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Juwon likes Dongsik’s curls. They're soft and cute in Juwon’s opinion, although he'll admit he tends to be biased when it comes to Dongsik. That and he has no real idea of what generally cute consists of.
Not that it matters, cute can vary from person to person, had said Jaeyi. What's cute for you won't be for someone else and vice versa .
Juwon had nodded, downing his glass of soju with a grimace, never quite used to the taste.
So Juwon likes Dongsik’s curls because they're cute, just like the man can be sometimes. Dongsik’s curls are soft under his fingers when they're spending some rare idle time sprawled on their couch, for once numbing themselves with whatever program they find on TV, Dongsik’s head tucked under Juwon’s chin. They tickle a little when Juwon presses apologetic kisses to Dongsik’s forehead when he has to leave their bed, their house, his arms, his home at ungodly hours in the morning, leaving him with tousled hair, curls sticking out every which way; Dongsik often is ready to follow him with just the cover slipping around his shoulders, padding on the cold floor down to the hallway like a stubborn kid who refuses to sleep to wait for Santa to show up and drop the presents.
That's a side of Dongsik’s curls Juwon loves plenty, that spark of innocence, this guilelessness that remains untouched, tucked away preciously and then forgotten by Dongsik himself, it sometimes bubbles up to the surface and makes Juwon wonder how much of it would be left if nothing horrendous had happened. It doesn't last though and in those moments, Juwon simply shakes his head, mostly to himself rather than for Dongsik as there's no use rewriting a long done past, softly ruffles even more the unruly curls and spins his partner around to send him back up the stairs. Dongsik complies, head mostly still in drowsy clouds, with slow steps - and Juwon stays the couple of minutes it takes him, watching until the corner of the cover that's trailing on the floor to disappear behind the corner.
Dongsik’s curls can be damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead. Juwon adores it most of the time; when Dongsik is gardening and he’s only wearing a white tank top and his gloves. Or when he’s exercising because Dongsik started taking better care of himself after they confessed and officially decided to be partners. Or when they’re skin against skin, and the only sound Juwon can hear is his name falling endlessly from Dongsik’s lips and he can only reciprocate as fervently, burying his face in the curls, too spent to care about how sticky their bodies feel. His love for those curls is tainted with worry whenever Dongsik catches a cold - it never misses, it’s how Juwon knows that autumn is on the way even if the days are still too stuffy - Dongsik goes down with this one single cold like it’s clockwork. Aside from that occurrence, Dongsik doesn’t fall sick, much to Juwon’s relief.
Juwon has a special affection for Dongsik’s curls when the wind combs through them, even if there’s sadness tied to it. Usually, they’re near the sea whenever Dongsik’s hair becomes this unruly mop, Dongsik leaning slightly through the passenger window while they’re on the road, scent of salt and sand wafting in heavy gushes, or leaning against Juwon’s chest as they watch the sun set, sitting on the shore and feet buried in the still warm creamy sand. It’s the few times they run away, temporarily, from Manyang. Because despite Manyang being their home, being their family, the root of their heart, some times, the old Manyang resurfaced, gungy, oppressing, making everything, Juwon’s mind, Dongsik’s lungs, all mucky, old shadows swallowing them.
It often happens around the anniversary of Nam Sang Bae’s passing. Slightly before or right after. Juwon more often than not manages, although he’s had a couple panic attacks in the past years. Dongsik on the other hand is prone to restless nights of nightmares, psychosomatic pain and Juwon often finds himself thinking of Dongsik as a naked live wire, busying himself with all kinds of tasks around the house, refusing to sit to eat or even drink. Even with proper care, time and therapy, some wounds are hard to heal. So Juwon found this, impulsively following his instinct and grabbing Dongsik by the wrist, leading him to their car and taking the road.
“Where are we going?” Dongsik’s voice was small, tired back then.
“I don’t know.” Juwon slid his fingers into Dongsik’s hand, squeezing reassuringly. “Anywhere you want.”
Silence followed for a good moment but it didn’t matter. Juwon didn’t care as he saw the knots in Dongsik’s shoulders easing, the tightness in his jaw loosening as the miles went on, as distance between them and the ghosts of Manyang grew. And then “Let’s go where we can see the sun set and rise.”
Juwon nodded, squeezed once more and set the GPS for the nearest beach.
And now it is an unspoken tradition, even for the rest of the gang, so much so that Jaeyi calls or texts for them to drop by and she amicably, worry plain in her eyes, shoves a coolbox with a few things she prepared. Jihoon or Jihwa, depending on who was available the day they set off, are in charge of alcohol and coffee. Jongje is there too, oftentimes at a certain distance, though his usual spot is in Jaeyi’s shop, either drinking or mopping the floor. Juwon knows his and Dongsik’s relationship is both complex and simple. He’s not unaware of the long lasting sentiments Jongje harboured for Dongsik, the phantom of those feelings still anchored deep into Jongje. And somehow, Juwon hurts for him too, just like he hurts for Dongsik who always stands next to the car, running an agitated hand into his hair, messing it up some more. Jongje looks up from the floor he’s mopping, offers the tiniest smile to Juwon who nods and smiles back. They all have that same smile, apologetic, weary, with a numbed hope in their eyes. Juwon knows how they want to be there, for Dongsik, for him too - as much as it still feels kind of surreal, Juwon has been adopted by Manyang, by the local residents, by the gang and he’s family now. And Juwon understands, this need to make up for all the times no one cared nor showed up. He knows it, too intimately.
When they’re on the road, they never talk. The silence is comfortable, Dongsik dozing off for the first time in days. It’s a new beach every time, although Juwon never prepares anything in advance aside from looking up which one to pick and setting the navigation, the rest could wait. A new start. Their personal yearly reset, where they shake the dust off and make space for new moments to live. The first day, they do nothing but sit and walk, letting the salt water licking their feet. The second day, they walk a little in town, try fish restaurants. The next day, they talk, about anything really, what they felt and couldn’t speak about at the moment, which memories they look fondly back on, open up about hidden wounds or ones that are raw yet. Sangyeob is among them.
Juwon knows, in the way Dongsik speaks of his late partner, even the first time he brings him up. So Juwon simply ties Dongsik’s curls, now long enough to be brought into a small ponytail. Kisses the nape of his neck as Dongsik details to him a fun or odd exploit during their days together.
“Will you introduce us?” Juwon had asked, once, on their first beach trip.
Dongsik twisted slightly in his embrace, trying to decipher Juwon’s face. There was something tight in voice, after he returned his gaze to the lazy backwash “Sure.”
That too becomes a habit, Juwon always making sure he has a day off for the occasion. They go to the columbarium. They don’t talk much but they smile sometimes. To themselves, to each other, to Sangyeob. And on the rare occasion Juwon finds himself in Seoul, he drops by with fresh flowers and a good bottle of makgeolli because that’s what Dongsik would do. Tells Sangyeob how Dongsik is doing these days, tells him Dongsik misses him dearly.
It’s a heavy summer afternoon when Juwon parks his car in front of their house, grabbing the mini coolbox from the passenger seat. Sun darts out rays abundantly, rendering the shade of the trees and fans of all sorts useless. Even ACs are struggling. Dongsik is sitting on a small wooden stool, fanning himself with nearly sluggish movements. His face brightens when his gaze falls on Juwon pushing the gate, shaking his head with a smile. The bottles in the coolbox clink lightly.
“You could wait for the less smothering hours of the day.”
“But it’s my favorite time of the day, right now.” Dongsik retorts with a cheeky smile, craning his neck a little to send gushes of air to his sweat soaked skin. His hair sticks to the nape of his neck.
Juwon shakes his head again, settling the coolbox down next to Dongsik’s feet and rolling the hair tie down his wrist. There’s always one bound to one of his wrists now, a new habit that he’s fairly found of as for one it gives him a pretext to run his fingers in Dongsik’s curls and for two, it’s one of the few things Dongsik lets him do for him, something ostensible and familiar and intimate that only Juwon is allowed to.
“You should trim it at least.” Juwon comments, gathering all the loose curls, almost gasping inwardly when he realises it’s actually reaching below Dongsik’s shoulder blades. “Such a mane…”
When he’s done, Juwon fishes a handkerchief from the back pocket of his jeans, wiping the sweat away from Dongsik’s shoulders. Then he gets down to the coolbox and grabs the bottles inside. Dongsik is still admiring their garden, the mountain not so far, all covered in green in this season.
“You like my mane though.” There’s a slight appreciative hiss to his voice when Juwon slides the beer bottle against his spine and then the side of his throat.
“Of course I do.” Juwon replies, index finger twirling the end of the ponytail absent-mindedly. “It still needs a trim. Your mane will be all the more glorious.” he teases.
To which Dongsik snorts, clinking his beer against Juwon’s, leaning back against Juwon’s front, fingers interlaced at the angle of Dongsik’s jaw, fan forgotten on Dongsik’s lap, Juwon rubbing a slow thumb in circles.
“Should I do it for you?”
Dongsik looks at him upside-down, grinning like a cat who’s been offered fresh meat and milk. It makes Juwon chuckle.
“Yeah?”
Juwon nods, steals a kiss from Dongsik - who’s still watching him upside down - as he knows the man won’t let go if he were to step away like that.
“Didn’t know Spiderman was so polyvalent.” Dongsik says, grin far from wearing off.
Juwon tears himself away, lips twitching in an imperceptible smile.
“Let me change and I’ll be back with scissors, MJ.”
The sound of Dongsik’s laughter follows him as he walks in the cooler air of their home, the wind carrying it along with the cicadas’ song and with one look over his shoulder, he sees the warm breeze swaying Dongsik’s curls. When he returns, scissors in one hand and phone with a video tutorial - bookmarked for a while now - in the other, Juwon contemplates the realisation that those soft, bouncy curls have sprouted so many habits and memories down the years. And Juwon knows, this too, will become something for just the two of them, and this feeling of normalcy, this need to belong, this thirst to be wanted, desired - in all the sense of the terms - and for affection was slowly being quenched by something so infinitesimal as soft curls under his fingers. Juwon pressed reverent lips to the crown of Dongsik’s head. Perhaps it wasn’t so much about the curls and more about the man sporting them.