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Everything is dull. His body sunk into the bed, the lidded slit of his eyes that won’t close, won’t open. The feeble breeze that comes through the open crack of his window, the piece of cream-colored paper fluttering sadly on his nightstand, paperweighted by a can of cheap beer he didn’t bother finishing. Even the sunlight that filters through his gauze curtains, is somehow dreary.
The comfort in his misery is ripped from him mercilessly along with the unwashed throw tucked beneath his prickling limbs. He groans, hugging himself against the onslaught of the cold he’d welcomed into the room. He glares up at his intruder. Big, endearingly buggish eyes staring down at him relentlessly. He squeezes his eyes shut and shoves his face into his too-warm pillow.
“Go away,” he grumbles, his voice like sand and grit tumbling out from between chapped lips. They taste like residues of the cheap beer he never ended up finishing. Like the sour salt of the potato chips he tried to stuff himself full with, so maybe he’d sleep in just a little longer today of all days. So maybe he could forget. Just for one day, did he want to be unable to get up.
Jiseok does not listen, Jiseok does not give up. He wraps his tiny hands around Jungsu’s forearms, and with all his strength and resolve, pulls Jungsu into sitting position before promptly slapping his palms over Jungsu’s cheeks. He hisses in slight pain, his eyes flying open. Even though it’s Jiseok, and Jungsu can never be mad with Jiseok, today Jungsu’s glare does not falter, does not waver. It just becomes somehow, inexplicably more sad.
It must be a funny sight, this juxtaposition of their postures. Jiseok in his small frame and small hands swallowed by the softness of Jungsu’s cheeks. Towering with styled slicked back hair and a sleek suit tailored to his body in a perfect fit over Jungsu shrunken in his bed in a ratty, old t-shirt and flannel fleece pants, his bedhead considerably better than most, but far from the best.
“Get dressed,” are the first words he force-feeds Jungsu, not quite as solid as they could be, merely because Jiseok isn’t experienced with telling people what to do, as much as he’s versed in simply getting his way with a bat of eyes and a flutter of lashes.
It’s the effect of spontaneity that's supposed to sway Jungsu. Maybe he does falter, maybe he flexes his jaw and swallows around the lump in his throat. “No,” he objects. Objects, objects, objects.
Jiseok’s stern expression dissipates, left in its wake sympathetic sorrow. He wipes the corners of Jungsu’s eyes, though there’s nothing there, and drops his hands to Jungsu’s collar, rubbing his thumbs over imaginary lapels. “You have to get dressed, Su.” And it’s his involuntary gentleness that breaks Jungsu down more than anything else could, tears leaking out onto the space Jiseok had touched.
His voice cracks leaving him. “I don’t want to,” he argues, petulant. A child refusing to leave the park, refusing to share his favorite plush, all worn down and ruined by his short, sticky fingers. Threadbare with the cotton sticking out on its sleeve. He sags beneath the weightlessness of Jiseok’s hands.
Pulling Jungsu in by his bowed shoulders, butting their heads together without any threat of harm, Jiseok pierces Jungsu’s gaze with his own. Fierce, even through all the sympathy and heartache. In the same broken, cracked tone weaved into a whisper, he replies again, “You have to.”
And it’s true. Either way, Jungsu has to bear this.
Jungsu’s suit is a deep, burgundy red, same as Jiseok’s. If he were to take a blade to his palm right now, the blood would soak the expensive cufflinked hem of his sleeve, and not show a bit. He hates the color, hates the way it even sort of fits him, like it was picked just for him. It makes him sick.
It looks better on Jiseok anyway. Compliments the reddish, rust color to his cropped hair. Jungsu doesn’t think about what else it would compliment. Who else it would compliment; so, so well.
He slips the buttons into their stitched slits with trembling fingers, and resolutely keeps himself away from any mirror. The blouse beneath his ugly colored blazer a stark white, so white it’s intimidating. Even a drop of the purest water would stain it.
He kind of hopes he spills white wine on it, and it never looks the same again. Hopes it looks like a cat pissed on it, and he didn’t bother to buy a new one, because he doesn’t care . Not so much. Not as much as he undeniably does.
Jiseok is busy doing things he doesn’t need to be doing. Thinking he’s helping, trying to fill this void in Jungsu’s life that he knows no one can, but he can at least come close enough. He makes Jungsu’s bed and cleans off his nightstand, pausing when he lifts the half-full can, staring down with something like resentment, but it’s a bit too diluted to be exactly that.
He does it all kind of sloppily, unrefined with inexperience. Jungsu thanks him still, and he means every word of gratitude he spews and more. Jiseok even combs his hair, parts it and tucks Jungsu’s bangs in a roller, clipping it back. He knows how to do that at least.
He even approaches Jungsu with a tie. Velvety and gossamer laid over his palms, stroked beneath his fingers. It feels so soft and nice. Jungsu takes one look at it, and not another. “No,” he says, dodging Jiseok’s attempts to contain him. Jiseok opens his mouth, and Jungsu turns to him, chin wobbling. He shakes his head firmly. “No.”
And so Jungsu leaves the house without a tie, in an unfortunately unstained blouse, but at least his hair is perfect, and Jiseok is somewhat proud. Even when he expects it to all crumble in an instant with Jiseok handing him that piece of fluttering, cream-colored paper.
They stand in the doorway for a few minutes. Their elegant suits a stark contrast to the cheap, chipping paint of Jungsu’s apartment door. They don’t do anything. Just standing there. The piece of paper aloft between them like an offer or a warning. Inscribed with pretty, curlycue writing in this unbecoming salmon-pink color.
You are invited to the wedding of Koo Gunil and—
Jungsu wrenches it from Jiseok’s grasp, and shoves it into his chest pocket, hoping it tears.
Jungsu hadn’t needed the invitation for the address. The words were printed into his mind. Memorized, he supposes. He'd stared at them for what had felt like hours, when it'd first landed unceremoniously in his pile of mail. Had held it between his trembling index finger, his pressing thumb. Held it so long and so brutal, his hand had gone prickly then numb.
The venue is branded into the backs of his lids, the looming church towers sparing the same cross he'd gripped in his hands when he would kiss thin, torn lips. He'd looked it up, upon Seungmin and Jiseok forcing him to RSVP, only in case he decided to join them. He'd done a lot of things he shouldn't have, things that only would hurt himself. Then, and now.
His nails digging into the leather cover of his leather steering wheel, he presses his back to his seat, trying his best not to see how much prettier it looks in reality, compared to pixelated images and cherry picked one star reviews. Jiseok bears none of the same reservation, leaning up against Jungsu's dashboard, critical, but objective about it. He chews on his cheek, shaking his head slow.
He sits back, waiting patient. He won't leave until Jungsu does. He's going to be waiting for forever, the car still running, the radio an inaudible tune that clashes with the static ringing in Jungsu's ears, his heart pounding in shattered fragments around his torn open skull.
Simmering, something subdued bubbling up from beneath, Jiseok crosses his arms over his chest, glares hard out the glass. "You're not the only one hurt, y'know?" he says quietly, measuredly, not unkindly and not accusing. Still, Jungsu doesn't spare a glance his way, gazing obstinately at his horn, wondering if he'd press it, what he could ruin about this perfect, perfect day.
"He marries her, and he's leaving us all behind," Jiseok delivers in a shaky breath, the noise audible when his nail folds and creases his brand new untouched suit. "This is basically our goodbye. She only let us come out of pity. Probably made him beg ."
Jungsu's knuckles are white. He's clutching on so hard the wheels are probably turning under them by the sheer pressure put on the steering. "She only let me come so she could shove it in my face," he spits out through gritted teeth, every bit of him tensed and taut, because it's easier like that, to give way to blinding fury, than to the way his heart and soul weeps.
Exhaling through his nose in a stream, Jiseok swivels his head to stare the side of Jungsu's face down. "Yeah. 'Cause she won, didn't she? You let her." He loosens his tie around his knuckles, fiddling with the end agitatedly, absentmindedly.
"Jiseok," Jungsu mutters.
Jiseok throws his hands up in the air, slaps it down on the cheap vinyl. "I know, I know!" He slumps, his shoulders deflating with the rest of him. "Sorry, I'm just so…so fucking pissed." He drops his head in his hands, rubbing his fingers into his temples. "How'd we let this happen, Su? How'd we let him go?"
Squeezing his eyes shut, trying his hardest to chase away the harsh stinging bite to the glossy film of them, Jungsu tears his key from the ignition, turning his body, and pulling Jiseok into him. "It was easy to let him go when he never let us hold him." So Jiseok lets himself be held, for only the moment. Neither of them cry. They can't here, they've already done it enough many times. Mourning a friend and something…something else.
"I'm so pissed at both of you," Jiseok says, like he's said many times before, and will say until both ears are to hear it, "You stupid fuckers." He rips himself from Jungsu's arm, volatile in the deep jewel hues of his suit. He throws open the car door, holding on it as he bends down to meet Jungsu's eye.
"Maybe you were okay with letting Gunil go, but we aren't."
Jungsu blinks, rapid, as Jiseok slams the door shut. He scurries to exit, chasing Jiseok into the street behind his car. "You guys are planning something." Not a question. A fact. "What—You can't be—"
"We're crashing a fucking wedding," Jiseok declares, almost smug about it, only the slightest of wavers in his demeanor when he stands straight against Jungsu's clasped pleading hands figure. "And maybe we need you, but we'll go through it with or without you."
His lip wobbles, only slight, before he sucks it up between his teeth, freshly minty and white. "We have to try. I'm not losing my best friend, Jungsu, not again."
Jungsu stands there, hands falling at his sides, clenching into fists. Finally, he looks beyond Jiseok, at the church towering, looming over them tauntingly. So grand and tall, they could never have any hope of making it, or any of what it stands for on this day of all days, fall.
It's prettier in person, exactly how he'd expected it. White flowers spilling from the great wooden doors, purity and sanctity spilled out over the spit-stained sidewalk cement and crooked stairs. Milling guests step on the petals, the irony not lost on Jungsu.
"I can't let him get married here," he relents, "He'd fucking hate it."
Jiseok grins, grabbing Jungsu by the wrist like he'd prepared for this all along, and pulls him into the cursed building of pews and rotten ruse.
They enter the venue, supposed to be looking for the rest of their friends, but Jungsu knows who he's really looking for; trying to steal even a singular glimpse around every corner and bend. In every fiber and sin. Knowing full well Gunil is probably tucked away, hidden in a room deep within.
The last time they saw each other, Jungsu was breaking up with him. The last time they ever really spoke, Gunil was confessing to him, a dire secret for only Jungsu's skin, that he was terrified of giving in.
Jungsu had never been able to tell what he'd meant. He'd pondered it for days, weeks, months, poring over ice cream pints and one ply tissues. Had Gunil been terrified of giving into him , or had he been terrified of giving into this ?
To make himself feel better, Jungsu had always settled on the former. To justify some of his anger. To not have to face the idea that maybe, he'd failed Gunil, as much as Gunil had failed him. There's no escaping it now, the proof bared before him, carpeting his steps.
They find a friend before a window, looking out of it at the rolling green grass outside, clearly wanting to flee as much as him, the atmosphere stuffy and suffocating. Jooyeon is cynically eyeing the other guests and their big hats and cardigan shawls over their perfectly postured shoulders when he spots Jiseok and Jungsu. He brightens, pulling Jiseok in before he can miss them. "You got him to agree?"
Jiseok smiles, like it'd been easy, like he hadn't gone through the effort of tearing Jungsu out of bed, tearing Jungsu through the door. They'll think it was too. Jiseok makes persuading Jungsu look like child's play. "He was gonna all along. Where's Hyeongjun and Seungmin?"
Reaching back, tightening his primly tied up hair, Jooyeon shrugs. "They told me to stay back for you guys while they found Gunil. Based on the lack of text, they haven't yet." On cue, Jiseok's phone buzzes in his hand and he puts it to his ear, meandering away without notice, whispering hyper into his phone.
Jooyeon's stare settles on Jungsu, unapologetically pitying. "How are you doing?" he asks, soft, but not quite so gentle. His implications are clear, and he wants them to be. He's asking a specific question, and he wants Jungsu to answer particularly.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Jungsu averts his gaze, pursing his lips. He's trying his hardest, to run from the pit in his gut threatening to swallow him whole. If he stops for even a second, he'll be unable to stand any single part of standing here. Everything will be too much, knives in his eyes and salt in the wound.
"It's not like he actually loves her," he grumbles quietly. Not afraid anyone else would hear him and judge. Just quiet, the words begrudging to leave him.
Cocking his head, raising a brow critically, Jooyeon asks, "Would it matter if he did? Does it matter that he doesn't?" His eyes on Jungsu like a swinging light, interrogating Jungsu in a way Jiseok wouldn't dare try, less willing to pry when his job was to get Jungsu not to run.
Digging his teeth into the skin of his lip, a lump building in his throat, a familiar stinging returning to the backs of his eyes. He blinks, for several seconds at a time, each time seeing the Gunil he'd last known, walking down the aisle he'd briefly peeked. Standing at the altar, pretty words spilling from pretty lips, knowing just how to lie in the most earnest way. Everyone will believe him, when he promises his life to her. Everyone will cry and cheer, and bid him goodbye forever.
Digging his nails into his palms, Jungsu rolls out his shoulders, shoves the thoughts into the back of his skull. "He's only doing it 'cause everyone's telling him to do it," he spits, bitter. Some part of him venomous that's yet to die, even after all this time. The part of him that'd bit into their relationship, infecting a wound already bleeding dry.
Immune to Jungsu's vitriol, Jooyeon merely shrugs. "That's why we're here," he muses, matter-of-fact, looking to the side where Jiseok talks, "To remind him he doesn't have to."
Jungsu breathes out through his nose. "Maybe he should think for himself." Despite it all, Jooyeon huffs a disbelieving laugh, stifling something more. Jungsu frowns. "What?"
Tucking a strand of loose hair behind his ear, Jooyeon glances at him sideways. "Nothing. It's just incredibly obvious you never got over him, Su." The winking mirth in his eyes fond. All Jungsu can do is gape at him, his heart sinking to his stomach, the parts of it he still has left, the rest somewhere lost in this damned venue.
Rubbing his cheek, discreetly trying to feel if it'd gone red, Jungsu huffs at the ground. "When has it ever not been?" he murmurs, lips jutting petulantly, resignation relaxing the tension running throughout him. If he's already resolved to go through with this, he might as well reconcile with it. His anger simmers dormant in the acid of his guts, his heartbreak spreading over his skin less like a spear, more like a shield.
Standing straighter, clapping Jungsu's slumped shoulder with a steady hand, Jooyeon pats Jungsu assuringly. "Don't worry," he hums, "If there's one thing I'm willing to bet, it's that he's just as hopeless as you. If not more so." Jungsu peers at him, mouth in a thin line, not yet willing to entertain the thought.
It's helpless. Jungsu has fantasized the concept for much longer than Jooyeon has spoken it.
"Guys!" Jiseok's voice, bubbly and bright, cuts through the air, drawing to them several unwelcome stares. Unbothered, Jiseok skips over to them, shaking them both by the shoulders, small as he is. He leans in, his grin shaping his eyes into saccharine sickles. "Rapunzel found!"
Anger and bitterness left behind where they’d stood, Jungsu is devolving into a bundle of nerves the further they venture into the venue. For a variety of reasons. There's no doubt they're—especially them of all people—not allowed back here, where there's less guests, and more members of the bridal party. The halls just get emptier, darker, fancier. And the thing that makes him most nervous of all.
He's going to be seeing Gunil again.
At one point, he'd convinced himself that that'd never happen, and that perhaps, that was simply for the better.
At some point, when you're hurt enough, all you think you're good for is hurting one another.
It's been long enough though, to know they were both being fed lies. By their own hands too.
"Are they talking to him now?" Jooyeon asks, voice too loud in the hushed halls. Jungsu and Jiseok turn in unison with their fingers over their lips and a harsh shh . Nonplussed, he looks between them, questioning.
Checking his phone, Jiseok nods. "They said they were gonna. That no one else was in the room with him, so they were gonna take the chance when they could." His tongue peeks out between his teeth concerned and contemplative. "I don't know how successful they'll be. Seungmin and Hyeongjun are powerful together but…"
"A stubborn ass is a stubborn ass," Jungsu laments. Jiseok smiles wanly in response, starting to look around them with vague paranoia, getting antsy the closer they get. Of course the only one with any confidence stands between them, strutting on with courage.
Jungsu scrutinizes him. Jooyeon notices, smiling gummily. "You guys are too anxious." He adjusts his lapels, his cufflinks. Ready for a wedding through and through, waiting for his turn to walk down the aisle, ring boy or best man. "He'll never go through with it."
Sucking his teeth, Jiseok looks up at Jooyeon, big-eyed and hopeful. "How can you be so sure?" As if Jooyeon isn't sure about most things, either by pure dumb luck or sheer stupid will. Jungsu can't tell if it's manifestation, or Jooyeon has the most unpredictable propensity for being right .
Snorting like they were the ones being unfounded, a corner of Jooyeon's mouth falls, just a little. "You guys do know he likes life, right?" He twirls a strand of hair around his finger, idle. "He likes it a lot. He won't give it up, if he realizes that's exactly what he's doing."
Jungsu finds himself smiling, pulling Jooyeon in, nuzzling his head with his nose as aggressively as possible without ruining Jooyeon's precious ponytail. "You're so nice, Jooyeonie." And Jooyeon doesn't really know how to take it, blinking and accepting it while Jiseok snickers. The sound fades, when they hear voices.
Jungsu lets Jooyeon go so fast Jooyeon almost stumbles and falls. Jungsu can't apologize. His breath is caught in his throat, his ears, blowing up his brain like one big balloon. His head spins, and it feels like he himself has tripped, keeled right over his own heels and back up again on unsteady feet.
Smooth and rich, like coffee or dark chocolate, Gunil's voice sounds through the door, low and murmured, faint. His, nonetheless. Jungsu still recognizes it, the way one recognizes the wedding march, the way you recognize your favorite childhood nursery rhyme.
While Jungsu freezes in place, stunned senseless, Jiseok and Jooyeon crowd around the door in an instant, pressing their ears to the polished wood and eavesdropping with all their efforts. Slowly, Jungsu joins them, standing tall over them, not having to go to such lengths to hear enough.
"Don't do it, Nillie?" Seungmin's soft spoken plea resounds, tender even enough to pierce Jungsu's own heart, wherever it remains, sunken and caught along the sharp points of his ribs. "You really don't need to marry her."
"I don't," Gunil replies, feeble and frail, a futile attempt at a lie, "I don't know what you're convinced of, Minnie, but I'm choosing this. I chose her, 'kay?" Jungsu squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his head silently to the door. The words hurt, no matter how faux.
Hyeongjun is harder to hear, voice as clear as it is, still unintruding as always. "You don't think we'll believe that right? Not when we all know you're—"
"Guys." Gunil's voice cracks, rendering everyone silent, standing by with bated breath. "It's okay, really. I'm…I'm so glad you could come. This is—It's such a big day. I've always..-I always dreamt of a wedding so nice. With all my family and—" His voice cuts off, and Jungsu can imagine it, the way he swallows his words and chokes on them.
"Enjoy it for me," he requests, ginger, "Please?"
Jooyeon reaches past Jungsu and Jiseok, turning the knob of the door and bursting into the room. Jungsu quickly turns and flattens himself against the wall, his heart leaping against his chest, galloping against the inside of it. Jiseok glances his way briefly, lips pursed, before following Jooyeon, understanding.
"They'd still come, you know," Jooyeon says, announcing his arrival with little preamble, "The ones who'd matter. The ones who actually love you. We'd all be there too. If you were to marry a man." Jungsu feels weak, a hitch in his breath as Gunil intakes a sharp burst of air.
"Jooyeon…" Seungmin greets tentatively, and Jungsu desperately wonders how far he could peek into the room without being spotted. He's not ready, he swears. Then again, when will he ever be? He's never been ready to face Gunil, even when he'd done it every day, every waking morning.
Shaky, Gunil replies, "Yes. That's true, Yeonie." Jungsu's sure they all hate the way he uses their names, so fond and sweet, trying in any way to convince them he's content, satisfied. "I know. I'm not though. I'm marrying her."
"Why?" Jiseok asks, the definition of curiosity killed the cat, so dead set on the satisfaction brought it back. "Her family hates us, Nil. They hate any part of your life she can't touch. Why are you so insistent on letting someone control you?"
There's a long lapse of silence, and the uttered sounds of labored breaths become too much for Jungsu to bear. He inhales shudderingly, before shoving off the wall, and stepping through the door. "It's easier that way, isn't it?" he asks, barely raising his gaze from the ground, any higher, and he'll be knocked to the ground.
Gunil's head whips around, a rasp of a sound spilling past his parted lips. He looks so perfect, sat on a cushioned piano bench before a vanity, so primed for vows and a kiss, it makes Jungsu sick.
His hair slicked back, wavy strands falling around his blanched cheeks, brushing his nose. Lips bitten pink, no makeup to clump the peach fuzz of his skin, or cover the mole just above his chin. His suit is tailored to him, and it's strikingly obvious, hugging his shoulders, his waist.
It's his eyes that prove to always be most devastating of all. The brownest of browns scattered with stars and daisies in glossy sheen, unshed tears. They pierce through Jungsu, merciless, awed and shocked at once. Jungsu needs to look away, before he breaks, but he can't. Can't waver, can't escape.
He smiles, strained, lifting his fingers in a halfhearted wave, tilting his head slight. "To please everyone else before yourself?" He's proud of himself, for being able to speak at all, past the shards of his heart pressing against the tip of his tongue like blades of blood.
All Gunil can seem to muster in response is a breathless, "Jungsu?" It's as if nothing else really exists, the world, the white-laced doilies and floral curtains fading to a dazed haze the moment Gunil meets Jungsu's eyes, oceans wide.
Even the others, step a little back, watching on, not daring pop this bubble. In turn, Jungsu places one foot forward, not knowing where the urge comes from, or knowing all too well, doing some semblance of giving in. His arms itch to draw forward, his hands ache, in some way, to hold Gunil just once again.
He didn't expect it to be this strong. He'd thought he'd gotten over it, even a little bit more at all. He supposes Jooyeon was right in the end, he's been stuck on Gunil all along.
He was right too though. That had kinda always been obvious. He laces his fingers before him, stifling the impulses that tend to make him reckless. "Hi," he says, soft, "Don't know why you're so surprised. You invited me, after all."
Gunil ducks his head, teeth digging into his bottom lip with familiarity. "Didn't think I'd come?" Jungsu queries, coming up, sitting kneeling on the ground before Gunil, his lungs quaking. Everyone stares at him now, surprised. For someone who'd been so reluctant, Jungsu is really playing the part now.
Blinking, Gunil stares dumbly down at him, swallowing. "I didn't…" His tongue peeks out, before darting back in, not ruining his lip balm and nothing more, used to something more. "I didn't know any of you were invited." Which Jungsu, had fully, wholly expected, but some like Jiseok and Seungmin huff disgruntled behind him.
"Wouldn't you have wanted us here?" Hyeongjun asks, almost rhetorical. Gunil winces, pained. Jungsu doesn't know how much more of this he can stand, and he's sitting. Rested on his knees, forcing Gunil to not evade him, and still he manages too.
Digging his fingers into his thighs, Jungsu looks Gunil in the eye, following Gunil's head if it moves, never losing sight. "Does she make you happy, Gunil?" he asks, voice gentler than it needs to be, cruelly so. Driving a knife through Gunil's chest, hoping there's a whole heart left there to pierce.
Gunil breathes out like a plea for mercy, "She makes…she makes me happy." His eyes flutter shut, open faraway. Jungsu wonders if Gunil has to believe it too, in order to even be able to sit here, accompanied by nothing but a preassigned bride.
Jungsu shuffles forward, hesitates with an exhale, before settling his palm against Gunil's shin, Gunil choking on a stifled gasp. He doesn't apply any sort of pressure, leaving Gunil all the room to surrender, all the room to never admit defeat. "How happy, Nil?" He's testing his limits, seeing who breaks quicker, which one of them will give into their stubborn pettiness first.
Tilting his head back, jaw flexing over gritted teeth, Gunil utters, "So happy. Incredibly happy. She…" He can't come up with any words. The man who used to wax poetry and craft songs out of seamist, all out of words, none at his willing disposal any longer. When all you do is lie, the words begin to evade you.
"She's right for me. She's going to…be the rest of my life." His hands are stiff over his knees, not clenching, but close to it, as if they've been trained to sit this way, resigned.
Jungsu lowers his voice, a prying whisper. "Do you really want to marry her? Is this what you're choosing, and not her family and yours?"
Gunil's lips go thin and pale, his complexion all over sort of blanched. He doesn't answer, and trust, Jungsu and all the others wait, until eventually, Jungsu rephrases, half given up, ready to accept the lies at face value if that's all Gunil is willing to spare, "Are you going to marry her?"
To which Gunil easily, rehearsed and practiced, conditioned in ways Jungsu will never know, nods. "Yes," he spits, automatic, "I'm going to marry her."
Jungsu hears the subtle whine at the end of his voice, the last bark of a kicked down dog on the street. The plea to be saved, to be brought into haven by the grace of a leash and treat. He ignores it, standing, choosing as always, to let Gunil make his own awful choice. "Okay, then. Congratulations, Gunil. If you change your mind…" He doesn’t think he can suggest much more, on the verge of his facade breaking.
So with that he turns, and leaves the room, the others following behind in agonizing silence.
Accompanied by no one and no love, Gunil sits all alone on his wedding day.
Every step of the way, Jungsu criticizes the place. He can't help it. Sitting in one of the back rows on the very edge of the aisle, Jiseok leaning into his left arm, the right propped up beneath his chin. Everything is wrong though. From the wedding colors to the chosen flowers, to the too elegant yet not soft music overlaying the backdrop.
This is nothing like what Gunil wanted, and Jungsu knows exactly what Gunil has always wanted. Because Gunil was a hopeless romantic, always harboring within a little boy who watched his parents wedding tape and secretly planned his own special day in the backpage notes of his dozens of planners until eventually, he had a whole scrapbook of sappy dreams and torn out magazine pictures.
He'd shown it to Jungsu all of once, in absolute confidence, in the cradle of their bed. It was one of his biggest secrets after all. Laying it out over their laps as he cuddled into Jungsu’s side, cheeks flushed with shame he could never erase, nervously chewing his lip, waiting for Jungsu to berate it all, then him.
Jungsu won’t say exactly what he’d thought of the scrapbook, of all the many ways he’d memorized it. He can’t. Not without baring a little bit too much of his soul like an open wound to the citrus stinging air.
He can’t stop thinking about it though. When the music starts, and it’s all wrong. The trodden white color of the petals staining the uncarpeted aisle floor. The piano a somber sound, a mournful mood. To Jungsu, this all feels more like a farewell, than a union. And he knows full well, whose face lays in the casket, fresh for the feeding.
He doesn’t look up, when they place Gunil on that altar, a pawn, a decorating piece. He doesn’t want to see him. All dressed up standing beneath a twined arch. He keeps his gaze downcast, his tongue beneath his teeth, wondering if he should scream or cry. This is all wrong.
He was supposed to be the one walking down this damn aisle.
Beside him, Jiseok pities him, patting Jungsu's thigh, placing his fingers atop Jungsu's, fitting them between Jungsu's, not quite holding his hand, but almost. Both their forearms are tense, bearing something unbearable.
Even with his stare trained on the polished waxed floor, all Jungsu sees is how it's supposed to be. On a cliffside by the ocean, or maybe even directly on the beach, no one caring about the sand dancing through the air, sticking to smiling seamist damp cheeks.
Gunil would have flowers in his hair, a crown of blue peonies and forget-me-nots, because of all things to beg, Gunil would never have to ask Jungsu to remember him. It's all Jungsu seems capable of. He'd be smiling too, shimmer like stars in teary bright eyes. Jungsu would wipe the tears from them, with a ringed hand, or grinning lips.
He doesn't, and won't, have to look up to know Gunil isn't smiling as it is. Somber like a sacrifice, a lamb lead to the slaughter, or rather just a sworn sullen life. Jungsu bets he’s wondering, why him? He really should know, but might never, just how good he is for everyone’s sake. Anyone would eagerly pluck him from the dirt.
Jungsu wonders why, of all people, Gunil has decided to adore Jungsu . To such a degree, that he’d go and marry someone else. Because Jungsu didn’t want him, he’ll let anyone else have him. What did Jungsu do to deserve that much? He just thinks Gunil is stupid. The stupidest boy in the world, besides Jungsu himself.
When it comes time to stand, Jungsu thinks he’s one single thread away from falling apart at the seams. The music changes, slows and deepens. Jungsu likens it to a death march. He lifts his head, twists it just enough to observe sideways as she passes by, sick to his stomach as his eyes stick to the train of her ornate dress, trailing over the ground, gauze white.
Her veil obscures her face. Beaded sequins sparkling against her blonde braids, thick pleats pinned to her head. It’s better that way. Jungsu doesn’t know how to reconcile with the beauty of the girl who’s always bargained on stealing his boy. He can't blame her in entirety. She too has a family who wants her shackled by ring and surname. She's just another pawn in a sacred game by the name of tradition.
The music slows, fades, all that's left in the room the bated heavy hushed breaths of eager hungry onlookers and Jungsu's own beating, breaking heart. Jiseok leans up, whispers forgivingly in his ear, "We can leave, Su. We can leave." In his mind, according to his plan, they were never meant to be here this long. It was never meant to go this far.
He should've known Gunil only knows how to say no to himself.
The priest begins to speak, voice rasp and gravel. "Welcome, loved ones. Today we are gathered under the eye of God, and these witnesses to join together this faithful couple in holy matrimony." Jungsu bites his tongue, stifles a snort. If he weren't so fucking sad, this would all be so incredibly funny.
His words bleed together, paint Jungsu's skin in dying whites and reds. His suit melts into his skin, the room all sweat and stuffiness. He's trying his hardest, to brace himself for the vows, for the rings, for the final wave before he once and for all, lets Gunil go.
His spine strikes cold, and he digs his nails into his palms, a sort of numbing panic spreading over his skin in chills. He imagines it, stepping out of this church, watching Gunil go hand in hand with someone else, decorated with some shiny diamond.
No.
No, it's all wrong.
It's all wrong, and Jiseok is right. This was never meant to reach this point. Jungsu just always gave in too easy, frustrated at the first sign of a difficult fight. He'd let Gunil go once, tears beneath his fingers, Gunil desperately vying to hold on tighter, begging for not the first time in his life, to not be forced away.
Forcing himself, pushing the boundaries of his will, he lifts his head, looks up at Gunil standing up there, flowerless and frowning. Eyes glued to the ground, hands bound behind his back—and still, the most beautiful thing in the whole room, all dressed in white opposite to his unsmiling bride. It would shatter him, but all Jungsu can do is beg in his mind, for Gunil to simply look at him.
He can't make the same mistake again. Clarity washes over him in ice cold blades. He turns his body, ever so slight. Jiseok catches him, frowning up at him. "What are you doing?" he hisses, "Are you going? Wait, I'll come with—" But Jungsu shakes his head, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed. Maybe to Jiseok he looks scared, unsure, but this is the most certain he's ever been.
Confused, Jiseok lets him go, cocking his head. "Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony," the priest drones, as disinterested as the audience is eager, on the edges of their seats, watching wide-eyed and drooling, for the drop of the blade, the click lock of a cage.
On wobbly knees, Jungsu rises to his feet, against all odds, stands. "Speak now—" Pulled by strings and threads of fate and small calloused fingers always fit perfectly to his, Jungsu steps onto the scattered petals "—or forever hold your peace." He doesn't project his voice, doesn't have to, his height and audacity holding the stage.
All he says, soft and shaken, "Don't do it." All eyes snap to him in a terrifying instant, no stare left spared, the floor all his. He breathes deeply, brows knitting together, fingers trembling. Every fiber and nerve of his being pleading for Gunil to look at him, at least one more time.
And he does, doe-eyed and stunned still, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He can't believe it any more than the next person. His chest rises shallowly, stare scanning the room in a scattered flick. He parts his lips, mouths Jungsu's name, adam's apple bobbing with the unheard timbre of it.
Bolstered, Jungsu steps forward, closer, down the aisle. "Don't marry her, Nillie," he pleas, ready if necessary to crawl on his knees, pull Gunil down by the wrists into the hell of scrutiny with him. "I…I love you. I never stopped loving you, I swear." The room rings with wretched gasps, the streams of air making the ceilings press down on his and Gunil’s shoulders, stuffy.
He smiles, the corners of it shaky. "You may not love me back, not anymore, but please, don't do this." He doesn't stifle the sting of his eyes anymore, lets them shimmer and shine, tired of hiding how much he's felt and lost and all this time. "Don't throw away your dreams because you've been told to. Don't do the wrong thing for you ."
Slowly, Gunil's hands unclasp, fall limp at his sides, and he looks once more at the ground, meeting eyes with nobody. He hangs his head low, and Jungsu can't possibly imagine what's running through it. His heart sinks, as Gunil utters in a soft whisper that somehow resounds, "I'm…I'm sorry."
Jungsu stumbles back, exhaling unsteadily, squeezing his eyes shut. At least he can say he tried. At least he can say, he finally fought for what was always right for him, even if he took the final hit. Gunil says again, louder, firmer, "I'm really, really sorry." Something hits the ground, a solid ping, and Jungsu opens his eyes just in time to catch the sturdy weight thrown against him.
He flattens his hands ready beneath Gunil's thighs as Gunil's legs hook behind him, his arms linking around Jungsu's neck, the only accessory Jungsu has ever needed. Rough, trembling fingers run through his hair, and Jungsu gapes up at Gunil, tears running down his face onto Jungsu's. "I'm so sorry," Gunil repeats, wrapping his fingers against Jungsu's nape, pressing his grinning, giggling lips to Jungsu's damp cheek.
There's a mere momentary stillness, no one able to comprehend the scene taking place before them. Then people stand, shout, bewildered, outraged. Jungsu hears nothing but Gunil's whisper, where it belongs, again piercing the lobe of Jungsu's ear. "Take me away, Jungie, please," he murmurs, giddy, "Get me out of here."
Laughing, Jungsu drops Gunil to his feet, grabbing his hand, and tugging him into an ecstatic sprint, no one able to catch them. He throws open the door, spins on his heel and beckons for their friends, matching their gleeful grins.
Gunil's laugh is a sound he's dearly missed, keeping pace with them as they run wildly down the stairs and cement, shoving past poor bypassers, not daring unlace their hands. Until they're surrounded by nothing but long, green grass and the soft, caressing wind.
Jungsu stops, Gunil tripping from the sudden halt, falling against Jungsu's side. Smiling, Jungsu pulls him down to the ground, staining the pearly sheen of his suit happily. Straddling Gunil in the grass that obscures them, voices loud and frantic hundreds of yards away. He leans down, wipes Gunil's eye with a quivering thumb, still not sure this isn't all a dream, and any second he's going to wake up in his bed again, his half empty beer can still spitting condensation on that stupid wedding invite.
"Hey."
Gunil stares up at him, eyes dark and big pupils darker. "I"m sorry," he repeats, like it's the only thing he knows how to say, a record left broken on this very day. Tears well up, spill over the back of Jungsu's hand, cleaning his knuckles of regret and desperation.
Jungsu smiles, ever tender, unable for at least another day, to be any sort of spiteful. "For what, Gunil? Me breaking up with you? For me not trying hard enough until the very last moment to keep you in my life?"
Gunil's lips press together, jutting out in a fruitless attempt at trying not to give into relief, the wasted spent grief. He shakes his head, reaching up, tentatively touching Jungsu, as if he'll disappear. Brushing Jungsu's bangs from his eyes. "For stupidly thinking I could ever bear spending my life with anybody else." A soulful confession, carried and washed over Jungsu by the breeze.
The breath caught in his throat, his heart somewhere caught along his ribs, melded with his lungs, Jungsu holds Gunil by the cheeks, never letting go. "Are you saying you're gonna marry me one day, Gunil?"
Gunil smiles, the curve in his lips and in his eyes. "I'm only saying I'll never marry anyone else. None of this should have ever happened. I fucked up, Su, and it—"
Jungsu bends down, captures Gunil's lips between his own. "Shut up," he says, "You're all mine now, no need to apologize. That can come later."
Breathless, blushing red, Gunil asks, "After what?"
"After you fucking kiss me, dork." Then, gentler, quieter, into the space between Gunil's cupid's bow and nose. "I missed you. I thought I was gonna die today."
A huff of air along his lips, Gunil braces himself on his forearms, leans up, kisses back. "It's okay now. I'm all yours forever now. No matter what it takes." He presses their lips together, gentle and unhurried, languid and loving. "I missed you too. And I never stopped, y'know."
"Stopped what?"
He laces his hands with Jungsu's, rubbing his ring finger against Jungsu's. "Loving you."