Archive of Our Own

“I don’t have to deal with this, you know!” 

Jiwoong heard a crash as soon as he’d unlocked his front door and he’d paused with his hold on the handle, letting it remain closed. 

He heard grating metal scrapes somewhere behind him. Jiwoong turned his head to find his neighbour across the narrow dirt road looking at him pityingly as she scraped food off a steel plate for the family dog. Outside his home, the only other sound was the chirping of crickets by the tall, wheatish grass. Jiwoong gritted his teeth and turned back.

“Then don’t! Just keep quiet, would you?” 

Jiwoong pushed the front door open, eyes scanning as he entered and locked it behind him. 

“I should go back to my mother’s house, then you’ll realise,” Jiwoong’s mother shouted, the distance of the living room away from his father. Fingers clenched around pink rubber gloves in one hand. The blow of her words moved stray strands from her bun away from her face. 

The dining table was somewhere in between them and Jiwoong saw dinner for one laid out—covered steel bowls and a bigger one for rice that was slowly going cold. 

“Realise what?” His father mocked, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the newspaper in his hands. “You’re not leaving.”

Apparently caught before he left for his night shift at the steel mill, his father sat irritably, wrist strapped with the worn brown leather of his watch and hair smoothed back with the hold of wax even if it’d melt off with sweat and soot later.

Taking his shoes off quietly, Jiwoong kept his eyes down as he crossed between them to head for his room. He made it successfully without having caught either of their ire, closed his door as silently as he’d learnt as a kid and perfected as a teenager—pulling the handle lightly towards him and pushing it closed with a palm, knob tightly twisted the other way so it wouldn’t click when it locked—and slumped onto the floor. 

Glass crashed, his mother’s door slammed shut, then the front door. 

He waited for a minute before stepping out of his room, eyes zeroing in on the source of the crash. He bent down to pick up the wedding photo frame surrounded by its glass wreckage. Jiwoong dusted off the micro shards with the back of his hand, uncaring of the light scrapes against his skin. 

His mother wore an old dress and his father an even older smile. Rings he hadn’t seen in a long time glinted in the frame behind shards. This was not a promise she was allowed to break, abandoning them like that. He cleaned up the rest of the scattered debris and placed the frame back. He’d rather she shatter more glass.

Sat at the dining table later with wet hair brushed off his forehead, Jiwoong picked up his utensils to serve himself rice that had gone cold under the only light in the house left turned on.

His mother came out of her room while he was still in the middle of eating. Her hair was down, combed before going to bed, the same smooth, startling black he inherited pushed off her shoulders. She looked beautiful, but also like she had known how to laugh once. Jiwoong wasn’t sure when. His father should, how dare he not? 

She was heading to the kitchen without looking at him. So she was mad at him too then. Water from the kitchen faucet ran, stopping once a cup had been filled. Jiwoong didn’t take another bite after he finished swallowing. A glass clinked against the sink and footsteps followed back out the kitchen until his mother was in sight again. She was already heading back to her room without looking at him again.

“Eomma?” Jiwoong called out quietly.

She stopped, turning halfway so her eyes could dart from his eyes to his plate and back. He had the sudden urge to put his spoon down.

“What? It’s your fault anyway,” his mother snapped and all then the doors in the house were closed once again. The blood pulsing through his head seethed, a quiet simmer of something between feeling helpless and enraged. Jiwoong took another bite. 

This wasn’t his to salvage, he couldn’t if he tried. He’d just have to make something of his own. His own family, his own home, or at least his own pull of gravity in this fucking black hole of a town.

The town Jiwoong grew up in, the one he he’d never left, was best known by outsiders for two things—flower fields and steel mills.

Endless fields of sun-kissed petals, mountain-cradled and well-loved, everyone’s economic pride and joy. Far enough from the molten heart of the region that bled the same steel that built everyone’s homes, but whose factories were built over the crafts market that had once raised them.

It made for a funny little feud for families within the town, even if both were more than a little poisonous to the side of the river no one touched. 

Jiwoong’s existence could be best summarised as the son of different poisons that shouldn’t have mixed. As much as he wishes he could say he was some grand holy union of both, he was a man of his family through and through—steel threaded in his eyes, his knuckles, his spine. Hard to look at, hard to touch, hard to stand.

It’s not like he was asking for anyone to love him. He wasn’t going to. He just wanted to build his own roots, bury his scaffolding, and not be damned to fawn for the sun like he’d wither without it.

For all that most people didn’t like talking to Jiwoong, they certainly liked how he looked too much to stop looking at him. 

He didn’t like going to the market for this very reason, having to pretend he wasn’t being stared at and whispered about while he turned a pear about in his hand, the pads of his fingers pressing for give as he looked for scars. 

Maybe there was just nothing better to look at around here. Nowhere for anyone’s mind to settle on in the intervals of a shitty life than somewhere beautiful. The face of the boy dropping off their delivery, running that errand for them in their countryside dream, or tapping a cigarette past the school gates in broad daylight. How disappointing then that his lips must taste like smoke.

Eye candy? He hoped he tasted like tar.

The seller eyed him warily and Jiwoong resisted rolling his eyes. Jiwoong couldn’t exactly blame the man, considering one of his most memorable visits included pulling a guy who’d been harassing a woman by the next stall and smashing his head into a watermelon. 

Hey, he’d paid for it at least, not that it stopped anyone from looking at him like a stray cobra. Like he was the perfect symbol of all the worst parts of this town combined—the festering rage, the personified aimlessness. An arrow without a target that anyone would want to avoid. It would be a little more amusing if it wasn’t so hypocritical.

Jiwoong picked the fruit scribbled on a list his mother had given him and reached out to hand the plastic basket to the seller, careful not to knock his elbow against the head of the kid admiring the pile of apples next to him.

With the seller occupied with some other customer, the teenage boy sitting next to him took the basket instead, bagging it carefully. Jiwoong was surprised to find he didn’t recognise him despite looking about the same age. He wore a much gentler smile than the man next to him, with even gentler hands handling the fruit like they could feel hurt otherwise.

Jiwoong handed over a little more cash than he owed and the boy nudged the man aside to reach somewhere under the table for change. He was acting too familiar to be a part-timer, probably a family member spending his weekend helping. As he was handing the change back, Jiwoong noticed the odd little sprig of white blossoms tucked under the collar of fruit-seller boy’s t-shirt, and then the one tiny flower almost falling off his hair behind his ear like the breeze had bestowed it onto him and he hadn’t noticed.

“Hey! Get back here!”

Before Jiwoong could reach for the cash, the seller’s yelling redirected Jiwoong’s attention to the little boy next to him darting off with an apple in each hand. 

In a split second, Jiwoong held a hand out in front of the seller to stop him from running after the little boy, did the math, and reached out to curl the fruit-seller boy’s fingers around the cash he was holding out.

“Keep it, cover his, I’ll come back for mine,” Jiwoong said in a rush before darting off behind the boy who took off a lot faster than Jiwoong expected of a roughly ten-year-old.

Jiwoong ran, ignoring the seller's shout behind him, darting between other market-goers, disregarding even more startled yells, and steadying an old lady the kid almost toppled in her fright. He almost lost the kid around a couple of corners, but once they were out of the market, he had a clear sight of him with nothing but open road and a field of orange flowers across.

However, the road wasn’t nearly empty enough for it to be safe to run across blindly, and Jiwoong panted as he sped up to catch up before the kid ran straight into traffic. Jiwoong dodged and off-handedly apologised to a motorcyclist who thankfully slowed before they could turn him into roadkill.

His eyes darted back to the boy that was almost about to successfully cross the road if not for the pick-up truck that was headed straight for him. 

Jiwoong breathed out a harsh fuck and took a leap, knocking the kid and himself out of the way. He had maybe half a second to feel grateful he wasn’t about to die a really stupid death over some apples before he realised the kid and he were about to roll down the thankfully not very steep hill at the edge of the flower field.

A couple of elbows to the ribs, some thorn scrapes to the skin, and the gangly kid’s head butting at his jaw later, Jiwoong breathed heavily as he stared up at the sky upon landing, feeling very harassed for what should’ve been a calm morning.

Jiwoong had clearly shielded the kid through the fall well enough because he got up almost immediately and tried to make another dash for it. His hand darted out to catch on the kid’s sleeve, and the boy fell back harmlessly with a small oof.

Jiwoong stared at the semi-cloudy sky some more before turning his head to the grumbly but scared-looking kid.

“Yah, you’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Jiwoong said before sighing and sitting up. He pulled the kid up to his feet, surprised he’d managed to hold onto the apples through all of that. Jiwoong dusted the dirt off the kid’s shirt and hair with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around his wrist.

“Who’s your mother?” Jiwoong asked, watching the kid eye the ground nervously as he shuffled his shoes against the dirt. Squinting a little, Jiwoong suddenly recognised his face.

“Wait, you’re from the house down the road from mine, aren’t you?”

The kid looked away at the road behind Jiwoong. He sighed again, long-suffering.

“Are you that hungry?” Jiwoong asked instead, and the kid looked back and finally looked a little sorry. The kid still seemed too scared to talk, so Jiwoong held onto the hands holding the apples.

“Keep them, I already paid for it,” Jiwoong watched the kid’s eyes light up with surprise, “But I’m still dragging you back to apologise later. Don’t think about running either, I know where you live and I can tell your mom. And, just, tell me next time, okay? You know where to find me.”

Jiwoong let go when the kid nodded and he immediately scuttled off behind him. But then he heard the footsteps detour, and Jiwoong turned his head just as the kid shoved one of the apples into Jiwoong’s hands before running off again.

Jiwoong huffed a laugh and let himself fall onto his back again, staring at the sky and the perimeter of a fiery blanket of orange petals. He contemplated taking a bite of the unwashed apple at his own risk. He only had a few seconds of reprieve before a head popped into his view upside-down. It was fruit-seller boy, looking down at him curiously and more than a little amused.

“Don’t tell me you got bribed with only an apple?”

Jiwoong snorted and sat up again, shifting to face him. The other boy held out a hand and Jiwoong took it, pulling himself up.

“I’ll call it a reward for delaying his punishment. I’ll bring him back later to apologise,” Jiwoong replied as he tried dusting off his shoulders, the unbuttoned shirt protecting his white t-shirt underneath fluttering violently against the wind before the rain.

“Fuck, I’m covered in dirt,” Jiwoong muttered. The other boy laughed and started dusting the dirt off him and Jiwoong tensed up in surprise.

A hand lingered on Jiwoong’s shoulder and Jiwoong realised how close they were standing.

The fruit-seller boy shrugged with an easy smile, “You smell like flowers.”

Jiwoong blinked before looking back at the path where they’d tumbled through a patch of flowers and swore. Fruit-seller boy followed his gaze and laughed again, a warm sound.

“Don’t worry, you’re lucky. This part belongs to my family, I’ll handle it,” he reassured Jiwoong, “You can head back first, my uncle is holding onto what you bought.”

Jiwoong breathed out in relief at his luck, nodding before moving to walk past the boy whose unfamiliarity was still nagging at Jiwoong. Not only was this a small as fuck town, Jiwoong wouldn’t have forgotten someone this kind. They really must have somehow not met yet.

A hand snagged onto his wrist before he could walk away. Jiwoong looked back curiously, also wondering what made the boy so comfortable touching Jiwoong.

“I also heard that last part, by the way. You can tell me if he, or—or if you ever need anything, okay?” The boy looked Jiwoong as he gnawed on his bottom lip.

Jiwoong narrowed his eyes. Maybe he’d mistaken pity for kindness.

“Thanks, but I won’t need it. I’ll let you figure something out with the kid.” Jiwoong made to turn away but the grip on his wrist tightened.

“Oh, um, before you go,” fruit-seller boy reached for his own collar with his other hand, pulling out the sprig of blossoms from where Jiwoong now saw it had been paper-clipped to his collar. Jiwoong glanced up and saw that the one that was on his hair was gone, likely fallen along the way as he chased after them.

Fruit-seller boy tucked the flowers into Jiwoong’s shirt pocket and Jiwoong looked up in question.

“Thank you for, uh,” the boy started almost shyly, “for saving the kid and yourself. From the car, I mean. That was very, um, cool.” Fruit-seller boy seemed to cringe at his own words.Jiwoong looked back at him bewildered. The boy let go of his wrist hastily, waving and walking the other way, presumably to save Jiwoong from having to pay for some crushed flowers.

Jiwoong shook his head and only as he was halfway back to the market, getting drenched in rain and the smell of damp flowers, did he realise he hadn’t even gotten his name.

He ran into apple thief kid again soon enough, greeted with a hug around his waist by thin arms weighed down by some plastic bags.

“Look, look! Hanbin-hyung even got me sweets! He said to give you one if I saw you!” The kid was practically bouncing on his feet as he reached into a bag excitedly.

“That’s alright, have mine for me,” Jiwoong ruffled the kid’s hair. “But who’s Hanbin?”

The kid looked at him weirdly. 

“Don’t all old people know each other?” The kid ducked a half-hearted swat from Jiwoong and jogged away with his sweets in hand. “He’s your age, anyway, and this is mine now, no take-backs!”

“What’s that you’re drawing?”

Jiwoong was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see the restaurant owner looking unimpressed at his jumpiness as she wiped a glass clean with a towel. He looked over to the clock he was getting almost more familiar with than the one in his own house, having taken more shifts before school started up again.

“I still have twenty minutes left for my break,” he said, leaning back toying with the pencil in his hand. He’d pick up after her with the dishes right after. The old lady rolled her eyes, playing along with this song and dance as if they actually annoyed each other.

“That’s not what I asked. Humour me,” she responded, walking closer to look over his shoulder where he was seated. He’d been retracing a sketch he’d done a while ago, of that sprig of flowers that somehow hadn’t died yet. Small, white, sharp petals—five per flower. Two long, flat, pointed leaves. They looked plush, healthy, but also unfamiliar.

“That’s orange blossom, isn’t it?” She leaned in to squint. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Jiwoong frowned. “Those don’t grow around here, do they?”

“Unless you’ve seen a coast pop up nearby, no, of course not.”

Jiwoong rolled his eyes. 

She walked back to pick up another glass, “They’re imported here sometimes, but I haven’t seen the flowers around before. Don’t know why anyone would go through the trouble.” 

What was fruit-seller boy of all people doing with it then when he had acres of flowers for a backyard?

“But anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t realise you were any good at art before—I have a job for you if you want.”

“What kind?”

“Something my niece needed help with, which means I’ll get to hear her stop complaining about it.”

Jiwoong snorted and shrugged even before needing to hear more, “Sure, I’ll do it.”

“I don’t call you my favourite grandson for nothing,” she said with a wry smile.

He laughed, “I’m not your grandson at all.” 

To her own family’s chagrin, she liked to joke that Jiwoong was such an identical brand of annoying idiot to her late husband that she wondered whether he’d had an affair after all. To their further exasperation, she’d declare that she’d still pick the illegitimate grandson over the rest if she could.

“And I wish I could say that about the rest,” she muttered and Jiwoong laughed some more.

“Oh, Jiwoong! You’re home!”

Jiwoong’s mother leaned out from the kitchen entrance, a bright smile on her face. Jiwoong should know by now not to feel the whiplash, but he supposed that’s why his face felt like it was in a permanent state of windburn, unmoving while it recovered.

“Eomma,” Jiwoong responded as he took off his shoes. He walked past her on his way to wash his hands and get a glass of water, the sound of crackling spices for dinner passing by.

“So how was your day?” she asked, looking at him excitedly. He wasn’t sure what to say—his day wasn’t much different than the last time he’d tried to tell her and she hadn’t really listened. You could only ramble so much about your silly thoughts to a closed door before you stopped knocking.

That didn’t hinder her enthusiasm any, pausing her stirring for his answer, her silver necklace swaying too close to the pan. Jiwoong also wasn’t too sure why she bothered wearing that little cross—the only time he’d asked as a five-year-old what she thought happened to people after they died, her answer was a flippant and oddly brutal we turn to ash . 

But anyway, there was actually something different about his day. He’d been smiling almost half the way back home for once.

His glass clinked against the metal of the sink gently as he put it down and still answered, “Fine.”

Her disappointment pulled at her face and he looked back to the sink to wash his glass. There was a single set of plates and glasses sitting there. She must have eaten lunch alone.

“How is work? When is school starting? Are you prepared for all your subjects?” He technically had about five units of holiday revision left but he couldn’t be bothered to elaborate when he wasn’t sure if either of his parents even knew exactly what subjects he was taking, let alone which he liked. They probably knew which teachers hated him at least.

“Next week, and yeah,” Jiwoong answered, if quite blandly. His mother seemed to bite down a sigh. Why couldn’t he just give a normal answer? It’s like he only knew how to take a machete to every olive branch.

“You should go study then, don’t waste time,” she said, placing one hand on his shoulder and he tried not to flinch. Her touch was soft, light enough to feel fleeting. He regretted being so curt for a second, buoyed by this hope that maybe she was actually interested in listening this time

Was it even possible for a mother to get bored of her child? Had he always been boring? Or was talking to him just more trouble than it was worth? 

Jiwoong went to his room, kind of wishing he hadn’t turned down the piece of candy from an unfamiliar boy he hadn’t expected to remember him.

Jiwoong tried to continue with his work, pretending there weren’t a dozen or so kindergarteners gawking at him. He could see two of the tiny kids inch closer from the corner of his eye, clinging to each other like they were bursting with a question.

He lowered the paint-splattered hand holding onto the brush and turned to them, smiling amusedly when their eyes widened impossibly. Taking a step back from the wall, he crouched to reach for one of the smaller paintbrushes by the paint buckets before standing up again.

“Any requests?” Jiwoong threw the question over his shoulder as he continued with the mural he was being paid to work on on a wall outside their classrooms. The restaurant owner’s niece, who was also one of the teachers here, had ushered him there a couple of hours ago and he’d been working quietly until now.

“Can you make that one purple!” one of the kids said excitedly and there were some murmurs before, “Oh, uh, please!”

“Your wish is my command,” he answered, never mind that it didn’t quite fit in the colour scheme, filling in one of the smaller flowers. 

He got delighted cheers and more questions in response, and a handful of them crowding closer. It didn’t hurt to indulge them since most of the mural was done anyway, and the bunch of them seemed bored otherwise just waiting for their parents to pick them up. Jiwoong just kept sneaky hands away from the array of paints and paintbrushes, making sure only his not-really-black-anymore t-shirt took the brunt of the mess.

“Are you still taking requests?”

Jiwoong didn’t exactly freeze at the familiar voice but stopped midway anyway, turning to see fruit-seller boy—no, Hanbin leaning against a with arms crossed and an unbearably amused smile on his face. A couple of the kids yelled in delight, waddling over with their backpacks to hug him.

The little girl next to Jiwoong didn’t budge, however, staring at Jiwoong owlishly before pointing at one of the flowers by his head and declaring, “Blue!

“Yes, ma’am,” Jiwoong answered diligently, switching paintbrushes.

“Wait, I’ve got a better idea,” Hanbin’s voice interjected, and Jiwoong turned to see that the rest of the kids were being corralled to parents that had already arrived. Hanbin crouched to the girl’s eye level with an adoring, conspiratorial smile.

“Wanna try painting it yourself?” Hanbin offered. The girl’s face lit up momentarily before crumpling just as quickly. 

“I can’t reach,” she answered, looking up to Jiwoong with round, glassy eyes. Jiwoong looked at the tiny flower at his eye level, the kid, then his own wet paint-splattered arms, then back at Hanbin helplessly.

“That’s what I’m here for! Want a lift?” Hanbin reached his arms out and she eagerly let herself be carried, reaching for the paintbrush in Jiwoong’s hand. As could be expected of a kindergartener, her fine motor skills weren’t the best, and before she could get upset at herself, Jiwoong guided her small, chubby fist clenched around the paintbrush to colour within the lines successfully.

“Incredible! You’re a real artist, aren’t you?” Hanbin cooed, a sweet, lilting sound, and the little girl giggled before looking away as someone seemed to call for her. She was let down to the ground and ran off to presumably her mother waiting by the kindergarten gates.

“I can’t say this is how I imagined seeing you again,” Hanbin said, looking far too self-satisfied to have witnessed this. His voice fell back into that wry tone he kept addressing Jiwoong with, like he thought it made it sound like he knew something Jiwoong didn’t. “But it suits you.”

Jiwoong couldn’t imagine what part of this suited him beyond the mess he was making of himself but decided not to question it.

He eyed Hanbin more closely—the stark white collar, polite eyes, and neat haircut. Jiwoong thought he should mess it up if he wanted it to look like a halo. He was pretty in the untouchable kind of way a church boy was. 

So what was he doing looking at Jiwoong like that? Heavy eyes drifted from Jiwoong’s grip on his paintbrush to his tensed forearm. The line of Jiwoong’s shoulders, the hair falling onto his forehead, and the almost-healed scabbed blood on the corner of his bottom lip. Too distracted to meet Jiwoong’s eyes.

Dirty little secret you’ve got there.

“Shut it,” Jiwoong grumbled and turned away.

Before he could make any more fun of Jiwoong, the girl ran back to them. She reached for each of their hands and shoved something into them before running off to her mom again, hiding her face in her mom’s neck when she was picked up

They opened their hands to see a wrapped piece of candy in each of their hands. Jiwoong turned away from the other boy to hide a smile, still mildly annoyed the other was even there, but Hanbin seemed to catch it anyway.

“Adorable, right? Although, I do hope you’re being paid more than candy.”

Jiwoong rolled his eyes and turned back to the mural. He could finish up in maybe thirty minutes and pack up in fifteen and he could get paid and get out.

“What are you doing here?” Jiwoong asked as Hanbin watched.

“My mom works here. Decided to drop by,” he explained and Jiwoong hummed. 

“Need any help? I’ve got time to kill,” Hanbin asked, and Jiwoong’s lack of immediate reply didn’t stop him from reaching for another paintbrush. “C’mon let me earn my candy.”

Jiwoong sighed long-sufferingly. Hanbin was far too unintimidated by him now to keep his distance. He also maybe hopelessly prayed that the son of a flower farmer wouldn’t recognise the large orange blossom centrepiece that had gotten him the job to begin with.

“Paint that yellow and don’t fuck up.”

“Yes, sir,” Hanbin answered, accompanied by a mock salute and relentless cheer. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

“Didn’t ask your uncle?” Jiwoong had definitely left enough of an impression for the man to remember if even being a regular since he was a kid wasn’t enough. “You could probably ask your mom now too.”

“No, no, but that’s no fun,” Hanbin insisted. “I haven’t met a stranger in so long.”

“You looking for something shady?” Jiwoong found himself cracking enough to joke. Hanbin rolled his eyes.

“I don’t think you know my name either—doesn’t it feel almost like we’re not in the same town like this? You could be anyone.”

Jiwoong looked at him oddly then but decided not to correct him.

“All the kids seem to know you. You come round often?” Jiwoong asked.

“Enough to know who’s learning double digits and who’s just managed to read a clock,” Hanbin responded, pausing to roll up the sleeves of his loose white button-up. Jiwoong didn’t have the heart to tell Hanbin it would be pointless and that the cost of this small talk was going to be a brand new shirt for him.

“Thinking of becoming a teacher?”

“I don’t think I’d know what to do if some kid asked me to explain why their uncle said their dog went to hell after it died. My mom got that in her first week.”

“Too hard not to say their uncle is the only one going to hell?”

Hanbin bit down a smile like he knew he shouldn’t laugh. “What if I just blurt out everything turns to dust?”

Jiwoong raised his eyebrows. “What happened to all dogs go to heaven?”

Hanbin stiffened in the corner of Jiwoong’s eye, and Jiwoong turned his head to see Hanbin’s eyes dart to him. Jiwoong glanced at the necklace peeking out against Hanbin’s undershirt since he’d unbuttoned his shirt further.

“I guess that’s just an accessory then,” Jiwoong mused, nodding towards the glinting metal cross. Jiwoong himself wouldn’t have stepped foot into any church unless by mistake—another thing that pushed him further from the pretty picture the town wished it could paint of itself. But if Jiwoong hadn’t managed to muster up the interest to memorise prayers the few times his mother tried to teach him as a kid, he sure as hell couldn’t be bothered to feel guilty about it now.

“I meant—” Hanbin scrambled. So Hanbin was the type to keep up appearances, then. That was nothing new, it just meant he probably wouldn’t hang around Jiwoong for long.

“Relax,” Jiwoong said as he turned back to the wall, “I don’t care. Please tell me someone gave that kid’s uncle some shit.”

Hanbin took a second too long to respond, “Yeah, my sister, actually. Her stint at the dog shelter meant she wasn’t exactly forgiving.”

“Older?”

“Younger. She got scolded, of course, but our parents didn’t really have their hearts in it,” Hanbin shrugged, something fond tugging at his smile. “What do you think you would’ve said?”

“To the uncle?” Jiwoong asked, finishing up his side of the wall.

“No, the kid. You’re a kindergarten teacher, go,” Hanbin said.

“Is this what you meant when you said I could be anyone?” Jiwoong mused.

Hanbin rolled his eyes but it was dampened by his smile. Jiwoong shrugged, stepping back to look at the nearly finished wall.

“Your uncle’s full of shit?” Jiwoong said, looking over to see Hanbin’s unimpressed expression, although there was no hiding his amused twitch of lips. What did Hanbin want him to say? It’s not like he was actually a teacher and there were exactly zero stakes involved here. 

Unless what Hanbin wanted was a similar answer, something to match his slip-up that was no less the truth for being an accident.

Jiwoong sighed and put his brush down to reach over to take Hanbin’s paintbrush out of his hand.

“I’ll also say it’s dust,” Jiwoong reached out to take Hanbin’s hand in a handshake, “There, now we’re both fired, wanna find a new job?”

Hanbin laughed and shook his hand back before stepping aside to let Jiwoong finish his side of the wall as well.

“We might have to change our names entirely, run out of town,” Hanbin mused. Jiwoong didn’t bother biting down his smile, Hanbin’s was too contagious.

“What should I call you then, pretty boy?”

Hanbin seemed to choke on a word but when Jiwoong checked with a glance, he didn’t see any offence, just reddening ears. Maybe he’d be just embarrassed enough to try to get away from Jiwoong faster.

“I haven’t decided,” Hanbin managed to say.

“Let me know soon, then,” Jiwoong said, finished with Hanbin’s side of the wall now too. “You’ll need to sign the wall for credit.”

“Wait, really?” Hanbin perked up. “You’ll let me?”

“You know what, maybe not, you barely did anything,” Jiwoong joked, starting to pack up his things

Hanbin let out an exaggeratedly offended gasp but moved to help Jiwoong. “You can’t just offer that and take it away!”

Someone called for Hanbin then, far away enough that Jiwoong wouldn’t be able to make it out clearly if he hadn’t already known his name. An older woman, probably Hanbin’s mom. Hanbin waved and called back before turning to Jiwoong.

“I’ll see you again?” Hanbin asked. Jiwoong shrugged. In the most literal sense, sure, he might run into him at the market again, but he didn’t think another one of these encounters was likely. This was already unusual enough, behaving like there was anyone he was friends with in this town.

Jiwoong might end up missing it a little, though, seeing the grin that Hanbin gives him before taking off to catch up with his mom. Maybe he was being too harsh.

When he got home, Jiwoong tossed the piece of candy from the kindergartener on the coffee table in front of his mom. It was a kind of toffee he didn’t really like but knew she did even if she insisted she wasn’t supposed to be having any.

She picked it up without a fuss anyway, momentarily distracted from the evening show running on the television while Jiwoong took off his shoes.

“Where’d you get this?”

“One of the kids gave it to me and the other guy helping me out,” Jiwoong answered, lips twitching at the memory.

“Kid?” Jiwoong’s mother looked at him in confusion. Jiwoong blinked back, also confused.

“Yeah, at the kindergarten, for the mural?”

“Oh, that’s where you went,” she said, and Jiwoong didn’t know how she could forget that when he hardly said more than two words a day to her otherwise. “What other guy?”

Jiwoong swallowed down the twinge of upset, having something slightly nice to share for once. “I think I made a friend.”

“A friend?” she snorted, looking back to the TV, “Like the last one?”

Jiwoong stilled at the reference to a friend he thought he’d made a couple of years ago, only for the other boy to pretend he barely recognised Jiwoong when they ran into each other with their parents at the convenience store. It was a wound both sharp and shallow, more to his ego than anything else, but his mother bringing it up like that stung like a rubber band snapping at his face all the same.

It’s not like he hadn’t talked to anyone else since, he knew people that were friendly enough, but he was supposed to have learnt that friend was a strong word to use. 

Jiwoong just gritted his teeth and walked to his room.

It was a damn mystery that Jiwoong had never met Hanbin before this year, because he didn’t seem to be able to shake him now.

Jiwoong showed up for his first day of senior year the following Monday and immediately caught sight of him in the same class, chattering with his group of friends. He gained a pretty grin in return that started to melt when Jiwoong ignored it. 

Jiwoong didn’t go unnoticed by others in the class either, catching the usual whispers when it came to seating assignments and who wanted to sit beside the scary and/or disrespectful bastard, depending on who was talking. Whispers that were too quiet to get in trouble with the teacher but definitely too loud to escape Hanbin’s notice. 

Jiwoong was particularly proud of his purportedly terrible crime of once nearly (he was so close damn it) breaking the nose of the prick who was yapping about his frayed uniform and his father’s job (this could apply to nearly half the class, Jiwoong really just took one for the team) . 

Still, Hanbin scrambled to catch up to him at the end of the day.

“Wait, hold on, I just wanted to say hi! You remember me, right?” Hanbin started eagerly. “I hope we can talk more this year.”

They were halfway out the school gate, in between too hot of an afternoon and even hotter grounds, neither wearing their blazers and nametags. Hanbin stood almost glowing in his white shirt in the cutoff light by the shade of the trees like some halfway angel, as well as in Jiwoong’s way.

“I also didn’t get to say before,” Hanbin spoke hesitantly due to Jiwoong’s lack of response, licking his lips before swallowing. “I’m Sung Hanbin, your class president for this year.”

He was being nice to Jiwoong, which was more than he could say for many, but something about the smile that outlined his introduction grated at Jiwoong now—not false, just not completely sincere. Not as relaxed as it had looked before and no longer as clear in its intent.

“I know.” Jiwoong ignored the surprise in Hanbin’s eyes when Jiwoong didn’t return the introduction.

“How was your first day?”

A wide smile. An inexplicable hope that he made some friends.

“Fine.”

“Jiwoong, right? Do you wanna join us for lunch?”

Jiwoong glanced up from where he stood behind his table packing up his things. He saw the cheerful hope in Hanbin’s deliberately doe eyes and felt one side of his lips twitch.

As the class president, it seemed Hanbin wasn’t ready to give up on cohort bonding just yet. As for lunch, he must mean sitting with his group of friends at a cafeteria table lined mostly with lunch boxes from home, packed with steel chopsticks and love not meant to be shared. It was either that or the questionable side dishes from the stalls that Jiwoong didn’t often have the stomach to give another try.

“No thanks,” Jiwoong dismissed. To his credit, Hanbin didn’t falter.

“Why not?” Hanbin’s smile turned into a curious pout. It could only round out his face so much, the rest of it made of too many sharp lines for Jiwoong to not be more curious about his frown. 

Jiwoong raised his eyebrows and pointedly looked at the gaggle of classmates nearby watching to see if Hanbin was going to succeed. Hanbin might have some kind of morbid attraction to Jiwoong, but this was more likely about succeeding in bringing the feral impolite stray into the house to paint Hanbin’s halo a little brighter. 

Hanbin looked guilty when he saw what Jiwoong was looking at but still like he wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong.

“Why do you want me to join?” Jiwoong entertained the offer.

“I want to get to know you more, I’m sure you’re nice,” Hanbin insisted. 

“So trying to prove a point, then?” Jiwoong responded and saw Hanbin open his mouth to argue. “Tell them I’d love to but I’m busy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you don’t.” 

Jiwoong stepped away from his table and around Hanbin’s contained fluster.

“Why don’t you believe me?” Hanbin asked.

Jiwoong halted in his tracks and turned. Hanbin didn’t look frustrated, still guileless and gentle with blisteringly kind eyes and Jiwoong didn’t trust him one bit. 

Hanbin pretending Jiwoong wasn’t anything like what everyone thought of him was pointless—misunderstanding Jiwoong’s image wouldn’t make him docile. It was as good as Hanbin talking to a stranger, and Jiwoong liked neither liars nor strangers. Jiwoong walked directly into Hanbin’s space, one step closer and then another, watching Hanbin awkwardly knock into Jiwoong’s table behind him.

“Because you’re not really telling the truth.” Jiwoong leaned in closer, amused by Hanbin’s rapid blinking, and reached around him to pick up his forgotten wallet from his table before leaving.

Maybe snubbing someone so early in the year wasn’t one of Jiwoong’s best ideas, especially when their class seating was bound to shuffle again. He didn’t look up from unpacking his bag when Hanbin walked over to sit next to him at the back of the class and settled in somewhat awkwardly. 

It was fine, Jiwoong was good at ignoring his own discomfort. 

He did, however, end up learning more about his deskmate overtime against his will. With the sheer number of people who came up to Hanbin to ask about yet another club that he had in common with them, it appeared Hanbin was involved in enough school affairs to count as a local politician. A shining example of everything someone could achieve in their town, and almost certainly the inspiration for comparative complaints by parents if the occasional gritted smile was anything to go by.

Thankfully, Hanbin’s perpetual campaign trail swerved neatly around Jiwoong, with no one other than his deskmate himself actually stupid enough to bother him. Hanbin still wasn’t as put off as Jiwoong wanted, but was at least too awkward to say much anyway. That didn’t stop Hanbin from making silly peace offerings, like placing snacks on Jiwoong’s desk that Jiwoong always returned even when he was hungrier than he wanted to admit.

It was also admittedly funny to learn that Hanbin did not have as much patience as he looked.  

“I know you didn’t mean to say that to him, right?” Hanbin said, and Jiwoong couldn’t help his amusement at the clenched-jaw smile at some obnoxious classmate that had tried to talk shit about some other kid’s mother. “Let’s all use prettier words next time.”

And if he thought no one was looking, Hanbin’s face would melt into this serrated glare like his face had never actually been built for a smile, and now Jiwoong really wanted to see him get truly angry—wanted to be the one to make it happen. But then something would flip a switch and it’d turn back to a dimpled smile so bright it was almost as if Jiwoong had just imagined it.

It didn’t matter, they still didn’t talk at the end of the day. They just shuffled their book into their bags while Hanbin got held back by friends and Jiwoong slipped out the door.

“How was school?” Jiwoong’s mother hardly looked up from whatever she was fixing up on the table.

“Fine—”

“Your father didn’t take his food for his shift, by the way, you can go bring it to him since you haven’t changed.”

Jiwoong pursed his lips against a flare of irritation. This would happen a lot less if they could actually stand to be in the same room for more than two seconds at a time.

“Oh, and take your time, I’m having guests over. I’ll leave your food on the table after,” then a muttered, “and you can tell your dad he can complain about the food when he bothers to show up to greet guests.”

With ice tied to his knuckles as he went through his nightly scroll a couple days later, Jiwoong was interrupted by a message from an unknown number. That on its own wasn’t exactly any reason to feel suspicious because he hadn’t bothered saving anyone’s number from the class homework chat. It was the question he’d received that had him frowning.

hey! are you free next saturday? 

Jiwoong could not begin to guess who this was, he was on casual-asking-for-availability basis with absolutely no one except his boss when she needed him to cover a shift at the restaurant.

whos this

u didn’t save my number :(

What the fuck.

?

its hanbin! so are you free next saturday? :D

Jiwoong blinked incredulously at the screen before turning it off and putting it away. He wasn’t sure how long it would take for Hanbin to let off trying to hang out if he hadn’t even budged after seeing firsthand Jiwoong nearly break someone’s jaw again earlier that day. He’d just offered to take a look at Jiwoong’s hand after his detention while Jiwoong looked at him quizzically.

Hanbin was either some kind of saint or completely insane.

Jiwoong took off the mostly melted ice pack and placed it under his bedside table so his parents wouldn’t see if they came in in the morning. He wasn’t sure why he still bothered hiding an injury, whether he was avoiding excessive concern or disappointment. He’d hidden it for long enough to not know which to expect or if there was even a point to it at all. 

He gave up guessing and fell asleep to the sting of his curled knuckles and a lingering thought about his text messages.

Jiwoong had been sitting in his rooftop spot with some papers and textbooks scattered around him, the wall he was hunched in front of flaking paint onto his uniform. The position was terrible for his back and the surroundings were hardly ideal but it was better than the noise of the classroom. 

The birds idling nearby were startled into flight when the door to the rooftop opened, Hanbin peeking out sheepishly. The birds settled again in time with Jiwoong’s own alarm subsiding at the unexpected presence. They fluttered about leisurely behind Hanbin when he sat down in front of Jiwoong with crossed legs and set down his lunch. Jiwoong still had to force himself to untense but something was stopping him from kicking Hanbin out immediately.

“Hello,” Hanbin greeted excitedly, like they hadn’t seen each other barely ten minutes earlier in class, as if he was already excited to see Jiwoong again.

“Someone must be looking for you,” Jiwoong commented. Hanbin had his crowd, the people who looked forward to seeing him and looked out for him in his absence. Why leave them hanging?

“Finally you admit it,” Hanbin answered cheekily. Jiwoong rolled his eyes and fought to not instinctively mirror Hanbin’s grin. Sometimes Jiwoong forgot why he was holding back. 

Hands deftly opened the remaining containers, which seemed to be his usual lunch with double the rice and an extra set of utensils. Jiwoong didn’t know why Hanbin kept insisting on feeding him in some way or another or what he expected from Jiwoong but it was still startlingly nice.

Was Hanbin just like this? This nice ? 

One of the pigeons trotted closer to Hanbin, maybe just as curious as Jiwoong was. A few grains of rice were sprinkled in front of it in return, Hanbin watching fondly as the bird tottered even closer.

On the other hand, with so much persistence just to get close to Jiwoong, Hanbin seemed almost greedy in his eagerness.

“Eat, I have too much,” Hanbin demanded and stared expectantly and Jiwoong was caught off guard enough to take a bite. Hanbin then scooped some food himself and briefly stuck the spoon in his mouth before reaching into his bag to pull out textbooks. Hanbin only politely eyed the papers streaked with red pen marks that Jiwoong had out. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” Hanbin asked. Jiwoong blinked, not having expected to deal with this in the middle of lunch break.

“I have nothing to say,” Jiwoong put his spoon down and left it there, “you have your friends.”

Hanbin’s brows furrowed as he thought. He picked up the spoon Jiwoong put down, scooped more rice and forced Jiwoong to take it again.

“So you don’t like our classmates, then?” Hanbin asked.

“What gave you that impression?” Jiwoong asked dryly, not looking up at Hanbin to flip through his worksheets.

“Why don’t you like them?” Hanbin asked.

Jiwoong looked up at this, raising an eyebrow as he took another bite. Hanbin only stared back curiously, unintimidated.

“You gonna make me sit through lunch with them next?”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Hanbin said almost smugly, leaning back on his palms. “And no, only eat with me.”

Both of Jiwoong’s eyebrows shot up this time. Hanbin wasn’t the kind to share everything then. Hanbin took a big mouthful as he waited for Jiwoong to reply, chewing with puffed cheeks that Jiwoong thought was absurdly adorable before forcing down the thought.

“Is this reverse psychology?” Jiwoong joked.

“Just answer my question, would you?” Hanbin pushed at Jiwoong’s arm, only light-heartedly peeved. Jiwoong didn’t comment on the contact, pausing to think.

“They’re insincere, narrow-minded, and hypocritical.” 

There was nothing more to it, but Hanbin looked at him head-on, listening with the clear intent to argue.

“People can be wrong. Don’t you think people can also change?”

Jiwoong really hadn’t been expecting a philosophical debate with his lunch. Hanbin hadn’t disagreed with his initial observation at least.

“You’re optimistic,” Jiwoong commented, looking down to think. He saw a pigeon trot closer, far too bravely, to the spoon full of rice he held and he yelped and flinched away. The pigeon startled away, equally scared. Unfortunately, Hanbin saw and laughed an oddly soothing raspy laugh that made it sound like someone could actually laugh too much.

Jiwoong cleared his throat, pretending his ears weren’t hot, and continued, “But I don’t want people like them to like me anyway.”

“Don’t you think they deserve a chance to be proven wrong?” Hanbin asked, a lingering smile in his voice. Jiwoong couldn’t tell if he found the sound grating or terribly pretty.

“I’m not the one that closed that door.”

“And you’re okay with things the way they are?”

Hero complex, much? Jiwoong bristled at that a little, cocking his head as he looked at Hanbin.

“You need power to change things.” Power that Hanbin didn’t have and neither did Jiwoong, not yet at least.

He watched Hanbin chew his bottom lip, food forgotten in front of him as he seemed to think. Jiwoong nudged the container closer to Hanbin. Hanbin blinked, snapped out of his train of thought before taking a bite. That seemed to be the end of that discussion even if Jiwoong suddenly found himself itching to continue it.

A pen poked at Jiwoong’s forearm after a moment that Jiwoong spent contemplating the odd situation he found himself in.

“Can you help me with this?” Hanbin asked, completely dropping their argument as he shifted his literature notes closer. He took Jiwoong’s lack of immediate response as an opportunity to shift to his side and point at Jiwoong’s biology workbook.

“I’ll help you with this in exchange,” Hanbin offered, grinning like his deal was one Jiwoong wouldn’t be able to refuse. Jiwoong wasn’t especially inclined to receive the help but he was curious enough that he pulled Hanbin’s notes closer anyway. 

Jiwoong wasn’t the only one he could’ve asked for help by far, so this was clearly more of an excuse to help with Jiwoong’s work. Whether this was out of pity, a little fix-it project, or a way to get Jiwoong to be indebted to him, he didn’t know. What he did know was that he was at least partially right about Hanbin being more manipulative than he looked, but now he thought it might still be something somewhat benevolent.

By the end of the break, they’d packed up to get back to class and Jiwoong stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. He was stopped by a hand on his forearm, Hanbin pulling himself up with it before reaching for Jiwoong’s shoulders and brushing at them. Jiwoong was surprised enough by the casual touch that he hadn’t moved before realising the flakes of paint falling to the ground. He let it happen, even when one of Hanbin’s hands reached for the back of Jiwoong’s head to presumably brush off more.

“There we go, all handsome again,” Hanbin said, eyes twinkling with a smile that Jiwoong thought must let him get away with anything.

so are you free next saturday??

for what

my mom was asking if you could paint smth else again

not at the sch, somewhere else idk

maybe yea

great! i’ll see u then

? for what

aw didn’t u think we made a good team last time?

i did most of the work

i earned that candy fair and square

yea no it shouldve been mine

if i bring u chocolate tmr will u say we’re a good team

ill say you were good moral support

seen

Jiwoong came home the next day with more chocolate than he knew what to do with, even after giving the kid down the road some. He silently tossed the rest in the fridge as his response to his mother’s how was your day to her subsequent bewilderment .  

Next Saturday came and went with another mural on the side of a building next to the church Hanbin’s family went to. The congregation was apparently sick of seeing the steel scaffolding covering half the building and some of the parents in it had taken one look at the mural at the kindergarten and decided another was their solution. 

More flowers and some other pretty things later and Hanbin’s mother and her friends were suitably delighted. Enough that Hanbin was handing Jiwoong more homemade food aside from what he’d already been paid and a relayed request for another one another time because it’s just so pretty, but just as long as it doesn’t get in the way of school for you .

Hanbin was practically bouncing on his feet convincing Jiwoong to agree, proposing to help Jiwoong study so please please it’ll be fun and Jiwoong couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

i have something to confess

?

i didn’t make that lunch myself. if i had we would've both died

Jiwoong snorted, covering his smile with a hand even with no one around to see in his room.

unbelievable

i’m sorryyyy i’ll try to learn

ill make something next time

Jiwoong told himself he just didn’t like to stay in anyone’s debt.

( •◡-)-♡

im too handsome to die young 

but you…

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᶠYͧoͨᵏu

Jiwoong burst out laughing, thankful no one could hear him fail to smother it in time.

Hanbin always wanted to bring up something or the other that he’d seen in the news over lunch, excited to have someone who kept up enough for the most part to argue with, or even just something either of them had watched or read. It seemed to be an easy way of staying safe from prying too much while getting both of them to talk endlessly. There was no point assuming someone with as perfect of a family as Hanbin would give Jiwoong’s complaints of his own the benefit of the doubt.

Other times Hanbin would meanderingly talk around things that annoyed him in school but laugh when Jiwoong bluntly stated what he hated. Containing these discussions to lunches appeared to turn impossible, so if paying attention in a class wasn’t really necessary for their grades—and Jiwoong’s own were climbing to an unusual high—they got away with speaking lowly at the back of the class.

Jiwoong didn’t realise how often he turned to Hanbin to talk about yet another thing until one day he saw that Hanbin had his hood up in class, shadowing his eyes and hiding the rest of his face from Jiwoong with his hand. The fact that it was disconcerting at all told Jiwoong just how much he’d gotten used to looking and finding a smile, having made something of a friend.

Jiwoong turned back to the board as the teacher introduced the topic they were about to start on. Usually, his eyes would glaze over but somehow it was a better distraction from whatever was going on to his right. He flipped to the page the teacher mentioned, fully intending to focus, and yet his eyes immediately followed the new movement next to him. 

Hanbin had placed his hand back down on the table, not revealing any more of his face but Jiwoong could see the bite marks on the flesh below his thumb. Indents of teeth clamped down like he’d been muffling himself. Jiwoong’s eyes widened.

“Excuse me,” Jiwoong raised his hand to the teacher and saw Hanbin flinch to duck his head away from sight even more. “I forgot my graphing calculator in the computer lab.”

Jiwoong knew this teacher in particular definitely didn’t trust Jiwoong to not just straight up climb over the school fences and leave.

“If you think I’ll take too long, let Hanbin come with me. We’ll be back soon,” Jiwoong suggested.

The teacher just sighed exasperatedly and waved them off irritably, trusting Hanbin enough. Once the class had turned their heads back to the front, Jiwoong grasped Hanbin’s wrist and pulled him up to get out of the classroom.

Jiwoong led the way to a computer lab that he knew would be empty, tugging Hanbin in and locking the door behind them.

“Where’s your calculator?” Hanbin asked quietly, already heading to search the first table.

“In my bag in class,” Jiwoong answered, crossing his arms. Hanbin stiffened.

“We should go back then,” Hanbin answered, still not looking at Jiwoong directly.

“No, come here,” Jiwoong said, uncrossing his arms to gesture for Hanbin to come closer. Hanbin took a reluctant step, looking to his side now. Jiwoong reached up to flip Hanbin’s hood off, startling Hanbin.

Puffy, bloodshot eyes and bitten lips. 

“Stay here as long as you want. I’ll tell them I made you run around in circles,” Jiwoong said, leaning against the table behind him.

Hanbin blinked at him rapidly, eyes proceeding to dart here and there and the ceiling and anywhere but Jiwoong. He brought a hand up to press the back of his fist against his own mouth. Jiwoong watched the deep breaths in and out, in and out. The hand dropped and Hanbin turned away. Jiwoong saw his hand contort into a claw, picking and scratching at his cuticles.

“Hey,” Jiwoong reached out without thinking, separating his thumb from the cruelty of his own nails. Hanbin snatched his hand away, eyes finally flicking up to meet Jiwoong’s all wide and shiny.

“What happened?” Jiwoong gently placed a hand on Hanbin’s forearm.

“I’m trying—” The words left Hanbin’s mouth in a breathless rush, the edges of a sob nipping just behind. “I’m trying my best.”

Jiwoong nodded cautiously, feeling out of depth with not knowing what the fuck Hanbin was referring to nor how to comfort a person at all. “I believe you.”

“I don’t know if I can—” Hanbin took a shuddering breath, “I need to get into college out of here.”

That’s not what Jiwoong was expecting and he didn’t have a single idea what brought this on.

“I’m sure you can,” Jiwoong shrugged, he’d seen Hanbin’s test scores before and knew it was more than good enough. “Why do you want to get out of here so badly?”

Hanbin looked up at Jiwoong then, and for how Jiwoong knew most people around him didn’t think too far about leaving either, Hanbin’s certainty made him feel like the odd one out in the room.

“There’s so much more to do out there. Aren’t you—” Hanbin’s eye flickered to the side like this wasn’t something anyone else should hear. “Aren’t you bored?”

Jiwoong wasn’t anything near this town’s number one fan, but now that he thought about it, he wasn’t really sure that he’d been bored, whether that was the exact name for the resentment he felt. Aside from that, he definitely wasn’t expecting this desperation to leave from one of the people who seemed to fit here the best. 

Yet, Hanbin made it sound like he was trapped in a pretty postcard, flat and unchanging, and was desperate to write himself out of it. Maybe hiding this was what had made Jiwoong so wary of Hanbin at the start—specifically Hanbin acting like his view wasn’t half a world bigger than anyone he talked to. It made sense in a way, that the son of a flower farmer was reaching for the sun.

“What do you want to do then?” Jiwoong asked, moving to sit on the floor, half under a table and leaning against the table leg. Hanbin followed, sitting across from him, more fully under the shade of the table and picking at his nails again. He was going to tear off his fingers at this rate. Jiwoong reached over to flick his fingers apart, confusing Hanbin enough to abandon the bad habit for a moment and hold his own hands instead.

“I’m not sure yet,” Hanbin chewed the inside of his cheek, eyes dancing around like he had a couple of options bouncing around. “What about you?”

Jiwoong hadn’t let himself think that far, some part of him scared of how far he’d run with the idea before he realised he had no idea of how to get out in the first place.

“What do I look like I’d do?” Jiwoong asked instead. Hanbin cocked his head, scrutinising Jiwoong with wide and somehow sharp eyes.

“Maybe something like law? Your humanities are good and I think you have the temperament,” Hanbin answered.

“The temperament for what?” Jiwoong snorted, “Breaking someone’s nose two seconds in?”

Some of Hanbin’s tension finally seemed to ease with a laugh, “I’ll call it justice.”

Jiwoong raised a hand to his mouth, mock-scandalised, even though he genuinely was surprised at the near-apathy to one of the things that put most people off Jiwoong. Then again, he supposed even Hanbin would find the good in it somehow. He ran with the joke anyway.

Jiwoong leaned away from the shelter of the table to reach for a nonexistent audience and whisper-shouted, “Everybody, he’s condoning violence!”

Hanbin giggled, pulling him back by his pant leg and Jiwoong leaned against the table leg again to face him, crossing one leg and stretching the other out so it rested beside Hanbin. Jiwoong leaned his head back against the table leg, a goofy grin on his own face to match Hanbin’s widened smile and he felt unnecessarily proud of having put it there.

“I guess you’d find a way to make it something good. Do I look like a trustworthy prosecutor? Would you hire me?” Jiwoong started tilting his head to offer his face for view more like a model. Hanbin laughed again, almost falling sideways with a hand briefly falling on Jiwoong’s ankle to steady himself.

“I’d say you’re pretty enough to distract the judge,” Hanbin said, and Jiwoong bit the inside of his cheek to fight off a smile. “But that’s not exactly what I was thinking. I meant you as a lawyer, something corporate maybe, all cold and composed and ruthless.”

Jiwoong raised his eyebrows. “Don’t want me to fight for justice?”

Hanbin looked at him with a wickedly playful glint in his eyes. “Fight for me instead.”

Something fluttered violently under Jiwoong’s ribs. He felt his fist close around the impulse to touch Hanbin, to hold on, to hide him from anything outside this room. Jiwoong didn’t know how Hanbin made something like that sound so good, letting himself be turned into a bloodhound on a leash. 

“My first client, then,” Jiwoong raised his hand up and Hanbin shook it, looking extremely self-satisfied. Hanbin’s hand felt a little softer than his but a little sharper too, with more bony knuckles and jagged skin by his fingertips.

“You’ll have to follow me out, okay?” Hanbin said, making a much bigger promise for the both of them than he had any right to. 

Maybe he just needed to indulge in a temporary fantasy, but Hanbin pulled out chocolate from god knows which pocket, breaking one bar off to hand to Jiwoong like some sweeter equivalent of a blood oath to seal the deal.

“Jiwoong! Over here!”

Jiwoong’s head snapped up at the call, eyes catching on Hanbin waving enthusiastically from a group hanging out by a bench. Hanbin himself sat on the wooden table, legs swinging playfully and looking a lot more carefree than he did earlier, sunlight feathering through branches like a laced veil across his grin.

Jiwoong raised his hand in a small wave. Hanbin beamed and gestured for him to come over and Jiwoong found himself following before he’d really thought it through. He walked up to the table, Hanbin’s swinging legs stilling so that he could pull Jiwoong closer with a hand on his elbow.

Jiwoong felt the weight of the eyes of everyone else in the group following him, the conversation lulling to observe.

“Hi,” he said quietly to Hanbin, backpack still hoisted up on one shoulder because Jiwoong wasn’t intending to stay for long. Unfortunately, Hanbin had other plans, reaching around Jiwoong to pull the strap off his shoulder and tug it off, letting go of Jiwoong only so he could proceed to hug Jiwoong’s backpack to himself.

“Are you going home yet?” Hanbin asked, and Jiwoong’s eyes lingered on his bag wrapped in Hanbin’s arms like a teddy bear. His eyes darted back up to Hanbin’s expression to try to figure out what he was thinking doing this in front of his friends.

What was he trying to show off? The same running joke that someone managed to make friends with the feral bastard had to be getting old. Jiwoong didn’t know what he was seeing in Hanbin’s eyes and what was even more discomforting that how much his mind kept snagging on the thought of how cuddly Hanbin looked.

“I was,” Jiwoong said before pointedly looking at his bag.

“Aw, stay a little longer, won’t you? Stay with us for a bit,” Hanbin pleaded, just one hand reaching out from his bear hug of his bag to fist the fabric of Jiwoong’s hoodie sleeve.

He couldn’t very well leave without his things, could he? That and he found himself unable to detach himself from Hanbin’s sudden clinginess. Jiwoong sighed and Hanbin took that as acquiescence, but his death grip didn’t let up and neither did Jiwoong untense as Hanbin proceeded to pull him into the conversation and group too.

Jiwoong paused from swiping a table clean when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. With a quick glance at the restaurant owner busy with her own clean-up tasks, he pulled it out to see messages from Hanbin.

i can send the list of unis i was looking at

and scholarships

just in case u find smth too

Huh, so this was more than just a fantasy for Hanbin then. Fuck, Jiwoong’s schedule was going to be so irreparably fucked if he started going for this too.

send it over

;)

“What are you smiling for?”

Jiwoong’s eyes shot up to the restaurant owner’s mildly baffled expression as he pocketed his phone. Jiwoong couldn’t bite down the smile well enough though, deciding to hide his grin behind his hand. This only gained an unimpressed look mixed with slight horror as the old lady shook her head and muttered.

“Great, he’s going to scare off customers.”

He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up, ducking his head but not before he caught her look softening.

The next painting request was a plain painting job for a small building whatever committee at the church had politely avoided calling an eyesore. Jiwoong managed to hide a sneer well enough. He wasn’t sure they even remembered the single mother and her two kids who lived there by name. Jiwoong didn’t either, really, but apple thief kid was friends with the kids.

One look at the house and he agreed on the condition that they’d agree to fund retiling their roof too. Another look at their small yard and Jiwoong asked if Hanbin was any good at planting flowers. Hanbin responded with an extremely dubious yes only to proceed to bring a cousin of his over to handle it.

“He’s managed to kill bean sprouts,” his cousin explained off-handedly before getting to work.

“Is this why you’re applying for business?” Jiwoong asked Hanbin as they focused on painting the exterior.

Hanbin frowned but really it was a pout. It took a second too long for Jiwoong to look away.

“I may be cursed at farming,” Hanbin started and poked Jiwoong when he started laughing, “but I’ll become a good enough businessman that we don’t have to go about in circles just to get their roof retiled for winter.”

“Okay, I’ll water the plants, then.”

“Close the door properly—are you covered in paint? ” Jiwoong’s dad this time, bewildered by the sight while he was in the middle of getting ready to leave for his shift.

Jiwoong looked down at his ruined designated paint shirt. He shrugged.

“Do you know how to fix a window frame?” Jiwoong asked.

“Are you telling me you broke someone’s window?” His father looked back unimpressed.

Jiwoong had to admit that had sounded pretty bad.

“Uh, no, it’s for somebody that can’t afford a contractor but the church’ll pay me if I do it for less.”

It had nagged at the back of his mind that they’d rather go this route and risk shoddy work and not pay a local business when he knew they could afford to and Jiwoong had a feeling his father thought the same for how scathingly he’d spoken of them before. His father was the one who taught him to despise hypocrites after all. His father sighed and waved him off.

“You’re not qualified, kid,” his father started and Jiwoong was almost about to make the impulsive and ill-advised move to argue, “I’ll ask one of my work buddies.”

Jiwoong just nodded, surprised, and sat down to take off his paint-stained boots. His father walked past to head out the door, and seemingly unthinkingly ruffled Jiwoong’s hair on his way out.

Jiwoong didn’t make a habit of small talk for every painted fence or wall or whatever else he may or may not be paid to do, not making relationships like Hanbin did. That’s why it was surprising when people seemed to remember him even after he had left, when Hanbin would tell Jiwoong someone had asked after him.

He didn’t understand it, but Hanbin would just drag him over to somewhere like the bakery of some lady whose grandmother’s furniture they’d helped to shift once and force him to accept a muffin or some cake. Jiwoong would feed half of it to Hanbin and for once let himself think of them as a team, actually friends.

Jiwoong had always been slow to wake up, or maybe he’d just never slept enough to actually warrant opening his eyes. Usually, he at least managed to avoid knocking out so deeply in class, but some days were more exhausting from work than others.

His mind swam back into awareness slowly, first aware of the sound of arguing. Words like sleep and let him and insult floated around, leaving where they came from. That then evolved to the recognition of Hanbin’s voice and a teacher’s, moving back and forth near him. He couldn’t quite decipher what it was about, but the moment he opened his eyes, he saw the plastic ruler being aimed to whack his head.

With a reflex far more awake his his mind was, Jiwoong’s hand shot out to catch it. The motion managed to stun both Hanbin and the teacher, and with a little force, the ruler snapped in his hands. Jiwoong snatched the halves, the cracked edges digging into his palms for a moment before he threw it to the floor, plastic clattering against tiles. Could no one in this godforsaken place just let him rest? Fucking sadists. What the fuck was wrong with them? 

He looked up at the teacher with a glare of distaste, receiving an almost fearful expression within the teacher’s shock, before letting his head rest on his folded arms again. The blood that had rushed to his head melted away far slower than it had risen, too heated with indignation. The teacher surprisingly but thankfully just went back to teaching the class. Jiwoong went back to sleep.

did u finish the homework

no im tired

it’s due tmr??

cant stay awake

[Incoming Call]

“Hello?” Jiwoong yawned as he answered the call.

“Please don’t fall asleep, I need moral support to stay awake,” Hanbin answered and there was something so pleasant about getting to hear his voice at home too. Jiwoong felt his own face melt into a smile like unearned muscle memory.

“And you thought the sound of my yawns would be encouraging?” Jiwoong mused.

“Please, Jiwoong, I’ll let you copy the answers,” Hanbin tried negotiating. His panic sounded sluggish, giving way to sleepiness.

“I don’t know, I was pretty content to just not do it,” Jiwoong said, resting his phone on the side of his face.

“Please,” Hanbin whined, cutting himself off with his own yawn. Jiwoong’s shoulders shook with laughter, his body being pulled into the motions of happiness even while sinking into sleep.

“Fine, but keep talking. If I close my eyes, it’s over.”

“Turn on your camera then, or I won’t know.

Jiwoong sighed but complied, sliding his phone off his face to balance in front of his face. He turned on his bedside lamp and with a quick shuffle to his hair, accepted the video request. For all he was pretending it was a hardship, getting to see Hanbin in his glasses, threadbare t-shirt, and with fluffy hair was a far better deal than closing his eyes.

“Hello,” Jiwoong mumbled, the side of his face smushed into his pillow and eyes closing briefly.

In the following silence, except for the sound of the fan running on Hanbin’s side, Jiwoong opened his eyes. Hanbin was just staring, blinking, pen held loosely in hand.

“I thought I said keep talking,” Jiwoong reminded, his own voice sounding gravelly to himself.

Hanbin cleared his throat and proceeded to ramble through his thoughts about their homework. Jiwoong hummed here and mumbled there, and that seemed enough to participate. He wasn’t struggling as much as he thought he would to stay awake, but the idea of falling asleep to Hanbin studying was also too tempting.

“Done!” Hanbin cheered and Jiwoong didn't even want to check how far he’d delayed his own sleep for him. 

“I’ll send you the answers.”

Jiwoong exhaled through his nose in amusement. “I said you don’t need to.”

“Aw, so you did this just for me?” Hanbin cooed.

“I’ll hang up,” Jiwoong lied. Hanbin laughed, not believing him.

“I just don't want you to get scolded, I know you’re tired from work too.”

Jiwoong didn’t respond immediately. For once, it wasn’t just that Jiwoong was lazy or disrespectful. Somehow Hanbin’s words didn’t feel condescending, disbelieving, or insincere. Maybe it was just because he was lying down but it felt like his heart had drifted along a line to lodge itself in his throat. It swam there and back, chest too full to breathe and throat too tight to speak.

Jiwoong didn’t respond exactly, but smiled warmly instead.

“Goodnight, Hanbin.”

Hanbin sighed but smiled too.

“Goodnight, Jiwoong. See you tomorrow,” Hanbin ended the call with a little wave that seemed to knock at Jiwoong’s ribcage for how breathlessly endeared he felt. Jiwoong placed his phone on the bedside table and pressed his face fully against his pillow to pretend he wasn’t smiling like a fool. 

Fuck, he already wanted to hear Hanbin’s voice again, but it was a happy kind of impatient because he knew he’d get to. He’d get to hear him again, see him as he pleased, and have this to himself again. He’d get to have Hanbin to himself, someone who wanted to see him, someone who tried to protect him, someone on his side. The best goddamn thing in this town in his corner.

He went to sleep after setting an earlier alarm than he needed to try and finish the work the next morning.

The additional responsibilities and work Jiwoong had tied himself to meant he’d started lagging on old ones. There was only so much he could do and maybe trying to do all of it was ill-advised, but how could he not try when Hanbin thought he could do it?

“Must I tell you what you need to do around the house? You know how your father is, you need to help me pick up after him too.”

Jiwoong choked down the guilt and the near-blinding shock of hatred he felt for their bullshit.

“I’m not free right now, I’ll come back and do it.”

His mother seemed to melt into some kind of affectionate sympathy. Jiwoong’s blood curdled at the sight. Why was he so angry? What was wrong?

“You know I can only trust you, right? You’re better than him.”

That blinding shock turned into some kind of fluid, arterial rush of rage he didn’t even know he stored. She didn’t even say anything mean. Why did he hate hearing that so much?

“Just talk to him directly for once! I’m not—” the man of this house or the husband or the adult , “I’m the kid, I’ll clean whatever, just—just stop making me talk to him for you.”

He left the house hearing a venomous he’s just like his father and past the sick twist in his gut, he found himself thinking thank god Hanbin isn’t anything like her .

Maybe the thing that shredded the last of Jiwoong’s wariness around Hanbin was the way Hanbin indulged Jiwoong’s tiny ultimatums. Who Hanbin spent his lunch with, who he talked to over a break, who he’d spend more weekends with. It almost even seemed like Hanbin liked provoking it.

“What’s wrong with the weather today? It’s so cold,” Hanbin complained in the middle of class, rolling his shoulders to push off the chill.

“You’re not subtle, you know?” Jiwoong said quietly, shrugging off his hoodie before tossing it onto Hanbin’s lap. Hanbin looked far too satisfied to care about the mild insult, somehow always knowing when Jiwoong meant what he said. Hanbin also had to know this wasn’t the kind of thing he could say no to, seeing Hanbin wear something of his. Hanbin immediately put it on, the difference in the size of their frames enough to drown him a little with sweater paws.

And this kind of moment was all Jiwoong’s to have—small desires of Jiwoong’s that Hanbin delivered to gift-wrapped, and in return, Hanbin was allowed to take and take and take.

Hanbin waited until the teacher was facing the board to make a heart with his arms over his head as discreetly as he could, his face scrunching up to act cute. Jiwoong’s eyes darted away when he heard the sudden thud in his chest, and he busied himself with finding and putting on his blazer because it really was fucking cold.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you willingly wear the blazer properly,” Hanbin commented.

“You’re a nuisance,” Jiwoong said mildly as he pulled Hanbin’s notebook closer to catch up on the notes he’d lagged on in the past few minutes. If he’d left a little doodle behind of a flower making heart arms it was only because Hanbin had looked especially silly.

wait ur hoodie

ive already left school

it’s mine now

Jiwoong rolled his eyes but didn’t suppress the smile as he set his phone aside on his table again to get back to his assignment. 

His phone beeped again.

[image]

It was frankly embarrassing that Jiwoong somehow choked on his spit. It was just a picture of Hanbin in Jiwoong’s hoodie, face close enough to the camera to count his eyelashes and the lines of his pout. It was cute but less playful than usual. 

i look better in it than u

Jiwoong felt his lips twitch before bending into a reluctant frown. Jiwoong wasn’t dense, he knew what flirting looked like, but that didn’t always make whatever Hanbin was playing at any clearer. Besides, It wasn’t good for someone like Jiwoong to be allowed to have things for himself, he wasn’t the kind to let go.

u look good in the full uniform

youre not seeing it again

i tried

“What are you smiling at? Are you talking to a girl?” 

“Nothing. Something funny.” Hanbin had sent a picture of a stray cat cuddling up to him while he was out with his family.

“Why don’t you talk to me anymore? You used to tell me everything when you were small.”

“School was okay.”

Jiwoong stood in the small convenience store across from the church, waiting for Hanbin’s service to end. They had plans, or rather, Hanbin had made plans for them but had refused to explain exactly what yet. He’d just decided for the both of them that Jiwoong’s recent high score in social studies deserved a celebration, and Jiwoong was so pleased he hardly remembered his teacher’s surprise or his parents’ mild confusion and indifference.

He loitered by the counter, debating between getting a snack or a cigarette pack. He wasn’t exactly especially in the mood for smoking but he had a little twisted amusement at the thought of greeting Hanbin with it after he came from church.

He went for the cigarettes, being handed the pack by the stoic storeowner who seemed to turn a blind eye to asking for IDs as long as you weren’t annoying. Jiwoong stepped outside, lighting one up and leaning against the wall as he waited for a while and scrolled on his phone.

“Jiwoong!”

Jiwoong looked up at the sound, moving his arms out of the way in time to be barrelled by a hug. Jiwoong let out a small sound at the heart-stuttering impact.

“How was church?” Jiwoong asked, one hand gravitating to the small of Hanbin’s back. He thought the situation Hanbin had going on was a little funny, sure, but he was capable of being supportive. Hanbin only squeezed tighter, arms still around Jiwoong’s waist.

“That bad or that good?” Jiwoong joked, trying very hard to ignore the way Hanbin’s nose brushed against the side of his neck.

“It was nice to see Mrs. Park again after her hip surgery,” Hanbin finally pulled back to say. 

Jiwoong still didn’t know how to feel about having his world expanded to knowing things like this—he already remembered that this was the same Mrs. Park that Hanbin had volunteered to paint the fence of a week ago, and whose thank you gift of homemade sweets were the same ones Hanbin shared with him in school the next day.

“Her granddaughter wanted to celebrate,” Hanbin continued, hands toying with Jiwoong’s shirt now. “I recommended the restaurant you work at and told them to ask for you.”

Jiwoong raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“I think you’ll like her,” Hanbin shrugged. “She’ll definitely love you—she might try to get you to marry her granddaughter—but at least she’ll start making food for you too and that’s twice the sweets for both of us!”

Jiwoong laughed, reluctantly letting go of Hanbin to start walking towards their destination. He wasn’t sure what Hanbin thought Mrs. Park would see in him but was too amused to question it.

“How do you even keep track of everyone like this?” Jiwoong couldn’t help asking. Jiwoong lived in a relatively small world in terms of the people he actually acknowledged, content to let the rest exist as names, positions, or footnotes. Hanbin on the other hand seemed to contain libraries for everyone he’d ever met.

“Her grandson is a lawyer. I thought maybe,” Hanbin shrugged, “I don’t know, just in case you wanted someone to talk to about stuff and applications.”

Jiwoong was right—Hanbin was one manipulative bastard and Jiwoong could kiss him for it. The realisation came all at once with startling clarity but he didn’t say anything, choosing to sling an arm across Hanbin’s shoulders instead and mirror Hanbin’s grin.

A little bit of a drizzle started halfway, and they jogged to the nearest bus stand where a man and a girl who looked a little younger than them stood. Jiwoong discarded the wet cigarette and picked a new one out of the pack. There was only one that remained dry enough and he tossed the rest into a trash can, lighting it up as Hanbin spoke.

“Oh, I think that’s my sister’s friend. And my pastor,” Hanbin noted the last part quietly before frowning. Jiwoong looked at the man again, then noticed the girl’s wary glance at the man. Her arms were folded across her chest, shoulders hunched in like it was cold when it was really almost too warm. Her shoes shuffled inconspicuously, a half-step towards exiting. The man, on the other hand, was relaxed, saying something to the girl that was getting drowned out by the light rain. The hair on Jiwoong’s arms stood. Maybe he was just reading too much into it.

Jiwoong looked at Hanbin, whose jaw was tightened looking at the other two, a flicker of indignance as his eyes slid back to Jiwoong with a wary kind of knowing. He definitely didn’t look surprised, but maybe disappointed. Then his expression shifted like he’d had an idea before turning almost imploring.

Jiwoong didn’t know when he’d become so confident in interpreting Hanbin’s expressions or why he was so sure that Hanbin was asking for him to fight.

He reached a hand out to Hanbin’s wrist.

“Get me another pack from the store and whatever you like,” Jiwoong said as he folded Hanbin’s hand around some cash with a pointed look at the small crowd at the store.

Hanbin understood well enough and jogged back in the rain. Jiwoong took a couple of steps to the pastor, catching the girl’s eye in the process. He tapped the man’s back, who turned with raised eyebrows.

Jiwoong took a swing at his face. Hard enough to hurt like a bitch and placed so it would hardly leave a bruise.

“What the fuck,” the man yelled and the girl stepped away in fright. Jiwoong drove another blow to his sternum, watching him wheeze and bend over. Jiwoong kicked at his knee and the man dropped to his knees.

Jiwoong crouched down to his height, pulling the man’s head back with a hand in his hair.

“Did you think no one was looking?” Not that Jiwoong would have seen this on his own, but Hanbin saw everything, and that meant Jiwoong did too.

“What are you talking about? Just take my money, whatever you want,” the man wheezed.

“I don’t want your money. I want you to remember I’ll be there if you pull this shit again,” Jiwoong held his gaze before glancing at the girl who seemed a little less frightened, looking between both of them warily. 

“Fuck you,” the man spat. What a foul mouth for a pastor. Jiwoong plucked the cigarette he’d been holding onto and pressed the burning tip to the man’s forearm, watching the man shriek.

“Ask around if you don’t believe me. And remember, if you tell anyone, I’ll only have even less to lose,” Jiwoong said, although he found the last part of his threat starting to taste like a lie for the first time. He didn’t delude himself that this would be enough to get the man to step down, but the rest was for Hanbin to figure out.

He heard the sound of a crowd of footsteps and quickly shifted to place his hands on the man’s shoulders.

“Are you okay? Can you stand up?” Jiwoong loudly played at being concerned.

“Pastor Yu! Are you having cramps again?” Hanbin exclaimed before anyone else could make any other assumptions, kneeling by the man while the rest caught up. Jiwoong stood back and Hanbin joined him, watching as Hanbin’s sister quickly joined the girl and left together. They waited until the crowd of old ladies and the pastor got on the bus before Jiwoong heard plastic crinkling. He looked to Hanbin just as a lollipop was plopped into Jiwoong’s mouth.

“What?” Jiwoong mouthed around it, bringing up a hand to slip it out by the stem. “I asked for cigarettes.”

“It’s not my fault he wouldn’t sell me any,” Hanbin grumbled as he unwrapped his own lollipop and Jiwoong chuckled. 

“Whatever, I’m extending your life span.”

“Baby,” Jiwoong laughed, not noticing Hanbin’s wide eyes once his own closed. Jiwoong just got into a fight because Hanbin widened his eyes a certain way. Not to mention how he’d started forcing himself through a soul-crushing amount of studying alongside work for the chance of ending up at the same university. “You’re going to get me killed first.”

“Pastor Yu talked to me yesterday,” Jiwoong’s father said the moment his mother left the table to get something, eyes not leaving his newspaper. It was a rare Monday when everyone was tensely having breakfast at the same time. Jiwoong stiffened, momentarily pausing in chewing his food. 

“He said he saw you get into a fight,” his father added seemingly nonchalantly, flipping a page.

Jiwoong resisted the urge to let out a derisive snort. Coward. He held his breath too, even if he didn’t regret anything. His father wasn’t one to take these things too lightly when he bothered taking it up, especially about fights. 

His father looked at him finally and Jiwoong didn’t dare to speak.

“Good,” his father said instead, looking back to the morning news, and didn’t bring it up again when his mother walked by to set down eggs and took her seat. Jiwoong let out the breath tensing his chest.

Breakfast stayed silent, or at least silent in the way that you traded opening your mouth for grinding your teeth. But all things considered, it was actually an unusually beautiful morning—cold sunlight, clear skies through opened curtains, happy chirping. Really, it could’ve been any other morning but somehow it held all the special feeling of a solar event. 

The air was only as light as he wished he could hear Hanbin’s laugh cutting through it. The light was only as pretty as he could wish he could see it on Hanbin. An unusual, pretty daydream. For all that they had seen each other fall asleep on calls, Jiwoong thought he wanted to see Hanbin waking up, have his day start and end with him.

Hanbin was the sort of boy his parents would like even, not that he could bring him along the way he’d want to. Jiwoong wondered if his parents had an image of the kind of daughter-in-law they expected sitting at the table with them. How beautiful she would be, how smart, how foolish for picking Jiwoong. It was a reasonable expectation, sure, but unthinkable that they wouldn’t see it in Hanbin.

Hanbin could make his mother laugh, maybe impress his father—though it’d be no fault of Hanbin’s if his father hardly blinked, that was just the kind of man he was. But it sounded nice, happy even. It was a pretty thought, one that was even just a little possible in a certain way, but most importantly, it was all his.

They had a break between classes and Hanbin was showing Jiwoong something on his phone. Having taken the opportunity to stretch, Jiwoong was standing behind Hanbin’s chair, hands resting on Hanbin’s shoulders as he looked down at Hanbin’s phone.

“You think it’s funny too, right?” Hanbin asked, leaning his head back against Jiwoong’s stomach to look up at him. If he was being completely honest, Jiwoong was a little too distracted to be paying attention, but teasing Hanbin was fun anyway.

“You laugh at things only a kindergartner would,” Jiwoong joked, enjoying the mock-outraged gasp that got from Hanbin.

“What are you guys looking at?” One of their classmates leaned from the other side of Hanbin’s table. She was looking more at Hanbin even if the question was technically directed at both of them. That was okay, Jiwoong wasn’t particularly interested in talking to anyone else.

Jumping on the opportunity to prove his point, Hanbin turned his phone to face their classmate who was eager to laugh as the video played it out. Maybe it really was funny, Jiwoong didn’t know. She handed the phone back and Jiwoong caught the unnecessary brush of fingers.

“You agree, right? It’s funny?” Hanbin asked eagerly, his excitement flustering their classmate. Jiwoong shifted so that his forearms were resting on Hanbin’s shoulders instead and watched her eyes track the movement as she nodded shyly.

“See, it’s two to one,” Hanbin retorted to Jiwoong, leaning his head back so his hair brushed against Jiwoong’s jaw, eyes sparkling.

“If you asked me at all, it means someone already disagreed. I bet your sister called it lame,” Jiwoong said. Hanbin’s smile turned into a pout as he half-heartedly shrugged Jiwoong off. 

Jiwoong wrapped his arms around Hanbin’s shoulders and pulled him back so that Hanbin leaned against his shoulder. Hanbin allowed it, and Jiwoong knew Hanbin was pleased enough by the affection that he hadn’t noticed their classmate’s slight awkwardness. That wasn’t Jiwoong’s problem, she left them soon enough anyway.

“I think she wanted to talk to you more,” Jiwoong said, not removing his arms. Not that he even could with Hanbin holding them in place as well.

“Huh? Oh, I’ll talk to her later,” Hanbin said off-handedly.

“Turning down a pretty girl so easily?” Jiwoong joked. Hanbin smacked his arm lightly but leaned back.

“You better laugh at the next video,” Hanbin grumbled as he pulled up another one on his phone.

“What would you look for anyway?” Jiwoong asked, watching Hanbin yawn on the other side of the video call. Hanbin folded his arms over his pillow to rest his head on them as he looked into his camera.

“What are you talking about?” Hanbin mumbled, giving into the sleepy weight of his eyelids now that he was done with his homework. Jiwoong leaned back in his chair, pen still in his hand because he wasn’t done with his.

“I’ve never seen you around with a girlfriend. What are you looking for?” Jiwoong watched Hanbin’s eyes sharpen, a little more alert at the question.

“Kind? Smart? Goes to church? Saves kittens from trees?” Jiwoong listed, lips curling in amusement as he watched Hanbin bury his face in his pillow. Hanbin turned his face enough for an eye to peek out under the shadow of his messed-up hair.

“Stop mocking me. What would you do if I went out with a girl anyway?”

“What would you do if I did?” Jiwoong asked instead. Maybe too obvious of a diversion but he didn’t want to answer and Hanbin let him get away with too much anyway.

“I’m not sharing you,” Hanbin said. Jiwoong hummed, a lilting sound that pretended his heart wasn’t jolting in his chest. 

“Not even once we’re out of here,” Hanbin continued. “You’re on my side.”

Maybe there was some truth to what Hanbin said about taking sides. The more time that passed, the more it was like Jiwoong was getting split into two. For all that he got to enjoy a bright, sweet contentment around Hanbin, the moment Jiwoong stepped into his own home it flipped into an incandescent rage. Jiwoong could hardly be blamed for wanting to keep the two separate.

Hanbin looked over Jiwoong’s shoulder curiously. “Who’s this for?”

Jiwoong placed the box containing the necklace back in its bag and shrugged.

“My mom. Her birthday’s coming up.” Jiwoong felt obligated to put in more effort here where otherwise he was incapable of holding a conversation with her. His father would likely get something nicer, and Jiwoong simultaneously felt something icky for comparing but relieved that whatever Jiwoong got would be overshadowed. She probably wouldn’t like this that much anyway.

“Tell me what you want for yours,” Jiwoong redirected despite Hanbin’s frown, not wanting to overlap even the thoughts of the two.

Hanbin ended up asking for him to just write a long card and Jiwoong would give him exactly that with a bunch of flowers you couldn’t find in their town.

open your window

huh??

im outside open your window

i have a front door??

your family is home

not the best idea

?????

Hanbin opened his window anyway, head poking out into the dark curiously. Jiwoong leapt over the fence before walking up to the window on the first floor and being pulled in by Hanbin.

“Why’d you come in through the window?” Hanbin asked, reaching out to flick the light switch for his lamp. Jiwoong slumped to lean against Hanbin’s desk, adrenaline melting into mild regret. 

“Oh my fucking god.”

“Hey, no names in vain,” Jiwoong joked weakly. Hanbin stared at him open-mouthed before springing into action. Both of his hands went up to cradle Jiwoong’s face, turning it this way and that. Hanbin’s fingers traced the edges of his black eye, split lip, and bleeding cut along his hairline. Jiwoong let him, letting his head loll to lean into the touch.

“What the fuck happened?” Hanbin demanded, pushing Jiwoong to take a seat on the chair and inadvertently aggravating a different bruise on his torso. Jiwoong’s suppressed grimace had Hanbin wincing and making an aborted motion towards him before deciding to move to the bathroom to get a first aid kit. Jiwoong shuffled in his seat to try and find a slightly more comfortable position. His hoodie stuck to his skin uncomfortably from mostly sweat and a little blood. He counted the seconds until Hanbin came back, three for each aborted inhale and exhale.

“Shitty customers. They like to fuck with the owner and she’s just an old lady,” Jiwoong explained, pretending like it didn’t hurt to talk. He watched Hanbin lay out the medicine in the kit before motioning for Jiwoong to take off his hoodie. Jiwoong reached from the hem, skin exposed to the chill of the room immediately. 

“So you beat them up?” Hanbin asked, but incredulously like it would be out of character for him. Jiwoong was always surprised to not be expected the worst of.

“No,” Jiwoong said as he struggled to lift the hoodie above his head and Hanbin helped him out of it. Hanbin chucked it towards his own laundry basket. “I told them to get lost and they found me after. I just maybe took it a little far.”

Jiwoong leaned back in the chair, resting his head against the back. He watched Hanbin eye the mottling bruises climbing up Jiwoong’s lightly heaving torso. Hanbin reached for a wet towel. It was warm to the touch as it was wiped against Jiwoong’s face before trailing down the rest of his upper body, precise but too soft to be clinical.

“Not that I’m not glad you came to me but why didn’t you go home straight away?” Hanbin started with the disinfectant for the cuts and abrasions.

“My mom has guests over, I didn’t want to embarrass her,” Jiwoong shrugged and Hanbin frowned. “Can I sleep here for a bit? I think they’ll be gone after dinner.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hanbin waved it off as he reached for some plasters, starting from the cut on his forehead that had been bleeding quite dramatically for how shallow it was. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here?”

“I don’t know, hung out on a bench, I guess,” Jiwoong shrugged again. Hanbin didn’t hide his distaste at the answer, shaking his head as he continued to some kind of ointment for the bruises. His touch was almost ghostly with how careful he was being but he couldn’t avoid pressing where it hurt. Hanbin’s eyes would flick up to Jiwoong’s sadly at the flinches Jiwoong couldn’t suppress.

“Can you at least get better at fighting or something,” Hanbin complained. Jiwoong laughed before immediately regretting it upon feeling the sharp pull in his abdomen.

“They were worse off, at least,” Jiwoong reasoned.

“I don’t want you to have a fucking scratch.”

Hanbin stood up, glaring at the first aid kit as he packed it up. Jiwoong tugged at Hanbin’s arm, causing him to fumble with his balance, allowing Jiwoong to pull him onto his lap with a yelp from Hanbin. Jiwoong ignored his own aches to wrap his arms around Hanbin’s waist, hiding his face against Hanbin’s shoulder blade and closing his eyes.

“What are you doing? You need to rest,” Hanbin asked, sounding slightly flustered but making no attempt to move away.

“Let’s just stay like this for a while,” Jiwoong said, feeling somewhat delirious from the exhaustion catching up to him. Hanbin allowed it, only freeing his arms to place them on top of Jiwoong’s.

“I’ll get better,” Jiwoong promised after a moment. Whether he was talking about his injuries or his fighting or himself, he wasn’t sure. Whatever made Hanbin happier. 

He heard an amused sharp exhale from Hanbin. Jiwoong tightened his arms, enjoying the warmth from Hanbin seeping through his shirt to Jiwoong’s bare skin.

“Jiwoong?” Hanbin called out quietly. Jiwoong hummed in question.

“What did you mean you didn’t want to embarrass your mom?” Hanbin asked, tracing shapes lightly onto Jiwoong’s forearm. Jiwoong shook his head into Hanbin’s shoulder. He caught sight of a loose stack of papers on Hanbin’s desk and unwrapped one arm to reach out for it, catching a couple of mentions of business administration courses at first glance.

“How’s college applications going?” Jiwoong asked instead. Hanbin allowed it.

“The counsellor wasn’t very helpful but I narrowed down the courses and scholarships I think I can get into.”

Jiwoong smiled into Hanbin’s shoulder.

“I’m proud of you,” Jiwoong said. 

Hanbin snorted. “For what? It’s not like I’ve gotten in yet.”

“Not everyone can draw a map to begin with,” Jiwoong answered. He swiped at the skin under Hanbin’s t-shirt with his thumb. The skin was cold, his own hand must feel hot. Jiwoong looked up just as he heard breath hitching.

“You talk like an old man, you know that, right?” Hanbin joked, but Jiwoong could feel the shy way Hanbin seemed to curl in on himself.

“You’re incredible,” Jiwoong said. He may have felt kind of delirious but that only had him thinking how unbelievable it was that he’d never said it out loud before. “Should I say it again?”

Hanbin twisted in his lap so that he was seated more sideways, winding one arm behind Jiwoong’s neck and using his other hand to cover Jiwoong’s mouth. Jiwoong closed his mouth, lips brushing against Hanbin’s palm, and looked up at Hanbin with eyes that were heavy from being both tired and unbearably fond. Hanbin’s gaze flickered away, flustered.

Jiwoong chased the heat of Hanbin’s palm when he took it away. Hanbin held onto his own wrist on Jiwoong’s shoulder instead before tucking Jiwoong’s head under his chin.

“Thank you, by the way,” Hanbin said. “For that time with Pastor Yu.”

Jiwoong’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he asked, “For fucking him up, you mean? Pleasure to be of service.”

“My parents didn’t believe my sister on her friend’s behalf, let alone her own parents,” Hanbin explained, tracing aimless loops onto Jiwoong’s bare shoulder.

“I don’t have to resent them as much because of you. One crime they don’t have to continue being guilty of if he’s too scared to try anything again,” Hanbin said.

“You accomplished that yourself,” Jiwoong said. It was kind of odd to hear that Hanbin’s family wasn’t as pleasantly unblemished as he thought, but that only made Hanbin seem more impressive.

“I didn’t even have to say anything and you believed me,” Hanbin argued. “You’re the one who actually did something. I didn’t know how to.”

Jiwoong frowned, tilting his head to look away at Hanbin and chewing the inside of his cheek.

“Will you believe me when I say I was relieved to meet you?” Hanbin asked.

Jiwoong lowered his eyes.

“So why would your mother be embarrassed?” Hanbin asked again. Jiwoong sighed at Hanbin refusing to let that go.

“It would be nice if she got to talk about a son who was a star student, school leader, or at least well-liked. Not walking in all bloody while she’s with some of the few people that keep her in this town is the best I can do.”

“Wouldn’t you be one of those few people?”

“That’s not a good thing,” Jiwoong laughed drily. “The sooner I get out of here, the sooner she can go back to her hometown.”

“Are you sure that’s a good thing either?”

The following silence extended for long enough that Hanbin finally got fed up with the sound of Jiwoong’s every breath hitching with the pain in his ribs. Hanbin pulled Jiwoong up and practically dragged him to his bed until Jiwoong was lying with his head in Hanbin’s lap. Hands combed through his hair so comfortably he could almost forget the pain scattered across his body.

“Sleep, I’ll wake you up in a while.”

“Don’t let me sleep for too long, I have to study,” Jiwoong said with his eyes closed. He heard a questioning hum from Hanbin.

“I promised you, didn’t I? That I’d follow you out of here. I need to study first, so promise you’ll wake me up.”

He didn’t hear an answer from Hanbin, just felt the fingers in his hair turn impossibly gentle.

“Do you wanna hang out this Saturday?” Jiwoong had asked earlier in the week, one of the few times he’d asked first instead of Hanbin, and he knew that fact alone almost guaranteed that Hanbin would agree. 

That was all Hanbin had agreed to, so Jiwoong had no reason to expect him to show up to his door with a cake box. White cardboard with a pretty, light blue ribbon wrapped around it to form a bow on the top. It didn’t look like it came with the box.

Jiwoong blinked, not immediately letting him past the threshold in his confusion.

“What? Is there a password or something?” Hanbin joked. Jiwoong looked down at the box and then at Hanbin again. He might have forgotten how to speak.

“Okay, let me try. Is the password ‘happy birthday’?” Hanbin tried. Jiwoong stepped back, opening the door wider to let him in once he snapped out of his daze.

“How’d you know?” Jiwoong closed the door behind Hanbin, who was taking in the view of his living room. The house was empty, his parents weren’t home and part of him almost wished they were.

“There’s a class record,” Hanbin shrugged.

“You looked at my record?” Jiwoong asked, raising his eyebrows.

Hanbin snorted. “I didn’t hack anything to do a full background check, it’s just a piece of paper with everyone’s birthdays in class.”

“And you remembered mine?” Jiwoong asked as he opened the fridge to take something out to drink.

“I remember everyone’s.” Of course, his local politician as always.

Hours later, they’d eaten dinner and had cracked open enough soju for Hanbin to turn more giggly and Jiwoong more careless and nonsensical.

“It’s time for the cake!” Hanbin reminded, leaning past Jiwoong to bring the box closer. He opened the box, placing and lighting up the candles with surprising dexterity for how reliant he seemed on Jiwoong to hold up his weight.

Hanbin brought his hands together to start clapping in order to sing, only for Jiwoong to stop him.

“Wait,” Jiwoong reached around to search for his phone. “Come here,” he gestured like Hanbin wasn’t already unnecessarily close.

Hanbin complied anyway and Jiwoong held up his phone and a peace sign and Hanbin chuckled before doing the same. A couple of clicks later he put his phone down to get back to the cake.

“Wait, wait, I have a genius idea, wait,” Hanbin stopped him, reaching near him and fumbling for something by his bed.

“Here, I found this in your room,” Hanbin said, plopping a film camera onto Jiwoong’s lap.

“Nosy,” Jiwoong said as Hanbin repeated his pose so Jiwoong could take another one. He leaned even closer, cheek brushing against Jiwoong’s hair. Jiwoong took the picture, the unexpected flash momentarily blinding him and his vision cleared to see Hanbin blinking dopily as well.

“What are you smiling at?” Hanbin asked sluggishly.

Jiwoong hadn’t realised he was but now that it was pointed out, he could feel how his cheeks were stretched almost painfully.

“Whatever, the cake before we die please,” Hanbin shifted his attention, relighting some candles whose flames had gone out. 

Jiwoong shifted in place, leaning forward to blow out the candles halfway through Hanbin’s singing and Hanbin broke out into applause. 

“What did you wish for?” Hanbin asked, placing the plastic knife in Jiwoong’s hands.

“You know I can’t say,” Jiwoong replied as he cut out a piece. He fed the first piece directly to Hanbin’s mouth before he could complain, who chewed happily, content with his flavour selection.

Hanbin took the knife from him next, cutting out another piece to feed Jiwoong. Jiwoong struggled to chew around the slightly too-large piece and Hanbin took the opportunity to swipe frosting off the cake and onto Jiwoong’s nose.

Jiwoong’s eyes widened in affront and after swallowing his piece, he swiped some frosting himself to retaliate. Hanbin laughed whole-heartedly as he tried to fend Jiwoong off, accidentally tipping backwards and falling onto his back.

Jiwoong smiled softly, slowly reaching over and watching Hanbin’s eyes cross as he swiped frosting onto his cheek. Without getting up, Hanbin reached for the film camera again, aiming it at Jiwoong with one hand. The other hand reached out to Jiwoong’s cheek, palm cupping it while his thumb laid across his lips to poke at the frosting still on the tip of his nose.

“Silly,” Hanbin declared, and Jiwoong pretended the heat of blood rushing in his cheeks was just the warmth of Hanbin’s hand.

Jiwoong blinked awake, suddenly becoming aware of the sharp aches along his back from having slept wrong. It was still dark and Jiwoong realised he was still on the floor, his head pillowed only by his own arm.

Tilting his head had his chin knock into something. He heard an annoyed sound of sucking teeth and then a sniffle. The sound was muffled into his chest and Jiwoong noticed how warm he was for not actually having a blanket. Or how the blanket that he did have was actively pushing him onto his back to settle more heavily on his chest.

“Hanbin?” Jiwoong rasped.

“Huh?” The question was mumbled blearily into his shirt which was also being tugged on by tightening fingers.

“Don’t you have to be home?” Jiwoong asked, having no idea of the time himself other than it had been long enough for the arm previously under Hanbin to go numb.

“No one’s there until tomorrow,” Hanbin mumbled, tucking himself closer. If Jiwoong wasn’t still slightly drunk, the lurch that his heart took in his chest would have made sleep unrecoverable.

“What are you doing?” 

“Sleeping,” Hanbin answered.

“I meant—”

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Hanbin muttered, eyes still closed. His hair tickled at Jiwoong’s neck, but it was so soft and Jiwoong’s chest wouldn’t stop aching, swelling too violently for the light weight of Hanbin’s head raising with every breath.

“What?”

“I’m hugging my best friend, shut up and sleep,” Hanbin answered, finishing the conversation and tightening his grip on Jiwoong’s shirt. Jiwoong breathed deeply to settle the tidal wave in his chest. He wanted so badly to smooth his palm down the top of Hanbin’s spine and lull him back to sleep but touching him now sounded too good to be true, even if Hanbin had gone and made his bed in Jiwoong’s heart.

“You’re still drunk.” So was Jiwoong.

“Would you shut up? I’d rather deal with your snoring,” Hanbin snapped, the giggly drunk having evolved into an irritable but cuddly one. Jiwoong didn’t know why Hanbin still wanted to be here with him—in the dead of the night, on the floor, and with snoring to deal with. Even if Jiwoong somehow normally managed to entertain him well enough in waking hours, he didn’t have anything to give Hanbin here except somewhere soft to lay his head, but Hanbin had chosen his chest even as he grumbled adorably about it.

“I don’t snore,” Jiwoong countered mildly, dragging a pillow off his bed to stuff under his own head.

“I’m going to kill you,” Hanbin said as he made no move to do so.

“Grumpy.”

“Of course I’m fucking grumpy.”

“Hi grumpy, I’m Jiwoong.”

Hanbin stilled, lifting his head to squint at Jiwoong in horror. He lifted a hand to smack Jiwoong’s chest but Jiwoong pulled him back down before he could. The arm he put around Hanbin placated him well enough and Jiwoong let it stay there.

“Jiwoong. Jiwoong. Hey, I have to go home now.”

The gentle voice managed to penetrate the fog of sleep just barely, and Jiwoong let out an agreeing hum. Jiwoong only realised the weight of the hand on his chest when it began to leave. Jiwoong’s hand shot up to catch it.

“What’s the time?” Jiwoong mumbled, squinting against the light entering the uncurtained windows.

“Seven in the morning. Let’s get you in bed, come on, it’s more comfortable,” Hanbin hushed, holding onto the wrist of the hand gripping his own. He did his best to haul Jiwoong’s dead weight to not much avail until Jiwoong reanimated enough to carry himself to the bathroom instead and brush his teeth. His energy lasted long enough to somehow make it back to slump onto his bed. 

“I cleaned up and put the cake in the fridge,” Hanbin said as he pulled the blanket over Jiwoong and Jiwoong pulled Hanbin’s wrist to get him to sit on the bed.

“Where are you going?” Jiwoong asked, more lucid this time but still too comfortable to lift his head from his pillow. Hanbin moved one hand to card through Jiwoong’s hair.

“I have church in a couple hours,” Hanbin explained. Jiwoong didn’t resist the urge to snort this time. 

“What’s so funny?” Hanbin’s asked, voice lilting and fond. The carding didn’t stop.

“Are you even sober?” Jiwoong could tell Hanbin was, but he wanted to remind him of how he’d spent the night before church.

“Yes, in fact, very. I also opened your extra toothbrush, by the way, it’s the blue one next to yours,” Hanbin added.

“Planning on staying over more?” Jiwoong teased.

“You’d never turn me away,” Hanbin retorted. Jiwoong didn’t argue.

“What time do you have to be at church?” Jiwoong asked, shifting his hold on Hanbin’s wrist to intertwine their fingers instead, their joined hands resting on Hanbin’s lap. 

“Service starts at nine, I’ll need to leave now,” Hanbin said, nails digging into Jiwoong’s scalp and Jiwoong closed his eyes at the sensation.

“Will you think of me?” The boy you just spent the night with, whose attention you like a little too much. The fingers in his hair stilled. 

Maybe Jiwoong shouldn’t have said that but he needed to know. He needed to know if he occupied Hanbin’s thoughts even a fraction of the amount he’d invaded Jiwoong’s. If there was any part of Hanbin that belonged just to him. If Hanbin was even aware of how much he looked for Jiwoong, of the way he kept Jiwoong close, the way he refused to let anyone else near.

Jiwoong opened his eyes. Hanbin’s lips were parted with no answer. Jiwoong decided he would give him one. He reached out his other hand to fist into the collar of Hanbin’s shirt.

“Think of me,” Jiwoong said before pulling his collar. Hanbin’s eyes fluttered closed almost obediently before his lips met Jiwoong’s in a light graze, both of them hesitating.

Then, like Hanbin got curious all on his own, he pressed harder to move his lips against Jiwoong’s. Jiwoong released his hold on Hanbin’s collar to hold his cheek, heart pounding almost painfully against his ribs when Hanbin leaned into his palm.

Jiwoong’s chest ached with no real pain, only caving in from the force of wanting so badly to stretch the moment into a small eternity, to do this again, to finally keep someone on his side. 

Jiwoong really had gotten too comfortable. 

Hanbin pulled away only when his phone started ringing, answering his mother with one hand still against Jiwoong’s chest. He’d shifted his hold down to Jiwoong’s hand, squeezing it once without looking before walking out of the room while still on the phone.

Jiwoong didn’t get up at the sound of the main door closing and the conversation closing out. He didn’t fall back asleep either, just stayed awake to stare at dawn colouring his ceiling. 

7AM. 8AM. 9AM. Service must have started already. 10AM. What was Hanbin thinking about? 11AM. Has it ended? How long does it usually last? 12PM. Jiwoong sat up, feeling borderline catatonic. 1PM. Jiwoong got back from his shower and ate cake for lunch. Would Hanbin text Jiwoong today? Or would Jiwoong have to wait until school on Monday?

2PM. Jiwoong headed out to the nearest film development store, not caring that his roll had only been half used. 5PM. Hanbin wasn’t going to contact him today, Jiwoong just knew. 

8PM. Jiwoong willingly opened his homework for an ounce of distraction. He still kept his phone propped up so he wouldn’t miss a notification. 9PM. Jiwoong almost forgot to have dinner. He had cake again.

“Did you have dinner?” Jiwoong’s mother said as she entered the house, keys clattering as they dropped on the counter by the door. His father entered quietly behind her, arms straining with the majority of their grocery bags.

“Yeah,” Jiwoong responded, standing to head to his room now that he wasn’t alone in the living room. His mother didn’t seem to like that, dropping the bag of groceries in her hand on the table with a huff.

“Is it so hard for you to stay in the room with us for two seconds?” she asked, crossing her arms while his father untangled his from the plastic bags he’d set on the table.

“You had the whole of yesterday if you wanted to see me,” Jiwoong muttered. He knew they were busy with work and he was aware of the expense of gifts. Besides, he’d grown up in this household, he didn’t think of birthdays as a big deal either. It would just be nice if she didn’t pretend their lack of interaction was all on him.

“You can’t act like this just because of your birthday, not everything will revolve around you in—”

“I didn’t ask for anything!” Jiwoong snapped, cutting his mother off.

“Don’t raise your voice at your mother,” Jiwoong’s father barked, stepping forward until he was on Jiwoong’s other side. Fucking rich coming from him, and his mother similarly seemed to be unbothered by his defence of propriety.

“You and your father are just the same. You think just because you don’t ask for anything, you shouldn’t do anything for others?” His mother retorted. Jiwoong turned to his father.

“Can’t you just give her what she wants?” Jiwoong asked, desperate. “Do you even care that she wants to leave?”

Jiwoong turned to his mother again.

“What is it that you want? Flowers? For me to leave? For me to do more chores?” Jiwoong asked, frustrated out of his mind. 

His mother seemed momentarily stunned, likely surprised from not having heard him speak so much in years. But that had been part of the point of hardly talking. Could Jiwoong really be a burden if he was as good as dead to them?

“She’ll leave both of us like this, can you live with that?” Jiwoong asked his father, who walked closer.

“Jiwoong,” his father warned.

“Is it so fucking difficult for you to help her cook sometimes?” Jiwoong asked his father incredulously. Not that Jiwoong helped either. Jiwoong didn’t think he knew how. He just cooked for himself when he needed to and washed anything he used, leaving the kitchen untouched like a ghost. Maybe that still wasn’t enough. Maybe he needed to leave.

“Jiwoong!” his father’s voice thundered. 

There was a crack to the sound made when the back of his father’s hand snapped his head to the side. Jiwoong felt the blood rush towards the sting, burning red.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” his father said severely. Jiwoong turned his head to face him again.

“If I don’t know, then whose fault is that?” Jiwoong stared hatefully at his father, eyes still watering from the impact.

Jiwoong took a step back and walked around his father to his room, accidentally slamming it on his way in. He winced at the sound before locking it and sitting heavily on his bed, head in his hands. He couldn’t live in this house anymore. They didn’t want him and he didn’t need them. He didn’t know how to be a good son. Did he need to be more like Hanbin? This family would probably be different if he’d been the son instead. 

He wondered if that was part of why he’d never really let Hanbin meet his parents, even if just to show off that Jiwoong had found a good friend all by himself, that Jiwoong couldn’t be so bad if someone like Hanbin hung around him. Because next to him, Jiwoong would hardly compare. Not that he’d ever deny Hanbin if he asked to see them still. It would be okay if Jiwoong lost a lot if Hanbin kept him instead.

Jiwoong could tell that the house was empty when he woke up, his parents were already out for work. There were no sounds from the living room or the kitchen, just the birds outside his window and the muted insulation of a snow globe. He laid an arm across his eyes as he remembered the previous night, far too loud and still ringing in his ears.

He’d woken up before his alarm so he picked up his phone to check the time. His heart jolted when he saw he had a text from Hanbin and he half-sat up so that he was resting on his elbow as he read the text.

meet me at the field before class?

Jiwoong sat up fully, trying to calm his heart and the sudden looming dread. He was still in a bad mood from arguing with his parents, he shouldn’t let that affect his thinking about Hanbin. Jiwoong tried not to think about how the text didn’t feel like how Hanbin would choose to put it if it was going to be anything good. 

He still had an hour before he had to be awake but there was no chance of him falling asleep again, so he got up to start getting ready. Stepping out of his room, he saw breakfast on the table and sighed. Was that supposed to be an apology? For what? 

He wondered again how different things would be if he was a different son. Imagining it was laughable, he wasn’t the son either of them wanted but maybe he was the son they deserved. Talking at this distance must be enough for them, any closer and it wasn’t worth it.

Jiwoong didn’t think he’d be able to stomach anything at the moment so he packed it all into a lunchbox to take to school so it wouldn’t go to waste before washing the plates. The moment the tap closed, all the sound was sucked out of the room in a vacuum again. It was so quiet he could almost convince himself it was peaceful, that he could live like this.

He was out the door soon enough, his exit coinciding with the neighbour feeding their dog again. The same grinding metal scrape of the plate. The same look of pity. Jiwoong looked away with a glare as he made his way to school.

Jiwoong hadn’t expected the first words he’d hear again from Hanbin to be, “Would you go to church with me?”

A half-hysterical laugh burst out of Jiwoong. The sound was lost to the empty field beside them.

“How the fuck am I supposed to take that?” The first thing after a weekend of silence was an invitation to church. This wasn’t the first thing one said, and certainly not delivered that way, to someone they’d just kissed if they wanted to do it again.

“I think it’d be good if we both—” Hanbin tried again, voice laced with some amount of desperation to accompany whatever this form of mental gymnastics was. Did he think it was a mistake? Jiwoong knew Hanbin wanted him, was attracted to him and had been all along. He may have called them best friends but he’d kissed back too. 

What was wrong, then? Was it not worth the trouble? Being friends was enough and church was only a bit of overcorrection?

“God, fuck you,” Jiwoong interrupted. He saw Hanbin’s little unpleased wince upon hearing that.

“Sorry, no names in vain? Fuck you, angel. Is that better?” Jiwoong sneered. The expression felt disgusting on his own face, just like the uneasy, sour orange-red of his lips nervously bitten beyond recognition.

“You’re not being fair,” Hanbin said, sounding hurt but patient. Some part of Jiwoong was kicking himself for reacting harshly.

“By all means, go ahead, explain,” Jiwoong said, crossing his arms.

“That wasn’t a good idea,” Hanbin phrased carefully. 

“Which? Kissing me or asking me to go to church right after?” Jiwoong bit out. How was he competing with a god Hanbin didn’t even believe in? Unless that had changed since the first time it’d come up.

Hanbin had his hands at his sides, fingers fidgeting. They must feel cold. Hanbin was rooted in place, evidently with no intention of coming closer to Jiwoong. Jiwoong felt like clawing at his skin at what felt like the loss of the phantom touch of Hanbin running up to him with a hug in the middle of the day. He hadn’t realised how much the warmth had stayed.

“I’m trying to think about my family as well,” Hanbin explained instead of answering and Jiwoong stayed silent then, looking to the floor between them. Even if Jiwoong was wilfully misunderstanding, he hadn’t missed how Hanbin was being deliberately evasive. Jiwoong didn’t know what the answer to his own question was, but he knew that Hanbin didn’t want to answer, and maybe that was all he needed to know.

And family? Maybe that’s where Jiwoong had gone wrong. He wasn’t someone who would ever really be anyone’s family.

Hanbin cocked his head, unsure if Jiwoong was still paying attention. “Jiwoong?”

“What?” Jiwoong asked without looking up.

“I can’t lose them either. You understand, right?”

“Yeah,” Jiwoong stuffed his hands in his pockets, “I’ll see you around.”

Jiwoong walked away, uncaring of whether or not Hanbin was finished. Just like that, after a conversation that had barely lasted five minutes and that he’d waited a weekend for, that was it. 

He made his way to class, both glad and upset Hanbin didn’t follow. His ear already felt like it was ringing from imagining having to sit in the seat right next to Hanbin’s and pretend he didn’t exist. By the time he was halfway across the campus, a snowflake landed on his nose. Jiwoong stopped in place when it made him realise how overheated his face felt. He looked up at the sky and another silently drifted to land on his cheek before more followed. He hoped Hanbin was happy, Jiwoong knew how much he liked the snow.

“Jiwoong, wait, can we talk, please?” Hanbin asked breathlessly, having jogged to catch up to Jiwoong.

Jiwoong was walking a different way home precisely to avoid being followed. His path cut through an alleyway lined with shuttered back entrances to stores and air-conditioning units, heavy chunks of snow slumped on surfaces like a lazy cat might droop off a bed.

He felt his bag get yanked to pull him to a stop. Jiwoong’s shoes skidded to a stop against wet snow and he clenched his jaw before sighing. Hanbin’s fingers curled into his sleeve with a white-knuckled grip as he faced him.

“I almost couldn’t find you,” Hanbin said, catching his breath. “This isn’t your usual way home.” 

“It’s quieter,” Jiwoong said, watching Hanbin’s thinly veiled panic. Hanbin looked around at their surroundings, finally taking in where he’d found himself. Jiwoong tried moving his arm away but Hanbin’s grip on his sleeve didn’t budge even while distracted.

“You should’ve waited for me, I wanted to see the snow with you,” Hanbin said. Jiwoong bit his tongue, this close to drawing blood. What was Hanbin trying to do here by pretending everything was normal?

“Find someone else. I have work,” Jiwoong said, moving to turn away but Hanbin’s hold on him didn’t allow it.

“I don’t want to,” Hanbin said, insisting with a kind of nervous petulance. “You’re my best friend.”

Jiwoong didn’t say anything, watching a stray cat slink by from the corner of his eye.

“Right?” Hanbin prompted, and Jiwoong met his eyes without saying anything still. He thought the tired exasperation dragging at his eyelids would have said enough, as if that could show how his heart was sinking in his chest like sand in an hourglass. 

Hanbin had already made it clear that he only wanted a certain amount of Jiwoong, more than that was a hardship. Less than that and Hanbin was probably just lonely. But who said that it had to be Jiwoong who made it out of this town with Hanbin? Someone else could probably do just as well.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? You haven’t talked to me the whole day,” Hanbin said.

“What do you want me to say?” Jiwoong responded. God, he was so fucking tired.

“Are you angry at me?” Hanbin asked. Jiwoong would have laughed if he had the energy. Jiwoong wished he was angrier but his only thought was that he didn’t want to be awake.

Jiwoong sighed instead, “No.”

Maybe Jiwoong had overestimated how much Hanbin had liked him after all. Only Jiwoong seemed to be that fucked up over this, while Hanbin just sounded guilty. 

“What should I do?” Hanbin tried.

“There’s nothing,” Jiwoong shrugged.

“There has to be something,” Hanbin said, eager to make up for whatever he thought he did wrong.

“Nothing you’d be willing to do,” Jiwoong said and Hanbin perked up.

“What is it?” Hanbin asked eagerly.

“Why would I ask for something you don’t want?” Jiwoong answered instead, moving to continue walking again. “Just leave it, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll just guess then if you won’t tell me,” Hanbin said, stubbornly pulling Jiwoong back in place. Hanbin’s death grip on his sleeves drifted up to the collar of Jiwoong’s jacket.

Hanbin stood close enough for them to be breathing the same foggy air. It didn’t matter how tired it was, Jiwoong’s heart still felt like it was going to burst out of his chest just watching Hanbin. Fluttering eyelashes, reddened nose, and shiny lips that were spit-slick from trying to prevent cracking from the dry air. 

Jiwoong was startled out of his attention when a chunk of snow dropped on his head, having slid off from a canopy awning they were halfway under.

Jiwoong looked up instinctively, immediately having another chunk of snow fall on his nose. He heard Hanbin’s giggle and the snow was brushed off his face and hair gently, leaving an embarrassing blush in its wake. Hanbin seemed to take that as Jiwoong having rapidly lost heat from the snow and cooed as he brought his hands up to Jiwoong’s cheeks to warm them up. Jiwoong was too stunned to say anything, just watching Hanbin with wide eyes.

“Such a cute face,” Hanbin said, smushing Jiwoong’s cheeks slightly. Jiwoong blinked dopily as Hanbin leaned closer to press a light kiss to the tip of his nose that landed like a sucker-punch to his chest. 

The moment was broken again by the sound of clattering metal. Hanbin immediately ripped his hands off Jiwoong’s face, his smile dropping as he stepped back from Jiwoong and didn’t look him in the eyes. Jiwoong had hardly blinked in that time.

Jiwoong slowly swivelled his head in the direction of the noise, catching sight of the same stray cat and the trash can it had just knocked over.

Hanbin’s reaction was entirely reasonable, Jiwoong knew, but the whole thing suddenly felt like a big joke. Jiwoong wondered if the excuse that they were actually fighting would have been believable if there actually had been a near-witness. It sounded about right for Jiwoong anyway, so what was he doing here?

Jiwoong finally took a step away that Hanbin didn’t obstruct, continuing his way home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Jiwoong said off-handedly, Hanbin already out of sight.

“Jiwoong?” Hanbin called out hesitantly, voice trailing off as Jiwoong turned the corner.

“You look awful,” the restaurant owner commented when he showed up for work. Jiwoong wanted to laugh or scream but all he mustered was a silent half-bow.

“You can take the day off if you want,” she offered, and it was nice to think that the people who really cared for him were the same ones who saw he needed a break. Unfortunately, at this moment, he thought he might stab himself in the eye if he was allowed a second to think.

“I can’t afford to miss employee of the month,” Jiwoong dismissed weakly, voice too close to a croak.

“You’ve never been employee of the month,” she retorted, playing along even if she wasn’t hiding her concern.

“Not the favourite grandson anymore?” Jiwoong joked.

“Don’t joke. I’ll write everyone else out of my will except you and then you can deal with their wrath,” she answered.

Jiwoong exhaled a laugh and to her even greater concern, only responded with a weak, “Thanks.”

Hanbin managed to cajole him into a phone call at some point.

“I’m sorry, we can’t be what you want. I just—there’s just—the risk, and there’s, there’s so much I want, that we both want, I can’t risk losing that. With you—I can’t. I can’t lose. Please tell me you understand.”

Jiwoong wished he hadn’t picked up.

“Okay.”

Jiwoong had gotten far too comfortable, letting himself forget what it was like to not have someone on his side. He couldn’t do anything but regret the sharp sting of betrayal when Hanbin hadn’t taken his side after some ultimately petty fight with another student. Jiwoong hadn’t started it, of course, but he just wasn’t allowed to end it his way.

“Please try to understand, I’m not doing this to hurt you,” Hanbin pleaded and Jiwoong slowed to a stop. “You’re better than this.” 

Jiwoong turned around to look at Hanbin, his pleading eyes and the halo he seemed to have set on his own head. He hated Hanbin just a little bit for being wrong about him.

Everyone’s talk about him came backhanded with he’s so handsome, it’s such a shame anyway . Every rumour of he’s so scary betrayed by glances that linger too long. As if the blue-grey of a bruise outlining his eye wasn’t exactly what they liked to see, proof of blood. The slash across the bridge of his nose, the red saliva spat onto the ground, the flush of his skin. Look long enough and it’d feel like you’d bitten your own tongue, but a taste is what anyone wanted anyway.

Jiwoong walked back to Hanbin. Without removing his hands from his pockets, Jiwoong leaned in to slot his lips against Hanbin’s, stunning Hanbin too much to react immediately. Hanbin’s hands shot up to Jiwoong’s shoulders but he did nothing with them, neither pushing Jiwoong away nor pulling him closer. Jiwoong pretended it didn’t feel like his skin under his touch was burning under the fabric and just pressed harder, using Hanbin’s slack mouth to slip his tongue and with it the acrid taste of blood from his own lips.

The thing about blood was that even with barely a drop, the taste coated your whole mouth, flooding your taste buds and senses like bloody waters to a shark. Hanbin didn’t seem to be able to resist either, his tongue swiping at the cut on Jiwoong’s lip.

Jiwoong pulled away and Hanbin’s hands dropped with a jolt as he looked around in panic. He let out a sharp, amused exhale through his nose that caught Hanbin’s attention again. Jiwoong lifted a hand to Hanbin’s mouth, wiping the blood off of it with his thumb. As he tidied Hanbin’s hair with gentle fingers, he realised he’d forgotten the impulse to mess it up, and maybe the only halo Hanbin had was the one Jiwoong had placed himself.

Jiwoong had taken to reorienting his day to avoid running into Hanbin outside of class, at least for as long as it took for Hanbin to stop searching. They only had about a week before they had time off to study for exams anyway, he wouldn’t have to pull off his disappearing act for that long. 

His first mistake was underestimating the lengths to which Hanbin would go. The second was overestimating the extent of Hanbin’s patience.

Hanbin had somehow ended up at the restaurant he worked at, staying so uncomfortably long and staring expectantly at Jiwoong that the owner had whacked Jiwoong with a rolled-up apron and told him to deal with it outside. Her patience had declined proportionally to how miserable Jiwoong had been acting lately.

“What is it?” Jiwoong sighed, hoping he looked tired enough to look indifferent. 

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for days,” Hanbin bit out.

“I know.”

“Am I really asking for so much?” Hanbin asked exasperatedly.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair?” Jiwoong just couldn’t handle what Hanbin might have to say right then, not so soon. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, not that Jiwoong was aware of the right thing, because Hanbin’s tense patience finally erupted.

“You ask for so much from me!” Hanbin snapped, looking wild-eyed.

“I’m not demanding anything,” Jiwoong said defensively.

“But you are! Because it’s either I fulfil all of your conditions or you won’t even look at me,” Hanbin argued, emphasising his point by needing to duck his head to get Jiwoong to make eye contact. Was Jiwoong supposed to be masochistic, then? Keep looking at Hanbin as if Jiwoong wasn’t getting rattled by every smile?

“If I’m asking for too much, you don’t have to give it.”

“That’s my point! You won’t give me anything at all and it becomes my fault!” Hanbin threw his hands up frustratedly. 

“I didn’t say anything like that,” Jiwoong said. Jiwoong was simply unlearning some of his mistakes the past few months—first, that he was allowed to expect, no, hope for anything, and second, that he had anything worth giving.

“But that’s what this is. You have these high expectations of what I need to do that I’m going to fail and then it’s on me. As if you aren’t so difficult to love,” Hanbin argued, sounding so fucking hurt himself.

Jiwoong tried to suppress a flinch at even hearing the word out loud. God, there wasn’t even much of himself left intact except his pride, but Hanbin had to make damn well sure the rest was shattered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Getting you to talk is like pulling teeth sometimes. And with you just throwing away everything we’ve worked for I can’t tell if you care about anything at all!”

Jiwoong learnt at that point that just knowing he was fucked up wasn’t enough to pre-empt all possible pain, because what was worse was hearing an answer as to why that he wasn’t already expecting.

“What, so have you just been testing me? Poke where it hurts so you can toy around and see if I’m even human?” Was it so hard to believe that he could be hurt like anyone else? Was he just so innately deficient?

“Do you really think the only thing in the way for us is just it being inconvenient? Have you even bothered looking further than that?” 

How long had Hanbin been holding that against Jiwoong? Was he always frustrated about which one of them allowed themselves to feel more ambition or did he just think what Jiwoong had hoped for was just that ridiculous?

“What the fuck is it that you foresee then, oh wise one?” Jiwoong snarled so neither of them would be able to hear how his voice was straining to crack.

“That we won’t be happy with each other anyway.” 

Hanbin looked fucking furious and so goddamn beautiful still that Jiwoong wanted to hit himself for even noticing and hope he bled out.

“Why is talking the only thing that matters to you? You promise so much and you won’t actually follow through because you’ve got terms and conditions. You need to measure everything out, including your love.”

“I’m careful because it matters to me. I’ll keep putting in effort to maintain things, I don’t just decide something is mine and I don’t have to do anything more.”

Fuck, Jiwoong knew where he’d heard that before, and it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that he turned out exactly like his father after all.

“You’re not just careful, you’re a fucking bookkeeper. Everything has to be earned, every debt tracked, and I’ve been falling short, haven’t I?”

Falling short in more ways than he thought possible, that was fun to find out.

“That’s not what I meant—”

“No, please, tell me how you want me to pay up. But don’t worry, I don’t keep tabs on my end for anything of mine.”

“I don’t belong to you!” Hanbin almost shouted.

Jiwoong still didn’t like yelling. “No, I just belong to you.”

Jiwoong let his forehead knock against his front door, hand dropping from trying to key it open. 

Holding your breath has the illusion of breathing when you’re trying to not let it go out of control. The muscles move by your control, but nothing comes in. No air until you’re lightheaded, the top of your head floating while your chest is so heavy it’s become the centre of your gravity. 

His body needed air more than he didn’t want to cry, and he felt the need crawl up his chest so unforgivingly it bent his ribs along the way, contorting into his lungs. With his chest caving in on itself, Jiwoong took a step back from the door, slumping onto the steps leading up to the porch. His keys still dangled from the doorknob, jingling with the wind and losing the heat of his palm to the chill of the air.

He took a long, shuddering breath of the freezing air and his chest finally crumbled like a sandcastle. The first tear that slid down his cheek felt superheated compared to the biting wind. His mouth was open in what seemed like an aborted choke, retch, scream with no sound. He hid his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with the weight of more tears and still no sound.

“Jiwoong?”

Jiwoong tried to still the tremble of his shoulders, hand clamping his mouth shut. Light footsteps came closer behind him, stopping with the weight of wood creaking next to him. Hands slowly removed the bag hanging off his shoulder, and the loss of the weight made his chest spring back up in a jolt. A hand threaded through his hair, lightly pressing into his scalp, but he didn’t want a soft touch. He wanted to feel a crack to his skull, a punch in the eye, force snapping his ribs. He wanted the sound and pain to ring in his ears, to stay in their place and stop feeling like the end of the world.

A soft hand tilted his face up and to the side, his own hand falling uselessly.

“Oh, my baby,” his mother cooed as she pulled his head to the crook of her neck, her touch both soothing and making his skin crawl all at the same time. He pressed his face into her shoulder for a second, a sob wrecking its way out. He didn’t want her here. He didn’t want someone who didn’t actually want to be here. Not his to keep and neither was he really anyone else’s.

He ripped away from her and ignored her startled calls to enter the house, drop his bag off, and head straight back out the back door.

wait im sorry can we please talk

i didnt mean it like that

please talk to me

im sorry i miss you 

Jiwoong silenced his ringer before throwing his phone aside. 

He didn’t know what his mother ended up telling his father but they both at least allowed him the luxury of not asking him any questions.

The restaurant owner hadn’t asked about his friend, and didn’t say a word when she sent him off with food. The shopkeeper didn’t explain himself when he suddenly refused to sell him cigarettes and told him to come back another time. The neighbour still looked at him curiously as she fed her dog.

If tasting the consequences of his stupid decisions wasn’t enough, Jiwoong got the opportunity to top that with the bitter taste of asphalt and blood so soon he couldn’t tell what left a stronger aftertaste. He guessed he got what he asked for, gritting his teeth against the bleeding aches rolling through him in waves.

He wasn’t stupid enough to not wear a helmet on his motorbike but he got up too soon after ripping off his helmet and ended up almost kissing the ground anyway. The car that hit him had pulled over at least, the driver rushing to him as Jiwoong pulled himself up.

Jiwoong breathed in slowly, the smell of burnt rubber for a second overpowering the road rashes, the clench between his ribs, and the blood running down his temple and elsewhere if the stickiness to his clothes was to be acknowledged. It gave him enough clarity for one coherent thought to pass through—begging to go find Hanbin and ask him to put him back together. 

A glance to his right showed him the snow-banked flower fields he’d found himself beside, reflecting an illusory sea blue in the sunset. The lights in the house by the corner filtered through with a paper lantern glow, just about dinner time. Even half out of it, everything looked and felt so painfully vivid, like his bleeding heart’s trail was still trying to turn everything around him into a fairytale and he’d only just realised. Jiwoong just wanted to get the fuck out of here.

The bike and himself were surprisingly still functional as far as he could tell but he still took the man’s insurance information and waved off nervous apologies. He headed back home in a mostly lucid haze, the sky washing everything around him out to an inescapable garish ultramarine all the way to his doorstep. 

“Did you seriously get into another fight? I thought you were being better for once.”

Jiwoong closed his eyes frustratedly, a hand still on the doorknob and one foot barely past the threshold. He didn’t want to be here, he wanted to get out, to somewhere that was anywhere but here, but that wasn’t exactly right either, because there was still only one fucking place he wanted to go.

His mother was still standing in place when he opened his eyes, which meant she needed something from him.

“What?” he sighed.

Whatever mild concern in her gaze she could spare was overpowered by her subsequent irritation as she looked at a box beside her on the dining table.

“Your father didn’t take his food for his shift. Since you’re still dressed, you can bring it to him.”

Never mind that it was almost after dark, that he might be exhausted, that he didn’t want to deal with whatever was going on between them, or that he was still fucking bleeding.

Maybe she hadn’t fully disregarded that last part, her hand reaching out for his forehead as he walked past to get to the bathroom. Too bad he could hardly contain the bodily flinch in response, his blood almost curdling, and just kept walking so he wouldn’t have to deal with her offence. A couple of shoddily slapped on plasters and bandages and swallowed painkillers and he was back out the door.

Turned out the bike was still good for a little more as he parked in the dark in front of the steel mill. A tedious check-in went by in a daze and he was through to the sterile white modular break room, finding his father leaning against a shelf with a coffee in hand and joking with his colleagues with far more ease in his eyes than Jiwoong ever got to see.

“Oh, isn’t that your boy!”

His father caught sight of him and Jiwoong raised the bag with the food with an arm that was regretting having tendons.

“Eomma sent you?” his father asked, reaching a hand out to take the bag.

“You forgot this again,” Jiwoong shrugged as he handed it over. He was almost more at ease from not having to worry that his father would try to misplace some affection with a touch, but the same couldn’t be said of his colleagues.

A hand slapped heavily on his shoulder and Jiwoong clenched his jaw to hide a wince. “When did your son get so big? He’s almost one of us.”

Jiwoong evaded anyone’s gaze as respectfully as he could.

“Got a real fighter, huh?” Another poked at the edge of a bandage around his knuckles. “He’ll fit in just fine if he’s anything like his father. What do you say, see you next year?”

And that was his future, wasn’t it? His father’s life, the same mistakes, the same town. The past months were a fucking pipe dream he didn’t know how to let go of. He didn’t actually know how to break a pattern. Jiwoong swallowed heavily, saved from having to speak when they all started to head out. Except for his father.

Jiwoong glanced up to see his father watching him closely and looked away, mouth opening to excuse himself.

“Have you ever thought about college?”

Jiwoong’s eyes darted back, at a loss for words. He couldn’t bring himself to speak and the awkward silence stretched beyond his father’s desire to wait for an answer. His father tossed his paper coffee cup before heading towards the door.

But he stopped with a hand on Jiwoong’s shoulder first, mouth opening but seemingly at a loss himself. He settled for a pat instead and walked past, only pausing briefly at the door to speak over his shoulder.

“I never did.”

Jiwoong got all the way back to his front door before he realised he didn’t want to go inside. He twirled his keys around a finger as he stepped back, walking past his bike and back onto the dirt road. He didn’t want to risk having the battered vehicle break down on him before he could get it checked out.

He strolled in the near darkness to the nearest convenience store and ignored the cashier’s cautious look at the bottles of soju he placed on the counter. If Jiwoong’s brand of silence wasn’t intimidating then the bruises on his face must have been. He wanted to smile back at that wary look, show that he wasn’t actually all that scary, he hadn’t hurt anyone, that he’d just gotten hurt himself. He wanted a smile back that believed him, or maybe a punch to the face to make it hurt more so he wouldn’t think.

Jiwoong strolled out and kept going until he reached a particular abandoned, mostly-constructed building by the edge of the mountains. It was structurally sound enough for what Jiwoong wanted to do, even if he should’ve maybe technically had a helmet on as he climbed the lower steel scaffolding along the outside of the low building to settle on the wooden planks in between.

The payoff for his relatively mild risk was the view of the sprawling flower fields that hadn’t died just yet, not until the snowfall came back with a vengeance. He’d walked quite a bit while injured to get here, and he found himself alternating between taking swigs from his bottle and pressing it against the side of his face before he eventually figured the cold air was a good enough ice pack and took off his outer jacket.

He crossed his arms against the metal railing in front of him and laid his head on them to take in the sight in front of him.

This town was beautiful enough to leave you with a heartache of a memory if you ever went away. Everything from the goddamn flowers to the bared skeletal steel and so many people he could love because Hanbin did. Hanbin being so insistent on leaving almost made him feel embarrassed for being able to see all of it and feel this way at all. Beautiful enough to kill him, maybe, and Jiwoong was just enough of a hopeless romantic to let it. He hadn’t loved it like this before, but it wasn’t going away now even when the reason for it was practically begging to leave.

Taking another drink, he thought about how his life could play out if he became the first love that Hanbin visited when he came back to town every couple of years. Jiwoong had more roots here than he’d had a year ago, and maybe he’d hammer it deeper or let it grow, whether he joined the steel mill or took over the restaurant or something else entirely. Half the town now seemed to be painted or fixed up thinking of Hanbin, and maybe by the time he’d come back, Jiwoong would have turned it into something Hanbin could actually love.

Jiwoong felt his lips stretch into an easy smile at the thought, the feeling made smoother by the alcohol burning its way down and floating its way up. Even then, he had enough clarity to remember that this feeling he carried for this town was also because of how fucked up it was too. Too many wounds, a lot of flowers and too much poison, too much to fix and not enough steel. There’s so much he wanted to do and he’d meant it when he said he needed power to do any of it.

Looking ahead at the swathes of sky-darkened flowers and placing down his empty bottle, his chest swelled against the limits of his ribs, and it felt a lot like looking at Hanbin. A feeling too big for his chest, maybe too big for this town, and bigger than himself.

“What happened to your face?” Hanbin asked, alarmed and reaching out to tilt Jiwoong’s head this way and that. They were the only ones in class, everyone else taking more time to trudge through the terrible weather it seemed.

Jiwoong took Hanbin’s hands into his, lips brushing against a palm as he took them off his face without a word and placed them back on Hanbin’s book.

It was a quiet, tranquil snow globe of a moment that was almost too still to hurt. Having it break with the next rush of classmates into the room was a good reminder that these moments were only stolen and he’d never been a thief.

For a second, Jiwoong froze along with the rest of the room once he pushed his front door open. Sitting on the couch was his mom with a mug of tea in her hands and another on a tray in front of her with a plate of snacks. She was smiling all the way to the wrinkles beside her eyes, her legs folded beneath her comfortably as she reached forward to place the mug down. Jiwoong snapped his eyes down before they could drift to the guest, landing on a familiar pair of shoes by the doorway.

“Jiwoong, you’re back! Your friend came to see you!”

Jiwoong’s lungs couldn’t expand beyond their last exhale, taking shallower breaths that didn’t require him to move. Their guest shifted in his periphery, turning to face Jiwoong.

“You didn’t even tell me you were close to the Sung’s boy, and now you’ve gotten into an argument?” You didn’t tell me, you’ve gotten in an argument, you did this.

“Ma’am, that’s not—” The sound of his voice sent a jolt through Jiwoong that he could almost feel in his teeth, forcing him to clench his jaw to settle it.

“It’s nothing, eomma. I’ll see him in school,” Jiwoong said, moving to take off his shoes before finding himself stuck between going to his room or finding an excuse to leave the house again.

“That’s no way to treat a friend, especially when he’s come all the way here,” his mother insisted, frowning.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” Hanbin said, standing up from the couch and Jiwoong looked to the corner of the ceiling in exasperation, anywhere but him. Was he really trying to talk to Jiwoong or hold him hostage?

“You shouldn’t hold grudges. Forgive someone after they apologise, or do I need to teach you that too?” Jiwoong tried not to take that like a slap to the face, being chided like a child in front of an audience. What was there even to hold a grudge about? They could talk about it all they want but what they said wouldn’t change. 

It’s not like Hanbin was changing his mind on what he wanted as much as Jiwoong still hoped otherwise. If that’s what he wanted, Jiwoong knew Hanbin well enough to know he’d just be demanding and pull him back to kiss him until he’d listen. Not hold Jiwoong hostage in front of his mother where he could either disappoint her or forgive him and Hanbin could leave with his conscience cleared.

Maybe Jiwoong was being unreasonable in assuming. Or maybe just delusional enough to hope it was something better. Regardless, Jiwoong was stupid enough to ask.

“What do you want?” Jiwoong asked, voice rasping as he looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t want to look Hanbin in the eyes because that would answer his questions faster than his words would. Not just finding the guilt but the distance. Jiwoong knew how people looked like when they wanted him because he knew what it looked like when they didn’t. Sometimes a mark of pity, sometimes disgust, usually exasperated. Seconds ticking away until they decided they were tired and wanted to look away.

“Can you please look at me first?” Hanbin asked gently. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Jiwoong blinked harshly, unsure if his eyes were really watering or if was just trying to exercise some control over how much he showed of how shit he felt.

Jiwoong dragged his gaze down to Hanbin. Whose hands were clenched around the armrest of the couch. Shoulders tense, cheeks flushed, eyes shiny. For all he thought he was sure he would recognise what he saw, all he knew was that Hanbin looked desperate. Tired, but still desperate to get Jiwoong to look at him, giving Jiwoong’s mind enough room to spiral with hope before he could crush it. 

He didn’t know if he was desperate because he wanted Jiwoong as much as Jiwoong wanted him and this was a last resort or he was guilty and this was still a last resort. He didn’t know if he was tired without Jiwoong or because of him. He didn’t know anything except that he was in over his head.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Hanbin said. His voice hardly wobbled but Jiwoong could hear the cry in it. Jiwoong ignored the curious way his mother looked between both of them.

“You’re forgiven. I'm sorry too. Is that all?” Jiwoong responded, trying his hardest to make sure his voice didn’t croak. He watched Hanbin’s face crumple in exasperation before Jiwoong looked back down at his shoes.

“I didn’t—”

“I think your parents must be expecting you for dinner soon,” Jiwoong’s father’s voice popped up from the back door as he entered. “I ran into your mother at the market, you should help her with the groceries.”

Jiwoong’s head snapped in his direction as he walked into the living room. Hanbin’s mouth made an aborted motion to speak before deciding otherwise. He then stood, bowing towards Jiwoong’s slightly stunned mother then Jiwoong’s father who nodded.

Hanbin walked towards the front door, each step closer to Jiwoong driving his heart rate up dizzyingly. Hanbin’s eyes darted indecisively between Jiwoong’s once he was at the door, ultimately silent, but still seeming like he wasn’t done before he left the house.

“What happened?” his mother asked once she reanimated, leaning towards Jiwoong. “What was that?”

His father cut her off before she could try to interrogate him, ushering her to the back of the house.

There were two apples waiting on the dining table when Jiwoong got home from school one day. He looked at his mom questioningly and she shrugged.

“The kid down the road heard you had exams and gave me these.”

Jiwoong failed to bite down a smile and picked one up.

The usual silence greeted Jiwoong when he opened the door to his house at the end of the week. Exams were right around the corner and he was surprised to find that he felt good about them. He made quick work of washing up before heading to his room, waiting to flop onto his bed and take a nap. What he wasn’t expecting upon opening his door was someone lying sprawled on his bed, sleeping soundly.

Hanbin was curled up on top of the covers, Jiwoong’s pillow tightly encased in his arms and under his cheek.

Jiwoong slowly shrugged off his bag, letting it drop to the floor with a soft thud. He stepped towards the bed slowly, the hair on the back of his neck raising as much as his heart was threatening to burst. 

“Hanbin,” Jiwoong called softly, still unwilling to agitate him too badly out of his sleep. Hanbin shifted in place, a low whine as his sleep was interrupted. Jiwoong realised then that Hanbin was wearing Jiwoong’s hoodie and he couldn’t even tell if Hanbin had just taken it out of his closet or if he’d already had it with him.

“Hanbin.”

His eyes blinked open slowly, awareness slowly filtering in. His relaxation quickly fizzled out into adrenaline that had him shooting up to sit up so fast it nearly startled Jiwoong. 

“Jiwoong,” Hanbin said, eyes flitting through franticness and satisfaction at finally getting Jiwoong in front of him.

“How did you get in here?”

“Your mom let me in on her way out,” Hanbin replied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Jiwoong sighed and put his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

“Isn’t this too hard?” Jiwoong asked. Hanbin deflated, dejection lowering his shoulders before they tensed up defensively. This was a lot of effort, after all. So much to mend one bridge. Would Hanbin say it’s worth it? 

Hanbin opened his mouth to reply and Jiwoong realised he didn’t really want to hear it.

“The bed, I mean. Doesn’t Goldilocks move on to something better?” Jiwoong asked, stepping away to his closet and taking off his jacket.

“I’ve slept on your floor before,” Hanbin retorted, watching Jiwoong’s back as he took off his shirt.

Jiwoong twisted at the waist to look at Hanbin. It was funny to think that Hanbin ever seemed to have some shame about looking at him. He didn’t even bother making eye contact now.

“You slept on me,” Jiwoong corrected as he put on a t-shirt to Hanbin’s disappointment and changed into sweatpants.

“You’re not that soft.”

Jiwoong snorted as he put away his clothes.

“What do you want from me?” Jiwoong demanded flatly as he turned to face Hanbin.

“I need you,” Hanbin answered, eyes matching Jiwoong’s severity.

“That’s not what I asked.” Jiwoong didn’t like making things easy but Hanbin wasn’t prepared to lose just yet.

“I want you by my side. If I can’t have you, I might fucking lose it. Isn’t that the same as needing you?”

Jiwoong cocked his head to the side, folding his arms.

“Be more specific.”

Hanbin unfolded his legs from under him to get off the bed. He took a step off only to get on his knees.

“Is this enough? I’m sorry,” Hanbin answered, eyes so defiant they were almost hateful.

Jiwoong padded closer until he could tilt Hanbin’s face up with one hand under his jaw. Hanbin’s eyes were slightly bloodshot, it was no wonder he’d fallen asleep. Puffy eyes were held open by sheer force of indignance. They still fluttered when Jiwoong swiped a thumb along his jaw, Hanbin leaning into the touch.

“Have you been crying?” Jiwoong asked.

“What do you want from me?” Hanbin asked this time.

Jiwoong sighed before moving to help Hanbin up and sit him back on the bed. Jiwoong wanted to hope Hanbin hadn’t seen the framed photo from his birthday but it looked displaced enough from its original position for it not to have already happened. He still couldn’t bear to make Hanbin leave.

“The truth,” Jiwoong answered, moving to step away. Maybe he’d just sleep on the couch until Hanbin decided to leave. Hanbin caught his wrist first.

“I have it,” Hanbin pleaded, “Will you believe me?”

Jiwoong turned his head away, clenching his jaw. He let Hanbin pull him closer until he’d sat Jiwoong down on the bed too, bringing both of Jiwoong’s hands into his.

“I’m greedy, I think you know by now. I want my family and I want you and I want out of here. I’m sorry for trying to choose. I want all of this without anyone thinking it’s wrong, and I’m going to make my family love you and yours love me so that I can give you everything.”

Hanbin’s words ran sluggishly through Jiwoong’s mind.

“So you’re just going to bend reality?” Jiwoong joked, mouth dry.

“Yes,” Hanbin insisted, almost petulant, but so sure that Jiwoong was almost convinced.

“And what if you can’t have both?” Jiwoong asked.

“Do you need an answer now?” Hanbin asked. Jiwoong looked down at their hands in his lap, lips twitching in exhausted amusement.

“Jiwoong?”

“Do you still think I’m difficult to love?” Jiwoong asked. He’d meant for it to sound more joking but it couldn’t have been that convincing judging by Hanbin’s widening eyes. 

Hanbin dropped Jiwoong’s hands to hold his face instead and Jiwoong had to close his eyes against the barrage of light kisses being peppered across his face. Laughter bubbled out of him as Hanbin did his best to overwhelm him, getting on his knees to get better access. Jiwoong ended up falling backwards and Hanbin with him, held up by Jiwoong’s hands on his waist.

“That’s not an answer,” Jiwoong said, even if he was smiling.

“You’re the one who wanted me to do instead of just talking for once,” Hanbin responded cheekily. “But no, not for the reasons you think.”

Hanbin shifted his weight to Jiwoong’s side so he could free one hand to comb through Jiwoong’s hair.

“It’s too easy, even.”

“What happened to ‘we won’t be happy together anyway’?” Jiwoong asked, but his words had lost their edge.

“I’m terrified, okay? There’s too much that could go wrong and I still can’t afford to lose.”

“And what’s different now?”

“I don’t want to win without you. I don’t have any idea how to accomplish that but I want to try. And I don’t know, but I think you do too,” Hanbin paused, his words and the hand in Jiwoong’s hair halting. “Right?”

“Bullshit,” and before Hanbin’s face could drop, “I know you have some ideas.”

Jiwoong blinked awake slowly. There wasn’t nearly enough light filtering in to pull him out of sleep, just breeze from a window he’d forgotten to close brushing against his face. A glance past fluttering curtains showed purple swirling the sky into morning.

He rolled the muscles in his back, stiff but not uncomfortable, he just hadn’t moved in his sleep. One arm lay outstretched, leaving half his bed otherwise unoccupied, yet still faintly warm under the covers tucked around him. Stretching his arm a little further, he grabbed his phone. Jiwoong squinted against the brightness of the screen. Hardly even seven in the morning and Hanbin was already gone. Not even a note or a text. Harsh. Jiwoong huffed a tired laugh as he dropped his head back onto his pillow to look up at the ceiling.

One of the last things he remembered before falling asleep was choking out the words, “I don’t know how to talk about my family,” when Hanbin had tried asking again. Jiwoong could feel Hanbin’s disappointment but all he got was a calm “okay, okay.”

And then there was the “Do you need an answer now?” Hardly an answer to Jiwoong’s question and Jiwoong hadn’t replied either. Except maybe he had the most important part—Hanbin wasn’t willing to choose and Jiwoong wasn’t willing to talk.

Jiwoong got out of bed.

Jiwoong stepped into the church at a moment when the congregation was animated enough that his entrance would go largely unnoticed. The few that did notice looked at him oddly but he was surprised to see how many recognised him with a smile. Jiwoong let his eyes wander around, noticing how warm the light from the stained glass made the stony vaulted ceiling look. He scanned the rows of pews for Hanbin, identifying the back of his head at a seat by one of the aisles. 

There was an empty seat across the aisle from Hanbin, one row down. Jiwoong headed towards it, taking a seat and getting a closer view of the back of Hanbin’s head to his right. The shadow cast by his entrance seemed to catch Hanbin’s attention, pulling his attention to his periphery. Jiwoong watched Hanbin’s head turn to follow his shadow as he took a seat, waiting for his eyes to reach him.

Hanbin’s eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. The surprise turned into a sense of urgency, his shoes seemingly unconsciously shuffling as if he was going to just get up to go to Jiwoong. Jiwoong smiled slightly, nodding towards Hanbin to face the front, like this was class and he would get caught by a teacher. Hanbin seemed to take that to mean later and smiled widely enough for his dimples to show before turning back to the front. And later was right, they could see each other later, they could talk later, they could figure things out later.

Jiwoong laid a palm flat against the seat of the pew he was sitting on, tracing the texture he had no intention of getting too familiar with. He shifted the weight to the heel of his palm so he could trail his nails against the surface, switching to the pads of his fingertips when the edges of his nails caught on the wood grain. It wouldn’t be so bad to show up every now and then for Hanbin.

Glancing around, he didn’t see anyone else fidgeting, except for maybe the children and their parents shushing them. Looking back to the front, he saw the pastor call for everyone to close their eyes and bow their heads. He saw the wave of heads lower to face folded hands on their laps, and some parents brushing their young children’s eyelids down to follow. The pastor closed his too, still raising his voice to reach the last row of the congregation. 

Jiwoong tilted his head back to Hanbin, eyes tracking the clasped hands with raw nail beds to wrists covered in Jiwoong’s sweatshirt. The part of his sleeve covering his elbow still had a smudge of white paint from when Hanbin had volunteered to paint his neighbour's fence. The slightly time-worn collar revealed a thin strand of metal that would lead to a silver cross that he didn’t wear most of the time. Jiwoong had a feeling the t-shirt underneath was both Jiwoong’s and inside-out.

In the time that passed, the light from the stained glass windows swept down to slash across Hanbin, picking its halfway angel. The corner of Jiwoong’s lips picked up.

Hypocrite.