Chapter Text
As everyone does, Beomgyu brushed shoulders with each stage of grief in due time, but the sense of anger lingered. How was it that the world could move on when his first love was no longer a part of it? It didn't seem fair. Why did he have to live through such a burden alone? He couldn't talk about it with anyone, without the risk of outing himself. Soobin deserved to rest with his pride. A post-mortem rumour of homosexuality would taint his grave.
Beomgyu refused to let that happen, so he let the grief rest within. It festered and spread like a fungus. It blackened his heart. His lips began to crack and the skin around his eyes became wrinkled and creased. He had forgotten how to take care of himself.
When the war became a memory, he began to focus his studies on the history of conflict, becoming immersed in the desperation to not let it be forgotten. He drained his wallet buying textbooks and manuscripts recounting stories from the front. He kept up to date with the political tensions across Europe and America. It became an addiction. With each page and photograph encapsulating the brutalities on the battlefield, he relived his trauma over and over. He fed it, for there was no one there to stop him.
He took up a placement as a classroom assistant at a nearby elementary school. He withheld a degree of censorship around the kids. He knew better than to inflict further trauma on the youths. He taught them history, alongside basic phonics and Japanese.
Somehow, despite himself, he was able to keep a smile going throughout the school day. He was quick to bond with his students. He saw Soobin in a few of them. Tender butter fingers, soft eyes, first-love smiles and expressions full of innocence and wonder, entirely untainted by the violent truths of the world. The children treated one another well and equally, and Beomgyu thought the adults could have a lesson or two from them.
For instance, his boss.
Mr Jeong was roughly fifteen years his senior. Once a sergeant, the man was short-tempered, with little tolerance. He was masculinity personified. His face was chiselled, but the dark skin of his cheeks drooped with age. His hands were calloused with labour, and his missing left ring finger told a story of firing shells.
He had a Rolodex of irritations and dislikes, and it seemed thin gay boys with a knack for history were at the top of the list.
"Don't cross your legs over the left like a queer."
"Don't be so soft with the students. Don't want them to grow into little Daegu bitch-boys like you."
"Should've kept you on the front for longer. Maybe they would've made more of a man out of you."
"I don't get paid enough to babysit your sensitive ass."
It didn't stop there. So despite Beomgyu's growing affection for his pupils, entering the classroom and being met with emasculating abuse every goddamn morning was sure to drive him insane.
He grew ashamed of who he was. When he first realised it, he had Soobin to ease him into it. The boy taught him of bars where all in attendance were just like himself. Speakeasies in Europe and the States, full of male and female impersonators, wowing and perplexing crowds much like Soobin on that fateful night. That night they first touched.
"When this is all over," Soobin would say, "I'll take you to one of those clubs."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
It was bittersweet to think of it now. Looking back, Beomgyu wondered how they could have been so optimistic. It had always been too good to be true, from the very beginning.
He frequently had these spiralling thoughts mid-lesson. The school deputies reacted to his withdrawals with the worst punishment of all.
He was transferred to teach high schoolers.
It seemed ideal at first. Finally, he was able to escape the daily wrath of Mr Jeong. Sure, the children were sad to see him go. He promised to pop in for visits when he could. He never did.
Nowadays, he had almost entirely blocked out the events of his time at the highschool. It was a means of coping. While the experience was brief – a mere month – he swore he could never recover from the treatment.
Adolescents were cruel, he concluded. Children of the war. Born into conflict, they never knew right from wrong. They knew the single philosophy of every man for himself.
Beomgyu can't sleep in the dark anymore. Not after his students locked him in the store cupboard, pitch black, stuck, on a Friday afternoon, only able to escape when the janitor found him on the following Monday morning. He sleeps with a night light these days. He doesn't like to talk about it.
Unemployment was fine for a while. He'd wake up in the late afternoon, and potter around his apartment, leaving trails of mess behind him that were never to be cleaned up. He would strum an array of made-up tunes into the rough strings of his guitar, making mental notes to write down the chord progressions for later. He never did. He'd take himself to the bar some evenings, dressed in a brown button-up shirt he had stolen from his father as a boy, and some dark grey slacks. He'd order a pint of lager and a bowl of nuts. By the end of the night, he would be pressed against a wall by a woman. They would kiss hard, with tongue and teeth, and he felt nothing. If you asked him why he did it, he wouldn't say, for he didn't know himself.
He knew (he thought) that he could never love again. So all of this was meaningless.
Living only an hour's drive away, he had been contacted through a telegram from his brother, that his mother had fallen terribly ill. The doctor's weren't sure of any diagnosis, but they knew she wouldn't be around for long. Beomgyu took the train to visit her.
He entered the parlour where his mother lay in a hospital bed that had been lifted into their family home, for convenience. She was surrounded by linen handkerchiefs coated with blood, some dried brown, some fresh, still glistening crimson.
She died just three days after Beomgyu's arrival. The family spent the next few weeks clearing out all of her belongings, with the intention to have the house sold by spring. Their auntie travelled from Busan to assist, claiming items dear to her, like the china plate she and her sister had put their painted footprints on in their youth, and the brown leather saddle she had gifted her for her first horse. It was planned that she would bring Beomgyu's sister home with her too. She was in her late teens now, though still too young to move out alone. She was being courted by a dairy farmer's son across town. In a year or two they would be wed, and she'd move in with him then. Living with her aunt in Busan was a temporary arrangement.
Beomgyu found himself sitting with his aunt over two Bombom coffees, with extra fresh cream, just as he had always liked it.
"Beomhan says you're out of work," she sighed, a lick of cream forming on her upper lip. Beomgyu didn't mention it.
"By choice," he intervened. "I quit my last job."
She hummed, treading her teaspoon through the foamy drink. She crossed her legs over one way, decided she was dissatisfied with the position, and uncrossed them, all while Beomgyu stared at her pointedly.
"Are you looking? For a job?"
Beomgyu shrugged.
"I have a good friend, Sunghee, who's the deputy rector of a primary school in the centre of Daegu. She's got a staff member who's looking for a classroom assistant."
The boy flinched with a flood of memories of his past boss. His aunt noticed.
"He's a nice man, she says. He's a little older than you, unmarried, and a dedicated Buddhist. He's kind to his students," her eyes scanned the room, before leaning in, ushering her nephew to do the same. "Sunghee says he is attracted to men. Isn't that interesting?"
Beomgyu paled. His spine stiffened up. He took his floral embroidered serviette and dabbed it on the curve of his lips. He took out a cigarette and lit it. As he struck the match, his hand trembled. Clearing his throat, he decided to take a dive. A little test, per se. "What do you think of – men – like that?"
She flushed at the abruptness of the question. It wasn't something to be asked often. These people existed, of course – everyone knew of them to some extent. Many pretended they didn't exist. Many existed alongside them without a bother.
"They are what they are," her eyes glistened a little, almost with a sense of knowing. "You can't chose who you love, the same way you can't bring your mother back to life. You understand?"
He scraped at the silken edge of his shirt cuff with his nail. Should he tell his story – his truth he had kept close, so long?
But it wasn't the time for that now.
His aunt raised her hand to tuck a curl of black back into her low ponytail. She was a stout woman, stern in shape but soft in face. Her round fingers were stained yellowish from cigarettes. She was kind natured and never raised her voice. She married, and was then widowed. She never gave him a cousin, which he was almost thankful for. He enjoyed her pampering as much as his siblings.
"So, do you fancy the position?"
He hesitated. She raised a hand to Beomgyu's cheek and stroked the skin until it he reddened and swallowed; he couldn't help but answer: "Yes."
She withdrew her hand, her expression brightening. "Why, I shall tell her right away!"
Beomgyu smiled shyly, though his mind was travelling elsewhere. He thought of meeting another man like him. The first since Soobin.
Though, the thought of an immense change from a life of a drunkard tasting women in bars, back to the tranquillity of a classroom was overwhelming, and it almost became easy to forget his past affairs. In fact, it wouldn't be long until his several months with the soldier boy became a far-distant memory.
— 𖧵 —
His first encounter with Yeonjun was one he regretted. The poor man fell victim to Beomgyu's often uncontrollable motormouth.
The younger watched in awe while Yeonjun was immersed in prayer. As well as being enticed by the words, he also found himself curiously analysing his new boss' appearance. He was clad in traditional wear, and his tanned paws had been wrapped with prayer beads. His eyes were closed, and from a distance, Beomgyu observed their fox like nature. The way his thick lashes rested on his plump cheeks. His lips were pouted, he noticed. He realised, after a few moments, that they were fixed that way.
Cursed with a constant pout? How droll!
Upon the realisation that the prayer had concluded, Beomgyu tensed. He had forgotten the pre-memorised introduction that he had rehearsed with such eagerness to the looking glass in his bathroom. The room went dully quiet. Beomgyu planted himself in the doorway, painfully still.
The man was fiddling around with his socks, preparing to pull them onto his tan feet, when he saw Beomgyu. He almost jumped out of his skin, letting out a guttural gasp at the sight of the stranger. For some reason, Beomgyu found himself smiling.
"That was touching," he had said, leaning against the doorframe almost swooningly. "I myself follow the Catholic faith, but I am truly moved by that performance..."
The plump lips perfectly placed on the man's lips fell quickly. His look of annoyance was charming – a thought he hadn't had about anyone for quite some time. Beomgyu wasn't sure why his first instinct was to be mildly disrespectful, but he was the 'pig-tail-pulling' type of romantic. He had been called a tease by many boys in the past, but truly, that's because he had reserved his true heart and adoration for Soobin. It appeared now, that his heart was collecting dust.
"Performance? That is my faith - not a performance... and who are you?"
Oh forgive me sweet boy, I didn't mean to make you frown. Beomgyu stepped forwards and bowed further than a man of his age should. He felt the burning disgust of his new boss' sleek eyes. He introduced himself.
He found himself watching attentively as Yeonjun explained his role in the classroom. He knew he wouldn't be of much significance. He was instructed to sit on a stool in the corner, like a dunce. He didn't mind though. He had the perfect view of Yeonjun's long legs as he leaned from one leg to the other while he talked.
Each of his students poured in with great smiles on their faces. Beomgyu hadn't seen children so excited to be entering a classroom in perhaps his whole life. The students were all dressed smartly, with crisp white shirts and red neck bows, long black chinos or black knee length skirts, and cotton slip-on shoes to replace their outdoor patent buckle-ups.
Beomgyu felt all the curious young eyes on him as he perched on his humble stool. Perhaps they were surprised to see such an attractive young man, he thought jokingly. At some point, a thin boy by the name of Riki asked for his name and gave him an innocently sweet compliment.
Why must these prepubescents be the only ones to call me handsome? Why not Choi Yeonjun!
When lunchtime came, Beomgyu was raring to converse with more talkative teachers in the cafeteria, but when Yeonjun didn't leave the classroom, he decided it would be best to shadow him. He stared at the beautiful man as he chewed on his rice and mandu. Yeonjun promptly expressed his discomfort with this, so Beomgyu took to exploring the walls. If he had turned away from the displays, he would've noticed Yeonjun's eyes burning into his backside.
"Didn't you bring any food with you?"
He hadn't. He hadn't had much of an appetite in years, in fact. Growing up, he was a chubby faced, slightly heavy boy. Now he was what his friends called a 'poor excuse for a man.' He was slender, skin and bones, with sunken cheekbones and knobbly knees. He walked into tables and forgot meals frequently. Today was one of those days.
Soon, he was sharing the mandu with his new boss. It seemed like such a tender action. There was no sound but the clicking of wooden utensils against one another. His stomach appreciated some carbohydrates for once. Such an act of kindness felt out of character to what he had so far witnessed, but he wouldn't complain.
The man was so pretty. He wanted to hear his voice again. He made a small comment about how the children seemed to adore him. The elder, seemingly lacking in any kind of confidence, merely shrugged. Beomgyu had noticed this. Despite Yeonjun being so beautiful, he didn't seem to carry himself like it. He was constantly fixing his hair, or squeezing the pudge of his cheeks as if that would make them any smaller. Some would interpret these as acts of vanity, but Beomgyu saw through that crass.
"Would the doe eyes of children glow at a man they pity?” he retorted.
Why do my eyes glow at you, sunbae? Why must you be so perfect in my eyes?
Beomgyu previously thought he didn't believe in love at first sight. But now... Now he was beginning to understand.
The next day, he walked in on Yeonjun sleeping at his desk. He was spent and limp against the wood, surrounded by papers, market and unmarked. He looked so gorgeously unkept, but Beomgyu knew the man wouldn't want his subordinate to see him like this. He woke him up gently, offering to run the day's class if it meant the man could rest. The bags under Yeonjun's eyes told the unspoken. He had watched while the man prepared himself to be presentable around the kids, before sitting down for his bidaily prayer to the Buddha. Beomgyu found himself kneeling beside him, listening to the gentle worship. He never considered himself spiritual, but it must've felt good to put his hopes and fears on some other power. He knew that daily prayers such as om mani padme hum were grounding for Yeonjun, so although the prayers didn't work for him, it relaxed him to know Yeonjun felt better after them.
You're weak for me, Yeonjun-ah. He had said. He meant it cheekily. It was a throwaway snarky comment. But boy, did he wish it was true.
Their proximity only grew over the following week. Yeonjun became laxer when it came to letting Beomgyu take the reins every so often in class. Instead of working himself to the bone, spending the few hours that he had free in the day filing through stacks on stacks of papers to mark and fact-check. Now, Beomgyu took on half of the workload. They split the papers forty-five to fifty-five. Beomgyu would take the class in the morning, waking the students up with his vocal timbre and constant hyperactivity, then, after twelve-thirty in the afternoon, he would pass the class on to Yeonjun, who would focus on the more academic aspect rather than the interactive aspect. He'd instruct note-taking, or deliver presentations on key moments in Korean and Japanese history, while Beomgyu would play his part with simple yet effective trivia or class debates. Their way of cooperation just worked so well. The students loved it. Yeonjun loved it. The principal, upon her inspection, seemed to love it too. She popped her round face through a gap in the doorframe and immediately turned rosy at the wondrous faces of the youths, who remained calm and collected, while still enamoured by the teachings of the class.
“In which year was the hangul alphabet promulgated by King Sejong the Great?” Beomgyu asked in proclamation, wording the question like a snappy American sports game host. He looked around at the confident sets of hands shooting up. “Yes, Haram?”
“1466, seongsaenim.”
“Nice, nice. And can you tell me what year the alphabet was written? Take into account the number of years it took for the promulgation. C’mon, this is easy! Mi-reu?”
“1463!”
“Very good!”
Yeonjun would take notes and follow in the younger’s wake as he swiftly moved between topics in order to maintain the interest of his audience. Instead of overwhelming them with content, he would drip feed fun facts, which Yeonjun would highlight in his notes and elaborate on in a later task.
“Okay class, what I want you to do is outline the reasons for and against the introduction of the Hangul alphabet, and why some noblemen seemed to reject the abolition of Hanja for another five hundred years following King Sejong’s proposition of it. Why did the elites continue to use Hanja? And why was Hangul introduced in the first place? Back up each argument with at least three sentences!”
The students scribbled away, the soft scratch of pencil on parchment paper filling the room. Beomgyu found himself particularly fond of the students so emersed in their work that they let their tongues poke through their baby teeth in concentration. Such a habit he had noticed Yeonjun acquired too. He felt a great heat as Yeonjun spoke in front of the class. He spoke lyrically and with poignance while still being comprehensible enough for the children to understand. His expression was always serious as he spoke. He had thick eyebrows that furrowed with each word. At the end of each sentence, he would press his lips in a subconscious pout and dead stare at his students expectantly. Beomgyu felt like his expressions should be animated in one of those dopey animations being pushed out by the emerging company Walt Disney Studios.
That day, the pupils rushed out of class. It was a Friday, meaning the school finished half an hour earlier than usual. Beomgyu often questioned the significance of such a cut-off, but if it meant less workload for his sunbae, he was satisfied. Each of the children bowed to both of their saems with what seemed like immense gratitude for yet another entertaining lesson. No more snoozers in class! When the Choi duo led, everyone was wide awake.
Choi duo, Beomgyu thought. It wasn’t the first time he had been in one of those.
”You two are inseparable,” Heesung had cackled over a bottle of beer when Soobin and Beomgyu began to snuggle up to one another on a makeshift couch of jackets and straw.
“When Soobin dies, I bet Beomgyu will die with him,” said another soldier drunkenly. They all laughed, dizzy and carefree.
“Ya! There’s no way I’m dying first! Have you seen Choi Beomgyu? That boy is a liability!” Soobin said with a greater confidence than most of the sect had heard before. Liquid courage seemed to be electrifying his usually quaint veins.
Beomgyu grinned then, elbowing his lover with a boozy giggle. “What an odd way to say you can’t live without me, Soobin-hyung.”
“Hey, all okay?” came a voice, yanking Beomgyu from his sombre daydream. He came face to face with a pair of hazel eyes and a sharp nose just centimetres from piercing his cheek. He had never seen such a face before. “Sorry, did I startle you?”
Beomgyu jumped back slightly, taking in the appearance of the man that had interrupted his reminiscent wormhole.
"Where is Yeonjun hyung?" He blurted instinctively without thinking. Fuck, now whoever this man in front of him was would know that he was already on honorific terms with his own boss!
"Yeonjun hyung has gone for a department head meeting with Principal Sung-hee. You're an assistant right? Shouldn't you have left for the weekend already?"
Beomgyu was too afraid to explain that he was waiting for Yeonjun to return together so the two of them could pray together again, so instead he waffled about how he couldn't find a particular student's file. He tried his hardest to disregard the knowing smirk of the man in front of him.
"Oh! How rude of me not to introduce myself!" the chisel faced man gasped, bowing lightly. "I'm Mr. Huening of the geography department, but you can call me Kai!"
"Huening? Is that surname from an island?" Beomgyu found himself asking, rather rudely, though he didn't mean to.
"It's German. I'm half Korean, half German. Yeah, I'd rather not talk about it! You must be Choi Beomgyu-ssi, yes?" He bowed again. "Great veteran, I have heard."
Beomgyu pursed his lips, his breath hitching slightly as this sweet yet full-on teacher talked his ear off. "Sorry. Yes. I see my reputation precedes me…"
Kai shrugged with a soft smile. "Well, it's always nice to hear Yeonjun hyung talk of anything but his work, and he sure talks about you a lot!" his gaze was intense for a moment, though he promptly broke out of it. "Anyways, it's Friday so I'm headed home for rest. It was a pleasure to meet you, Beomgyu-ssi. I really love your hair! I'll see you around!"
Beomgyu barely had a moment to blink before the geography teacher disappeared in a flurry of brown curls and textbooks. It wasn't often Beomgyu would meet someone who had almost as much of a motormouth as himself, but that was the least of his concerns. When had Yeonjun found the time to mouth off about him to other co-workers? Last time he had checked, Yeonjun hardly had time to eat his own lunch!
He huffed and brushed down his suit. He grabbed his satchel from the store cupboard and stuffed it full of scruffy orange jotters ready to be looked over. His eyes caught the glittering gold of Yeonjun's shrine for a moment, and Beomgyu realised the cup of water offering had yet to be filled. Usually, Yeonjun would've done it by now, but he had rushed off to his meeting. So, Beomgyu took the glass off the shrine gently, making sure not to knock a single artefact out of place, before crossing to the small tap in the corner to fill it up with fresh water for the great Buddha. He returned to the shrine, kneeling down and placing the water under the golden statue.
It took him a good few minutes of kneeling on the soft cushion to question why he hadn't yet stood up and returned to packing up. He had never felt the urge to pray before, but he found himself clasping his hands together and burying his nose in them.
"Om Ami Dewa Hrih," he echoed his memories of Yeonjun's previous prayers.
OmAmi
Infinite, limitless light.
Dewa
The illuminated Deity of Buddha nature.
Hrih
With self respect and dignity.
"Great Buddha, let me overcome the hindrances and let me love again soon. Let me move away from the grief of my past, transcend and flourish into the present. Give me new love. I promise, Great Buddha, I will try to love again soon. Om Ami Dewa Hrih. May I be well, happy, and peaceful. May Yeonjun hyung be well, happy, and peaceful. Amideva Hrīḥ."
Deja Vu hit. There was clapping from the doorway. A soft sound that was so close but felt miles away to Beomgyu, who was trapped in a state of serenity as he experienced what it felt to give yourself to something otherworldly for the first time. He turned slowly, seeing his hyung leaning against the doorway with such a soft and serene expression that he had never before seen. Yeonjun stood in a tight suit. The small softness of his stomach slightly spilled over the snug elastic of his trouser waistband. His smile lines were on full display. Dimple akin creases that wouldn't have existed five years ago. Plush lips were curled upwards. He was impressed, that was clear, but Gods he looked so tender.
"You filled up the water for me?" He finally said after an extended period of intense, quiet eye-contact.
"Mhm."
"Th-thank you?"
They packed away the last of the week's thing in complete silence. Shoulder to shoulder, they exited the humble school building with their bags slung across their bodies. Yeonjun had driven to work in his small Japanese car. Beomgyu had cycled there on a little burgundy bicycle with a sweet woven basket perched on the front. The carpark was on the left, and the bike stands were on the right. The men emerged from the doors side by side and glanced ahead of them.
"Well, I'll see you on Monday," said Yeonjun, not turning his head to look at the younger.
Beomgyu gulped and rocked back and forth on his heels. Breathing in sharply, he said: "Why must we wait until then?"
Yeonjun looked at him then. The wind was hitting his hair roughly, causing it to fly around his face and in front of his eyes. Even still, Beomgyu could see the shock in the man's heavy gaze.
"What are you insinuating?" Yeonjun questioned pointedly. He let the shock wash over his face, tactfully giving Beomgyu a non-expression in order to not less his emotions be deciphered.
"Do you drink? We could grab a drink together?"
"Yes, I drink."
"Tomorrow, then?"
"Why not tonight?"
Oh!
"Ahem, yeah. That works too."
"Lock your bike up." he said. "I'll drive us somewhere."
Beomgyu had been planning to ask the elder out somewhere from the beginning, but the entire time, he assumed he would say no. So he didn't have the chance to think beyond what would happen if he said yes. The sky was already darkening in the autumn breeze.
He felt overwhelmed, underdressed, and completely breathless when he crawled into the passenger seat of Yeonjun's small Otomo. The roof was open, and the cushions were a unique shade of purple. It looked expensive to own on a teacher's budget, thought Beomgyu. Perhaps it was inherited!
He let himself sink in to the softness of the seat as Yeonjun took his place in the driver's position. His round fingers clasped the wheel tight, causing the muscles in his lower arm to flex slightly. Beomgyu figured then that it would be best to look at the road ahead as Yeonjun drove.
They didn't speak for majority of the journey. When Beomgyu asked the older if he knew a place for a good drink, Yeonjun said nothing, just smiled.
Last time Beomgyu had let alcohol take him away, he ended up having regretful sex with a woman a lot older than him. But something about the idea of drinking with Yeonjun felt like a safety net. Something to grip him if he began free falling.
Beomgyu began to familiarise himself with the landscape of the town. Though the harsh rains often kicked him in the ass, it also meant the greenery was greatly nourished. The leaves were kissed with dew, allowing them to stay bright and green, instead of withered and brown. The sky was filled with clouds, but pockets of pink and blue poked through and illuminated the damp roads in front. The wind twisted through Beomgyu's long hair, making it a tangled mess of matted waves. He didn't mind one bit.
He found himself humming a small tune. Something about an old lover returning to your door with roses after years of silence. It was a foolish little folk song, with a familiar melody. Yeonjun began to hum along too, though unnoticed by Beomgyu.
By the time they reached wherever it was that the older had driven them, the sky was filled with a great darkness. It wasn't the puny Seoul dark, filled with murky clouds covering the stars from light pollution. Southern darkness was different. This third of the peninsula was clear, endless blackness, dotted with glittering constellations. When the angle was right, the stars would sparkle in Yeonjun's dark eyes.
It was a small jazz bar; the place Yeonjun knew. There was the cosy, wintery sound of soft piano being played in the far corner of the tight space, and the tinkling of glasses hitting one another gently. There were all kinds of people filling the room: What looked like a woman dressed in a top hat with a faux Chaplinesque moustache, a group of young white men with their hair tightly slicked back, gossiping together, and two very young – possibly underage – boys sitting in a distant booth, faces impossibly close and knees touching.
Yeonjun pointed Beomgyu towards an empty booth, urging the younger to slip into it while he bought them their first round of drinks.
"But I invited you out! Shouldn't I pay?" the younger protested.
"You can pay for the next round," Yeonjun winked, disappearing into the group of drunks crowding the bar. The barmaid was a beautifully tanned tall woman, around their age, and Beomgyu watched her skillfully polish glasses as Yeonjun approached.
"Two glasses of whiskey, please."
"'Course, one moment."
Her Busan accent was strong and she spoke hastily. It took her a magnificently short time to distribute the liquor into two crystal glasses. She slid them over to Yeonjun, as he slid the coins to her.
"Thanks." He grabbed a drink for each hand and began to make his way towards Beomgyu when a figure slipped out of the crowd and obstructed him.
Yeonjun grinned. "Hi Wooyoung."
"Pretty boyfriend you've got over there, Choi."
Wooyoung was a regular at that bar, and a fellow gay male in the area. He was rather open about it. It was quite transparent, given that he lived alone and spent most of his nights at this infamous bar, which was known to be where young men came to spend a night with the same sex. (Beomgyu didn't need to know that.)
Both of their eyes were drawn to Beomgyu, who was making a game of folding the paper napkins into sailboats and propping them on the head of the dragon statue that was perched on a shelf beside the booth. Yeonjun sighed fondly.
"He's not my boyfriend; he's my subordinate. Principal Sung-Hee sent him to relax my workload."
Wooyoung raised an eyebrow (which Yeonjun noticed had been carefully filled in with led, in a cabaret-makeup style.)
"You wish he was your boyfriend, don't you?"
Yeonjun blinked and looked between his long time friend and his current crush. Crush felt like such an immature word, but he couldn't describe the feeling in any better words.
"Perhaps," he trailed off, staring into the spinning bronze liquor in his grasp. "Anyways, I must go talk to him. 'S his first time here, I shouldn't leave him alone. I'll see you around?"
Wooyoung smiled knowingly, "Alright, hyung."
When Yeonjun returned to Beomgyu's side, he noticed that the latter's shirt had been buttoned down slightly. Not only was porcelain pink skin now on display for himself and the whole bar to see, but also a small silver locket hung from Beomgyu's neck.
Yeonjun pushed the drink towards the younger, taking a quick swig of his own. "What's that?" He asked.
"What's what?" the boy pouted.
"Your necklace. Aish, don't make that face at me."
Beomgyu suddenly blinked heavily, his hand moving to grasp the necklace, as if it was his automatic instinct to protect it. He twiddled the moon shaped charm between his thumbs for a moment, before taking a sip of his drink.
"You don't have to tell me." Yeonjun added. He knew whatever this was – like most things surrounding Choi Beomgyu – came with a story.
"I served on the front, during the Great War. I met this boy. He was my… best friend. But, we lost him, just before the war ended." Hints of mellow tears began to emerge in the younger's eyes, and he found himself taking quite a substantial gulp of his drink to subside it.
Yeonjun's lips parted, leaning slightly into Beomgyu as a means of comfort.
"What was his name?"
"Soobin. Choi Soobin. At first, we joked about being long lost brothers," Beomgyu chuckled, though his mind was elsewhere. "But we became much more than that." He reached for the necklace and unclasped the moon charm, revealing a small cut out of a round face, with a dimpled smile and doe eyes. "That's him. He gave me the locket, but I put the picture in myself when he died."
Placing his hand on top of Beomgyu's, Yeonjun exhaled. His hands were shaky and clammy, and he realised then that his drink was almost half finished.
"Was he your lover?" whispered Yeonjun, quieter than he had ever spoken before. Only loud enough for Beomgyu's ears, and no one else.
You hold my heart Beomgyu. No one else.
Beomgyu screwed his eyes shut, subconsciously squeezing his hyung's fingers above his own. He nodded, and muttered a faint Yes.
I will pray for you, Choi Beomgyu. I will pray to the end of time for your peace of mind. The pain of losing someone you love, I can't even imagine it. But I know I never want to feel the pain of losing you, Beomgyu.
His thoughts ran at millions per second, but there wasn't much he could find himself to say. Beomgyu spoke for him. Beomgyu filled in his gaps.
"There are always parallel universes," the younger began, "Every moment could split into thousands of fragments leading to other universes just like our own, with just slight differences. And perhaps, in one life, Choi Soobin didn't die. Maybe he got this surge of adrenaline. Maybe he teetered on the edge of death but found this superhuman surge, and flew the opposite direction of the shells." He downed the last of his drink. "But he didn't. He died. And please, don't tell me there'll be a day when I feel better about it. That one day, I'll wake up with the sun hitting me through my curtains, and my mind will be fresh from thoughts of what once was my soulmate, and that not waking up with him beside me will feel normal. I don't want to hear it. I've heard it enough." He looked Yeonjun in the eyes now, deep enough to dive into the depths of his soul. His grip on his hand tightened. "But life will go on. The world moves. I sleep better these days. And slowly, I've begun to believe that perhaps one can have multiple soulmates. Cupid wouldn't be so cruel to take one away from me so brutally without giving me some sort of compensation." Yeonjun finished his drink now, not letting his eyes move from the younger's. Not even for a second. "And I think Cupid's compensation put me in your classroom, Yeonjun hyung."
Yeonjun felt the air get knocked out of him. The one drink had done enough. All the blood rushed to his groin and he felt dizzy with lust, mixed with the desire to hold this man to comfort and bliss forever and ever.
Till death do they part.
"Say my name again," he grunted, his free hand long discarding his glass, now placed on Beomgyu's plump and pulsating thigh.
"Yeonjun hyung," Beomgyu purred. The tears were gone. His eyes were clouded with pure want. Never had Yeonjun seen such a blatant look of desperation. This was the last straw. Yeonjun had to bed him now. He tried to conjure a way to offer the invitation, but again, Beomgyu did it for him.
"Take me home, hyung."
"Where to?"
"No. Your home."
The car journey was quite unbearable. Yeonjun's hand didn't leave the younger's thigh for the entire twenty minutes it took to drive to his dated bungalow house. Beomgyu's breaths were ragged and irregular, and Yeonjun felt like he was suffocating. Once Yeonjun had parked his car in a free spot, out of the way of passing cars and carriages, he began to shoot up the small hill on which his house resided. Beomgyu followed giddily, hardly able to keep up with Yeonjun's swift, inpatient pace.
The area was safe, so Yeonjun usually left his door unlocked, just in case his neighbour's cat wanted to slip in and out for a change of scenery. As a result, all it took was a gentle push for him to enter, and Beomgyu followed close behind. Yeonjun toed his shoes off by the front rug, but Beomgyu stood dead still, staring stunned.
"What is it?" Yeonjun asked desperately, almost slipping into his teaching voice.
"I really, really want to kiss you right now. I mean, I have since I saw you praying to your shrine in your hanbok that first day. But right now, I particularly want to kiss you, I—"
Beomgyu's word vomit was abruptly cut off when the pair of lips that the younger had been longing for for what felt like an eternity were finally pressed against his own. He had only meant for it to be a small kiss of Hello, we are doing this but Yeonjun found himself far too distracted by Beomgyu's everything. The way Beomgyu smelt like fresh coconut, the way his hands twisted in the lapels of Yeonjun's blazer, the way he panted like a puppy when Yeonjun pulled his body tight against his own. The mutual desperation wrangled moans from the back of both of their throats, and they let their bodies melt into each other. Hands in hair, chests against chest, lips on lips.
Yeonjun felt his face heat up to a scorching level when he finally had the will to pull away. His eyes lowered, and he shot a half-hearted glare at the smugness of the younger's expression. "Couldn't you have waited until we got inside?"
"We are inside!" Beomgyu retorted, and Yeonjun flashed him a pointed look. "Honestly… No, not really."
Still recovering from the almost perfect kiss, Yeonjun shakily pulled the door shut behind him. He pulled Beomgyu by the hand into the hallway, pressing him against one of the walls. Bypassing his lips this time, Yeonjun went straight for the younger's neck. With love and delicacy, he placed open mouthed kisses along the untouched skin. He inhaled the boy's scent with deep full breaths, letting himself take in the reality of it all. This is actually happening.
He stepped back and admired his work. Red, lip shaped marks creating a love trail up Beomgyu's neck. They weren't forceful, and they wouldn't last very long, but it was worth it to hear the little whines coming from Beomgyu as Yeonjun sucked them into his throat.
They kissed again, gentler this time. Both of their lips had become warm and fuzzy. Beomgyu was quick to wind his slender arms around Yeonjun's neck, and, like a choreographed routine, his legs followed when Yeonjun reaches to grab his ass. He gripped the back of his thighs and lifter them so they sat comfortably against his own love handles, before carefully carrying the boy to his bedroom.
He laid him down on the crisp navy patterned sheets, and, against his better judgement, had to take a moment to stare at the boy, fully taking him in. He had his neck tipped back as he writhed in desperation. Somehow, along the way, another button had been undone. Now the shirt slipped down his thin frame, revealing creamy shoulders dusted with round moles and a soft layer of hair. He looked ethereal, blissed out like this but hardly touched. When Yeonjun slid onto his lap, he felt the telling poke of a growing bulge against his hip bone. He slipped forward, rubbing the curve of his ass against the emerging hardness.
Beomgyu squirmed under the weight of his lover. His hands felt hot and unhinged as they moved all around Yeonjun's body, needing to feel every curve and corner. Touching him, tugging at his clothes, taking everything off and leaving the bare and beautiful skin of his hyung that he hid underneath. He palmed Yeonjun's ass, which had an ungodly amount of plumpness that he had clearly been hiding under large coats and cardigans. He let himself dig his fingers in the clothed flesh as he ground his own hips upward.
"So, so pretty," Yeonjun muttered to himself breathilty, almost going unheard.
"I know."
Beomgyu pushed Yeonjun off his lap then, rushing to remove the last few buttons of his dress shirt, while simultaneously sliding his slacks down his long legs. When Yeonjun finally processed what he was doing, he mirrored him, carefully removing each piece of clothing and folding them to the side.
"Is this really the time to be folding your clothes?" Beomgyu teased, staring at him from the bed. The younger was now fully nude, save the tight pair of green briefs that did nothing to conceal the fact that his dick was so hard that it was poking through the waistband.
Yeonjun shushed him without so much as a word, crawling back onto the mattress, completely naked. He reached for Beomgyu's underwear and dragged them down his body, discarding them behind him and immediately licking a long, hot strip along his shaft. He suckled at the head with care, and the sensation of his puffy lips mixed with the skill of his swirling tongue sent Beomgyu into what he thought was Nirvana. He could only watch helplessly as Yeonjun took his full length into his throat as if it was nothing.
Beomgyu had to swallow his pride. He always thought he was very well endowed, but Yeonjun showed no sign of struggle with his great size. It didn't matter much though. He was distracted by the squeeze of Yeonjun around his cock. Yeonjun let out muffled moans and quiet squeaks, and Beomgyu was taken aback with just how much pleasure the former seemed to be getting from this even though he hadn't once been touched yet.
Beomgyu got a small fright when Yeonjun pulled away suddenly, making eye contact with him and softly squeezing a handful of his balls. He didn't pull off completely, his wet lips still slightly pressed against Beomgyu's tip, saliva drizzling off his tongue onto the shaft.
"Make love to me." He leaned down and twisted Beomgyu's brown nipples, flicking his index finger against them, while simultaneously neglecting his erection. "You need to tell me you want it."
Beomgyu cried, writhing beneath him with his eyes shut tight. He was thrusting his hips up into Yeonjun without meaning to. He felt like he had handed the reins to his limbs to someone else. He took the backseat and let his right brain control his body fully.
"Please. I need it," he begged, his voice not even sounding like his own. As if some incubus had taken over his body and soul, giving him thoughts of nothing but filth.
Yeonjun grasped Beomgyu's hot hands which had before been travelling anywhere, grasping onto any patch of skin that they could. He led it to his bedside table, where a small jug of oil lubricant was placed. Holding the younger's hand, he pushed his finger into the oil and let him slick up his hand in preparation. He caught hold of the hand once again, now pulling it towards his nude backside.
"Stretch me open," he said bluntly.
Beomgyu looked at him blankly for a moment, before the instructions clicked inside his hazy mind. He pushed his finger into Yeonjun's hole, after having to feel around to find it for a while. Yeonjun had moved so it was more accessible to him, though he still couldn't see it. He could most definitely feel it, though. The tight ring of muscle was contracting and expanding, almost begging to be filled up. It took quite a bit of effort, but eventually the immense tightness swallowed his slick up finger, and he soon followed the first digit with a second.
Yeonjun keened, Beomgyu's long fingers reaching places he hadn't touched in years, especially not by his own hand. With a moment of hesitation, Beomgyu eventually began to scissor his fingers inside the older man, loosening up his hole in preparation for his cock. It took great restraint for Beomgyu not to stroke his own cock as he watched Yeonjun's expression twist from initial agony to mind numbing pleasure as his fingers stretched him open.
"I'm ready. Please."
Beomgyu was ready to take control now. Grabbing his hyung's small waist, he lifted him off his lap and pushed him down so his back hit the bedsheets. He looked up at Beomgyu with wonder, and Beomgyu felt himself falling further and further into the arms of the man. Beomgyu tugged on his own cock for a few seconds, spreading around the copious amount of slick that had leaked from his tip in the last several minutes, before adding to it with a few dips of the lubricant. He pumped his dick before positioning it against Yeonjun's now gaping hole. Yeonjun's legs spread further and further apart, his flexibility defying his age, and he let out a quiet scream from the back of his throat as Beomgyu finally pushed his length inside him.
The sensation was alien at first, but then Yeonjun shifted slightly so his head was further down the pillows, and then oh, the position was perfect.
As eager as Beomgyu was to get inside the older and rail him until he could only limp around his own classroom, he decided to pace himself, and savour the sweet serenity of the moment. He pushed in further, amazed at how easily Yeonjun seemed to take him. He hadn't been inside a man in such a long time, and what a comeback he had made. When he bottomed out, he waited. He pushed his hand through Yeonjun's soft hair that was beginning to dampen from the sweat of his forehead.
"All okay, hyung?"
Yeonjun responded with hips. Agile hips. Hips that belonged to a woman but were somehow attached to this perfect man. Hips that thrusted up desperately, pushing back and forth jerkily. "Oh-okay, please f-fuck me, Beomgyu…"
The younger began to move, instantly eliciting a string of profanities from the man beneath him. To ease the shock, he could only press countless kisses on his glistening forehead, whispering words of praise and encouragement as Yeonjun's hole accepted his slow, controlled thrusts.
"Look at you. You're taking me so well."
Yeonjun felt like crying. He hadn't felt genuine praise in such a long time. He opened his eyes and watched Beomgyu's toned frame buckle above him, pushing in and out, eyes full of love and hope for whatever would follow.
Yeonjun's walls clenched around Beomgyu's thrusts. His cock was slightly curved, reaching inside Yeonjun like a bow and perfectly hitting his most sensitive point repeatedly, albeit unbearably slow.
The elder cried out. "Beomgyu-yah, I'm serious. Please, please, please, please–" he repeated the lateral word so many times that it became a string of nonsense falling from his drool-coated lips. His previously gentle whines gained more volume and began to sound broken and pleasurably miserable.
When the two of them finally snapped, it was cathartic. Beomgyu began to push in and out of Yeonjun at a rapidly quickening pace, and it wasn't long before he was practically pistoning into his hyung's fat ass, which recoiled with each slap of his balls against it.
"I wish you could see yourself right now," Beomgyu grunted between breaths, his hips not faltering once despite the sporadic movements. "You're so fucking beautiful, hyung. All spread out on my cock. Do you like your dongsaeng's cock?"
Yeonjun nodded quickly, so breathless that he could hardly form a single consonant. Saliva drooled from his lips like a rabid animal, and his eyes began to roll into his cranium like the devil had knocked on the door to his mind and clouded it.
"Love– Beomgyu, you- fucking- fuck-" his sentences were hardly decipherable. He looked so sinfully serene, his hair flying around his face as his body continued to be jolted by the younger's dick almost splitting his hole open. Beomgyu watched Yeonjun's lashes begin to dampen and his cheeks glisten from the reflection of the moon onto his tear tracks.
Beomgyu gained an unstoppable speed and rhythm – the fastest he could go with assurance that he would not black himself or Yeonjun out. He tried to hold back a growl as Yeonjun's hand floppily flew to his own dick, stroking it up and down with desperation.
"You close, baby? You gonna come all over yourself? You gonna make a mess of your perfect, pristine bed?"
His hyung could only nod, too focused on circling his thumb over his tip between thrusts. His hips began to pulse like a machine, verging on complete oversensitivity.
"Go ahead," Beomgyu whispered, his voice gentle and like himself again. He maintained his pace as Yeonjun's hole tightened around him. With a monumental harsh thrust, Yeonjun's cock was spilling cum slowly, hitting his chest with each spurt. His body was spasming and his tongue was grasping to wrap around a single word, but could find nothing. He sobbed as he came, so fucked out, so relieved.
"You treat me so well," he managed to say finally, blindly reaching out to cup Beomgyu's cheek through blurred vision. "Come inside me."
"You sure?"
"I've been sure for days."
Beomgyu resumed his hip movements. His dick hadn't left Yeonjun's hole, and now it was pulsing into its tightness, begging to chase the pleasure. He leaned into Yeonjun's neck and placed soft kisses there, muffling his own moans against the skin as he continued to thrust just a dozen more times before his body finally gave in with a shake. His seed streamed into his hyung's inviting hole, as if he was claiming him, filling him, so no one else could do the same.
Yeonjun felt away from himself in a second. He faded into Beomgyu. He thought of the glimpses he had of the younger boy. The glimpses of giving himself to someone else that he didn't consider as he was too wrapped up in his work. The soft looks of sympathy from others that he didn't pay attention to. He had drowned himself in papers and academia, blocking out the faces and words of others as he did so.
Only now, with what he felt was the love of his life above him, did he realise what he had been missing out on for so long.
And now it seemed easy to give himself to Beomgyu, as if his body had been waiting for the transfer of energy his whole life.
"Come, let's clean up," Beomgyu muttered into his neck, pulling out slowly and lifting up Yeonjun's heavy frame towards what he had internally mapped out was the direction of the bathroom.
When the bath was filled with the two of them in it, Beomgyu urged the two of them just to sit and let the warmth of the water hug their skin instead of moving to clean each nook and cranny of themselves.
"It's okay, we have all the time in the world, now. No need to rush."