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Sunghoon allows himself to fall.
Even before his mind can assimilate all of his already familiar surroundings in full, before any thought can exist that would alter the course of the motions he is accustomed to–he lets his body drop. The back of his knee touches a mass of softness behind him, his mattress ready to welcome him in its embrace.
And when he descends he feels it, that which can be defined as natural–a part of him that exists within the walls of his apartment where he can allow all of his real self to unfurl.
It plays out this way:
Steps trailing his flat, eyes closed, no need to take in a road already known, body weary–the inevitable fall once he has walked past the checkpoint, the threshold of his room. The place to fall, his bed.
That’s how it unfolds.
Natural, as far as things that have a label with that word highlighted go.
Naturality and familiarity create that dreaded yet safe thing known as routine. And for Sunghoon's system--this is a well learnt pattern now engraved within him. One he can't let go of, one he doesn't think he can let go of.
For Sunghoon, there’s no malice in routine–there’s no hidden evil entity trying to stretch each of the letters that form the word until they become shapeless, elongated far too carelessly until they are nothing but shredded pieces that can’t fit together again.
There’s no threat in routine. Not really. The threat resides if it were to shatter before his eyes until it becomes an unrecognizable concept.
And so he partakes in this today, like he does every single day. That’s why he falls. That’s why he will continue falling so that it doesn’t become fractured, his constants . All of this .
All of this, his mind repeats as light touches travel over the covers beneath him making sure it is real. Because this is part of what is factual to him.
A small-scale portal to something with a meaning too grand that it can't be passed as something simple--it's typical, constant.
It’s too much of a constant.
His fingers dig into the bed covers, about to check, about to testify whether all remains unchanged. It has to, it just has to.
If he turns to his side and opens his eyes, nothing should have shifted.
It prompts the inner compass that guides him to make sure his destination remains the same. The actions always find themselves belonging to something too akin to a loop, the arrows pointing back to the same place, the same spot–one where Sunghoon should be the protagonist of. But he is just one of the leads–not the only one.
He is the lead whose inner script says that this should be permanent.
It is unending, his role, and that’s okay . Because the moment he opens his eyes, all will be the same. It’s going to be the same– he is going to be the same. And so, this loop is one he steps in and out of willingly–a process known to his mind, too engraved in every cell to stop. Too used to it, almost a ritualistic day-to-day custom.
There’s no reason to tear himself apart from this. Not when he feels it again–the crash after plunging into the explored abyss of normalcy. How the collision makes tremors take hold of him.
One beat , out of sync, two more. Three. Shaking fingers, quivering lips.
His heart, it’s doing the same again–because there are no unforeseen variables. And there it is, the change in speed. It amps up, gets louder, screams in the silence. A rhythm Sunghoon is too in tune with, a melody that is only his own–with a composer behind its existence.
And the composer is not Sunghoon.
He sighs, because he is unable to stop playing it on repeat. Sunghoon turns to his side–the author of the out of sync beats in his ribcage is right next to him.
Like he has been for years, things are still like this–like Sunghoon hopes they will continue to be.
It’s perhaps the first sight that Sunghoon decides to willingly absorb, a view he takes in like it was the first time every single day–hoping it doesn’t alter. And yet there’s an off-tune, rapid pace in the beats that drum inside him–quickening, so quick, the name of the one who makes his heart play makes the sound that resounds through Sunghoon's vessels to crave a change.
When Sunghoon sees him, he wishes change didn’t bring risk with it. And though he could put other things on the line on a regular day–something about this escapes him, the will to play another track dwindles.
He presses repeat again.
The rhythm oscillates once more even if it restarts. It always does, whenever it concerns Yang Jungwon.
There is an uninterrupted chronicle that shapes who both Sunghoon and Jungwon are, as separate entities and as a whole–too many similarities that at times Sunghoon wonders if they are the reason behind all of this. If Jungwon is a part of him that just reflects back all the good in him and all of the restraints Sunghoon ties around his own limbs. To not dare touch, nor leap further than what he has allowed himself to.
‘Jungwon-ah’ he mouths, falling in the unfluctuating script he tries to act to the best of his abilities. But the background music has kept on telling him it is time to turn the pages of his scene, move to the next.
But there has always been something comforting about replaying the same episode over and over again.
It makes the story be stuck in time–but it’s comforting enough that what follows is already known. So he doesn’t crave for more, that’s the lie Sunghoon tells himself whenever he sees Jungwon lying down on his bed. Facing Sunghoon's side. Eyes shut, natural rose spreading all over his cheeks, sleep infused into his being.
He tells himself he can’t want more. Nothing more from Jungwon than this. And Sunghoon can only observe.
The edges of Jungwon’s jaw, the mixture of the words sharp and soft manifesting on his visage. Locks against an ivory pillow– Soft soft soft , it is a flood that downpours all over Sunghoon’s erratic mind. He has tried to swim against the current ever since he noticed he started to drown. Ever since he noticed it, his own inevitable fall. And then he allowed for the waves to take him, leaving just enough room to breathe, to not succumb and ask for air. Even if it proves difficult to.
When he sees the way Jungwon’s chest rises and falls, Sunghoon wonders how long he has been trying to hold his own breath for.
At times, he is thankful when he is the one to drift off first. He is grateful when sleep takes him first because he doesn’t openly stare–he just drifts, with an image of Jungwon to follow him. And maybe he dreams.
Of Jungwon and him.
When awake, he tries not to mind the details, not to make the little alterations break what they both have built. Friendship , cloying and bitter barrier.
And maybe the bittersweet taste is sitting too much on his tongue, but he would rather swallow it before all the honey coated words overcome him. Before they stain his lips with all the thoughts– feelings –that he holds for Jungwon, before the inevitable drips from his mouth.
He prefers to choke on every possible sweet word that he could utter–so that the real ones don’t surface. Even when sweetness cascades non stop whenever Sunghoon talks about Jungwon–there’s a difference between saccharine endearments and that known as the four letter word. Love.
Sunghoon lets love remain entangled around his vocal chords–lets it imprint things with crimson and pink hues against his throat.
But he doesn't allow them to show in their truest form.
He always stops himself at the very edge, before anything he could dare himself say corrodes routine. Because no matter how sweet anything he could bring himself to say would be–there is always a looming ‘what if?’
And the end of that question is filled with negatives.
'What if Jungwon doesn’t feel this?'
He presses his lips together for a few, holding in his breath–preventing himself from letting out any sound that could bring awareness back to Jungwon.
But he still moves, Sunghoon notes. Jungwon moves slightly, his cheek rubbing against the pillow under his head. And he curses himself mentally for letting emotions bloom so much in his chest, for allowing Jungwon’s mere existence to affect him this bad. Uncontained.
He is a fool with devotion tattooed in his irises, and at times he wishes that Jungwon would just look. At him. At his own version of reality. See the shapes that form in the depths of his pupils, the characters they have and the words those form– love, it's love, Jungwon .
But Jungwon only sees the costume Sunghoon chose for himself, fondness, not love.
Sunghoon’s love is so translucent that it is almost see-through, invisible, shaping itself in what Jungwon wants to see.
Crystal clear –Sunghoon wishes Jungwon could see, at least a sheer layer of rose. Just a bit.
And that’s why the same track plays every day. A broken record of dreams and things that are at arms’ length, with a ground that could crumble beneath if Sunghoon does reach. With a melody that could blare if he lets it leap outside his chest–Sunghoon prefers it to be a whisper.
'Won-ah?' it follows, his hand reaching out–a light wave in front of Jungwon to make sure he is asleep.
He waits for a sign, any indication of awareness, but it doesn't come. Jungwon is there, and yet, he is also someplace where Sunghoon can't really reach–but that allows him to at least be an observer. To have his lips curving upon seeing him sleep. It always hits, even when it's part of his day to day since they decided to move in together– flatmates, that's all.
After going through all other bases–neighbors, childhood friends, best friends. Flatmates simply sounded correct. Those are the only pages that Sunghoon promised himself he would turn.
He isn't sure if there's more to tell. So it's better to reread.
It's better for things to repeat like this until one of them shatters their routine. Even if when that time comes, Sunghoon thinks he runs the risk of seeing other pages materializing in front of him–and if he doesn't talk… maybe with a name that may not be his own.
Because Jungwon –who wouldn't fall in love with Yang Jungwon?
Love. In love .
Sunghoon has, in all the moments that are recorded in his memories--Sunghoon thinks when he grabs the film, all he sees is a boy that's far too in love. Devoted almost. So why is his love so transparent to the point nothing is found when he is gazed upon? To the point it can be passed through? A veil, flimsy, sheer. Too sheer.
But letting Jungwon in is also terrifying, the veil being ripped--an alteration made out of curiosity and it leading to an abyss filled with broken shards and melodies.
It's easier to remain on the surface.
It's not as complicated to keep it like this, sleeping on the same bed, the usual daily afternoon nap, that moment in which he can be next to Jungwon and wonder if he maybe dreams of him too–if perhaps his dreamworld has any traces of a boy named Park Sunghoon.
If maybe he has some ounce of protagonism, if perhaps–when he smiles while asleep, undisturbed by the world, unaware of Sunghoons' predicaments and all the things that his heart longs for, if maybe Sunghoon pays him a momentary visit. If in this silence, maybe the rhythm of Sunghoon's heart resonates as a backdrop.
When Jungwon curls up against him at times , do barriers disappear? Is Sunghoon's heart at least a little exposed?
Sunghoon sees him, breathing easily, and he can't really keep a steady rhythm. It's stupid really , all he can think is how Jungwon's being is made out of everything that makes Sunghoon feel like his head is filled with static. Jungwon is made out of familiarity, yet him being close feels like electricity and a dose of je ne sais quoi that inevitably melts Sunghoon and shuts down coherency whole.
It's stupid . Sunghoon feels stupid. So he just shakes his head, hand reaching out, hovering next to Jungwon's for a few seconds before he decides to let it rest in between them instead. 'You are cute today too, Jungwonie' Sunghoon utters, the corners of his lips lifting. A mix of fondness and a sprinkle of acceptance.
That notion prompts Sunghoon's eyes to fall close, to allow routine to take him where he is meant to.
If he doesn't move for some minutes, the lack of everything will take him where Jungwon has drifted off to. He won't be here, won't face his heart, won't be in a fighting stance against himself only to have truth pierce through his chest and let all of his feelings ooze from the cut.
He won't be a downpour of hues that are made out of all his love for Jungwon.
Sunghoon won't need to see the boy he's loved so naturally all these years–his brain decides to press pause for now.
In a good world, in a world where Sunghoon does not need to risk friendship and routine, he would be able to reach forward, have his lips press a kiss against Jungwon’s forehead–no worries about what he would say. Sunghoon would bring him forward to himself, press him against his chest.
Let him know. Hey, Jungwonie, this is the melody you composed. As his heart would hammer and resound against Jungwon’s
In a good world, routine would go through a total overhaul, and he would feel Jungwon’s breathing against his neck–the steady sound, and perhaps he could lift his chin, softly, with delicacy. Perhaps he could nuzzle Jungwon’s nose, hear his confused little noises, kiss sleepiness away–drink from his lips requited love.
Say in between pecks, how I love it when you are in my arms, how I love the way you look when you have fallen asleep .
But this isn’t the ideal world of his dreams–this is not where he gets a chance to think of kissing Jungwon awake. This world only lets him have his words fully varnished in overly saturated rose, honey coated–and that’s not the exact version of his love. And the most he can do is have Jungwon rest his head on his lap, maybe have his locks in between his fingers and take a little nap as he feels Jungwon doze off.
And yet , his brain does its thing, merging the hopes of a good world with the melted barriers that separate the not so perfect real one.
If only for a second.
His mind plays tricks, replaces the film of reality for one that feels most ideal. Takes him to the bridge between awareness and the lack of, where the veil that hides his innermost thoughts is.
And once consciousness entirely fades, images display.
He knows this isn’t real. It never is.
It turns into azure, like the colour that filters through his room when it’s the earliest part of dawn that breaks into the space. The hue is a replica of its transition into morning– and Sunghoon feels it , almost too real, exactly the same as when he gets to fall asleep in Jungwon’s bed for no other reason than all nighters. Too tired to go back to his own room.
What’s real is when Jungwon curls up against him, unaware of the ticking time bomb that Sunghoon’s heart turns into.
What’s not, is the feel of Jungwon’s breath fanning against his neck. What’s not, is the heatwave. It unfurls on Sunghoon’s neck, pale skin gone, all dusted in red. He gulps.
‘ Hyung?’
The word brushes against his jaw. A palm on his chest. Rise and fall, rise and fall.
‘ Sunghoon-hyung ’
Sunghoon, even though he knows this isn’t it, swallows hard. ‘Jungwon-ah’ it’s all shivers, right on cue, taking over the repetitive track that plays in his system.
It’s a haze, his name travels across his jaw, and Sunghoon closes his eyes tight. There’s no way, there never will be a way. In his mind, only reprimands reside. And yet, he can only think about how it would really feel if he could hear it in real life–how his name falls from Jungwon’s lips, how it would feel against his skin.
When he prompts himself to see, the view in front of him dances, the colours swirl–it’s that shade of azure stained by chocolate, undefined for a few and then, it’s Jungwon’s face all up in his space.
For a second, Jungwon is so close to his reach, closer than ever, as close as he can be when it’s Sunghoon’s mind what conjures his image. The mirage. A well crafted chimera because Sunghoon would never dare to shatter the calm between them.
But at this moment–he can. It’s inevitable for him to not want to touch.
It’s his hand cupping Jungwon’s face, his thumb drawing circles against his cheekbone–and Jungwon’s gaze is intent, it disarms Sunghoon. He has nothing to protect himself with, and he has accessed a battlefield just to fall. Because Jungwon is unattainable, but in this figment of time where he feels palpable–at least for a bit, Sunghoon wants to ignore that reality.
Sunghoon’s eyes soften, all the things that he doesn’t dare say are written in his irises. Jungwon nuzzles his hand, sighs. To feel him like this, it makes Sunghoon’s heart stop.
Reality shouldn’t call to him, just for a little bit.
Sunghoon’s mind swirls, dizzy, enamoured maybe. To see Jungwon hovering above him, heart to heart, to be encased between the bed and Jungwon’s frame just makes everything inside Sunghoon’s ribcage to fully be set in flames.
If it were really Jungwon, he would be handling cold fire. Frost and fire because Sunghoon would be trembling if it was real. But this is Sunghoon’s mindscape, and in it–the filters can shatter.
“Jungwon,” Sunghoon lets out, lips parted, chest heaving, “Jungwonie, can you…”
And Jungwon blinks, head tilted to the side–just with that action, Sunghoon feels bound under him. ‘ Yang Jungwon’ and his filter breaks, it shatters, from his lips, truths. For as long as it lasts, it shall be truth.
Logic cracks, “Jungwon-ah, can you… kiss me?”
It’s not okay , it truly is not okay–having a crush on Jungwon that spans years and that shapes all the soft edges that define love to Sunghoon is anything but okay. And he would be damned if he let himself go just like that, but Jungwon descends. Sunghoon swears that Jungwon has in his grasp a direct arrow that punctures his chest, and all that oozes from within is pent up emotions.
Rationality is drained out of Sunghoon’s body. The confident facade only works in real waking life.
Because he trembles when Jungwon’s lips are on him, and he’s out of tune, no longer on pause, no longer repeated routine. And he captures the younger in his arms, as Jungwon dives more, as Sunghoon does his best to contain the wildfire within.
And it’s rushed for some seconds, and then languid, slow–the back of Sunghoon’s minds plays it perfectly, his innermost wishes playing in front of him.
It’s so wrong, because it feels so real it’s just so wrong.
Because one moment Jungwon is pressing him against the bed, and the next Sunghoon has him settling on his lap–mingling breaths, while having Jungwon wrapped in his arms. He is so down bad, curses himself internally when consciousness wants to come back.
Sunghoon’s lips travel down Jungwon’s neck, unsure of what words he can say–it’s not like Jungwon will know, ever. So he hooks his chin on Jungwon’s shoulder, inhales sharp, “Jungwon I love you so much.”
It’s not real, it’s but a void, one that Sunghoon jumps in every night hoping it leads him to Jungwon.
Jungwon doesn’t respond, of course he wouldn’t, what does Sunghoon expect from illusions? ‘I love you too, hyung’? ‘I also dream of kissing you’? Jungwon is truly out of his reach, even when in real life he is some meters away from him–there’s a gap, and Sunghoon does not dare to let himself freefall there.
Sunghoon has himself caged, repeating the same patterns, loving and dreading routine, hears himself playing the same songs–not ready to launch a track called love. Not ready to star in anything of that sort.
It’s okay to be close, at least when consciousness is gone. That’s how he justifies how wrong this is–he scolds himself in his dreams, and he will do the same once he returns to reality.
But for now, he doesn’t want to hear it, that call.
And so he dives submerges once again, lips finding this version of Jungwon, and he lets himself fall, be pushed against the familiar softness of his mattress–be kissed like tomorrow is a non-existent concept,he lets his hands roam Jungwon’s back like it’s true. Like he will be gone.
It makes all his thoughts fade, and it’s a blear of gasps that resonate inside his head, of sighs elicited from a perfectly carved granted wish. A blend of Sunghoon’s thoughts vanishing, all because he’s an idiot who longs too bad to be kissed by Jungwon like this.
There’s more in the mix, but it dissolves, his vision now replaced by a veil–there’s nothing really that stays. ‘Hyung’ he hears, and it comes back clearer after a few.
“Sunghoonie-hyung?”
The voice is definitely Jungwon’s and just like logic says, his lips aren’t on Sunghoon’s anymore, they never were.
Sunghoon’s head hurts, the sudden hit of consciousness makes a migraine quickly settle–and when he opens his eyes, it’s darker than he remembers.
“I’m here, Jungwon-ah.”
“I’m sorry, did you just arrive?”
When Sunghoon turns to his side, Jungwon’s figure has shades of deep purple and faded orange casted over him, but this, he’s real. Sunghoon shakes his head, a little silly voice tells him to place his hand on Jungwon’s shoulder to reassure him that it’s okay–that it’s better he woke him up. But he refrains.
He can’t really see Jungwon as clear, but Sunghoon thinks he is frowning, “If I woke you up then we should–”
“It’s okaaay, Jungwonie.”
“We–I mean you, could fall asleep again.”
Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, trying to keep the act, and push the dreams away, “Haven’t you been napping for a while on my bed though?”
Jungwon looks up, at the clock above the bed, eyebrows furrowing, “Not for that long.” he says, then looks back at Sunghoon, “So, do you want to?”
“Um?”
“The usual, nap the afternoon away, then, whatever responsibility says.”
The logical side that Sunghoon has says this is a bad idea, especially after dreaming of kissing your crush–but it’s Jungwon, and he doesn’t know what his heart longs for. And it’s wrong, because Jungwon is entirely oblivious that all Sunghoon holds in his thoughts right now is love.
And so Sunghoon turns around, his back facing Jungwon–he is a weak man, totally unable to say ‘no’ .
“Sure, wake me up in an hour.”
Sunghoon hears a faint clicking sound, perhaps it’s Jungwon setting on the alarm, he hears him hum in agreement, “Done.”
And aside from that, nothing fits the definition of unknown, not the way that Sunghoon closes his eyes, neither the way that Jungwon’s arm ends up across Sunghoon. He can’t say no, not when Jungwon’s head settles against his back, “Will see you in a bit, hyung.”
Sunghoon closes his eyes, hoping the melody playing within him isn’t in disarray–wishing for sleep to take him now to where it’s all muddled, to a place where he won’t remember its contents. Where even Jungwon is ungraspable and all is a blur.
But there’s a thought that hits him before that happens, as Jungwon nuzzles his head against him.
Yang Jungwon makes his heart go, whether awake or not.