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The road feels tacky beneath his boots, the lace on his left shoe untied and soaked in the dreggy rainwater. Sunoo picks up his pace, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turns a corner and halts in front of an apartment complex. Somewhere a couple blocks away, saccharine festive pop blasts from speakers overhead. End-of-year festivities have never been his thing, so the lights and laughter are nothing more than white noise to him too.
Sunoo shoves the pain radiating from his left cheek as far back in the recesses of his mind as he can, tries to ignore the clean slit in his shirt and the steady stream of warm liquid down his abdomen. A chill blows past and he shivers involuntarily. Drawing in a shaky breath, Sunoo carefully treads up the flight of stairs leading to the front door, his bottom lip chewed up out of pain, fear and anxiety. He’s a deadly mix of all three, but Sunoo feels like this is the only place he can be— or has to be. Whoever is looking down at him from their window probably thinks he looks like a heartbroken teenager finding a place to crash for the night. But maybe he is, maybe he does need someplace for the night.
Looking up, he sees the unit on the fourth floor faintly glowing yellow in the dark of the night. Sunoo’s feet ache down to his bones, and the wound on his abdomen doesn’t look too good either. He’ll fix it on his own, though. He always does, and always has done since he was a kid. His head is still pounding from the impact of a certain someone’s palm against his cheek, and his steps are unsteady, but he manages to make his way up to the front door of the apartment.
The front door looks exactly the same as how Sunoo had last seen it, save for a few extra scratches. And the kitsch door sign he’d made months ago still hangs on the front— it’s a puppy and a fox with the lettering ‘welcome to our humble abode’ written at the bottom. It’s an amalgamation of both boys, and Sunoo thought it would have made the perfect housewarming gift for their own apartment. Maybe it is, though; the handmade sign is still hanging up front after all these months. Which means the other boy still likes the little memento too much to take it down. Or he’d just completely forgotten about its existence on their front door.
Sunoo thinks the latter might be the answer— it’s not a pretty door sign anyway. It’s out-of-place and the two animals on the front aren’t even from the same biome. Just like how he’d described the both of them that night, fist-to-cheek and palm-to-shoulder in a brawl neither was willing to back down from. He tries not to think about the way things ended.
Rapping his knuckles against the plywood door cautiously, Sunoo takes a small step back, half-expecting himself to turn around and head home, half-expecting a taller boy to emerge. Nothing. He doesn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps, doesn’t hear the knob turn. It’s not a surprise, really. Sunoo should’ve known coming back to him after —what, 11 months?— would only lead to a closed door.
The dimly-lit LED screen on his watch blinks half past one. He’s an early sleeper, of course, how could Sunoo forget about this? He peeks his head to the side window and notices the same yellow glow emanating from the apartment. The other boy probably forgot to turn the lights off again (It’s a habit he’s kept since Sunoo moved in with him, says the light makes sure Sunoo doesn’t walk into the kitchen thinking it’s the bathroom again.) Sunoo half-contemplates turning on his heel and heading straight back to his apartment an hour away. But before he can step any further away, he hears the doorknob turn.
“Hey, I’m so sor—” Sunoo blurts out when Sunghoon comes into view. He’s in a black tank top and shorts, his hair half-drawn into a mini ponytail. It’s not perfectly done— there are a few strays here and there, and Sunoo knows why. Sunghoon used to let him tie up his hair when it got in the way. Sunghoon used to let him do everything. So when Sunoo sees that Sunghoon still keeps the habit of doing up his hair into a ponytail, he doesn’t let anyone know that it breaks his heart in so many ways the boy standing across from him would never imagine.
Sunoo expects the door to be slammed in his face by now. Four months ago, he’d done the very same thing to Sunghoon. Except, it came with a lot more malice and hurt and unintentional words he’d never meant to unleash, and then some.
Sunghoon stares at Sunoo, wide-eyed with his hand slowly falling from the doorknob to his side. Sunoo can’t tell if it’s a look of shock, or pity, or even hate. He almost wishes it’s the last one though, he really hopes it is. He hopes Sunghoon gives him a taste of his own medicine by slamming the very same door in his own face, so he’ll regret ever crawling back to his fucking ex looking for—
“Sunoo-ya?” Sunoo almost feels like crying when his name rolls off Sunghoon’s tongue so smoothly like he’s never stopped saying it at all. For a moment, the two boys stand across from each other, and Sunoo realizes that he’s this close to the very same boy he’s been silently praying would somehow slip back into his own life. Sunghoon eyes Sunoo from head to toe, until he tenses when Sunoo slightly falters.
“Oh god,” Sunghoon reaches out to steady Sunoo with a hand firmly around his waist, but tentatively pulls back when he realizes what he’s doing.
“This okay?” Sunghoon’s hand hovers over Sunoo’s waist, then replaces his hold with a much gentler one after Sunoo nods his head slowly. It’s something largely unspoken, but Sunghoon has come to learn that touch is something Sunoo either leans into or averts completely. Which is why he remembers to ask, even after months of not seeing him.
The soaking trench coat is peeled from Sunoo’s frame, and if Sunghoon notices how small he looks now compared to last Christmas, he doesn’t mention it. “I’ll throw this into the laundry.” Sunghoon starts towards the back of the apartment, and Sunoo looks around to find everything almost the way he left it. Maybe the floorboards are wiped more regularly, maybe the light streaming in through the windows looks a lot brighter. But beneath the surface, he starts to notice the things which truly remind him that two boys in love once shared this apartment. They laughed and cried and fought and kissed right here in this apartment they called home.
The pantry is still stocked full of Sunoo’s favorite instant tteokbokki, and he looks down to find a pair of slippers with his name embroidered in a not-so-neat fashion. (Sunghoon had never been one to do the patching up around the house, or needlework in general, so when he holds up a pair of slippers for Sunoo with his fingers pricked countless times by a needle, Sunoo falls in love with him even more.)
Sunoo wants to ask him why the apartment hasn’t changed one bit, why he still has Sunoo’s favorite food even though he doesn’t like it as much and would always try to hide it from the younger boy. Sunoo wants to ask him why he never threw out his slippers. Sunoo wants to ask him why after all these months, nothing has changed in the slightest bit.
He finds the questions dying in his throat as Sunghoon squeezes a dollop of green-tea scented shampoo into one palm and lathers it into Sunoo’s hair. He works his way down, to his neck, along his spine and then onto his arms. Sunghoon notices how Sunoo’s body is littered with bruises and cuts and everything else that shouldn’t belong on his body. Sunghoon tries to avoid the wounds but Sunoo shakes his head gently in resignation.
“It’s okay, they need to be cleaned anyway.” Sunoo keeps his head down and looks at the water swirling down the drain hole.
“But they’ll hurt.”
(I’ve already hurt you enough, Sunghoon-hyung. Maybe soap on wounds will hurt just as much as pushing you away.)
“I know.”
“Can I crash tonight?” Sunoo’s question comes out more as a confession. Sunghoon has already changed him into a set of clean clothes, and he’s working on tending to the gash on Sunoo’s abdomen. The room is heavy with uncertainty and love that’s far away but so close at the same time. Sunghoon is taking care of him; he’s patching Sunoo up and making him feel at home again and showing him a kind of affection he knows can never be replaced by anyone else.
“You know you’re always welcome back here.”
❆
They lie on their backs, on the same bed where the first thing they saw in the morning would be each other’s eyes. Sunoo doesn’t bother asking why Sunghoon still has a second pillow next to his own— he thinks he already knows the answer. There’s a distance between both boys, but for the first time in a long time, Sunoo feels his heart settle into a slow jog when he lies next to Sunghoon.
“Are you okay?” Sunghoon asks a question he knows the answer to, but it comes out anyway because he wants Sunoo to talk. Or move, or look up at him. He has been non-verbal for the past hour and Sunghoon is starting to finally let the weight of the situation sink in.
“I- I don’t know…” Sunoo pauses, then exhales shakily, a fresh jolt of pain blossoming in his abdomen. He feels a thick bandage wrapped over his midsection, and his mind drifts off to how long he must’ve been out while Sunghoon slowly patched him up.
“Do you feel loved?”
Sunoo casts his gaze downwards and fidgets with the loose thread on Sunghoon’s quilt absentmindedly. Love is one thing, but to feel loved is another. Is he in love? He thinks he is— she’s tall, her hair falls nicely past her shoulders, she bats her lashes at Sunoo flirtatiously. Does he feel loved?
“Sometimes,” he replies, but only soft enough for Sunghoon to hear. He thinks about the eight-course dinner she had let him have at a gala she attended last weekend, thinks about the navy-blue three piece suit she’d picked out for him hanging in the wardrobe, thinks about all the times she’d made him feel some semblance of happiness. The line between happiness and pain is starting to blur, but he thinks he can salvage whatever joy he’s felt from their relationship. If he just tides through this pain she’s inflicting on him.
A ping from Sunoo’s phone sounds from under the quilt in the dark of the night. Sunoo halts like he’s been caught red-handed, and Sunghoon can feel Sunoo trembling from beneath the quilt. He pretends to be asleep, but opens his eyes a fraction and watches as Sunoo slowly drags his phone out from underneath the quilt and clicks it to life with shaky hands. He looks at the one, lone notification on the screen, drops the phone face-down onto his chest, then lets tears leak from both sides of his face.
Sunoo turns to his side, half-expecting to see Sunghoon fast asleep with his back towards him. Instead, Sunghoon sits up slowly, flicks the bedside lamp on and turns back to face Sunoo. Sunghoon knows they’re not tears of joy or relief or rage, even. It’s unadulterated sorrow in its purest form. Sunoo parts his lips ever so slightly, like he wants to say something, but the words don’t come out.
“You can talk to me.” Sunghoon coaxes Sunoo, and he has the same calm, reassuring tone that Sunoo always craves for. Sunoo remembers hearing it when he laid shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon on a large, grassy field, asking Sunghoon to be his boyfriend. They’re once again lying next to each other— things are different now, but going back to one of their fondest love languages makes both of their hearts swell with tenderness.
“I don’t know if it’ll last with her.”
❆
“You look really handsome.” Sunghoon mimes a thumbs-up as Sunoo straightens out his suit with his palms. His hair is slightly ruffled, but still neat, and he has a semblance of contentment on his lips. It’s the first time Sunghoon has seen Sunoo with a smile this big, it almost scares him.
“Do you feel loved?” Sunghoon suddenly speaks up, one hand in Sunoo’s hair and another clutching a can of hairspray. He watches as the smile fades quickly, but it’s followed by a light punch in Sunghoon’s side and a hearty chuckle.
“I will be, if you fix this tie for me. Which color do you think she’d like?” Sunoo pulls out an eccentric Christmas-themed tie, dotted with candy canes and reindeers. “It’s the tie you got me two Christmases ago, remember?” Sunoo lightly nudges Sunghoon when he realizes the other boy has gone silent.
“Yeah, yeah it is.” Sunghoon flashes Sunoo a saccharine smile. It’s almost Christmas, Sunoo is happy, so what’s not to love?
Sunghoon goes through the ties in their makeshift drawer. He runs his fingers over the fabric, watching in the mirror as Sunoo hums a tune to himself. It’s a love song. Sunghoon recognizes this because Sunoo used to sing it to him whenever he felt happy. But Sunoo’s not singing it because of Sunghoon now, he’s singing it for a woman Sunghoon knows he’ll never match up to. Because all he can offer Sunoo is a half-furnished apartment, takeout for dinner and his own oversized clothes to wear.
“This one.” Sunghoon picks out a color for Sunoo’s tie, putting it around his collar and tying it up for him. “She’d like this color.” Sunghoon picks his own favorite. It’s a white tie with subtle snowflake embroidery. He doesn’t know if Sunoo still remembers that white’s his favorite color, but he can only hope so as he waves goodbye to the boy who’s waving back at him as the elevator doors close.
As the hour hand strikes nine, Sunghoon watches from his apartment window as Sunoo links arms with a lady, stepping into a car he knows he’ll never be able to afford. Sunghoon has never believed in putting a price tag to love. He’s always known love as something that’s quiet and sentimental. Sunghoon isn’t so sure if love will always be like this, though.
❆
Sunghoon thinks this scene seems like something straight out of a coming-of-age film. This would be the ending scene where two lovers skate off into the sunset with their fingers interlocked. But this isn’t a movie. It’s half past twelve on Christmas day and Sunoo is inching forward on his ice skates ever so slowly. The rink isn’t that crowded; people are probably busy celebrating Christmas in the warmth of their homes or having a nice meal in a heated restaurant. Except Sunoo and Sunghoon, who are decked out in long coats, shivering as they make their way across the ice slowly.
The speakers are playing some overly-joyous Christmas tunes Sunghoon can’t exactly put a finger on, but Sunoo is quietly humming along and that alone makes Sunghoon break out into a smile too.
Ever since Sunoo had knocked on Sunghoon’s door that night, he finds himself calling that tiny apartment home more and more as each day passes. His girlfriend— if he even wants to call her that— doesn’t seem to care about wherever he is in the world. He’s an entity, at most. He gets ogled at, gets beaten up, then crawls back to Sunghoon to get patched up again for the fourth time that week. He guesses Sunghoon must be sick of him coming back to him every other day. He guesses the world should be against him by now after everything he’s done.
“Sunoo-ya!” Sunghoon expertly scrapes up some ice from the floor of the rink with his foot, packs it into a ball with his palms, then launches it towards Sunoo’s back. The younger boy straightens up instantly, his eyebrows knitting together, making him look like an angry puppy from a cartoon. Sunghoon laughs.
“You just wait!” Sunoo skates (or rather, clambers) over as fast as he can (while maintaining his balance) and jabs his fingers into Sunghoon’s side, sending him into another fit of laughter as they tickle each other like two kids on a playdate. For a moment, Sunghoon almost loses his balance, and he nearly places his arms on Sunoo’s shoulders to stabilize himself, but he holds back instead. His hands fall past Sunoo’s shoulders, and onto the railing behind him.
“Sorry—” Before Sunghoon can properly balance himself again, Sunoo intertwines both arms and holds onto Sunghoon’s waist loosely. Sunghoon looks down at him, and he doesn’t know what to think of the predicament they’re in. A thousand what-ifs are festering in Sunghoon’s mind, and the situation is only made harder for him when he feels Sunoo start to lean in closer.
It’s been a long time since Sunghoon had seen Sunoo so up-close, in natural lighting. He still has the prettiest eyes, the rosiest cheeks and the goofiest smile. It’s a smile Sunghoon has grown to love, and has never stopped loving, even when they were miles apart both physically and in their hearts. Because it’s so Sunoo. It’s so him, and he never wants Sunoo to stop smiling if it means getting to watch him bask in happiness all the time.
Sunoo leans in even closer, and he can start to feel the warm tendrils of air on his face as Sunghoon breathes in and out. Just before anything else happens, Sunghoon takes a tentative step backwards, leaving Sunoo to bite on his lower lip softly. Sunoo knows Sunghoon wants this too, but he lets Sunghoon take a moment to collect his thoughts.
“Just… don’t do anything you’ll regret.” Sunghoon exhales out. The white puffs of smoke dissolve into nothing in the frigid winter air.
“I have no regrets.” Sunoo lets go of Sunghoon’s waist and holds up both of his hands instead. He’s wearing woolen gloves, but they still feel awfully cold under his touch. Is this how Sunghoon felt throughout winter? Has he always felt this cold?
“You have someone to go back to… Sunoo-ya,” Sunghoon looks at him with pleading eyes, as if he’s trying to knock some sense into Sunoo. “She’s waiting for you.” The last statement comes out in a tone more disappointed than Sunghoon would have liked for it to sound.
But it’s true. At the end of the day, Sunoo always goes back to her. Sunghoon can never figure out why, though.
❆
“Why do you…” Sunghoon falters. “Why do you hurt yourself, Sunoo?”
Sunoo takes a sip from his now-lukewarm latte. It tastes like chemicals and the bitterness is cloaked in a layer of saccharine. It’s a lie, just like he is. “I don’t know.” Sunoo admits quietly. He knows that if he drops his sharp edge now, his voice will bottom out completely. There are already tears pricking at the edges and he feels the burn behind his eyes.
“It’s always easier to talk about someone else’s problems.”
“Yeah,” Sunoo plays with the lid of his cup, tearing the plastic in the process. Then, “Because I’ve hurt people.”
Sunghoon has never believed in that statement. He spends every waking day making sure Sunoo doesn’t believe in it too.
❆
“Have you ever loved her?”
The coat pitched over Sunoo’s shoulders suddenly feels a lot more heavy and suffocating. It’s Burberry, an anniversary gift from his girlfriend some months ago. Sunoo doesn’t remember the exact date— he doesn’t remember a lot of things. But now the Tom Ford scarf secured snugly around his neck feels like a vice. And so does the bitter winter air blowing past him. And so do all of the material possessions his girlfriend has ever entrusted into his hands.
This has to be love, right? She gifts Sunoo with a swipe of her black credit card and suddenly everything wrong between them rights itself— but only temporarily. He’s trying really hard to make it love, but it feels more like indebtedness on his part.
Sunghoon holds onto both of Sunoo’s hands just a little tighter when he senses him starting to break off. “It’s okay.”
“No.” Sunoo’s reply is curt, and for a moment, Sunghoon wonders if he’s said something wrong, until he connects the dots, and pieces Sunoo’s delayed response to the question he’d asked earlier.
Have you ever loved her?
No. No I haven’t.
Then why stay?
Sunoo doesn’t look back up at Sunghoon. There’s water pooling around his skates; has he been standing here for that long? Sunoo can’t see through his watery eyes, and he thinks the tears are falling down to mingle with the melted ice beneath him.
“Do you still love me, Sunoo?”
“I never stopped.” He raises the heels of his skates off the ground, linking their lips together in a kiss as gentle as a snowflake’s touch. Sunghoon’s lips feel cold against his own, but the kiss deepens and the air between them grows warm again.
I missed you so much, Sunghoon-hyung.
Please take me home.