Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I’ve always trusted the rhythm to lead me, always relied on it more than my own instincts. So, naturally, I had positioned myself in front of the band, watching the bass player deftly pluck the strings. Ignoring the slight ache in my stomach at being in a crowd of strangers, I rocked my hips along with the funky baseline. The young woman beside me sidled closer and I smiled, our forms swaying in time with the music. Once the song ended, I gave a small bow and thanked her, then turned my attention back toward the musicians. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her flip her hair and moisten her lips with her tongue. The ache in my belly returned and I could feel sweat forming on my upper lip. Avoiding looking toward her, I instead focused on the opposite side of the dance floor. And, without trying, without wanting to do so, without warning, my gaze locked with someone else’s. The someone stood, hand in his pocket, nodding to the tune. Yet, he was clearly eyeing me. I smiled—out of embarrassment—and nodded to acknowledge the awkwardness.

Except he didn’t seem awkward. In truth, I was fairly certain he was the coolest person I’d ever seen. I forced myself to look away. But, a moment later, my eyes were drawn back to him. He was still gazing at me, a little grin gracing his lips. His skin seemed like porcelain and his features fit perfectly on his round face. His figure wasn’t imposing by any means—he was slight—but he carried an energy that was anything but small. And, as we connected across the room, there was something else about him, something I’d never experienced with anyone prior to this moment—his cadence. As the slow, thick rhythm washed over me, my breath caught in my throat and my heart pounded in my chest. Even though we had never seen each other before, had not met, he was somehow familiar. And that awareness frightened me. Not like a lot of things frighten me—“such a coward” my father frequently admonished me—more like something I wanted too much, like something inside me clamoring to be set free.

Panic shook me and I finally glanced to the woman beside me, wondering if she was noticing what was happening between this stranger and me. She grinned flirtatiously and started to turn toward me. I backed away—with one last glance in his direction—his blonde hair blurring as I ran from the room.

***

Meet us at Ji’s place. After-party! My best friend Namjoon’s text flashed on my phone screen. After my earlier encounter, I did need a drink. Maybe it would help me shake off this feeling, whatever it was.

You should go home, my mind urged me. I stood for a moment, feeling the cool breeze shift my hair. I inhaled, exhaled, closing my eyes.

“Shut up,” I whispered and snapped open my eyes.

Be right over, I texted back and shoved my phone into my coat pocket.

***

I hadn’t ventured into Itaewon all that much—I didn’t really have a reason plus it had a reputation for being pretty liberal and somewhat pretentious. Not that I was opposed to liberality, it just…wasn’t the way I was raised. As I passed a gay club, I felt my cheeks burn and I shoved my hands into my pockets. Even though no one noticed me, I felt as if eyes were boring into me, peeling me apart. I quickened my pace.

After about 10 minutes of speed walking, my breath misting in the air as I trekked, I reached Ji’s apartment complex. I had only been here once before, with Joon, when he had dropped off some songs for his friend. Ji was well known in music circles—they called him a genius, an original, and Joon admired him more than he wanted to admit, I knew, which made me a little jealous. I mean, Ji was attractive—stunning, really—talented, wealthy, respected, which were all the things I wanted. And, he seemed to know who he was, always cool and quick with a quip. He made me nervous. Why had I agreed to come to this party?

Before I could turn on my heels and head home, I heard my name. It was Namjoon. Damn, spotted. I turned toward the sound and forced a smile.

“Hey.”

“I was wondering if you’d actually show,” he said, approaching me. He had Jimin in tow, who was wearing an off-white jacket and thick blue scarf. He looked small and cold but his cheeks shone bright as he grinned at me.

“Hi, Hobi,” he spoke, his voice soft on the night air.

“Hey, Jiminie. How are you?” I moved toward him and extended my arms. He rushed into them, embracing me tightly. “Little mochi, you’re freezing!”

“I’m ok,” he said into my shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you two inside,” Namjoon boomed, scooping us toward the front door of the complex.

Once inside, we shook off the cold and unbuttoned our coats, heading toward the pulsing music coming from Ji’s flat. I felt the usual ache in my stomach grow to a pit as I approached the door. Jimin wrapped his arm around mine and let out a small squeal.

“I can’t believe we got invited to a party at Ji’s!” he whispered, a bit too loudly. Joon threw him a stern look then smiled at Jimin’s giddy grin.

“Hey, be cool,” he said, holding out his hand, fingers splayed.

Jimin nodded, bobbing his head up and down several times in quick succession, until Joon clasped the younger’s face between his palms.

“Cooler than that,” he scolded.

“Ok, got it,” Jimin chirped.

I tried to quell the growing nausea in my body. You can still leave, my inner voice suggested. I shook my head and allowed Jimin to pull me inside the apartment.

There were people packed into the large living room, dancing, laughing, talking, drinking. I instantly felt out of place and started fidgeting with my bracelets as my eyes scanned the room. I stuck close to Namjoon, who was leading Jimin and I through the crowd. I couldn’t see over Joon’s broad shoulders—he’s a few inches taller than me and considerably larger—so I peered to my left and right as we moved. I felt Jimin squeeze my arm and I glanced over to him. His sweet face glowed in the dim light and his wide grin made his eyes tiny. He looked like a child on his birthday. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Ji!” Joon called and raised his hand.

A cheer erupted from a small group toward the kitchen area and Ji seemed to appear from between the bodies. Drink in his nail-polished hand, his incredibly slim frame draped in a diaphanous flowered shirt, tight black pants, and a designer blazer, he grinned as he glided toward us. He looked like a model, an icon, someone far too chic to be in the same room as me. As much as I wanted to drop my gaze to the floor, I couldn’t look away from him—he demanded attention.

“Hey, Joonie,” he cooed then stood on his tiptoes to kiss Namjoon on both cheeks. “Hi, boys.” He glanced past Joon toward Jimin and me, and Jimin giggled.

“H-hi, Ji,” my friend stuttered.

“Hello, Ji,” I said, my cheeks burning. The host’s brown eyes met mine and a Cheshire-cat grin crept onto his face.

“You all look so adorable,” Ji complimented. Compared to him, I felt ridiculously inadequate. “Come, join us.” He motioned for us to follow him and he sashayed back toward his cadre of friends. I watched his hips sway as he moved and then looked down at my shoes. I could feel a thin layer of sweat break out on my upper lip and forehead. I hadn’t even had a sip of alcohol yet, what was happening to me?

Drinks were handed to us as we gathered around Ji. He looked so small in the midst of us—he was a few inches shorter than me and thinner—but his presence felt immense. I almost couldn’t catch my breath as I watched him listen to Joon talk about some new song or other he had heard. I sipped my cocktail and coughed a little as I swallowed. It was stronger than I was expecting.

“You ok?” A deep voice interjected. I let out a small sound of surprise and spilled a bit of the liquor on my sleeve. Then I heard a guttural chuckle that made me think of caramel. I looked toward the sound and saw a tall man with pink hair smiling at me. He was shockingly handsome with a sharp jawline and wild eyes that made my stomach flip. My mind warned Trouble but I blinked and smiled back.

“Oh, yeah, fine. You just…startled me.”

“I mean, the drink. Is it too strong?” He tilted his head and gave me a crooked grin.

“No no,” I lied. “I don’t, um, imbibe a lot.” I tried to sound older, wiser than I was, though I wasn’t sure why I was so nervous.

“I haven’t seen you before. You a friend of Ji?”

“Sort of, yes. I know Namjoon,” I nodded toward my friend who was still talking animatedly with the host. I heard Ji’s laugh and flashed a glance at him.

“You know him?”

“Hm? Yes, I…” I couldn’t riddle out his question. What was he implying?

He chuckled and sipped his cocktail, then glanced quickly, almost imperceptibly toward my friend and Ji. This interaction was confusing me and I felt my head start to swim from the alcohol. I really did not hold my liquor well.

“I’m Jung Hoseok,” I said, holding out my hand toward the taller man.

His eyes flicked to me and he slowly moved to grip my fingers. It seemed almost as if he was made of a molten substance easing toward me, or maybe he didn’t care to shake my hand and was doing what he could to stall. Whatever the case, I felt a twinge of embarrassment and I cursed myself for having introduced myself.

“Seung-hyun.” His baritone voice broke through the din and made me feel even more insecure.

His fingers were warm and large in mine and he held the clasp just long enough for me to feel a bit of comfort before sliding away from me.

“How do you know Ji hyung?” I was somewhat adept at small talk, at allowing people to feel relaxed enough to chat about themselves so I didn’t have to do so. It was a skill I had learned from watching my mother.

His left eyebrow arched and he grinned again. After taking another long, slow pull off his drink, he said, “I know him quite well.” He had either misunderstood my question or was teasing me. I wasn’t sure which as his expression gave nothing away.

“Oh, uh, how—how did you meet?”

“At an art show. He was the most interesting piece there.”

My mouth dropped open and my face burned. There was no mistaking the subtext this time. I had no idea how to reply. I had rarely heard anyone be that forward with their intentions.

“You should come by my studio sometime. I have a collection you might be interested in seeing.” He brushed my hand and moved back toward the crowd surrounding Ji. I couldn’t help but watch him as the group parted to allow him to stand beside the host. He bent toward Ji’s ear and I could see his lips moving but couldn’t make out the words. Ji’s gaze landed on me for a brief moment then he looked up at his companion. I could see a flash of something in his eyes, though I wasn’t certain what it was.

After people-watching for another ten minutes or so, I eased my way into a corner of the makeshift dance floor and started to sway to the music. My go-to location. It was a languid dance beat, sultry and thick. Something I would only play if I were alone in the studio and feeling confident. But, for the moment, I felt hazy and content, so I allowed my body to groove the way it wanted.

After a good amount of time spent dancing, not interacting with anyone save the music, I—for whatever reason—turned my attention toward the kitchen area. Maybe it was a whim or maybe something entirely different, deeper. And there he was—with his dyed blonde locks and his pale skin, boldly staring at me. I blinked, thinking perhaps I was hallucinating. Yet, as my eyes refocused, it was clear he was real. The man from earlier, the one from whom I’d been trying to escape. As our eyes met again, he did not avert his gaze, did not show a hint of embarrassment at being caught. He just kept looking at me, drink clasped in one hand, the other resting in his pocket, posture loose but alert. How long had he been watching me? What had I done during that time? My face burned and I immediately stopped swaying, instead shuffling up against the wall and wanting desperately to melt into it. I placed my palm to my sweaty forehead and closed my eyes.

“Oh, Hobi,” I whispered to myself. One of my quirky habits, referring to myself in the third person. I could feel my head spinning from the booze and I knew I should go outside, get some air, but I couldn’t will myself to leave the safety of the hard surface upon which I was leaning. My eyes still closed, I reached out my hand to find the wall, but instead I felt a warm body. I gasped and snapped my eyes open. His dark gaze and glowing skin right in front of me. I froze, my palm on his chest, my mouth open.

“You have pretty lips,” his deep voice complimented.

I released an “oh” sound and swiftly pulled my hand away from him, as if I’d been seared by his body. My face burned and I felt sweat on the bridge of my nose. I was sure I looked a mess.

“Maybe we can talk this time?” he asked, tipping his chin down but keeping his gaze on me.

“I…” I stammered. What could I say? I did want to have a conversation with him—many conversations—but he scared the hell out of me. Perhaps as much as he intrigued me.

“Only if you want to,” he added, looking down at his feet.  

I nodded once, twice. “Yes.”

The corner of his lips turned up ever so slightly and he gestured toward the door to the balcony. “Want to go outside?”

“Please.”

The cool air cleared my mind a bit and dried the sweat on my face. I closed my eyes as I felt my hair blow back from my forehead. Like I was flying, a being of air, incorporeal and free. But, no, the concrete was beneath me and my body, too heavy. I opened my eyes and caught him staring at me again. My face burned and I looked down. Boots, feet in them, legs that felt unsteady.

“You’re shy but…not,” he laughed. It was low, almost growly. It made my stomach do somersaults.

I shrugged. “I know how to fake it.”

“I’m terrible at that. Maybe I just don’t give any fucks. I’m Min Yoongi, by the way.”

I laughed. It felt too loud and I covered my mouth with my hand. He didn’t comment but I could see his mind gears turning.

“Jung Hoseok. But most everyone calls me Hobi.”

He extended his hand and I eased my palm to his. Warmth and electricity. His large fingers dwarfed mine. Too much time passed, surely, and I gently pulled away from him.

“You know Ji?” he asked, breaking the tension of the moment.

“A little. He’s a friend of a friend.”

“The tall guy you came in with.”

It wasn’t a question but I nodded anyway. He released a small sound of acknowledgement. There was silence between us for a long moment but it didn’t feel awkward. I pressed my hands against the balcony railing and looked out over the streets of Itaewon.

“Do you ever wish you could fly?” The words left my lips before I could stop myself.

“I don’t know. Maybe when I feel too tired to walk.”

I laughed and he smiled a close-lipped smile.

“Do you?”

I shrugged. It was a gesture of concealing, one that happened too automatically. “I guess.” It was barely audible.

“You look like you could. So light.”

His words surprised me—the candidness of them. I looked over at him and his eyes shined in the light reflected from the nearby streetlamps.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, I…thank you.”

He nodded and looked out over the railing, leaning his arms on it.

“You’re a dancer?”

“How…how did you know that?” I asked.

“I can tell. By watching the way you moved in there. Your posture. Whatever.” His eyes were still focused forward.

“I’m not that good. I mean, I need to get better.”

“We all do. I’m sure you’re fantastic.”

I wanted to change the subject. I felt pangs of embarrassment in my gut. Mixed with a twinge of pride.

“You’re a kind person,” I said, smiling. “What is it you do?”

He gave a small grunt. “I’m studying music.”

“You are? That’s amazing! What do you play?”

“Piano. Some guitar. I want to produce, though.”

“Wow-wow. So cool. I love music but it’s more about the way it makes me feel than the mechanics of it. I really admire that.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing, really.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice.

“Nothing is nothing. It sounds brilliant.” I wanted to touch his shoulder but I refrained. He seemed distant even though he was only inches from me.

“I’m probably going to drop out of school soon. It’s not really for me.”

“Oh.” Another long moment of silence. I wasn’t sure how to reach him, to help him understand I was interested in knowing more about him. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way about me. Finally, he looked at me. His eyes felt as if they were holding back so much.

“You’re upset? Ah, I’m sorry. I’m not great company sometimes.”

What? How could he think I wasn’t enjoying myself? I opened my eyes wide and shook my head.

“No, no. Not at all. I’m having a great time, truly. I think I might be a little drunk,” I sputtered, trying to ease him.

He laughed. A full, hearty chuckle, head thrown back and mouth open in a glorious, gummy smile. I wanted to take a picture so I could remember how perfect he looked in that moment. I laughed with him and we found ourselves caught in a loop of laughter—whenever I stopped, he urged me on again, and whenever his chuckles subsided, I couldn’t contain mine. After a few minutes of continual giggling, our mirth calmed and we stood, bent over, our breathing heavy in the cool air. I shivered.

“Wanna go in?”

“Honestly, I want to go home,” I replied, looking at him through my bangs.

“Same. I’ll drive you.”

“Really, it’s ok…”

“Not a big deal.”

“Ok, if you want.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t.” He was so forthright. But without being rude. It was refreshing.

Once in Yoongi’s car, I told him my address and texted Joon that I was headed home. My friend didn’t respond and I wasn’t surprised as I imagined he was probably drunk by that point. It was almost two in the morning. Ah, damn, my mother would be worried.

“Everything ok?”

“Um, yeah. I don’t usually stay out this late, so…”

He chuckled. “Cute.”

My cheeks burned and I turned away from him so he couldn’t see my embarrassment. I caught a glimpse of myself in the side mirror and made a face of disgust. I was flushed and shiny, hair wavy and unkempt. Why couldn’t I be pale and pristine like him?

“So, you want to hang out again sometime?” he asked casually, his eyes on the road.

“Yeah. That would be great.”

“Good. I’ll text you.” I hadn’t given him my number and I tilted my head, my eyebrows knitted. He glanced to me and dropped his phone into my lap. I smiled and added my contact info, my fingers trembling.

The next morning, I awoke later than I wanted. Stretching, I squealed with delight as I remembered the events of the prior evening. And I pictured Yoongi’s head thrown back in laughter. The deep, true chuckle he’d released as we’d stood together on the balcony. I wanted to jump out of my skin, wanted to run around my parents’ house yelling, wanted to dance until my muscles ached. I leapt up out of my bed and brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face. I felt a slight twinge of a hangover but it paled in comparison to the fire burning in my belly. The fire that moved down my abdomen to my groin. I felt the burn in my face and tried to focus on calming myself. I turned away from the mirror—I wasn’t going to ruin this moment with my self-chastising—and closed my eyes.

Fuck it, I thought and reached my hand into my shorts. I imagined it was someone else’s hand—large fingers gripping me, a deep voice in my ear. His voice. I released a gasp followed by a moan; I knew I should stop, should turn my fantasy to something more abstract like I usually did, but he felt so warm and strong. His name escaped my lips in a whisper and I heard my bedroom door open. My eyes snapped wide. I quickly pulled my hand from my clothing and pressed myself up against the sink. It hurt like hell but I needed to get rid of this damn erection.

“Hoseok?” It was my mother’s voice.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I called back. Turning on the faucet, I splashed water on my face, my neck. I cursed under my breath and swore I’d never masturbate again while my parents were home. After a few long moments that felt like hours, I was calm enough to venture outside the bathroom. Luckily, my clothing was oversized enough that my T-shirt fell to my upper thighs and my shorts hung on me.

“Morning, Mama.” I smiled at my mother, who was standing beside my bed, arms crossed.

“Where were you last night? I checked your room at one in the morning and you weren’t home yet. You worried your father and I.”

I stopped moving and lowered my head. A wave of nausea swept over me and I felt a pit of shame in my stomach.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay out that late. I was with Joon and Jimin.” I hoped the mention of them would ease her.

“They should know better than to keep you out past midnight.”

“Oh, it isn’t their fault. I should have kept better track of time. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, Hoseok, you’re a good boy. I just worry about you…” She approached me and caught me in an embrace. I slouched in her arms, resting my chin on her shoulder. I wanted to tell her not to worry, that I was fine most of the time, that something good had happened. But, was it good? My belly flipped and I felt hot tears form in my eyes. My mother moved to release me but I held her close. I inhaled, exhaled, and blinked away the tears before rising to my full height and smiling at her.

“So pretty,” I complimented in my best cute tone.

She swatted at me and gave a sound of faux frustration. “You’re the pretty one.” She placed her palm to my cheek and looked at me. Such love in her eyes. More than I deserved.

“Okay, okay, I have to get to the studio before the day is over.” I gently took her hand from my skin and held it.

“You should have woken up earlier,” she teased. “Don’t work too hard.”

I gave a quick nod and kissed her hand before releasing it. She smiled and glanced about my room—which was neat as usual—and closed the door behind her. I flopped onto my bed and looked over at my pony plushie beside my pillow. A gift from my parents a few years back. Picking it up, I stared into its black, glossy eyes. They seemed to be judging me, telling me I should not pursue this, should be a good boy like my parents deserved. I resisted the urge to toss it across the room and dropped it onto my comforter instead.

For the next few days, I lost myself in my dancing, spending all of my free time at the studio. As soon as I stepped into the room, turned on the music, felt the rhythm wash over me, I forgot my fear of disappointing my parents, forgot my ache for Yoongi, forgot my desire to be good enough. It was as if a switch flipped in me and I became someone else—someone stronger, bolder, harder. I wasn’t afraid of anything, wasn’t ashamed of my body, of myself. I could love who I wanted and I could make girls and boys swoon and I could be proud of my art. I was a real boy, not a cowering child.

Heaving for breath, my body covered in sweat, a smile on my face, I dropped onto the floor, leaning against the mirror. What had started as an outlet over the past few days had become a new dance piece. And, as excited as I was to share it with my friends and family, I knew I would be content if no one ever saw it. This piece was for me.

A message flashed across my phone screen. I picked it up and my stomach sank.

You free tonight?

It was from Yoongi. I stared at it, unable to process the words. Maybe if I looked at it long enough, it would go away. My eyes unfocused and the words blurred but I knew they were still there. I shook my head, attempting to clear it, and rose, shoving my phone into my back pocket. I couldn’t deal with it at the moment.

***

Chapter Text

Later that day, I decided to visit Joon for the first time since the party. For some reason, it had been easier to avoid him than to explain the situation to him. We stood in his little kitchen, me chopping zucchini into matchsticks and him, stirring together sauce ingredients. The two of us were not, by any stretch, good at cooking but we enjoyed it when we had the time.

“Ji and I are going to collaborate on a project,” Joon suddenly spoke after a few minutes of silent concentration.

“That’s great.”

“Don’t sound so happy for me,” he laughed, glancing over to me.

“Sorry. Maybe I’m focusing too hard on cutting over here.” 

“No worries. But, it could be a big break for me, you know?” He spoke animatedly, his fingers dappled with ingredients.

I smiled as I watched him. My friend had more than earned this opportunity; he worked harder than anyone I had ever known. Unlike me, he didn’t have the luxury of his parents’ monetary support. He had been independent since he was 18 and, despite the fact that he had struggled for years, he was finally finding some stability, some contentment and success.

“I’m really happy for you, Joonie.” It was quieter and more laden with emotion than I’d expected. Or wanted. He looked over at me, his brows raised.

“Thanks, Hobes. Love you, my brother.” He smiled and his eyes softened.

I could feel the threatening tears and I laughed to cover the emotion.

“Want a drink?” he asked, mid-stir.

“Um, I don’t know. You know what even a little does to me…”

“Eh, it’s just us. Come on.”

“Oh, ok.” What could one drink hurt?

Two glasses of whiskey later, we’d abandoned dinner and were sitting on his living room floor, my head resting on his thigh.

“I think he feels more for you than just friendship,” I slurred.

“What? No! I’ve known him for years…” he mused. “Plus, what about Tae?”

“Oh no!” I said, lifting my head for emphasis. “They are totally only friends. Not compatible that way at all!”

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed. “When did you become such an expert on queer relationships?”

My face burned and I let out a nervous laugh. “I-I’m not an expert. I am just calling it like I see it. I’m probably completely wrong. Forget it.”

I slumped back onto his leg. A long moment of silence passed between us. Then, he exhaled and spoke.

“Look, Hobi, if you’re…whatever you are, I don’t care. I love you, you’re my best friend. And I will support you no matter what. Okay?”

I opened my mouth to protest and a small sob escaped my lips. Tears rolled down my cheeks before I could even comprehend what was happening. I curled into a fetal position and cried so hard I felt my insides would tumble out of me. Joon rubbed my back and whispered gentle words that I could barely hear over my cries. It had been spoken. And I knew it was true. Had known for a while but had been too afraid to admit it.

I stayed at Joon’s that night and he held me until the morning. We didn’t talk much but I felt his strength, his care and everything seemed like it would somehow work out. Like life could and would go on, even with my secret revealed.

***

If you don’t want to hang out with me, it’s fine. just don’t avoid me, please

Yoongi again. It was his fourth text in as many days. Every time his messages flashed on my screen, my stomach ached and I felt a wave of anxiety wash through me. I wanted so badly to see him but I was terrified of what would happen when I was alone with him. What would we talk about? Would I act like an idiot? Would he decide he didn’t want to be around me? Would he try to kiss me? I had so many questions and so few answers. This was all new territory for me. I had dated a girl a few years back and I had thought we might get married one day—I’d been so naïve—but she’d grown bored of me and had found someone more her speed. She’d wanted to have sex with me and I’d always found some excuse not to—too tired from dancing, my parents would kill me if they found out, I wasn’t feeling well. I had enjoyed kissing her, I really had, but it had felt more like kissing a friend or someone I cared about; it hadn’t felt like fire, like passion. I hadn’t known that feeling until I’d locked eyes with Yoongi. Maybe he was the only person to whom I was attracted. Maybe my sexuality was “Yoongi only.” I chuckled and thought of his gummy smile, his cat-like eyes.

He deserves a response, my mind scolded. Even if it’s a rejection. Which it should be.

With a sigh, I started to type then stopped, erased the words, stared at the blinking cursor. I ran my fingers through my hair and released a sound of frustration. Throwing the phone onto my bed, I clasped my head in my hands. How did people do this without losing their minds? Closing my eyes, focusing on my breath, I cleared my head, calmed my growing anxiety. Then my fingers found the hard phone case and I touched the screen.

Sorry. It’s been a busy week. When are you free? I hit send without hesitation because I knew if I didn’t, I would vacillate for hours, days.

I waited. No response. Obviously. It was selfish and silly to think he’d be waiting for my text. After another minute or two of wishful thinking, I grabbed my dance bag and headed to the studio.

***

So you haven’t ghosted me. Good. I was worried. How’s tomorrow?

My phone cradled in my hand on my walk to the bus stop, I kept re-reading the text. Was he really worried? I felt a twinge of guilt for causing him anxiety. I hadn’t meant to hurt him with my vacillating. Why was this getting-to-know-someone thing so difficult? I sighed and slowed my pace, then began typing a reply.

I teach a class at 5pm but I should be free by 6:30. does that work for you? 😊

I could see the ellipsis to indicate his instant response. I felt heat in my cheeks.

What neighborhood will you be in?

Haebangchong

I know a good restaurant there. Send me the address of your studio. I’ll meet you there at 7

sounds great!!! see you then!

K

The ellipsis stopped blinking. I took a deep breath, stopped, felt the cool air against my damp skin. If I was sweating just from his texts, what was my body going to do when I was alone with him? Despite my nerves, I felt giddy, and I jogged to the bus depot, jumping curbs and swinging around every pole in my path. I had a date with a handsome guy who was interesting and who seemed to like me. And, for once, my joy outweighed my fear.

***

When I exited the studio, he was waiting for me, hands in the pockets of his black pants, oversize sweater exposing his collarbones. He grinned when he saw me.

“Hey.”

I smiled. “Hi again.”

“How was class?” he asked, taking a step closer to me. Should I hug him? Shake his hand? He didn’t make a move for either, so I just stayed where I was.

“Good. They’re beginners so they’re really cute.”

“Ah. Seems like it’d be hard to work with kids.” He led me to his car and opened the passenger side door for me. Smiling, I thanked him and moved past him to the vehicle. I caught the faint hints of freshly washed clothes and citrus.

Once he sat beside me and started the car, I shrugged. “It’s not bad once you get the hang of it. It’s nice to go back to the foundations, you know?”

“Ha. Maybe. I bet you’re a fun teacher.”

I laughed. “I don’t know. Maybe you should take a class with me.” I gave him a sideways glance and he chuckled.

“Oh no, I’m no dancer. I prefer a dark room and a keyboard.”

“I’d love to hear some of your music,” I ventured. I didn’t want to sound too eager or aggressive.

“I suppose I could share a piece or two with you.” His expression didn’t change—as cool as ever—but I saw a slight tinge of pink creep into his pale cheeks. My stomach flipped.

“Ok ok,” I chirped, nodding.

We pulled up outside a small restaurant I had never seen before. It was almost hidden among the flashier stores and markets surrounding it.

“One of my favorites,” he said as he opened my door for me.

“I can’t wait to try it.”

He placed his hands in his pockets again but we walked in tandem to the worn door. A gentle bell sounded as we entered. There were about ten tables in the small dining area, only one currently occupied by a single older gentleman. He didn’t acknowledge us as we sat in the corner table. It was a round two-seater, cozy and inviting. Romantic, even. My face burned as I sat across from Yoongi.

“Ah, Min Yoongi,” a voice bellowed from the kitchen area. I saw Yoongi’s eyes light up as he turned toward the sound. A short, plump woman approached us, her arms outstretched. As she reached our table, Yoongi rose and caught her in an embrace.

“It’s been a while. Sorry,” he mumbled as he hugged her.

“I know you’re busy with school. Who’s your pretty friend?”

As she looked to me, I smiled and rose to my feet.

“Hello, I’m Jung Hoseok. It’s lovely to meet you.” She ignored my outstretched hand and scooped me into a tight hug. I released a sound of surprise and then returned the squeeze.

“You’re so thin. We need to feed you boys! Sit, sit, relax. Do you like japchae? Bulgogi udon? Ah, I’ll bring plenty…” She kept talking as she hurried back to the kitchen, her footsteps short and fast.

I looked to Yoongi and we shared a laugh.

“She’s something, eh?” he asked.

“I adore her!”

“Paenji-nim. I’ve known her since I was a kid. A friend of my…family.” He fidgeted with the chopsticks on the table as he spoke, his eyes downcast.

“Where are you from?” I asked, trying to break the tension.

“Daegu.”

“Oh! I’m from Gwanju.”

He looked up and our eyes met. There was subtext behind his glance and, although I wasn’t certain of the meaning, I felt the weight of it. I smiled and he gave a small grin. A young server brought tea to the table and we broke our eye contact until she retreated.

“Do your parents still live there?” I asked. He looked away again. So that was a difficult topic for him. Noted.

“Yeah.” He paused and I could tell he wanted to say more. “But I don’t get to see them much.” It was quiet, almost monotone.

“I still live with mine. It’s hard sometimes but I don’t know what I’d do without them.” I tried to brighten the mood by talking more loudly than the ambience intimated.

“That’s good. I’m glad you all get along well enough to be together.”

I wanted to know more, to ask dozens of questions, but I sensed he didn’t want to discuss his family situation further. So, I nodded and sipped my tea.

“I mean, I know I’ll move out sometime, but I want to be more secure with work and finances first.” I was certainly boring him with this banal talk. I was practically boring myself. How could I be more interesting? Maybe I should text Joon to ask him…

“You must listen to a lot of music,” he said as leaned a little closer and tilted his head.

“Oh, of course!”

“So, what’s your favorite genre? Or artist?”

“Ah, that’s so hard.” I looked up and tried to narrow down all the musicians in my mind. “Um, um, um, I suppose it depends on the day and my mood. I love hip hop, old school and new, but classic hip hop has a place in my heart. It was the first music I ever danced to. I’m interested in meaningful lyrics but the rhythm is what usually hooks me.” My hand was on my chest, above my heart, as I spoke. His eyes followed my movements and I felt self-conscious but I also enjoyed the attention he was giving me. It felt as if no one else was present—just the two of us.

“Makes sense,” he replied with a small nod.

“What about you? I’m sure you know much more about music than I do.”

“You seem pretty keen.”

The compliment made my stomach flip.

“I’m really into rap but I enjoy classical, R&B, pop, most everything. And I look for lyrics, rhymes, that move me. Originality and layers. I’m not really into generic sounding stuff.”

“You like classical?” I sounded more surprised than I wanted to.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I actually study classical piano. Weird, I know.”

“Not weird—really cool! I’d love to hear you play!”

Shifting his gaze to the table, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure.” Although it was a positive response, I didn’t quite believe he was sold on the concept of playing for me. I would win him over. I had to.

Paengi’s voice rang through the restaurant and I could smell amazing scents as she approached. She balanced three dishes on her arms and her face glowed with pride and dew.

“Here you are, boys! Enjoy! Let me know if you want anything else. I am happy to cook for you.” She set down the dishes on our little table—they almost took up the entire space—and pinched my cheek. “So cute.”

I giggled and thanked her.

A moment later, the younger server placed side dishes before us and I scanned the array of beautiful concoctions.

“Wowowow,” I exclaimed.

“I always leave here with a full belly,” Yoongi commented, digging into the udon.

I ignored the twinge of panic in my throat and scooped vegetables onto my plate.

After dinner, Yoongi and I thanked Paengi—who made sure we had food to take with us—and headed back to his car. It was fairly quiet on the street, the gentle breeze blowing our hair as we walked.

“I had a lot of fun,” I said, peeking past my bangs at him.

“Yeah, me too. You’re sweet, Hoseok.”

I giggled and my cheeks burned.

“You seem…younger than you are. That’s not an insult, just an observation.”

“What? Really?”

He nodded.

“Oh, sorry?” I shrugged.

He chuckled. “There’s no need to apologize. I just worry that I might…” He paused, letting his words die on the air.

“Might what?” I asked, stopping on the sidewalk and looking at him.

He shook his head. “I’m dark. And you’re pure light.” He reached out and touched my cheek. His fingertips sent a shock through me—of pleasure, of fear, of desire. I closed my eyes. “I want to kiss you.”

I felt heat through my entire body and although I wanted to scream, I swallowed my anxiety. “O-okay.”

His hand was no longer on my face. I opened my eyes. Had I done something wrong?

“Not here. You need to be careful, Hoseok-ah.” He tipped his head in the direction of his vehicle and began moving toward it. I stood, still catching my breath, still wanting his lips on mine. But, I could not deny the truth of his words.

We drove back to my house without speaking, the sound of his music filling the space between us. His hand was on the gear shift and I kept looking down at it, wanting desperately to cover it with mine. Once outside my home, he stopped the car and we sat, neither of us talking or moving. What was I supposed to do? Ask him to kiss me? Thank him and leave? I didn’t want to say goodbye but I also didn’t want to be rude.

“I hope you’ll allow me to take you out again.”

A wave of giddiness swept through me. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”

“Good. I’ll text you.” He turned his head toward me and I could see his dark eyes shining. He was so beautiful.

“Good night.” I didn’t move to exit the car. We just sat there looking at each other. A long moment passed. He lips curled into a small knowing grin and he leaned toward me. I closed my eyes, held my breath. His warm lips on my cheek, just touching the corner of my mouth. Another shock of energy shot through me. He lingered a moment and retreated, the heat of his flesh still seeping into me.

“Good night,” he said with a playful air, his voice deeper than usual. The heat of his kiss traveled down my chest to my belly and lower. I smiled sheepishly and my hand slipped off the door handle as I tried to pull it. Laughing, I gripped the handle again, opened the door, and stepped onto the grass. Smooth, Hoseok, real smooth. Yoongi dipped his head to peer through the passenger window, watching me as I walked to my door. Such a gentleman. Once I fumbled with my keys to locate the correct one, I turned and waved to him. He nodded and I heard the car drive off once I was inside.

Pressing myself against the door to steady my wobbly legs, I covered my mouth with my hands and squealed into them. I leaned, trying to catch my breath, to calm my pounding heart. I had never felt this way about a person before. It was the same way I felt about dancing—like I was floating, gliding, soaring. Like I was who and where I was supposed to be. With a smile, I stood, pirouetted, and sashayed  to my room.

***

“Joonie, can I, um, ask you a question?” I fiddled with my fingers, feeling the burn creep into my cheeks. It had been five days since the date with Yoongi and I had been thinking a lot about the next meeting—we’d scheduled it for this Saturday—and what might happen between us, which both terrified and thrilled me. I knew my best friend would be able to provide insight. That is, if I could muster up the courage to ask him.

“What’s up?”

“Would you…?” The words didn’t seem to want to push past my lips.

“What is it, Hobes?” he asked, chuckling.

“Would you mind if I watched some of your…adult movies?”

His face went blank then he burst into deep laughter. I hid my head in my hands.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem,” he said between chuckles. “You were never interested before, why now?”

I dropped my arms to my lap and shrugged. I couldn’t possibly tell him, could I?

“I don’t know…”

“Oh, son, you are fully aware you’re a terrible liar. But it’s cool if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I…met someone. And I wanted to learn a few, you know, techniques?”

“Whaaat? Really? I’m happy for you! Tell me about them.”

I froze. What could I say? Should I lie? After a moment, I shook my head, my hair brushing my eyelashes.

“It’s kind of new still, so…”

“Well, if you need any pointers,” he teased, winking, “Hit me up.”

“Oh, right...”

“I mean it.”

“I’m sure you do but I have no idea what to even ask.”

He laughed again. “Well, once you figure it out, I’m here for you.”

***

As I twisted and moved my body to the music, sweat rolled down the sides of my face. An image of Yoongi flashed in my mind—his cocky half-grin and his narrowed eyes. Faltering, my ankle turning, I fell to the ground.

“Fuck,” I spat. My chest heaved with my breaths and my eyes burned with sweat and threatening tears. Gritting my teeth, I rose, determined to walk off the injury. I’d experienced worse. More times than I cared to count. Pausing in front of the mirror, I glared at myself. I looked a mess—face rosy and shiny, hair curling with the humidity in the room, clothes sticking to my body. My body. Too heavy. I shouldn’t be this thick. Maybe if I skipped dinner, I could make up for the noodles I’d eaten with him. I remembered the way his lips curled around the udon, so pretty.

“Stop it,” I yelled, clapping my hand on my head. I couldn’t have him wandering—no, sauntering—around in my thoughts right now, distracting me from my work.

I shook out my ankle, rolled it, stretched it. The pain was nothing. Easy to ignore. Re-starting the music, I resumed my first pose and started the dance again. I missed a step. And again. Each time I made an error, fell behind the beat, didn’t hit the right stance, I started over. Until my body was drenched, until my legs shook from the exertion, until I was too tired to think of him.

Collapsing, I pressed my forehead to the cool floor, closing my eyes. At my dance academy, I had learned to practice until I couldn’t get it wrong. It was the discipline I needed. Without discipline, I would crumble, would fall to chaos.

Once my breathing settled and my sweat began to dry, I pulled myself to my feet, took one last look in the mirror, and turned off the lights as I exited the studio. The place I felt the most comfortable, the most in tune with myself. Though it had taken me over two decades to admit it.

I was eight years old when I discovered dance. My mother dragged me with her to the market, to give my father some quiet. As we moved through the crowded city streets, we passed a group of people gathered around some kind of street entertainment. As soon as I heard the music, a decidedly hip-hop beat, I felt strange, like the rhythm somehow began to seep into me, to move to the pattern of my breath. I gasped and felt my legs go numb. My mother, her hand clasping mine, pulled me along the concrete. My eyes scanned the area, looking for the source of the sound. My steps moved in time with the song, though my mind hadn’t made a conscious decision to do so. Then, I saw them. Bright colored loose clothing, bandanas, sideways caps, clean sneakers. And the way they moved. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. My mouth fell open and my eyes stared, trying to soak in as much as I could. They seemed boneless, fluid, all grace and power. These boys—no, these super-human beings—seemed to float, to fly, to glide, not on the earth or even of it. Something more, better. My body tried to move toward them but something tugged me in the opposite direction. I wanted it to leave me alone, to go away, to let me be so I could watch them forever. One of the boys caught my eye and smiled, pointing his finger. I felt myself flush. Then I noticed a teenage girl standing beside me, cheering and smiling.

“Hoseok, pay attention.” My mother’s voice broke the spell and I felt her gently tug on my arm. The girl beside me giggled and I felt a wave of shame wash over me. I dropped my head, focusing on my mother’s flowered skirt as I followed her.

Sweat dripped off my hair into my eyes and I blinked, wiped my hand over my face. What was I doing? This man had me watching porn and thinking about him even while doing the thing I loved most. I barely knew him. We’d only talked for a few hours, had only spent two evenings together. Maybe that’s what scared me the most: the fact that I cared for him this deeply already. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

I tossed my bag over my shoulder—it slammed into my back and I felt a twinge of pain—then turned off the lights in the studio and closed the door behind me.

***

He picked me up outside the studio as I was afraid my parents would ask questions if he showed up at the house. I suppose if whatever we were doing lasted, telling my parents was something we would have to consider—at a much, much later date. Far into the future.

As I slid into the passenger seat, he grinned at me. “Hi, cutie.”

I felt my cheeks burn and I laughed. “Hi,” I answered, drawing out the vowel and using the sweetest voice I could.

“How was your day?” he asked as he glanced into the side mirror to merge onto the street.

“It was good. I’ve been working on something new and it’s really coming together.”

“Nice. I can’t wait to see it.”

“Oh, I’m not sure… It may not be ready for that—ever.” I laughed.

“Oh? Why not?” He sounded serious, his voice deep and steady. Almost intimidating.

“Um, well…I don’t know if it’s that kind of piece. It may be just for me.”

A moment of silence as he squinted his eyes.

“Ah, makes sense.”

“Yeah.”

“I have lots of pieces like that.”

I looked over at him and watched as his expression shifted from thoughtful to something like…wistfulness, maybe? He looked beautiful and sad. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and gently touched his face. He flinched, turned to me, then his eyes softened. He smiled and suddenly pulled the car to the side of road.

“I really want to kiss you, Hobi.”

“I…” I stammered, pulling my hand to my lap.

“It’s ok if you’re not ready. I just wanted you to know so you don’t misunderstand my intentions.”

I nodded and looked down. How could I tell him I felt the same way without sounding trite or immature? I was certain his experience far outweighed mine.

He squeezed my hand for a moment then resumed driving. We sat in a thoughtful, communal silence all the way to the restaurant. And I wished his hand were still on mine.

It was late in the evening as we shared dessert. A little tipsy from the wine he’d ordered, dizzy from the dimmed lights, and giddy from being with him, I felt as if I were in a dream. My head swam with his words, our shared laughter, the music that had been playing in my mind all night. Under the table, his foot touched mine and I felt the tingle move up my legs to my face. I was suddenly so hot I wanted to tear off my shirt to cool my skin.

“I guess we should let them close the place,” Yoongi suggested.

“Mmm.” I nodded, too animatedly.

He rose and helped me put on my jacket. His touch made me even warmer. I was certain he could see the sweat on my nose, my upper lip. I was thankful for the mood lighting.

As we moved onto the street, I felt the chill air against my face and exhaled. Like a cold shower after an intense dance session.

“You ok?” he asked.

“Mm? Uh-huh, I’m fine.”

“You still hungry? You didn’t eat that much…”

“Oh no. I am so full! It was delicious. Thank you. I feel like I’ve learned about so many new places and things because of you.”

“It’s that extra year of life,” he chuckled.

I laughed, head thrown back, and grabbed onto his shoulder. It was a habit I had during unexpected moments of humor, to fall onto something or someone near me. He caught me, wrapped his arms around me. I stopped laughing and froze.

“I didn’t want you to fall.”

“No.”

We stopped walking and stared at each other.

“It feels good to have you close to me,” he said quietly.

“Yes.” A whisper.

I could feel his warm breath on my face, could smell the wine as he exhaled. I wanted to taste it on him.

He gently released me and touched my lower back.

“We should get to the car.”

Pulled from my thoughts, I nodded and moved with him.

“Should I take you to the studio?”

“Oh, um. No, home is fine. Where you brought me after the party.”

“I remember.”

Again, we drove in silence. My thoughts raced and I fidgeted with my bracelets. I was afraid to look over at him but I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking, feeling. Was he eager to be rid of me? Did he want me to stay with him? Would he ask to see me again? And, if so, would that make us…boyfriends?

He pulled up outside my house, which was dark save for the porch light. I hoped my parents were sleeping so they wouldn’t ask any questions. We sat, staring forward, his music playing quietly in the background. I turned to him to say goodnight but no words left my mouth. Almost simultaneously, he looked at me. With my eyes, I tried to tell him everything I could not voice. He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned toward me. Holding my breath, I watched as his face moved closer, closer. I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine, hot, a little chapped but soft. Sighing into him, I slipped my fingers to his jaw, his neck. The kiss was light, gentle. He pulled back just enough so that only our lower lips touched, then leaned in again. This time, it was deeper, harder. I opened my mouth and felt his tongue brush mine. He bit my upper lip and I released a small squeal. A deep chuckle as he kissed me again. I didn’t want him to stop. His hand slid to my thigh and I felt fire beneath his fingers. The heat moved to my groin and I moaned. My eyes still closed, I felt him press his mouth to my neck. Throwing my head back onto the headrest, I tugged gently at his hair as he licked and kissed my skin. His hand started to move up my thigh and I placed my hand over his.

“We should…stop,” I voiced between breaths.

“Ok, babe.”

I looked at him, my eyes wide. That was a term for lovers.

“You are a babe, you know.” He cupped my cheek with his hand and smiled.

“Th-thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon?” he asked, touching his forehead to mine.

“Yes…”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He released me and sat back into his seat. I adjusted my clothing, smiled at him, and opened the car door.

“Hobi.” His voice stopped me. “In case you didn’t know, I really like you.”

My face burning, I giggled, looked into his eyes, and closed the car door behind me.

***

Chapter Text

The next day, I met with Joon to discuss his impending project with Ji but all I could think about was Yoongi. Every time my friend asked me something, I felt like he was waking me from a haze.

“What’s with you today?” Joon asked, the eraser of his pencil pressed to his mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m…distracted.”

“Clearly. You ok?”

I nodded, biting my lip as I tried to conceal my smile.

“Ok. What is going on?”

He dropped the pencil and folded his hands on the table.

“It’s…this person I met. We’ve been spending time together and…I feel like it’s going really well. I’ve never had an experience like this before. It’s scary but…a lot of fun.”

“So, tell me about…him?”

Our eyes met and I gave a small smile.

An hour and many soft drinks later, Joon knew almost as much about Yoongi as I did, the knowledge colored with my bias, of course.

“I like him,” my friend said, grinning.

“I like him too.” I chewed my lower lip, the corners of my mouth upturning. Joon placed his arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.

“Just please be careful, Hobes. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I will. Promise.”

He rocked me for a few moments then paused.

“So, what are you going to do about…you know, intimacy?” He drew out the final word.

“I don’t know!” I hid my face behind my hands.

“Here, try this.”

I peeked out from behind my fingers and he thrust a banana in my face, only inches from my lips, his goofy grin in my peripheral.

“Whu-?”

“Use that shiot mouth for something worthwhile,” he teased.

My cheeks burning, I scrunched my nose at him. “You’re terrible.”

“Hey, you gotta learn somehow, right?”

“Not on a fruit!”

Our gazes met and we both burst out laughing.

“Well, it makes sense,” he said between giggles.

“Oh, give me that!”

I grabbed the banana from him and began to peel it.

***

“What did I tell you about that?” he asked through gritted teeth. My father rarely yelled; he preferred a quieter approach. Reserved, refined, so as not to appear uncouth. He grabbed my upper arm and yanked me to his side. I’d been trying to secretly teach myself dance steps again.

“I—I’m sorry…”

“What did I tell you? Only girls do that. You are not a girl, Hoseok.” He gripped my face and squeezed so my teeth cut into the insides of my cheeks. I could taste blood. I blinked back the threatening tears.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” he ordered quietly and released me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, looked down at me and sighed.

“What’s the matter?” I heard my mother’s voice and my breathing calmed a bit.

“Do something with him,” my father replied, his eyes focusing past me. “Or I will.” The threat in his voice, unconcealed. He brushed past me and a moment later, I felt my mother’s fingers in my hair. I turned toward her and hid my face, crying into the soft fabric of her blouse.

***

Sitting up in bed, I stared into the darkness. My thoughts kept spinning, moving too fast for me to comprehend them. Childhood memories of my father and I mixed with more recent musings of my time spent with Yoongi. I placed my elbows on my knees and dropped my head into my hands. Why was sleep so elusive when I most needed it? In a few hours, I was expected to teach an intermediate dance class with some important people’s children in attendance. If I didn’t rest, I would be a mess, make mistakes, possibly lose work. And I would prove my father right.

My eyes tearing, I swore under my breath. I tore my blankets off my body and rose. If my mind refused to rest, then at least I could do something useful. I stretched and began working on the dance I’d been choreographing for the past few weeks. In the darkness and safety of my room—without the floor to ceiling mirrors of the dance studio—I felt a new kind of awareness, of rawness. This had been the place where I had practiced alone, trying to hide my passion from my father, trying to pretend I was the son he expected me to be. Using the anger and the motivation burning in my belly, I moved to the rhythm in my head, in my core.

After an hour or so, drenched in sweat, I placed my hands on my knees and tried to slow my breathing. My bangs hanging in my eyes, I smiled, then laughed. I had resisted my father when I had chosen to pursue my passion and, though he ignored me a good portion of the time I spent in his presence, he had also given up the battle. And, now I was dating a man who cared for me, would maybe love me one day. I was not only defying my father’s wishes, I was defying the wishes of everyone around me. In that moment, as I breathed in and out and in, I felt a new kind of strength.

After having only slept about four hours, I showered and grabbed coffee on my way to the studio. In truth, I wasn’t a fan of the way caffeine made me feel or the flavor of the beverage, but I figured it would help. And Yoongi loved it so it made me think of him, which improved my mood considerably.

I arrived an hour prior to the beginning of class, set up, stretched, and tried to calm my nerves. At around 8:15am, students and a few of their guardians began filing into the room. I smiled, greeted them and instructed them to make themselves comfortable. By 8:30, the class was full—there were students from ages thirteen to seventeen of a seemingly similar experience level. Despite my lack of rest, I pushed them, modelled choreo and phrasing, and provided critique as well as positive reinforcement. Although a good portion of my past instructors had operated without the latter, I felt it helped dancers gain confidence, especially young adults. At the end of the class, most of the students thanked me, offered praise, said they’d really enjoyed the instruction.

Once the room was nearly empty, a young woman approached me and bowed.

“Sun-saeng-nim, thank you so much. That was wonderful. You’re such a good dancer. I would love to see you perform someday.”

“Thank you. Suni, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, please come back anytime. I’d love to have you in class again.”

“Suni,” a voice called from the hallway. The girl looked up, a flash of surprise and perhaps fear upon her face.

“I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you again.”

The tall man in the hallway glared at me as Suni moved toward him. I smiled and waved. Suni quickly waved back and the man scowled. For a moment, my father’s face with the same expression flashed in my mind and I turned away from the door toward the mirror. Only a trace of his jawline, the rest of me resembled my mother. The corners of my lips upturned and my head tilted. Corrupt or pure? Broken or whole? In the silence, I began dancing the piece I’d been choreographing. Although the moves weren’t precisely executed—as per my usual technique—they flowed through me, out of me, raw and inspired. Without thinking, I moved my body to the music in my head, to the beat I knew well, and the last section of the dance flowed, the one that had been eluding me these past weeks. Chasse and tour and body roll, down. It was a combination of ballet and modern, with hip hop steps to interrupt the traditional segments. When I was finished, my body on the floor where I’d ended my movement, my forehead pressed to the cool ground, I listened to the heavy sound of my breathing, felt the pounding rhythm of my heart. I wanted to see him, to hold him, to kiss him. I wanted to listen to the rhythm of his body.

As I locked the studio doors, I pulled out my phone and texted Yoongi. Are you busy? Would you mind if I stopped over?

Only a moment later, a response flashed on my screen. Silly question, babe. I would never mind that. Door’s unlocked. Come by when you can.

My stomach flipped. And I turned a pirouette in the hallway. I needed to shower but I wanted to go to him immediately. I had clothes in my bag… Would it be presumptuous of me to ask to shower at his place? Maybe I wanted to be presumptuous. I felt a wave of desire flow through me and I bit my lip. Coquetry be damned, I was going to show that boy new sides of me.

By the time I arrived at his place in Seongsu district, it was late afternoon, though the grayness of the day made it feel later. Standing on the sidewalk, looking around at the warehouses and coffee shops surrounding me, I tried to locate his apartment. The addresses were mostly hidden or displayed on small signs near their respective establishments. Then I saw it: a mailslot with Min Y. scrawled above it next to a small door with a staircase leading up.  I ascended the stairs—they were worn but quiet—and my heart thudded in my ears. I had never been alone with him like this, at his home, in his space. At the top of the stairs, there was a hallway with a wooden door at the end of it. I inhaled, exhaled, opened the door and sheepishly stepped inside.

The room was dim, the windows to the left covered with dark curtains, and no lights were on save for a candle burning on a nearby table. I scanned the room and spied a small kitchen area to my left, a couch and TV in front of me, and a hall with two doors to my right. As I waited just inside the doorway, unsure of what to do, I heard the faint sound of a piano. I listened. It seemed to be coming from behind one of the doors. With a deep breath, I took a step toward the music.

Hesitating outside the door, I listened. Two chords, then silence. A few staggered notes. The song—or whatever it was—felt sad, wistful, but with a hint of hopefulness. I pressed my hand to the wood and I was certain I could feel his energy, pulsing. I dropped my bag on the floor and knocked once, barely more than a tap, and pushed open the door.

As I entered, he turned on the piano bench and looked at me, a smile on his face. He looked almost ashen in the dimness and it made his skin seem to glow, like a moon in a dark sky. An old-fashioned but well-kept brown piano sat just beyond him, sheets of music scattered about its frame.

“Hi,” he cooed.

I glided toward him, my body felt as if it were moving on its own, and I knelt in front of him, pressing my face to his chest, wrapping my arms around him. He squeezed me and kissed the top of my head.

“My hair’s not clean,” I mumbled into his shirt.

“You smell great. I love your natural scent.” He sniffed my hair and I whined. “You can use my shower if you want, though I don’t think you need it.”

I squeezed him harder then pulled away and looked up into his eyes. He was still smiling, which made me grin back at him. He traced my lips with his finger, then leaned in, pressing his mouth to mine. I kissed him as deeply as I could, running my fingers through his hair. He released a small moan and slipped his hands down my back. After a long moment, I broke the kiss and gave him a half-grin.

“I should shower.”

“Fine,” he said, drawing out the word and slumping onto the bench, his knees spread wide and his head tilted to the side. I rose to my feet, touched his cheek, and turned away from him, swaying my hips as I moved. As I reached the doorway, I glanced over my shoulder and gave him a sly smile. As I hoped, he was watching me, his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes narrowed.

After showering, I pulled on my clean clothes—a pair of athletic pants and a loose T-shirt with a cardigan over it—and started to clean up after myself. I didn’t want to leave his bathroom a mess. From what I’d seen, his design aesthetic was fairly sparse with a few scattered instruments or pieces of art, most of which seemed to be antiques or hand-me-downs. Aside from the few items of clothing strewn about, his place almost seemed as if no one lived there, as if it were perhaps used as a part-time residence. I sifted through his few toiletries—soap, shampoo, shaving items, toothbrush and toothpaste—which were neatly kept on a shelf next to the sink. I picked up the shampoo and smelled it. Sandalwood and citrus. Yoongi’s scents, which stayed with me even after he and I parted. I grinned and placed the items exactly as I’d found them.

Min Yoongi, where are your secrets? my mind questioned. But, I scolded my curiosity and headed back into the living room area.

“Are you hungry?” Yoongi called from the little kitchen.

“If you are,” I replied, plopping down onto his couch. It was soft and slightly worn in places. I fingered a small tear in the fabric. This place felt comfortable already, as if I’d been here before, had slept here, had made love here…

“I made a fruit salad.” He set the plate down in front of me, disrupting my thoughts. My face burned and I moved my hand to my lap.

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He looked down at me, a flash of surprise on his face.

I covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh, sorry. I’m sorry. It just came out. I didn’t mean…”

He shook his head and the corners of his lips upturned. “No. It’s fine. I really like it.”

“Oh. Good.”

There was a moment of purely sexual tension between us and I felt heat spread through me as his eyes scanned me.

“Come here.” It was low, deep, and darkly alluring.

I sheepishly rose and moved to him. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into a kiss. His hand moved to my lower back and lower, cupping my bottom. I felt my face burn and I pressed myself into him. After a long moment, he broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to mine.

“Stay with me,” he said, his voice quiet. “We don’t have to…do anything. I just want you here with me.”

After a moment, I pulled away and looked into his eyes. “I want to…do anything,” I replied with a small grin. Placing my hand on his chest, I gently kissed his nose, his cheek, then his lips.

He gave a small, deep moan and swept me up into his arms, carrying me through the room to the door I hadn’t yet investigated. The room was dark and small, with only one piece of furniture—a bed. He set me down next to it and, although I could barely see him, I felt his intent gaze.

“We stop when you want to, ok?”

I nodded and slipped my fingers into his hair.

“Now, let’s start,” I whispered, my lips close to his ear.

He chuckled and began kissing my neck, nipping me and sucking my skin. I whimpered and bent my body slightly backward. The sudden shift threw him off-balance and we tumbled onto his mattress. Our bodies pressed together as we laughed, our mouths so close I could feel the warmth of his breath.

This time, I lifted my head to kiss him. I bit his bottom lip and he released a small moan, pressing his hips to mine. I could feel his urgency, his hardness and—although a wave of panic washed through me—I wanted to touch, to know more of him. All of him.

After a few more deep kisses, Yoongi pulled my sweater off and my shirt over my head and tossed them across the room. His fingers gently caressed my chest, my belly, my hips.

“Shit,” he murmured. “Hoseok, you are beautiful.”

I covered my face with my arm and shook my head. With his free hand, he pulled my arm to the side and held it to the bed. For a long moment, he stared down at me, his eyes shining in the dim light. I wanted to say something to break the intensity of his gaze, but I couldn’t think of the words, or any words. There was something in his eyes that both scared me and excited me.

Finally, he bent his head and kissed me deeply, sucking my lips and tongue hard, his fingers still gripping my wrist. Then, he released me and explored my body with his hands, his mouth. I wrapped my legs around him and tried to quell my sounds of pleasure by biting my lip. He moved lower and kissed my abdomen. He hesitated, his breath on my belly, his fingers on my hips.

“Yes...” I whispered.

And his hands pulled off my pants, sliding them to the floor. I was nearly naked, save for my boxer briefs and I felt ashamed of how worked up I was. He chuckled and I felt his warm, large fingers through the cotton of my underwear. The sound that came out of my mouth was something I had never heard before, had never made before. I clapped my hand over my lips.

“Don’t you dare,” Yoongi ordered and I moved my hand to my side.

Another moan escaped my lips as he caressed me, plied my body. He lowered the waistband of my boxers and released me, stroking me with a deftness that amazed me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to contain myself much longer and I squirmed beneath him.

“Yoongi, I am going to…” My orgasm stopped my words and I bucked against him, his fingers still wrapped around me. He slid his fingers up my length and squeezed, drawing another whimper from me. After a moment, during which I tried to catch my breath and figure out what had just happened to me, he moved back into my view, a grin on his face. Without a word, he licked his fingers, his gaze focused on me. 

I covered my face and groaned.

“You taste amazing,” he said.

“I can’t believe you!”

“Well, I’m real. And I’m yours.”

I moved my hands from my face to his.

“Are you?”

“Since the moment we met.”

I pulled him to me and kissed him again, tears welling in my eyes. And it occurred to me that I had been his too, from that first instant I’d seen him across the dance floor.

We ate the fruit salad he’d made and talked into the evening. I’d texted my mother to tell her I’d be staying at Namjoon’s house for the night. Although I felt badly lying to her, I wasn’t quite ready to tell her about Yoongi, about my self-discovery, about the fact that I was falling in love with this man who made me feel happier than I deserved to be.

After the sun had set and we had eaten a light dinner—Yoongi surprised me yet again with his cooking skills, whish far exceeded mine—he led me to his work room and sat me down on his piano bench. Sitting beside me, he placed his fingers on the keys, closed his eyes, and began to play. It was a sweet, soulful melody, part hymn, part ballad, part sonata. I watched him as he played, his hands—dark veins standing out through his skin—gliding then pounding, then dancing. His shoulders slightly hunched, his expression changed with each movement in the song. It was the most emphatic I’d seen him. And it made sense to me. Perhaps Yoongi was reserved in his life, in his speech; he was saving his energy for this, his playing. My eyes welled with the beauty of it and I felt an even deeper connection to him. He was showing me his soul, parts of him he reserved for his music, which was one of the most brilliant, most moving sounds I had ever heard. Complex and dynamic, sweet and sad and full of rage and love. He was a real artist, one who suffered for his work and who channeled all of himself into it. I respected him and felt passion and care and love all at once and far too completely.

When he finished the song, the last notes of it fading into silence, we just breathed together for a long moment, his eyes closed, my gaze on him. As he turned to look at me, I pulled him into a kiss. I wrapped myself around him as tightly as I could and poured my admiration into him. He wound his arms around me and returned my hunger. After I broke the kiss, I embraced him, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder and neck. I let my tears flow onto him.

“That was so beautiful. I can’t even…” My voice broke and I clung to him.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “And thank you.”

We moved into the bedroom and I lay with my head on his chest, his arm cradling me, our legs intertwined. I listened to his breathing until it slowed and he began to snore gently. Although I am usually a finicky sleeper, I enjoyed the sound of it, the feel of him, and let his rhythm lull me to sleep.

The next morning, I opened my eyes and saw only dim light. With a start, I rose and looked about the room, which was decidedly not my bedroom. Then I remembered. I had stayed with Yoongi, had actually slept in his arms. I had never done that with a lover before. Had never had a lover before. I smiled and looked over at his sleeping form. His hair was brushed back from his face and his lips, slightly parted. He looked like an angel, or a somewhat devious angel. I leaned down and kissed his forehead then snuggled back into him.

I listened to his breathing for nearly an hour until he yawned, stretched, released a low moan. Lifting my head from his chest, I smiled at him.

“Good morning, Yoongs.”

“Morning, sunshine.” His voice was even lower than usual, almost gravelly.

“Ooh, you sound so sexy,” I teased.

“And you look gorgeous.” He kissed me gently. I could smell his morning breath but for some reason it didn’t bother me. I just wanted to be near him, to feel his body against mine.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked.

He smiled. “You.”

I giggled and playfully smacked his arm.

“Stop it!”

“Well, it’s true.” He slid his arm under me, gripping my hip, and pulling me closer to him.

I kissed him, touching the side of his face. He pulled me on top of him and squeezed my bottom.

“Your ass makes me believe in a higher power, Hobi.”

I laughed. “My Mama’s cooking and lots of barre work.”

“I am appreciative of those things then.” He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of my boxers and caressed my skin.

“I want to…please you,” I said, shyly.

“Oh, you do.”

“I mean…” my words trailed off. I felt like a silly little boy.

“I know what you mean, babe. Here, let me help.” He slipped his fingers into mine and moved my hand down his body. I felt sweat break out on my face, my neck. He placed my fingers over his groin and I felt his hardness, his thickness. I gasped quietly and he chuckled.

“Oh,” I whispered. He was considerably more endowed than me. Or at least seemed that way through his underwear.

I continued touching him, caressing him and he moaned. It sounded like caramel and coffee.

“Is that…good?” I whispered, trying to ooze sensuality despite my uncertainty.

“Mmmm,” he moaned in response.

As my belly flipped due to his positive reaction, I reached my hand into his clothing and stroked him more intensely, harder. I wanted him to enjoy it, wanted to make him feel as amazing as he did, me. I kissed his neck, his chest as my hand worked his sex.

Now or never, Hobi, my mind dared, show him what you learned from the porn.

I took a deep breath and lowered myself toward his groin. As I moved closer to his lower body, I paused, both admiring and terrified of his size. And then I bent my head and took him into my mouth.

“Fuck, Hobi,” he groaned.

After a few moments of me trying my best to imitate what I’d seen in the adult movies, during which I gagged far more than any of the actors, Yoongi bucked against me and I pulled away, stroking him until he came on my hand and on his stomach. I released him and smelled my fingers. Such a strange scent, but not unpleasant.

“That was amazing. You didn’t tell me you were some kind of sex expert,” he said, stretching.

“I’m not! I just really wanted to make you happy.” I moved back up toward his face and kissed his cheek. I held my soiled hand away from the sheets so as not to stain them.

“Well, you did, babe. Should I ask where you learned to do that?”

“Ummmm, no.”

He laughed. “That’s fair. Maybe some other time then…” He picked up a towel from the floor and wiped himself clean then gently brushed it over my hand. “I know you like to be tidy.” He grinned and sucked my fingers.

“Yoongi,” I whined, “you’ll get me worked up again.”

“Oh really? What a shame that would be.”

I playfully slapped his face. “I should check in with my parents and I have to get to the studio at some point.”

He sighed. “I know, I know. I have work to get done too. But I’d rather get you done.”

“You are so…”

“Stunning? Brilliant? Sexy?”

With a laugh, I nodded. “Well, yes, all of those things. But also dirty!”

“Do you not like it?” he asked with a tone that proved he well knew how much I enjoyed his innuendo.

“Who wouldn’t?” I responded and kissed the tip of his nose.

“Well, let me at least make you breakfast before you run off.”

“I would love that.”

He leaned toward me and kissed me softly before adjusting his boxers and rising from the bed.

***

Chapter Text

After I’d stopped home and headed to the studio for a few hours, still on a natural high from the time spent with Yoongi, I texted Joon. I wanted to share the prior evening’s events with him, hoping he would still approve of Yoongi and me.

Hey! You home? Can I stop by? I have to tell you something!!!

I was almost at the bus stop before I received a reply.

Sorry! In studio with Ji. Probably be pretty late. Tomorrow?

And then a second message came through a few seconds later. Everything ok?

Although I was disappointed I couldn’t commiserate with Joon, I was glad for his recent success. I knew the collaboration would prove a turning point for his career

OK. T__T Everything is really good—don’t worry! And have fun! Say hi for me.

I regretted adding the last part right after I sent the message. As if Ji would care that I said hello to him. Yoongi was influencing me in more ways that I could even comprehend—I felt more sure of myself, more carefree. As he would say, I started to “give less fucks.” And it made me feel as if I could do most anything without my usual anxiety or second-guessing.

As I sat on the bus, which was nearly empty, I sent Yoongi three purple heart emojis.

<3 Miss u

I giggled and an older woman glared at me. I just smiled at her and she turned away with a scowl.

Screw it, I thought and put my headphones over my ears.

∞∞∞

Interlude: Ji

“Let’s do it again,” I ordered over the intercom. “It needs more growl in the chorus. You know, like hit it harder, angrier.”

The tall blue-haired man nodded, cleared his throat and adjusted his headphones. I could see his taut arm muscles beneath his T-shirt. He was much more of a traditional idol-type than I, strong, fit, masculine but approachable. And his work ethic exceeded a lot of the artists with whom I’d collaborated. I was surprised he hadn’t yet found a certain level of success in The Industry, fickle bitch that He is.

He gave me a thumbs-up and I re-started the section of the track, nodding along to the beat. Following my instructions, he attacked the bars, his face contorting with his words, his hands gesticulating as he rapped. The lyrics we’d written together were more political and socially conscious than the songs I usually crafted, which I appreciated. I’d wanted to delve into more complex poetic territory but I knew my manager would only allow me to push the boundary so far. He already disapproved of my nail polish, androgynous style, and feminine qualities. But, I made him a shit-ton of money so he tolerated my “proclivities” as he called them. He, of course, wasn’t aware of my proclivity to suck cock.

As Namjoon finished, he looked over to me expectantly. I smiled and nodded.

“It was good, Joon. How about we get another just like that for safety?”

He grinned—his dimples showing—and gave two thumbs-up this time. Another lovely aspect of him was his seeming sincerity. I was sure some of it was an act—how could it not be after so long in the music business?—but it still set him apart from a lot of the artists I knew who were more puppet than person. And the ones who weren’t either lost the fight to maintain their identities or were forced to surrender. I was currently somewhere between actor and activist.

After I made him go through three more takes—despite my initial instruction—I pressed the intercom button and said, “That’s enough for today. Good work.”

It was after 10pm and we’d been working since the late morning. Which wasn’t all that unusual for me but I could hear the fatigue in Namjoon’s voice and that wouldn’t do for this batch of songs. Besides, I needed a drink or two and I could see the dark circles beneath Joon’s eyes.

He entered the control room and flopped down into the chair beside me.

“How do you feel?” I asked.

“Good. Tired. But definitely confident about the work we did today.”

“You should. You lit it up.”

He gave a small laugh. “Well, you pushed me.”

I smiled, my lips pressed together.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked, rising.

“If that works for you.”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“See you then. Rest your voice,” I instructed, eyeing him pointedly.

“Will do. Thanks again for this.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “You deserve it. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t have approached you about it.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Mmm.” I nodded and turned back to the audio files.

After Namjoon left and I re-listened to the tracks and ensured I’d saved our work, I locked up the studio and drove back to my apartment complex. It was quieter than usual; apparently no one had thrown an impromptu party that evening, for which I was grateful. As I entered my flat, I flicked on the lamp in the foyer and tossed my Chanel bag onto the end table.

“Honey, you’re home,” a deep voice bellowed.

I started and dropped my keys to the floor. I glanced across the room and could vaguely make out Seung-hyun’s form sitting on my couch in the adjoining room. His legs were crossed and he held a large glass of wine in his right hand.

“Tabi, what the fuck? I almost had a heart attack.” His pet name left my lips before I could stop myself.

“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen. Besides, since the wife search isn’t working out for you—to no one’s surprise—and I know you hate being alone at night, I figured I’d drop by.”

Rolling my eyes, I moved closer to him. My hand on my hip, I asked, “How did you get in?”

“My charm.”

“No, seriously, how?”

He scoffed. “Your doorman knows me by now, boy. I’m sure he knows we’re fucking too.”

“No, he doesn’t, you idiot. No one knows that.”

“But a lot of people suspect it.” He stood and sauntered toward me.

“I see you’ve helped yourself to my wine. Would you mind pouring me a glass?”

“Do I look like your servant?”

We faced off for a long moment, me looking up at him and he, down at me, then I sighed and crossed into the kitchen where the open bottle stood on the countertop. I filled a glass and took a deep draught. I needed it even more now that Tabi had decided to spontaneously visit. Before I could turn from the counter, he was behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I exhaled and he kissed the back of my neck and my shoulder that my oversized shirt had left bare. Then, he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled my head back. I bit my lip but made no sound.

“I thought you’d be more appreciative,” he whispered.

“Give me a chance,” I responded.

“I don’t have all night.”

“Don’t you? You have somewhere to be after?”

He laughed and yanked harder. “Not here.”

“Then you may as well leave now.”

“But I haven’t gotten what I came for.” He released my hair and easily picked me up by my hips, shifting me so I was facing the kitchen table. Then, he bent me forward, my face and torso pressing the solid wood. He unbuttoned my pants and yanked them down to my ankles.

“T,” I protested but even I knew it was half-assed. I wanted him and he used that knowledge against me every time.

“Shut up, Ji,” he commanded and smacked my ass. I released a small whimper and cursed myself for doing so. He chuckled and smacked me three more times so hard my eyes began to water. “You know, your ass used to be much nicer. You’re too skinny now. Like those model bitches you hang out with.” He squeezed my flesh then pulled down my underwear.

“You don’t seem to mind,” I retorted.

“Eh, I can have a thick ass tomorrow if I want. I’ll settle for your scrawny one tonight.”

The sounds of him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers, then spitting. A moment later, he was pushing himself inside me and I released a cry that was half pleasure, half pain. I knew it was coming—he enjoyed a good hard fuck. And he was good at giving one.

“Still tight after letting half of the music industry inside you? Embarrassing, Ji,” he cajoled as he pounded into me.

“You know that’s not true,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Not what I’ve heard.”

“Just…fuck me…will you, please?”

He grunted and obliged, slamming my hipbones against the rim of the table. I’d have bruises later, I was certain. After another few strokes, I abandoned my attempt to quell my moans, my cries ringing through the kitchen and most likely the hallway.  We moved together, our rhythm fast and relentless. I was on the verge of begging him to either stop or never stop when he ejaculated inside me, then pulled out mid-orgasm to spill some of his cum on my ass.

“Always a pleasure,” he said, panting.

I stayed on my stomach, trying to breathe through the pain in my body, wishing he was still in me. Only when I pleaded with him and he was in the mood to indulge me did he stay inside after he came. I think it made him feel vulnerable and he despised that sensation.

Once my flesh had stopped pulsing, I stood, cleaned myself, and kicked off my pants and underwear. Moving up behind him, I wrapped my arms around him and placed my chin on his shoulder.

“Are you actually leaving?” I asked quietly.

“We’ll see,” he answered casually and downed his glass of wine. “Oh, next time, you should invite your new friend.”

“Which?”

“The tall one with the pale blue hair. He’s cute.”

“Oh, darling, I don’t think you’re his type.”

“What? I’m everyone’s top. I mean, type.”

I snorted and he laughed, still in my embrace. As I held him, I closed my eyes and sent a silent prayer to whatever higher power was listening to please, please make him stay with me. He was right; I hated spending my nights alone.

*** (End Interlude 1)

Chapter Text

A few days later, I’d invited Yoongi to meet me at the studio after classes to see some of my work. It was my way of repaying him for playing the piano for me at his apartment. I’d been thinking about him constantly and couldn’t help but be inspired by both his art and the way he made me feel. It had been a long day of instruction and practice but the thought of seeing him gave me a burst of energy.

As soon as I heard footsteps on the stairs up to the dance studio, I peeked out of the door and grinned. Yoongi looked up at me, hands in his pockets, and flashed his gummy smile.

“This is a workout in itself,” he commented, trudging up the last few steps.

I laughed. “Maybe you need to take a weekly dance class to get the blood flowing more often,” I teased.

“That’s what I have you for,” he whispered.

Giggling, I led him inside the room. He looked around, first at the wall-to-floor mirrors, then at the stereo system.

“Yikes,” he said, nodding to the mirrors.

“Right?”

“No wonder you’re so hard on yourself.”

I gave a small smile and looked away. You must get better at hiding that, my mind scolded.

Yoongi picked up the dance pointer stick that was leaning against the speaker and examined it. “What is this for?” he asked, a look of skepticism on his face.

“Oh, mostly for tapping out rhythms, counts, that sort of thing. But sometimes for pointing out body parts that are positioned incorrectly.”

“Looks like a weapon.” He levelled it at me like a javelin. I laughed.

“Wellll, it can be used as that too. I remember well the feel of that hitting my thighs.”

He dropped the stick to his side and looked at me, his expression changing to one of concern.

“Hobi, that’s terrible.”

I shrugged. “Eh, dancing is about discipline and perfection. It comes with the territory.” Although I was trying to downplay my emotions, I felt my throat tighten.

“You’re already perfect.”

His words caught me off guard and I stared at him, eyes wide. I could feel the threatening tears and I smiled to quell them.

“You’re so silly,” I teased and moved to him, bumping him with my hip.

“I’m being serious.” He clasped my hand and gazed into my eyes.

“Yoongi…” I desperately wanted to kiss him but I knew this wasn’t the proper place. “Here, sit down. I want to show you something.”

“Can’t wait.” He sat on the stool at the front of the room and dropped his hands to his sides.

I managed to swallow the squeal of joy at the back of my throat and turned on the music. After taking a deep breath, I began to move to the beat, to dance the steps I’d been practicing since the day after I’d met him. About 90 seconds into the dance, I started to feel dizzy, to lose my balance, which was usually nearly flawless. I tried to ignore it, to push through it, but I knew it was distracting me, messing with my concentration and my precision. The anger in my belly made me push harder and, suddenly, I was on the ground in Yoongi’s arms.

“Hoseok! Hoseok, are you ok?” He was holding me, caressing my face. His worried expression scared me, made my eyes tear.

“What…happened? I-I’m fine.” I tried to rise but he held me to him.

“You fell. One minute you were moving with the most grace I’ve ever seen and the next, you were falling to the ground with the same gracefulness.” He gave a small chuckle that was laced with fear.

“Really, I’m ok. I lost my head for a minute. It’s nothing.” I reached my hand to his cheek.

“That’s not nothing. You need to take care of yourself, babe. Have you eaten today?”

“Of course.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. I had eaten some tuna sushi about eight hours ago.

He gave me a stern look. “I’m taking you to my place so you can rest and eat something. Tell your parents you won’t be home tonight.”

“Yoongi…” I whined, but it was more to be cute than an actual protest. I enjoyed when he was severe with me; it comforted me in a strange way.

“Let me help you up,” he said, gently lifting me from the ground and steadying me once I was on my feet.

“I can take it from here, I promise.”

“I’m sure but I will feel better if I hold onto you until you’re in the car.” His arm was around my waist and he was slowly leading me toward my bag.

On the way to Yoongi’s apartment, I texted my mother and told her I’d be staying with Namjoon again. Your father thinks you spend too much time with him. Please come home early tomorrow, was the reply.

My stomach sank and I felt even more light-headed. What was my mother suggesting? Why did my father care about who I spent my time with? I tossed my phone into my bag without responding.

Yoongi threatened to carry me if I didn’t allow him to guide me up the stairs, so I relented. Once inside his apartment, he ordered me to sit on the couch and rest while he prepared a meal. I knew better than to argue by this point, so I obeyed. Sinking into his sofa, I closed my eyes and felt the weight of my body. I was hungry but the call of sleep was stronger by far. I started reviewing the dance steps in my mind and before I knew it, Yoongi was gently shaking me awake.

“Pretty Hobi, wake up. Time to eat,” he whispered.

I moaned and stretched, catching the scent of something delicious. “Smells so good,” I said in a high-pitched voice.

“Here, open up,” he instructed and scooped some noodles into my mouth.

“Hot, hot,” I said, slurping the food, then chewing as I wiped my bottom lip. “Mmm, yummy.”

“Thanks. A recipe I learned a while ago.”

“You really are a good cook.”

He shrugged. “I used to learn from my mother when I was a kid. She made some amazing dishes from very little.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight to one hip.

I ate another mouthful of the food. “Aren’t you having any?” I asked between bites.

“I will. I ate earlier. I’d rather enjoy watching you eat.” He grinned and sat beside me, leaning back into the cushions.

I felt my cheeks burn and I slowed my chewing. I was hungrier than I thought, apparently. “Tell me about your family.” My embarrassment at having blacked out in front of him had made me brave and he had brought up his mother so it seemed like an opportune time.

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah, we don’t talk that much anymore. They don’t approve of my life choices—any of them, really—and I’m not about to change to make my parents happy.”

“But you’re such a brilliant musician. Have they heard you play?” I abandoned my meal and moved closer to him, pulling my leg up under me.

He shook his head. “Not for a long time. I used to play when I was younger, you know, as a ‘hobby.’ Then when I expressed an interest in pursuing music as a career, they tried their best to make sure I couldn’t practice anymore. It’s not something I like to remember.”

I nodded and placed my hand over his. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. My father…despises that I’m a dancer. He thinks it’s only for girls and that I’ve failed him in some way. So I kind of understand.”

“Hobi, you are a beautiful dancer and a beautiful person. And I, for one, am glad you followed your dream.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. With a smile, I leaned toward him and gently placed my mouth to his.

We slept in each other’s arms, like best friends, like nonsexual lovers, and I managed to fall and stay asleep for nearly eight hours. I awoke and felt renewed, as if I hadn’t pushed my body to near exhaustion the day prior. I slipped my arm from beneath Yoongi and padded across the bedroom floor as quietly as I could. Once in the doorway, I glanced back at him and watched his chest rise and fall with his breath. In that moment, I knew I loved him. And that fact scared the hell out of me.

“Yoongs, breakfast in bed,” I sang, kissing his head.

He groaned and his eyes fluttered open. The sight of him was pure beauty with his messy hair, narrowed eyes, and cheeks flushed with sleep.

“Is it morning already?” he joked.

“Yes, silly. Now wake up and help me eat this.” I jumped onto the bed beside him and lifted the tray from the floor. Then I picked up a strawberry and playfully swiveled it toward his mouth.

꙳꙳꙳

Interlude: Namjoon

Day 2 in the studio with Ji. We’d spent the morning and early afternoon recording, listening, adjusting, mixing. Aside from writing, it was my favorite part of the creative process. Birthing a song, watching it grow, molding it until it was ready to be set free. And I knew Ji understood where I was coming from; he was admired for his artistry, his focus on making great work rather than on commercialism. Of course I wanted my songs to be popular but it was the message, always the message that was the most important thing.

As we sat beside one another, I noticed the slight bruises on Ji’s neck and throat. As much as I tried to ignore them, my gaze kept flicking back to the purplish marks on him that looked like paint, like flowers on his smooth skin. They hadn’t been there yesterday. I also noted he was sitting with his leg pulled up under him, with his weight shifted to his right hip. An indication of something about which I shouldn’t inquire, so as to avoid embarrassment on both our parts?

“…like this riff or this one?” Ji turned to look at me and my eyes re-focused. Oh shit.  

“Oh, uh, the second, I think.” I tried to cover but I saw a flash of acknowledgement in his eyes.

He delicately moved his hand to his neck and let it rest there. Was he calling attention to the bruises or trying to hide them? He was difficult to read.

“Ok, let’s try it.” His left pointer finger depressed the button and we nodded along to the track. “Well?”

“Yeah, it moves. I like it.”

“Me too,” he said, flashing me a small grin. He held eye contact with me for what seemed like minutes until a knock on the door interrupted us.

I turned quickly to see a tall, attractive man with dark hair standing beside a pretty, slim dark-haired woman. They were both smiling at Ji, who waved them in.

As soon as the door opened, Ji and I stood and the man’s higher-toned voice rang through the studio.

“…hope we’re not interrupting. This is the right time, isn’t it?” He stood before us, his thick lips parted in a wide smile, his hands on his hips.

“No, no, not at all,” Ji eased, moving toward him. They embraced but it seemed distant, slightly uncomfortable.

“Hi, Ji,” the woman greeted, stepping forward and hugging my friend. Their touch seemed easier, more carefree. Her gaze flicked over to me as she wrapped herself around Ji.

I waved awkwardly. “Hello.”

“You must be Kim Namjoon,” the woman said, sliding past Ji. Her short skirt showed off her well-shaped legs. I quickly moved my gaze to her face.

“I am. Nice to meet you.” I extended my hand and she slipped her warm fingers into mine.

“Jisoo. We’ve heard a lot of good things about you from Ji.” As she clasped my hand, she smiled.

“Oh, well, that’s kind of him. I, too, am enjoying his amazing work.”

“Oh, tall guy!” the man announced, approaching me. “You’re like a lumberjack. Ah, the Hulk!” He laughed as he shook my hand, his grip light in mine. “I’m Seokjin. Just Jin. Jin! Easy name to remember, hard face to forget.”

Although I wasn’t fond of his seeming arrogance, he wasn’t wrong in his assessment. He was one of the most handsome guys I’d ever seen. I felt plain in comparison.

“Joon, I asked Jisoo to come in and do vocals for the Starshine track. I think she’ll be great for it.” Jisoo reached out her hand and Ji squeezed her fingers cutely.

“He always makes me feel so good about myself,” Jisoo gushed.

“Yeah, except when he’s doing his tough love thing,” Jin commented.

Jisoo laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t do that with me. Do you, Ji-yongie?”

Ji laughed, his head thrown back and mouth wide. It was amazing how quickly he could shift from serious to playful and back again. Almost as if he were different people.

We went over the song, working through it with Jisoo, Ji singing it along with her at times to illustrate. I thought he was suited to do the vocals himself but felt I might insult him if I suggested it, so I stayed quiet. Behind us, Jin rested on the couch, his legs crossed, his head bopping occasionally to the music. He seemed to be amused, his eyes blinking frequently and his lips curled in a small grin. There was something magnetic about him and I felt compelled to look at him even when he wasn’t speaking.

As Jisoo sang and Ji directed, I found myself watching the guy on the couch. He was playing a game on his phone, taking selfies, listening to Jisoo and providing the occasional compliment or word of encouragement. Although he did interact with us, he almost seemed to exist in his own world, which I imagined was full of mirrors and flowers and other pretty, distracting things. And, as much as I felt like the antithesis to him, I also felt I wanted to know him, to spend time with him. He was an enigma—he seemed to contain so much and so little simultaneously.

“That’s great, Jisoo. Come on in,” Ji spoke softly into the intercom and Jisoo threw her arms up in celebration.

She danced into the studio and sat down next to Jin on the couch. As Ji fiddled with the track, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jisoo brush her hand over Jin’s thigh. The two shared a quick glance and Jin went back to his game, as if nothing had happened. Jisoo grinned slightly and crossed her legs. I shifted in my chair, uncomfortable in more ways than I could comprehend. Why was I so unfocused?

“Here we go. Let’s get it,” Ji said as he tapped a button and sat back in his chair.

Everyone quieted down as the track played, Jisoo’s smoky vocals soaring and sliding through the rhythm. It sounded sick—sexy, cool, smooth. I nodded several times, smiling at Ji. He grinned back, his fingertips pressed to his lips.

Jisoo moved to the music and sang along quietly while Jin, his eyes downcast, gently swayed his insanely broad shoulders. I could see his collarbones peeking out from his V-neck sweater.

“Do you like it?” Jisoo asked him.

“It’s wavy. Like ramen.”

“What? You goof!” she teased, slapping his arm playfully.

Ji and I laughed. I’d never had anyone describe my songs as noodles. And, rather than being offended, I was intrigued.

After the song finished playing, we all gave Jisoo a round of applause and she rose and curtseyed. I stretched and felt my stomach grumble. I was certain someone in the room had heard it and I felt my face burn.

“Hey, it’s kind of late and I’m sure you two must be tired. Want to grab some dinner? It’s on me,” Jin suggested.

“Oh, please? It will be fun,” Jisoo said, clapping.

Although a look of irritation flashed over Ji, his expression quickly shifted and he grinned. “If Joon is up for it, then I suppose we can quit for tonight.”

I shrugged. “I am pretty famished.”

“Ha! Famished. Expensive word. This guy is funny,” Jin joked.

“Smart,” Jisoo complimented, smiling.

“Ah, thanks.” I glanced down.

“And those dimples!” Jin shouted.

Jin drove us to a nearby restaurant—one of Jisoo’s favorites, apparently—and we sat at a small, round table, each of us pressed together, our elbows nearly touching as we shared dishes and drank. Ji didn’t eat much, instead sipping champagne and listening to Jin’s stories about his latest drama and Jisoo teasingly complain about her bandmates. She belonged to an all-girl group that had debuted a few years prior and were enjoying a moderate level of success. Certainly more than I could ever hope to acquire.

After the meal, we continued to talk and order more drinks, and the conversation naturally flowed from amusing work stories and gossip to more philosophical dialogue. Everyone’s posture loosened and no one seemed to mind the closeness of the space any longer. A light rain began to fall outside, enhancing the ambiance of the late evening.

“So, Joon, how long have you been doing music?” Jin asked, sipping his wine.

“Ah, since I was a kid, really. I started rapping pretty early then decided to branch out a bit as I matured. It’s been a fun journey.”

“He’s being modest,” Ji commented, giving me a sly sideways glance. “He’s a pretty well-known underground rapper but he’s also respected by people in other genres as well. He writes his own material, which you know is rare.” He directed the comment at Jisoo and she nodded.

“Someday,” the woman commented and raised her glass.

“I’ll help you get there,” Ji added, clinking his flute to hers.

And, a gentle tune seemed to float, to waft toward us. It sounded ethereal, like liquid silver. Jisoo closed her eyes and swayed. Ji smiled and sipped his drink. I looked to Jin and he had his mouth open and his eyes narrowed. I could see his tongue between his parted lips and from his throat came…the sound. He was singing some song I didn’t recognize, a kind of lullaby, a sweet lilting thing that couldn’t possibly be born of a human. I stared at him since it was the only thing my mind could process. He. Was making. The sound. After another few moments, he closed his lips and smiled. The song now ended, my brain seemed to be able to function again and I slowly clapped. Jisoo and Ji joined me and Jin bowed his head, his ears turning pink.

“Isn’t he the sweetest?” Jisoo whispered in my ear.

I turned to her and chuckled, my eyebrows raised in amazement. Who were these people and how had someone like me ended up with them?

After we sipped the last of our drinks, we all stumbled out of the restaurant into the rain and back toward Jin’s SUV.

“Joon and I can call a car,” Ji insisted, slipping his hand into the crook of my elbow.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind taking you home,” Jin said.

“Really, it’s fine.”

“Ok. Well, it was fun meeting you, Namjoon. I hope we can get drunk together again.” He smiled and extended his hand toward me. I clasped his warm fingers.

“Oh, no doubt.”

Jisoo approached me and opened her arms. I enclosed her in a gentle hug. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said and kissed my cheek.

“It’s been wonderful getting to know you. And thank you for your amazing work.”

After Ji hugged and kissed them both, we watched as the car pulled away into the damp street.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” Ji asked.

“Mm-hm,” I nodded. I couldn’t get Jin’s song—or the sound of his voice—out of my head.

Ji snuggled against me and I put my arm around his shoulders. I could feel him shivering so I squeezed him more tightly. He felt so thin, slight beneath my fingers, almost as if he would break if I pressed too hard. I remembered the bruises I noticed earlier and I opened my mouth to speak when the car pulled up in front of us. Ji opened the door and motioned for me to get inside.

We drove in silence for about ten minutes as the rain continued to fall. Then, Ji turned to me and quietly asked, “How about another drink? I don’t want to go home…” There was a sadness in his voice and his eyes—which were usually full of guile—pleaded with me. Was this the real Ji?

“Yeah, ok.”

Ji ordered the driver to stop at some nearby, nearly empty dive bar and we shared another two rounds. I could tell Ji was drunk but I was far too tipsy myself to be overly concerned about it. His movements, although still graceful, seemed languid and velvety. When he laughed, he tipped over onto me, his body dangerously close to my lap. His ambiguity, his blurring of lines, his annihilation of all things binary held me in sway. His ferocity when he performed seemed the opposite of this soft creature beside me. Also, I had heard of his exploits with plenty of women; he seemed to know how to not only interest but please his female lovers. It was hard to fathom.

As we stumbled back out into the rain—it must have been at least 2am—we laughed and held each other so as not to fall onto the wet sidewalk. The red lights from the signs in the window advertising beer shining on us, Ji turned and looked up at me. His smile faded to something more serious, but not unhappy. He reached up and touched the side of my face.

“You are a sweet man, Namjoon,” he said quietly. Then he stood on his tiptoes and kissed my cheek. “Maybe in another life, we could…” His words stopped and I saw tears shine in his eyes. Then, he quickly pulled away and opened the car door for me with a small bow. “Your coach awaits.”

I chuckled and slid into the back seat, making room for him beside me.

When I arrived at my apartment, Ji kissed my cheek again and wished me a good night. Waving clumsily, I watched as the car pulled away. As I turned back toward my porch, I saw a small form huddled on the wicker chair. Was I imagining things? I blinked and slowly approached the figure, raising my fists.

“Hello?” I called, as intimidatingly as I could.

The form jumped and released a small sound of surprise. I recognized the voice.

“Jimin?” I lowered my arms and moved up the steps.

“Joon, where have you been? It’s so late…” His voice was quiet and I struggled to hear him over the falling rain.

“I was, uh, out with some…with Ji and some of his friends I met. What the hell are you doing here? You must be cold.” I stepped toward him and touched his cheek. His skin was frigid and damp. “Come inside before you get sick. Come on.” I helped him rise from the chair and fumbled with my keys as he shivered.

After I managed to get the door open, I gently pushed him inside the room. His hair was soaking wet and his teeth chattered.

“Take off that jacket. I’ll get you something dry to wear.” Tossing my keys onto the coffee table, I moved past Jimin toward my bedroom. I felt unsteady and knew I must have been veering all over the hallway, though I tried my damnedest not to. I rifled through my closet and found a comfy sweatshirt I knew would be far too big for my friend.

“Are you ok?” His voice, though gentle, startled me and I dropped the shirt on the floor. “Oh, sorry.” He moved to pick it up and I held out my arm to stop him.

“It’s ok, I got it.” I handed him the shirt and he stared at it, as if unsure of what to do with it. “Go ahead, put it on.” I started to tug on his wet shirt and he backed away.

“I will. Just…give me a minute.” There was something sad in his voice but I was too drunk and exhausted to deal with it. In truth, I adored Jimin; he was kind and sweet but he often proved to be high-maintenance.

With a shrug, I flopped onto my bed and closed my eyes. I had the taste of beer in my mouth but I didn’t care—I needed to sleep.

“Joonie?” I could feel him standing beside the bed but I didn’t open my eyes. “Namjoon?”

“Hm?”

“Did you…are you…and Ji…” His words trailed off. What was he asking now? My mind wouldn’t process the words.

“Wha?” I slurred the question, more so he’d be quiet and leave me alone than to actually glean an explanation.

“It’s just…I…really like…”

I was asleep before he completed the sentence.

***(End Interlude 2)

Chapter Text

“Hi, Chim. What’s up?” I answered in my cutest voice. As soon as I heard his sniffle, I knew it had been the wrong choice.

“Ho-Hoseok…are you home? Can I come over, please?” His voice was thick with tears and he sounded so little, so fragile.

I adjusted my tone to match his seriousness. “Of course. Come on over, I’m here.”

“Thank you…” And then he ended the call.

I released an audible exhale, straightening up the few items around my room that were misplaced. Then, I bounded down the stairs and started to clean the living room.

“I can do that, sweetie,” my mother said, peeking out from the kitchen.

“No, no, I want to. Jimin is coming over, ok? He’s a little upset so please be kind to him.” I glanced up from the newspapers I was stacking.

My mother laughed. “Am I not kind to Jimin when he visits?”

“Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant…ah…” I sighed and brushed my hand through my hair.

“It’s ok. Breathe, Hoseok. He’ll be fine.”

My mother smiled and I forced a grin. I knew Jimin often experienced difficulties—he’d always been more sensitive than most of my friends; it was the trait that had drawn me to him—but this time I was worried for his safety. He’d been avoiding leaving his house, had devised excuses not to spend time with Namjoon and I, looked thinner than I’d ever seen him. Was I a bad friend to be caught up with Yoongi when Jimin was clearly struggling? Even now, I wished I could be with my boyfriend, cuddling with him on his couch.

“Hobi!” I scolded myself. Then, I started humming a song to keep my mind on my cleaning, on the impending arrival of my friend. It would not do to be distracted…by the most beautiful boy in the world.

“Stop it!” I yelled.

“What was that?” my mother called.

“Oh, um, nothing, Mama. I was just…singing.”

“It sounded more like a yodel.”

After a moment of silence, I burst into laughter. And, I could hear my mother’s chuckles from the adjoining room. A soft knock on the door interrupted us. I steeled myself and wiped my clammy hands on my shorts.

I opened the door to see a red-eyed, pallid Jimin. His hood was pulled up over his tousled hair and he had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.

“Hoseok…” It was a half-whisper, half-whimper. He moved forward and practically fell into my arms. I held him, rocking him gently, humming one of my mother’s calming songs into his ear.

After about 20 minutes, I managed to ease him and I helped him to my bedroom, sitting him on my coverlet. He was still sniffling but his tears had stopped for the moment.

“Do you want to talk about it or do you want to do something else?” I asked gently.

Jimin shrugged and glanced around my room. “It’s so neat in here.” He commented absently.

“Mmm. I like a clean house.” I looked at him and grinned.

He gave a small smile and I leaned toward him and playfully pulled back his hood. He giggled and pulled it back onto his head. Jumping out of my chair and plopping beside him on the bed, I removed his hood again and wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug. He laughed and pretended to resist my embrace. Then, we both quieted and I rested my head on his shoulder as I held him.

“Love you,” I said.

“Love you too,” he replied and leaned into me so we fell backward onto my mattress. We rested there for what felt like long moments, staring up at my ceiling. I imagined we were outside looking at a starry sky. And, of course, I thought of Yoongi, of camping with him—just the two of us alone surrounded only by nature. I would have to ask him if he enjoyed camping…

“I think Joonie is…seeing Ji.” Jimin’s words interrupted my thoughts.

“Whu—?” I sat up on my elbows.

Jimin nodded. “They’ve been together so much and I saw Ji kiss him. They took the same car…”

“Chim, that doesn’t mean anything. Ji kisses a lot of people. And, if it were true, I would have heard. Joon would have told me.”

“When is the last time you talked to him?” Jimin asked me, his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, uh, I don’t know…a few days?”

“Well, maybe things have changed in that time.” It sounded a bit like an attack and I swallowed my immediate reaction to defend myself. I knew Jimin wasn’t angry with me—this was just his way of dealing with his own emotions.

“I mean, it’s possible…but I highly doubt it. Ji isn’t Joon’s type at all. I don’t even think Joon likes boys…”

“Ji isn’t all that boyish, in case you haven’t noticed.”

He wasn’t wrong. Ji certainly existed somewhere on the gender spectrum that wasn’t male or female, though he used male pronouns. That was one aspect that made him so appealing to people.

“I still think it’s not true. They’ve been collaborating, that’s all. The artistic process brings people together in strange ways. It’s like a dance. You have to know each other, to trust each other to make it work—”

“I don’t want to hear about your stupid dancing!” Jimin shouted and threw one of my pillows across the room. Obviously my poor analogies weren’t helping the situation.

“Ok, ok. Look, do you want me to call him? Do you want to go visit him? We can go together…”

His anger deflated and he hunched over. “I don’t know. I was waiting for him when he came home and he was drunk. But he let me in and I tried to tell him how I feel and he fell asleep, Hoseok!” Tears filled his eyes again as he gesticulated with his arms. His emotions were all over the map and I wasn’t sure what to say to ease him. I placed my hands on his shoulders and looked into his wide eyes.

“You said yourself he was drunk. You know Joon wouldn’t ordinarily dismiss something like that. And he’d been working all day.”

“Stop taking his side,” Jimin pouted.

“I’m not. I am just trying to explain. I know Joon better than I know most people. He is a kind man and he wouldn’t hurt you purposefully. I can guarantee it. Ok?”

He brushed his fingers over his eyes, wiping his tears and nodded. “Ok.”

“Now, why don’t you take a nap and I’ll make us something to eat. Then maybe we can call Joon and see what’s what.” I stood and gave a definitive nod.

“I guess…” But I could see that his eyes were already getting heavy. I pulled the blanket up over him and rubbed his arm until his eyelids closed. Then I kissed him on the head and turned off the light, closing the door soundlessly as I exited the room.

As soon as I was downstairs, I texted Namjoon.

Are you up? What’s going on??

He responded more quickly than I expected. Is Jimin with you? Did he say something?

Yessssss…explain!

It’s Ji’s fault. We went out with his friends after work last night. We all drank heavily. Then he and I found another bar and talked for a bit. That’s all. He’s more complicated than he seems so don’t make assumptions.

Could it be true? Was Joon falling for the infamous Ji-yong? I made a sound of surprise and stared at his words.

“What is it, Hoseok? Is Jimin ok?”

My mother’s voice startled me and I snapped my head toward her.

“Oh, he’s ok. Just…” I pursed my lips and tilted my head from side to side. It was my “don’t ask” code. My mother nodded and sat on the recliner, opening a book. I watched her for a moment, grateful she wasn’t an overly nosy parent. No, my mother was pretty close to perfection and I knew I was lucky to have her. Without her, I would never have pursued dancing, most likely wouldn’t have had the courage to share my feelings with Yoongi. I could feel my throat tightening and I blinked away my threatening tears.

Stop being sentimental, Hoseok! my mind scolded. I didn’t have time for that now.

Well, Jimin is upset. He thinks you’re getting yourself into something that might be bad for you.

I told you not to make assumptions. It’s not like that.

Joon, are you telling me the truth? I tried to be as straightforward as I could. If he was embarking on this…journey or whatever it was, I wanted to support him as well as ensure he wasn’t going to be hurt. The text ellipses began then stopped. A moment passed and I could feel the tension tighten my body.

“Hoseok, your leg…”

I looked down and noticed my leg shaking again. It was a habit I’d acquired as a kid—shortly after my father had begun to scold me for my dancing—that I was trying to break.

“Sorry,” I said, pressing my palm to my knee and glancing back to my phone. Still no response.

Yes.

I waited—no additional reply came. Not a good sign. But, I wasn’t going to pester him for details if he didn’t want to provide them. I jumped up from the couch and ran my fingers through my mother’s hair as I passed her.

“I’m going to make a snack for Jimin, ok?”

“Do you want help?” My mother was aware of my sub-par cooking skills.

I turned back to her and placed my hand on my hip. “I can do it,” I sassed. She laughed and went back to her reading.

As I fried up some eggs for my special French toast recipe, I decided to check in on Yoongi. We hadn’t communicated since yesterday afternoon and I knew he was working on a project so I figured he’d need a brief respite. I smiled as I typed the words.

Hi, Yoongs. Miss you. Hope all is going well! Need dinner later?

Hey, babe. Maybe? If you have time. I miss u too

I always have time for you 😊

<3

“What’s that smile for?” my mother asked. She’d managed to sneak up on me again while my thoughts were occupied with Yoongi.

“Hm? Oh, just a friend. I’m gonna be out for dinner, ok?”

My mother gave me a stern look. “Remember what I told you about being gone too much.”

“I know. I’ve been home lately, haven’t I?”

My mother moved a few steps closer to me and stroked my hair. A long moment passed before she spoke.

“You’ve been…distracted. I’m worried about you. And you’re so thin. Please eat some of whatever that weird thing is you’re making.” She motioned toward my breakfast ingredients and scrunched her nose.

I laughed. “It’s French toast Hobi! And I’m fine, Mama. I just have a lot going on.”

“You’re too young to be so busy. Take time to enjoy life.”

“That’s the opposite of what Father says! And I’m 24 years old. That’s not young.”

“You’re right. Maybe you should think about finding a wife soon…” She smiled and pinched my cheek. “Any smart woman would want a sweet boy like you.”

“Ah, stop. I’ll find someone. It just takes time…” I looked down at the table and busied my hands with folding napkins. It was all I could do to not blurt out the truth or burst into tears.

“Well, I know some nice young women if you need help.”

“Mama! I’m fine. Please stop now.” I gave her a stern look and clasped her hand.

“Ok, ok, Hoseok. Finish cooking your meal and I’ll make some tea.”

“Thank you,” I squeaked happily and released her fingers. As she moved away to procure the teapot, I watched her. What would she say if she knew the truth? Would she still love me? Would she regret that I was her son? I knew my father would no longer acknowledge my existence but it would destroy me if my mother did so as well.

Jimin seemed brighter after his nap. He ate cheerfully, complimenting my skills, and even chatting a bit with my mother, who listened and responded as if Jimin were her own child. And, again, the shame of hurting her, of causing her to feel disgraced gnawed at me. Was I being selfish by following my heart? Maybe I should give one of her prospective partners for me a chance. Perhaps I would grow to care for the girl…

You owe it to her, my mind commented. I owe it to her to be unhappy for the rest of my life? I responded.

For the rest of brunch, my mind stayed quiet.

At about 7:30pm, after I’d spent most of the day with Jimin and was certain he’d recovered, I checked in with Yoongi. Although I had been wanting to text earlier, I knew he needed to focus on his work.

Sushi?

sure

Ok, I’m on my way!

He didn’t respond so I assumed that meant he was fine with me showing up by 8 or so. As I waited for our order, I tapped my leg to the song in my head—one of Joon’s tunes about the complexities of self. He always wrote lyrics that were in some way philosophical, even in his celebratory songs. I think it was one of the reasons Ji had chosen to work with him. Tomorrow, I would go to see my best friend to ensure he wasn’t making poor choices. Or at least offer whatever support I could if he already had.

I arrived at Yoongi’s apartment and rang the bell for entrance. After a few minutes, the door opened and I saw a tired-eyed, bedraggled version of my lover standing before me.

“Hi,” he mumbled and stepped back.

“Hello, Yoongs,” I cooed, closing the door behind me. I reached to embrace him and he half-heartedly wrapped his arms around me then quickly disengaged. “Ah, I feel so bad for you. You’re exhausted.”

He released a small “uh” sound and trudged into the living room. He flopped onto the couch and stared blankly.

“Can I get you anything? Here, eat. That will make you feel better.” I set out the food and utensils before us on the coffee table and sat on the chair to his right. He didn’t move. “Yoongs, are you ok?”

“Huh? Yeah.” Again, it was a mumbled response.

I sat with my hands in my lap, unsure of what to do. Should I eat? Feed him? Leave him alone? I had never seen him like this before.

Another few long moments of silence passed and his only movement was the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. I was trying not to stare at him but I also didn’t want to miss any signs or body language he might exude. It felt like some kind of game and I was certain I couldn’t win. I released a long sigh and he slowly turned to look at me.

“What?” he asked in a monotone voice.

“Aren’t you hungry?” I tried to make it sound coy, gentle so as not to offend him.

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“Want to watch something then?” I reached for the remote and he shook his head. “Can I do anything for you?” Leaning toward him, I placed my hand on his knee and he glared at my hand like it was some kind of alien thing. I felt my eyes begin to water and I slowly pulled my hand back to my lap.

“Maybe you should just go…”

“I—I don’t want to. I want to spend time with you.” I couldn’t control the waver in my voice.

“I’m just no fun right now.” He didn’t even look at me as he said the words. It was as if Yoongi had been replaced by some android version of himself.

“It’s ok. I don’t need you to always be fun. I enjoy being with you. I…” I wanted to tell him I was falling in love with him but my mother’s face flashed in my mind and I couldn’t make the words form on my lips.

“Hobi, just go. Really. Thanks for trying.”

“If you truly want me to leave, I will. But you have to mean it.” A tear slid down my cheek and I wiped it away quickly, hoping he hadn’t seen.

“I do. I’m a miserable bastard and you should leave.” He still failed to glance to me, his eyes focused on the wall in front of him.

“You aren’t. At least not usually. Please eat.” I stood and straightened the designer shorts I had worn to show off my legs, which I knew he enjoyed. But he hadn’t even noticed.

I wanted to kiss his head but I figured it would only upset him so I moved away from him without any contact.

“Call if you need anything. I will come to you no matter the time.”

He didn’t respond. I placed my hand on the doorknob and inhaled, exhaled. There was no way I was going to leave him alone in his present state. What kind of boyfriend would do that? I swallowed my fear, my anxiety and turned back to him.

“Please let me stay. I won’t bother you. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” It was quiet but full of intensity. My mouth quivered and I bit my lip to quell my tears. I was determined to keep it together; Yoongi needed me.

“Whatever,” he responded and his head fell to one side. He looked like some broken doll that had been cast aside.

I opened a package of sushi and placed a piece to his lips. Slowly, he opened his mouth and began to chew. After he’d eaten a few bites, I raised another piece toward him and he turned his face away, grunting. Well, if nothing else, I was experiencing the Yoongi soundscape.

“You eat,” Yoongi murmured after I returned the piece of sushi to the tray.

“I will. Just want to make sure you’re taken care of first.”

He closed his eyes and a pained look crossed his face. Then, he turned his body away from me, curling his legs up to his chest.

“Can I hold you?” I asked softly.

He shook his head. I didn’t move. After a few moments of silence between us, I saw his head give a small, almost imperceptible nod. Slowly, carefully, I slid closer to him and slipped my arms around him. He stiffened but did not resist. And, after a few breaths, I felt him relax against me, almost melt into my embrace. For hours, we stayed intertwined. I didn’t know if he was awake or asleep and we did not speak a word to each other. There were no lights on in the apartment and the darkness settled on us like a blanket, like snow. As much as I wanted to understand why he was suffering, it was enough to know I was helping, even if only in a small way.

I awoke the next morning, Yoongi still in my arms, to a sore neck and several angry texts from my mother. Ah, I had forgotten to tell her I was staying “at Joon’s.” I hoped she hadn’t called him. Carefully disentangling myself from my lover, I typed a response.

Sorry! I fell asleep at Joon’s. I’ll be home soon.

She replied instantly. You’d better be. Your father is irate.

She hadn’t used that word to describe him…maybe ever. My stomach sank. Had he hurt her? I bit my lip and typed the words even though I knew she’d be angry.

Are you ok?

No response. I waited, my heel tapping the floor repeatedly.

Just come home, Hoseok.

I didn’t know what that meant but I suspected the worst. Cursing, I rose and moved to the bathroom to clean up. When I finished freshening myself, Yoongi was in the kitchen making coffee. The scent wafted on the air, and sunlight peeked in through the small part in the curtains. He didn’t look at me as I approached him.

“How are you today?” I asked sheepishly.

“Ok.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No. I just have to get to work. Stay if you want.” Why was he avoiding making eye contact with me? My stomach fluttered with anxiety.

“I want to…but I really have to go. My parents are freaking out a little.”

Then, he glanced up and me, his eyes shining and gave a small, sad smile. “Ok. See you later.”

“Yeah.”

We stood, awkwardly looking at each other, the five feet between us feeling like miles. I wanted to cross the distance and take him in my arms, to hold him and kiss him, and promise him everything was going to be ok. Instead, I smiled and turned away, heading for the door.

***

I meandered on my way home, taking extra side streets and avoiding the main route, scared to go back and scared not to. My father hadn’t raised his hands against me in years and I had almost managed to bury the memories of cowering at his feet as he mutely struck. It was always in silence. The words came before or after, even and cruel and sharp. I shivered and pulled my shoulders up to my ears.

Wishing I could have stayed with Yoongi, I opened the door to my house. My mother was sitting in her armchair sewing. She had a bandage wrapped around her head. I gasped and ran toward her, falling to my knees beside her.

“You’re finally home,” she said in a monotone.

I placed my head on her knee and cried. “Mama, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. What happened?”

I felt her hand caress my hair. “It was silly. I fell in the kitchen. Lost my balance.” She gingerly touched her head. “I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry. But, Hoseok, promise me you won’t do it again.”

“No, no, I won’t. I promise.”

As I cried into her skirt, she continued to stroke my hair, like she’d done when I was a boy, when we had both had only each other.

We ate dinner together that evening, my father unusually cheerful, chatting with my mother about her garden and the delicious meal she’d cooked.

“Hoseok helped,” my mother complimented, glancing over at me and smiling despite the pain she must have been feeling.

I nodded.

“Of course he did,” my father said dismissively as he lifted a piece of meat to his mouth.

I wanted to hit him in that moment; instead, I balled my hands into fists and felt my nails cut into my palms.

“I am going to meet a girl,” I blurted. “Someone Mama is introducing me to.”

My mother looked shocked for a moment then her expression shifted to one of joy. “Yes! Hoseok is meeting Kim Aera…tomorrow is it?”

Glancing to her, I smiled. “Yes, tomorrow.”

“Ah,” my father spoke after a moment. “Good.” His eyes never left his meal but the subtext behind the word revealed his thoughts.

After we ate, I helped my mother clear the table and wash the dishes. My father sat in the living room reading. Aside from the sound of the running water and the turning of the pages, we were silent. As my mother handed me the final plate to dry, she gave me a long look—I could see the fear, the sadness, and also the gratitude and love. I smiled, close-lipped, and leaned in to kiss her forehead. If pretending would fix the situation then I would give them a grand show.

Chapter Text

Resting on my bed later that evening, I fiddled with my phone, my leg tap-tapping against my footboard. I didn’t care to stop it; it was helping me think, helping me resist the urge to text Yoongi. I wanted to tell him but I didn’t want to bother him. Whatever funk he’d been in yesterday could still be lingering and, if that were the case, he certainly didn’t need anything else weighing on him.

Before I let myself think too deeply about it, I began to type.

Hi! It’s Jung Hoseok. I just wanted to say I am looking forward to meeting you tomorrow. Hope you have a good night.

Hoseok, hi. Yes, me too. See you then! ~A. 😊

My mother had given me Aera’s contact information in preparation for our “date.” Of course, our families had arranged everything—I was surprised at how quickly it had all happened—and we hadn’t yet had the opportunity to talk. I’d met Kim Aera at one of my dance competitions a year or two prior but I barely remembered her. After the brief exchange, my mother had informed me that Aera’s father thought we might be a good match and suggested the families have dinner sometime soon. But, every time my mother mentioned a possible gathering, I had concocted some excuse or told her I was too busy. So, it had never occurred and I assumed the Kim family had given up on me. Apparently, Aera was still in search of a husband and I was still on the “desirable” list. Lucky me.

***

The next day, as I was sifting through my closet trying to find something to wear to the impending meeting with my future wife, I received a text from Yoongi.

Hey. Sorry about the other day. I get weird sometimes. Can I see you tonight?

My stomach sank. Of course. I should have guessed he would ask to see me this evening. I was terrible at lying, I knew. Twenty different excuses flashed in my mind and they all seemed lame or unbelievable.

Tell him the truth, Hobi. Tell him you can’t see him anymore, my mind suggested.

And, for a moment, I imagined the two of us parting, awkwardly shaking hands, he nodding with a small, sad smile like the one he’d given me the night we’d met. What if this man was the love of my life and I was letting him go to please my parents? But, if I didn’t, what would my father do? He was too cowardly now to confront me, so he had to work like some vermin, or snake, slithering his way between my mother and I, surprising us with his poison when we weren’t expecting it. I felt the anger and helplessness rise in my belly. What could I do? If I tried to discuss the situation with him, I would be disrespecting both him and my mother. But if I did nothing, what kind of son was I? Either way, I would lose and perhaps cause a rift between us that was unmendable.

And, what was I to do about Yoongi? I was certain I loved him and wanted to be with him but I also knew making that choice would be damaging to so many people in my life, including Yoongi. I wanted to protect him, to keep from harming him more than I already had, yet every option seemed as if it would do the opposite.

Fighting tears and the urge to break something, I allowed my body to sink onto my closet floor, my clothes brushing me as I descended. Maybe if I stayed here, hidden, everything would solve itself without my assistance. I figured I could last at least four days without food and maybe I could sneak to the kitchen to stock up on water…

Somewhere between formulating my grand plan to hide in my closet for as long as I could and vacillating between breaking up with or running away with Yoongi, I dressed myself in a gray and white striped suit jacket, a white collarless shirt, and gray pants. I looked like a young man trying to impress; but, I felt like an imposter. There were a plethora of roles I was being asked to play and I wasn’t sure of the lines for any of them.

Guess you’d better get good at improv, Hoseok, I told myself as I combed my hair and dabbed on my favorite Jo Malone scent.

As I trudged down the stairs, I could see my mother waiting for me near the door. Smiling, she held a small bouquet of flowers in her hand.

“You look so handsome,” she gushed as I approached her.

“Thank you. I did the best I could.”

She held out the flowers and kissed my cheek. “Just be yourself.”

I nodded and clasped the bouquet in my shaking hands. A moment later, my father rose from his easy chair and walked over to me. Actually looking me in the eyes, he extended his hand. Trying to mask my surprise, I slid my fingers into his.

“Do well tonight.” The words were quiet but firm. As soon as he finished the sentence, he released my hand and turned back toward the living room.

I felt my mother’s gentle touch on my shoulder and I turned to her, still shocked at my father’s acknowledgement. My mother’s eyes shined and, in that moment, my decision seemed like the best one I could have made given the circumstances.

My palms sweating, I waited by the passenger door as Aera approached my car. She was wearing a flower print skirt that fell to a few inches above her knees with a white, ruffled blouse and a light sweater. The look suited her small frame and her roundish face.

“Hello, Hoseok,” she greeted, giving me a slight bow, her brown hair falling forward into her eyes. 

“Uh, hi, Aera.” I returned the bow and opened the door for her.

She giggled, brushed back her hair, and voiced a “thank you” as she slid into the seat. After returning to the driver’s side of the car, I sat, fastened my seat belt and looked over at Aera. We shared an awkward grin and I put my hands on the wheel.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

“Mm. I can’t wait to try the restaurant. I’ve never been but I’ve heard good things.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” I responded, a pit growing in my stomach as I pulled into the street.

When Aera and I walked in the door, Paengi greeted us enthusiastically. “Ah, Yoongi’s pretty friend with another pretty friend!”

“Hi, Paengi-nim!” As I moved toward the plump woman, she scooped me into a hug. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Tell Yoongi to visit. I haven’t seen him lately.”

My cheeks burned and I glanced over at Aera. “I will, I promise.”

“Sit, sit. I’ll bring you tea and menus.”

Aera and I sheepishly moved toward the dining area and she slid into the exact table where Yoongi and I had shared our first date together. I hesitated then sat across from her. It seemed wrong to have taken her to this place—the place that belonged to Yoongi and I—but I felt a kind of comfort in being here, as if a part of him were here with me.

Selfish, my mind scolded. And I did not argue.

“So, you are famous here, eh?” Aera said with a small laugh.

My cheeks burned. “No, no. A…friend introduced me to it and he is well-liked here so…” I trailed off, fidgeting with my shirt cuff.

“What should I order?”

As if on cue, Paengi returned with menus and a pot of tea. “Everything is delicious! You won’t be disappointed,” the woman commented with a wink. “Take your time and call me whenever you’re ready to order.” She patted my shoulder then bounded away from us toward the kitchen. As usual, there was only one other table occupied so we were virtually alone in the room.

“Well, she isn’t wrong. Everything is so good. Do you like spicy food?"

Aera nodded, one hand lightly holding the menu, the other resting against the side of her face. She seemed as if she were posing for a photograph and I stared at her, blinking, imagining someone snapping a shot. After a moment, she looked up at me and our gazes met. I felt my cheeks flush, and I smiled and looked away.

“You’re very cute,” Aera commented quietly. As I glanced back to her, she was focused on me.

“Oh, um, thank you. You’re really pretty. And I love your style.”

She laughed. “My style? I’m glad. It’ll be good when we start wearing couple’s outfits.”

Nearly choking on my spit, I coughed and reached for the tea. I took a sip, scalded my mouth, and swallowed hard, resisting the urge to spit the fiery liquid all over the table.

“Are you ok?” Aera reached across the table and her fingertips grazed my hand.

“Ah, I’m fine. It was just…hotter than I expected.” I was sweating in all my layers and I desperately wanted some water or something cold to combat the heat.

“Your face is red,” she giggled.

“Sorry! I—I’ll be right back.” I excused myself and headed toward the toilet. Once inside, I splashed water over my face. What was I doing? Aside from clearly failing to impress the woman who was becoming less and less likely of being my future spouse.

“Come on, Hobi,” I whispered as I eyed myself in the mirror. I took a deep breath, straightened my jacket, and headed back to the table.

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok, Hoseok. I was worried you burned your mouth.” She smiled at me and sipped her tea.

“So, uh, what are you ordering?” I asked, my leg shaking under the table. No way was I breaking the habit tonight.

“I think…curry? Do you want to share?”

“Sure. Should I order Jjajangmyeon? Kimchi stew?”

“Oh, I want to try the Jjajangmyeon!” Aera said clapping her hands together.

“Ok, sounds good! Yeah!” I tried to match her excitement.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked, eyeing me.

“Oh, uh, why? Do I look like I need one?” I teased.

She giggled. “Well, a bit…”

“Would you like a drink?”

She nodded. “Soju?”

“Ok.” I wanted to tell her I wasn’t the most experienced drinker but I had the feeling I should keep quiet. After all, I was trying to impress her.

After a few glasses of soju, I started to feel more comfortable and Aera seemed to unwind as well. Her posture relaxed and her smile felt easier, more genuine. As the food arrived, Aera glanced at me and grinned.

“I’m having a really good time, Hoseok,” she cooed.

My face burned and I could feel the soju going to my head. “Yeah, me too.” It wasn’t a lie. Aera was fun and cute and smart. I just couldn’t reciprocate her feelings.

We shared our dishes and laughed at our parents’ involvement in our meeting—it seemed so old-fashioned compared to all our friends who were using dating apps or hooking up through mutual friends. I thought of how Yoongi and I had met and felt thankful I knew such amazing, artistic people.

“You know, my best friends are musicians,” I blurted.

“Really? That’s so cool. I’d love to meet them.”

I was instantly sorry I’d told her and shoved a piece of carrot into my mouth to avoid responding.

“Uh, hi.”

The sound of the deep voice made me choke on the piece of food I was chewing and I coughed, spitting the masticated vegetable into my napkin.

“Yoongi!” I blurted, turning my body toward the sound.

I wasn’t fantasizing this time. He stood behind me, hands in his pockets, hair falling into his eyes, which betrayed nothing. Rising from my chair, I resisted the urge to take him in my arms. Instead, I shifted from foot to foot, smiling too widely, staring at him, unable to speak.

“I came to get takeout. Usually, I have it delivered but I haven’t left the house today so I figured I should get some air.”

I nodded, my face still locked in a grin.

“Hello, I’m Kim Aera, Hoseok’s date.” Aera slid out from behind the table and held out her hand toward my lover.

What kind of nightmare hell had I entered? As their hands clasped, they seemed to move in slow motion, the theme music playing in my head a dissonant perversion of Yoongi’s sonata. Not one thing about this moment felt right. It was as if the string holding my life together had snapped and I was falling, falling into a deep, bottomless pit.

“Date, huh? Good. Well, have fun.” He spoke the words so easily, as if the knowledge meant nothing to him. In one swift motion, he turned away from us, picked up his order from the young woman behind the counter, and moved toward the door.

“Yoongi, wait!” I called, reaching to catch his arm.

He paused, his back to me. I was holding the sleeve of his jacket so tightly my fingers shook with the effort.

“I’ll talk to you later, Hoseok. I’ll be working late so…” And he gently pulled my hand open—which I didn’t resist—released it and exited through the door.

I watched his form until he turned the corner and then stared at the bricks of the building behind which he’d disappeared. Maybe if I willed it hard enough, he would return…

“Hoseok?” Aera lightly touched my shoulder and I flinched. What had I done? I hadn’t meant to hurt anyone…but it seemed to be all I could manage to do. Every move I made caused pain to someone and I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t figure out a way to fix the problems. I only wanted to help people, to bring beauty and joy through my art and my interactions; somehow I kept doing the opposite.

“I’m ok…” I murmured with a forced smile.

“Was that one of your artist friends?”

“Yes…”

“He seems nice. Odd, but nice.” She laughed shyly.

“Do you mind if we go now? I’m a bit tired…”

“Oh, of course not! I’m sorry. You were probably practicing all day.”

I nodded and moved to the counter to pay the bill. My mind felt hazy, as if I were in a kind of dream state. Maybe I would wake up in my bed and realize none of the events of the past ten hours had occurred. I could cancel the date and spend the evening with Yoongi and all would be well.

Fucked that up, didn’t you, Hobi?, my mind cajoled. Biting my lip to quell my response, I smacked my palm on the counter. The young woman helping me started and her eyes flashed to me.

“Oh, sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t realize how hard that was…”

“It’s ok,” she said, with an unconvincing smile.

Ignoring my stinging hand, I placed my credit card back into my bag and walked toward Aera. “Ready to go?” I asked as cheerfully as I could.

“Sure.”

I held open the door for her and quickly headed toward my car, my thoughts on how I would smooth over the situation with Yoongi. He hadn’t seemed all that upset—maybe he understood? He knew me better than most people, aside from my closest friends and my mother, perhaps he had seen the façade as he’d spotted Aera and I together… After all, he had implied he’d wanted to see me.

“You’re so quiet. Are you ok?” Aera asked.

“Hm? Ah, yeah. Just…sleepy.”

“I’m used to seeing you energetic. It’s different. But not bad.” Her hand brushed mine as it rested on the gear shift. I glanced down quickly but did not acknowledge her touch.

“Yes. Sorry.” I did mean the sentiment although I was distracted with thoughts of Yoongi and how much I wanted to be at his place so I could sort out this mess I’d started.

Trying my best to drive carefully despite my swirling thoughts, I arrived at Aera’s house and stopped the car. Moving as fast as I could without seeming like I was in a hurry, I opened her door and helped her from the vehicle. She held onto my hand as we stood facing one another.

“I hope I’ll see you again soon,” she said, her eyes wide as she looked up at me.

“O-of course,” I stammered.

“Good. Talk to you later then.” Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed my cheek, smiled, and headed toward the front door. I waited until she was inside, waved, and ran toward the driver’s side of the car.

Chapter Text

Once at Yoongi’s house—I’d driven more recklessly than I ever had in my life, shaving off a few minutes from the trip—I hurriedly parked and ran to his door. I was breathless as I knocked, my heart thudding in my chest. I felt as if I would vomit up my dinner at any moment.

The door opened and Yoongi wordlessly moved aside to allow me entrance. As I stepped into his apartment, I began rambling.

“I don’t know what I was thinking taking her there. It reminded me of you and you make me feel safe and I’m sorry I lied to you. It’s been a stressful few days and my mother suggested I see this girl—”

“It’s ok, Hoseok.” Finally, Yoongi looked at me.

“What?”

“It’s ok. I get it.”

“But…I don’t even understand…”

“Yeah, you do. Or maybe you haven’t figured it out yet but some part of you knows.”

“Kn-knows what?”

He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “We can’t keep…doing whatever it is we’re doing.”

“…Why?”

He gave a small laugh. “So many reasons. This country, our parents, our friends…me.”

“You don’t…want to be with me?”

“Oh, you sweet boy.” He touched the side of my face and his mouth upturned into the saddest smile I’d ever seen. “There’s just too much against us.” There was a long moment of stillness, his hand on my cheek, and I felt the tears well in my eyes. Were we breaking up? I had barely had the chance to feel love, to understand what it meant to be with someone who made me happy.

He ended the silence, allowing his arm to drop to his side. “Your girl seems nice. You shouldn’t throw that away.”

“B-but…”

“Shh, Hobi. It’s ok. Really. I knew it would happen. It always does.”

“It doesn’t…have to…”

He nodded and wiped the tears from my cheek. “This is best for both of us. I mean it. You deserve a normal life and I need to focus on my career.”

Weeping, I nodded although I wasn’t sure of the truth of his statement.

“We were pretty great, though, weren’t we?” He smiled again and I half-laughed, half-sobbed. He wrapped me in his arms and I cried onto his shoulder. After a few long moments, I quieted.

“Can we move to the couch? I feel like my legs are going to fall off.”

Through my tears, a chuckle escaped my lips. I nodded and we collapsed onto the sofa, not touching but so close I could feel the heat from his body. His body—that I still desired, still wanted to kiss and hold and touch. How would we be friends? Would I even see him again after this evening?

I glanced over at him. His eyes were closed and his head rested on the back of the couch, his lips slightly parted. I watched him until his breathing evened and I was certain he was asleep. Rising slowly, carefully, I kissed his forehead and left his apartment, my mind still trying to process what had occurred between us.

***

“Well, how’d it go?” my mother gushed as soon as I walked in the door.

“I don’t know. Ok, I guess.” I was still in a daze from my conversation with Yoongi and the repercussions of it. I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it. I didn’t want a life without him in it. I felt the emotion tickle the back of my throat and I knew I needed to escape to my room before I broke down in front of my mother.

“Do you like her?” she asked with a sly grin.

“Mm-hm. We’re going to see each other again.” I should have stayed with him…

“That’s wonderful, sweetie. I am so proud of you.”

Her words sent a shiver of anger through me and I bit my lip to stop myself from asking her what she meant. Proud because I was denying my true self? Proud because I was going against my heart to please my father? Proud because I was playing at being a good, straight son like society dictated?

Instead, I quietly replied, “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good night.”

“See you in the morning.” She motioned for me to kiss her and I obeyed, pecking her cheek before I headed up the stairs.

After cleaning up and changing for bed, I curled up beneath my covers and allowed myself to release the emotions I’d been suppressing. Hours passed, during which I cried so hard my eyes hurt and my head ached; I fell asleep some time before daybreak.

***

The next morning, I rose early, dressed, and rode my bicycle to the studio. By the time I arrived, my bottom was sore from the trip—I hadn’t ridden in months—but I felt refreshed. I instantly thought of texting Yoongi to wish him a good morning but I stopped myself. Instead, I contacted Joon.

Hi. How are you? Done with Ji or still in the studio? Hope it’s going well…

I wanted to tell him about what had happened with Aera and Yoongi and my parents, but it seemed easier to try to focus on him. My life felt like a Gordian knot and I was exhausted from picking at the threads, trying to somehow unravel it.

Wassup! We’re editing and mixing now but it’s going well. There’s a small party tonight at Ji’s. You should come. Bring your friend.

My friend. I didn’t respond, couldn’t will myself to type the words. I set my phone gently on the floor, stood, turned up the music, and started to move my body to the rhythm. This process, this relenting to motion would allow me to ignore my pain. At least for a little while.

After warming up and two hours of rehearsing, I felt more steady, my mind less hazy. My body was mine again and I could do with it as I pleased. I didn’t need anyone aside from myself. Not Yoongi or Aera or my father. If I were to leave Seoul right now, I would regret nothing.

You’re such a liar, my mind taunted. And you’re weak, soft.

“Am I?” I responded aloud, staring at my sweaty frame in the full-length mirrors. I was going to that party tonight and I was going to prove how strong I could be.

After eating a small meal, showering, and changing into tight-fitting jeans, a designer sweater, black Cuban-heel boots, and donning a colorful mini-bag, I texted Joon.

I’ll be there tonight. What time?

Really? That’s great. 10pm-ish.

Is Jimin going too?

I don’t think so. Why?

Just curious. Doesn’t matter. See you soon!

I didn’t want to have to babysit my younger friend and I knew if he were attending, I would have to keep tabs on him. He wasn’t my responsibility. No one was save myself. And if I wanted to relent control, that was my prerogative. I didn’t have anything to protect, no one who was waiting for me. No one except Aera and she seemed plenty capable of amusing herself. Maybe I should invite her to the party…  No, I wasn’t ready for that clash of worlds and I’m certain she wasn’t either, knowing Ji and his friends.

I cleaned my room and listened to a mix of my favorite feel-good songs while I waited for the time to pass. Singing the lyrics and moving my body the way it wanted, I tried to keep my mind clear. I didn’t want to dwell on the negative, so I focused on dispelling the doubts or fears or sadness that crept into my thoughts. If I allowed myself, I knew I could be sexy and cool, someone more like Ji and less like the cowardly side of Hoseok.

At 9:30pm, I left the house without saying goodbye to my parents. They were busy watching some news show and hadn’t even noticed me leaving through the kitchen door. If they texted, I planned to ignore them.

But will you, really? my inner voice asked. I was getting tired of him. Maybe if I drank enough, he would leave me alone. With a grin, I stepped on the gas pedal and the car sped toward Itaewon.

Chapter Text

As I entered Ji’s apartment, after waiting in my car for 20 minutes to ensure I hadn’t arrived exactly at 10pm, I glanced about me at the gathered guests. People seemed to be noticing me, smiling as I made eye contact, some scanning my body as I passed. I felt confident, unselfconscious—it was a new feeling for me.

I spied Joon in the kitchen near Ji and two other people about my age I recognized but hadn’t met. With a smile I hoped would impress, I approached the group.

“Hi, Joonie,” I greeted and hugged my friend.

“Hey, Hobi. You look great!” Joon complimented.

“Thanks, you too. So stunning!”

My friend smiled, his dimples prominently displayed. Ji grinned as well as he looked up at Joon. I saw a subtle twinkle in his eye. Was it true? Were they lovers? Joon didn’t seem to notice Ji’s attention.

“Hi, I’m Jin. The most handsome guy in the room.” The tall man to Ji’s right held out his hand to me. I smiled and shook it.

“Hello, I’m Jung Hoseok. Nice to…” I stopped mid-sentence as I recognized the actor whose hand was in mine. Way to impress, Hobi.

The man grinned and nodded. “Ah, don’t worry. It happens all the time.” He gave me a wink and I felt my cheeks burn.

As he released my hand, the young woman beside him stepped toward me. “I love your sweater. I’m Jisoo, by the way.”

“Hello.” I tried to regain my confidence as I shook her hand and bowed my head. If I wasn’t mistaken, she was the leader of a girl group who was currently gaining popularity. I was surprised to see her cozying up to Jin, especially considering the restrictions I knew most female artists faced. She seemed relaxed, though, confident even.

“Are you a musician? A model?” she asked.

“Oh, a dancer. But I’m not well-known or anything…” I immediately regretted the statement and could feel the sweat break out on my forehead; I hoped my bangs concealed the gaffe.

“We all pretend to be more popular than we are. Except for maybe Ji,” Jin joked.

Ji tilted his head coquettishly and grinned. He seemingly always knew the coolest move to make to appear both humble and poised. If I wasn’t so in awe of him, I would be insanely jealous.

“Let me get you a drink,” Ji cooed and he moved—glided—toward the bar area. I watched him walk, trying to unravel the movement of his hips, the heel-toe steps that betrayed his dancer background.

“No friend?” Joon whispered in my ear, startling me.

“Um…no.” I avoided his gaze.

“Everything ok?”

“Look, Joonie, I don’t want to talk about it. Can we just have fun tonight?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Yeah, sure. Of course.”

Ji returned with a glass and handed it to me. “Tonight’s special. Don’t ask what’s in it.”

“Thank you,” I replied and clinked my glass with Joon’s, who still had a concerned expression on his face. I tipped back my head and took a large draught of the liquid. It tasted of fruit and vanilla and went down far too easily. Ji watched me as I swallowed.

“Good?” he asked.

“Delicious!”

He gave a satisfied grin and sipped his own drink. Maybe I would inquire with him about how he balanced everything—his work, popularity, mental health, private life. I could barely keep pace with my responsibilities and I imagined they were nothing compared to the pressure he must have felt.

Trying not to make myself look any more of a fool than I already had, I listened as the group discussed music and art and fashion. For the most part, I could follow the conversation, though I knew I wasn’t nearly as versed on the topics as they were. On occasion, I would interject with a song or a designer I appreciated; but, for the most part, I stayed quiet and drank.

Sometime during my third cocktail, the music switched to a Troye Sivan tune and I knew I needed to dance. Excusing myself from the conversation and moving toward the living room where some people chatted and some swayed to the song, I found a space near the balcony doors that provided me room to groove. I didn’t care who was watching—I let loose with my hips and shoulders, spilling a bit of my drink on the wood floor. As I looked down at the small puddle I’d made, I giggled. I knew I should wipe it up but something in me relented against the voice that urged me to keep things orderly, clean, pure. Tonight, I wasn’t the pristine Hoseok. I was a boy who wasn’t afraid to dance in front of people who were clearly out of my league; a boy who wanted to stand out rather than blend in.

As I swayed, I glanced through the window toward the balcony. For a moment, I imagined Yoongi outside, leaning against the railing, his hair blowing in the slight breeze. I blinked and the image was gone, replaced by a tall woman laughing, holding a glass in her manicured hand. As I felt the emotion tickle my throat, I tipped my head back and downed my drink.

Before I knew it, a being danced up to me, wrapping a hand around my waist and grinding against me. Despite my shock, the touch felt warm, comforting even. I laughed and continued to move, pushing my bottom into their body. Hands groped me and I felt hot breath on my ear, my neck. Soft hair brushed my face and I turned to look at my companion.

“You’re a great dancer,” a soft voice spoke.

“Thanks, you are too!” I slurred.

After another moment, the being spun me to face them and I saw a dark bob and pretty brown eyes outlined in purple shadow. Their body was slim but strong and we stood eye to eye. As I tried to study their features through my haze, they placed their hands on my hips and pulled me closer. Their lips pressed to mine—soft and hard—and I did not resist. I closed my eyes. Then, I felt them pull away, felt their heat dissolve. Opening my eyes, I scanned the room and saw no one who looked like my partner. Had I imagined them?

Placing my palm to my head, I tried to steady myself. The room was spinning so badly I thought I would lose my footing. I needed to find a place to rest, to quell the dizziness. Stumbling past the dancers around me, I moved toward the nearest door. If I could just sleep I knew I’d feel better, clearer.

Closing the door behind me, blocking out the light and muting the music, I flopped down onto my stomach on the bed or couch or whatever was in front of me. The vertigo I was feeling was making me nauseous and I just wanted it to stop. Why had I drunk those cocktails so quickly? And without knowing what ingredients were in them? Inhaling and exhaling slowly to quell my desire to vomit, I managed to settle my stomach. And my mind drifted to dancing, to the choreography I so wanted to perfect but couldn’t manage…

I felt a tickle on my neck and pressure beside me. My eyes fluttered open and I moaned. I still felt as if I were on a carousel. As I tried to get my bearings, I felt warm lips on my shoulder, my jaw. Then a nip on my neck. I squealed and flinched.

“Whu-?”

“Ah, sleeping beauty has awakened. That makes me the prince, in case you were wondering.” A deep voice in my ear; a voice I recognized but couldn’t quite place.

“I…” I stammered.

“Shhh,” he whispered and placed a finger on my lips.

He continued to kiss and bite my skin as his fingers untucked my shirt and caressed my stomach. I made a whining sound and pushed his hand away. I didn’t like when people touched my belly—shouldn’t he know that if he was my prince?

“Cute,” he teased and started to undo my belt. I was dreaming, wasn’t I? If so, this was one strange fantasy…

Before I knew it, my pants were off and I felt the coolness of the air on my body. It felt good on my sweaty skin, hot from the drink and the sleep.

“So delicate,” he said, biting my earlobe. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I met you.”

“…Met me?” I turned my head toward him. His pink hair shone in the dim light and I could see his Cheshire cat grin. It was Ji’s friend—what was his name? Why was I dreaming about him?

He leaned in and kissed me, his mouth warm and soft on my skin. His tongue pushed past my lips and I relented, enjoying the depth of the kiss. It was so strong, so confident, so full of passion. My mind cleared a bit in that moment. There was no mistaking the realness of him or of his desire for me. Tentatively, I wrapped my hands around his neck and wiggled my body to face his. He released a sound of pleasure and gripped my hips, pulling me closer. I felt his urgency against me and, although it frightened me, it also excited me.

He lowered the waistband of my boxers to expose my abdomen. His hands kneaded my skin, his fingers pressing my hipbones. I sighed into him.

“I knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed,” he commented between kisses.

“Oh?” I pulled away and looked at him incredulously, my lips parted.

He grinned and slid his finger into my mouth. He tasted like sandalwood and gin. I sucked on his skin, trying my best to impress him. After a moment, he pulled out his finger and pushed me onto my stomach.

“What—?” I asked but he shushed me.

I felt him pull my boxers down to my ankles and my body tightened. My cheeks burning, I hid my face in the nearest pillow.

“Relax,” he said and glided his fingers down my spine to my lower back. He spread my legs and moved his hand to my bottom.

“Your ass is beautiful,” he cooed.

I just squealed into the pillow. And then I felt pressure and a shock of pain. A kind of internal pain I had never felt before and didn’t know how to combat. My head swam as I released a whine and he laughed.

“Relax, boy. You’re like a vise.”

Moving my hand to my lips, I covered my mouth to mute my moans. I knew I was too loud but I couldn’t stop myself. I heard him spit and felt a wetness where his finger was plying me. Squirming beneath his touch, my hips writhed. I didn’t know if I was trying to get away from him or trying to get him deeper inside me.

“Fuck, you feel incredible. Want more?”

I whimpered and shook my head.

“No?” He stopped moving his hand.

“Y-yes…” I moaned quietly.

“I thought so.” He began moving again, this time pushing a bit deeper. After I adjusted to this new stimulation, he spat again and carefully slipped another finger inside me.

“Ah, too—too much…” I cried out.

“Relax, you’ll get used to it soon,” he ordered.

I nodded, tears welling in my eyes. I felt like I was being pulled apart from the inside. But, I liked it, wanted more…wanted Yoongi to be the one with me. I closed my eyes and pictured him behind me, smiling, his blonde hair falling into his shining eyes that looked at me with both love and desire.

I felt my companion shift his body on top of mine, his hardness pressed against me. I reached back to touch him. He was so warm and thick in my hand. But, after a few strokes, he gripped my wrist and pulled my hand away, pinning my arm to the bed.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he growled in my ear. I felt my own hardness twitch and my body start to open to him.

He pressed himself against me and I panicked.

“No!” I cried.

“Are you kidding?” He stopped but didn’t move.

“I-I can’t…”

“What, you want more lube?”

“No, it—it isn’t that. I…have someone…” I explained, twisting my head to try to look at him.

“I don’t care. He won’t find out. Besides, you clearly aren’t fucking him,” he scoffed.

“That’s not…the point! I love…her. And she loves me…” Does he? my mind taunted.

Tension between us as he pressed into me. My fists curled even as my eyes watered. I knew I could be fierce if I needed to be. Then, he sighed and rolled off me. “Fine.”

I quickly turned round and pulled the sheet over my body. “I’m really sorry. I think you’re handsome and sexy and I would probably be interested in any other situation—”

He cut off my babbling. “Whatever. I don’t need your condolences.” He rose, his pants still undone, exposing him. I tried my best to keep my eyes on his face, to not stare at the thing that had almost been inside me a few seconds ago.

“Can I do—?”

“Please, I can get laid whenever I want. There’s a boy next door who can’t resist me so I’ll just go see him.”

Despite my unease, my mind was clear enough to realize he was referring to Ji’s room. Was it possible…? I looked at him, my mouth agape.

He grinned and sauntered toward the door, opened it, and paused, turning to look at me over his shoulder.

“You’re lucky I’m a gentleman. You should be more careful with your treasures. And more honest with yourself.” I sensed a wisdom in him that had perhaps come from less than pleasant experiences. But, before I could ask him any questions, he disappeared into the darkness. A moment later, I heard Ji’s bedroom door open and close and Ji’s muffled voice.

Without delay, I leapt off the bed and closed and locked the door. Then, I pulled on my boxers and slid onto the floor. Dropping my head into my hands, I felt the nausea wash through me again. I wanted Yoongi. I wanted to be in his arms and not in this place where I had almost made a terrible mistake.

Crawling across the floor, I shuffled through my discarded mini-bag and found my phone. Without hesitation, I began to type.

I hit send before I could change my mind, could fuss over the right words. I needed him to know how I felt and if he rejected me, then at least I had been truthful to him…and to myself. My head on the floor, my phone cradled in my hand, I stared at the screen until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer.

I am certain I dreamed of him, though when I woke up, I couldn’t remember what I’d dreamt.

Chapter Text

Interlude: Yoongi

I’d been sitting at my piano, fingers on the keys, staring at the music sheets in front of me for the last few hours. I knew it was late but there was no chance of me falling asleep. Or creating anything, apparently.

With a sigh, I played low E, listening to the echo of the note as it rang and fell. Once the silence returned, I moved to pick up my tumbler atop the piano—nearly empty. After three glasses of whiskey, I wasn’t feeling drunk. I wasn’t feeling anything.

Not since I’d awoken alone. Hoseok hadn’t stayed the night, hadn’t left a note, hadn’t communicated since I’d ended our…what should I call it…courtship? Even though I knew breaking it off was best for him, it still stung that he hadn’t fought harder. I think I’d surprised him. I suppose I’d surprised myself. But after seeing him with that girl, knowing he could possibly be happy with her, it seemed unfair to prevent him from doing so.

I knew I’d never be able to fake it. Either I was too stubborn or too bad at play acting. Maybe I just didn’t care to pretend. I knew who I was and I wasn’t going to apologize for being myself. Hoseok was still making discoveries—that was one of his traits I so appreciated. He brought an innocence, a purity to everything. It was like watching a flower bloom.

Fuck.

No, I didn’t have energy for regrets. I’d made a choice and it was time to move on from it.

Shuffling through the music sheets, I scanned the notes. My fingers pressed the keys, finding the sombre melody. It wasn’t hard to unearth inspiration within myself. Trusting my instincts was the problem. I’d been told I wasn’t good enough for so long, it was a struggle to believe I could be.

Closing my eyes, shoving the doubts from my thoughts, I let my mind wander the musical landscape before me. I could go anywhere. Why was it I only wanted to go where he was?

I pictured him dancing, moving to the rhythm my mind was creating. As I toyed with the notes, he waited, smiling, sweat shining on his sweet face. He wore a flowing white shirt and black, fitted shorts with no shoes. His feet, slender and elegant, gliding across the floor in time with my cadence, as if we were creating together, he urging me on, and me, relying on him. And, despite my usual hesitancy to put faith in anyone save myself, I allowed him inside.

I played until my hands were sore and my body refused to continue. I’d forgotten to eat—again—and my stomach rumbled. With a groan, I rose from the bench and leaned on the side of the instrument. I felt much older than my twenty-five years.

One more drink and then I’d try to sleep, I told myself. I was certain I didn’t mean it.

As I took a step toward the open door, a text flashed on my phone screen. It read:
I miss you. I’m sorry. Please see me again, Yoongi. I love you

Hoseok.

It was late—later than he usually stayed awake. Was he ok? Should I check on him? A wave of anxiety swept through me and I forgot what the hell I was doing. I stood in the middle of the room, squinting, trying to figure out my next move. If I texted him, I was relenting, probably ruining his chances at a stable future. If I didn’t, he might never speak to me again and I knew I did not want to oust him from my life. He’d confessed his love to me—something I was certain he’d never done with anyone else. His vulnerability drew me to him as well as piqued something dark in me, armed me with knowledge I didn’t want—I realized I could destroy him if I wasn’t careful.

Tucking my phone into the pocket of my khakis, I trudged into the living room and poured myself another drink. It was the best choice I could think to make, considering the circumstances. And, though I suspected the decision was hurting us both, at least it was a dull ache rather than a killing blow.

The next morning, I awoke on the sofa with a dry mouth and a slight headache. Nothing I hadn’t dealt with before. I shielded my eyes against the sunlight beaming in through the curtains I’d forgotten to close. Sipping from my water glass, I looked at my phone. No new messages. Had he given up on me? As much as my body ached for him, I hoped he had. It would save us both a lot of suffering.

I sat up and stared toward the fabric blowing in the slight breeze from the open window. My eyes stung, began to water from the sun’s rays. I closed my eyes, a tear escaping down my cheek, and his smile, his impossibly pretty face flashed in my mind.

Who was I kidding? I thrived on suffering. Agony had allowed me to survive, had afforded me the willpower to become an artist, to consider myself a proud queer Korean man and not back down from any of the challenges I’d faced. My scars were many but so were my wins. And, as much as I doubted myself some days, I was content with my decisions. Aside from one…

This one was causing my stomach to ache and my mind to lose focus. I despised not having control over myself and I certainly was not behind the wheel when it came to my feelings for Hoseok. I loved him like a runaway train, a speed skater racing for the gold medal, a kid on a roller coaster for the first time. Fuck, I wanted to be his first….everything. What if he was screwing another person right now? What if I’d driven him into the arms of some undeserving bastard? I mean, I wasn’t deserving of his love but at least I wouldn’t squander it. Or cause him more harm than good.

I cursed and swallowed a mouthful of water desperately wishing it were whiskey.

I made it another hour before I actually dipped into the liquor bottle. Glass in hand, I returned to my music room and leaned on the doorframe.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I cooed.

His brown frame urged me forward and I sat on him, my ass familiar with the hardness of his form. He felt different today—sensual, seemingly pulsing beneath me as I pressed my fingers to him. My eyes scanned the scrawled notes atop him and I moved with our combined rhythm.

Shit. I could feel my dick twitch as I pressed his pedals, toyed with his buttons. But this passion wasn’t only for my first love, my chestnut baby. It was Hoseok who was under me, his skin I was plying, his moans the song in my ears. Last night he may have been my dancer, but today, he was my lover.

By the time I played the final chord, I was so hard I felt like I would tear a hole in my pants. I needed him. I didn’t care who knew or who saw or who looked past us like we didn’t exist. Closing my eyes, I pictured his lithe body, his perfectly plump ass, his pretty heart-shaped mouth, heard his bright laughter. And I pleasured myself atop my piano bench—something I hadn’t done in years. In that moment, I realized Hoseok’s essence provided me a new passion, inspiration, an energy I thought I’d lost—had maybe never possessed. He was someone exquisite, someone to be treasured. Was I willing to relinquish him to a life of hetero-normalcy and innocuous living? If I didn’t merit that tragic fate, he certainly didn’t. At least he should be given the choice to have something more.

Drunk on pheromones and intoxicants, I pressed his number and waited.

His voice sounded thick with emotion as he spoke. “Yoongi, I’m so sorry…” The final word caught in his throat.

I said nothing as I set my phone down upon the frame I knew as intimately as my own and I began to play.  

***(End Interlude 3)

Chapter Text

He didn’t speak and I felt my heart thudding in my chest. Had he called to berate me? To tell me to go to hell? The silence felt like hours and I was certain I wasn’t breathing as I waited for his voice.

Instead, the sweetest notes I’d ever heard began to play and the breath I’d been holding escaped my lips in a long sigh. The melody swirled and ebbed and I unconsciously moved to the rhythm. Closing my eyes, I tuned out all other sounds, all other distractions. It was only the two of us and this beautiful, haunting music. I felt tears forming under my closed eyelids. My throat tight with emotion, I covered my mouth to silence my sobbing. I didn’t want to ruin the composition with my dissonance. As I cried, the piece rose and broke and cascaded, concluding with a gentle Major chord that faded into silence. I tried to quiet myself, wiping my nose on my hand.

“Babe, I love you too.”

Deep and dark and full of passion. Like his song, like the aspects of himself he tried to hide. I released a half-laugh, half-sob and pressed the phone to my chest, wishing it were him.

“Oh, Yoongs…” I tried to speak more words but they caught in my throat.

“If you don’t come over here, I will run to your house and throw you over my shoulder. Right in front of your damn father.”

I laughed and felt my face burning. My stomach flipped and I realized I wanted him to follow through so badly it hurt. No conversation, no arguments, just my lover carrying me past my parents, out the door.

“You, run?” I teased.

“Ok, walk very quickly.”

“I’m already on my way,” I whispered and hung up.

I leapt to my feet, jumped into the air three times, screaming without sound, and tossed my phone onto the bed. What was I going to wear? Should I shower again? Ah, I just wanted to be with him already!

After pulling several clothing items from their hangers, examining then vetoing them, I settled on a loose white, chiffon shirt, a pair of tight-fitting jeans, and low-top white sneakers. I sprayed on some Jo Malone and threw my bag over my shoulder. Should I bring anything? I didn’t know what to expect… I stopped, breathed, grounded myself. No, I would dismiss expectation, instead allowing my body to act as it wished, whether that be to hold him tightly for hours or to kiss him until my lips chapped. With a sigh, I turned off the lights and bounded down the stairs.

“Where are you going?” my mother’s voice stopped me as I placed my fingers to the door handle. I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. I could continue lying to her, tell her I was hanging out with Jimin or Namjoon, and though she would undoubtedly request me to “not stay out too late,” that would be the end of the inquiry.

“Hoseok?” She moved into the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, rubbing her hands on her apron.

“I…am going to see Yoongi.” His name in my mouth, directed at her. What was I doing?

“Who’s Yoongi?” She spoke it as if he were distasteful to her, as if he were a flavor for which she did not care. The pang of guilt turned to anger.

“A boy…man. A…friend.” And the anger faded to shame. Hoseok, you coward.

She gazed at me for a long moment. “Well, do not stay out too late.” And she returned to her cooking.

My fingers squeezing the brass, I cursed myself under my breath. I had been so close to coming clean, so close to revealing my feelings for this amazing being in my life.

“Mama!” I called before I could berate myself any further.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I think I am in love. And I can’t talk about it right now but I needed to tell you because you deserve to know. Please don’t tell Father yet. Be home later or tomorrow. And don’t worry!”

Without waiting for her response, I opened the door and stepped out into the cooling air. It smelled of impending rain and freshly cut grass. It smelled of warm breath after a shot of whiskey. It smelled of smoke and earth. I pushed my hands into my pockets, smiled, and hurried toward the subway.

As I approached Yoongi’s apartment building, a text flashed across my screen. Though my brain told me to ignore it, the guilt eating away at me won the battle.

Hoesok, I love you no matter what. Please be careful. We will talk when you are home. Love, Mama

My eyes began to tear and I leaned against the structure to calm myself. She knows. She must. I pressed my hand to my lips and closed my eyes.

The sound of the door opening startled me and I flinched. Yoongi’s gummy grin in front of me and his arms enclosing me. I hugged him so tightly I felt his muscles flexing against my body.

“Why are you sad, baby?” His lips tickled my earlobe as he spoke.

“Not all sad. Happy too. I love you so much.”

“Me too. Come on, let’s go inside.”

He pulled away and I nodded, biting my lip. With a half-grin, he swiped his finger across my cheek, wiping my tears, and slung me over his shoulder.

“Yoongi,” I screamed, pretending to fight him. He laughed and moved up the stairs, despite my playful protestation.

Once inside his apartment, he set me down and we stared into each other’s eyes, his hand on my cheek.

“You’re too pretty for this world,” he murmured.

I felt my face flush and I looked down. “No…”

He gently tilted my face back up, his fingers under my chin.

“I’m older so I know more than you. Honest truth.” He chuckled and I grinned shyly.

“So much more,” I replied, widening my eyes and toying with his thick fingers.

“You are…”

“What?”

“A sweet, beautiful boy.”

He leaned toward me and his lips grazed mine. We stood, our bodies barely touching, our mouths suspended, unmoving. After a long moment of feeling his breath on my skin, I relented and pressed my lips to his. His arms enfolded me, one around my hips, the other around my lower back. I felt his heat as he crushed me to him, smelled his natural scents of wood and smoke. I felt his fire, the one that had drawn me to him weeks ago at the event I hadn’t wanted to attend, had been so close to declining. But, in that instant, I knew we were meant to be together. Nothing—save our own foolishness—would keep us apart. I was meant for this man and he, for me.

We kissed standing just inside his front door until our legs were too wobbly to hold us.

“Bedroom?” he asked, his eyes wider than I’d ever seen them.

I gave a small, shy nod.

He slipped his hand in mine and led me down the dark hallway. I watched the back of his blonde hair—black roots peeking through—and I imagined getting lost in the tangles of him. The myriad layers of Yoongi. Once inside the room, he turned on the light, glanced to me, and pulled off his shirt. I stood, watching him, shivering from the anticipation and my nerves. He smiled, moved to me, and held me. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to kiss him so hard it hurt us both.

“It’s ok, Hobi love.”

I let out a small laugh, which was thick with tears, and pecked his neck. We moved together, kissing, my hands exploring his bare shoulders, chest, stomach. He had grown thinner since I’d last seen him, probably neglecting to feed himself properly in my absence. I would have to change that…tomorrow.

Chapter Text

I nibbled on his ear and he moaned.

“Can I undress you?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded and stepped back, allowing him access to my clothing. He gazed at me for a long moment, a look of surprise—it seemed—then desire in his eyes. As he placed his hands to my waist, I lifted my arms and he pulled my shirt over my head. He rested one hand on my chest and pulled me closer, his skin hot against mine.

“You are a fucking work of art,” he whispered, his mouth on my collarbone.

“Stop it,” I sighed.

“I won’t.”

“You embarrass me.”

“Good. You should know how much I adore you and how amazing you are, Hoseok.”

“I am only as amazing as you make me.”

“Well, you just wait then because I am going to make you pretty damn amazingly.”

I laughed and he unbuttoned my jeans. My stomach felt like a thousand butterflies were dancing inside me. He pulled the jeans to my ankles, lifting each of my feet carefully as he removed them.

“Can I…turn off the light?” I squeaked.

He paused, his hands on the waistband of my boxer briefs.

“If you like, babe.”

I reached over and flicked off the lamp. The moonlight spilled in through his open curtains, giving the room an ethereal quality.

“You’re glowing,” he commented and removed my underwear.

I stood, my shoulders hunched, not knowing what to do with my hands, wanting to shield myself with something, anything.

But, before I could dive for cover, he wrapped his arms around me. He began humming and we swayed to the tune, my eyes closing and my body giving way to the rhythm. I let him lead, wanted him to lead me into this adventure, this love into which we were dancing.

After a few moments, he eased me to the bed and I sat on the coverlet, his body before me. With steady hands, I removed his pants and boxers. His pale skin reflected the moon’s light and he appeared stars made flesh. In awe of his beauty, I caressed his soft skin, traced the scars there—seen and unseen—kissed his shadows and valleys. I took him in my mouth and he released a long sigh, his hands curling into the back of my hair. I wanted all of him inside me, in that moment, for all time.

Before he lost control, he pulled away and lifted my legs to his hips. After reaching for something on his nightstand, he leaned in and kissed me, deeply, his tongue grazing mine. I felt him breathe into me and his fingers pressed a cold, moist substance onto me. I released a whimper and he kissed me harder.

He gently separated his mouth from mine and looked into my eyes. “Are you ready, babe?”

I nodded and bit my lip, my arms around his neck. I could feel my hands shaking as he pressed himself against me.

“Breathe,” he whispered and I complied.

As I exhaled, I felt him tense and he pushed into me. Sharp pain and the strange sensation of something warm and large—him—entering me. Before I could stop myself, I released a cry.

“It’s ok,” he whispered, his face close to mine.

“Yoongi,” I gasped, trying to quell the pain, to open for him.

“I’ll be gentle.”

He paused, kissing my neck, his hands on my hips. Then, as he began a slow rhythm, my moans swelling and ebbing with each push and pull, tears escaped down the sides of my face. As much as it hurt, I wanted to know all of him, for him to experience all of me.

“You feel so good,” he whispered between breaths.

“I love you,” I gasped.

He stopped moving for a moment and he opened his mouth against mine. The kiss to end all kisses, to re-start a heart, to make a brave man of a coward. I cried into him and he began thrusting again, this time deeper and faster.

I called his name and wrapped my legs around his waist as he grunted and squeezed my hips, his fingers pressing into my skin. Our rhythms perfectly in time, we pitched together, apart, together until he bucked against me so hard my cries echoed throughout the apartment. Warmth inside me and his panting form against me.

My eyes blurry with tears, I hugged tightly to him, my cheek against his damp hair. I cried into his blonde locks and he kissed my neck and my jawline over and over until I quieted.

We disentangled—I released a whimper—and he looked down at me, skin glistening in the dim light.

“And I thought you were beautiful before…” he cooed.

I chuckled then felt a stab of pain and winced.

“Oh, babe. Let me get you something for that.”

“No, don’t leave me just now. Later,” I whined.

“But you’re in pain.”

“I’m ok. I’m a dancer, we’re usually in pain.”

He laughed and kissed my forehead. “That was amazing.”

“It was.”

A long moment passed as we held one another, breathing in tandem.

He sighed. “Sorry I’ve been such an ass. I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I could protect you…”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“Yes, you do. You, Hoseok, are a delicate flower that needs special care and attention.”

I playfully slapped his shoulder. “I do not!”

“No, you don’t. But you deserve those things. And I intend to provide them.”

“Just promise me you won’t try to make any more decisions for me. We make them together, ok?”

“I promise, my Gwanju beauty.”

My cheeks burned and I giggled, then let out a small sigh to combat the ache in my body.

“Ok, that’s it. Whiskey for me and painkillers for you.”

“I want whiskey too!”

“One shot.”

“That’s all I can handle…”

We laughed together and he rose, padding across the room. I listened to his footfall until it disappeared and closed my eyes. I could still feel him inside me. Without his body heat, I shivered as the sweat dried on my skin. I wanted to squirm under the covers but I was afraid of soiling his sheets as well as causing myself more hurt. Slowly, with care, I shifted to my feet, and started to walk toward the door. Each step caused a flash of pain and I bit my lip against the shocks as I moved. Yoongi appeared in the doorway—glasses and bottle in hand—before I reached the threshold.

“What are you doing? You should be resting,” he scolded.

“I wanted to clean up,” I replied, my voice quiet.

“Oh, Hoseok. Always tidy even after—”

“Do not say whatever it is you are about to say.”

“Fine. But get your cute ass back in bed before I am forced to carry you again.”

“But—”

“No. I’ll get you a wet cloth, if you insist. Here, let me help.” He set down the items on the nightstand and slipped his arm around my shoulder, allowing me to place some of my weight on him.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Well, since I caused the damage, it only seems right…”

Once I was comfortably in his bed, he poured us some whiskey and we drank. No clinking glasses, no toasts. Just us two beside one another, sharing space. After taking a second shot—which I did not partake in—Yoongi placed two pills in my right hand and pressed his water bottle into my left.

“Take these while I go get you a washcloth.” He brushed his fingers across my cheek and rose. He was still naked and I watched his slim legs and hips as he moved away from me.

You will never find another man like him, I thought. It was perhaps the first time my inner Hoseok had seen the truth of things. I smiled and swallowed the pills, already feeling the ache lessen.

When Yoongi returned, he helped me clean up, carefully swiping the warm cloth over my skin. Was this what it would be like when I was too old, or my body too arthritic from decades of dance, to wash myself? Would Yoongi still be beside me when I was no longer his Gwanju beauty?

I gazed at him and he gave me a small grin.

“What, babe?”

“Is this…are we…?”

“We are. For as long as you want me.”

“Mmmm, I’ll decide tomorrow. For now, you’ll do.”

He grinned, leaned forward, and our lips touched, the warmth, the vibration, the rhythm deep and true and perfect.

***