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the grass is uncomfortably damp, so much so that yeonjun can feel moisture sopping through his burgundy-colored sweatpants as he sits back on it. there will be a copious amount of mud stains left on his clothes, yeonjun knows that for a fact, but he can’t bring himself to care much when there are jean-covered legs thrown across his lap and dainty fingers curling around his bicep.
beomgyu is warm. cheeks flushed cherry red, hair matted to his forehead. the younger boy laughs when a bead of sweat forms, runs down his face until it drips onto the bridge of his nose. the humidity from the rainstorm earlier that evening is still strong in the air; everything feels sticky, the way melted, runny ice cream does when dripping down their forearms, like the lollipops that leave sticky, tacky residue on the pads of their fingertips.
things are rarely pretty when it comes to the two of them; yeonjun avoids the dark, plum-colored mark that has bloomed along the side of beomgyu’s nose and across half of his under-eye region, swiping his thumb across beomgyu’s jaw instead, before settling his hands right on the younger boy’s waist. nor is what they have going exceptionally glamorous either; beomgyu cracks a joke about yeonjun’s choice of fashion— grey sweatpants and a loose, white and blue-striped shirt that hangs so low it leaves the tops of his collar bones exposed, his usual pajamas— with the cheekiest of smiles.
their summer nights are dusted with sugar and taste of fruit-flavored sodas that fizz when poured over a cup of ice. all the certainty that they have is in the sight of each other’s newly swollen pink lips and paint-stained hands, the light cotton fabric of their t-shirts that dissolves into flames under each other’s roaming, burning touch.
“eager, aren’t we?” beomgyu had joked when yeonjun rounded the fence, approaching the field to the local playground in his slippers a mere five minutes after beomgyu had first called him. yeonjun wordlessly rolls his eyes, plopping down next to beomgyu with a bemused expression, the corner of his lips vaguely curling upwards anyway.
yeonjun immediately slipped his palm into beomgyu’s, intertwining their fingers. beomgyu’s are clammy to the touch, but yeonjun just pulls their hands closer together, and beomgyu doesn’t pull away.
it’s midnight then, the only thing vaguely illuminating the ground being a street lamp stationed across the road, which gives the lush grass a faint, yellow-tinted glow. the bulb flickers every few seconds, like it has for the past month, but they’re more than used to it. beomgyu pulls yeonjun up by the wrist when he eventually grows restless, only letting go when it comes time to hop the fence into the rest of the park.
yeonjun steps on the thin “no trespassing” sign nailed to the door in the fence when trying to scale it. beomgyu has a laugh at that; the toe of his own shoe slots right in between the dips and crevices of the fence, but yeonjun’s slippers are far too chunky.
beomgyu calls out that he’ll spot yeonjun, and waits until the older boy has his feet planted back on the ground before setting off at a brisk pace, beckoning yeonjun to come with. the gesture is greatly unnecessary, considering that they end up at the exact same spot every time, but the show of dramatics makes beomgyu giggle, and yeonjun thinks he could drown in that sound.
there’s something about beomgyu that makes yeonjun’s insides collapse. gazes that make him fall apart, touches that put him back together. they’re like a never ending puzzle, with pieces that just keep slotting into place.
they end up in yeonjun’s car later that night, when the older boy offers to drive beomgyu home. they know how to pick their spots by now— the spot in the corner of the parking lot is partially shrouded by a tree, not that the shade would matter much in the middle of the night, but it’s also the furthest from the security camera that is fastened to the back door of beomgyu’s apartment complex. yeonjun giggles, bumps their noses together when beomgyu first leans forward. beomgyu just whines a little at this, once again leaning in for a goodnight kiss, and yeonjun is more than happy to oblige.
but beomgyu is addicting, so a peck goodnight turns into him climbing over the center console so that he and yeonjun can press as close as possible to one another. the taste of cheap bourbon still lingers on their tongues, some that yeonjun had stolen from the kitchen cabinet before taking his leave that night. the bottle was wrapped in a blanket in the backseat, now half-empty, and it’s evident in the way beomgyu looks slightly dazed, eyes glassy when they temporarily break apart— he’d always been the lightweight out of the two of them.
their chests are heaving they dive back in, trying to find rhythm, lips sliding together and beomgyu fists his hand in yeonjun’s hair a little awkwardly, drawing a hum from the older boy’s lips. beomgyu’s own are pink and plump, a little raw around some areas where he had bitten them off, but still stained by his favorite strawberry scented chapstick. it clashes with the mint one that yeonjun had applied earlier that day, but neither of them seem to care considering the fact that beomgyu is still pulling the older boy closer, closer, closer and yeonjun follows like a moth attracted to the light, doesn’t stop until both of their torsos are pressed flush against one another’s.
beomgyu’s mouth still feels like a dream to yeonjun, even after all these months, gentle but firm in all the right ways, pliant but confident. words are imperfect vehicles but yeonjun still finds everything about beomgyu to be absolutely gorgeous; it’s no secret that the younger boy is quite the looker— with gentle expressions that contrast his striking features, and a lithe frame that he carries boldly, always confident in his stance— and yeonjun goes weak-kneed for pretty boys that teem with charisma in the same way that beomgyu does.
it’s instant attraction, even upon their first meeting, the kind that sends tingles into the tips of yeonjun’s fingers and an itch down his spine, the type that makes his insides feel blank one second and all jumbled and overflowing the next. there’s a pleasant buzz coursing through yeonjun’s veins, one that matches the rhythm of the thrumming of his heart as beomgyu slightly pulls back, his tongue darting out to swipe across his bottom lip in an action that yeonjun follows closely.
this is how it goes. beomgyu’s nimble fingers brush the inside of yeonjun’s wrist, ever so lightly, but yeonjun’s nerves still feel like they’ve been touched by a sparkler. beomgyu’s gaze is sharp and calculated, sending yeonjun an impish wink, and the older boy is a fish out of water, weak to it all.
yeonjun thinks sometimes that maybe he loves beomgyu, loves him so much that he’ll let him kick up his feet, right on top of the dashboard to his car. that he loves beomgyu so much, he lets the younger boy blow up his phone with nonsensical texts at three o’clock in the morning. that he loves beomgyu, so he’ll keep on coming every single time.
dazed but earnest is a feeling yeonjun knows best. those times when his head starts to float above the clouds, where words lose their meaning in between the fog that fills his head, and there’s a clip burned into yeonjun’s mind, a video that plays on a constant loop, of the way beomgyu’s lips would thin out into a smile before the younger boy eventually lets go, exposing his teeth in a blinding grin.
soobin thinks they’re a cliche. huening kai, soobin’s boyfriend, tells yeonjun that they make him sick, gently knocking the eldest’s ribs with his elbow. but sometimes, when they’re alone, beomgyu makes yeonjun feel like he’s the only person in the world. because yeonjun is the only one who gets to see beomgyu on these nights, and he doesn’t know what people could possibly be living for, if not this.
yeonjun wonders if purpose and desire are imperfect synonyms. because he’s filled to the brim with want, giving and receiving kisses that are all teeth and tongue until they turn more languid with time. he finds purpose in the way his phone screen blares at midnight, how he pushes through a crowd of three hundred sweaty bodies filling the cramped rooms of the two-story house that his gps has mapped him to, and peels beomgyu out of an exasperated soobin’s arms, taehyun and kai being far too wrapped up in each other on the couch to pay mind to their friend who is beyond buzzed.
yeonjun really shouldn’t feel so special. beomgyu’s lips are freshly swollen, maybe a little bruised, and yeonjun knows fully well what that means. but love doesn’t need a label, he thinks, and if beomgyu really does make him feel special, then maybe that’s enough. maybe it can be enough.
the beat to the edm music that the speakers are playing pounds against the walls of the house, so loudly that yeonjun can hear it even after he half-drags, half-carries beomgyu outside and gets him buckled in the passenger seat. he knows what to expect, knows that beomgyu laughs like a tinkling bell when tipsy and gets a little more unfiltered in his speech. beomgyu's black hair has been dyed a sterling silver for three months at that point, and the soft curls are ever messy against the headrest’s leather molding.
“i think i love him,” yeonjun had uttered once, the only time he had ever admitted such a thing to anyone. and it was to taehyun, right in the middle of the empty school library at eleven o’clock in the evening. maybe yeonjun is slightly buzzed then, having downed a beer bottle before arriving at this impromptu study session for tomorrow's environmental science exam, an elective course that the two of them were taking. the large room feels too hot, and yeonjun is pulling at his shirt collar to loosen it while awaiting a response.
yeonjun doesn’t even know what exactly he wants taehyun to say, but the confession falls right off of his tongue anyway, all tangy and acidic. it's supposed to be a weight off of his chest, that statement. all those people saying that if you loved someone, you’d know, so yeonjun thinks now that he might know, if he could piece together the meaning behind all those moments he and beomgyu had shared, then something would shift. but yeonjun thinks he’s in love, and that knowledge makes nothing tangible click into place.
taehyun’s tone is soft when he eventually speaks. he offers yeonjun a piece of his rock candy, and things move on.
time goes by in a blur, every part of every day somehow complimented by beomgyu. they’re on the porch to yeonjun’s house at eight in the morning, and beomgyu whistles appreciatively from where he’s lazily strewn across the front steps when he spots the two inches of visible, bare skin between the hem of yeonjun’s cropped shirt and where his jeans begin. he laughs when yeonjun’s hand shoots up to rub at his neck, the ghost of a smile making its way across the older boy's face. yeonjun is sheepish until beomgyu calls him over, and beomgyu waits until they’re standing on the curb to kiss him breathless, the way that makes yeonjun forget his own name.
they’re sitting in front of a nearby corner store at one in the afternoon, huening kai perched on top of a barrel, soobin and yeonjun on the railing to the parking lot, beomgyu flopping down underneath their feet, and taehyun to his side. soobin and beomgyu are smoking cigarettes, and yeonjun’s eyes linger for a little too long on the crown of beomgyu’s head at one point. the younger boy’s eyes are glimmering when he turns around, eyebrow quirked in an expression that betrays all of his mirth. beomgyu doesn’t even need to say how he knows that yeonjun was staring; yeonjun thinks it’s a given, because beomgyu is beautiful, and yeonjun can’t look away.
it’s seven o’clock at night and yeonjun finds himself lying on his back, splayed out on the rooftop to an abandoned building with beomgyu right next to him. they find themselves bantering, and yeonjun winks at beomgyu first, but the younger boy just drawls out a compliment of his own, lips wrapping around the word as he calls yeonjun pretty. yeonjun is grateful that the sun sets so early in the day now that autumn has begun, for it hides the rosy, warm flush to his face, but his friends still get a hoot out of it, the way beomgyu makes yeonjun go tongue-tied, sentences losing their coherence.
then it’s two am all over again, and the understanding is still there: that when beomgyu calls, yeonjun comes on over. he doesn’t ask, never does, not when beomgyu sounds both furious and teary over the phone. not when the younger boy stands in yeonjun’s yard, wearing a coat that is far too thin to handle the new chill to the weather, and yeonjun just walks out the back door, a scarf around his neck and an extra one in his hands. beomgyu scoffs but wears it anyway, and they set off.
there are alleyways all over town, ones tucked in between little bakeries and tailor shops, ones that line parks and the backsides of apartment buildings. just like everything else in the city is, they’re filled with marks of beomgyu. yeonjun has learned to tell with nothing but a quick glance which of the designs littering the walls belong to beomgyu, and thinks he spots one of kai’s designs further down the alley as well.
they’re mostly silent on these nights. sometimes, yeonjun asks about what beomgyu is spraying across the side of a building. beomgyu’s curt replies seem to carry the weight of a thousand bricks.
“i like to be in control,” beomgyu would hum, eyes still trained on his work. “feels nice.”
“they look nice, too,” yeonjun comments simply, tracing one that had already dried with the pad of his finger. “i think they’re really pretty.”
and that’s supposed to be that. but beomgyu’s eyes are always shining. they shine under the moonlight, shine again when he finally looks up from where he’s kneeling and looks at yeonjun, really looks at him, and sends the older boy a wink.
“i think you’re prettier.”
this is who they are, yeonjun thinks. maybe they did things backwards in that regard. but he’s grown to find nothing but beauty in beomgyu, the kinds others scarcely pick up on. because beomgyu is like this, likes making yeonjun go pink in the face. likes creating graffiti. likes the thrill of hearing sirens start blaring from a couple roads over, taking yeonjun’s hand in his before racing off. beomgyu likes the way his worn sneakers pound against the concrete, likes the feeling of the wind rushing against his cheeks, likes the satisfaction of escaping uncaught, because they’re eighteen, nineteen, and wildly unpredictable like most things at that age are, full of stamina bursts and bubbling with adrenaline. it feels as addictive as the nicotine.
beomgyu comes alive then, and yeonjun has never wanted to see anything more, to see it for the rest of his life. so he always comes, and lets beomgyu kiss him all messy after they’ve jogged down to the base of a hill, having lost the cop car a few blocks back.
he’s never felt the need to tear down his walls for beomgyu; the younger boy is patient in ways yeonjun is not— “it’s because i’m a pisces”— and always waits for yeonjun to let him in. maybe there comes a time where yeonjun gives beomgyu the key to that door, the one guarding his heart, and lets beomgyu make decisions about when to come near and when to stay far because he trusts the younger boy.
they’re partial to certain bad habits, both a little broken, a little rough around the edges, but yeonjun thinks beomgyu is beautiful anyway. yeonjun helps beomgyu through microbiology, holds his band in between practice problems. he’ll sneak beomgyu through his bedroom window and hold him close when the younger boy isn’t in the mood to go home, lends beomgyu a spare change of clothes, and kisses him right after they both brush their teeth, even when they taste like toothpaste.
you only know how to give, beomgyu tells him in the wee hours of the night, in between stolen kisses; his actions speak for him when he can’t. and i don't quite know how to take.
“i’ll teach you,” always comes yeonjun’s steady reassurance, when the problem they're on doesn’t make much sense or beomgyu can’t get the coffee machine in yeonjun's kitchen to work. yeonjun's eyes are brimming with fondness. “come here, gyu.”
he coaxes beomgyu over, and beomgyu listens, drapes himself all across yeonjun, peeking over the edge of the older boy's shoulder in a horribly endearing gesture. there are drawings scattered all over the room, rough drafts for the new designs that yeonjun’s boss wanted him to perfect for the shop. beomgyu smiles and asks yeonjun if he should get a tattoo too.
“if you want one, you should go for it,” yeonjun affirms, clicking his tongue as he tries to gather the pieces of paper into a pile. “what spot do you have in mind?”
“i’m thinking about getting something right here,” beomgyu says, pointing to his forearm. then he frowns, poking a straw into his drink pouch. “but what if it ends up looking ugly?”
“then you better buy more long sleeves,” yeonjun teases, ignoring the glare he receives for the cheeky remark. “if you're not sure, you can just think about it for a while. but i don’t think anything about you could ever be ugly.”
a faint smile makes its way over beomgyu’s face. there’s a lighter in his free hand— beomgyu had always been prone to fidgeting, flicking at a lighter or a similar object when he’s bored.
maybe whatever love really is a little like that, yeonjun thinks. all-consuming. fiery.
it’s beomgyu who shapes yeonjun’s life, beomgyu’s hands who take the wet, earthen clay and sculpts it until it turns into this. weekday nights at drive-in movie theatres, splitting a cup of citrus-flavored sherbet. saturdays at an aunt’s house in the countryside, watching beomgyu braid his niece’s hair, who is an adorable seven year old with long black locks and a missing front tooth. sunday mornings at the animal shelter, the one by the church that beomgyu’s mother used to frequent but beomgyu himself has never even been to, but he knows the owners well enough that they let the two college students slip into the backroom, fingers intertwined as they start to run through a list of chores.
beomgyu who gets him to wander the streets with him before dawn. who gets him to sit in swings that creak so loud, yeonjun gets scared that the entire thing will fall down. beomgyu, the boy with fluffy brown hair and eyes the shape of crescents when he smiles, with pearly teeth and glossy lips, the one who took yeonjun down a muddy road that ruined the older boy’s brand new, white sneakers that one spring day, but yeonjun couldn’t find it in him to care. his heart only grows, nurtures what he feels and lets it blossom.
irrationality. love. maybe they’re synonyms, yeonjun thinks. people fall together, people fall apart. yeonjun is simply in free fall, stares at the hole and jumps down it anyway because of beomgyu. desire and purpose all over again.
but fire spreads, and when in free fall, things accelerate. hold a match up to a piece of paper, watch as it burns the first corner to a charred crisp before steadily engulfing the entire surface in flames. and what starts the fire is the hollowed-out look to beomgyu’s cheeks that one night, stains of tear tracks down his face, bloody paper towels stuffed into a trash bag that they toss into a dumpster behind a neighbor's house.
yeonjun wants to laugh a little. love makes you do stupid things, he had always heard. but it never feels stupid in the moment, he thinks. not in the alleyways, not on the rusty swing set. he takes one look at the amber-colored galaxies embedded in beomgyu’s eyes, and peels the blood-stained shirt off of the younger boy without a second thought. rinses it through, soap, more water, wrings it out, slings it over the shower to dry.
“i don’t know why i came here,” beomgyu mumbles after a long while. he presses the pads of his fingers to his forehead, lets out a long-drawn breath.
yeonjun grabs a washcloth. beomgyu just grinds the sole of his boot against the tile flooring—anything to distract himself. yeonjun presses the cloth to beomgyu's forehead, wipes the sweat and the blood off of the younger boy’s neck, his hands too.
beomgyu’s hands are bare when they finish. no more of the usual, rainbow-colored spray paint coating the palms of his hands, no more blood underneath his fingernails. they’re clean, washed of any grime.
and there’s a conversation that the two of them had, late one night during midterms week. yeonjun can recite it by memory. confessions of i’d follow you to the end of the world, if that’s what it takes and beomgyu’s quiet, “i hope you never have to,” that came as he leaned his head further against yeonjun’s shoulder.
“i’m glad you did,” yeonjun finally answers, resting his left hand on top of the bathroom sink once he's done. he closes his eyes. “i meant it, you know.”
time unravels things, like a faded, knitted sweater sitting in the corner of a closet with a single, hanging thread that gets loose one morning, and suddenly the carefully crafted item is nothing more than a pile of yarn strewn across the floor. because yeonjun’s facade is getting unraveled, if it wasn’t already.
what yeonjun feels is as plain as day. beomgyu’s eyes flicker, emotive things they are. maybe yeonjun knows all the different looks to beomgyu’s eyes, how they’re daring when beomgyu wants them to be, how they’re otherwise all soft around the edges, or how his pupils look when they’re blown wide from the drugs they do on the corner of the road. cars are zooming by yeonjun’s home, the incessant noise from their beeping horns passing right through the paper-thin insulation, but neither of them pays any attention to the six o'clock traffic jam. it’s just them, he and beomgyu again.
yeonjun links his pinky with beomgyu’s, tugging gently. he pulls the younger boy up, nods in the direction of the kitchen, down the hall from his bathroom.
“let’s go get another paper towel,” yeonjun says. “okay?”
beomgyu nods, takes yeonjun’s hand in his own and laces their fingers together himself. “okay.”