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Donghyuck wouldn’t say he has an affinity for breaking traffic laws.
He doesn’t consider himself an adrenaline junkie either. But he loves his trusted nissan. And he loves Renjun.
He’s been driving his 2015 sedan for over half a decade. And tonight, as the sun dips below the horizon, tainting the low hanging clouds in opaque purples and pinks, Donghyuck feels as if the vehicle were an extension of himself.
I’m home, finally. Come over.
It’s easy to speed when the route to Renjun’s house is as familiar as the memory of his mother’s laugh - both the pronounced image of it (the lines that it carves at each corner ofher mouth, and the pinkness of her gums) and the hoarse sound of it (unrestrained and evoking a type of mirth that was strikingly unapologetic).
Her wicked laughter is a vivid memory, and to Donghyuck it’s synonymous with his childhood, with home, and the familial foundations that make up his identity. Somehow the eight months filled with drives to Renjun’s place mark themselves in Donghyuck’s psyche the same way his mother’s loud cackling does.
He knows exactly how slow or fast traffic should be moving at every intersection that makes up the motor path between his home and Renjun’s. The school zones, the poorly designed turning lanes, the wonky ditches, the lights that last too long, the eight-lane mini highway, the faded bike lanes. He knows that if he drives just a few miles above the speed limit, he’d be going just as slow as everyone else.
And so, he goes faster.
His destination is a jet-lagged man with skinny legs and kind eyes. A man with a dog and a bike and a solo apartment filled with Donghyuck’s things. His boyfriend, who he’s missed so much while he went on vacation with his family his whole body aches with it.
With his feet light on the gas pedal, Donghyuck weaves through traffic. His braking is smooth but frequent. He gets honked at and takes many yellow lights and if he tunes out the wistful folk music tinkling from his car speakers, he could imagine Renjun’s low, emphatic voice admonishing him for his reckless driving.
Slow down you crazy boy. This is what he’d said last time he’d been in the passenger seat, a witness to Donghyuck’s skittish, albeit expert driving.
While Renjun traveled far with his family, Donghyuck came to terms with the fact that wherever Renjun went, he carried a part of Donghyuck’s heart with him. It’s a big realization to have, let alone to convince yourself of, but it’s the only explanation for the vacancy he felt in his chest the whole time Renjun was away.
Good morning Renjun. I love you and miss you.
So Donghyuck ends up being the first to say it. I love you. Although it’s over text, so maybe it hadn’t counted. Renjun had called him later that day in the bathroom of the cabin his family had rented, attempting to sound casual as he whispered to him - words low (yet giddy) so his voice wouldn’t carry - “You love me? Really? Or are you just lonely because I'm far away?"
It wasn’t loneliness.
Renjun had found a way into the crevices of his chest, imprinting his boisterous giggles and sweet humming voice onto the fabric of Donghyuck’s mind. And without much resistance nor a precautionary warning, Donghyuck is in love. Surely, all the commuters he’s currently sharing the roads with can understand.
But if they do, they don’t drive any faster. It’s still 5:45pm, and no one is where they’re aiming to be yet. Like Donghyuck, they’re all merely in transit.
About half way there, Donghyuck calls Renjun.
It goes to voicemail.
“You’re probably showering…” Donghyuck starts his voice message. “I’m fifteen minutes away. You better buzz me in when I ring you. Don’t make me wait any longer, okay? Alright I’ll -”
Suddenly, a loud, jeering horn cuts through everything. The sound comes from an old, beat up car running a light and screeching towards him. Donghyuck swerves to avoid impact, cursing loud and whipping his head to the side, eyes wide as he confirms the pocket of space in the lane beside him. The sounds his tires make are gruesome, groaning with the effort of switching velocities so suddenly. Donghyuck brakes and feels his breathing falter as he loses control of his nissan.
“FUCK!”
It’s horrifying to feel the car jerk so disjointedly, but then his foot is moving across both pedals, his hands steering himself away from both the steady flow of parallel traffic and the median. He can hear other cars braking to avoid him and the rogue 2002 corolla. He can hear it all, and yet there’s no sound of collision.
His car is okay.
Adrenaline has Donghyuck’s heartbeat ricocheting against his ribcage, thumps so loud he’s sure they could be heard outside the glass and metal of his vehicle. In the rear view mirror, he watches the corolla screech past him, heading east and away from Donghyuck and the site of the almost-accident.
Donghyuck curses again in relief, in frustration, in disbelief.
And then another car honks at him mercilessly. Move.
So Donghyuck accelerates. He replays the sequence of events, not fully understanding how the shitty older car materialized in front of him. These types of petty accidents happen a lot in their city, with the way they all collectively drive pretty defensively.
And yet, Donghyuck and his used nissan had been spared.
The sigh that falls from his mouth now is loud and open. He’s by the mcdonald’s, which means he’s less than eight minutes away from Renjun’s apartment complex. The thought disorients him; in the sense that it fills him with an unfiltered form of excitement again. It completely eclipses the previous bout of fear for his life. It’s like whiplash, and it makes him think maybe he’s manic, maybe he’s lost his mind, and maybe Beyonce had been right to write a song like Crazy In Love.
Donghyuck laughs to himself. He’s not driving as recklessly anymore but he notices he doesn’t have to. The stream of motorists moves faster even though it’s still rush hour. It feels like a miracle. Him not getting slammed into a truck by that oxidized corolla is also a miracle. And Donghyuck pictures his mother going on about angels, about the cosmic waves that radiate from celestial beings, from dirty humans too, if they love without restraint.
If you love enough, you never really die, his mother once told him.
When he parks his car, he springs out of the driver's seat on shaky legs and before he can get both feet on the sidewalk there’s a body slamming into him.
“Hyuck. Oh my God.”
“Renjun!”
The other man glues himself to him, wrapping his thin but strong arms around Donghyuck and pressing onto him so tight he shakes with it. He makes an angry noise. “I thought - I heard your voicemail just now. I thought something had happened. I came running down. I thought - the crash -”
“There was no crash,” he rushes to say. He takes Renjun’s face in his hands, stepping closer. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t do that again.” Renjun sounds winded, as if he’d just spent hours running, or chasing away his greatest fear.
Donghyuck kisses him. “Everyone swerved to avoid me. They knew I was on my way to see you.”
“Don’t joke about this,” he murmurs weakly. He wraps his fingers around Donghyuck’s wrist. His eyes don’t leave his.
“I’m not joking,” he half-lies. “I’m too in love to die,” he adds, doing the thing he does where he puts words together that are brazen and evocative because he likes how they sound, and he’s read too many books, and because he sort of means them.
Renjun inhales. When he exhales again, his guard dissolves. In place of concern and indignation, his features get overtaken by something tender. There’s a glint in his eyes as he cups a hand around the side of Donghyuck’s neck. “You say crazy things, Hyuck. I’m glad you’re okay. Drive better. Slow. I’ll always wait for you. There’s no rush.”
He turns to walk them indoors. Once inside his place, Renjun turns to him, staring at him somewhat appraisingly. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips. “Can I say bold things, too? Will you be scared off?”
“You know I won’t be.”
Renjun bites his lip. He considers his words, or maybe he’s just admiring Donghyuck’s cute nose, as he’s once admitted to doing. Either way, a few seconds of silence pass before Renjun says, “I was going to say something very cheesy, but. We can’t both be corny. It’ll mess up the world’s equilibrium. Mess with the max number of corniness allowed per square footage and then cause a sinkhole.”
Donghyuck snorts. “You think I’m corny?” He asks, feigning offense.
Renjun gives him a look, eyebrows quirking in amusement.
Donghyuck grabs his hands. “Tell me. Tell me something cheesy. How was the flight? Have you eaten yet?”
“Let’s plan a trip together,” Renjun says seemingly out of nowhere. The combination of Donghyuck’s encouragement and warm hands inspire him to speak freely. “The flight wasn’t bad. A lot of turbulence, though. And I wasn’t scared because that stuff doesn’t scare me. But I kept thinking of you. And how I think we should go back to that cabin, you and I only. But in order to do that, I needed to land. And so I - I prayed. I was like, God, help this pilot land this plane. So I can see Hyuck again and bring him with me. I…yeah.”
Donghyuck doesn’t consider himself an adrenaline junkie, but he can imagine getting addicted to the rush of warmth that simmers beneath his skin at Renjun’s flustered words.
It’s been weeks of this.
Of Renjun slowly unraveling, revealing his playing cards like a shy, yet clever fox.
With Renjun, it’s in the details. In the way he prioritizes Donghyuck, choosing to meet with him as often as his busy schedule allows, and sometimes even when it doesn’t. It’s in the way he listens to him rattle about his favorite books and movies and shows, including even, the media he consumes that has no overlap with his own interests. Renjun gives him his attention, his time. And eventually, he gives away the tiny, inconsequential private thoughts that reveal the true rhythm of his inner voice. His forbidden feelings and careful quirks.
And Donghyuck is greedy for it each time. “Hell yeah. Let’s plan a trip. I have to, like, figure out a budget but, yes. Yes. Let’s go to the mountains. Get the info from your parents. We can book it for next year!”
At his enthusiasm, Renjun smiles. “It doesn’t have to be that specific cabin. Anywhere. Let’s go anywhere together.”
It sounds nice. Anywhere together. Donghyuck grins. He plants a kiss on Renjun’s half opened mouth. He relishes the way Renjun leans into it, squeezing his hand as he lets out a slow sigh.
“I’m glad I’m home,” Renjun murmurs. He runs gentle fingers through Donghyuck’s hair at the side of his head. “I’m glad you’re safe and that your car is okay. And that my flight was okay. That I’m here and you’re here. I kept thinking about death. I - I’ve been thinking about it more than usual. But it’s good, I think? What was that thing your mom said? About divinity and vibrations and love and and…”
“Love outlives. But what she meant to say but didn’t out of fear of scaring you off is - our capacity to love is our ticket to immortality.”
Renjun makes a face.
Donghyuck laughs. “That’s why she didn’t say it!”
And then, in a tentative voice, Renjun asks: “Do you believe that stuff?”
It’s a reasonable question. Donghyuck shrugs. “I don’t know. I think so." He looks at Renjun, and the weight of his gaze is unignorable. "Recently, I began to think I do.”
“Hmm.”
They look at each other, individually savoring Donghyuck’s words and their implications. And then, it seems Renjun has met his quota for vulnerable confessions. He tugs Donghyuck to his bedroom, mentioning something about the fantasy show they have to finish watching to get ahead of spoilers, and Donghyuck lets himself be led, his own palms sweaty against Renjun’s bony hand.
Belatedly, Donghyuck realizes he forgot his overnight bag with all his meds and vitamins. But with Renjun’s warmth beside him on his bed he decides it’s okay, his body will understand because his heart will make it so.
With Renjun next to him, Donghyuck is invincible.