?” 

 “You don’t have to do anything! Just accompany me, please? I don’t like going to family gatherings…” 

Jisung sighs. “What will they say if you bring a friend along with you?”

Seungmin’s eyes twinkle again, like a lighthouse. “They probably won’t even care! I’ll just introduce you as my friend in university. They hate my life choices anyway, I don’t see why they would suddenly care.” 

Jisung doesn’t know whether he wants to frown or smile. “What about your parents?” he asks, but he realizes he had asked a wrong question from the look on Seungmin’s face.

“I don’t think my mom or my sister will come, actually, but they’re nice so you don’t have to worry about it. But if my father’s there then we probably should just run away.” Seungmin’s answer comes with half a laugh, but Jisung knows better. 

“Okay,” he says, giving Seungmin a reassuring smile. “I’ll go with you, puppy.” 

Seungmin’s smile split his face so wide like a crescent moon but he throws a pillow to Jisung at his last remark. “Don’t call me puppy!” 

Jisung catches the pillow with one hand and uses it to shield himself from Seungmin’s next attack. “Stop looking like a puppy if you don’t want to be called like one, then,” he laughs, successfully catching Seungmin’s hands around his waist and pulling him closer. 

Seungmin looks at him from the pillow over Jisung’s chest and Jisung risks a small kiss on his nose, to release the uncontrollable growth of affections that threatens to overwhelm him. The small liberty. 

Jisung had grown more acceptable with the affection that had swelled under his skin whenever there is Seungmin, no longer trying to lock it inside a box and throw the box into the sea. 

It’s still messy, but he’s trying.

A blush spreads across the face in front of him. Jisung watches it like a flower stretching its petals out to embrace the violetears. “Why did you kiss me again?” Seungmin quietly asks, his voice a few decibels above a whisper. 

“That wasn’t a kiss,” Jisung denies, releasing Seungmin’s wrist from his hold to ruffle his hair. “I bit your nose because you’re too cute, puppy.” 

Seungmin huffs, and Jisung had expected him to rub his nose — to get rid of his remaining pieces there — but instead he sets the pillow aside and throws himself in between Jisung’s arms. Hooks his chin on the crook of Jisung’s shoulder and lets out a soft sigh. 

“Thank you for willing to come with me,” he whispers, his tone nothing but genuine. “And stop trying to bite me.” 

Jisung chuckles, his hand travels its way up to the other’s shoulder awkwardly — not sure where he should’ve held him. But not returning the hug feels wrong. So Jisung settles his hands on the small of Seungmin’s back and chomps on his shoulder. 

Seungmin smacks his head at the gesture but laughs anyway. “What did I say? Stop trying to eat me!” 

“Stop looking so edible, then.”

But what Jisung didn’t say is that while he spends his years under piles of literature, there is only little of love he can understand. “How do you love?” his professor had asked, once, and the only thing that had come to his mind was a forest setting itself on fire so the stars would finally pay attention to it. 

How do you love?

Like bared teeth. Like a fist. Like a knife.

#

On the first Friday of December, Jisung rides his car with Seungmin sitting in the passenger’s seat, songs from a playlist Seungmin had picked softly playing from the speaker. 

“It’s not that far, right?” Jisung asks, stepping on the brake as the traffic light turns red. 

“It’s in Gangnam-do, Jisung-ah,” Seungmin muses, cranking the speaker’s volume up by one. “Of course it’s not that far. It’s still in Seoul. I showed you the location yesterday, didn’t I?” 

Jisung chuckles. “You did.” 

Seungmin hums along with the song and Jisung follows, their trip turning into a carpool session; screaming the lyrics to their heart's content and laughing when someone’s voice gives up midway. 

They usually go to university together, but the trip to university is close enough for them to never actually do anything in the car other than mindlessly chat or complain about other vehicles they spotted violating traffic rules. 

They would laugh. And comments about the car’s shape. “That one looks like a frog!” Seungmin had said, pointed at one car passing on the opposite line. “Hush, Seungminnie, what if they see you?!” 

Seungmin would just laugh again, like it wouldn’t be a big deal. “Wasn’t it a compliment?” 

But now, the road they travel by is long enough to sing along in the car. They sing together, one song after another, and more, until Jisung feels like his throat has been scraped raw. He coughs and Seungmin offers him his iced americano. 

“You gonna let me drink out of the same bottle with you?” Jisung asks, frowning. 

Yet, Seungmin doesn’t look bothered at all. “I mean, it’s not like you’d have herpes, right? Or something else?” 

Oh, Jisung could. But the last time he went for his medical check-up routine he made sure he’s clean. Peachy clean. He wouldn’t want to stain Seungmin and make him suffer out of his own doing, anyway. 

“Oh no you are thinking for too long, do you have it?” 

“I don’t!” Jisung defensively says, a pout on his face. “You’re so mean, puppy.” 

Seungmin looks like he is ready to throw hands. Or a bottle of iced americano. Jisung laughs at him. “Careful with that,” he says, pointing at the bottle in Seungmin’s hand. “I’m so thirsty I could die, puppy, will you share your drink with me?” 

“Call me puppy again and I will make you a human americano,” Seungmin throws the threat to the air, but twists the bottle cap open and hands it to Jisung anyway. 

Sometimes Jisung wonders if Seungmin would actually hurt him. But then he realizes where the thought is about to bring him and he stops himself before taking a sip from Seungmin’s americano. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, handing the bottle back. 

Seungmin only hums and takes the bottle from Jisung’s hand. “Does it taste okay?” He suddenly asks, actually sounding timid. 

Jisung wants to eat his cheek. “Hmmm, I think even if you put poison in there I’ve grown too accustomed to your coffee for it to affect me.” 

Seungmin actually smacks his shoulder this time. Then, in between his laughter, Jisung manages to catch the words Seungmin whispered to the air, so thin it almost got lost in the wind: “I will never be able to hurt you.”  

He decides to not think too much about how it makes his chest clench. 

IU’s ‘my sea’ hums from the car’s speaker and Seungmin sings along with excitement twinkling behind every note of his voice. Jisung listens to Seungmin’s voice and he thinks he can listen to Seungmin singing forever. Seungmin’s singing is harmonic, flowing and ebbing like water, but every word he laced in every note sounds like there was an endless stream of thoughts behind it — it gives every meaningless thing a meaning. 

Jisung might be a coreless apple blackening under the shadow of the sun. But he thinks Seungmin could cut him up to pieces of little stars and bake him into an apple pie. Seungmin tastes like country-side; a life without disturbance, an apple pie baked just right. 

Then a thought comes to his mind and Jisung decides to voice it: “Seungmin-ah, do you have a tattoo?”  

“What?” Comes Seungmin’s reply, sounding surprised. “A tattoo? No, I, I don’t,” he takes a few beats of pause and adds, “although I think it’s pretty intriguing. But I never actually think about getting it myself, do you get what I mean?” 

“Why?” 

There’s a long hum. Then perhaps Seungmin decides it is long enough, or perhaps he has made up his mind to provide Jisung with an answer. “I know my father won’t let me.” 

Jisung can sense the growing uneasiness behind the other’s words, his fingers brushing and circling over his knees. “Your father sounds like a jerk,” he comments, half a joke and half actually calling him a jerk. 

Seungmin erupts in a full-blown laughter. His shoulders shake with it, eyes squinting under the afternoon sun. Jisung thinks he would gladly keep calling Seungmin’s father a jerk if Seungmin would laugh like this every time he does. 

“Oh my god,” Seungmin says, wiping out tears. “No one ever called him a jerk before. I did, but it sounds so good when someone else is cursing on him.” 

“So he is a jerk,” Jisung concludes, content with hearing Seungmin’s peals of laughter filling the air around them. It’s easier to breathe the air filled with the remnants of Seungmin’s joy.

“He is,” Seungmin says, his voice calmer than before. “It wouldn’t be an exaggeration if I said I hate him. I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, though.” 

Jisung hums in understanding, turns the blinker on and enters the building on the right side of the street. “This is the place, right?” he asks, receiving a nod from the other. “You know where I can park?” 

“There should be a portal,” Seungmin explains, scanning their surroundings before his gaze stops into a spot. “There! We can enter that and it will lead us to the parking area on the back of this building.” 

“You even have a good sense of direction. What a good puppy,” Jisung teases him, laughing as Seungmin glares and hits his shoulder. “Ow! Don’t be violent, puppy!” 

“Jisung-ah, please don’t call me that in front of my family. I’m begging you.” 

“Bold of you to think I would have the nerve to even talk ,” Jisung jokes, trying his best to make his voice lack care but he can’t seem to shake off the jittery running down his hands. His feet feel like they’re about to bounce on their own if Jisung isn’t currently stepping on the pedals. 

Seungmin rests his palm on top of Jisung’s hand on the gear. “Sorry I made you go through this,” he mutters, guilt all over his words. “Should we just, I don’t know, run away?” 

Jisung laughs as he parks the car. “Run away? You bought a new tuxedo for this, Seungmin-ah, I’m not making you run away without even greeting your cousin.” 

Seungmin still looks unsure, but he pats Jisung’s hand with a smile. “Okay,” he says. “But if you feel uncomfortable or anything, we can just sneak out. It’ll be fine.” 

Jisung thinks it’s funny that Seungmin thinks about him so much. “Okay, puppy,” he reassures, Seungmin doesn’t even get mad at him for the nickname this time. “Do we go now or?” 

“We can go now, it’s still quite early so there shouldn’t be a lot of people yet. I think that’s better than walking straight into the crowd.” 

“Yeah,” Jisung agrees easily, running a hand through his hair and fiddles with his tie. It has been so long since he wore something so formal. “You really think it’s okay for me to come with you?” 

“I already said I’m bringing a company with me, so yeah, it should be okay.” Seungmin opens the car door and jumps down. He stretches his back with hands above his head; the edges of his unbuttoned blazer wing under his shoulder. 

Jisung’s eyes zoom onto the exposed skin of his waist and sprints towards the other. “Yah!” he yells, hands finding both edges of the blazer and closing them in front of Seungmin’s stomach. “Your shirt is untucked, dummy.” 

Seungmin yawns. “Really?” 

“ Tuck them in, ” Jisung tells him, then regrets his impulsive burst of emotion as seconds passed. “Sorry, I, I don’t know what came over me.” 

Seungmin laughs as he tucks his shirt back into his pants. “My waist is sexy, don’t you think?” 

“ No, ” Jisung denies, but there’s a heat pooling on the back of his neck that he hopes Seungmin would never notice. “Always so full of yourself, aren’t you?” 

“Actually it would be embarrassing if anyone saw that. Thank you.” The tone of Seungmin’s voice shifts, although he hides it so carefully behind his composed confidence. It’s such a familiar facade that Jisung can’t help but smile. 

“Sure,” he says. “And for the record, your waist is not sexy at all. ” 

“Ouch.” Seungmin makes a hurt sound, clutching his hand in front of his left chest. “What a hurtful comment, Jisungie.” 

“I’m the king of hurtful comments, that’s why you shouldn’t have engaged with me,” Jisung calmly states, patting both his pockets to feel his phone and wallet. “Close the door if you’re done, Seungmin-ah, I need to lock the car.” 

Seungmin closes the car door with a grin, then bumps his head softly against Jisung’s with soft giggles accompanying his warmth. “Let’s go,” he says. 

Jisung can’t bite back the smile from curling on his face. So he hums, locking the car and aligns his steps with the other. His fingers ghost near the edge of Seungmin’s sleeve, needing something to steady himself but not sure if it’s appropriate. 

But then their skin brushes against each other and Seungmin shifts his fingers easily to hook around Jisung’s. “Is this scary?” he whispers, his tone dripping with genuinity.

Jisung thinks for a while, glancing consecutively at their intertwined hands and Seungmin’s smile. “It’s okay,” he decides, walking forward with more surety filling in his steps. “Aren’t you the one that’s scared, Seungmin-ah?”  

A series of soft chuckles leave Seungmin’s lips, the glaring afternoon sun suddenly feels a lot more gentler. “This is nothing to be scared of.” His answer arrives with such an embossed lack of surety that Jisung’s heart does a little clench. 

But it’s okay, right? Unlike him, Seungmin is fine. Seungmin doesn’t have a beast constantly trying to blur the line between white and black in his life, doesn’t have an urge to burn a forest just to remember it is made of living things. 

Unlike Jisung, he is — perfect . 

As they enter the building, Jisung’s eyes immediately land on the decorations surrounding them: the fairy lights vining from one window to another — their yellow light creating a warm atmosphere to envelop the space —, and the white flowers in each corner of the room — sewed with such care to represent beauty in its finest nature. 

“Woah,” he exclaims quietly, halting on his steps as his eyes continue to wander. On the west side, the wall is filled with windows in which the fairy lights are hanging, and Jisung imagines how beautiful it will look once the sun sets and the reddish hue bleeds into the yellow of lights. 

Next to him, Seungmin hums. Two of his fingers are still hooked around Jisung’s own, his thumb constantly brushing against his knuckles. “This looks nice…” 

“Right,” Jisung agrees. He looks at the altar in front of all the seats and the idea of declaring someone’s love to another suddenly feels intriguing. Jisung had only been to one wedding before, his father’s, and it looks nothing as beautiful as this. 

Perhaps the decoration was nice too, in the eyes of other guests. But for Jisung, they just looked like huge, ridiculous bouquets of flowers he wanted to burn into ashes. There was nothing about beauty in it; Jisung thinks. 

But having to go to another wedding ceremony like this, Jisung thinks he doesn’t hate weddings after all. 

“Seungmin?”

The unfamiliar voice calling Seungmin’s name from behind makes Jisung flinch. He pulls his hand back, feeling the fingers around it startle at the suddenness. 

“Oh,” Seungmin sounds confused, but quickly collects his bearings as he turns back with a practiced smile already settled on his face. “Hi uncle, long time no see.” 

The uncle Seungmin greets looks quite young. Jisung thinks there must be some kind of anti-aging gene running down Seungmin’s family, but he doesn’t ask. Instead he curls a small smile himself, after realizing that the uncle had spotted him as well. 

“Oh, Seungminnie, is this your friend?” he asks, already moving forward to shake Jisung’s hand. “What a charming young man! What is your name?” 

Jisung isn’t sure how he is supposed to react at the sudden compliment, although he feels the blush already creeping up his cheeks. “I’m Jisung,” he says, bowing his head down — half as respect and the other half to hide himself. 

“Ah, it’s sweet to meet you, Jisung, and you’re Seungminnie’s friend?” 

“Yeah. We- we haven’t been friends for that long, but yeah, we’re- we’re- yeah. Friends!” Jisung wants to plummet down to the ground and hide himself. He can’t stop stuttering and rambling, keeps adding words he shouldn’t have added into the sentence as his mind blanks out. 

Seungmin giggles, then, that giggle of his that Jisung always finds soothing. It helps him steady himself. “Uncle, don’t you have to see Chaewon noona ? I’m gonna show Jisung around for a bit.” 

“Oh, oh yeah! Oh Seungmin-ah, it feels so weird to see my daughter marrying someone else,” the uncle starts to rant, his hand moving to Seungmin’s shoulder instead of around Jisung’s hand. “Where did my little girl go? Why is she so big, now?” 

Seungmin chuckles quietly, brushing up and down his uncle’s arm in a comforting manner. “Noona has always been mature though, isn’t she? I’m sure she will be happy to marry someone she loves. There’s nothing to worry about, uncle.” 

They talk for a little more, although at some point Jisung had stopped paying attention to the topic and started listening to Seungmin’s voice instead. He still can’t find a word suitable for his voice. He thinks he just likes it; in a simple, quite desperate human way. 

He doesn’t even know if he will be able to listen to songs without wondering how they would sound if they were sung by Seungmin instead. 

“Okay,” Seungmin suddenly says, eyes meeting Jisung’s, then he takes Jisung’s wrist under his palm again, a smile still etched on his face. “We gotta get going, then, I can’t wait to see Chaewon noona walking down the altar later. Say hi for her from me!” 

The uncle laughs warmly, flashing a fatherly smile at both Jisung and Seungmin. “I’ll see you later, you two! I can’t wait to hear you sing again, Seungmin-ah, I’m thankful you are willing to do that.” 

“H- huh?” An expression akin to confusion bleeds into Seungmin’s face, the hand holding Jisung’s wrist twitches — so subtle it might become unnoticed. “Wait, I’m- I’m going to what? ” 

The same expression crosses his uncle’s features. “Your father didn’t tell you? He told me you would love to sing for this wedding and I shouldn’t hire a singer?” 

A flash of anger, one that Jisung had never seen nor imagined to be paired with Seungmin, crosses and arrives in between his features; burying its claws. “He didn’t tell me,” Seungmin calmly says, but the clench of his jaws says otherwise. “I- I’m so sorry, it should be okay, though. I’ll do it,” he adds, and Jisung senses the guilt, somewhere in between the dip of his tone. 

His uncle also gives him a genuine, apologetic smile, his hand patting on Seungmin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for not asking you directly about this, Seungmin-ah, I asked your father last week to make sure that you’re willing and he said yes, so I thought…” 

“It’s not your fault,” Seungmin reassures, his smile crooks and twists into a weighted curl. “It’s okay, uncle. I’ll manage. Now go see Chaewon noona, she must be waiting for you.” 

When he finally disappears behind the back door, Jisung tugs Seungmin’s hand and heads to one corner of the room, away from the front door and the arrival of more guests that would talk to him again. Experimentally, he calls for him. “Seungmin?” 

Seungmin looks lost. His eyes blink rapidly, eyebrows drawn together in a frown as another shudder passes through him. Jisung can sense the anger, the burning that swells under his skin as his hand squeezes around Jisung’s wrist. 

“One day,” he grits his teeth, “I am so going to kill him.” 

Jisung lets out a soft laugh. “Sure, then I’ll be there and testify to your alibi.” 

A small smile curls across Seungmin’s chapped lips, and Jisung relishes in the genuinity that comes along with it. After a few beats of silence, accompanied by Seungmin’s sighs, he finally asks, “You sure you wanna do this?” 

“I don’t want to,” Seungmin whines, a hand tracing pattern on his temple. “Did you see the guitar in there? I don’t- Well I did play guitar before, but I-” he pauses, looking even more frustrated than before. “I destroyed it and promised myself to never play again.”

Jisung hums, giving him space to continue. Seungmin is still holding his hand. Jisung still thinks his fingers are shaped like ribs, still thinking that rib cages are made of hands cupped around each other. 

A little part of him had hoped at least one of his ribs were made of Seungmin’s finger. 

“But they didn’t even hire a singer,” Seungmin continues, still deep in his dilemma. “I’ll just do it, I guess?” 

“You don’t sound so sure,” Jisung chuckles, trying to ease out his nerves. “What about this?” He leans against the wall and pulls Seungmin with him, their shoulders adjoining each other. “I can play the guitar for you? You can just sing without having to play the guitar that way.” 

“You can play guitar?” 

Jisung laughs. “So many things about me you have yet to know, puppy.” 

Seungmin blushes in what Jisung assumes to be the reaction to the nickname that had slipped from his lips, but then he nods. “Will you really do that? Go to the stage with me?” 

And Jisung’s cheeky little brain almost sings an answer; one word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, but he is quick enough to stop his mouth from running by itself. “Sure,” he answers instead, patting Seungmin’s head. “What song should we..?”

Seungmin hums. “Me after you? Isn’t that like, a famous wedding song?” 

“Oh,” Jisung hums, excitement rushing under his veins. “I love that song. Sure. I should still remember the chords well.” 

Seumin giggles, amused. “How come you can just, whip a song’s chords out of your head?” 

“Again,” Jisung winks, laughter pried from his lips as Seungmin hits him lightly for it, “so many things about me you have yet to know, puppy.” 

#

Truth to be told, Jisung is sure if someone were to ask him, years from now, about this wedding — he will probably not remember much. Everything about the wedding — decorations, fairy lights, speech and oath — are filtered through the folds of his brain, leaving only smiles and voice and the whole presence of a certain person to be tucked inside. 

Jisung is sure he doesn’t enjoy being a center of attention that much, but on the stage, sitting cross-legged with guitar in hand; he doesn’t have that much space in mind to think about the crowd. 

His fingers thrums across the string in a practiced motion, Seungmin’s sweet voice saturating the air. He watches him carefully: the way his eyes fall shut as he starts singing, voice soft and soothing; the way his head shakes, the way he blankly stares at the empty space below — Jisung sees everything. 

He notices Seungmin pulls his mic away from his lips whenever he takes a breath, and he starts to wonder if Seungmin, too, is afraid of being declared as a living thing. It seems impossible, but if there’s anything he realizes in life is that there are so many pieces in a person. 

So many scars and flowers and stories and bones coated in what can be both honey or blood — and so few opportunities to read them. If Seungmin is a book, one that he can read silently without the book knowing it is being read, he thinks he might buy one of those little bookmarks for him. 

Time seems to have flown both too fast and too slowly; the song comes to an end and Seungmin shifts his eyes to look at him, no longer fixed to the ground. It is already past afternoon, the glaring sun had morphed into a gentle, orange tone — splattered across Seungmin’s smile like golden jewels. 

Their eyes locked for what seems like eternity, a second stretched past its own limit. 

“Hi,” Seungmin suddenly says, the color of dusk splashing his face. His cheeks lift as his smile spreads; happiness seemingly has found its way back to where it belongs. 

Jisung returns with the warmest smile he can muster, although a smile is never hard to make whenever there is Seungmin. “Hello to you too, Mr. boy-crush.”  

Seungmin laughs, his eyes squinting in little crescents. “What the hell is that,” he asks, more peals of laughter slipping past him. 

“Remind me again why didn’t you become an idol instead?” 

“Maybe in some other universe I did.” 

Seungmin gives the crowd a quick bow, and Jisung follows him, before they walk behind the stage and escape the remaining ceremony. What should it be? Jisung thinks, as he mindlessly follows wherever Seungmin is dragging his hand to. Perhaps the bouquet throwing thing. Although none of that really matters anyway. 

“Let’s just,” Seungmin starts, closing a door behind them and slides down the wood, Jisung’s hand still clutched between his fingers. “Stay here, for a bit.” 

Jisung looks around and concludes that it’s the public restroom, ceramic walls and the overall chilly ambiance engulfing them. He crouches in front of Seungmin’s small figure, just so he won’t keep tugging on Seungmin’s hand. “Okay.” 

They sit on the cold tiles, legs tangled between each other, as Jisung studies every shuddering exhale that passes through the boy in front of him, the fingers closing in a loose ring around his wrist not letting go. 

“You did great,” he says, accentuating every word in hopes it will be easier for Seungmin to keep it in his head that way. “I got goosebumps, like, in every end of the parts you sing. And I know you will do great, I wasn’t worried at all, but it’s still so,” he pauses, finding the exact word, “ enchanting. ” 

Seungmin lets out some wet laugh, his remaining burden seems to shed along with them. “Thank you,” — he lifts his head and looks into Jisung’s eyes, the overhead lamp filling his irises with kaleidoscope’s shards — “I would never be able to do that without you.” 

It almost feels like they are sharing some kind of intimacy, because the next thing Jisung knows Seungmin is pulling his hand closer to his chest, like he wants it to become a part of himself. 

Jisung wants nothing more than to do so, but the idea seems too jarring to be done right now, out of all the chances, and he still feels like there are too many ruined things in him to be a part of Seungmin’s, so he gently takes his hand back. 

Instead, he extends his arms wide, offering a hug. 

Seungmin throws himself into Jisung’s embrace instantly, his chin finding home in Jisung’s right shoulder. He lets out a soft sigh, yet it’s so thick with emotions that Jisung finds it hard to breathe. 

“Was it not good for you?” he asks, running his fingers down Seungmin’s soft hair. “I saw you smiling, so I thought you enjoyed it,” — he tucks a strand behind his ear, watching it faintly blush — “Did I read that wrong?” 

The head on his shoulder shakes. “It’s not that it isn’t enjoyable,” Seungmin tries to explain, another sigh escaping his lips again. “I just hate that even up to this point, he still gets to control me into doing stuff as he pleases.” 

Jisung hums, as soft as possible. “Was he here?” he finally decides to ask, after a long silence. 

“Yeah,” Seungmin sighs, pulling himself back to sitting properly. “He was there, and he looked at me up there. I hate that I can recognize him.” He grabs the edge of the sink to steady himself and stands, trying to look as composed as possible but Jisung can still sense the anger and frustration behind his facade. 

“Let’s go back,” he says, extending his hand for Jisung to grab on. “I still want to congratulate Chaewon noona properly.” 

Jisung holds onto his hand without much thought, although belatedly he realizes he no longer wants to slap it away. “Okay,” he agrees, straightening his wrinkled shirt. “Let’s go.” 

After they exchange pleasantries with the brides — Chaewon noona turns out to be a really gentle looking person, her eyes kind as she shakes Jisung’s hand, thanking him for coming to the ceremony as Seungmin’s friend — they walk towards the buffet and sit on one of the tables near the window. 

“Chaewon noona is nice,” Jisung says, taking a sip of his champagne. (Seungmin’s eyebrow quirks, his eyes shooting a ‘ you are driving, you fool’ look that Jisung decides to laugh off.) “She looks kind, and gentle.” 

“She really is.” Seungmin puts back his cup of tea on the plate. “She used to be friends with my noona when we’re children, and naturally I got dragged along as well.” He glances at the right side of their table and lets out a heavy sigh. “Ugh, here he comes.” 

Jisung lifts his gaze from Seungmin’s hand and towards the door, where a man dressed in a brown corduroy suit that looks strangely both similar and different from Seungmin appears, approaching them with two people following behind. 

“Seungmin,” he says, his voice synthetic saccharine. 

Seungmin doesn’t even look up, still sipping on his tea as he fixes his gaze to stare blankly forward, but Jisung realizes their eyes aren’t meeting after all. 

At the lack of response, he walks away, grabs an empty chair and drags it towards their table. Jisung can see the tension swelling under Seungmin’s skin, a little flinch of his fingers when his father sits between them. 

“What are you doing,” he finally speaks, his cup clanking against the plate. 

“What do you mean?” his father says, still in that sweet tone that sounds nothing else but fraudulent. He gestures at people behind to get him a coffee, and Jisung immediately thinks: I will not like this guy even if he saves people.  

“I mean it exactly as I said,” Seungmin says, still not looking in any other direction but forward. “What are you doing? Why would you come here? And by here I mean this table. ” 

“Can’t I sit with my son?” 

Seungmin lets out a sarcastic laugh, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “Who are you trying to impress this time? I don’t have a father.” 

“Will you ever fix that attitude of yours?”

“Not until you fix yours.” 

Seemingly bored and not getting the reaction he wants from his son, he shifts his gaze to Jisung, his eyes scanning him up and down. “Are you Seungminnie’s friend?” 

Jisung catches the sight of Seungmin rolling his eyes again before he decides to answer, “Yeah, uh, I’m Jisung.” He doesn’t think he wants to lie and say nice to meet you or it is a pleasure to know you , so he stops himself from doing so. 

“Jisung, huh, you can call me doctor Kim,” — another roll of Seungmin’s eyes — “Are you also from… what is it? The drama thing?” 

“ Theater, you mean,” he says, it is getting very hard to keep his smile up. “Seungmin is the one that’s a theater major, I’m in the creative writing major.” 

The man’s face twists into something Jisung can’t decipher. “I see,” he says, nodding lightly. “What are you planning to do for a living?” 

Huh? What is this, a career plan interview?  

“Oh stop that,” Seungmin snaps, finally looking at him. “What are you trying to do? Making me feel bad for choosing a major without a ‘proper career path’? You’ve tried doing that so many times, haven’t you had enough?” 

“Seungmin,” he frowns, like he doesn’t understand what he is talking about. “I was merely asking a question. Can’t I be curious about your friend’s future planning? You won’t tell me yours anyway.” 

Seungmin looks like he’s about to throw hands. Literally. Jisung had never seen him so enraged before, his eyes burning its way to look at his father. His face flushed red enough for the dusk to fail in covering it. 

“Also, how come you never invited any of your acquaintances from med school before? They can bring you more fortune to be around with, more than him I’m sure,” he adds, and Jisung senses something in Seungmin snaps, his eyes filled to the brim with nothing but fire. 

The cups clank again as he slams his palms on the table, standing up from his seat as he does so. “You,” he mutters through gritted teeth, “You can hate me and talk shit about me for not being who you wanted me to be, but you don’t get to insult my friend like that.” 

He walks away from the table immediately, dragging Jisung along, but his father’s voice follows: “Sure, go on. If you want to become even a more failed human being, go on and chase your silly little dream.” 

Something in the depth of Jisung’s chest jerks.

His hand twists easily to grab around Seungmin’s wrist instead, pulling him back to where his father is. “I may only know Seungmin for less than a year,” he starts, surprised at his ability to actually look him in the eyes .

He feels Seungmin’s hand trying to tug him back, trying to tell him to go back and not confront his father this way, but Jisung doesn’t want to. So he stills, fingers closing around Seungmin’s wrist and shields it from the world. 

“But I know that he is nowhere near a failed human being, compared to his egoistical father who thinks he’s walking so above the ground simply because his occupation description is ‘saving lives’.” He lets out a laugh at the look of surprise crossing the man’s face; probably not expecting Jisung to say such words. 

“Whose life are you saving anyway? You can’t even be a good father for your son, who’s the failed one, now?” 

“Jisung, stop,” Seungmin tugs at his hand again, but Jisung remains unnerved. 

He keeps going, “It baffles me that you, out of everyone, are saying that Seungmin is a failed human being. Let me tell you, he’s the most human than any human I’ve ever met, more human than me, and definitely more than you. ” He actually feels the rush of satisfaction at how baffled Seungmin’s father looks, although it feels wrong to do so.

“Jisung.” Seungmin tugs his hand again, going so far as to grab Jisung’s shoulder with his other hand to make him turn and face him. But Jisung had said everything he wanted to say. He sticks his tongue at Seungmin’s father while being dragged away, and yells: “Live long and suffer, jackass!”  

He looks at Seungmin’s back, noticing his shaking shoulders as he continues dragging Jisung past the dining space’s door. “Seungmin?” he calls, trying to keep up with his quick steps but still ends up being dragged. “Seungmin-ah, I’m sorry, are you crying?” 

Seungmin’s shoulders keep shaking, rattling like eggs about to hatch. Like it’s about to break. Jisung doesn’t like the prospect of Seungmin breaking apart so he hops in front of him, only to find the other trying so hard not to burst in laughter. 

“Huh?” 

“Just,” Seungmin tries to speak, but peals of laughter still escape through his fingers. “Oh my god I really can’t hold this.” His shoulders shake again, letting out broken cackles. He makes a turn to an open space that Jisung then realizes to be a balcony, then he lets his laughter free. 

“I can’t believe you,” he laughs again, the pitch climbing up as his spine visibly extends and flexes. “Jisung-ah, I can’t believe you whipped out a fucking Star Trek reference.” 

Jisung can’t help but follow the trail of Seungmin’s laughter. “Oh come on, you gotta give me credit for that. I just turned the most legendary quote in the history of science fiction into an insult. ” 

“Please,” Seungmin says in between his laughter, finally calming down for a bit. “I will give you credit for that. I have never imagined someone would say ‘live long and suffer ’ in the years of my living span.” 

“What can I say,” Jisung shrugs, his eyes distracted by the sun in its way to set. “I’m a genius like that.” He looks at Seungmin’s smiling face, free from all the burden and expectation, and he thinks he would rather for him to always look like this. 

With that thought, he points at the sun and says, “Do you want to get out of here?” 

“Yeah,” Seungmin says, but his eyebrows are drawn together as he looks at where Jisung is pointing. “But I don’t want to live in the sun. I’ll burn.”

Jisung chuckles, fondness already swelling under his skin; he’s afraid it will spill out in everything he is doing. “I didn’t mean it like that. For real, though. Do you want to get out of here?” 

Seungmin turns his head to where they were before and sighs. “Yeah.”  

“Okay,” Jisung says, then he points down to the parking lot. “You want to jump from here and get into the car?” 

“You’re insane,” Seungmin deadpans. “We won’t even die. We’re just going to get our bones broken.”

Jisung is happy to see him more at ease. “Do you know any secret door, then, puppy?” 

Seungmin sticks his tongue and rolls his eyes at the nickname, then pivots on his foot to walk back inside. “I have a better idea: we get inside so I can congratulate Chaewon noona for the last time and say that we must catch up for a night class. And then we go.” 

“I was expecting something more hero-like, but okay,” Jisung says, but follows Seungmin’s step anyway. 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Star-Trek-nerd, but I still love noona and therefore I shall refrain myself from doing things that will make her sad today.” 

Jisung risks a teasing scratch under Seungmin’s chin before they enter the building again. “What a good puppy,” he says, yelping at the kick Seungmin lands behind his knees.

#

“Here’s something fun to think about,” Seungmin breaks the silence between them, the cold breeze passing over his hair. From afar, there’s an echo of waves shattering against the reef. Seagulls trill somewhere above their heads. “If the child version of us were to meet back then, do you think we would be friends?” 

Jisung blinks. He rests his chin on his folded knees, his hand tracing patterns at the darkening sand as he beams at the horizon. “When you say child, do you mean, like, seven years old? Or what?” 

“Does it need to be that specific?” 

Jisung hums. “Yeah,” he says, but his mind had started to wander — pieces of his childhood assembling like a puzzle trying to complete itself. 

“Okay, then, seven years old it is.” 

What was Jisung like when he was seven? That was the year he started elementary school, so he was still in the U.S. “I think I was mostly just, quiet,” he finally says, turning his head to face the other. “But I used to have candies in my pocket I will give to anyone that would talk with me, so if you like candies, you’re probably in for a treat.” 

Seungmin hums, then he pulls his knees to his chest and rests his head on them as well, mirroring Jisung’s posture with a giggle. “I befriended everyone, I think. I just really liked to talk to anyone in sight. And yes, I do love candies. So I might like you.” 

“But it’s,” Jisung blurts out, not even sure why he’s denying Seungmin to like him. “I was like, really really quiet. You will never get anything out of me,” he explains, fiddling with the edges of his pants.

Seungmin looks so soft like this, his hair blown back by the cold breeze and his skin lights up under the vermillion sky. Jisung wants to kiss his cheek. “You were still quiet when I first met you and we’re friends now,” Seungmin murmurs, seemingly disappointed that Jisung thinks they would not be friends. “Won’t you befriend me?” 

He thinks it’s quite funny how different they are. Seungmin is relentless and persistent, trying his best to achieve what he wants. Seungmin is a hard-worker with a calculative mind, surety filling every step he takes. While Jisung, he wings it. He tries and gives up on things easily, not always having a clear goal of what he wants. 

He doesn’t think it’s the matter of whether he will befriend Seungmin or not, but the other way around. Always is. “Will you?” 

“Of course I would try to be your friend,” comes Seungmin’s answer. His eyes travel upwards, and he slowly reaches out a hand to touch Jisung’s hair. “Your hair is getting longer,” he mumbles, running his hand down to the locks of brunette over Jisung’s nape.

“Is it?” he asks, though he doesn’t dare to move. It’s always a weird feeling for him to be touched, for someone as gentle and warm as Seungmin to reach out his hand and touch him. It makes him burn. “I never noticed.” 

Seungmin hums, his hand doesn’t stop moving. “Yeah, it’s gotten longer, but I think I like this,” he says, pausing to take strands of hair behind his neck and twirls it between his fingers. “Yeah,” he speaks again, nodding at himself. “I like it. Will you keep it this way?” 

Jisung hums. “Let’s see if I can keep it this way without ruining it,” he throws the joke to the air, although based on how he has been living, he’s sure he will ruin it for real somehow. Regardless of the way. 

“Okay,” Seungmin whispers, a soft smile on his face. He takes his empty little glass from the sand and hands it to Jisung. “Can you pour it for me again?” 

Jisung giggles, but moves to grab a bottle of green apple flavored soju they had purchased from a small store by the shore. He twists it open and pours a glass for him. “Here, don’t get too drunk, puppy.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Seungmin says, chugging it down and hissing adorably at the taste. 

Jisung watches him with a smile on his face. “Whatever you say,” he giggles, putting the bottle away from Seungmin’s sight. He looks at the setting sun again and thinks that maybe if they had met when they were still children, Seungmin could get a better Jisung. 

A Jisung that was quiet by nature instead of by the world’s constant pressure and the constant need to hide. A better Jisung that could love him the way he deserves. A better Jisung that could give him the world. 

Instead, Seungmin is stuck with this. Whatever this Jisung is; one with a burning forest under his ribs and a beast that he could never tame. 

It is ironic how Jisung wants and hates to be himself, all at once. 

“Jisung-ahh,” Seungmin’s soft voice suddenly makes its way into his ears. He has his chin resting on his knees, now, a pout on his face as he looks at the other. A blush, with the color of the current sky, spreads across his nose and cheeks. “Let’s talk again,” he says, patting on the sand. 

He feels warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach, gushing behind his veins, traveling all over his body. Yet it doesn’t feel like he’s being lit into a fire. “What do you want to talk about, Seungmin-ah?” 

Seungmin hums, a light smile hovers on his face. After a long hum, he finally asks, “What words do you wish someone had told you?” 

Jisung thinks for a while, measuring the weights of his options. He could say something ridiculous and just make Seungmin laugh — because Seungmin is drunk and laughter certainly looks the best on him —, but he doesn’t think that’s what Seungmin wants. 

Somewhere in his body, there’s guilt burying its claws at the thought of not giving Seungmin what he wants. 

So instead he closes his eyes, and whispers his honest answer to the wind: “You don’t have to hurry and grow up.” 

There’s a choked sound coming from seungmin, a sound that feels like glass shattering; so sharp jisung can’t help but immediately whips his head towards him. 

“Yah,” he says, not expecting to see the sight of Seungmin staring at him with wide eyes, probably not even aware of tears trickling down his cheeks. He releases his knees from his hold and hurriedly approaches the other. “Why are you crying, Seungmin-ah?” 

It seems it had just registered to Seungmin that he is, in fact, crying , as he tries to wipe the tears off his cheeks but more tears follow, falling down his eyes without anything able to stop them. “I’m sorry, I- I don’t know why I’m-” 

“I’m sorry,” Jisung quickly apologizes, his fingers rubbing the back of his wrist. “Way to kill the mood,” he rolls his eyes, trying to prove his point. “I’m sorry, I won’t say anything like that again. Don't cry…” 

“No it’s not, it’s not,” Seungmin says hastily, his hands already giving up on wiping his tears and moving to hold Jisung on the shoulders instead. “It’s not your fault,” he states, certainty like an anchor weighing his voice. “You really shouldn’t hurry in growing up, Jisung-ah,” he says, in a voice so calm and oh so homely warmth starts burning behind Jisung’s eyes. 

“I’m serious,” he speaks again, this time the hands on Jisung’s shoulders move to loop behind his back, hugging him tight. “Don’t rush on growing up. You can even stay a child forever.” 

Jisung lets out a wet laugh, not sure if he wants to relax and lean into Seungmin’s warmth or pull away. Never sure of what he wants, because he’s Jisung, a lost cause living in a cycle of coreless apple blackening under the sun; continuously wandering, ceaselessly rotting. 

“I can’t just, do that.” He averts his gaze away, tries to forget about the warmth flooding in Seungmin’s whole presence, the gentle warmth trying to take him in, soft hands trying to tuck him into a purpose. 

“Who says you can’t?” Seungmin argues, a pout on his face. “I’ll show you,” he says with a light smile, pushing against Jisung’s chest until they fall on the sand with a quiet ‘oof’. 

Seungmin rolls over and lies next to Jisung, their shoulders brushing against each other. His hand makes its way to point at the sky; where stars scintillate around the moon, like a swirl of gold paint on a canvas of indigo. “Did you see?” 

He tries to follow the direction Seungmin is pointing, but he only finds a moon behind a tree. “What am I supposed to see?” 

“The moon.” 

“Yeah,” Jisung sighs, taking in the soft glow. “I see it.” 

But then he finds Seungmin fumbling with his bag, producing a plastic filled with oranges and markers. “Heh,” he snickers, showing his items to Jisung. “That was merely a distraction. These are the real treats!” 

He sits up from where they were laying next to each other and takes the plastic bag, undoing the knots. “Tangerines?” he asks, taking one in his hand and blinks at Seungmin quizzically. 

“Yeah, and markers!”

“What are we going to…?” 

Seungmin snatches the tangerine from Jisung’s palm, biting the marker open with his teeth. With a smile, he starts doodling on the surface of tangerine in his hand, the strong marker scent filling the air. 

Then, still with the same curl of smile, Seungmin hands the doodled tangerine to him. A pair of round eyes look back from it, each of them having little stars as highlights. Under the eyes, there’s a dot of nose, and a smile in the shape of a heart; two teeth peeking from it. 

Jisung is still confused, but then he lifts his thumb and sees a word written with an arrow heading towards the face. Pabo Jisungie.  

He looks at Seungmin, baffled, only to find him with the widest smile etched on his face. Jisung belatedly realizes that Seungmin is laughing, his features scrunched up adorably between his lifted cheeks. His laughter is nothing but pleasing.

“I’ll get my revenge,” Jisung says, tackling the other to snatch another tangerine and the marker in Seungmin’s hand. He draws lines of droopy, smiling eyes; a button nose, and a smile that looks like a stretched ‘w’. 

He looks at Seungmin again and adds a pair of puppy ears. “There,” he says, holding pride close to his chest. “Daeng-daengie,” he says, then balances the drawn tangerine on top of Seungmin’s head like a crown. 

The orange stark contrasts with his dark hair; and Jisung thinks the alloy of colors look quite lovely. He takes another tangerine, draws a triangle of carpal bone and peels it off, handing the flesh onto Seungmin’s palm. 

Seungmin peers curiously, but he takes the whole fruit in his palm and rips it into halves, swallowing a part and handing Jisung the other. 

Strangely, half of a tangerine is sweeter than he had imagined.

They draw on more tangerines, peel them and eat them — always sharing one in halves, after an attempt Jisung made to eat one whole tangerine was knocked away by Seungmin’s hand throwing it all the way into the sea. 

They draw, giggling at each other’s silly doodles; peel, and eat. It feels like a cycle, repeating itself over and over again. Yet, Jisung doesn’t feel like this is a lost cause at all. Their topic of conversation wanders from one to another, sometimes having two topics at once. 

It’s chaos, but Jisung doesn’t feel like they’re about to be lit up in fire. 

“Tell me again—,” Seungmin says, a sudden hiccup pops out of his chest, making him giggle, “I forgot what I wanted to say. Let’s change the question: did you have a lot of friends when you were little?” 

The question curls a weak smile on Jisung’s face. “I didn’t really make a lot of friends.”

“Why? Were they mean to you?” Seungmin asks, then his face lights up as he starts randomly throwing punches to the air. “You know if you were my friend, I could punch them! See?” — he throws another punch to the right, swaying as he loses his balance and stumbles to the sand with a soft thud . “See? You see?” 

 Jisung laughs as he assists Seungmin to sit back, the boy in his arms still trying to throw another punch to his imaginary people. “ Puppy, stop,” he laughs, holding Seungmin’s hands and folds them on his lap. 

“They weren’t mean,” he explains, another giggle escapes his lips at the sight of Seungmin staring at him so intently. “I just didn’t see a point in it, because I kept moving across countries every two years.” 

A frown crosses Seungmin’s face. “That’s sad…” he trails off, his eyes blinking slowly. He looks so soft, like he’s about to fall asleep. And Jisung knows this, for he had memorized all the tell-tale signs to his heart’s content; as if Seungmin is a book of poetry. 

“You’re sleepy,” he simply states, patting his head softly. “Let’s get in the car and we can go back to Seoul.” 

Jisung makes quick work gathering all the peels of tangerines, dumping them back into the plastic bag along with the empty bottle of soju. Still, by the time he’s ready, Seungmin has fallen asleep on his own knees, leaving Jisung with no other options than to carry him on his back as he heads into the car. 

“Jisung-ah…” Seungmin whines, his eyes half-opened as Jisung puts him safely on the passenger’s seat. 

“Mm. Wear your seatbelt,” seeing Seungmin not doing any move, he decides to sling the seatbelt over him and clicks it. He drapes Seungmin’s blazer over his body like a blanket. 

As he’s about to turn back, there’s a hand clutching on the front of his shirt, pulling him back and even closer to Seungmin’s face. “Seung—” he tries to say, but Seungmin inches closer, moonlight illuminating his face from the shadow of trees. 

Jisung’s muscles jerk in protest as he puts a hand between their almost-colliding lips — the skin of Seungmin’s lips splattering stars across his palm. 

Seungmin’s eyes open in surprise, and Jisung can almost see the way a familiar gleam glazes over them, like glass on the verge of breaking. So he lands his lips on the back of his own hand, closes his own eyes and pretends it is Seungmin’s lips. 

He looks at Seungmin’s face again, features sculpted so perfectly with beauty in the cusp of his palm, and he wants to cry. He can’t say,  you should save it for someone better than me, because Seungmin will take his rejection to heart and let it shatter his atrium like exploding thorns. He can’t say, do not fall in love with me, because he knows it is too late to say so. 

And Jisung doesn’t think he really doesn’t want Seungmin to fall in love with him. 

So instead, he murmurs, “Go to sleep, puppy,” risking another kiss on his forehead. 

A familiar blush — the color mirroring dusk, (“and blood, and fire,” his brain assists, sending a shudder down his spine) — tints his face, and Jisung lets out a sigh of relief at a small smile he finds under his palm. 

Seungmin blinks again, a slower blink that allows Jisung to watch his lashes flutter, and his head lays limp on his shoulder, finally tucked under the hands of slumber.

Somewhere in the depth of his body, Jisung feels the little beast jerk as the scent of burning magnolias fill his sinuses. 

#

The moon could not always shine in a full circle. 

It dimmed, slowly, night by night — a crook of shadow over its glow. 

Stirring.

Shifting.

Blocking the moon’s vision of the earth. 

The moon, having been busy trying to blow kisses through the night breeze, didn’t realize its vision was blackening until it opened its eyes only to find out it was completely blind. Despite being centuries old, the moon was not fond of being blinded. 

‘Will little bird ever love me this way,’ the moon asked, its hand twitched as it tried to stroke the cloud; needing a little company. ‘I cannot even be seen. I cannot see. What if it was looking for me?’ 

The cloud stirred in its slumber, brushing the moon’s knuckles to ease out its worry. ‘If little bird looks for you, then it shall look for you. Whatever we do cannot change it.’ 

‘What if it stops?’ the moon asked again, chewing the flesh of his cheek. ‘Oh, my dear bird, what if little bird stops looking for me?’ 

‘Then it shall stop.’ 

The moon wanted to rip the cloud in two. The breeze had started picking up. The night would come soon, and the moon wanted to cry at the thought of not being able to see its little bird. Still, the moon arranged little kisses as best as it could without the help of its vision; and let the wind blow it down to earth. 

‘Tell me,’ the moon said, hand wouldn’t stop stroking the clouds below its folded feet. ‘What can you see on earth? Lend me your eyes, my dear cloud, so I can see my beloved again.’ 

The cloud was silent for a while, but then it spoke: ‘There is fire.’ 

‘Fire?’ the moon stammered, its throat clenching. ‘How could there be fire?’ 

‘That I do not know,’ answered cloud. ‘The forest is lit, even to its high trees.’ 

‘How about little bird?’ the moon asked, exasperated. ‘Cloud, tell me. How is my little bird?’ 

‘Moon, I do not know how your little bird look—’

‘It has white magnolia in its beak!’ the moon cried, fingers curling against the foam of clouds; like half of a rib cage. ‘It’s a finch. It has a black dot on its left cheek, red and yellow feathers around its head and the wings’ are purple with littered blue; can you see it?’ 

‘Everything is on fire,’ the cloud calmly answered, a faint tremble in its voice. ‘I can try, moon, but I cannot do much when everything is covered in red—’ 

‘Keep trying,’ the moon cried, in a tone so desperate each note trembled like glass on the verge of breaking. ‘Stay awake, cloud, I will give you my life, just please, please find my little bird.’ 

Then, a little voice rang around the land of celestials. 

‘I think I’m dying,’ the voice said, slowly, carefully, like each word was threaded into a sentence with such gentle touch. ‘I think I’m dying, will the moon be so kind as to kiss my cheek one last time?’ 

#

Jisung, just talk to the man, tell him what you want and stop running away, was the advice Minho had pounded into his head last week, ruthless as ever even though Jisung had brought him treats for his cats. 

But the time for him to talk about this never came. Jisung had come from Minho’s house and knocked on Seungmin’s apartment to find him looking the softest Jisung had ever seen, the hands of slumber still missing him. 

“Hungover?” Jisung had asked with a laugh, bottles of Ready-Q in his bag. 

Seungmin hummed, his eyes opened in thin slits as he pulled Jisung inside. “My head’s about to explode,” he whined, plopping himself onto the red couch with a sigh. 

“I brought you a hangover drink,” Jisung had said, pulling one bottle out of his bag with a typical-commercial smile. “Ready-Q, fresh from the—,” he paused to read the label,  “—I don’t know! Fresh from the factory!” 

The giggles that had erupted from Seungmin’s smile were warm, notes bouncing around them like dancing stars. Jisung had taken a look at Seungmin’s tired face and decided he didn’t want to ruin it. 

On the next day, Seungmin went to campus early in the morning. Of course, Jisung drove him and pretended he had a morning class too, but still — he still thought Seungmin looked too happy for him to start talking. 

The next day after, they visited Jisung’s mother and her girlfriend. Jisung originally had prevented Seungmin from coming, but to his surprise his mother actually asked him to bring Seungmin along, wanting to meet the friend Jisung had told her. 

“Your mother is so cool” , Seungmin had said, a wide grin etched on his face longer than usual. “She has a girlfriend! And she’s so kind too, did you talk a lot about me to her?” 

“I didn’t,” Jisung had lied, almost missing the toll entry as he was content on watching Seungmin’s smile. “I only mentioned you once, I think she just likes you.” 

That night, Seungmin was smiling so widely that Jisung decided to postpone the talk again. 

The cycle repeats itself for days of procrastination’s never-ending encore. At some point, even Minho had lost his patience and stopped asking Jisung if he had talked with Seungmin about it. 

In April, Seungmin is having his first Spring Festival Annual Play. 

“You’re good,” Jisung had tried to convince him the night before, as he sensed the younger had grown restless in the way he kept mumbling and repeating his line over and over again. “You’re okay, Seungmin-ah. It’s almost midnight, go to bed.” 

“How could you say I’m good?” Seungmin snapped, almost slamming his wrinkled script on the floor. “I keep blanking out, this line keeps missing from my head, I keep forgetting it even though I did good at recital yesterday, I don’t understand—” 

“Seungmin,” he had called him again, holding his shoulders in hopes it would ground him a little. “You’re tired, that’s why you keep forgetting it right now. If you try it again tomorrow morning, you’ll be okay.” 

Seungmin chewed on his bottom lip, exhaustion written all over his face. “I don’t want to mess this up,” he confessed, in a voice so small Jisung had feared it would get lost in the wind. 

“You won’t. Trust me, you won’t mess this up,” he had said, trying his best to convince him. He still found it a little funny that Seungmin was this anxious. He had watched his recital yesterday and could find nothing but perfection . 

“You’ll be okay,” he said again, as gentle as he could. 

Seungmin had nodded at his words, putting his script away and heading towards his room in hopes the tangled thread in his head would become loose enough by tomorrow. 

This morning, Jisung drove to campus with a copy of Mary Oliver’s Devotion in his bag, thinking he would have another read while he waited for Seungmin’s play. He sat in one of the prepared seats, familiar faces of theater students rushing around him to prepare the property. 

He was grieving over a dying body of a river when his phone rang. The familiar name on the screen recited a frown on his face. His finger swiped it to green. 

“Seungmin?”

A shuddering breath had greeted him from the other end of the line, followed by another pant. “Ji- Jisung,” Seungmin stammered, and even his voice sounded so wrong. 

He made quick work to shove his book and sling his bag on a shoulder. “Seungmin-ah? Are you okay?” 

But what had answered him was another shaky, hurried exhale, like Seungmin had been panting this whole time. “Sorry, I- I’m in the restroom?” — he took another shuddering breath— “on the first floor, I just, ugh, I don’t know what’s-” 

“Okay,” Jisung had cut his frustrated rambling off, trying to sound as calm as possible. He sprinted towards the said restroom and pushed the door open. “Seungmin?” 

A choked sob rang from one of the stalls, so he hung up the call and rushed towards it. 

Seungmin was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, his knees flushed to his chest where he buried his head. He was wearing his white t-shirt, the short sleeves allowing Jisung to spot every tremble running through his hands. 

“Seungmin-ah,” he called, a surprised sound almost escaping his lips as Seungmin lifted his head. Seungmin had been crying — his lips bitten raw and eyes swollen. “Seungmin? What happened?” 

His bottom lip trembled and Jisung thought he might’ve about to cry again, but Seungmin took a gulp of air and tried to answer his question, “I- I don’t know what happened. I think it’s the stress? My stomach feels funny, everything sounds too loud and the light is too bright and I want to cry and I just don’t understand-” 

“Okay,” Jisung said, calmly analyzing the situation. “Do you want to use my headphones? It will tune down the sound.” 

Seungmin had nodded, so Jisung put his headphones over Seungmin’s ears carefully, not wanting to hurt him. Then, he removed his jacket and put it over Seungmin’s shoulders, the hood shielding him from the light.

“Better?” 

Seungmin hummed, his shuddering breath seemingly more stable. 

They couldn’t stay for too long, so Jisung decided to come along to the backstage with him, and sighed in relief at the familiar face waiting to do Seungmin’s makeup. 

“Hi, Ryujin-ah,” He threw her a small grin as Seungmin sat on the chair, hand still clutching Jisung’s sleeve. 

Ryujin tilted her head in confusion for a few seconds before she pulled a plastic chair behind a property that looked like a tree and pushed it next to Seungmin’s chair, telling Jisung to sit. She removed the hood from Seungmin’s head but kept the headphones as she began dabbing concealer on his face. 

Jisung waited and watched intently, his hand laid on an awkward position over his knees as Seungmin didn’t let go of his sleeve yet, sometimes even clutching harder before relaxing again. 

The makeup was finished quickly, Seungmin only needed a natural kind with not that much element. Ryujin finished it with a satisfied smile on her face, before she handed a glimmering thin chain to Jisung. 

“Here,” she said, putting it on his palm. “It’s a face chain, you can put it on his face, from ear to ear, when he’s ready.” She gave Jisung a wink. “Finally settling in for a lover, are you?” 

Jisung only laughed dryly. 

He found Seungmin looking at him again, still chewing on his bottom lip, so Jisung rummaged on his bag and tried to find a mint candy. When he finally found one, he offered it to the other. 

“Candy?” he mouthed. 

Seungmin nodded and popped it between his teeth. As he chewed on it, his shoulders slowly eased out from the tension that had burdened them. He let out another exhale, a lot calmer than the ones Jisung had heard from the phone. 

When the time for the performance came near, Seungmin removed the headphones and handed them back to him, a relaxed smile on his face. 

“The chain,” he said, a soft giggle upon his tongue; giddy at the thought of seeing the actor Seungmin again. “Do you want to put it on?” 

“Put it on me,” Seungmin answered, surety stepping its feet in each word.

“Okay,” Jisung said, albeit nervously, fiddling with it in his hand. 

A step he took to be closer to Seungmin’s face felt too familiar. Sweetness of half tangerine burst upon his tongue, it seemed imaginary. The fluttering eyelashes. His hands hovered above Seungmin’s gentle features and he felt like he’s about to explode. 

He hooked it behind his ear, then another. The golden chain littered like stars on the bridge of his nose. The overhead lamp hit the crystals and a small rainbow appeared on his eyelid. 

Jisung didn’t even dare to breathe. He adjusted the chain over Seungmin’s left cheek, and muttered a quiet ‘done’ with his heart lodged in his throat.

Seungmin’s eyes fluttered open and it took all the willpower beneath his skin to not land his lips over his. Stars-littered, rainbow-etched Seungmin smiled, his gentle, soft smile that always had Jisung’s heart trembling in its grasp, and asked, “Do I look good?” 

Ethereal, Jisung wanted to say, wanted to kiss him silly and forget about all the carcass inside his lungs, forget about the possibility of turning beautiful Seungmin into a burning forest of Han Jisung — but he couldn’t. 

So he smiled. “You look pretty.” 

Then, he stood by the side of the wall and watched the beauty that was Kim Seungmin unfold under the stage lights; his voice sweet like tangerines on the edge of shore and his smile beamed like a moon overlooking forest fire. 

Seungmin’s eyes found his own in a split second that stretched, and his brain recited: I love you. I love you, / but I’m turning to my verses / and my heart is closing // like a fist. 

Jisung is pushing the small glass away from Seungmin’s reach when his phone rings. “Seungmin,” he calls softly, nudging at the boy next to him. “I’m going to go to call for a bit.” 

Seungmin hums and does his little nods; making Jisung giggle. “Mkay. Is it ma?” 

He looks at the heart emoji on his phone and smiles. “Yeah.” 

“Mm. Say hi for her from me.” 

“Okay,” Jisung says, leaving the table and ignoring the ‘you guys should get married’ comment drunk Ryujin had said. A group of people slamming glasses to their table glare at him as he tries to walk past, getting out of the tent and away from the sound of clinking glass. 

He swipes his screen to green. “Ma?” 

“Oh! Jisung-ah!” His mother’s voice; cheerful and warm. “Is this not a good time?” 

“It’s fine,” he answers, though he’s aware the sound of glasses clinking on each other and the faint laughter from behind can still be heard. “I’m at an after-party for Seungmin’s play. I’m outside, though, so it’s okay. What is it?” 

“Oh, Seungminnie had a play? Did you record it?” 

“Ah,” Jisung sighs. “I didn’t, I was too focused on watching…” He should’ve recorded it. “Wait! I did take one picture, maybe it’s a little blurry but I’ll send it to you later.” 

“Okay,” his mother says, and Jisung imagines her smiling. Like how she always does when she talks with Seungmin. “Say hi to him from me,” she adds, and Jisung laughs. 

“He just said the same thing.” 

He thinks Seungmin and his mother are quite alike, the kind of people that bring out the best in others. Both are the kind of people that will give meaningless things a meaning. “So, Ma, how is it? What do you want to talk about?” 

“Oh yeah, uh,” she trails off, unsure. “So, you remember Minji...?” 

Jisung hums. “How could I forget about your girlfriend?” 

The laugh which erupts from the other end of the call seems strangely dry. “Yeah, so, we’ve been thinking of moving together?” 

“Ma, you sound like a child trying to ask permission from her parents to go outside.” 

She laughs again, albeit cheerier. “Funny how things work out, huh? How come you never get to ask for permission?” 

“I never move out with my boyfriend, nor girlfriend,” he answers, trying to return the laughter. Something in the pit of his stomach jerks. “So, where will you move out to?” 

She is silent for a while, then she speaks again, carefully, “Australia.” 

Something in his stomach that jerked now shatters. “Australia?” She’s leaving , his brain yells, she’s leaving you, it says, over and over again until Jisung isn’t sure if it is still his brain or his own mouth. He chews his bottom lip, grateful at the stickiness that makes it hard to part them open. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” she starts apologizing, a tremble in her voice. “I haven’t been a good mother, not to you, not to your brother, I just-” 

“Ma,” Jisung sighs. He looks at the blurry stars, the moon that looks bigger now that it’s losing focus — and hopes his cheek is not full of ashes so it can be kissed. “You’re the best mother I ever had,” — he pauses, fingers gripping on the edge of his trousers — “If I have to be born again, I will choose you to be my mother again. You’re good.” 

She sounds close to tears. “Okay,” she mutters, Jisung can hear the edges of her lips lifting; but he can’t do the same. 

“I love you, ma,” he whispers, it feels like he’s ten years old again, clutching on his father’s shirt and repeating the same word over and over again until it becomes nothing but three words and its once-was-there desperate wish.

Love was there, it did nothing to stop him from leaving. 

“I love you too, Jisung-ah. Take care of yourself properly, okay?”

He utters a promise he isn’t sure will be able to keep, the static white noise cutting off as a hand clutch on the edge of his sleeve. He turns around and finds Seungmin; dusk tinted cheeks and worry etched gaze. 

“Is she okay?” 

“Oh,” Jisung stammers, pocketing his phone. “She’s fine, just- just asking how am I doing, and, oh, yeah. She also said hi to you.” He tugs at his hand and frees it from Seungmin’s hold. 

Seungmin’s skin glows under the moonlight, ivory pure and so unstained. He thinks if he were to give Seungmin a flower he would give him a white magnolia. Weave it into a string of crown and let it sit over his head. 

“That’s nice,” Seungmin says, his lips curve into a smile. “Let’s stay here for a bit,” he proposes, already walking towards a tree stump and taking a seat next to it. 

Jisung follows wordlessly, feet dragging against the grass; heart heavy in his chest. He sits next to Seungmin and he looks at his hands. He gazes at the moon and an overwhelming pressure digs its claws against his ribs. 

It burns. His insides. His outsides. Him.

He looks at the grass below his feet and wonders why hasn’t it turned to ashes yet. 

“Did you know that my friends already know you before I do?” Seungmin suddenly asks, his tone melodic. It sounds like a song. 

“I don’t know.” 

A song that will never leave his head, that he would pry its lyrics like bones and arrange it in his chest. A song that he would consume like flesh and inhale like air. A song that deserves a treatment better than love concealed under chaos.

“They keep asking me how I manage to make you my boyfriend,” Seungmin speaks again, still with the same tune of song. 

That question should be the other way around, Jisung thinks, because everyone in the university knows Jisung is too much of a fucked up person to even hang around the Kim Seungmin. 

“Tell them I’m fake, then,” he says instead, because it has always been easier to pretend. 

Seungmin is silent.

Jisung can hear cicadas thrum from afar; owls hooting for the moon, leaves falling on top of each other after a dance they share with the wind. He thinks about Seungmin falling asleep in his arms; his fluttering lashes, his steady breath, a dance they share under a made-up karaoke lamp. 

The world is beautiful. 

Jisung wants to give Seungmin everything. He wants to give him the world but the world burns in his hands. 

“Have I always been fake to you?” A soft voice, but not quite the softness Jisung likes; not the softness of tangerine’s flesh between his teeth, but a softness of glass trying not to collapse on itself. “Has it been,” he speaks again, “not real?” 

Jisung sighs. He wishes he can just spit his heart out from where it is lodged in his trachea, can show Seungmin the burning forest that has lived inside it. But a splinter stuck on it; prevents his heart from climbing its way any further.

“It’s never real,” he manages, his airway clenching. “We’re in a fake relationship, Seungmin-ah,” he tries again, words burning its way through the splinter in his throat. 

“What are we, then, right now?”

Jisung stills, his breath coming out shuddering. “Why do you ask that?” 

“Because I have no idea what’s going on between us,” Seungmin answers, his words heavy as they settle around them, wandering between grass but never lost. “Do you like me? I want to convince myself and say that you only care, that it’s not love, but you kissed my nose and you make me feel wanted. Then the next thing I know you reject everything I’m trying to give, what is it that you actually want from me?” 

“Seungmin,” he calls for his name, like prayer. “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m not drunk,” Seungmin roars, his hand closing around Jisung’s wrist and pulling it closer, “I want this. I want you. You always acted like you want it too, but why-” 

His thumb digs into the throbbing pulse in Jisung’s wrist, pulling it closer to his lips — and Jisung shrieks. He yanks his hand from Seungmin’s steady hold; if only he could, he would have thrown it away. 

But his hands are still his hands no matter how much he hates them. 

“Seungmin,” The name slips away like a piece of heart from his gritted teeth. “It’s not your fault, I- I shouldn’t have—,” There’s a heart, thumping wildly in his throat. There’s a splinter, digging its claw to his airway, preventing the words from spilling. There’s a bird, crying as it fell off the rib it has been standing on. “Let’s just end this.” 

I’m sorry, he wants to say, but he isn’t sure if he can talk without blood spilling out of his mouth. I love you, I’ve loved you for so long and I don’t know what I should do, he wants to scream, but his ribcage is already closing like a fist, the carcass of a bird burning inside it.

“ What?”  

He can hear disbelief bleeding into Seungmin’s voice, despair and anger merging into an alloy of ugly emotions he wishes he could wipe away. But he is made of the same thing; no matter how hard he tries to wipe them off Seungmin’s being, he will only smear more. 

A wounded hand trying to wipe blood off someone’s face. 

So he walks away. Past the crowd and past the street and he walks into the blurry world with Seungmin’s smile still tucked in the pocket of his brain, a bookmarked photograph waiting to be picked up. 

The door of his apartment room clears up as he rubs his eyes; and just then Jisung realizes he left his bag and all of its contents in the bar. The throbbing ache on his calves reminds him he had left his car, too. 

His apartment key is in the bag. 

Frustrated, he lands a kick on his door — perhaps a part of him had hoped it might open, although it is merely a foolish wish. The door stays put. “Dammit,” he curses quietly, his voice breaking like shards of glass. 

He lets himself fall and crouch on the hall, knees cracking and he thinks he wouldn’t mind even if they shatter. There’s no use of running away if the one he wants to run away from is himself. 

Outside, the rain is pouring. 

There’s a heart in his throat and he thinks he can never swallow it down anymore. There is a burning scent of magnolia stinging in his nose and a beast jerking in the palm of his closing rib. He realizes it has been bird. 

There was a little bird on a branch of a pine tree. Or a rib.  

His wrist burns from where Seungmin had held it. It flickers, like fire, like candle-light, a lighthouse. He thought he wanted to throw it away but it was the last thing of his that Seungmin had touched. 

It’s blurry. The world blurs whenever he speaks his name. His skin is damp and slippery from where he had buried his face. He wants to cry but a sob that wrecked his chest reminds him that he had been crying for a while. 

Outside, the rain keeps falling. 

‘I think I’m dying,’ the little bird said, the branch under its claws collapsing within itself. Like a fist. ‘I think I’m dying,’ the little bird repeated, as it fell down to the fire that had consumed the forest raw. 

Then, came its final wish: ‘Will the moon be so kind as to kiss my cheek one last time?’ 

Seungmin’s voice; with disbelief laced all over its trembling note, echoes in his head. I want this, he had said. I want you. A confession. The day in the museum, Seungmin stood between godly paintings, gray hoodie enveloping his figure. I want you.  

It has been there since the beginning, how could Jisung not notice? 

The idea of being wanted deranges him. The idea of wanting strips him apart until he’s left a puppet of ivory bones without a core. 

Jisung wants. Wants Seungmin to always be there, wants to wake up to Seungmin next to him; a smile and a soft poke on the cheek. Wants Seungmin to be everywhere he lands his eyes to, he wants and he wants and he wants. 

Could it be possible that you are refusing to say how much you want as a way to dodge the possibility of rejection? You reject people’s entry in your life as a way to protect yourself from being abandoned. The last words his therapist said before Jisung left and never came back again. 

He lived a life with only a few people in his circle — because he can’t deal with departure. He doesn’t put his everything into something so he doesn’t have to cry when it doesn’t work out. He strips his life away from every possible trigger of emotions and still, he dares to call it a life. 

He thinks about the triangle of carpal bone on a tangerine’s peel. Thinks about the sweet flesh between his teeth. Grinds his teeth against each other and hopes he can feel it again. 

He doesn’t think he can live anymore. 

The cloud disintegrated into rain as it stayed awake for too long. The rain started pouring over the burning forest — the flickering light that had attracted the stars dimming. 

Filled with despair, the moon took a knife and pried its eye open. 

A step. Then another. Jisung thinks he’s hearing things; but there is a steady trickle of water and panting breath. He lifts his face from the dampness of his hands and his eyes meet with the sight it had longed to see the most. 

Seungmin is silent for a while, his eyes damp and swollen. But he doesn’t lift his gaze from where it is intertwined with Jisung’s. 

Equally desperate. 

Equally wounded. 

“Jisung,” he finally sighs, a tremble in his voice. 

Just then Jisung realizes Seungmin is drenched . A few drops of water cling stubbornly on his eyelashes, some trickling down his cheeks. His damp hair sticks to his forehead. His sweatpants cling on his feet like a second skin, white t-shirt transparent under his windbreaker.

Seungmin pulls the zipper down and hands him his bag. “You left this,” he murmurs, his shoes squelching from the dampness it carries. At the lack of response, his head tilts. “Do you want to just,” he gestures at him, “sit on the floor?” 

Jisung wants to say something, but the heart that had lodged his throat swallows itself back; leaving him with the new-found freedom. He doesn’t know what to do with it, so he puts his thumb on a bookmark and finds Seungmin’s smile tucked between the folds of his brain. 

His feet move to stand, albeit wobbly, and he grabs Seungmin’s shoulders like he’s scared he could disappear into the thin air. He knows he couldn’t, but he is scared of it. 

The messenger bag falls onto the ground with a loud thud.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it doesn’t feel enough. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” he fishes the guilt that had been buried somewhere in the graveyard of his chest, let it spill and serve its purpose. 

Every sentence feels like dipping his head into water. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” — the cold air caresses his lungs — “I love you, I don’t want to hurt you, you can hate me all the way you want, just,” — he gasps for air again, starting to wish he doesn’t have to breathe — “I don’t want to lose you, please, I’m sorry—” 

He doesn’t realize none of the air he takes by gasping reaches his lungs properly until he falls to his knees and Seungmin’s hand closes over his mouth. 

“ Breathe, ” Seungmin says, a steady anchor. His hand is cold, it’s trembling, like his bones are about to hatch some flowers. “Breathe through your nose.” 

Jisung does. He takes a deep breath, let it flow down his lungs, and out. 

In, and out. 

His hand twitches and clutches on the edge of Seungmin’s sleeve. His eyes threaten to close but he fights to keep them open, fears that if he blinks Seungmin might crumble into ashes and leaves him with only the ghost of his smile. 

He hasn’t said everything he wanted to say. 

Pulling Seungmin’s hand from his face, he rubs his eyes as everything gets blurry again. He realizes he is still crying. 

“I just, don't understand, it’s,” he chokes on his words, throat closing up like he just got dragged underwater and being forced to speak. But not even death will be able to stop him, not now. “I just want to love you,” he murmurs, the word leaving crisp of burnt branch all over his tongue. “Goddamit, all I ever wanted to do was to love you, why does my mind have to make it so difficult to do it?”

Seungmin blinks. “You,” he says, disbelief written all over his face. “You love me?”

“ I love you ,” The words crash out of his chest, breaking its way out. “I love you, Seungmin-ah, I want you so badly my entire life shakes with it.” He looks at Seungmin’s fingers, the curve like half a rib; and tears crash onto the skin of his hand. 

“I’m sorry for everything. I don’t know how to explain this to you, but I have decided I will try and succeeds or just die trying, so,” — he takes a gulp of breath, finds Seungmin’s face and he looks so patient, just waiting, waiting, — “I have a really bad, uh, commitment issue.” 

“Before you, my life was shit. I fucked around, with, people, just so I can fall asleep,” He doesn’t know why he choose to start with this one, but he can’t stop to think. “I used to have a lot of panic attacks at night whenever I’m alone, and I can’t keep latching on Minho-hyung’s place forever, so I figured it was the only answer.” 

Seungmin frowns, but he doesn’t stop him from talking. His hand Jisung had clutched between his fingers not leaving. 

“But then, you,” he starts, trying to keep his voice from shattering. “Even when we first met, I fell asleep on your couch. It was, I don’t know how to say this, it’s like I was a living chaos and suddenly you gave me a taste of peace.” 

“And you are so kind,” his voice breaks, but he keeps going, “it doesn’t take that long for me to realize I’m completely in love with you. It scared me, but I kept thinking it was okay, since the thought of you falling in love with me was out of my mind.” 

His teeth start to chatter, probably from the cold, settled bones deep inside him. A burst of tangerine-sweetness ghosts over his tongue. “But then you suddenly tried to kiss me, and I just, freaked out. I’m sorry I stopped you that night, it’s not because I don’t love you.” 

“You were scared that I am in love with you?” Seungmin finally asks, his tone still nothing but genuine. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” 

“Yeah,” he answers, it comes out shaky. “I was so scared of the thought that you are in love with me. You deserve the world, Seungmin-ah. And someone like me can never give you the world. There’s this wild beast I could never tame inside my chest and someone like you should run away before I become one with it.” 

Jisung hears a sigh falling from Seungmin’s lips, feels the hand under his fingers moving and he wants to cry. He tries to stand up from his knees because it’s easier to obey his muscle memory than fight against it. 

But there are hands closing around his body that renders him unmoving. 

Then it washes over him; like an aftermath of the rain. 

Seungmin never tries to leave. 

The moon, having pried its eye open with a knife, looked for its little bird. Blood continued to flow out of its eye like tears, sometimes clouding its sight — but it didn’t take it long to finally find its darling little bird, fallen on the forest floor with a bloody magnolia laying limp over its beak. 

Somewhere outside, the rain stops pouring. 

“Jisung,” Seungmin whispers next to his ear, his hand on the back of his neck. 

‘Little bird,’ the moon called. ‘My beloved, little bird,’ it cried desperately, then it spotted a puddle of rainwater next to the fallen bird. 

“Do you never realize?” He speaks again, so slowly, as if he wants every word to reach Jisung without leaving anything behind, not even a breath. “I want you. I don’t want the world. I don’t care about what I deserve. I want you. ” 

Under their feet, the rainwater pools over the dust-tinted rug. 

And so the moon leaped from its place in the sky; dived into the puddle of water and kissed the little bird’s cheek. 

Seungmin looks at him with smile etched on his face like a crescent moon, and Jisung does cry. Seungmin holds him so gently like he’s scared Jisung’s about to break, but he thinks the prospect of breaking in Seungmin’s hand doesn’t seem so bad. 

“I want you too,” he says, honesty fills his tongue like honey. “I want you so much.” 

He feels the same gentle hand hooks on the back of his neck, and their lips land clumsily on each other. It is soft. It tastes like tangerines. Like hope. 

Seungmin’s lips are soft as they get caught in between his chapped ones, a tenderness more than he deserves. He wants to pull back but the hand on his neck prevents him from fighting against his own desire; and the enormity of it doesn’t seem as disgusting anymore. 

Their noses brush against each other as they part, and Jisung smiles at the gorgeous boy that is Seungmin; now within his arms. 

‘I’ve got you,’ the moon said, the little bird’s eyes fluttering open in the embrace of warmth it had desired for so long. ‘I’ve got you, my little bird, I will kiss you silly now.’ 

“I love you,” Seungmin whispers, lets the word slips between Jisung’s teeth before he kisses him again, with a renewed passion strong enough to knock both of them onto the floor. 

“You taste like tangerine,” Jisung says with a gasp, giggles erupting from both their chests. 

Seungmin hovers above him with a sweet smile; his hair still damp from the rain, thick strands laying limp over his eyes. “Perhaps your carpal bone did grow tangerines in my heart,” he says, his tone giddies with joy. “Which is good, because if you did leave, I don’t know what I should do with it.” 

Jisung laughs, though the chirps of it are wet like rain-soaked feathers. “I won’t leave,” he promises. “I love you. Now stop stealing my job as the poet and just kiss me again.” 

“I love you too,” Seungmin says, pressing their bodies together; the familiar tangle of limbs. “Okay. Let me kiss you again.” 

This time, he chases for Seungmin’s lips and meets it halfway, content to be together. I love you, Seungmin whispers as he kisses the mole on his cheek, and Jisung swallows his declaration whole. 

Somewhere inside his chest, the beast — no, the bird — cheers. 

#

The sun of early June yawns in its slumber behind mighty skyscrapers when Jisung’s eyes flutter open, familiar warmth enveloping him. He hums, hand blindly searching for the other hand. 

He finds the fingers whose curves are like ribs and a smile blooms in his face.

“Hi,” he whispers, nuzzling into the crook of Seungmin’s shoulder, pulling out giggles from both their chests. He trails kisses down his neck; paint the color of sunset on the canvas of his skin until a hand tugs on his hair.

“It tickles,” Seungmin whines, his face flushed all red. “Let me turn around, I wanna see you.” 

A smile curls itself on Jisung’s face as his eyes find Seungmin’s eyes. His hand reaches out to caress his cheek, then stays. Fingers curling under his jaw. Heart-shaped bruises on the dip of his collarbone. 

Seungmin returns his smile and plants a soft peck on his lips. “Good morning,” he whispers, his voice hushed. “My back hurts.” 

Jisung wants to kiss him silly. “Mm. Guess I’m making you coffee today.” 

“But then you’ll have to leave the bed,” Seungmin pouts, looping his hands around Jisung’s torso; the warm breath hitting his bare chest. “I don’t want coffee.” 

Jisung hums. Runs his fingers through the soft locks of Seungmin’s hair, letting the mixture of apple and honey scent enter his nose. He kisses the crown of his head and leaves his nose buried for a while. 

He watches Seungmin’s calm breathing; the fall and rise of his belly. If he can, he wants them to stay like this forever: under the blanket, sunlight gently streaming from the thin curtain, Seungmin’s warmth next to his own. 

“Jisung-ah,” his beloved calls him, syllables of his name tucked in the tongue of whom he loves the most. “Should I move out and live with you instead?” 

Perhaps it is quite a valid idea. They have been sleeping in each other’s apartment, after all — a week at Jisung’s, another week at Seungmin’s, and repeats. “Why don’t we move into yours?” 

“I like the vibe of your apartment,” His answer comes immediately, as if the thought is always on the front of his mind; ready to be fetched as an answer whenever it is needed. “And I’m happy you finally let me in. I don’t want to change that.” 

Jisung beams at the ceiling above them; the room covered in blues. When they first entered Jisung’s apartment together, the room was a mess. Crumpled papers scattered on the floor, clothes he couldn’t recognize, a half of tennis ball his father left him. 

It was the center of chaos, and yet, Seungmin had looked at him as if he was the only light in a dark room. 

“I have an idea,” he proposes, smiling as Seungmin looks up to meet his eyes. “What about, we both move out and live together in a nice house by the lake?” 

Stars reside in Seungmin’s eyes at the idea. “I like that,” he muses, planting another small kiss on Jisung’s cheek. “But where?” 

“We can search for it, later. For now, I’m content with imagining it,” he jokes, a laugh departs from his lips. “You wanna get a puppy we can raise together?” 

“Mm. Let’s go to the adoption center and look around.” 

“Mm,” Jisung hums. 

They’re quiet for a while, content with being together; under the familiar blanket, limbs tangled together. Then, Seungmin reaches for Jisung’s hand. 

He lets him toy with them, flexing the joints and tracing the chipped nail polish. Seungmin hums, and it sounds like a song. Like a poem. Jisung wants to spend his entire lifetime remembering it. 

Then, Seungmin etches a kiss on the inside of his wrist; right on his thumping pulse. He trails kisses up, into his palm, in each joint of his fingers, like he refuses to leave any spot behind. 

“I love you, you know,” Seungmin whispers, then, right above his heart. He grins and presses another kiss above his sternum. “Don’t you dare forget that.” 

“I’m so eternally in love with you,” Jisung speaks, though it sounds more like declaration. 

A smile curls on Seungmin’s face, and Jisung thinks about the night he had spent crying whenever the words ‘I love you’ leave through Seungmin’s teeth; whenever he slips it between his lips, whenever he whispers it to the thumping pulse on his wrist. 

It’s hard to believe that someone loves him enough to kiss his cheek. To leap from the throne where it can see the whole world and content with making Jisung his world instead.

But it gets easier. 

It gets easier to accept it; to get used to the knowledge that Seungmin is in love with him, that Seungmin does cherish his life as much as he cherishes his. 

And whenever Seungmin kisses him, a bud of magnolia sprouts from his rib. 

It’s like hope. Like a life. 

The cleanest thing Jisung ever experienced. 

fin.