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Eunseok’s body became accustomed to waking up at six in the morning. He silently watched Wonbin beside him, sitting up to get ready to start his day like he did every morning at this exact time. It was a routine they fell into, spanning years since moving into their small studio apartment after moving an ocean away from their home country.
Eunseok found him beautiful at any time of the day, but the morning was his favorite—especially during the hours he would normally be asleep. Wonbin ran his fingers through his bedhead, the wild, long strands of hair sticking out in every direction.
The newly risen sun peeked through the gap of the curtains, shining on Wonbin’s bare upper body—mesmerized by the contours of his muscles and the paleness of his skin.
“Good morning.” Eunseok’s morning voice was deep and raspy.
Wonbin jumped, always easily startled. “I keep telling you, you don’t have to wake up the same time I do.”
Eunseok couldn’t sleep anyway, his nights always feeling longer than his days. He reached his arm out, wanting to feel the body beside him.
The sound of annoyed meowing followed by his cat joining them on the bed made him retract his arm. The cat’s green eyes shone in the dark and in a single blink, Wonbin was no longer an arms length away. Eunseok ran his hand through his hair, grabbing a handful before sitting up.
“I’m late,” Wonbin said, a distant smile on his face. “I have to go.”
Echo meowed after Wonbin finished talking, rubbing his head against Eunseok’s arm. He smoothed down his long coat, his purrs reverberating through his hand.
Wonbin disappeared and Eunseok ran his hand where he once lay, the mattress cold. He stood up and drew the curtains, allowing the sun to enter and unleashing the outside noise as he opened the window for fresh air. The sounds of car horns blaring, never-ending construction, and people chattering rushed into the apartment.
Echo jumped onto the windowsill, his roar louder than any taxi or jackhammer.
“Calm down.” Eunseok took a short stroll to the kitchen, the cat following close behind. “I’ll feed you now.”
He grabbed a can of cat food from the cupboard and an elevated bowl shaped like the head of a cat. He peeled back the can’s lid, unleashing the strong scent of tuna into the studio. The black cat tried to climb up his leg, digging his claws into Eunseok’s sweatpants.
“Be patient,” Eunseok commanded with no success.
He shook the contents of the can into the bowl, scooping out the excess with a spoon. If Echo were a dog, he’d make him sit, shake, and wait before allowing him to eat. However, cats were nothing like dogs—too unorthodox, too mischievous to listen to orders.
Eunseok set the plate down and the cat immediately scarfed down the chunks of meat, no longer interested in his owner’s affection and head scratches. He crouched down and sighed, watching the food gradually disappear with every blink.
“Well,” he said as he rose to his feet. “I guess I should get ready for work, too.”
Eunseok worked at a nearby public library. He didn’t make a huge amount of money, but it was enough to pay for the cozy studio. They resided above a bodega run by a small old man with an equally old ragdoll cat who lived inside the store. When they first moved in, the old man and his wife brought them snacks and drinks. Although they were too old to lift any boxes, their kindness was enough to energize them.
“Off to work?”
Eunseok turned around to the sound of the quivering voice. The old man was sweeping the dust from the sidewalk, wearing an incomplete smile.
“I am,” he responded.
The old man disappeared inside of the store and reemerged holding out a black plastic bag. “Here, take this.” Eunseok took the bag from his wrinkly hands and peered inside to see a homemade bento box. “My wife used to make it all the time, right? I’m sorry if it’s not nearly as good as hers.”
“Thank you.” Eunseok always accepted what he offered. His late wife often shared her cooking with Eunseok and Wonbin, gifting them a taste of her Japanese heritage through her cuisines. While her white husband didn’t share her nationality, he held on to her recipes, not allowing them to die with her.
The library was quiet, regardless of whether it was opened or closed. Eunseok wasn’t a librarian—being one required a certain level of schooling and he didn’t even finish high school. He stocked shelves, organized materials, and assisted with other tasks as a library page. It didn’t pay much and it wasn’t like books interested him, but Eunseok liked working in the library. He learned that books held so much history—history people wanted to know about, and history written, but solemnly read. There were books he rarely ever saw, only when returned, but then they would be immediately checked out again. Other books sat on the shelf, only being touched by the workers, but never by people who wished to read them. Eunseok wondered what made some books so desirable and others not, however, he never felt curious enough to flip through the pages and find out.
That was until he discovered a hardcover from the book drop as he scanned barcodes and placed them on the go-back cart. He picked up the book with the suede dust jacket, the change in texture catching his attention. The book was dark blue with three-dimensional, glossy golden stars littering the page, contrasting the velvety cover. In the center was a boy—or the back of a boy’s head, specifically his shaggy hair as he looked beyond the twinkling lights. Eunseok ran his fingers over the dust jacket, feeling the different finishes. For the very first time, he considered checking out a book.
“Shh! Shhhh!”
Eunseok looked over at a group of high school boys, occupying a table in the library’s reading room. Their backpacks sat on the dark wooden desk among their open textbooks, all on different pages. They snickered as they threw crumpled-up pieces of paper at each other, their shushes more loud than their stifled laughs.
Eunseok couldn’t tear his eyes away from the table, as if trying to see himself in their youth, but unable to. He dropped out of high school and picked up random jobs to earn his own money. He knew early on that school wasn’t for him, and while his family wasn’t in his life, he still occupied the apartment his parents left behind while they prioritized their jobs over their son. They were away on business trips for months at a time, seldomly calling Eunseok.
He didn’t want to use their money, not wanting to feel indebted to people he didn’t feel any emotional connection to. He wondered if he should feel more bothered by it, but truthfully, he didn’t feel much of anything.
Finding jobs as a minor was easier than he found it to be. Many businesses were more than eager to employ a kid they could pay under the table, working him too many hours without legal restrictions.
“Excuse me.” A small old lady pulled him from his fuzzy memory. “I want to check this out, please.”
Eunseok nodded. He rarely had to answer questions—people who visited the library already knew what they were there for, and any question asking for directions could be answered with a single point of a finger.
Eunseok silently took the older woman’s library card and scanned the book on the counter—a self-help book on bettering one’s mind and soul. He didn’t believe her questions could be answered from a single book, but it wasn’t his job to give advice.
Thanks to technology, his job was fairly straightforward, not dealing with card catalogs and paper trails. At first, he found it strange.
“Everything is on the computer?” he asked, his voice husky and quiet.
“Of course,” the head librarian said, her wrinkled fingers typing at a steady pace. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Eunseok didn’t answer her, assuming she didn’t actually expect an answer. He just always viewed libraries as a place stuck in time. Was anything timeless?
After work, Eunseok returned to the small apartment, the lights off, everything untouched. He left his shoes at the entrance and set his bag on the ground, feeling more mentally exhausted than physically. He didn’t mind the silence, as long as it wasn’t laced with loneliness.
He headed straight to the bathroom—washing off the day’s dirt. He opened the door to the only bedroom, the wood creaking underneath him as he walked to the foot of the bed.
Wonbin lay asleep, his long hair falling over his eyes and his chest rising and falling with each breath. He looked peaceful, he looked beautiful.
Eunseok wanted to touch him, but he didn’t want to disturb his serene sleep. Wonbin woke up earlier than Eunseok and had a job requiring much more effort and customers than a library job. As an introvert himself, Eunseok knew how draining it could be, so he could only imagine how mentally exhausted Wonbin was after a busy day at the cafe. He recharged by sleeping, but Eunseok could recharge by just being near him.
He settled onto the bed beside him, closely watching his face—eyes closed, rosy lips parted, skin pale. Echo jumped on the bed, walking up to Eunseok’s face. He headbutted his nose before plopping down and making himself comfortable, his purring vibrating the bed.
Wonbin stirred awake, stretching his arms out. He opened one eye as if adjusting to consciousness.
“Still tired?” Eunseok’s voice was low. “Go back to sleep.”
Wonbin smiled a crooked smile. “I fell asleep waiting for you,” his voice throaty. “I missed you.”
Eunseok’s steady heart constricted in his chest, feeling heavy. He wanted to pull Wonbin into him, but the black cat lay between them, rolling onto his back and accepting his owner’s belly rubs.
“I miss you more.”
When Eunseok woke up the next morning, he was alone. Echo stared at him, sitting on his chest, green eyes glowing.
“Hungry?”
He sat up, eyeing the empty spot next to him. He overslept. He wished Wonbin would wake him up, their time limited.
“Good morning,” the old man said. He was in his usual spot, broom in one hand, bag in the other. He handed Eunseok the plastic bag with a bento box inside of it. “Here you go, son.”
Eunseok accepted the meal, wondering if the man had a son, or if he was truly all alone following the death of his wife. He didn’t have the courage to ask him, wondering if it would be rude in the first place to do so.
He thanked him quietly and took a new route to the library as if his regular route didn’t have what he was searching for. He passed by a group of high schoolers stretching in their track wear, reminding him of the first time he saw Wonbin.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
They were high schoolers—or teenagers, considering Eunseok had already dropped out, but he walked by the high school often. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, the track team met after regular classes ended. A boy with long hair pulled into a low ponytail caught Eunseok’s attention. He thought the student was a girl at first glance, until the student straightened his posture, revealing pretty, yet masculine features. Eunseok’s walking halted. He wasn’t the type to pay attention to things that didn’t concern him, but something about the boy, only one year younger than him, intrigued him. He wondered if it was his feminine appearance, or the way his body looked like perfect lines as he stretched into a lunge, or perhaps it was his serious face among his smiling and laughing peers that struck Eunseok. Was he having a bad day? Did something happen to dampen his mood? Did he lose something important to him?
Eunseok didn’t know why he wore such a sullen expression, but something in him wanted to see the boy smile. It was completely out of character for him—he didn’t care about smiling, he barely even smiled himself, but he just thought a smile would suit the stranger’s beautiful face.
Eunseok took the same route the next day, and the day after that, and every day the team would meet, he would be nearby, watching the boy stretch his hamstrings before the group began their jog. Some days he would stay a bit longer, watching the boy run off, his legs taking long strides until he was out of sight.
As time passed, the temperature began to slowly drop, but that didn’t stop Eunseok from stopping by the school to observe the boy on the track team—each day taking longer than the last. Eunseok didn’t mind though, not caring if he was late to work if it meant he could watch the stranger. He wished time would stop so he could observe him all day.
Eunseok stood on the hill that looked down onto the high school, a diamond-shaped mesh filter over his eyes from the chain link fence. He curled his fingers around galvanized metal, meant to protect him from the steep hill, but he wanted nothing more than for it to disappear.
Eunseok watched intently as the boy tied his long locks into a low ponytail—following his fingers as they looped his strands into the black band. The boy fixed his face-framing pieces and looked up, their eyes locking like lightning touching the Earth.
A jolt charged down Eunseok’s spine, forcing him to straighten his posture. His brain told him to move, but his heart cut off the communication to his legs. They remained that way—strong gazes piercing each other like lasers. Eunseok wondered if he should wave, but his body still wouldn’t react, as if he had turned to stone where he stood.
A whistle rang through the air, shattering their ocular connection. The track team’s coach dropped the silver whistle from his mouth, yelling something to the team while clapping encouragingly. When he looked back at the boy, he was no longer fixed on Eunseok, his legs in motion as he joined the other running students. It wasn’t until after he was out of Eunseok’s sight that he regained feeling in his body he didn’t know he lost in the first place. His knees went weak, sweat blanketed his warm skin, and his breathing was short.
Eunseok looked at the time—if he was late one more time, his boss would fire him. Wherever he worked, he would be replaceable. He didn’t care. Instead, he contemplated skipping work altogether and running after the boy, but he only knew what direction he started in. When Eunseok was to reach a crossroad, would he even know which way to turn in order to find him?
The following week, Eunseok took the same route to a different job, his previous manager keeping his word about firing him. The dried-up leaves crunched underneath his feet as the trees paled with the changing of seasons.
The high school was out of the way of his new job, but he knew he couldn’t go without seeing the boy who he had yet to see smile. However, when Eunseok arrived at the school during their regular meeting time, the boy was nowhere to be found. He spotted the coach, wearing pants, a hoodie, and a whistle in his mouth. All of the kids ran in unison when the high-toned ringing echoed back at them—all but one.
Eunseok was left behind, feeling a sense of emptiness he never felt before.
Eunseok found himself taking that way even on days the club didn’t meet, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy when the school let out. He wondered if the boy maybe got injured, forcing him to quit the team, or take a break. Perhaps he sprained his ankle, or pulled his hamstring—Eunseok found him wanting to take away his pain, even the phantom injuries he had thought up for him.
Kids flooded out of the school exits, their identical uniforms evoking a lost familiarity inside Eunseok. Had he stayed in school, would he adhere to the dress code, or deviate like some of the guys who unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of their shirts, and ditched their blazers? He wondered if he would see the boy in the hallways, if they would talk, or would Eunseok admire him from afar, unable to get close? However, his thoughts were pointless—he wasn’t in school, and he wouldn’t go back.
Eunseok waited until the very last body trotted out of the building. The boy didn’t walk out.
The sun continued to rise and set—the days long, the nights longer. Eunseok was up to his elbows in dirty dishes at his gig at a busy hole-in-the-wall restaurant. He hesitated whenever he served drinks to students, studying their faces, but never finding the answer he searched for.
Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months, the warming weather evidence of the Earth’s clock, but Eunseok refused to stop searching for the boy who strayed from the track team, running through his mind instead.
The weekends he didn’t work were the worst for Eunseok. He contemplated going to work anyway, but laziness was in his nature, so he lay on his bed until he became too aware of his breathing, too aware of his thoughts, and the pounding in his heart.
When he finally had enough of counting imaginary stars on his ceiling, he decided to chase imaginary trails instead. The sun beamed on Eunseok as his legs pulled the rest of his body into the living world, a stark contrast to the dead apartment he inhabited. Before he knew it, he was staring at the school building he seemed to visit just as regularly as the students enrolled in it. He planted himself down on a wooden bench nearby, his eyes fixed on the barren school building. He was unaware of how long he sat there, his mind wandering to a different dimension, but the position of the sweltering sun informed him that it was more than a few mere minutes.
His brain told him to stand up and go back home, that there was nothing there for him, but the added weight to the bench caused his body to tense. He didn’t have to turn his head, it was as if he had a sixth sense that identified nearby energies—he somehow knew exactly who occupied the space beside him. Before he could confirm the gut feeling and turn his head, there was a voice.
“I see you here often,” the voice belonged to a boy, foreign yet distantly familiar. “Who are you looking for?”
Eunseok finally turned his head and it was as if his legs could finally rest. The boy was even prettier up close—his eyes were big and brown, the golden sun making them appear like smooth milk chocolate. His top and bottom lip were evenly plump with a defined cupid’s bow—perfectly moist. A mole sat on his chin, a speck so immaculate Eunseok had the urge to run his thumb over it to confirm its authenticity.
Something inside of him clicked as he examined the boy and his unique features.
“You, I think,” the words came out without a second thought. Eunseok refused to blink, not wanting the boy to disappear from his sight again. “What’s your name?”
“Wonbin.”
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
The library was always slow during the afternoons. People had jobs and kids had classes. Those who did stop by were the elderly and university students with flexible schedules. There wasn’t much for Eunseok to do, so he picked up the book from the other day that caught his attention and read.
He flipped the pages, his eyes gliding over the words, lyrical and rhythmic. The story followed the main character—the young boy from the cover—as he set off on a quest in search of a key to a hidden city he became enthralled with. As a kid, his mother recounted the same story about the hidden city, where time ceased to exist, to him—a story with too much detail to be fake, told with too much emotion to be fiction. When she gave in to her illness, she left behind only two things: a map, and an empty case with a velvet outline of a key. He first needed to find the key in order to find the place on the mysterious map.
Eunseok read each page slowly, following the serious yet whimsical narrative. The story was set in the modern world, yet the boy searched for something beyond—something fantastical. Page after page, Eunseok’s clock moved steadily, but the world bound by paper was timeless. The boy faced adversities, aging not with years, but with experiences. He came across enemies, friends, and friends disguised as enemies. He learned to fight—learning what losing meant to him, and how in order to not lose, he had to win. He even discovered the young, budding flower that was love—he began to understand why people told stories.
By the end of the novel, the boy found the key. He didn’t need to travel seas or flip every rock on Earth or search every cave and crevice, the only place he needed to search was within. The key resided deep inside of his subconscious. His mother had hidden it there when he was born—in a place he was only able to access after he learned lessons about life, about love, about the world.
It was up to the boy to decide if he would use it—if he did, he would never be allowed to return to the real world, leaving behind the new life he had built in search of the key. If he decided to not use it, the key would disappear forever, and the hidden city would be lost forever.
The novel completely absorbed Eunseok, falling deep into its world. With only one page remaining, the only thing left was the boy’s decision.
Finally, the boy chose…
Eunseok blinked. He flipped to the next page, but there were no more words.
He closed the book, feeling empty in a sense, but that emptiness was quickly replaced with a new curiosity. He wondered what it would be like to live in a world where time was nonexistent—would he be forced to go alone, or could he bring the love of his life? Eunseok thought about how it felt like time stopped in his apartment with Wonbin, how unaware he was of the sun or moon placement when he was in his presence. If he were given the choice, would he leave behind everything for a timeless world?
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
The analog clock on the library wall was broken, the glass cracked and the arms unmoving. Wonbin rested his head on the dark oak table, his unblinking eyes on Eunseok who sat in the seat beside him. The other seat occupied the boy’s bookbag, but his homework remained untouched.
Eunseok ran the top of his finger over Wonbin’s open palm—the gesture small, yet intimate. He could feel the boy squirm as he traced the lines on his hand.
“Does it tickle?” Eunseok whispered though the tables surrounding them were vacant.
Wonbin hummed in agreement—his eyes followed the trace of Eunseok’s finger on his skin as if he left behind ink, marking him with nonsensical strokes.
“Do you want me to stop?”
Wonbin shook his head. “I like it.”
Eunseok blushed. Since the day on the bench, Wonbin was now the one who waited for him—his mutual interest surprised Eunseok.
Unsurprisingly, Eunseok got fired from his job again. He didn’t look for another one.
They went their separate ways after the library. Eunseok felt the remnants of the warm flush for the rest of the night.
Eunseok headed to the high school at his regular time, the pounding in his eardrums suppressing the sounds of his footsteps. He didn’t care if it was for a fleeting second as the boy ran off, he longed to see Wonbin again. He quickened his steps until the school came into view, spotting a familiar figure.
“What are you doing?”
Wonbin looked up at him from his squat. He rose to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Waiting for you.”
“Don’t you have to meet with the track club?”
“Not today.” Wonbin dusted off his uniform pants. “I’m tired.”
They walked to the nearby park, venturing deep into the woods, and stumbling upon a patch of inviting tall grass. They retired their bodies onto the green, surrounded by trees that looked infinite. Wonbin reached out his arms, trying to touch the sky while Eunseok watched him, feeling higher than any cloud that passed over them.
They walked along the tranquil creek, pretending not to notice when their fingers brushed against one another. Eunseok held Wonbin’s school bag, quickly realizing he meant it when he said he was tired, fatigue present on his face.
“Let’s watch the sunset from there,” Wonbin said, pointing to a field of flowers.
It was as if they walked through different biomes, each scenery providing a sense of healing. The setting sun mirrored the colorful flowers that surrounded them, their bodies lying close without touching.
Eunseok turned his head to see Wonbin already staring at him. He no longer needed to squint to get a closer look at the boy—the boy who was once nameless to him, the boy he watched for weeks, the boy he searched for months like hidden treasure. Eunseok could study him without reservation—his smooth skin, not a single imperfection despite being at the age when blemishes invaded them in the most inconvenient places. Not Wonbin, however—he was perfect.
Wonbin rolled onto his stomach, their eye contact unyielding. Eunseok reached for his face, stroking his soft cheek with his thumb. He wanted to know more about the boy—wishing to feel the softness of his skin all over. He wanted to dive into his eyes to measure how deep they truly were. His gaze dropped to his full lips, his mouth formed a straight line. Eunseok had yet to see the boy with a smile on his face.
Wonbin stared at him intensely—his eyes scanning Eunseok’s face, ready to swallow him whole.
“What are you thinking?” Eunseok asked, searching for the answer in his unreadable expression.
Wonbin didn’t respond. Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips onto Eunseok’s unsuspecting mouth. When he pulled away, the right corner of Wonbin’s mouth lifted.
Eunseok replayed the kiss in his head as he lay in bed. He touched his aching lips and cursed at the premature moon, wishing to stretch out the sun so days with Wonbin never ended.
He followed Wonbin everywhere the boy led him to—the nearby park, the trout-filled river, the restless ocean. Some days they lingered nearby, but other days they’d spend the whole day seeing how far their legs could take them, and testing the bus schedule to return them home in time before the moon showed its craters.
Up until then, Eunseok lived his life running away—from his parents and from school. Wonbin was the one person he found himself running towards. Eunseok trailed behind him like the track star he was, but Wonbin turned around, reaching his hand out so they could run beside each other.
“I’m hungry,” Wonbin said as soon as he approached Eunseok, finishing his meet with the track club.
“Do you want to grab something to eat? Or,” Eunseok bit on his lip, a strong urge to take care of the boy washed over him, “I can cook.”
It was the first time he invited Wonbin over, feeling awkward that he was seeing the empty apartment he lived in. Eunseok stopped aging in his family photos, making it obvious when his parents prioritized their job over him. Eunseok had never visited Wonbin’s house, either. He wondered if he lived in a more complete family—parents who loved him, siblings to bicker with, pets to adore. In an alternate life, Eunseok fantasized that he had all of those things, but if it came at the cost of not meeting Wonbin, maybe he didn’t want that life after all.
Wonbin borrowed Eunseok’s shower, washing off the sweat from the exercise. Meanwhile, Eunseok wiped the sweat off of his forehead with his forearm, his sleeves pushed up his arms. He shook the pan containing the pre-made noodles in a thick, creamy sauce. He started to cook when he got tired of eating out, surprising himself with how fun he found it, and with how much better the food tasted.
Wonbin joined him in the kitchen with a towel draped over his shoulders, catching the water dripping from the ends of his hair. He wore Eunseok’s plain white t-shirt and loose track pants, a sliver of his hip showing as he stretched his arms over his head.
“Wait at the table,” Eunseok mumbled, the heat returning to his face and nape.
He served the pasta, giving Wonbin the plate with a little extra. A glint shimmered in the boy’s eyes at the sight of the homemade meal. He thanked Eunseok and dug in, sucking in a mouthful of pasta, the creamy sauce painting the corners of his mouth.
Eunseok reached over, wiping the sauce from his face. He licked the residue off of his thumb—delicious.
Wonbin stared at him with wide eyes. Their innocent hunger metamorphosed into burning desire.
It was unknown who moved first, but Eunseok did know he enjoyed his cooking more as he tasted it from the inside of Wonbin’s mouth. Their cutlery clashed with the plates as they dropped what they were doing, pulling their bodies closer. They hadn’t kissed since that time in the flower field all of those weeks ago, planting a seed inside of Eunseok that rejected growth. As he pulled Wonbin onto his lap, he felt a garden bloom within him all at once.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
Eunseok walked home from the library. His mind was floating, still in between worlds of reality and fictitious. The key he turned in the keyhole led to the small studio he called home for the past five years, but it was as if he entered the lost city from the novel—his very own universe stuck in time.
He picked up Echo’s food bowl from that morning and replaced it with a fresh bowl. Like a ghost, Echo was at Eunseok’s leg, clawing at him while he served him his dinner. Eunseok set the bowl down and stroked his soft fur while he inhaled his food.
Eunseok stood up to see Wonbin on the half-made bed, his hair blanketing his face. He joined him on the bed, a hesitant hand reaching out to push his hair back, but stopping right before making contact. Wonbin stirred awake, his mouth pulling into a grin as their eyes met.
The flowers that lived dormant inside of him began to blossom again, roses clogging his trachea. Eunseok read enough words, swallowing them and keeping them locked away. He didn’t speak, only closing the gap between them, Wonbin’s mouth tasting like a dream.
The apartment became a dwelling for pleasure—rushed movements, slick skin, heavy breathing.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
They made love until they got it right—until Wonbin stopped wincing; until Eunseok found the right spots; until their bodies were completely exhausted. They lay next to each other, naked and entwined. Their pasta dinner remained unfinished on the dinner table while they explored each other in different parts of the home.
The setting sun illuminated Wonbin’s resting face through the window, he looked golden. Although their bodies were spent, the boy hadn’t looked as worn out as he usually did. Eunseok kissed his forehead, preferring the salty taste to his own cooking.
Wonbin returned the gesture, kissing Eunseok’s bare shoulder before rising to his feet, changing into his school uniform he kept in his duffel bag.
“You’re leaving?”
The boy buttoned up the white shirt before pulling up his grey slacks. “I have to get home before my mom does. She’ll worry.”
Eunseok watched his calculated movements as he looped his tie into a perfect knot. It was his first time mentioning anything about his parents or home life. The physical connection from just moments ago was nothing compared to the distance he still felt from the boy.
Wonbin kissed him on the mouth one more time. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Eunseok nodded his head and watched him go. He didn’t think it was possible for the apartment to feel emptier than it already felt, but it did.
Wonbin didn’t show up the next day, or the day after that, or even the week after that. Eunseok waited outside of the school for longer than he should’ve, the moon taunting him in all of its phases.
Eunseok didn’t go straight home, he saw the boy in all the places from that night—at the dining table, in the shower, in his bed—like a mirage he couldn’t unsee. Without a clue where Wonbin lived or where he was when he wasn’t with Eunseok, he let his legs carry his body like dead weight until he stumbled upon a bulletin board. There were flyers layered on top of one another advertising jobs with phone numbers to tear off. Eunseok ripped off a number from an advertisement looking for a waiter.
As he stared at the other job listings, he heard a faint meowing sound. He followed the sound to the bottom of his feet, a black cat looking up at him with eyes too big for its face. Eunseok knelt down and stuck out his hand, but the cat ran off, leaving him alone once more.
Everything really did remind him of the boy.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
Eunseok stopped inside a coffee shop before his shift at the library. He ordered something to wake him up—sleep a distant lover.
He sat at a table alone, watching the workers maneuver around each other in the tight space behind the counter. From behind, the girl with her short hair pulled into a low ponytail reminded him of Wonbin. She poured milk from a carton with one hand while reaching for another cup with the other. Every turn of her head shattered the illusion, her features resembling nothing of him.
It was another quiet day at the library. The head librarian locked herself in her office, leaving Eunseok to manage the front. He worked on scanning the books from the book drop, the task repetitive and mind-numbing.
The taste of caffeine lingered on his tongue, but his eyelashes carried invisible weights. He flipped open a book, the page slicing his finger. He watched the crimson blood flood out of the small slit, he heard the clock across the room tick with every second, he felt his heartbeat inside of his chest—reminders that he existed, that he was existing at that moment.
To exist was to leave work only to find it raining outside—Eunseok didn’t bring an umbrella. To exist was to allow the rain to shower him, feeling every droplet hit his head and roll down his face, evidence of his being. To exist was to walk home, weaving through people walking too slow, bumping shoulders with those who were in the way—in the way between him and the one person he longed to see, always longing to see.
He didn’t need a key, turning the knob to the door that always opened for him.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
Eunseok flopped onto the couch, his legs sore from running around waiting tables for the entire night. The gloomy weather didn’t stop people from company dinners, asking for too many pounds of meat, drinking too much alcohol, and depleting Eunseok’s social battery.
There was a sudden knock at the door causing Eunseok to sit up. If it weren’t for the next round of knocks, he would’ve thought it was the sound of the rain pelting the window.
He completely dismissed the fact that it was the middle of the night, flinging the door open without hesitation.
On the other side, the boy stood in drenched clothes, looking like a cat caught in the rain. One corner of his mouth began to lift, but not before Eunseok pulled him into his embrace, undoing what the umbrella protected him from earlier.
There wasn’t time for words—their lips found each other, creating their own monsoon inside their mouths. Their wet bodies collided, first clothed, then bare, until their inexperienced storm became a tsunami of pleasure.
“Let’s go away.”
Eunseok thought that sounded nice. He twirled the boy’s hair, still damp from the rain and their lovemaking. They could go to the beach for a weekend and come back in time for Wonbin to go back to school. With the extra hours he picked up and the untouched funds his parents deposited into his account regularly, they could do it.
“Where should we go?” Eunseok asked. “We can go this weekend.”
“No,” Wonbin’s response was quick and short, catching Eunseok off guard. The boy sat up, his bare lower half hidden underneath the covers. “Let’s go tonight. We can take the first flight out, we can go anywhere—America, Europe, anywhere.”
Eunseok also sat up, shocked by the proposal. For as long as he’d known Wonbin, he’d been painfully structured. He was always at his track meets on time and left Eunseok’s side at the same minute every time they were together. His sudden spontaneousness was out of left field, his proposal irrational, almost impossible.
“What about school?” The irony stung on his tongue—having dropped out himself, who was he to ask about the subject from others? “We can’t just drop everything and leave.”
“Why not?”
Eunseok didn’t have an answer to that. What would he be leaving behind anyway? An empty apartment and a month-old job that would have him replaced in the blink of an eye.
“I want to travel, I want to see all four seasons,” the boy continued. “I want to stop living inside of a stopwatch—counting minutes, dodging seconds, running in double time. I want to be free, even if it kills me.”
Eunseok could see him shaking, unaware if it was due to the chill from the temperature dropping outside, or out of fear.
“Does this have anything to do with you disappearing for weeks?” He remembered it happening before as well, never asking about it until now. “Where did you go?”
Wonbin’s silence turned to static. He stared at nothing, feeling oceans away despite sitting right beside Eunseok. He hated that feeling—he wanted to swim into his abyss, drown in his mystery.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
Eunseok carried his life in his backpack, surrounded by buildings that touched the sky, hand-in-hand with the boy he fell in love with on his way to work one random day.
An infinite amount of people walk by them, many going around, some shoulder-checking him as if he were invisible. He grabbed Wonbin by the wrist, pulling him into the nearest corner store. They didn’t have a place to stay or a plan, only each other and the money Eunseok drained from his account.
“Let’s get some water.” Eunseok walked the tight aisles, lined with too much product. “We need to find a hotel first, though I don’t know if we can.” He mumbled the last part under his breath, remembering they were only kids trying to do adult things.
“Is it your first time here?” The sound of their mother tongue, albeit accented, startled them. An old woman smiled at them. “Visiting?”
“No,” Wonbin said, hesitating.
“We just moved here,” Eunseok continued in his place. “But we don’t have a place to stay.”
“Moved?” Her smile fell, but her wrinkles remained. “But you look like you’re still in high school. Where are your parents?”
“We just graduated, actually,” Eunseok said, his lies rolling off his tongue naturally. “We don’t have parents, it’s just us.”
“Honey,” another voice came from the front of the store, belonging to an old white man who entered with a straw broom in his hand. “Upstairs is completely clean now. I can make a listing online, I’ll have to go to the library to use the computer.”
“No need,” the old woman said, the smile reappearing on her face. Her accent sounded different in the new language, but it was obvious it wasn’t hers. “These boys just got here and they don’t have a place to stay. Let’s lend it to them until they can get on their feet, okay?”
The older man looked unconvinced, worried even. “How do you know them?”
“I don’t.” The old woman was charming.
Even with the language barriers between them, Eunseok could tell her husband had trouble saying no to her.
“We have money,” Wonbin said to the woman, understanding their conversation, but not enough to respond in anything but his language. “We can pay for the room.”
She nodded at the boys as if telling them that she’d take care of them. In less than five minutes, they were thanking the old couple, growing new tongues so they could understand them better.
“Honey, I didn’t even know you spoke Korean,” the old man said, scratching his thinning white hair.
“I had a Korean boyfriend once.” The old woman only chuckled, shooting the two boys a wink.
She handed them the key to the floor above the store, encouraging them to go in Japanese—a phrase Eunseok recognized from the Japanese cartoons he watched. It was the first time her words rolled off her tongue without a tinge of awkwardness.
The boys entered the small room, but Wonbin wasn’t dejected by the size of it. He set down his bag and turned to Eunseok.
“This will be our starting point.” A crooked smile couldn’t mask his dark circles. “Let’s see the world and every unique season.”
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
Wonbin had been frail all of his life—going in and out of hospitals frequently. Some visits would be quick, but others lasted days, weeks if he was bad, months if things were worse than bad. The boy hated feeling weak, so he ran. The track club was looking for members, and Wonbin signed up. If the doctors couldn’t fix him, he’d do it himself, working on his stamina first, and then building his body into one no one would call weak. So he ran, he ran until his lungs stung, giving them a reason to burn aside from just being born with them.
He hated the hospital. Wonbin would do everything he could do to avoid the fluorescent lights, the smell of illness, and the fake smiles. But perhaps, what he really wished was to avoid bad news.
Then Eunseok came along—a stranger who looked around his age. At first, Wonbin thought he was another student interested in joining the track team, but his visits seemed too personal, his staring too targeted. It wasn’t until the third or fourth time Eunseok came by that Wonbin realized it was him he kept watching. He stretched a little bit slower, allowing the stranger to drink him in from afar. When the team finished their route, Wonbin looked upon the hill where the stranger watched from, but he was always gone by then.
When the weather got colder, Wonbin got worse, his lungs reminding him he was still weak. He had to go away for a while and wondered why leaving felt as if he was abandoning the stranger. Would the stranger forget about him once he’d missed too many days of his track meets?
Maybe that’s why when he saw him sitting on the bench, Wonbin mustered up the courage to sit down and talk to him. It was at that moment Wonbin realized he was in love with the stranger.
He knew that Eunseok would be his first and last love, but even loving him at all was enough.
☆.｡.:* .｡.:*☆
The trees began to lose their once green leaves—the fiery shades juxtaposing the cool weather.
“So I guess this is goodbye,” the head librarian smiled solemnly. “You worked here for so many years now, It’ll be strange not having you around anymore.”
Eunseok could only offer a weak smile in return.
“So, where are you headed?” She asked, delaying his final day at the library.
Eunseok asked himself the same question when he told the old man who ran the bodega of his leaving. He thanked him for allowing him to stay in the room above the store for more years than he anticipated, but that it was time he moved on. The old man only nodded, his smile heavy on his face.
“You’ve given me the courage,” he said, holding tightly onto the pole of the broom, “to move on, too.”
“Away,” Eunseok finally replied. He paused, a bittersweet sensation washing over him. “To all the four seasons.”
Eunseok arrived at the storefront of the bodega, now stripped of any marketing and life. He entered the shop where the old man was sweeping the very last bit of dust into the corner.
“Where will you go?” Eunseok asked as he looked around the empty space, standing in the same spot he stood five years ago—too young and carefree.
“Japan,” his voice shook with age. “I don’t know how much longer I have, but I don’t want my wife’s recipes to die with us, so I’m going to write a book.”
“Can’t you write it here?”
The old man shook his head. “I’ll feel closer to her if I go over there. She always wanted to go back and visit, but never got the chance.” His eyes were downturned, but he didn’t seem sad. “I want to go there for her.”
“Thank you,” Eunseok blurted out. “For everything. I know Wonbin also appreciated–”
The old man raised his hand, wrinkled and liver-spotted. “I know,” he said as if telling Eunseok not to push himself. “Take care of yourself, my son.”
He wondered how he looked to the old man. As someone as steady as a rock, how did sadness look on him? Moreso, how did grief look on him? One thing he did know was that for once in his life, he felt like somebody’s son. He would never forget that old man.
Eunseok climbed the stairs to the studio one final time. He opened the door, met with emptiness. A small gust of wind redirected his attention and in the blink of an eye, Wonbin stood in front of him once more.
Eunseok’s throat threatened to tighten as they stood in the closet-sized studio where they began and ended their life in.
Wonbin once apologized to Eunseok for being selfish and loving him, and that hurt him more than the day he lost him. If he could go back and do it all over again knowing their fate, he would. In fact, he would muster up the courage to talk to him earlier. All he wanted was more time.
“I’m sorry,” Eunseok couldn’t fix the crack in his voice as he stared at the disembodiment of his whole world.
Wonbin wasn’t the only selfish one.
Wonbin shook his head, placing his palm on Eunseok’s cheek. He felt nothing but swore his face warmed.
Eunseok never lost anyone he cared about in his entire life until Wonbin. He never even wondered if his parents tried to search for him after he left, never feeling like he lost anything by severing their relationship, or lack of relationship. He didn’t know how to handle grief, he didn’t know how to cope. Crying didn’t feel like enough—how could he empty his eyes when there was nothing inside of him?
Instead, his brain aggregated Wonbin’s soul, keeping him beside him even if he weren’t physically there. He bound him to their repetitive routine, unable to leave the confines of their studio. Eunseok wasn’t happy—seeing him only became more painful, but he didn’t know how to let him go.
He found himself searching for Wonbin in the world outside of their haunted studio, begging the universe to show signs of his existence. He visited cafes and drank coffees he didn’t like as a way to ingest even the smallest details of Wonbin’s past life, he walked by schools wondering if he would be there, hair tied into a ponytail, ready to run, but all he found was a black cat and a headstone.
They were never meant to stay in the studio for long, wishing to travel the world together, but as soon as the cold came around, Wonbin would fall ill again. Each year was the same, his body unable to withstand the dips in temperature. Eunseok worked double in order to help him, but in their last year together his condition worsened.
Eunseok wished to open himself up and give Wonbin his lungs, but the stars he wished upon had a bad habit of dying before they reached the ground.
He experienced secondhand grief when the old man’s wife passed away a couple of years earlier, but nothing compared to the real thing. Eunseok had to learn how to carry the moon so its weight didn’t crush him.
He reached into his pocket, wrapping his hand around a palm-sized box with rounded edges. He pulled it out, his body trembling.
Wonbin covered his translucent hand over the box.
Eunseok stared at him with stinging eyes.
“This isn’t goodbye,” Wonbin said. “Find me in all four seasons.”
Eunseok nodded, refusing to blink in his final moments with him.
Wonbin released him, a smile blooming on his face—genuine and warm. Eunseok’s teenage heart healed at the sight, feeling complete and fragmented at the same time.
Before turning around, he caught a glimmer of something shiny, his eyes darting to Wonbin’s fading hands. A silver band hugged the finger on his left hand, a perfect fit. Eunseok opened the jewelry box in his hand, and one of the two rings disappeared from its spot. He grabbed the remaining ring and slid it onto his finger. He admired the band but didn’t allow himself to wonder what could have been.
He closed the door behind him and picked up the carrier that held Echo inside, the cat that showed up during his darkest moment. He resembled Wonbin in appearance and behavior, Eunseok took him in, wishing they could’ve met.
“Ready, Echo?” Eunseok sighed, exhaling the weight of grief from his chest. “We’re leaving our starting point.”