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It floods easily downtown. The rain is coming down hard and Gunwook swears it's making little dents in his Uber driver’s Kia, jittering forward like a little mouse down the cramped streets, headlights fully cranked up to sear through the bleak night.
The bag of take-out in his lap has created a vaguely warm, vaguely damp dent in the starchy fabric of his basketball shorts. He chews on his lip anxiously as his driver starts to moan and groan about finding a place to park. He looks out at all the pedestrians wearing full coats and rain jackets. He wishes he at least had a pair of durable boots from one of the expensive brands that Ricky shops at. Instead, today he opted for an old pair of Nikes and a gray pullover. He clearly did not read the weather forecast. Admittedly, he wasn’t really concerned about the weather when he got the text twenty-five minutes ago.
They park. Gunwook pulls on his hood and has to make an Olympics-qualifying jump out of the Uber to get out unscathed because there’s a massive puddle right in the ditch below.
“Thanks,” he quickly mutters to the driver before the guy peels off, narrowly avoiding hitting a stop sign as he does.
In this corner of downtown, it’s hard to find good parking spaces because it’s hard to find parking spaces at all. His driver dropped him off in front of the dim sum place at the end of the block with the neon lights that all still work even after seven years of being in use—Yum House, all the letters blaring red as Gunwook semi-jogs down the spare sidewalk.
The first time Gunwook went over to Matthew’s apartment, it took him ten minutes after finding the approximate location to actually find his unit. It’s a measly collection of spare units that look like an afterthought, skinny little doors fastened onto the side of a brick building that mainly serves as an event space. You can only access it by climbing some janky-looking steps that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be the fire escape. He holds onto the railing because they make an ugly heaving noise every time he climbs one.
He arrives at Matthew’s door, shielding the bag of food from the rain. There aren’t any room numbers and they aren’t allowed to have welcome mats, so he’s just had to train his mind into remembering that his unit is the second one off the landing facing the Uniqlo on the opposite side of the road. He knocks on the door semi-loudly. He doesn’t want to scare Matthew, but it’s coming down hard and the rain is starting to soak through his pullover.
After a few seconds, he hears some hurried shuffling behind the door, and then it opens and there’s Matthew, brown hair laying flat on his head, sparkling eyes opening wider and wider when he sees—
“Gunwook?” Matthew gapes, frozen. “What are you—? Wait, come inside. Hurry.”
Matthew grabs Gunwook by the wrist and pulls him inside. He uses more force than Gunwook was expecting so he sort of half-stumbles inside while Matthew shuts the door and turns to face him. Gunwook gives him a quick once-over—two-piece matching velvet pajama set that he bought for him, feet tucked into marshmallow white slippers.
“Were you getting ready for bed?”
Matthew blinks at him. “This? Oh.” He looks down at his clothes. “I’ve been wearing this all day. Didn’t really feel like getting ready. Or doing anything.”
Gunwook’s heart drops.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was being an asshole and I didn’t even know—”
Matthew waves a dismissive hand. “I don’t wanna talk about it. It’s fine, really. It’s fine.”
Gunwook hesitates. There are bags under Matthew’s eyes. He’s shifting his weight between his feet and one of his arms is reaching across to his shoulder. He certainly isn’t fine. But Gunwook knows it isn’t his place to give him a lecture about taking care of himself or whatever. That’s Hanbin’s job, probably. Gunwook’s job is to make him feel better.
“Am I—um.” Gunwook swivels his body around like a child. He places the bag of take-out on the coffee table. “Do you want me here? I can go back home if you want to be alone, I was just worried—”
“Oh Gunwook, no. Stay. I’m happy you came over, I just didn’t expect it. I—uh…as you can see. I should probably light a candle, or something.”
Gunwook sees, but pretends like he doesn’t see. Two half-empty family size bags of chips on the coffee table, blanket haphazardly tossed onto the floor, kitchen counters smudged with dried coffee and sugar.
Matthew takes a few steps forward, then grabs a hold of the sleeve of Gunwook’s pullover and tugs.
“Take this off so I can hug you.”
Gunwook sucks his teeth, then reaches up to scratch the back of his head. “Uh, so. I got ready in a hurry. I don’t have anything on under this. Not very forward thinking on my part.”
Matthew takes a step back, as if singed by a flame.
“Oh,” he says, blinking up at Gunwook. For a second—and Gunwook is not hallucinating because he hasn’t been on any substances in weeks—he swears he sees Matthew’s cheeks flare red. “You can, uh,” Matthew gestures to the door to his bedroom behind Gunwook. “There’s probably some stuff in there you can put on. You’ve probably left something behind. I’ll, uh, plate our food, I guess. While you’re changing.”
Matthew has already turned away, moving to grab the take-out and waltzing over to the kitchen. Gunwook watches him curiously. Gunwook’s burgeoning Matthew-crush started as more of a mild infatuation. He drew his attention a lot simply by existing. Gunwook thinks the way Matthew walks is cute—the slight up-and-down, bobbing of his head, his short strides because of his short legs, the way his feet scrape against the floor. Even the back of his head is appealing to Gunwook. It’s such a strange feeling.
Now, Matthew dips down below sight to get something from the cabinets. When he pops back up and locks eyes with Gunwook, he has this suspicious look on his face.
“What?” Matthew asks, narrowing his eyes at him playfully. “Why are you watching me?”
“Nothing,” Gunwook responds. “You’re cute.”
Matthew’s used to it at this point. Gunwook’s bold and he knows they’re close enough that he can say what he thinks without a censor. And Matthew always reacts the same. Just like this. His smile grows a bit bigger in a genuine way and he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.
Gunwook’s a fucking sucker, because he thinks that’s cute too.
“Go get changed. I know you didn’t come over just to flirt with the guy who got stood up.”
“Maybe I did.”
Matthew narrows his eyes at him again. Then, he takes a fork and points it toward the room door. “Go,” he says.
Gunwook obeys this time, shooting him one last look before entering Matthew’s bedroom and closing the door behind him. He instantly takes off his pullover and throws it in Matthew’s already-full hamper. Really, Gunwook would’ve gladly taken off the pullover before and lounged around shirtless, but maybe that’s a step too far.
Matthew’s bedroom is immaculately curated, Gunwook has to admit. It’s a hodge-podge of his varied interests and sort of an explosion of too much, but it’s very fitting. There’s a lava lamp on his nightstand that douses the room in a muted marmalade orange. He has posters of Howl’s Moving Castle and League of Legends on his wall along with an array of anime figurines on his bookshelf that probably cost him over two thousand dollars to procure. And that’s not accounting for all the Pokemon plushies sitting on his bed—Snorlax, Jigglypuff, Bulbasaur, Jirachi.
Gunwook wanders over to the closet. A quick flip-through of his shirts reveals that most of these will likely be extremely uncomfortable to wear. Especially because Matthew loves his form-fitting and compression shirts. Gunwook goes through an endless procession of tank tops and sleeveless tees to find the baggiest shirt Matthew could possibly own and finds nothing. He pouts.
Giving up on the closet, he goes back into the bedroom to maybe find some baggy hoodie that he’s left to gather dust on the floor.
Then, there’s a quick knock on the door. “Coming in,” Matthew chirps from the other side.
Gunwook freezes, his mouth moving to say something but stopping. It’s like in horror films when the chainsaw is raised above the final girl’s head and she’s just lying there staring at it. He watches the door open. Matthew’s holding a plate of chicken and shrimp chow mein and stops in the doorway, because Gunwook is definitely the center of his room with no shirt on, hair still damp from being in the rain, shorts hanging low on his hips.
“Uh—”
“I…”
Gunwook bites his tongue. It’s a little awkward. Matthew is staring right at his chest.
“You’ve been bulking, haven’t you?”
Gunwook nods like a wet dog. “Yeah. I mean, it’s mainly from conditioning. Coach told me to up my protein intake. You can tell?”
Matthew nods. “You look—good,” he chokes out. He kicks the door closed behind him and moves to sit on the bed.
“I couldn’t find anything that would fit,” Gunwook admits, biting his lip guiltily. “At least, nothing that would fit comfortably. Sorry.”
Matthew shakes his head as he sits down. “Don’t worry about it. It’s fine. I’ve seen you shirtless before.”
“Really?” Gunwook blinks at him. He sits down next to him on the side of the bed. Matthew has set the plate on the nightstand and he moves to fetch the remote. “When?”
“Football practice. I used to sit in and watch you guys in the stands because I was Gyuvin’s ride.”
Gunwook vaguely recalls seeing Matthew after practice a few times. When all of the guys would flood out from the locker rooms and out into the parking lot, he’d say bye to Gyuvin and sometimes he’d see Matthew standing near a street light, meekly waving over Gyuvin and sometimes looking in Gunwook’s direction. That was before they started talking. That was probably when Gunwook started paying more attention to him.
“Oh yeah,” Gunwook mumbles. He hums as Matthew finds the remote and powers on the TV. “What happened between you and Gyuvin anyway?”
Matthew’s eyes stay trained on the TV as the blue light blinks on. He looks over at Gunwook with a placid look and proffers him the remote. “Pick something to watch. And get comfy.”
One thing about Matthew, he leaves a lot unsaid.
Gunwook nods and takes the remote. Matthew fumbles around and gets under the covers. Gunwook decides his best course of action is scooting until his back is against the wall, so they’re sitting kind of perpendicular to each other with Gunwook’s legs draped over Matthew’s, separated by the duvet.
“Oh here,” Matthew reaches over and picks up the plate, then hands it to Gunwook. “Eat.”
Gunwook puts the bowl in his lap, then looks at Matthew. “Not hungry?”
Matthew shakes his head, a glint of sadness in his eyes. He looks away, at the TV. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Gunwook replies. “I’m not here to make you uncomfortable. Just here to make you feel better.”
Matthew nods. There’s a beat of nothing. Just nothing. Then he slinks back under the covers, so deep that only his shoulders and head are visible, like a fish barely breaking the water. It’s quite perfect. Gunwook can see his face semi-well from this perspective while Matthew is—assumedly, hopefully, probably—not able to catch him staring. Blue light fills Matthew’s irises as he watches the TV. Gunwook flips through the channels—from national news to a children’s learning program to true crime to a reality dating show.
For the past few weeks, Gunwook has been looking at Matthew like he’s gone and morphed into something new. He’s been trying to figure out what’s so different about him—them. The two of them when they’re together. Matthew’s slight skittishness, the intermittent moments of wariness when he indulges in their flirting game a bit too much. The fact that he’s been breaking eye contact more than Gunwook recently. Matthew’s a monster of a puzzle.
There isn’t much to entertain at this late of an hour on primetime television and he’s tired of pressing the change channel button. He eventually decides on a nature documentary narrated by an old British man. Gunwook only watches documentaries narrated by British people.
Matthew rolls over onto his back to shoot him a playful glare while he’s in the middle of scooping some chow mein into his mouth. He pauses, looking scandalized.
“What?”
But Matthew just shakes his head and turns back to face the TV. “You’re such a nerd.”
“This stuff is so cool though,” Gunwook protests.
A big, bug-eyed praying mantis appears on the screen. The old British man informs them that these little guys—Gunwook would protest the use of the word little—only eat live prey. He watches one of them leap across a branch in stuttered jumps. When it reaches the end of the branch, it whips out its claws and strikes a baby bird flying through.
“Holy shit!” Gunwook exclaims.
The praying mantis proceeds to practically maul the thing. It’s ridiculous what they can do. And mortifying.
“Gunwook-ah,”
When Gunwook looks over, Matthew has shifted slightly and is looking up at him with slightly drowsy baby-doll eyes.
“I love you so much, but turn this shit off. Please.”
Gunwook frowns in mock disappointment. He honestly didn’t expect Matthew to let him get this far. He was keen to push and see how long Matthew would pretend to enjoy it.
“Like, turn the whole thing off? Or find another show?”
Matthew—again, something that confounds Gunwook—just looks at him. After a beat, he shrugs.
Gunwook makes the executive decision to turn it off.
Both silence and darkness coexist for a moment. Well, silence as in lack of conversation. The slimy, slurpy noises of Gunwook finishes off the rest of his chow mein in the pitch black fill the room. Once he’s done, he leans over and deposits the empty bowl on Matthew’s nightstand.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take it to the kitchen later.”
“Why not now?”
Gunwook gets under the covers. His body, despite the bulk, fits seamlessly between Matthew and the wall. Although a bit of that has to do with Matthew teetering on the edge.
“Because I wanna talk to you,” he responds, cozying up, laying his head on the pillow and facing Matthew who—now, from Gunwook’s freshly acquired vantage point—looks even more dream-like. There’s something even mystical about the way his eyes soften when Gunwook’s words sink in.
“About?” Matthew asks quietly. Very quietly. His voice sounds like it’s too scared to dip into a whisper.
“I miss you,” Gunwook declares. He says it proudly. Proud of missing him and proud that he’s brave enough to say it. “You’ve been different lately. Not in like—I don’t think you’re cutting me off. Or at least, you’re not intentionally doing it. But you’re just…off? Can I say that? That’s why when you sent me that text I kinda…overreacted. Maybe.”
Unexpectedly, Matthew smiles. A small smile, weakened by melancholy and sleep.
“You did overreact.” An eyeroll. Matthew is really having a ball with those tonight. “I told you he just said he didn’t think it was gonna work out. It’s a failed talking stage. I’m a grown man. I’ll live.”
“He stood you up,” Gunwook counters. “Also, a five month long talking stage is mythical and sinister. That was not a talking stage. He dumped you out of nowhere without any warning. It’s fucked. He’s fucked.”
In yet a third unexpected development of the night, Matthew’s smile widens and he snorts a little at Gunwook’s fiery retort, his legs shifting and rustling the sheets. His foot knocks into Gunwook’s shin accidentally.
“I like it when you use big words like that.”
A singular eyebrow surges up Gunwook’s forehead. “Big words?”
“Mythical and sinister,” Matthew parrots back. “It’s the way you say it. Mythical and sinister,” Matthew growls back theatrically.
“That is not the way I said that.”
Matthew finds Gunwook’s petulance delightful. He audibly laughs now, a harp-like giggle as he leans forward just the slightest bit and allows Gunwook a greater share of body heat.
“Whatever. I like your big words.”
“Oh yeah? You like when I juxtapose the photosynthesis and the ethical denominations of patriarchal disestablishmentarianism?”
Matthew doubles over in laughter. Leans forward so far that he has to grab ahold of Gunwook’s arm—more specifically, his painstakingly sculpted bicep—for support. Actually, he doesn’t need to hold onto him for support, Gunwook realizes in real time, watching the apples of Matthew’s cheeks go pink, his eyes squinting closed. They’re in bed. He’s not about to fall over. Matthew’s just instinctually grabbing onto him.
“You’re killing me.” Another small peal of laughter sputters out of him. “You’re so funny, Gunwookie. How do you always make me feel better?”
Gunwook snorts. Matthew has no idea that he has an over six foot tall football player wrapped around his finger, willing to do backflips for him upon command. He makes him feel better by sheer psychic willpower at this point. He firmly believes that he’s focused hard enough that he magically unlocked some secret power to dispel whatever was creating those vacuous clouds behind his eyes. The light is back.
“I’m happy you came.”
Matthew speaks up before Gunwook can think of anything insightful or witty to respond with. Really, all of his boasting about knowing big words is very detrimental right now, because he’s slowly been robbed of his speech. Having normal Matthew back is a double-edged sword, because Gunwook is in love with those eyes and in love with the way he moves. Even the micro-movements underneath the covers, the way he hikes his legs up to get more comfortable, sliding his hands under the pillow for extra warmth.
Gunwook has to rescue himself from this tailspin. Fast.
“Of course, duh,” he replies in a gruff, nondescript voice. “Anything for you.”
Silence.
He averts his gaze and bites his lower lip. He’s going to kill himself.
He clears his throat.
“Well, we should probably go to bed.”
“Was that a joke?”
Both silence and darkness return. For some reason, Gunwook can’t bring himself to look at Matthew’s face because he all of a sudden is flooded with the burdensome thought that he fucked up severely and he’s in big trouble. He should really stop talking. He should really just stop having the idea to open his mouth around Matthew willingly.
“Do you—uh…do you not want it to be?”
Matthew got closer at some point, he thinks, because the warmth is deeper and he swears he can feel his breath on his neck. Matthew’s silence is not a disconcerting one, but a meditative one. Gunwook’s head turns to sludge. He feels himself age fifty years instantaneously.
When he looks down, Matthew is staring at him.
“Would you really do anything?”
“Yes,” Gunwook replies dutifully with more conviction than he did while giving his valedictorian speech at his high school graduation.
Matthew is stuck between doubt and fear and wonder.
“Okay,” he says. “Like what?”
“I don’t know man some like fuckin’ crazy shit probably I don’t know,” he says with jumbled words and a panicked mind. The discomfort finally gets to him. He shifts slightly, propping himself up on his elbow and scratching at his shoulder. He has even more leverage on Matthew now. Physically, at least.
“For me?” Matthew replies, baffled.
“Yeah,” Gunwook shrugs. “If you told me to kill that guy, I probably would.”
“Okay,” Matthew levels him with a concerned look. “Definitely not…doing that.”
“Good. That’s good.” He scratches his bare shoulder again idly. “Homicide is a bit too far, yeah, but if you wanted to get him back some way, I’d be down. He pissed me off. He fucked you over like a bitch. I could jump him probably. I’m like a head taller than him.”
Matthew scoffs. “My knight in shining armor. Is it a jock thing? Like the protective and aggressive thing? Gyuvin was weird like that too.”
“It’s not weird it’s—wait.”
Gunwook blinks. He feels like he’s just watched one of those videos that are supposed to be an optical illusion where there will be like a ton of sheeps running across the screen and you don’t even notice the nine-foot-tall clown on stilts that made his way from one end to the other without you noticing. Except he notices. He always notices.
“Did you and Gyuvin…?”
“Oh god,” Matthew sighs, rolling over onto his back and looking up at the ceiling.
“Wait, sorry,” Gunwook stammers, fumbling. “I take it back, I take it back. We don’t have to talk about it. Act like I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, Gunwook.” Matthew exhales what feels like a planet’s worth of air from his lungs. “Yes, we did. But it never went anywhere. We weren’t like in love with each other or anything. It was just like…a thing. Mostly unremarkable.”
Mostly unremarkable. The funny feeling in Gunwook’s chest magnifies, creates some kind of whirlpool inside of him. Mostly unremarkable, except for the fact that Gyuvin is his teammate, his friend. This should’ve come up at some point.
“Hey, Gunwook-ah,” Matthew says, tilting his head so that he juts into his field of vision. “You’re thinking. You’re doing the bad kind of thinking.” Matthew reaches for Gunwook’s hand. Instantly, that funny feeling in his chest somersaults and turns into chills spanning his entire body. Matthew holds his hand tight and looks up at him sleepily. “I promise you it was nothing. He was always in love with Ricky anyway. I think I was just…looking to fill a void, or something.”
Their fingers do a weird interlocking thing, somewhere between a thumb wrestle and hand-holding. Matthew’s thumb caresses Gunwook’s palm and Gunwook simmers down, immediately overcome with a tidal wave of affection, as if he’s just been tucked into bed and given a soft kiss on his cheek. He closes his eyes briefly and imagines puppies prancing through a field of flowers. Being so close to Matthew makes him feel like there might be a god after all.
“I feel like a bad person though,” Matthew punctures the silence again, biting his lip. “I knew he wanted somebody else. He wanted the cool kid with the bleached hair with the nice clothes and the fancy car. The guy who paints murals downtown and has tattoos. I don’t have a fancy car. I have a hand-me-down Hyundai Sonata that my sister got for her sixteenth birthday.” Matthew swipes his tongue over his teeth, then looks up at Gunwook with slight concern, almost as if he forgot he was there. “I’m sorry. I’m ranting.”
“I like when you rant,” Gunwook replies softly. The delicate dance of their fingers hardens into something more solid when Gunwook finally laces their fingers together and keeps it like that. Matthew looks down as he does it. “Actually, my entire objective today was to get you to finally open up and talk. Not just for you, but for me too. So,” He smiles wide and bright, almost a little mischievous. “Mission accomplished.”
Matthew’s cheeks go red. Eyeroll 4.0.
“You’re embarrassing. Actually humiliating.”
Maybe Gunwook has lost his mind, because even in the dark, he thinks Matthew is like something out of a dream. It’s the way his hair is messily splayed against his pillow, the way his eyes try to avoid Gunwook but ultimately circle back to him, then dodge away.
Gunwook’s ego inflates a little. He keeps his hand in Matthew’s. All of the nerves and bashfulness that kept him rattled and unable to move has mostly been flushed out now, replaced by something golden and adventurous.
“Do you wanna cuddle?”
It’s a hail mary. He’s not a quarterback, but he likes to play at one in practice scrimmages sometimes, and he’s a pompous idiot on the field. He is. In real life, he’s humble and quiet. But on the field, he thinks he’s invincible. He thinks he can reach the endzone. He thinks that as soon as he gets his hands on the ball, magic springs from his fingertips. He thinks he can touch the sun.
He can feel Matthew’s breath catching in his throat, his eyebrow twitching a little.
“Oh,” Matthew says, evidently flustered. “Uh,” he stammers.
“Please?” Gunwook tries. He doesn’t give a fuck if he looks clingy or needy. He has the right to be. Just a little. He’s been pining for so long. He’s been stranded on the outside looking in, like a buffer and somehow gayer Evan Hansen. “I wanna hold you,” he adds compulsively, like he’s just drunk a truth serum.
“Gunwook.”
Matthew’s smart. He’s incredibly smart. Smarter than he gives himself credit for. But Gunwook is surprised it took this long for things to click. Sure, he isn’t the most forward with his affections. He’s kept it incredibly respectful for the past few months, especially making sure to give proper space to Matthew and (what he thought would be) his boyfriend. He even dated around, downloaded Hinge and tried hooking up with girls, but gave up after one of them proposed reenacting the scene from Challengers with her boyfriend (whom she did not inform Gunwook about having in the first place.)
“I wish I could explain myself,” Gunwook says simply. “I wish I could, right now, tell you exactly what you mean to me. I wish I could put it in like a step-by-step, super coherent breakdown of how and why I’m in…uh. I shouldn’t say that. But maybe,” he gulps. Fuck. “I might be. I don’t know.”
Fuck.
He was very much trying to avoid saying that. Even alluding to it.
“I don’t know Matt,” he frowns, shaking his head. “I don’t know anything, really. I just want to hold you.”
Matthew’s eyes are like bricks. Stationary and immovable and intense, assessing him.
“You said you’d do anything for me?” Matthew says.
The question catches him off guard, but he doesn’t miss a beat.
“Yes,” Gunwook nods, nods harder. There’s signs of life. He might not be dead in the water yet.
“Will you kiss me?”
Gunwook’s eyes practically pop out of his head like in cartoons.
“Yes,” he repeats himself. “Like—okay, is this consent?”
After a period of stillness where Matthew once again turned to stone, there’s some life breathed into him again, an abrupt fit of laughter startling Gunwook from his reverie. He places a delicate hand on Gunwook’s shoulder and inches closer.
“Yes Gunwook. That is. Very explicitly, it is.”
He rushes forward faster than a bullet train.
In fact, he rushes forward with a little too much enthusiasm, lightly bumping Matthew’s forehead, resulting in the older yelping a brief ow before his lips are captured in Gunwook’s, the rest of his grunt getting cut off and snowballing into a stilted, trance-like moan. It’s a bit long for a first kiss. Matthew’s thumb taps at his shoulder twice before he pulls away.
Gunwook blinks at him.
“Yeah I’m in love with you I think,” he admits solemnly. “Sorry. I was trying not to say that because I didn’t wanna be weird.”
“I already know you’re weird,” Matthew retorts, reaching his arms up to swing around his neck. “Do it again.”
Gunwook grins like a cheshire cat. “Say less.”