Work Text:
Taerae is finishing up lunch alone in the kitchen. He knows his mother won't be home until later in the afternoon, and his father definitely won't come home until past sunset. But the dish isn't elaborate, nor does it need to be eaten warm. He made enough so that if they were really lazy, they could eat it again for dinner—maybe with some extra embellishment needed.
It's noodles—cold soba noodles, a staple in their household, served with a sauce extracted from plums growing in their garden. Well, his mother's garden. He doesn't hold any responsibility over what goes on in the back of the house.
He's in the middle of pouring the sauce over his bowl of soba when he looks up. Through the window at the head of the kitchen, he can see all the way down to the beach—their house is propped up on a cliff overlooking the seaside, and it's not so far up that they see people as little ants, it's more to scale—and he watches as Mr. Park, one of the more experienced fishermen of the island, docks and begins unloading his haul, with the help of a younger man. A very tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, impossibly radiant young man.
The first sensation that Taerae feels is confusion. His brow furrows. His mouth drops open slightly. He sets aside his bowl and races outside, clamoring across the stretch of dry grass that separates his house from the cliffside, and looks down quietly, stealthily. He watches as the young man straddles the edge of the boat, holding a modestly-sized sack of dead fish in his arms, his muscles straining, but not faltering.
He squints his eyes. Maybe it's a trick of the light. Maybe the sun's too bright.
He hears his voice.
"Park Gunwook?"
❁
The island's coastline barely spans five miles. It's pretty for sure. One of the few islands where industrialization hasn't even set foot. Everything is analog and what would now be referred to as old-timey. Taerae spins it a certain way—rustic charm. It's delightful if you're into that kind of thing—being intact with nature, simmering in the sun, being mesmerized by the tangerine coat of the ocean during sunset and the sound of waves to lull you to sleep.
It's great for old people and young people. But Taerae stopped considering himself a young person when he turned fourteen—yes, he was a pompous child, and a little bit indignant—and his parents didn't make too much of a fuss when he proposed he go to school on the mainland. He was remarkably intelligent. He was easily accepted into a private school on scholarship. His room and board were paid for. He lived a semi-glamorous life as a late teenager. He had his first kiss at sixteen with a boy named Matthew who also came from far away—but much farther away than Taerae—and he had his first drink at seventeen, when he became more involved with the delinquent crowd rather than his more boring crowd.
Before all of that, though, was Park Gunwook. Park Gunwook, who was three years his junior—except it really never felt that way, did it? Because as self-assured and confident as Taerae was, he had made peace with the fact that there was nobody in the world more intelligent, more level-headed and capable than Gunwook.
Gunwook learned how to fish when he was seven so that he could help his dad. He learned how to bake at eight so that he could help his mother in the bakery. When Taerae went off the trail one morning and crashed his bike and flitted to Gunwook's house in tears, he fashioned new spokes out of leftover materials in the garage and fixed it for him.
He read more books than him. And he quoted these books at random times—not because he liked to lord his intelligence over other people, but because nothing was more invigorating for him than finding the little inroads where art interacts with real life. Where the higher minds of their age and before their age find the words to put the too-much-reality of life onto paper. Like instead of saying he'd retire for the night or excusing himself, he'd quote Prospero from The Tempest and say our revels now are ended or a turn or two I'll walk to still my beating heart with a grand gesture and a booming voice beyond his years. And he'd frequently quote The Tempest because he'd read it four times over by age ten, and he thinks The Tempest is brilliant, and Shakespeare's best work. And Taerae always found this charming because if you were to ask an uneducated person for their favorite Shakespeare, they would say Romeo and Juliet or Hamlet or The Taming of the Shrew; and if you were to ask a well-read, educated person for their favorite, they would say Henry V or As You Like It or Othello.
Like much in life, Gunwook did not fit into a binary, or a specific box. With every minute spent with him, Taerae felt as if Gunwook was single-handedly tilling the brackish soil of his mind, preparing for new things to plant and grow. Taerae would go home and find that he had a lot to think about, because they'd just finished reading the same book and Gunwook had much more to say about it than he, or even something miniscule as Gunwook telling him that they could make their own ice cream together so that they would never run out—and Taerae wondered how it was possible for them to make ice cream, and how Gunwook must have researched and gathered the materials himself, knowing that Taerae loves ice cream much more than he does.
The main thing he learned was that things don't last. Beautiful things and bitter things. Everything goes away at some point, like when you gather a good bit of sand in your palms and then a swift breeze comes by, and every single grain of it is swept away.
By the time Taerae was fourteen and Gunwook was eleven, they had grown so close that they were finishing each other's sentences. Taerae, who couldn't stand being around people for lengthy periods of time, could run around the island with him, nap with him, spend time reading in his room—and feel fine, no need to recharge by his lonesome. Taerae stopped feeling like they were juvenile little kids with a casual friendship. There was something there that neither of them could see. A fated bond, like in ancient Chinese scripture dictating that you were attached by a cord to the people who you're meant to love. Although there was no name for this kind of love. Definitely not one between a fourteen-year-old getting ready to leave his previous life behind and an eleven-year-old, still growing, still wary.
And about the going away thing. Taerae didn't tell him. Taerae couldn't tell him.
It was late February, and he was due to move into the school's dorms in a week. Most of his stuff was already packed. He was being purposefully secretive and he knew it, because he never wanted to hang out at his place, always Gunwook's. He didn't want Gunwook to see the boxes. He hated himself.
The night before, he told Gunwook he was sick and he wouldn't come out in the morning. Gunwook had recently taken to waking up early. It's because he was starting puberty and he wanted to make sure his body was in the best condition for it. So he went on runs in the morning—and this was during winter so it was before the sunrise—and he would have a protein-packed meal for breakfast, then he would go to Taerae's house to meet him so that they could watch the sunrise together down by the beach.
Gunwook frowned and nodded, picking at the sand with his fingers.
"So that's why you've been off all day today."
Taerae couldn't meet his eyes. He kept staring out into the sea, knowing he was going to cross it and not come back for a long, long time.
Gunwook shook him by the shoulders.
"Get well soon hyung—you can't be sick for too long right before school starts. That'd be boring."
Gunwook did as he was told. He did not go to Taerae's house that morning. Whenever Taerae thinks about it, that's probably the part that hurts the most. Gunwook believed him and trusted him. He never overstepped boundaries. He never lied or even tried to deceive Taerae. Gunwook spent the morning at the beach by himself, looking up at the sky, wondering what that gurgling, slimy feeling in his stomach was. Taerae was on the other side of the island, loading the boxes onto the cargo side of the boat and waving at his parents and his friends while the ship set sail, his eyes roving over the crowd countless times, simultaneously hoping and despairing to see Gunwook. He never did.
❁
Taerae works the morning shift at the florist. His mother owns the shop. He usually kicks back and reads a book in the meanwhile. It's not the busiest place, but all the older women come in to pick out flowers for their vases and to coo and fawn over Taerae, and his job is to entertain them and answer all of their questions about how school was on the mainland and how much they've missed him and how incredible it is to see him as a fully grown man now compared to when he was an awkward little child.
He likes the way the shop looks as the morning eases into the afternoon. It's the way the windows are set up, allowing the rising sun to sneak in, but just the right amount. The flowers need their sun, but his mother always complains about things being too bright for her old eyes.
So when Gunwook walks in, Taerae thinks his eyes might need a touch up, too.
The shop is completely empty. The shelves need dusting, but Taerae doesn't feel like doing that right now, because he's nearing the end of an intense chapter in this book and his attention is stolen when the bell chimes and the creaky door opens and the silhouette in the doorway is much larger and broader than any of his regulars are.
"I knew I'd find you here."
Taerae looks up. Gunwook waves at him with a cheeky smile.
"What's up hyung," he says casually. And as Taerae sits there in awe, gobsmacked, the grin on Gunwook's face only widens. But he stifles it and puts his hand in his pocket, and Taerae thinks it's a very Gunwook way of trying to make himself look cool. "So, uh—what do you say we get out of here?"
It's so cheesy. Taerae really couldn't hate him, even if he tried.
❁
He calls his mom and lets her know he's taking the morning off. It's not really a bratty thing to do, at least in his mind. He never shrugs off work. And he even supplies Gunwook as an excuse, and as soon as she hears the name, she gasps, and Taerae hears her fumble out of bed as she reassures him that she'll be there in half an hour, and to flip the sign to closed until she gets down there.
It's almost suspicious, but he doesn't question it.
There are a lot of questions floating in his head, actually. But he's always been the type to stay silent when he's overwhelmed, to try to think things through.
So, it's him and Gunwook. Walking together. And right now, he's mainly focusing on his breathing, and he's looking around—at the shops they're passing, up at the houses on the cliffs where he stays, over down by the beach—pretty much everywhere besides the boy next to him. His hands are pulled taut in front of him, his fingers fidgeting with each other.
It feels a little surreal. Especially as they enter into the forested part of the island, where they always used to play when they were kids.
"Remember," Gunwook speaks up first. Taerae almost jumps. "When we were kids? This was the path we would take. Because we said that this tree looked the wisest, so we could count on him to keep us safe when we went inside."
He says it with a bemused, slightly bittersweet smile. Taerae finds himself staring at him for too long. He looks away, but the damage has already been done. He can feel Gunwook's stare boring into him like a laser. He gulps.
Suddenly, Gunwook stops, leaning his back against a tree.
"You haven't said anything this whole time."
Guilty.
Taerae dares to look at Gunwook for only the third time now—first at the florist, second just before when he was smiling—and he finds his eyes trailing upward.
"You're really fucking tall."
Gunwook laughs—giggles more like, high-pitched and juvenile—and Taerae folds, sliding down his own tree and sitting at the base of it. Gunwook mimics him. He slides his feet over so that they're touching.
"Good," he says. "We don't have to do the boring stuff. The formalities—how have you been and all that. It's trite, anyway. That kind of talk. We're more than that, I think."
It takes a bit of Taerae to get back into the Gunwook rhythm. Talking to him is unlike anything else in the world. It's its own thing. They don't carry out conversations in the same way as other friends do. Like he said, they're more than that.
"I used to think everybody—if we weren't on such a small island—would think you were the eldest between the two of us. But now? I don't stand a chance."
Gunwook rolls his eyes playfully. "You won't flatter me with your affectations, hyung."
"They aren't affectations if they're sincere. I'm being honest. You look incredible. You really took that gym stuff seriously, huh?"
Gunwook is wearing a sleeveless tee—for some fucking reason, because they aren't even in the dregs of summer yet and they both know they can withstand the heat—and Taerae is distracted, and he isn't sure if that's the reason why he hasn't been speaking or not.
Taerae thinks he might've said the wrong thing, and for a minute, his stomach drops. Gunwook looks up at the sky, then back down at him.
"Do you remember that time that we were playing out here, and then it started raining, so we went—" he points to the side, "over to the—"
"To Mr. Jeon's candy shop and we begged him to let us have some for free because it was storming and we couldn't go anywhere else, yes." Taerae nodded. "You don't have to remind me. I remember it all. Too much."
"Too much?" Gunwook questions. "Is it painful?"
"Not at all. Just bittersweet," he says wistfully.
Gunwook doesn't respond, not verbally. He just hums and leans back against the tree. It's strange. He doesn't know what this tension is, but if it keeps mounting like this, he'll soon drown. It's almost like it's reaching a breaking point, and Gunwook's just frustrating him—did he really visit the shop and drag him all the way out into the woods just to reminisce? Isn't there supposed to be more? He's never really seen him like this before—floundering—and he doesn't know what to make of it. It's like Gunwook's always been a pillar—reliable, stable, direct—and now he's anything but.
"So you aren't going to university? The school year's starting about now, right? Or are you leaving soon?"
Gunwook looks at him and Taerae can't decipher what his expression means.
He shakes his head. "No plans for it. I've just been helping my dad ever since I finished school here. I don't really feel like—I don't know. I don't need to be anywhere else."
A beat. Taerae feels something bubbling, about to spill over.
He just comes out with it.
"Gunwook, I'm really fucking sorry about leaving you—"
"Don't apologize," Gunwook says, standing. "Please don't."
Taerae isn't sure how to feel.
Gunwook extends a hand, then nods in a direction. "Come with me."
He takes his hand, something opaque in his eyes and dense in his chest.
❁
He leads him deeper into the forest. And Taerae isn't sure why he's physically being led by the hand, because he's certain he knows where they're going. They scoped out the entire forest when they were kids. They know where everything is, and the only place worth a secret rendezvous is—
"The grotto," Taerae says. "Wow, it looks—"
"Different, yeah."
There's a little cave-like structure in a clearing in the forest—manmade, but a long, long time ago—that was previously inhabited by a family of bears. He isn't sure what happened—and he doesn't think he wants to know—but they died out a few years before they started going into the forest by themselves, and they've always frequented the place as a hideout. If they weren't so young, it probably would've been a great place to smoke or drink; they'd certainly heard rumors about the older kids doing just that when they were younger.
Gunwook's work boots leave distinct tracks in the loamy soil as they walk through the clearing, with Taerae following. Gunwook sits square on the ground, his ass protected by the PVC or nylon or whatever his work outfit is constructed from. Taerae doesn't have that luxury. Gunwook notices.
"Oh come on, you baby."
Taerae rolls his eyes. "There's a lot of irony in you calling me a baby," he shoots back, finding a semi-clean rock to sit uncomfortably on, one that doesn't have so much moss on it.
It's a bit away from Gunwook, so now he rolls his eyes, getting up, walking over, and sitting down right next to it.
"Are you happy now, princess?"
Taerae scoffs in disbelief. "Since when did you get so snarky?"
Gunwook shrugs. "Since the closest person in my life left me and I had to fend for myself in high school all alone."
That dense thing in his chest reawakens, slithering around.
Gunwook looks up at him.
"Sorry, jokes." He bites his lip nervously. "I know I just told you not to talk about it, and then I'm talking about it myself. I'm being a hypocrite."
"It's fine. I deserve it for being a jerk."
"But—" he interjects, but it's clear he doesn't actually know what he's saying. "But it's fine. You wanted to go and experience—" he makes a vague, grand gesture with his hands, "and that's great! A lot of us wanted that."
"Except you," Taerae looks down at him, and they make eye contact. "You were always different. I should've stayed."
"No, you shouldn't have." Gunwook stands now. They're eye level, because of Taerae's raised position on the big rock. "You shouldn't have. My whole point is that you shouldn't have had to compromise for me."
"But I would've if you asked me to," he replies, and that dense thing, again, is making him feel awry and a little bit scared, like you're trekking over a thin sheet of ice—it's new, this feeling. "You meant a lot to me, Gunwook."
Gunwook blinks back at him. He has beautiful eyes.
"Meant," he says. "Do I mean anything to you now?"
"Of course you do," Taerae placates. "You're still the same person, right? Even though you have these big muscles and you look all scary—"
"Scary?"
Taerae shrugs. "Sure, a little."
He says it with a smile, a meek one. Gunwook doesn't return the same sort of levity. Taerae shakes his head.
"Okay, forget I said that. The point is—" he stops. Does he mean what he's about to say? "I won't leave again, okay?"
That. That is what Gunwook was holding on for. The way that Taerae watches the tension visibly melt from his body is unparalleled. He doesn't remember Gunwook wearing his heart on his sleeve—and his face, and his body—in this way before. He was just blinking at him like a lost puppy, and now he's slinking back to the ground with his back to the rock and his legs splayed in front of him—and Taerae realizes that that's what all of this was. Gunwook was approaching him with tact, with a game plan.
Gunwook wanted him to tell him that he was here to stay. That they could be together again.
It's silent for maybe a minute. Taerae starts playing with the loose sediment with his finger, scooping some out and sprinkling it onto the ground. Then, Gunwook rolls his head up and looks at him.
Taerae arches his eyebrows. "What?"
Gunwook stands, then clamors up the rock and sits next to him.
Taerae looks at him. "Is that it?"
"Yeah."
He nods in response, amused. He keeps smiling at everything Gunwook does, and it's a bit annoying, honestly.
"Actually, something else," Gunwook adds. "I had a question."
"Okay, ready."
Gunwook breathes in, taking a breather before he starts. "Have you ever—like, when you were out there," he tosses his head an arbitrary direction, "did you ever, like, do anything? Like with people."
It takes a while for the question to compute, because he isn't used to Gunwook asking for something in such a roundabout way. He stares at the cave wall.
"Are you asking if I'm a virgin or—"
"No, just like, anything, in general."
Taerae cocks his head to the side. "Well, I went to a private boarding school for boys, and then a public university—so yes, everything under the umbrella. I've done most of it. Not in excess. I'm not that kind of person. But like, every once in a while," he shrugs. Then he looks at Gunwook, who looks a little bashful. "Have you—you haven't?"
Gunwook looks away, then shakes his head. "Nope," he replies simply, enunciating the p with a resounding pop.
"Oh," Taerae responds weakly. He feels weary and his heart rate picks up.
"Haven't had anybody I've wanted to do that kind of thing with," Gunwook says, looking squarely at the wall, his jaw locks up. "Just one person, really." He continues sharply. "But he—that person..."
Taerae, finally, feels like he's drowning. Completely and utterly submerged.
The thing rears it head, like a shark's fin breaking water. It's what they've been skirting around this entire time, isn't it? What's been put on boil, left unattended, waiting for the lid to topple over? It was better now, right? Because it's finally out in the open. The elephant has come from the next room into this one.
All of a sudden, the heat from Gunwook's body next to him is too much, but he can't flee. He can't fucking jump off the rock as soon as he said—
"Hyung,"
"Gunwook,"
They look at each other at the same time. Gunwook looks like he just ran a marathon. His cheeks are flushed, his breathing is labored. His face is pulled taut with stress and tension and worry, like he'd just been up all night, like he didn't just say one singular sentence. But through all this, Taerae thinks, he looks—cute? He's never, ever seen him this way. He's realizing that today is a day of firsts, with Gunwook. Distance and time can change so, so much.
"Okay, I'll—" Gunwook hops off the rock, fretting.
"Gunwook, don't," Taerae reaches forward. "Stay."
Gunwook turns, only a little bit of shock in his face, then slight relief; his teeth are gritted in anticipation. Taerae feels like he has so much power and it feels wrong and gross, like that icky feeling you got when you were handling wine or beer when you were a kid, way too young to even conceptualize drinking something meant for your parents or your parents' parents. But right now, Gunwook is lost. Right now, Taerae has the upper hand. They're in a territory, for maybe the first time in either of their lives, where he has more knowledge, more experience, more comfort. Where he is leading by the hand, not the other way around.
"Come closer," Taerae says gently, his voice dropping in volume. Gunwook does. He comes face-to-face with Taerae who's still perched on the rock, so they're at the same height. But his breathing is still frantic. Taerae watches the drastic rise and fall of his chest. "First," and he's not sure this helps, but he puts a placating hand on his chest, "calm down, please. Don't freak out."
"Okay, I'm sorry," Gunwook says quickly, closing his eyes and doing meditative breaths. Taerae is—he thinks he's in love, with this new version of Gunwook. Somehow older and more mature and also more childish and electric than before.
The breathing exercise works, because he opens his eyes and he's okay.
"Okay, now, put your arms here," he guides Gunwook's arms to wrap around his waist. "And I'll put mine like this," he wraps his around Gunwook's neck, bringing him closer. So close, in fact, that their noses are almost touching. Taerae looks into his eyes, but Gunwook is looking straight at his lips. It's almost jarring.
"Now what?" Gunwook asks genuinely. Waiting, eager, but hesitant to overstep, to rush.
Truthfully, Taerae could stay like this for a while, forever, actually. He's never been big on kissing—he prefers the cuddling, the hand-holding, the sitting-together, that kind of thing—but he does want this, and he knows Gunwook wants this.
"Now just—uh, don't use tongue. And tilt your head a bit."
Gunwook does as he's told, tilting to the right.
"Good," Taerae reaffirms, tilting his head to the left and leaning forward. Before their lips meet, his heart leaps as he makes out a quick, "good boy."
Gunwook's lips are salty and a little bit chapped—and Taerae feels insane for thinking this, but he likes it, because it adds a little bit of texture.
His hands don't stay in the same place, and neither do Gunwook's. Because Gunwook's eager and overwhelmed—because imagine everything you've been wishing on for years has come back to you, in a neater and prettier package than before—his calloused hands travel up from Taerae's waist to the small of his back, then one of them flies up to cradle Taerae's chin, just because it felt right, and he's seen it somewhere before, and it seems like a lovely thing to do for someone.
Taerae's surprised. Gunwook's a better kisser than he expected—but then again, isn't Gunwook good at everything? It makes sense he's a natural. He's always talked about being a romantic at heart; a romantic without the romance, he joked at him once. He couldn't have known.
Taerae didn't mean for this to become more than a peck, but their lips have parted and met, and parted and met, and parted and met again, and their breaths are quickening and Gunwook's saliva is coating Taerae's lips—although he's not mad about it—and he finally taps Gunwook on the shoulder, and they part.
Immediately, Taerae points an accusatory finger at him.
"You're—you're way too good at this. You're lying to me, aren't you?"
Gunwook is still dazed, stumbling back until he hits the wall of the cave. He shakes his head.
"I promise. I've never done it before. I guess—I just get really passionate when it comes to things I care about."
Taerae makes a mental note of things Gunwook cares about: his parents, his older brother, fishing, fitness, the island, Kim Taerae.
It's a strange feeling.
"It's strange," Gunwook echoes Taerae's exact thoughts—he's simultaneously frightened and overjoyed, like their connection is something divine. "I feel like—I've known you for so long, and I've been sitting on those feelings for so long. Like when you were gone, and I just kept thinking about you. You know, when I heard that you were back, I avoided you like the plague because I just couldn't..."
"I know," Taerae says. "I know the feeling. Don't be ashamed."
Gunwook nods. "I went to your house one day and you were out. Your mom was," he laughs. "It's funny. It was like she was waiting for me to come. Her eyes were like—" he reenacts it, blowing his eyes up like saucers, and Taerae laughs. "She told me your work schedule, and to go whenever I was ready but—but not to wait too long. And I was going to wait. To confess, at least. I was thinking maybe I could enjoy a few more days of us being normal friends and those old feelings wouldn't come back. But then I saw you and—wow, you looked really, really good. And I just couldn't wait anymore."
All of it is like hail, he thinks. Like ice, prickly and cold, that rush, the blood coursing throughout your body when it falls on you, or when you're dunked into an ice bath. He's frozen solid. He feels like crying but he doesn't want to cry. He's not big on crying, not since he was a kid. He looks the other direction to mask it.
"I'm just so glad you like me back," Gunwook keeps talking as Gunwook does. "I'm so, so happy."
When Taerae looks back, he's grinning wide like he always does, but with an extra tinge of euphoria this time around, like he's just conquered the world and he's waiting for Taerae to join him. He does. He leaps off the rock and collapsed onto the ground next to him, into the mud.
Gunwook gasps. "But your clothes—"
Taerae shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Don't care."
He reaches up and grabs at Gunwook's hand. Their fingers intertwine and they hold hands for a bit, and Taerae gawks at how much larger Gunwook's hand is than his.
"So, I know we're supposed to be done with the do you remember's..." Taerae starts.
Gunwook rolls his eyes. "To be honest, I don't think we'll ever be done with those. But sure—one more, then we're done for the day."
Taerae nods dutifully. "Okay so, do you remember when we were convinced we could do magic spells? And then we drew up a recipe for eternal youth and got together these random, niche ingredients—"
"And then we put it all in a pot, put it on the stove, and then almost burned down your house, yes," Gunwook nods amusedly.
Taerae, amused because he's amused, smiles with a hushed laugh. "I actually read a book where a similar thing happens—but to greater success. It's a pair of like, older teens, like college students I think. And they're exes—but not bitter ones, more like the ones that had to break up but are meant for each other—and they're trying to resurrect their dead parents."
Gunwook looks perplexed, and a bit disturbed. "That's...grim. That's actually bleak."
"No, listen, wait—so what actually happens is, at the end of the story, they figure out that it's impossible to resurrect dead people. But they did succeed in resurrecting their dead love, and they got back together."
"Oh," Gunwook still doesn't buy it. Something's not sitting right. "That sounds stupid, but also a bit cute."
"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. It's just weird. Coincidental."
Gunwook nods placidly, then gives him a wary look. "Resurrecting dead love sounds—"
"Crazy, right?" Taerae says.
Gunwook is thinking—and you can tell when Gunwook is thinking because his eyes shoot up toward the ceiling, hiding behind his bangs. "Okay, if/when we start dating, we don't split up for more than a decade ever again."
Taerae looks at him, giggling, then bursts into full-stomached laughter. He clutches his side and rolls over.
"I can't believe you just said if/when—"
Gunwook flounders. "What?"
"Fine," Taerae says, getting a hold of himself. "We won't be idiots and ghost each other for years ever again. Even though it was mostly my fault. I'm sorry." Taerae rearranges himself so that he's snugly fitted into Gunwook's side.
"No more apologizing," Gunwook retorts dramatically, like an officer in the navy. "We're more than that."