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Soobin walks in without an invitation, invading the dim space that has been sheltering Yeonjun alone for the last six months. The boy who interrupts Yeonjun’s silent night towers over him. It’s nothing unfamiliar but there are droplets of water trickling down his raven strands of hair, threatening to pelt Yeonjun. He must’ve been beaten down from Nature’s gloomy gift tonight. Soaked hoodie, heather gray turned into charcoal. The pittering sound of water dribbling down his fingertips. Soobin is as breathtaking as Yeonjun remembers, even in this eerie, vulnerable state.
In a light breath, Yeonjun asks, “What are you doing here?”
Soobin fumbles with something from his jean pocket before urging it towards Yeonjun. Yeonjun catches a glimpse of his fingernails—chipped polish, brutally bitten, gnawed around the edges with streaks of loose skin and pink shades.
Another question penetrates the silence between them. “What’s this?”
When Soonbin refuses to respond, Yeonjun takes the small paper from him, attempting not to make their fingers meet. It’s practically a gag gift. It was a gag gift. On their second anniversary, Yeonjun wanted to ease Soobin into their greatest gift yet. He playfully included exchangeable tickets for affectionate acts. Soobin was able to exchange a back massage ticket for an actual back massage. He could use a ticket to make Yeonjun pay for their date on a particular day. If Soobin needed a pick-me-up larger than what Yeonjun could provide, Yeonjun even made a ticket labeled: cross dress and act out a scene of soobin’s choice.
This one laid out in his hand, in perfect shape without a single flaw, reads:
exchange this affection ticket for an affectionate cuddle
Yeonjun peers up to meet his ex-boyfriend’s gaze. There’s just a void in his eyes. He doesn’t remember seeing that look too often. The last time he crossed paths with that look was when Soobin was breaking things off.
“Does it still apply?”
Yeonjun doesn’t know what game Soobin is trying to play here. It’s not like Yeonjun’s heart ever recovered despite the months and months apart, so it isn’t easy to go about as if they’re just two friends reuniting. Everything changed when they got together, and everything changed when they split up. They aren’t friends . He would rather guard his heart and refuse this. And yet, something tells him that Soobin needs him.
“I’ll get you some clothes,” Yeonjun announces, the ghost of his hand on Soobin’s lower back. “Just stay there. I’ll find you something.”
Yeonjun closes the bedroom door with a click then braces himself against it, palms steady against the wood. He lets out a shaky breath as he claws at the surface, eyes losing focus. What is Soobin doing here? What does he want? Why does he look like that? And most importantly, why Yeonjun?
It’s probably been minutes of zoning out so composes himself before Soobin could get suspicious of his prolonged disappearance. He rummages through the back of his closet, finding a container of Soobin’s clothes. He could never muster up the courage to get rid of them, nor contact his ex to retrieve everything back.
Yeonjun comes back with a long pair of Soobin’s sweatpants and a graphic tee, plus one of Yeonjun’s own fuzzy sweaters and socks. He finds Soobin standing in the same place. A smile cracks upon his face at the thought of Soobin being so obedient— still .
“Sorry…for making you stay there. I just didn’t want to ruin the carpets.” They’ve done worse but right now is definitely not the time to bring that up.
“It’s okay. I’ll get dressed.”
“Yeah, the door on—yeah, you know.”
Another moment without Soobin in his presence gives him more time to wonder and wonder why . If Soobin is coming to Yeonjun for comfort, it’s un-fucking-fair. But Yeonjun would give up just about anything to make sure Soobin is okay. A part of him is always going to be here for Soobin, no matter what.
“Thank you,” comes out in a quiet voice.
Yeonjun looks up then trails his gaze towards the couch, an unspoken gesture for Soobin to sit beside him. Let’s get this over with , he thinks, despite the way his heart lurches and longs to touch Soobin.
“Can we?”
“Yeah…that’s why I’m—“ he pats the couch cushion.
“No,” Soobin shakes his head, “here,” he says pointing towards the corner of the room.
The very spot they spent dozens of nights lying beside each other, Yeonjun’s fingers in Soobin’s hair. There was something different about laying on the ground with a pile of blankets as opposed to the comfort of the couch. Their bodies glued to one another with their legs tangled. The closest Yeonjun has felt to Soobin was whenever Soobin would nestle his head into his lap. Yeonjun would be looking down, embracing his entire world in the palm of his hands.
Yeonjun is not one for good ideas. He knows this won’t result in anything good, but he can be greedy for the both of them—just for a couple of hours. Is that greedy? If he isn’t the only one who will benefit from something, it shouldn’t be. If anything, it’s the opposite of selfish.
Soobin looks like he’s waiting for permission. His hair is still damp. Yeonjun should’ve given him a towel to dry it off.
In a single breath, Yeonjun sinks to his knees and crawls towards their corner. Soobin follows shortly. There’s an uncanny distance between them. Soobin’s hesitancy ends when Yeonjun spreads his legs and pulls Soobin in between them. He lets Soobin drop his head into his lap, fingers immediately losing themselves in Soobin’s wet hair. A sigh of content escapes Soobin’s lips the moment he lets the tension fade. Yeonjun misses the feeling of his hands getting lost in Soobin’s hair. He likes how natural it feels to comb through his hair then caress the shell of Soobin’s ear. The trailing of his fingers is so absent minded and natural. It feels like they’re the same as they were six months ago, in love and hopeful to last forever.
“Do you remember how we started doing this?” Yeonjun says suddenly.
“Are you asking because you forgot?” Soobin responds with a quiet voice, as if there is disappointment there.
“No, I remember. I was just asking you.”
Soobin turns his head to face Yeonjun, his cheek no longer squished against Yeonjun’s thigh. Yeonjun’s breath hitches. He is given a closer look at Soobin, eyes bloodshot and the lids where his pretty lashes lay are puffy. His lips look gnawed on and Yeonjun even catches a rash just beneath his nose as if he’s been rubbing it too intensely.
“What’s wrong, Soobin?”
Soobin’s eyes flutter closed in what feels like slow motion. His lips are plush despite its redness. He could do worse, it could be worse. It would be so easy to kiss him at this very moment.
After a shy moment of empty silence, just the faint rain, Soobin whispers, “Do you know why I left?”
“No.” It’s not something Yeonjun wants to talk about right now.
He never got a reason for Soobin’s departure. Soobin decided it on his own, no discussion or argument. He pointed out Yeonjun’s flaws and left. He never came back. It was the harshest way to go. Yeonjun figured all was done between them because Soobin’s things were nowhere to be found days later. Just his share of the apartment key taped to the fridge.
“You were always better off without me.”
“Soobin, that’s not true at all. Do you know what happened after you left?”
“No.”
“No, you don’t.” Yeonjun practically shoves him off but he quickly remembers the thump Soobin’s head made last time when he laughed too hard, rolled off Yeonjun’s lap. He wouldn’t dare to harm him. But can’t help but feel his body quiver in frustration.
“You never really needed me. I felt like you didn’t need me anymore. I needed reassurance but you never gave me that.”
Yeonjun has to release an uneasy breath before boldly planting his hands on either side of Soobin’s face, taking control of the moment. He expresses, “Soobin, those are things we are supposed to talk about. You can’t just leave after two years because you felt something I was unaware of.”
“You’ve always done this though. I can never tell when you need me.”
“Maybe we need different things.”
Soobin tries to squirm out of Yeonjun’s grasp, but to no avail. “That’s why I left, Jun.”
A pinch to Soobin’s cheek—out of pure emotion, frustration or relief, he doesn’t know—and then he’s mumbling, “That’s not what I meant. You and I need each other in different ways. I needed you then, and I honestly needed you so much recently.”
“Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“How am I supposed to reach out when you cut ties first?”
“Sorry.” It sounds half hearted but something tells Yeonjun that Soobin means it.
Yeonjun’s thumb traces the frame of Soobin’s face again, from his hairline down to his cartilage. “I’m glad to talk about this. I just don’t know what you’re doing here. Why?”
“Yeon, I’m just tired…and cold and lonely. I’ve been in between living with my parents and in my car.”
Yeonjun wondered endlessly. He figured Soobin went back home, but he never wanted to face the truth. If he knew where Soobin was, he might’ve kept visiting. Soobin’s parents would welcome him with open arms, too. Yeonjun had their heart the way he had Soobin’s. If that was Soobin’s home, it was Yeonjun’s too.
“Did you ever truly want to leave?” Yeonjun asks softly. This is everything he’s been questioning. The answer would solve everything. It could even mend the damage Soobin created.
“No, of course not.”
Yeonjun finally traces his bottom lip. “What happens from here?”
“I don’t know. Can I just…stay. Just for tonight?”
It feels colder now, maybe warmer. Soobin is still in his lap, snuggling closer into him. But it feels so lonley again. Is he really here with me right now? I’m not losing my mind, am I? Yeonjun doesn’t know. He only reciprocates Soobin’s eyes falling shut once again. It feels like a dismissal. He sits here, back against the wall, lower half giving everything up to Soobin. His legs feel as throbbing and numb as a sensitive spot in his chest. Maybe it’s because he knows Soobin will leave again