Archive of Our Own

University begins as a blur of grey and brown bricks contrasted against a vibrant azure blue sky. 

Gyuvin’s belongings come with him on the car ride, condensed in a single trolley. His parents fuss over him endlessly—it opens them to Gyuvin’s relentless teasing that he’s just going to university, not to war. Though his parents don’t take kindly to the joke, they're still willing to take that three hour long drive to and back just to send him off, because they, as they put it, ‘love Gyuvin too much to let him make the journey alone’. A part of him is thankful for that, for it’s his first time parting with his family—bright-eyed, determined, and so eager to begin a new life because everyone always talks about how becoming a university student is the highlight of their life. Gyuvin is easily gullible, so he believes those people. The gum he chews in his mouth is rendered flavourless over the duration of the trip. He looks out of the window from the back of the car, humming a low tune as his fingers drum against the weathered leather notebook he balances on his lap. The sights outside are familiar yet not at all at the very same time, considering he only saw them once when he was there on campus tour. Frankly, despite his surprising quietness, Gyuvin is excited. He’s sure it shows in the way his leg just won’t calm down as it bounces, much to his younger sister’s chagrin. Gyuvin understands why she’s upset, because the answer stares him right in the face: she’s dragged along the journey against her own wishes by their parents. Gyuvin doesn’t accommodate her teenage angst, though. Not when today is all about him.

The car they’re in slows to a stop within a parking lot—it’s not that populated yet, probably due to the fact that they’ve arrived much earlier than they’ve been advised to. This is attributed entirely to Gyuvin’s own excitement, as he exits the car and bounds along the path that guides them towards the main university campus. He doesn’t think that he’s seen anything quite like the university. Although he’s been here before during the open viewing of the campus, he hasn’t exactly explored it in full. Gyuvin finds even the stone path he’s on charming despite the way it makes his wrist ache from the way he has to lug his trolley behind him along the uneven walkway, each jut and depression of the stones of varying shades of grey and subtle muted browns that make up the path ensuring that his belongings—and his hand—suffer a tad. 

What he enjoys, however, is that the university is overwhelmingly huge. There is greenery all around, buildings far taller than he’s used to seeing densely populated around his hometown. The buildings are a little more saturated than the paths with the speckles of red brick joining the fray, though the muted brown tiled roofs ensure that the buildings do not become too overwhelming on the eyes. Gyuvin appreciates the architecture, but enjoys the nature surrounding it more. It brings home even when it’s a three hour drive away. He sees the expansive patches of vibrant green fields, with trees surrounding the perimeter, and decides that he’ll always come out to find an empty-enough space to lay on as he works on his assignments and his own writings. 

He continues daydreaming and appreciating the campus, glad that he’s now part of the student body, as he trails behind his parents and his sister, jointly poring over a map that’ll bring them to the dormitory buildings. Gyuvin thinks he should be the one looking out for it, but he doesn’t let the last time they’ll be able to fuss over him go to waste. He’s sure it’s going to be a while until the next time, after all. Especially when his goals are as lofty as the wisps of white clouds in the charmingly blue skies up above.

Gyuvin doesn’t know when, or exactly how, they arrive at the dormitory building. All he knows is that they’re there when his parents finally lift their heads from the map, turning to look at Gyuvin with longing spilling from the deep orbs of their eyes, like they are aware that it’ll be a long time until they meet again. Gyuvin… he ignores that all. 

In the past, Gyuvin has made clear of his intentions to not return until his graduation in a bid to better his craft and be exposed to the world on a larger scale. Although it’s been met with much rejection and refusal on his parents’ end, they’ve relented because nothing they could have said—or done—would be able to change Gyuvin’s mind. It’s a pity that he has to leave them for this long, but Gyuvin has dreams he cannot pursue back in their smaller town. Not the way he can do in the big city, where there are more humans than there are trees—the exact opposite of what he’s used to.

“And you’ll call often, my dear son?” Gyuvin hears his mother ask, lower lip trembling with emotion he can’t quite bring himself to address. Gyuvin, on the other hand, doesn’t hesitate to smile in a bid to tamp her unease down, leaning down for a hug that presses down firmly around his dear mother’s body as his father stands to the side, attempting to sniffle as quietly as possible as if the whole family isn’t aware of their dear father’s inclination towards deep sentimentality. Gyuvin knows his father is trying to put on a strong front—he’s clearly just as emotional as his mother who’s all wobbly voice and teary-eyed—so he ends up dragging his father into the hug, too. Gyuvin’s sister is not spared, and even though she groans in true teenage fashion, Gyuvin only laughs because he can feel the way her arms tighten around him either way. So much for teenage angst. 

“I’ll call, of course. Write letters too, just in case my voice is not enough,” Gyuvin promises. It induces tearful laughter from his mother as the party of four part from the hug. Gyuvin casts a glance towards the dormitory building, and then back at his family. Parting is always this awkward in-between, Gyuvin believes. He sticks to his parents like the gum he chews because it’s all he’s known for all of his life—the tendrils of the gum still linger even as they part, and perhaps Gyuvin will never get a clean part, nor will he want to. For now, though, it is a temporary departure for Gyuvin to continue spreading his wings. He wishes to make a mark in the world, and if going to university will help him, then he is determined to see this journey to the very end.

Gyuvin bids his family farewell and readjusts the strap on his backpack. 

“I’ll see you all again when I’ve made a mark in the world,” he declares, maybe a little too dramatically, and lugs his belongings—and his dreams—along with him into the building and towards his room.

The corridors are made in a similar fashion as the exterior. The same grey and brown bricks make the foundation of the pillars placed equidistant from the previous one, the architecture forming arches every few pillars that Gyuvin walks down silently of. He grips tightly onto the piece of paper he’s scribbled a series of numbers on. The graphite is used to write out his room’s number in the middle, crumpled at the edges when Gyuvin finds that having a better grip on his trolley to lug it down the hallways is much more important than keeping that slip of paper pristine. He also remembers the number by now—a key identifier that finds itself etched on the key that unlocked the door to his dorm room. The inner workings of Gyuvin’s head tends to be quite foggy, but he at least remembers that he is expecting a roommate. He also remembers how his father mentioned how having one will improve his character, no matter if the other party was bad or good. His father had hit the jackpot in roommate luck—Gyuvin knows this too well, because his best friend and roommate from his dad’s shining days of youth and carelessness swings by to visit every Sunday afternoon after church. Gyuvin remembers being younger and insisting to sit in his favourite uncle’s car back home, too. Having a roommate will be nice. Maybe he’ll end up finding someone the way his father did and end up with a friend that lasts a lifetime, and then some.

It’s no wonder, then, that Gyuvin continues the path towards his room with bated breath. He’s excited at the prospect of meeting someone new, a person he can call a friend, he hopes, and this excitement of his only ticks upwards with each door he passes, bringing him closer and closer. 0518… 0519…

0520.

Gyuvin’s footsteps scratch to a stop, the rubber soles of his shoes scraping briefly against the carpeted floor. A twist of his body later, he finds himself staring right at the door to his room, his shared room, with the numbers etched into the metal plaque hung just subtly below eye level on the varnished wooden door. Gyuvin’s eyes squint, briefly, to look at the number as if to confirm once again—0520. His head tips downwards the same time his hand releases its grip on the trolley to bring the crumpled piece of paper up, just to place the off-white piece of parchment next to the plaque. 0520.

With a satisfied nod of his head upon his confirmation, Gyuvin reaches for the door handle, pressing down onto it, only to be met with resistance. His lips part in a soft gasp as he glances down—before he realises his mistake. Right, he has to put the key in and unlock the thing first. In his excitement, all logic had seemed to have been lost. Gyuvin’s cheeks burn in embarrassment even if he’s the only presence he knows of along the halls, as far as his eyes can see, and he tries again. The key slides in smoothly, unlocking the door with a twist, and Gyuvin pushes in. At the very least, he will be alone considering how he’s been so awfully early for move-in day, and his roommate will not be privy to his failed attempt at unlocking—

“The door.”

“... uh, yes? What about the door?”

Gyuvin searches for the source of the voice, even though he does answer rather instinctively.

Immediately, Gyuvin’s met with a sight that he doesn’t quite expect. He knows that he’s sharing the room with someone else, yes, but he doesn’t expect for them to already be this lived-in. His new roommate looks comfortable, if anything, and at home on his side of the dorm. He’s settled on his chair, back facing Gyuvin, and already seems occupied with something. The room, too—it’s almost perfectly split in half, and Gyuvin knows exactly which side of the dorm he’s getting even though he didn’t exactly have a say in all of this. Gyuvin doesn’t mind, though he does continue studying the decorated side of the room. There are posters that seem aged, as if they’ve only been transferred from one place to another and bring the memories of the past with them. He doesn’t exactly know who, or what, are illustrated on the posters beyond the few black cats he sees and illustrations of celestial bodies. Gyuvin feels as if he can identify a few constellations on one particular poster, almost ink-black if not for the white negative space painting a rather mesmerising picture of an astronomical map. The bed is half-made—that is, a part of the blanket is folded and stuffed under the mattress, with the other half just somewhat haphazardly resting on the bed. It's mostly neutral, leaning towards a darker aesthetic, and Gyuvin can already imagine just how different their sides of the room will look when he’s done setting his side of the room up.

“It’s a little noisy.” 

Gyuvin snaps back into attention then. No more looking around his roommate’s choice of decor, he supposes.

It comes belatedly to Gyuvin, but he realises what the stranger is trying to tell him at that point. His struggle with the door must have been loud enough to alert the person living within. It’s enough to bother him, too, for their first words exchanged with one another to be about how noisily Gyuvin pushes in and enters the room. The stranger—his new roommate—is dressed differently from Gyuvin, for starters. Gyuvin is dressed in a neat suit, creases pressed out lovingly by his mother and perhaps the last time he’ll look fully presentable until he returns home. On the contrary, his roommate is dressed more comfortably, even though it feels as if his clothes were doused in a vat of black ink. It still looks soft, despite the obsidian quality of it all. Thin sweater and comfortable slacks, perfect for spring, now that Gyuvin thinks about it. The only sources of colour he sees from his roommate stems from his pale skin, slivers of skin peeking through the fluffy sweater he wore. His hair seems dark, too dark to be natural, but Gyuvin can’t be too sure. All in all, he just looks… different. But Gyuvin doesn’t see his face, not when his roommate is still so focused and hunched over his own desk. Gyuvin wonders if he’ll even look up.

“Oh,” Gyuvin breathes out, belatedly. “Sorry for that, umm…?”

It’s then that he realises he doesn’t quite have a name to address his roommate at all.

“Quanrui,” his roommate supplies, though it seems he halts for a moment, before, “Or, Ricky. You can call me that too. It might be easier for you.”

Quanrui. Even his brain doesn’t wrap around that singular foreign word easily, but the other name does. “Ricky. I’ll remember that. You’re right, it’s easier.” Gyuvin is about to introduce himself, because it feels like the only polite thing to do. His lips part and he’s about to speak when—

“I’m sorry, but I need to focus on this right now.”

Gyuvin’s mouth clamps back shut. 

“Right. Sorry. I’ll just unpack, and try not to bother you too much. Let me know if it gets too noisy?”

“Mm. Thank you.”

A part of him does feel bad. Although this room is his as much as it is Ricky’s, with how well moved-in his roommate is as compared to him, he feels more of an outsider than anything else at this moment. With hopes of that changing, Gyuvin resolves to just unpacking his belongings and populating his half of the room as quietly as he can, though he’s convinced that it will still seem plain compared to his roommate. The difference between the both of them is still… startling, but he tries not to let it get to him. So far, Ricky is still polite even though he’s soft-spoken and direct. Gyuvin can appreciate that, though a little part of him still aches to have a proper conversation with his roommate. Especially when the sweet timbre of Ricky’s voice is admittedly captivating. It makes Gyuvin wonder if he has a fair share of suitors by now. It doesn’t seem too ridiculous a thought to consider, if Gyuvin’s being frank. But he doesn’t know Ricky enough to know, and they can’t talk to one another right now since Ricky needs to focus…

Gyuvin has to unpack, like he’s declared he would. The trolley feels heavier now, even though it’s been unchanged ever since he’s packed it, when he doesn’t get to share with his family the weight of change that settles down more prominently on his shoulders. But Gyuvin works on slowly clearing away that weight. He starts small, with the clothes in the closet, and then his sheets from back home. The bed here is smaller than what he is used to, so Gyuvin has to fold the sheets in, tuck them underneath the mattress, and pray that it doesn’t come loose as he inevitably tosses and turns in his sleeplessness when all he can think of are the worlds he wants to write about instead of sleep. Gyuvin tries to stay as quiet as he can manage as he sets his heavy books down on the surface of his table, and only gives up when the stack grows so high he realises he can’t quite see Ricky, hunched over his own table, like this. In a bid to not give off a wrong impression to his roommate, Gyuvin resolves to set a few books on the ground instead. There’s still so much to go—he has his empty stacks of papers, ink that he’s amassed throughout the years that he writes with, and a box filled with writing materials—all nestled in the trolley, so he ends up with a few more stacks of books and belongings populating his space anywhere they can be: on the floor, squeezed into the closet, placed beside his bed, while loose pieces of papers are stuck onto walls. It takes a while, but he eventually gets done.

Gyuvin takes a few steps back and admires his little space. It feels like he brings a bit of his home with him, which comforts him as much as it causes a soft pang in his heart. All of a sudden, he misses his family, despite his determination from earlier on in the day. Perhaps it’s getting too late into the evening—the waves of sentimentality are bound to rush at him and threaten to pull him under. He shakes his head in hopes of getting rid of the thoughts entirely. It works minimally, but what is more effective is the way his stomach rumbles, stirring in the depths of his body. Hunger, he registers, hand gently placed on his stomach. It’s hunger that he should answer—Gyuvin thinks it is an appropriate opportunity to get to know his roommate better, and quickly resolves to try to invite him to the cafeteria too. After all, everyone needs to eat, right? Gyuvin turns, about to open his mouth and talk and hopefully manage to ask Ricky to join him for dinner, but just like how it was earlier on, Gyuvin’s mouth clamps shut again.

There, hunching over the table, is his new roommate. Is he okay? Gyuvin can’t help but wonder as he steps closer, lips parting subtly. Thankfully, he notes the rise and fall of his back as he breathes deeply in slumber and Gyuvin relaxes, relieved that Ricky is fine—just asleep. Even though it does seem mildly uncomfortable, Gyuvin doesn’t disturb him. With the conclusion that he’ll have to eat dinner alone, all he does next is gently breach the invisible middle line between their shared room to grab the soft blanket crumpled on Ricky’s bed and gently rests it over his roommate’s shoulders, being careful not to wake him up.

Another time, he resolves. He’ll talk to Ricky another time.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Ricky, to Gyuvin, is interesting.

For starters, he doesn’t sleep a lot. When Gyuvin turns in for the night, Ricky is still hunched over his table, poring over his assignments and seemingly drowning in them. When he wakes up in the middle of the night to get water to soothe his parched throat, Ricky is also awake, though less so, already halfway to dreamland even though he’s nowhere near his bed. Sometimes, Gyuvin asks him why he doesn’t want to just sleep in his bed, and his voice will startle Ricky a little. His apologies are waved off easily, but they don’t go beyond that. When Ricky is asleep at his desk once again and Gyuvin somehow bears witness to it, he repeats the same routine of placing a blanket over Ricky’s shoulders to keep him warm. Ricky thanks him each time when they’re both awake and about to head to classes, and Gyuvin will notice the flush that steadily works on the tips of Ricky’s ears and down his neck, painting his pale skin in a gentle, warm flush. If it’s embarrassment that causes his skin to flush that pretty shade of dusty pink, then embarrassment looks charming on Ricky. 

Gyuvin finds out a few more things about Ricky too. He’s studying fine arts, which explains the large sheets of paper he works with, fingers almost always tinged soot black with his drawing charcoal, or arms stained with paint that breathes more colour onto Ricky’s mostly monochromatic look. Although he is a man, and he is just looking at his roommate, Gyuvin realises that there is a lot to Ricky that is incredibly endearing. He is made of many contradictions, from his icy cold looks against his warmer personality, all the way to how every single item of clothing he owns is black compared to the colours he breathes into his canvases. Gyuvin can’t lie—he wants to get closer to Ricky. To know more about his roommate, for he’s the person he’ll spend a lot of time with. It’s a gnawing need and a constant hunger that he wants to—has to—feed.

Gyuvin is usually left starving. It’s a hunger that cannot be remedied even with the amount of food he shovels into his mouth before, in-between, and after classes—it is a bottomless pit that can only be just subtly satiated with every little tidbit he finds out about his roommate. They talk whenever Ricky has time in the pockets in-between his previous assignment and the next. Gyuvin sometimes reads out his manuscripts, essays that he pens down with gusto, and asks for a peer review even if Ricky tends to look at him like he’s grown another head.

“I’m an arts student, Qubing. You can’t have me commenting on literature.”

They fall into the rhythm of one another easily. It doesn’t happen overnight, but Gyuvin can at least confidently say they’re friends now, despite their little differences. It’s highlighted sometimes by the way they spend a certain day of the week.

And on this particular day, Gyuvin’s hunger is satiated.

Sleep still clings stubbornly onto his eyelids, half-shut, when he returns to the dorm. It’s too early to be alive, but he has a commitment and a promise that he makes to his parents that he will continue to remain faithful to his religion. It’s thankfully easy to be closer to God when their university has a church that he can visit for every Sunday—and it is far easier for him to go back right after service and nap even more, too. The key pushes smoothly into the lock and the door unlocks with a soft and light ‘click’ as opposed to the heaviness in his limbs in his fatigue. He’s mid-yawn as he pushes the door open, trying to be as quiet and discreet as possible because he knows for a fact that Ricky is most definitely asleep—and will remain as such for the next few hours—on a weekend like today. It’s commonplace for Gyuvin to not want to bother Ricky especially as his roommate catches up on much needed rest. And frankly, it’s simply the decent thing to do. Gyuvin likes to believe that he is very decent, guided by his religious upbringing, and because he is all around a really nice person—not that he’s tooting his own horn, of course. Many will concur with his own statement.

Today, however, seems like a day where his consideration is rendered redundant. 

Gyuvin doesn’t know what he smells at the tip of his nose. It’s foreign, herbaceous, and it honestly tickles. He frowns a little, brows knitting together as the strange scent continues to waft by, invading his senses. He tastes pepper at the back of his throat as the smell continues to develop, akin to wet soil burning. His eyes are quick to seek his roommate, especially considering the fact that he’s now acutely aware that something is burning. What if something in his dorm is burning up and his poor roommate is about to go up in flames? 

“Ricky?” He calls out softly. It doesn’t take long for his eyes to eventually land on Ricky. His lips part in a soft ‘o’-shape, only because he finds Ricky where he doesn’t expect him to: He’s hunched over his table once again, quite akin to the first time they’ve met, and not tucked in bed and dead to the world as he chases sleep. It’s new, it’s… exciting.

Gyuvin can’t help it. The deviation from the norm somehow lights a spark right underneath him. Routine that’s turned upside down is somehow fuel that feeds the fire that burns deep within, and Gyuvin wants to know more. He cannot be faulted—not when he is an aspiring journalist at heart, and pursuing truths tends to be his hobby. It’s gotten him in trouble once or twice, but he’ll take the risk when he always leaves a situation, whether messy or otherwise, with his curiosity so very satiated. This time is no different as he takes a few steps closer to Ricky, who seems to greet him with a non-committal hum.

“Qubing,” Ricky whispers. And before Gyuvin can step any closer, “Throw some salt over your shoulders before you come.”

Gyuvin’s footsteps skid to a halt as his brows knit together, unable to comprehend how—or why, though he’s frankly just looking for the bag of salt that he can use at this point. His answer comes to him when he looks down and realises that Ricky is already holding out a bag of salt in his hand, outstretched towards Gyuvin like an open invitation for him to take. Gyuvin doesn’t hesitate to reach in and grab a handful, tossing it over his left shoulder. The salt falls to the ground in dissonant pitter-patters, hitting the carpeted floor by soft sprinkles at first, and then a large chunk after. Gyuvin reaches towards the bag once more to grab another handful, until—

“... calm down, I said ‘some’ salt, not the entire bag,” Ricky murmurs, withdrawing the bag before Gyuvin can use any more of the salt. Oh.

“Sorry. I don’t seem to know when to stop,” Gyuvin replies, half an apology, half a confession. Ricky laughs it off luckily enough—his laughter is a sweet melody, light-hearted and so familiar it’s out of place from how bizarre the rest of the situation is. 

“I can tell.” 

It’s all Gyuvin receives from Ricky as he moves to rest the bag of salt by the table leg. Gyuvin’s eyes follow Ricky’s hand, where it soon rests at the top of his kneecap—it’s only until now that Gyuvin also realises Ricky’s position, curled up with both his feet off the ground and propped on the chair. The position Ricky is in is almost fetal as he curls in on himself, both hands now on his kneecaps, whilst his eyes remain transfixed on the sight in front of him. Gyuvin doesn’t realise it until he forces himself to register the surroundings around Ricky. A soft orange glow makes itself known—a detail he somehow missed earlier on that he’ll attribute to the brighter day—with its origin from the two candles, skinny and white, though oddly speckled with some bits of what Gyuvin can only describe as herbs that he cannot quite identify, the tips of their waxed wicks burning bright flames, fixed on a metal tray. When he looks closer, there’s twine that enwraps the both of the candles together, but beyond what he sees visually, Gyuvin draws a blank. And so, as his professor likes to encourage in the pursuit of seeking truths, he asks.

“What’s all this?”

Ricky doesn’t offer an answer. Gyuvin has come to terms with this fact pretty early on in the time they spent together: Ricky doesn’t share if he doesn’t want to. Gyuvin can only sit with the itch of wanting to know more while his desire to respect Ricky’s own privacy tries to act as an ointment to balm over his desire. All Gyuvin can do is continue observing the candles, their meaning obscure and lost in the synapses of his brain, as they burn, and burn, and burn. The twine wrapped around the wax catches the first ember when the candle melts down enough to reach it. Gyuvin isn’t sure when he begins holding his breath as the flames continue to dance in the air, vividly volatile and unpredictable. He witnesses one split into two. Yet, it only stems from one side—the other candle remains burning steadily without the twine even threatening to catch fire, melted wax now cooled around the material while the other candle doesn’t seem to fare as well. It’s oddly… unsettling. Gyuvin hasn’t witnessed anything quite like this before. It goes against every logic he knows of candles and twine and fires and everything in between. Gyuvin knows fire is unpredictable, but there is an eerie quality to why one burns so violently when the other is just a silent flame that continues to melt the candle so unchangingly and stably—words Gyuvin never used to describe fire, up until now. 

Yet, he still cannot ask questions. Not when Ricky is staring so intently at the candles burning away that it feels as if his breaths are synchronised with every flicker of the amber light. He can’t ask questions, as always, if Ricky doesn’t want him to. All Gyuvin can do is wait as the candles burn, as the flames look close to diminishing before they flicker back alive with vigor, melted clear wax solidifying once more into the opaque white. Again, and again, and again, as he feels his curiosity burn even brighter that he isn’t sure how Ricky isn’t reacting to the way he’s burning beside him. Gyuvin burns, as if it’s the only thing he’s capable of in Ricky’s presence.

Gyuvin isn’t sure how much time actually passes. It feels like forever when Ricky is finally broken from his trance when what remains of the twine falls to the metal plate with a faint clink. Gyuvin hears him take a long inhale—it’s drawn out, almost arduous in its quality, and shakes with all of the insecurity and none of the steadfastness he is used to from his roommate. It worries him even if he doesn’t say it. Gyuvin believes he, himself, is in a trance as he gently settles to the ground beside Ricky, knees meeting the carpeted floor gently. When he turns his head, he is met with an ashen face, a plump lower lip trembling as his gaze remains fixated on the aftermath of the candles before him.

“It didn’t work,” Gyuvin thinks he hears Ricky say.

Gyuvin doesn’t know why, or what for. But his heart sinks all the same.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

They don’t talk about it.

Something shifts between them in the aftermath of the burning candles within melted wax dried again and unburned twine, but they do not talk about it. 

Gyuvin feels as lucky as his father did—and still does, to this day. They’ve both lucked out in terms of a lovely roommate, but Gyuvin sometimes wonders if what he and Ricky have together is a little different from his father’s and his best friend’s. In a bid to not think of the way tears trickle down Ricky’s face as he silently mourns over what he claimed ‘doesn’t work’, uncharacteristic and faintly concerning, Gyuvin tries to think of something else. It just doesn’t help that much when all he thinks of is the softness of Ricky’s breath as he inhales and exhales beside him, clearly fatigued as he curls up within Gyuvin’s arms. Gyuvin wishes he can say he doesn’t know what caused them to end up in this position, but wishes tended to remain wishes.

Much like now, when he’s acutely aware of how it happens—in a bid to console Ricky, Gyuvin asked if Ricky would like a hug. Although shock briefly flashes in the dark orbs of Ricky’s eyes, the usually sharp edges of his features softened before Gyuvin’s greeted with a gentle nod of Ricky’s head. His arms curl around Ricky, at first awkward, and then later, as easy as the breath he takes the moment Ricky melts into his arms. He rubs a gentle hand up and down Ricky’s back, soothing an ache Gyuvin doesn’t know but feels all too entirely.

A part of Gyuvin knows that he should have pulled away maybe fifteen minutes ago, a few seconds after the hug he offered. A larger, bigger part of Gyuvin feels that it’s better this way, when the hug turns into the both of them sharing a bed—Ricky’s—far too small and cramped for two growing young men. It’s not intimate enough for Gyuvin to feel as if he is committing a blasphemy, but the rapid beating of his heart makes him wonder if he’s been done for the moment he twisted open the doorknob to his… their room.

“Goodnight,” Gyuvin hears a whisper. Ricky’s voice is rough around the edges, but beautiful all the same. He doesn’t make a move to move away, so Gyuvin doesn’t, too.

“Goodnight, Ricky.” 

Gyuvin closes his eyes, but he can’t say he is as lucky as Ricky when it comes to falling asleep—and he knows this, because he can hear the telltale signs of Ricky’s slumber, slowing breaths that tell Gyuvin all he needs to know because he’s attuned to them at this point.

At the end of the day, Gyuvin knows something did not work and Ricky is upset about it. Beyond that, it’s something that he can’t even begin to comprehend, and yet despite it all, Gyuvin remains steadfast in respecting Ricky’s privacy, and Ricky takes full advantage of it. Gyuvin doesn’t mind, if he’s honest—in fact, he minds it a little less, because they’ve grown… closer.

And Gyuvin does not want to have it any other way.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Rain, when it pours down onto a stone floor, sounds beautiful. 

It plays a gentle symphony for those who choose to stay and listen. Gyuvin finds himself mesmerised, even though he’s technically supposed to be looking for shelter instead of willingly getting soaked. The peals of laughter of students, induced mostly by the sheer suddenness of the shower, make Gyuvin smile. There are so many lovely things to ponder and write about even though he’s knee-deep in his assignments. It feels as if he has thousands of manuscripts to finish, but all he can do is chip away at them slowly and gradually. 

Today, however, is his self-proclaimed rest day before he stretches himself too thin. His intention for today was to find a nice spot in the grassy fields closest to the dormitory building and write in his own leisure. Despite the fact that his plans are actually foiled, there is still a silver lining—Gyuvin finds immense pleasure in just looking around and observing. The rain continues to batter down relentlessly on him and around him, wetting the stones in hypnotising patterns.

Yet, when he finally looks up to the sky, he is met with darkness instead. It takes Gyuvin a while to comprehend that the rain has stopped falling on him moments ago—it’s hard to comprehend if he’s getting anymore drenched when his clothes are already clinging to his skin. Realisation sinks in that the darkness he’s met with is the inside of an umbrella, inky black and oddly mysterious. There is one person he wishes is the owner of this umbrella now shielding him. Gyuvin crosses his fingers, the action subtle and hopefully missed, and turns, before—

“You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here and get wet like this, silly.”

Ricky.

Gyuvin can’t help the happiness that blooms warmth right in his chest at the sight. 

It manifests physically in a smile that he can’t quite control, cheeks already sore with how lifted the corners of his lips are. Although Ricky nags at him, he is no better—for some reason, instead of coming closer to Gyuvin, Ricky has his arm outstretched so the umbrella only shields Gyuvin. Ricky’s getting drenched himself, and it doesn’t take long for the black fabric of his cardigan to progressively get more soaked until it clings to his body, too. Gyuvin can choose to ignore the hypocrisy of Ricky’s words, but in becoming so close to his roommate and whom he can now call his ‘best friend’, he can’t help but just tease him. Just a little bit.

“And you won’t, Ricky? Are you magical?”

The narrowing of Ricky’s eyes as he glares at Gyuvin is all he truly needs to know that his roommate is duly unamused. For some reason, that only makes him laugh even more as his fingers curl around the umbrella’s shaft as he walks closer to Ricky, now tilting the umbrella back towards his friend as a smile easily remains on his features. Now, with the both of them underneath the umbrella, they don’t get wetter than they already are—except it’s really too late for the both of them with how soaked they’ve become.

“I’m never going to offer you my umbrella again,” Ricky comments with a small, indignant huff as he looks away. Gyuvin can see the way his lips seem to twitch upwards, though, almost as if he’s trying to stop himself from smiling. Gyuvin doesn’t comment on that, however. Not when his heart seizes at the sight.

“Forgive me, Ricky. I’m sure you’ll find it inside of yourself to be understanding? You know I am not without my faults and follies,” Gyuvin murmurs. It’s not hard to see how Ricky immediately deflates at that.

“Fine. But for me to fully forgive you, let’s go back to the room. I wouldn’t want your manuscripts to get wet.”

Ah, right. The manuscripts. Gyuvin doesn’t even think about them until now, because his papers are tucked safely into his leather messenger bag of chestnut brown. It’s supposed to be safe until it gets too soaked, surely, but when a breeze blows by and Gyuvin ends up shuddering, he’s a little worried that his worst nightmare might be true—a nightmare that Ricky reminds him of rather matter-of-factly.

“You’re right,” Gyuvin groans, gently knocking his head with a loosely curled fist of his own. “Let’s go, then?”

Instead of answering properly, Ricky simply starts nudging Gyuvin towards the dormitory building. Thankfully, it’s not far from where they’re at—just a short walk, really. Gyuvin isn’t sure when he became the one holding the umbrella, but he makes sure to tilt it more towards Ricky, while their shoulders bump from how close they’re by each other’s side as they walk. Gyuvin cracks a few jokes along the way back, and his heart soars when Ricky ends up laughing at one. Unspoken truths linger in the air, yet Gyuvin cannot address them.

So he settles for the next best thing—to make Ricky smile and laugh even through the dreary, drab, and grey rainy days.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin senses something is amiss with Ricky.

As his self-proclaimed best friend and the person who spends the most time with him, Gyuvin likes to believe that he knows a lot about Ricky by now. From his little habits to his wayward sleeping schedule, Gyuvin has them all down to a T—except there are still things that he cannot quite comprehend about Ricky. 

It starts off as something small. At first, Gyuvin attributes it to the fact that Ricky isn’t exactly the most physically affectionate person ever, and that’s why greetings like casual half-hugs people get pulled into and firm pats to his back will cause him to wince and pull away with a small hiss. It makes Gyuvin more careful about the way he says hi to Ricky, resolving to just gentle waves or small gentle hugs when he’s feeling particularly touchy or in need of one. Ricky doesn’t ever reject him in those moments, but Gyuvin tries to be careful either way. The anomaly, however, comes when he realises just how affectionate Ricky actually is—they fall asleep within each other’s arms more often than not, even though it’s mostly Gyuvin’s fault that they end up sharing a bed together. On days where his creative craze gets too intense, Gyuvin will find himself with a mess far too overwhelming to clear after an exhausting day. When Ricky offers his bed for the night because he’s not going to sleep anyway, it becomes the first of many nights that end up with Gyuvin waking up to Ricky tucked in his arms when the morning comes. But it’s because of all this, of the way Ricky actually clings and nuzzles close in his sleep, that Gyuvin wonders why Ricky sometimes acts as if he’s burnt when touched. He doesn’t see Ricky wear short-sleeved clothes even on warmer days, but he attributes that to Ricky’s tendency to lean towards alternative fashion, too. His roommate’s always been challenging the conventional, after all. Gyuvin doesn’t see that ever stopping.

Yet, Gyuvin can’t help but continue to feel as if there’s something… wrong.

“Ricky,” Gyuvin calls out softly. It’s loud enough to startle Ricky, currently hunched over his table once again. A part of Gyuvin is apologetic that he’s somehow startled him like that. Ricky looks so small, always curled up like this, even though they’re rather similar in height—except Gyuvin is still a few centimetres taller. Sometimes, he even looks frail, like he’s trying to collapse into his own body. Gyuvin wonders if it’s all connected. 

“Hm?” A soft, almost non-committal hum sounds from his roommate after Ricky recollects himself. Typical behaviour, even. Yet, why is there this unease that seems to make itself known, at the pits of his stomach? Gyuvin feels as if he needs to get behind all this. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asks, the same time he pushes himself up from the bed. It’s soft, dark sheets smelling just like Ricky, the blanket he’s thrown over half his body not belonging to him at all. If Gyuvin’s honest, Ricky’s bed is more familiar than his own just from how often he’s found himself sleeping on it, all because he doesn’t have to sleep around his stacks of manuscripts and books that populate the space, and Ricky’s kindness to extend an open offer towards Gyuvin about using his bed instead whenever he needs to. Despite all the familiarity, he cannot shake away the feeling that there is actually something so wrong about tonight. About the way Ricky’s brush trembles as he drags it across his canvas, instead of the usual way it travels—steadfast, confident, and everything that his brush currently isn’t. He can’t shake away the worry, nor can he write away the concern. Even if he tries his best to respect Ricky. Especially if he’s trying his best to respect Ricky.

When Gyuvin finally looks up and towards Ricky, he realises that the other has been looking at him all along. Ricky’s chair is turned to face him, dark eyes now holding Gyuvin’s own that he can’t quite swallow down the lump that forms in his throat, or the way his whole body seems to flush up from the eye contact. He grows warm enough that he has to push the blanket aside, but his fingers still find purchase in it beside him all the same, as if he needs something to ground him beyond the sheer intensity of Ricky’s gaze.

“What is it that you want to ask me, Qubing?” Ricky asks then, voice soft.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs. He has to ask now, surely. “It feels as if you’re hurting, and I don’t know why. Are you… alright?”

It’a a shot in the dark, really. Gyuvin knows that he is ultimately not entitled to an answer, even if he desperately wants one. Ricky is the one who holds all the power when it comes to himself. But Gyuvin continues to be hopeful. His eyes don’t leave Ricky, and he’s glad they don’t. He sees that dark, sharp gaze softening. Gyuvin doesn’t even realise how tense Ricky actually has been until he finally witnesses it all: Ricky’s brows seemed to soften, too, with him not usually holding the typical smolder. His jaw relaxes, and his shoulders roll back, before slumping downwards. Gyuvin sees, in real time, the way Ricky begins to relax. And his heart seizes at that.

“... I’m alright,” Ricky whispers. Except Gyuvin knows all too well that that is nothing but a complete lie—he just doesn’t know why Ricky thinks he has to lie to Gyuvin. In the beginning, and perhaps until a few moments ago, Gyuvin would have respected Ricky’s decision to keep his secrets. Gyuvin now, however, can’t imagine letting this all slide—not when Ricky looks as if he’s about to break anytime soon. Even if he tries to hide it, Gyuvin can see that there is something that’s bothering his friend. Gyuvin can’t bear to witness that continuing to happen.

“Ricky, do you consider me your friend?”

Gyuvin doesn’t know why, but he’s glad to see Ricky bristle at that question.

“Of course I do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be talking to you like this, or—”

“Then, can you tell me what’s wrong? Or, at the very least, don’t say you’re alright when you aren’t. I won’t pry, but you should at least be honest and tell me if you’re not feeling okay. I want to help you if I can,” Gyuvin whispers, voice filled with a silent determination to be by Ricky’s side. He doesn’t want to push—it’s not how he wants to come across, but he has to at least let Ricky know how he feels. How he doesn’t want Ricky to feel, too, if possible.

“Qubing.” The way Ricky breathes out his name causes Gyuvin’s breath to catch in his throat. He gulps, and tries his best to stay as levelled as he possibly can be, even if he knows he’s failing terribly.

“I’m not okay.”

Although Gyuvin already knows that as the truth, there’s some relief in actual confirmation. Until that relief eventually morphs into worry, as he pushes himself to the edge of the bed, sitting closer to Ricky now.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gyuvin asks, as he reaches a hand out tentatively towards Ricky’s own. He notices they’re trembling on Ricky’s lap, and a part of Gyuvin wishes he can physically remove the things that have caused Ricky to feel this way. Although Ricky shakes his head, he quickly reaches out to grab the outstretched hand, and Gyuvin holds on as tight as he possibly can, firmly squeezing, thumbs brushing over the back of his palm.

“I’d much rather not,” Ricky admits.

Gyuvin smiles and shakes his head. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. Do you want a hug instead?”

If Gyuvin weren’t paying attention, then he’d have missed the subtle nod of Ricky’s head. Fortunately—or maybe a little unfortunately—for the both of them, he notices, and he gently guides Ricky into his arms with the hand that still holds onto Ricky’s. He only lets go when he has his arms tightly wound around Ricky, and his friend half-off the chair and pressed into Gyuvin’s body. Although his heart seems to quicken in the way it beats, he behaves. He stays like this, to offer comfort, to be there for Ricky the way his friend wants him to be. It doesn’t matter if he’s none the wiser to the pain that weighs down on Ricky’s frame—all that matters is that he’ll be there.

“I can hug you anytime you’re not okay, Ricky. You just have to ask,” Gyuvin promises. And even when you don’t, is what he doesn’t add. Ricky lets out a soft noise, muffled against Gyuvin’s shoulder. Gyuvin feels Ricky nod rather than he sees it, this time.

“Thank you, Qubing.”

Time doesn’t seem to exist between the both of them. In holding Ricky, Gyuvin hopes that he can at least soothe over some bits of his pain even if he doesn’t know what to make of it. He wishes he knows, but at the same time, he doesn’t have to just to hug Ricky. Especially not when Ricky clings to him either way, even if he doesn’t want to talk about it. Perhaps, it’s the only way he can even think of comforting Ricky, but Gyuvin is fine with that. He lets the silence wash over them until he can feel Ricky beginning to fall asleep. Although Gyuvin’s not too sure if the art piece Ricky is currently working on is running on an urgent deadline, he can’t find it in himself to ask and risk Ricky remembering—he believes art should not be rushed, after all. Especially when Ricky is already feeling poorly. It’s why he asks this, instead—

“Sleepy?”

A few seconds pass, before Ricky’s slowly nodding his head. Gyuvin can’t help but smile to himself, arms wrapped securely around his friend before he gently eases the both of them back to lay onto the bed comfortably. The sensation is familiar, and this position comes to Gyuvin easily as breathing does. He lets Ricky rest his head against his bicep, with Gyuvin laying on his side to hold Ricky close as if his hug will somehow magically protect Ricky from everything that upset him, tucking Ricky’s head gently underneath his chin. Sleep seems to come to him, too, when he finally finds that he’s able to stop wondering about Ricky’s wellbeing. It’s bad, and he doesn’t know why, but he will be there for Ricky every step of the way. That’s all Gyuvin knows, and that’s all he needs to know.

“Goodnight, Ricky,” he whispers softly, and hopes his affection doesn’t show as clearly as he feels it.

Ricky doesn’t stay awake long enough to return the greeting, but Gyuvin feels it all the same with how closely Ricky stays to him. He falls asleep eventually, with a smile gentle on his features, and his heart growing impossibly fonder.

Gyuvin tells himself not to—that it’s wrong—but when it comes to the matters of the heart…

… he does it all the same.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin is a good man.

He knows that it’s something that one shouldn’t claim so easily. Even his religion tells him that he is inherently a sinner and that he has to atone for his sins and seek forgiveness in Him, but Gyuvin believes that himself, with all his beliefs and the way he cares for everything and anything—too much, at times—makes him a good man. He is polite to the waitstaff, he listens in class and doesn’t cause annoyances, and the closest he’s come to antagonising anyone is his younger sister, because that’s simply what siblings do. But how is he to feel, as he thumbs open a letter he receives from his parents, asking him to repent?

Gyuvin reads the letters again, and again, and once more, just in case he’s gotten it all wrong. This exchange of letters should have never made Gyuvin’s stomach twist and turn this uncomfortably, but it does. Nausea seems to settle deep in his stomach as he reads the inked writings on the piece of parchment, that the paper creases between his thumb and forefinger. 

Gyuvin-ah, the letter reads at the beginning. It’s subtly smudged, like his name is written with such urgency that his parents cannot even wait for the ink to settle and dry. We’re worried about you. Your relationship with your roommate… It worries us a lot, Gyuvin-ah. 

Gyuvin doesn’t know how to feel about that. He frowns at the characters that make up each and every word, and shakes his head in hopes that he is simply hallucinating them. It proves futile, when the words meet him back with the same intensity—We’re worried about you.

But he carries on. Gyuvin allows his eyes to continue scanning the paper, because surely, his relationship with Ricky is nothing to worry about. He likes his roommate a lot, and though he has been mentioning Ricky in his letters, there is nothing about the contents of his letters to garner such concern. They’re a good Christian family, yes, but Ricky is a good kid, too, even if he doesn’t follow the religion Gyuvin and his family does. Even though Ricky doesn’t seem to ever want to. Gyuvin respects it as much as Ricky respects him, so to have his parents talk like this, even through letters…

Please go to the church as soon as possible and confess, Gyuvin-ah. Maybe it will help you clear your mind.

Gyuvin’s frustration bubbles in the back of his throat. It tastes like bile and something else, but Gyuvin doesn’t act on it. He lets the anger wash past him, and allows his fingers to loosen their grip around the piece of paper before he more or less throws it on his bed. For the first time, he doesn’t tuck the letter back gently into the box where the rest of the letters from his family reside. He doesn’t know what to do, because it feels like a travesty, and beyond the threads of frustration, guilt weaves in between. Gyuvin feels as if he’s going to throw up.

“Qubing.” 

It’s a soft voice, but Gyuvin hears it all the same. His ears seem to prick up to Ricky’s voice all too easily by now, because he’s so terribly attuned to the male’s voice. When he turns to look at Ricky, Gyuvin feels his frustration almost immediately dissipate. He doesn’t address why that causes a pang in his chest, and instead, focuses on greeting Ricky with a smile that he always tries his best to don—no matter the circumstances he’s in. Even right now, when his jaw clenches so tightly he feels an impending headache.

“Yes, Ricky?” he asks, and finds himself easily abandoning his current post. The letter is secondary, anyways. It’s not as if his parents are here with him right now, and if they are, Gyuvin believes that they’ll be just as enamored by Ricky as he is. It doesn’t matter if the both of them are a little different from one another—if he finds comfort in Ricky’s company, and is a happier man despite the amount of assignments that threaten to pull him right under and collapse under the stress of it all, why should it matter where their differences lay? 

… frankly, Gyuvin wishes it were that easy. He knows a part of him still gnaws away at his conscience, guilt coalescing into a monstrous lump that he has to eventually address. But not now. Not when Ricky calls for him, in his endearing way because he can never quite curl his tongue around the syllables that make up Gyuvin’s name properly.

“Is anything bothering you?” Ricky quips. He doesn’t beat around the bush, doesn’t try to filter his words—it’s a direct question that Gyuvin cannot even pretend he can’t understand. It’s new, too. This time around, Gyuvin is the one being asked the question and not the other way around. He doesn’t find it in himself to lie to Ricky, nor does he find the need to. Gyuvin knows his parents mean well, and he’ll probably listen to them in due time. He just needs to get rid of all the angst of being a young adult, craving for freedom and space without being policed every step of the way. 

“Nothing much. My parents are just being parents. Annoying and naggy,” Gyuvin replies, laughing softly. He doesn’t talk about the way his laughter tastes sour as it leaves his parted lips. He doesn’t even try to begin addressing the fact that he’s never thought of his parents in this way before, either. “Parents, am I right?”

“Hmm. I suppose so,” Ricky mutters, thoughtful. His lips are pursed, plump lips gently pressed into a thin line for a brief moment, before he finally turns to look at Gyuvin once again. “My parents tend to leave me alone.”

Ricky’s parents… Gyuvin supposes he’s never heard anything from Ricky at all regarding his family. Gyuvin’s more or less spilled every single thing about his family to Ricky by now, from how much he loves his parents and they love him back, to his sister that pretends to hate him but hugged him the longest when Gyuvin left for university, and even his Christian upbringing and how he always goes to church every Sunday because it’s part of his family’s tradition to be pious sons and daughters of God. Right, Sundays… Gyuvin realises, quite belatedly, that today is actually a Sunday. Instead of him returning from church in the early afternoon, and Ricky asleep in his bed, the two of them are surprisingly up, and… Gyuvin… well, he’s skipped church. The reason was simple last night when Ricky proposed it—he wants to go try out a new breakfast cafe, and he’s offering to pay for Gyuvin’s share. He can’t find it in himself to reject, and perhaps, a part of him has already forgotten how important Sundays’ church services were for him. Were they ever actually that important to him? For him to forget this easily?

The guilt resurfaces once more, and Gyuvin finds himself wincing just a tad. He supposes he’ll make time to go to church later on to make up for his absence from today’s mass.

“... Are you alright?” Ricky’s voice sounds, breaking Gyuvin from his reverie. He blinks, the actions somehow feeling heavy. No matter what, though, Gyuvin still greets Ricky with a smile unflinchingly etched upon his features.

“Yeah. I was just thinking about something, I guess. So, am I finally going to receive more information about your family from you, Ricky?” Gyuvin asks, happy to shift the attention back to Ricky, who bristles at that and lets out the softest of huffs.

“You don’t really have to know about them,” Ricky replies, words dismissive and actions just as much so, when he waves a hand half-heartedly and attempts to shift the focus away from him. Gyuvin doesn’t have it in him to call Ricky out for his poor diversion techniques, so he pretends he is successfully diverted. He probably should go to the church before they close for the day, either way.

“Hey, Ricky. Are you free for dinner later on? I have to make a quick pit stop to the church, but maybe I’ll humour you with a nice dinner later on?” he quips, and tries not to make his hopefulness too apparent. Ricky lets out a soft grunt, reaching over to grab his journal—leather-bound and worn around the edges—and flips through a few pages before he nods. 

“Dinner sounds good, but you’re paying this time.”

“Your family is more well-off than mine, though. Are you sure we cannot discuss the mode of payment again, later on?”

“If we are, then I’m not going for dinner.”

Gyuvin laughs and raises his arms in defeat. “You win, Ricky. But not for long,” he teases, eyes twinkling with mischief. It really is just this much easier to relax around Ricky, compared to the—admittedly—controlling aspects of his own religion. Gyuvin feels his resolve waver, and he wishes he can say he feels worse about it. The guilt persists, but if being with Ricky silences it, then surely… it’s fine, is it not?

“I’ll see you later, Ricky,” Gyuvin murmurs, all as he tries to make sense of his own emotions. “I’ll pick you up. At six.”

Ricky laughs, and Gyuvin wishes his heart didn’t seize at that. He smiles, in a way he doesn’t see often, and Gyuvin wishes he doesn’t think of making sure there doesn’t come a time where that smile doesn’t exist on Ricky’s face. 

“See you later, Qubing. I’ll wait for you here. At six,” Ricky replies, voice teasing and subtly playful as he mirrors Gyuvin’s words, and Gyuvin wishes he can say he doesn’t start missing Ricky already.

Gyuvin leaves their room, and wishes that he never has to.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

The walls of the church feel oppressive today.

It unsettles Gyuvin a little. Most of the time, when he enters the large wooden doors of the church building, he has nothing but love and devotion for his God, and is steadfast in his duty in serving Him. Yet, today, it feels as if he is an outsider as he opens the doors just a crack to let himself in. Perhaps it’s because he feels unwelcome when there is none of the usual fanfare of fellow church-goers that he tends to be surrounded with on a Sunday morning. When he comes in during the afternoon, it’s almost as if he’s entering a different place entirely. The walls seem devoid of colour when the lights are switched off, no warmth bouncing off of the brick walls and bringing him calm. Gyuvin doesn’t feel like he belongs anymore, especially when the heels of his shoes click against the ground and echo in the expansive space.

Confess, the letter had asked of him. Like he’s committed a sin, even though Gyuvin knows deep in his heart that he hasn’t. Or, he likes to believe that he has not. When he walks closer to the end of the church, he is greeted by a nun, who greets him with a warm and compassionate smile. Middle-aged, and with wrinkles at the edge of her eyes as she smiles, she looks… kind. Gyuvin suddenly feels the guilt hitting him once again, and he finds that he has to tear his eyes away for the first time, unable to maintain any form of eye contact. The constant shift between feeling indignant and guilty is making Gyuvin grow even more nauseous than he already is, and so, he quickly poses a question.

“Good afternoon, Sister. Is the confession booth open?” 

There is a sagely smile that grazes the nun’s features that Gyuvin wants to wipe away. She looks at him like he’s done something wrong, like he’s here to seek repentance, and that all will be forgiven if he prays. Gyuvin prays often—he prays every morning, every afternoon, and every night before he sleeps. The edges of his bible are worn from how often he flips through the pages and seeks comfort from the passages, but for some reason, when he’s here to confess for the first time, the nun looks at him as if he’s never done all that before. Like it’s only now that he’s trying to seek forgiveness. Gyuvin isn’t like that, so he feels annoyance claw at his neck. He suppresses it all, though, and smiles when the nun nods and gestures behind the stained glass panel. It’s then that Gyuvin finds things he’s never seen before—behind the stained glass, there is a small booth made of deep mahogany, and Gyuvin supposes that’s where he is meant to go to confess for a sin he isn’t even sure he’s committed.

“Thank you, Sister. God bless you,” Gyuvin says and bows his head gently.

“God bless you too, young one.”

Gyuvin takes his leave, and walks closer to the confession booth feeling progressively less and less blessed by God with each step he takes. 

The confession booth isn’t grand at all as opposed to the rest of the church. Gyuvin reckons it’s because it’s a place where no one should go other than to seek repentance, and receive penance, and he never expects himself to be here. It’s dark, almost shoddy, and Gyuvin doesn’t feel at ease, for the first time, in the church he visits so very often. The door to the booth opens with an almost whiny creak, the hinges in desperate need of some grease. Gyuvin comes face to face with a small space—it’s dark, dreary, with only one single fluorescent light bulb hanging overhead. The set-up is simple: a chair facing the wall, and a panel that hides the priest away from him, and himself away from the priest. There is a weathered piece of paper plastered there, too, filled with instructions on how to properly confess one’s sin. Gyuvin supposes it comes useful for someone who’s never done it before. Someone like him.

Gyuvin sucks in a deep breath, and settles onto the chair. The cushion is old, and definitely uncomfortable. He wonders if it’s all intentional to make the person at the confessional feel the worst they’ll ever be. Gyuvin clears his throat, looks at the chipping paint in the corner of the booth, and tries his best to relax into the chair, shoulders slumped. When he does the Sign of the Cross, his fingers drag over his body sluggishly, almost as if he is too unwilling to do so. Behind the stained glass, and the statue of Jesus Christ that hangs above as a reminder, Gyuvin tries to find solace, and clasps his hands together in prayer, an action he follows as his eyes read over the words faded on parchment.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Gyuvin mutters. 

The words feel too foreign on his tongue, and he doesn’t even believe it to begin with. He does it out of his love for his parents, but even then, he’s at a loss of what to say. The silence must have dragged on for far too long, because a grave voice seems to cut through the silence, stemming from the other side of the booth. Gyuvin clasps his hands together tighter in hopes that the priest does not notice that he is being awfully insincere.

“That is alright, son. Come forth and share what it is that you have come here to confess—God is forgiving, as long as you are genuine in your confession,” the priest speaks, as if trying to reassure Gyuvin. A part of him is thankful, but…. it’s just too bad he’s not entirely sure if he’s genuine at all.

But Gyuvin is a good man. He tries to be a good son, and although he fails sometimes, he still tries his best. It’s why he’s here now.

“I have somehow upset my parents, Father,” Gyuvin responds, his fingers tightening around his hands to the point they begin to flush white at the joints. “They have asked me to come to church to confess, and to pray, and perhaps, somehow… it will help me clear my mind.”

A beat of silence follows. Gyuvin squeezes his eyes shut, and hopes it’s enough to show how much he’s sorry. He prays in his mind, but he’s not even sure what he’s praying for anymore.

“And what is it that has caused concern to befall upon your parents, son?”

Gyuvin frowns subtly, the corners of his lips downturned. He feels his brows furrowed together, and he has to suck in a deep breath and expel it shakily between his lips before he can speak again.

“They are worried about… my friend. My roommate. They are worried about the relationship I have with him, Father. Perhaps I have spoken too much about him, and my affections I feel towards him.”

Something clatters down onto the floor on the other side of the confessional booth. Gyuvin startles, jumping a little in the chair at the sudden noise that breaks him out of his focus. Did the priest drop something? When he turns his attention to the piece of parchment on the wall, he realises he reaches the end of his confession. But Gyuvin doesn’t feel as if he needs to beg for forgiveness just for talking to Ricky. Just for wanting to be with Ricky, perhaps in ways he cannot even comprehend just yet beyond his simple desire to do so.

“This is all I remember, Father. I seek forgiveness for not even understanding why I must be here in the first place.”

More silence. Gyuvin doesn’t even know just how long the priest can stay silent for. Is Gyuvin’s issue that groundbreaking? Is he not worthy of salvation in the eyes of God now, because he has somehow grown too affectionate towards his roommate, his best friend, his Ricky?

“Son.” Gyuvin finally hears the priest's call. He stays quiet, and waits for the man on the other side to continue. “For your sin to be absolved, I pray that you’ll pay penance. Your penance will be as such—break contact with the boy. Apologise to your parents, and continue to pray—”

Gyuvin doesn’t stay long enough to listen to the rest of what the priest has to say.

The door to the confessional booth swings open with a decisive push of his hand against the wooden surface. Gyuvin shoots up from the chair, leaving the priest behind, leaving the idea that him spending time with Ricky can be considered sin, and in a way, he feels he leaves a part of himself behind in church. Gyuvin doesn’t greet the nun he brushes past, nor does he stop to think about the repercussions of what’ll happen after today. He just needs to leave before the walls of the church threaten to close in on him. Hurried footsteps bring him out of the glorified prison with stained glass windows and church hymns—it feels like forever until he’s finally at the wooden doors that’ll lead him out of the place. He needs to be in the open air to breathe, to recollect himself from the ordeal of being forced to confess for a sin he hasn’t committed because it’s not supposed to be considered one.

Gyuvin sucks in a shaky, deep breath. He resolves he’ll never step back in here—either because he’s unwelcome, or he’s unwilling, or both—before he pushes the large wooden doors wide open. He awaits the boundless blue skies to greet him when he looks up, and the sprawling greenery that surrounds the stone walkway, and a path straight back home where he’d go pick Ricky up for dinner and eventually forget about everything that transpired in the church, because nothing has ever come close to the way Ricky makes him feel.

He just doesn’t expect his eyes to fall right on the very person that floods his mind even without the other’s trying to do so.

“Ricky,” Gyuvin breathes, desperation so raw and foreign on his tongue the singular word almost leaves as a whimper. He steps closer, as he takes in the sight of his best friend. Ricky’s hair looks effortlessly styled, but Gyuvin knows the time and effort Ricky puts in that goes behind his looking effortless. Ricky is dressed in his usual colour—a cardigan, singlet, and slacks, all in the familiar inky black—but he looks endearing to Gyuvin all the same. His best friend is just so pretty. A sight for sore eyes, a remedy for an aching heart for a loss he can’t quite place. But Ricky… he is here.

“I thought I’d just come find you after I got ready,” Ricky responds. “I felt like I’d have fallen asleep and messed up my clothes otherwise.”

Gyuvin hasn’t exactly asked for a reason. But the fact that he gets it either way, without him even prompting for it, has a smile on his face so bright that he can forget about the darkness he feels, alone in the booth. The world is so much brighter with Ricky that his heart jumps and seizes at the mere sight. It all clicks as the church bell chimes—if Gyuvin ever gets married, he wants it to be Ricky right beside him. He sees Ricky first when he wakes up, and goes to sleep with the other in his arms. Gyuvin  dreams of Ricky whilst sleeping, and thinks of Ricky when he isn’t. 

A part of Gyuvin had known all along when he did something so brazen. He hasn’t spoken up against his faith like this before in the first place, and he always imagines that he’d remain pious until the end of his life—and beyond. That somehow wavers when he’s subject to the changes that come about with university, but he knows it’s more than that—that it’s all because of Ricky. The remaining parts of himself are just waiting for Gyuvin to realise that, too. And so he does. It’s love. It’s love, it’s love, it’s love—

“Ricky,” Gyuvin tries again, his voice this time so much more resolute. He wracks his brain, trying to string together a set of sentences that’ll properly convey his emotions. One that’ll encompass all that he’s felt, all that he is feeling. For someone who’s supposedly in university in hopes of being able to use his mastery over words to write, and then write some more, whatever he comes up with seems to fall short.

Ricky, however, remains standing there, patient. Almost as if he is simply just waiting. Like he already knows what Gyuvin is about to say. Gyuvin’s brain unfortunately short circuits, and—

“Can I kiss you?”

Gyuvin believes he can never forget the laughter that leaves Ricky: bright, unbridled from the pains that Gyuvin knows weigh the other down, and so, so jovial.

“Of course you can.”

It takes Gyuvin only two wide strides to eventually reach Ricky. When Gyuvin slides his arms around the other’s waist, his suspicions are then confirmed—he doesn’t need to go to church to confess, or to pray. He doesn’t need to find himself feeling so out of place within the walls of the place he’s spent all his life in, praying and hoping he’ll feel more connected to God soon, when all he really needs is the man in his arms. Gyuvin smiles so wide he feels his cheeks hurt, but even that is not enough to portray just how happy he is. Gyuvin loves Ricky, and he isn’t afraid to admit he loves Ricky more than he has to love God.

“I’m in love with you,” Gyuvin admits. He doesn’t wait for a verbal response when Ricky’s body language is all he needs to pick up that mutual love. Ricky inches closer to him, presses closer to Gyuvin until their chests meet, and Gyuvin hopes the rapid beating of his heart will match Ricky’s too. 

Gyuvin cups Ricky’s cheek then, gently holding onto his roommate, his best friend, his beloved, and leans down to let their lips meet together in a soft kiss. It’s subtle, yet electric. Soft, yet torrential like the waves of emotions that threaten to knock him over. Gyuvin gets lost within Ricky’s orbit, and he sees the stars of Ricky’s lovely posters behind his eyelids as they flutter to a close. There are arms around him, holding Gyuvin. The pain of Church, of his parents who’ll never come to understand, of the world that he knows will only get harder for people like them… they all wash away when he’s in Ricky’s arms like this.

When he pulls back, with a serene smile on his features, Gyuvin realises that it’s mirrored right on Ricky’s face, too.

“As am I, Qubing. My soul desires for yours to remain close. That, surely, must be love.”

Gyuvin concurs, laughs softly to himself too, because somehow Ricky is more eloquent than he is even though he is the very same person that says he can’t comment on literature, and when he claims he can never make sense of the writings Gyuvin does for school and himself. 

Gyuvin wants to tease Ricky for it, but he saves the teasing for another time. For now, all he wants to do is bask in the happiness he finds outside of where he thought he had to find it all his life. They continue to hug, they kiss again, and even when they part to make their way to dinner, their bodies remain close, synchronous, footsteps falling in line with one another’s.

Gyuvin falls in love with Ricky again, and again, and again, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

There are a few new welcome changes when Gyuvin and Ricky get together. There are things Gyuvin wanted to do in the past but could never justify doing. He sends Ricky off to his classes, picks him up from there, and he drags Ricky on the many walks he goes on just to ensure his boyfriend isn’t holed up in their room, instead of walking around only for classes. Gyuvin also ends up kissing Ricky more often than he thinks he will, and it easily becomes one of his favourite pastimes, though calling it that cheapens it somewhat. He still gets giddy at the mere thought of Ricky being his boyfriend, but he tries to tamp it down. As much as he can, anyways.

But there are things that remain unchanging. When the two of them are not drowning in their assignments that seem to have no end, they will go to sleep together in Ricky’s bed. Gyuvin’s bed is hopeless—there are too many books that do not have shelves to sit on, too many stacks of papers held together with binder clips and a prayer, and too little of Ricky for him to want to spend anymore time there. It’s a squeeze, as it always is, but the lack of space is also an amazing excuse for them to cuddle that much closer with one another. They spend time with each other as naturally as breathing comes to Gyuvin. 

But as with the things, both new and old, are welcome, there are some that Gyuvin wishes will stop. 

Ricky is still… secretive. He still pulls away at times, and there are occasions so bad that Gyuvin goes to sleep in an empty room and wakes up with a room just as empty, the space within his arms colder than he’d like them to be. The candles still burn inexplicably so, without so much as an explanation even though Gyuvin’s asked once, twice, and maybe three times. Gyuvin doesn’t try to press too much—Ricky respects Gyuvin’s religious upbringing and state of mind, so Gyuvin endeavors to return the same amount of respect to Ricky’s practices.

Witchcraft. It’s the only thing that he gets out of Ricky. If he were still on speaking terms with his parents—which he is, just not about anything that actually matters to him anymore—then Gyuvin believes that they’d ask for him to go pray… again. Gyuvin finds that he prefers to spend his Sunday mornings lounging in bed with Ricky until they’re both hungry enough to go grab a bite. But witchcraft doesn’t scare Gyuvin. Not in the way that it’s supposed to, for someone as religious as he is. Even his religion doesn’t stop him from wanting to find out more because, to Gyuvin, Ricky is still the most intriguing person he’s laid his eyes upon and has the honour of dating. 

Gyuvin wants to know more now. 

Although he believes there are times where he’s satiated, the hunger always returns tenfold, hundredfold, and Gyuvin is left aching with the lack of knowledge. The most perplexing of all to Gyuvin, is the frequency in which Ricky repeats the same ritual again and again, almost as if it’s ingrained into his memory. Gyuvin remembers the candles burning even behind his shut eyelids, where the candles burn even wilder, when the white wax becomes even more muddied with the herbs and spices that Ricky rolls onto them. 

“What’s all that for?” Gyuvin asks. It’s the nth time he sees this set-up. He cannot wrap his head around it still, even as his arms slink around Ricky’s waist from behind and he’s perching his chin on the gentle, smooth slope of Ricky’s shoulder. At once, he can feel how tense Ricky becomes—his breath hitches, like he’s wincing, his body seemingly freezing up—and a part of him wonders if he should stop holding onto Ricky, but he’s unfortunately far too invested in keeping his boyfriend in his arms. Gyuvin’s gaze drops towards the metal tray, the setup now so familiar in front of his eyes. The flames on the candles’ wicks burn brighter this time, far brighter than he’s ever seen. 

And yet, like always, some things still don’t change no matter how many times it’s repeated—the twine doesn’t seem to catch on fire all that well. It burns, stops, and then never reignites, much to Gyuvin’s own confusion. The flames seem a little more dancey today, flickering so wildly that Gyuvin can’t quite wrap his head around the twine being mostly unscathed. Gyuvin ends up falling into the abyss of wanting to know more again.

“It’s… just a spell,” comes Ricky’s response. It isn’t the most convincing. Gyuvin also knows that Ricky is well aware that he is not convincing Gyuvin anymore.

But Gyuvin respects his boyfriend to a certain degree—he hums, hand splayed fully on Ricky’s stomach, gently rubbing. Ricky groans softly, almost as if to denote his annoyance but as always, doesn’t move Gyuvin’s hands away, or make any move to move himself away from Gyuvin. That thought alone causes Gyuvin to grin rather easily, feeling accomplished that he’s already wormed into Ricky’s heart—and gained his affection in this manner.

“Hm,” Gyuvin hums, and drags on a small bout of silence as if to think. “What kind of spell is it? Protective? Preventative? One of the -tives?”

The feeling of triumph only amplifies when Gyuvin can hear Ricky’s laughter as the other gently relaxes into his arms. It’s almost enough to forget about the way Ricky tenses against him earlier on, though Gyuvin isn’t sure he’ll be able to forget anything like that. Especially when it concerns his boyfriend—when Ricky’s wellbeing has become one of his utmost concerns.

“Don’t worry too much about it. If it works, it’ll work. I…” Ricky sucks in a deep breath in the middle of his words, and Gyuvin wonders what kind of expression Ricky has on his face right now. Despair? Defeat? Hope, perhaps? He knows how much Ricky’s been doing this. Or maybe, it’s because the spell doesn’t quite work. He hears Ricky mumble about how he has to ‘try again’ often, and maybe… if it does work, there will be no need for further attempts. Gyuvin stays silent, and waits for Ricky to continue.

“... just hope it works.”

Gyuvin is right. He hopes it works, too, more for Ricky than for himself. His arms squeeze around Ricky’s waist, watching the flickering amber flames, watches as the candles burn, and burn, and then burn even more, until the same result presents itself once again, unchangingly so. The twine remains mostly unscathed, even if it’s a little more charred around the ends where the flames dissipated. Gyuvin gets ready for Ricky to become upset again, as he always has—not that Gyuvin ever minds, because he’ll always comfort Ricky and stay with him through whatever upset he feels, be it upset or frustration or anything else in between—and prepares himself to console a usually unconsolable Ricky, but it doesn’t arrive.

No, all he feels is Ricky deflating in his arms, all he hears is silence, and then, after a long while… the silence dissipates, like the condensation on cool glass. A gentle sigh, akin to defeat, leaves Ricky’s plush lips and Gyuvin’s heart aches so painfully for Ricky that he doesn’t even know how to begin to describe it. All Gyuvin can do is lean in, and gently press a soft kiss to Ricky’s cheek, hoping to soothe the other as much as he possibly could.

It doesn’t work. The ritual doesn’t work, but Gyuvin will—and he’ll try his best to ensure he can at least whittle away the pain that he feels radiating from Ricky’s body endlessly, again and again. Gyuvin just leans in, kissing Ricky as much as he can, as they stand there in the aftermath of the ritual.

“I’m tired,” Ricky declares after a moment of silence. Gyuvin hums in acknowledgement, gently lifting his head up from his resting space upon Ricky’s shoulder.

“Let’s turn in for the night, then,” Gyuvin suggests, and waits. When Ricky doesn’t object, Gyuvin guides them towards the bed, where they fall into the plush surface without much fanfare. Even if Ricky looks distraught, he is still beautiful in his pain—mussed black hair that’s soft, fluffy, and unstyled, creating a halo around the male’s head as he lays on the pillow, strawberry pink lips, plump and so supple and Gyuvin’s favourite thing in the world to kiss. Ricky’s frame is so beautifully delicate, yet strong all at the very same time—Gyuvin doesn’t know how Ricky even finds time to go to the gym, but he does and it shows in his broad shoulders, defined arms, and muscular torso. But despite it all, as Ricky lays down there, looking as if he’s lost within the sea of stars that populate the aged pieces of parchment placed upon the walls, he only looks frail—like he’d break. Gyuvin wants to scoop Ricky up into his arms to gently hold him until he feels better again. He shifts closer, settles between Ricky’s legs, and leans down just so he can hug the man as he answers his want.

“I love you, Ricky,” Gyuvin whispers, hoping it’ll balm over some of the pain. Gyuvin sits back just a tad to shift his weight back, hands now free to sneak underneath the fabric of Ricky’s shirt, gently caressing his skin in an affectionate manner—it’s to ground Ricky, to bring his boyfriend back into the world where only the two of them exist within the closed walls of their room. Ricky hums quietly, relaxes into Gyuvin’s touch as he hopes he would. Gyuvin promises Ricky that the ritual will work one day, that the twine will burn into a crisp and that Gyuvin will be there for him and even beyond that. That Ricky will come to find the remnants of Gyuvin’s love in everything he sees and beyond, because that is just how much his love for Ricky persists.

“I don’t think there is even a single moment where I did not,” Gyuvin admits, quietly. “Ever since we first met, even if I was unaware of it at that time—I love you, Ricky. So much.”

“...I love you too, Qubing,” Ricky replies a while after. His profession is a little gentler, and quieter, but Gyuvin knows that it is genuine all the same. It brings a smile to his face, uncontrollable and jovial, as he leans down to capture Ricky’s lips in a kiss. Kissing Ricky always feels euphoric to Gyuvin. He can pour so much of his affection towards Ricky in this manner, breathing it right against his mouth, all as he tastes Ricky’s sweetness right at the very tip of his tongue. Gyuvin can’t even begin to imagine getting tired of this, so he doesn’t. All he does is focus on Ricky, gentle hands continuing to caress Ricky’s body, subtly cool against his heated palms. His palms eventually shift to Ricky’s sides, gliding up smooth skin until his arms hooked underneath Ricky’s armpits, fingers now gently curled around Ricky’s shoulders, until he hears it once again. The soft hitch of Ricky’s breath, amplified due to their proximity, and the way Ricky’s body tenses up against his own once more. 

This causes alarms to go off in Gyuvin’s head. It’s not the first time it happens, of course, but he has never pried. Never felt like he deserves to, but when Ricky does it every time his hands skirt over towards his shoulders… Gyuvin can’t help but worry. The way Ricky almost immediately relaxes when he pulls away is also a cause for concern—he doesn’t know what to say, or to do, beyond sitting there, watching Ricky laid beneath him, breaths subtly shallow and gaze so far away. Is his Ricky even with him at this very moment?

“Ricky,” Gyuvin calls out, softly. A little desperate this time, as he gently bites down onto his lower lip,. “Talk to me, please. You’ve been feeling so… off. Is everything okay? Are you hurt somewhere?”

Ricky doesn’t respond. He just lays there, quiet, almost as if he’s thinking of something—or completely disassociating. Gyuvin can’t quite tell, and that alone unsettles him. He’s never seen Ricky like this, and when this happens after yet another failed ritual... 

Is he losing his boyfriend? All at once, dark thoughts seem to roll over him like a fast-approaching storm. It looks like dark grey clouds looming over Gyuvin, and the beacon of light that encompasses all the hope he feels in the world—Ricky—is somehow flickering, the light waning. Gyuvin feels as if he’s gradually becoming lost. He needs his Ricky back. Gyuvin leans in, desperation breathed into his every movement, and wraps his arms tightly around Ricky in a hug he hopes will bring Ricky back to him. Moments that pass feel more like hours than the actual seconds that do when Gyuvin continues to embrace his boyfriend. He isn’t even sure how much time actually rolls over before he feels movement from underneath him. The tension Gyuvin doesn’t even know he possesses is expelled with a soft sigh of relief when Ricky’s arm gently curls around his frame this time, a palm pressed between Gyuvin’s shoulder blades. Ricky…

“My love,” Gyuvin whispers, and tilts his head just subtly so he’s able to press a soft kiss against Ricky’s temple. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

The quiet drags on this time. But before Gyuvin is left waiting for too long, he hears the words reflected back to him. I’m sorry, too. I love you. 

Ricky wouldn’t ever know the stress that Gyuvin goes through if Gyuvin can allow it. All he does is smile, squeeze Ricky in his arms, and shift himself enough to lay right by Ricky’s hide, continuing to hold onto him.

“Sleep, my love. Sleep and you’ll feel better when tomorrow comes,” Gyuvin promises. He feels Ricky nod in response, and Gyuvin resolves to hold his boyfriend until he falls asleep. The telltale signs of sleep overtaking Ricky are rather apparent—the slowing of his breaths, coupled with his body finally relaxing, is enough to let Gyuvin relax, too, as he fervently wishes that Ricky’s sleep will be restful and gentle.

Sleep, unfortunately, does not come to Gyuvin easily at all. He is kept awake even though he holds onto Ricky, the feeling both comforting and relaxing, because his mind is plagued with worry for his boyfriend that he cannot quite shake away at all.

Gyuvin pulls away even if he doesn’t want to, propping himself up enough in the small space that they share so he can have a proper look at Ricky. 

His boyfriend, when not weighed by the burdens of his life, looks even more beautiful like this. Asleep, soft breath after soft breath. His usually cold expression is soft with sleep, every single muscle now relaxed. There is no furrow to his brows, no squint of his eyes, no scrunch of his nose, and no purse of his lips. In fact, Ricky’s soft lips are evenly parted as he exhales, subtly kiss-swollen from how often Gyuvin kissed him earlier on. Gyuvin’s hand reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing through soft locks of hair, marvelling at how obsidian in quality they are—that Gyuvin comes to find out is because of how dedicated Ricky is when it comes to dyeing it black—and how soft they feel upon roughened fingers. He wishes he could maintain this serenity, this peace, for Ricky, but Gyuvin realises that every time his boyfriend wakes up, Ricky will inevitably end up with the burden of the world on his shoulders. 

His shoulders… that’s right. Ricky’s shoulders. He’s had such a strong reaction both times Gyuvin touched them that he cannot help but feel as if there’s something amiss. It’s not in his position to find out when Ricky is unconscious, but Gyuvin cannot help it anymore—he needs to know if something is wrong, and if there is, if he’d be able to fix it. Gyuvin… he breathes an apology, quick and soft for he doesn’t want to wake Ricky, and gently eases the round collar of Ricky’s black shirt down and towards the side just enough to expose a small bit of the other’s shoulder, where he then sees it—and gasps at the sight he’s met with.

What he believed was always flawless skin, unmarred, is now mottled with shades of blues, purples, reds, and a sickly green-yellow. It looks painful to the touch, skin so tender that it now makes sense why Ricky reacted in that manner earlier on. Gyuvin feels sick—there’s a discomfort that gathers at the pit of his stomach, and threatens to slip out from the back of his throat. Tears uncontrollably and rapidly well up at the rim of his eyes and blurs his vision, but Gyuvin cannot do anything beyond using shaky fingers to return the other’s collar back to its proper orientation, hiding the unsightly bruised skin away from his sight. Yet, Gyuvin feels as if it's burnt into his retinas, the image still persisting even against the black of Ricky’s shirt. Gyuvin feels like he can trace the patterns of the bruise with his finger against the clothing if he tries, but he doesn’t make any move to do so. All he does is gently adjust Ricky’s collar once more to the other side, and when a similar sight greets him… Gyuvin feels dread like never before. Even his sorry time in the stupid confession booth is less painful than this—Gyuvin can only lean in and offer whispered apologies, tears wetting the pillow, as he hugs Ricky protectively to him. 

The bruises. They’re not self-inflicted, nor did they stem from accidents. Gyuvin knows that, because he’s seen too many bruises, and he knows Ricky is never clumsy like that. Someone is hurting Ricky, and it took Gyuvin this long to find out. There’s a gross amalgamation of guilt, anger, and even sadness that stems from Ricky refusing to tell him. Gyuvin wishes he could do something more than just hug Ricky in his sleep to keep him safe, but it’s all he can do.

Sleep continues to evade Gyuvin for the rest of the night, and he leaves the room before Ricky wakes up—after a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead—with a fiery determination in his heart. If he couldn’t do anything before, then he’d try now. 

Gyuvin just hopes he isn’t far too late.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin knows that Ricky doesn’t have classes today. It works in Gyuvin’s favour—he has the freedom to investigate while Ricky continues to rest after the night he’s had. He goes to the arts faculty, and encounters some people he finds remotely familiar along the hallways. Ricky’s classmates are people he’s somewhat familiar with, so he greets them and asks them if they notice anything wrong with Ricky. Gyuvin only gets weird looks in return and a few shaking heads, although some that he knows better, because they’re closer to Ricky and by proxy himself, tease Gyuvin for asking those questions.

“Did you get in a fight with Ricky?” one asks. Gyuvin gasps and shakes his head vehemently, as if the very concept of arguing with Ricky is sin itself. 

“No, that’s not true. I’d never argue with him. You know that.”

Ricky’s—their—friend hums and nods his head. “That makes sense, actually,” he comments, and Gyuvin finds himself relaxing just subtly. He doesn’t know how long he can stand there though, thinking about Ricky and the way he can’t quite place what’s wrong. The skies overhead are so calm today—much unlike the tumultuous emotions that swim within Gyuvin. He doesn’t have time to sit around and wait, so he cuts to the chase.

“Look, Gunwook. You’re also close to Ricky, so I’ll just be honest,” Gyuvin speaks, with an urgency to his tone he can’t quite get rid of. “He’s been doing some rituals lately, but I don’t really know why he’s doing it. And why he’s so shaken. He always says it doesn’t work, you know? But… what doesn’t work?”

Silence persists for a while. Gyuvin feels as if he’s about to jump right out of his skin in wait.

“Well,” Gunwook begins, nose scrunching up. “I don’t exactly know what he does, because he’s the only one that I know of who practices witchcraft. Is the situation really bad?” 

Gyuvin wonders if it is. 

For the longest time, he’s accepted it as part of Ricky. Witchcraft still eludes Gyuvin if he’s completely honest, but he trusts Ricky when he says that there is efficacy. Ricky even told Gyuvin that the reason why he’s come into Ricky's life is because of the spell he’d done all those years ago, asking for a handsome tall man with a heart of gold to be his boyfriend, but all that does is inflate Gyuvin’s ego and flatter him. Does he think the spell is true? Frankly, Gyuvin’s not too sure. He is intrigued, but beyond the interest, he’s more worried about Ricky’s wellbeing than anything else. Especially after last night, and especially after he’s seen the bruises that blossom on Ricky’s skin. Especially when it feels as if Ricky is just hiding behind the guise of witchcraft to ignore the glaring issues that blossom upon his skin in painful-looking bruises and take the form of unanswered questions.

“It kind of is, yeah. Sometimes, he repeats a certain ritual multiple times, and… all the times he says it doesn’t work, but whenever I ask him what’s up, or what’s wrong, he refuses to tell me,” Gyuvin admits. He feels his chest squeeze, the hurt of being kept in the dark abruptly making itself known when Gyuvin has done so well not giving it a name. Unfortunately for him, this time, he can’t even deny its existence any further. “I want to know, because he always gets so upset afterwards. Except last night, when it didn’t work, it was as if he just wasn’t there anymore. He felt so far away that it scared me. A lot.”

Gyuvin knows, for sure, that Gunwook feels bad for him. There’s a flicker of concern that he notes in the younger man’s eyes, and Gyuvin soon finds a gentle hand on his back, patting him. He wishes he could say the gesture actually helped to smooth over the complicated feelings brewing inside of him, but really, it feels as if Gunwook is just driving the wedge further inside of him, cracking Gyuvin open even more with each gentle pat even if he knows the younger doesn’t mean to. He isn’t sure just how much more he can handle. Gyuvin makes a move to get up from the bench they’ve settled on—when did they sit down?—and turns to look at Gunwook right after. The younger man just stares up at Gyuvin, and offers another small smile.

“I don’t know if this will help, hyung. But, maybe the library will have more answers than I do. Do you want me to come with you?”

Gyuvin contemplates the idea of Gunwook following him to the library. Surely, two heads are better than one, and even if Gyuvin does frequent the library, he hasn’t ever come across anything Gunwook is trying to suggest it has. Does it make sense for him to do this alone when Gunwook is here offering his help? Yet, something gnaws at Gyuvin and almost begs him to do this alone. He’s not sure what it actually is, but perhaps, it’s him wanting to respect Ricky’s privacy. So he tries his best to don his signature grin—the one that Ricky says resembles the first rays of the morning sun—and shakes his head, readjusting his bag that is balanced on his shoulder. Gyuvin will have to do this alone, he reckons.

“I’ll see you around, Gunwook. I think I should be able to manage by myself,” Gyuvin adds. He sees the slight doubt that manifests in Gunwook’s gaze, the slight parting of his lips as if he’s about to say something, before the very same pair of lips eventually morphs into a small smile instead. Gyuvin is thankful, as always, at how insightful Gunwook usually is.

“Sure thing, hyung. You know where to find me if you need me. Good luck with your search!”

Gyuvin feels as if he needs all the luck that he can get. The way to the library feels like a blur when all he can think of is Ricky and his well-being. He wants to find the answers, and quickly, but when he pushes the door to the library open, the one thing he loves ends up being something he abhors at this moment—the extensive shelves that seem to hold all the world’s knowledge is too much right now when he’s desperate for answers that he feels as if has been kept from him for far too long. The gnawing hunger returns with so strong a vengeance that Gyuvin feels frustration boiling deep inside of him.

“Where would it be,” Gyuvin mumbles to himself, biting on the inside of his cheek as he makes a straight line down to the deepest depths of the library—Gyuvin hasn’t personally been there before, but he believes that it’s the best place to start. Thick layers of dust seem to settle over the tops of the books and on the shelves. Gyuvin can tell, without a doubt, that no one ever comes to the back of the library, much less takes anything from here. 

Even Gyuvin, who self-proclaims as a library fanatic, has never delved this deeply into the library’s compound. The books almost feel… forgotten. Yet, here he is, about to unearth them in fervent hope that he’ll somehow manage to figure out what exactly plagues his lover in such a way. He convinces himself he is doing this for Ricky, more than himself, even when his fingers tremble as they reach towards the spine of the first book that catches his eye: “Basics of Witchcraft — Top 10 Spells to Get You Started on Your Spiritual Journey”.

It feels as if he is about to unearth a secret that he’s not actually supposed to. Gyuvin feels adrenaline thrumming in his veins as he swipes away at the dust on the cover, holding his breath to avoid consequently choking on the dust cloud that forms with his poorly-thought actions. There are a few more books that he takes beyond the first one when it becomes easier for Gyuvin to swallow. By the time he’s done removing the books of interest and loading them onto his arms, Gyuvin struggles to bring them to the desk a short distance away from the shelves.

That place is just as dusty as the books that populate the area. Abandoned, almost as if it’s meant to be some lost art, taboo such that no one will ever speak about the books or the words that lie within it, dark ink printed on off-white parchment. They must hold unspoken truths that Gyuvin, who comes here in search of answers he hopes he will receive, will encounter. He covers all his grounds—from basic spells to advanced ones, common spells to rare ones, and widely-practised ones to forbidden ones.

“You can do this, Gyuvin,” he mutters to himself, to serve  as a pick-me-up, and removes the first book from his stack to begin his long journey, driven by his desire to get to know his lover better.

It’s nothing like he’s prepared himself for. With all caution thrown to the wind, Gyuvin begins finding things out that he never expects to, and finds that he has to quickly skim through a few of the rituals from how easily they send chills of sheer unease down his spine, and the search proves almost futile—he doesn’t find any book that tells him what kind of ritual Ricky keeps doing endlessly, almost as if it’s been an obsession that his lover can’t quite curb. 

When Gyuvin reaches the last book, he prays that it has the answers that he has been desperate for. The answer he finds, as he peruses that last book, is… shocking. 

It’s shocking enough that he ends up abandoning the books against the library’s rules of always tidying up after oneself–-a rule he’s never broken up until today—and rushes back to the dorm to find Ricky.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

“Ricky!” Gyuvin calls out the moment he pushes the door to their room open. He’s huffing and puffing, breaths heavy from the exertion that he inevitably feels as an unfortunate effect from running down the numerous hallways bridging between the library and their roon. There’s too much urgency to his every footstep ever since the moment he found out all about the ritual. Is this what Ricky’s been hiding from him all along? 

And if he’s correct, if the books are correct, then why… 

Why did Ricky keep this from him for so long?

When Gyuvin finds Ricky, the man is slow to stir. It’s clear that his voice is loud enough to startle his boyfriend awake, but Gyuvin still has to witness the laboriously slow seconds tick away as Ricky rubs the sleep in his eyes away and sits up from the bed. At the sight, Gyuvin can’t help but feel that there’s  a stark contrast between Ricky and himself—where he feels as if his mind is running a thousand miles a second when Ricky is simply taking his time, faithfully marching to the beat of his own drums that are unfortunately a few bars too behind for Gyuvin’s liking at this moment, even though Gyuvin usually does look at Ricky with nothing but affection in his eyes when Ricky looks as if the world spins too quickly far beyond his comprehension. Heat seems to build up in his body, but not the good kind—there is no flush from contentment, nor is it a giddy and warm happiness. All there is is a tension that Gyuvin feels will snap at any moment and reddening cheeks, and to top it all off, there’s a frown etched onto his features he cannot shake away.

“Qubing…? Is anything the matter?” Ricky asks, voice thick with sleep and words slightly slurred over one another. Gyuvin doesn’t hesitate, just cuts straight to the chase.

“The ritual. I know what you’re doing it for. Who are you trying to cut off? And are they the reason why you have bruises on your shoulders? Hell, are there even more that I don’t even know of?”

Gyuvin doesn’t even know how Ricky will react to all this. His tone is accusatory right off the bat, but a huge part of it is due to how much his heart aches at the revelation. Ricky’s been hurting so much, and he’s been none the wiser to it all. A part of him feels like an absolute failure, and another part of him feels an odd sense of betrayal that he has been left to make sense of the pieces he’s given—and not by choice of his own—by Ricky. From the way Ricky sometimes acts as if the very touch Gyuvin initiates is pure fire on his skin, to the way he feels miles away when he’s supposed to be cradled comfortably within Gyuvin’s arms. Gyuvin easily relaxes because Ricky brings calm to his mind that otherwise never quite shuts up, but in contrast, Ricky is fighting a battle Gyuvin knows nothing about. He feels blindsided, even if he knows he isn’t the one suffering. Is it wrong for Gyuvin to wish the person that he loves the most in the world will at least share a fraction of their woes to him?

A part of Gyuvin wishes that he could see logic. That he could see that Ricky must have had his reasons from hiding everything from him, but when they’ve been together for so long, when they’re already accustomed to the way each other tastes on the tip of their tongue, and how each other’s flesh feels underneath calloused fingertips—Gyuvin finds that there are things far harder to swallow because of how close they’ve become with one another.

“I’m your boyfriend, Ricky,” Gyuvin begins again, exasperated. And he grows even more so, too, when he doesn’t even get a single response out of Ricky, sitting there with his expression schooled into perfect neutrality. Does Ricky practise even that expression of his? Why is Gyuvin the only one getting worked up, when it’s clear as day that Ricky is affected by the past, and even the present? That he wears his sadness so clearly on his sleeves at times and Gyuvin has been able to do nothing but slap bandaids over gaping wounds? 

“Why does it feel like you don’t trust me?”

For the first time in a while, Ricky feels so far away from Gyuvin. His boyfriend is an unmoving rock, still and quiet, and he is the sail on a small boat amongst torrential winds, flapping around helplessly with nowhere to dock. Gyuvin feels as if he will capsize anytime soon, and yet, his boyfriend remains still, large waves lapping at his unmoving body. Gyuvin sees Ricky’s eyes narrow, and his lips part, and Gyuvin knows it’s all too late.

“I… I don’t recall ever asking you to care, Kim Gyuvin. Mind your own business.”

Gyuvin crashes against the rock that is Ricky, and smashes into smithereens.

“Fine. Have it your way,” Gyuvin spits, even if he doesn’t mean it. Venom drips from the tip of his tongue and tastes foreign upon the muscle, but the damage is done. He’s hurt, and even if he hears the quiver in Ricky’s voice, he bitterly thinks that Ricky deserves it. That he should feel all Gyuvin’s felt all along—the walking around eggshells, the waiting around for answers that never arrived, the way Ricky demands so much from Gyuvin and bares Gyuvin’s soul for himself to dissect for his own sick desires. He is nothing but Ricky’s plaything, and all Gyuvin gets is the warmth of his boyfriend, the sweet smell of Ricky’s shampoo mixing with his own, gentle ‘I love you’s and soft blinks of his boyfriend’s eyes. Hell, Gyuvin doesn’t even know if any of it even means anything to Ricky when he shares only a small part of himself and hides the rest of it away.

If Ricky’s about to say something else, Gyuvin doesn’t stay long enough to listen to it. He storms back out of their dorm room, vision blurred with tears unshod, and doesn’t manage to pick himself back up—not when the broken pieces of himself, too, belong to Ricky.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin regrets it.

He doesn’t admit it to anyone other than the blurry reflection of himself he sees on frosted glass, but he regrets it. When he storms down the hallways and makes far too much noise than he’s supposed to in the dormitory building, Gyuvin leaves behind a sludge named ‘Regret’—sticky, viscous, and constantly trying to pull Gyuvin back through the door of his and Ricky’s room, to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness until the word ‘sorry’ becomes the only thing he knows to spill from his lips. He has to physically stop himself from turning back every time, especially when the sight of Ricky, quivering, surrounded in his own sadness, springs to his mind every so often. Gyuvin knows this is not healthy for himself. He can’t throw himself into oblivion just to placate his lover, even if he’s done it again, and again, when his lover spits him back out each time he dives too deep. Gyuvin’s knees are scraped, his palms raw, and frankly, he’s tired, too.

It’s no wonder he finds himself right in front of another room’s door. Gyuvin waits a clock tick, and then another, and another, before he finally allows his fingers to curl into a loose fist so that he can gently rap his knuckles against the smooth wooden surface. The next few seconds of waiting feels too laborious, but Gyuvin thankfully gets reprieve as soon as he hears shuffled footsteps when the laughter within the room eventually dies down. The realisation that he is very much intruding comes belatedly to Gyuvin and he thinks of just leaving again, but it’s far too late—the door swings open, and who greets him is not someone familiar.

In any other situation, Gyuvin will end up breaking into laughter when he and the stranger exchange surprised glances with one another. It’s almost as if no one knows where to look. For Gyuvin, he doesn’t even know where to be.

“Gunwook? Is this one of your friends?” A sweet baritone voice sounds, cutting through the silence. Gyuvin registers it belatedly as this stranger’s, and Gyuvin finally finds it in himself to blink away the bleariness that gathered in his eyes. The tears that hindered his vision eventually clears and the culprits roll down his cheeks. “Wait, don’t cry—”

Gyuvin feels bad for the stranger. Here Gyuvin is, in all one hundred and eighty-eight centimetres of his glory, crying in front of a stranger almost a full head shorter than he is. He seems nice, too, donning a powder blue hoodie and a deep dimple that appears even as he speaks. Probably Gunwook’s roommate. Right, they all have roommates—it’s incredulously silly of Gyuvin to even think he’ll be able to talk to Gunwook without the possibility of inconveniencing someone else. At this moment, the desire to want to run away fills him up even more. His friend, Gunwook, immediately remedies that by rushing to the door as well. He hears the short gasp that leaves Gunwook, probably from how pathetically Gyuvin’s presenting himself as of this very moment.

“Gyuvin hyung! Come in.” 

There’s a few shuffling footsteps before the doorway clears and he’s ushered inside—one side flanked by Gunwook who already has a hand on Gyuvin’s back, and the other side, by Gunwook’s roommate who kindly keeps the door open for them. Gyuvin is still crying, or at least he thinks he is when his vision blurs once again and he feels droplets of liquid trickling down his cheeks. If it still doesn’t rain indoors, and if Gunwook’s room isn’t experiencing an unfortunate leak to which Gyuvin is the only victim of, then he must be crying. But why?

And why is it that—even in all the pain he feels well up in his chest, and tugs at his heartstrings—the only thing he can still think about is still the source of his heartache, Ricky?

Gyuvin also realises that it’s the first time he’s entering Gunwook’s room, for he’s never visited beyond dropping Gunwook off sometimes when he has too many things to carry, and never stayed long enough to know what the inside of the room looks like. He always finds his room to be his favourite, because Ricky’s in it, and that their room is so uniquely split down the middle—well, until parts of Gyuvin bleeds into Ricky, just like how it happens the other way around. With Gunwook—and his roommate’s—room, it’s a little less pronounced. Almost as if the two of them had blended into one, the product of that blending being one cohesive room. Perhaps, that’s the thing that Gyuvin and Ricky are missing.

Just the thought of that has Gyuvin feel an unease that doesn’t quite settle down at the pit of his stomach at all. He feels like hurling, he feels like running, but all he can do is settle down onto the chair that Gunwook guides him to. Gyuvin notices, in his peripheral vision, that Gunwook’s roommate has a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, long fingers squeezing gently and garnering Gunwook’s attention enough that the soothing hand on his back halts and he sees his friend turn to the other man, a hand gingerly placed atop the one on his shoulder. Realisation settles inside of Gyuvin slowly, then all at once. They’re dating.

“Do you need me to vacate the room?” Gunwook’s roommate asks, and Gunwook immediately turns his attention back to Gyuvin. He finds himself entirely too mean if he says yes, so he just offers a laugh, except the sound that leaves him sounds wet and pathetic. Exactly just like him.

“I don’t mind if your boyfriend stays, Wook,” Gyuvin responds. “I just hope I’m not intruding…”

“Don’t be silly, Gyuvin hyung. You aren’t. Taerae hyung doesn’t think you are either. Right, hyung?” Gunwook replies in record breaking speed. All Gyuvin does is end up slumping back into the chair, eyes closed for a brief moment as he feels another wave of sadness smack him square in the face.

“I don’t think you’re intruding, Gyuvin. As long as you don’t mind, I don’t, either.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Taerae,” Gyuvin whispers. There’s a light laughter—subtly foreign yet still so warm and welcoming—before Gyuvin feels another hand gently patting his shoulder, squeezing at the muscles that he doesn’t even know grew this tense. He relaxes, but only minimally. When he reopens his eyes, there are two men with equally warm smiles, and patience that awaits for Gyuvin to spill what has him appearing at their doorstep, in tears and in disarray.

It takes a while, but the hollow shell that he is left with breaks even more.

“I fought with Ricky,” Gyuvin whispers. The truth, when spoken out, feels too serious. The words cut into him and he bleeds openly, his pain intertwining with every breath he takes. Silence befalls all three of them, and he hears a hushed whisper from Taerae to Gunwook that he’ll return with drinks. Gyuvin hears the footsteps that bring the other man further away from him, and then Gunwook's soft voice fills the air between the both of them once more, the same time he hears a drag of another chair against the hardwood floor. Gyuvin watches as Gunwook sits down right next to him, his hand returning to rub at Gyuvin’s back.

“What happened, hyung?” Gunwook asks, tone tender. Gyuvin wonders if he looks akin to an injured fawn without his mother—because he sure feels like it right now.

“I followed your advice, Wook-ah. I mean, I went to the library to look for clues. For anything, basically.”

Perhaps Gyuvin found out too much. He hadn’t asked Ricky if he was allowed to, or perhaps he approached the topic far too insensitively, but how could he sit still when he realised the one person he loves so much is actually in so much pain? That Ricky is actively hurting right beside him, right within his arms, and yet, doesn’t tell Gyuvin a single thing? Surely his reaction from earlier on was justified. Gyuvin can’t quite see how it couldn’t be.

When he’s met with silence, Gyuvin takes it as a cue for him to continue speaking.

“I found some books in the library. I think I know why Ricky is doing all this but when I asked him about it, he told me to mind my own business.” Even right now, the words etch pain right into Gyuvin’s soul, and he doesn’t know what to do when all that fills him is regret and yearning and things he still can’t quite place his finger on. 

“I just want to be let in, Gunwook. Ricky’s never let me close. I’ve bared everything about myself—my body, my soul, everything, to Ricky, but it feels as if he’s hiding his whole world away from me. I got upset. It’d be weird if I didn’t, I think. I got upset, and told him to suit himself, and now, now I’m here and oh, I regret it so much Wook-ah. I don’t know what to do. I want to go back and grovel at his feet and beg for forgiveness—”

“Hyung, breathe with me. That’s all you need to do right now, okay? Breathe,” Gunwook urges. Gyuvin doesn’t even realise how winded he’s becoming until he’s made to follow Gunwook’s advice, where he breathes in deeply, and exhales just as deeply, mirroring Gunwook’s actions. He’s exhausted, and regret lingers like an unwelcome friend. But he’s calmer after a few more breaths, and Gunwook’s smile is enough to at least let Gyuvin know that he isn’t completely ruined yet. 

“Good,” Gunwook whispers. The smile persists—even grows wider—when Taerae returns with a large jug of water and three mugs, all contained within two hands. He hears the sounds of water filling the mugs, and when a mug is thrust to his hands, Gyuvin quickly accepts it, fingers wrapped around the cylindrical object as if it’d somehow soothe the torrents deep inside of him. He takes a small sip after thanking Taerae.

“Gyuvin hyung,” Gunwook calls out shortly after. “I think you should talk to Ricky again.”

“What, and have another fight with him? I don’t think I can handle that—”

“But you cannot handle not knowing too, right, hyung? Let Ricky know where you’re coming from, and that the reason why you reacted this strongly is because you care about him. You not talking about this fight will just be you doing the exact thing you don’t want Ricky to do to you. That’s not fair to either of you.”

Gyuvin looks away from Gunwook, as the weight of his words settle in the air. He wishes that he can refute Gunwook and tell him that he’s definitely wrong, but Gyuvin already knows the answer without Gunwook talking about it—he just hates that the answer is now right in front of his face and then subsequently shoved down his throat. Living in plausible deniability feels like a far better fate, but he is stopped from doing so. 

“... I don’t want to lose him,” Gyuvin admits. “It’s the first time we fought, and I already feel as if I’ve lost him. I don’t know why he doesn’t want to share with me, or why he’s asked me to mind my own business. It’s normal, right, Wook-ah? It’s normal to want to know if the person you love most in the world is hurting, and it’s normal to want to know why too, right? But Ricky… he always keeps it from me. He doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t want him to shut me out, and I’ve been in denial for so long, but it’s all he’s done with me. And it feels like it’s all he’ll do.”

Sometimes, Gyuvin closes his eyes and has nightmares even when he’s not asleep. He mourns a future that doesn’t even exist—a future frigidly cold with the absence of Ricky beside him. Usually, he’ll open his eyes and see Ricky asleep in his arms, or Ricky hunched over his desk working on his next assignment or his rituals. If he opens his eyes and Ricky isn’t there, at least Gyuvin will know that they’ll find each other at the end of the day as they always do. This knowledge always marks the end of his nightmare, but this time he doesn’t get that assurance, because there is no guarantee that he will be able to have Ricky back in his arms again after what’s happened today.

Gyuvin’s nightmare ensues.

 “If I can share my two cents…” Gyuvin’s gaze lifts, and finds Taerae looking at him as if waiting for permission to continue. He gently nods his head, and Taerae continues again.

“It’s normal, what you’re feeling. Natural, even, that you’re upset. Give yourself, and Ricky, some time to cool down first, and maybe you’ll be able to reach a common ground. It’s not easy to open up, especially if this is the same Ricky Gunwook tells me about sometimes…”

Gyuvin frowns, and turns to Gunwook. His friend offers a sheepish grin and shrugs shortly after.

“I knew Ricky since we were young, after all. It’s only natural my boyfriend knows about him too… and hyung, I really wanted to let Ricky tell you in his own time, but…” Gunwook trails off for a short moment, as he leans back into his chair. “I honestly don’t find it surprising that he’s kept everything from you.”

“What? Is there something wrong with me?”

“Hyung, no—calm down. That’s not true. It’s just… Ricky’s always been left to his own devices even when he was young, so he’s… well. You know. He doesn’t tell anyone anything. Not even me, and I’ve known him for way longer too. It will take time, hyung, but it’s not your fault. It’s not his either. I’m not trying to defend him, but I think if you let him know that you genuinely want to be there for him, and try to open another conversation, it’ll work…”

Gyuvin wonders if it really will. All this time, in the months he’s dated Ricky, he’s tried his best to show that he’ll be there for Ricky. He knows who he keeps in his embrace, he knows who cries in his arms until they inevitably fall asleep. But it always ends there. Is it Gyuvin’s fault for not prodding for more? Perhaps Gyuvin should not have believed that his boyfriend would know that Gyuvin is always there to provide a listening ear.

“I hope it does,” Gyuvin mumbles, nose scrunching up subtly. “Do you think he’ll let me in, Wook-ah?”

“Hyung, I think he’s let you in more than you think.”

… Gyuvin knows it’s the truth. It’s why he shuts up, lips pressed together into a thin line. He knows that Gunwook is speaking the truth, and perhaps, it’s what makes it even more frustrating. He’s gotten too greedy, his hunger now a monster, who desires to know everything about Ricky. Gyuvin ends up losing control of that monster when he realises there are still parts of Ricky that he doesn’t know.

Gyuvin deflates and lets out a faint groan as he does so.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him… properly, this time.”

“Good. For now, though, just take your time and rest here for as long as you need to, hyung. As much as you need.”

“Yes, Gyuvin. I wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry.”

Gyuvin’s thankful, really. He’s so thankful, but he can’t help but realise just how much of an open book he is compared to his boyfriend. Perhaps, that is where all the struggle is coming from, but he knows that’s not the truth either. He’s too volatile for his own good, too demanding, and Ricky has to suffer through the effects of it alone, as he always does, while Gyuvin intercepts and takes Ricky’s only few friends—and his friend’s boyfriend—all for himself to dump his grievances out  upon.

Gyuvin asks to crash in Gunwook’s room tonight, and for the first time in months, he falls into a fitful sleep—without Ricky in his arms, and Ricky constantly in his head.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Admittedly, the sun rises and sets too many times before Gyuvin finally gains enough confidence—and courage—to find Ricky and talk things out. Although he knows that it’s cowardly of him to stay in the comforts of Gunwook’s room for this many days on end, Gyuvin can’t help himself. Each time he thinks he’s able to find Ricky again and walks to the door leading out of Gunwook’s and Taerae’s room, he chickens out—and sometimes, even before the weight of his hand depresses the door handle. Gunwook and Taerae thankfully allow him to stay the nights he doesn’t return back to his own room. It unfortunately also doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the sleepless nights Gyuvin spends, tossing and turning in Gunwook’s bed while the other two of them shared the other, is starting to affect not only himself, but his friends too.

Beyond that, Gyuvin also misses Ricky so much he feels as if he’ll die.

“You know where to find me if you need me again, hyung,” Gunwook tells him right before Gyuvin leaves the room. Gyuvin feels as if he needs Gunwook right now, walking along the stone path that’ll lead him towards the arts faculty building. Though he feels as if he can navigate down this path, down this particular direction, with his eyes closed, the road ahead feels simply treacherous just today, despite the mild afternoon sun and gentle sweet breeze. He knows where to find Gunwook well, but he knows where to find Ricky even better. At one this afternoon, Ricky will be done with his live drawing class, and he will be able to greet his boyfriend after sticking his head through the door, and take his bag for him when Ricky leaves the room. But this time is different, too, because he cannot exactly do that when they’ve technically not made up just yet.

But Gyuvin believes that Ricky will find it in himself to be forgiving enough to allow the two of them to return back to their small home—confined in a dormitory room—together.

Like usual, he sees some familiar faces pass him by. Gyuvin greets some of them, but doesn’t spend too long until he’s finally at the right classroom. By the time he arrives, there are not many people left, though it’s not exactly the most important fact when they’re all people he doesn’t know. He waits outside, fully expecting Ricky to step out of the opened door like the rest of his classmates have done, but sees no one. Ricky isn’t there.

Gyuvin doesn’t think it’s too out of the ordinary, though. He knows his boyfriend like the back of his hand—sometimes, Ricky takes longer to leave his classroom because he’s sprawled too much of his art supplies on the table and has to pick them all up before he can go. Usually, Gyuvin will have entered the classroom, after he’s ascertained that no one else is in there anymore, just to help Ricky, but today is a little different. Today, he’s technically not even expected there.

So Gyuvin simply waits outside. For some reason, there’s this unease that he cannot shake off: Gyuvin tries his best to do anything, from rocking on his feet, to nipping at the dried cuticles around his fingers… basically, everything, but nothing seems to successfully get rid of the turmoil that clings to him like tar. The seconds bleed into minutes, and Gyuvin wonders if he’s missed Ricky in the crowd of students that he passes by earlier on. He doesn’t entertain that possibility for too long, though, because Gyuvin is certain he’ll see Ricky because that’s how brilliantly his boyfriend shines—beautifully and effortlessly so.

“Did he not attend class today?” Gyuvin asks himself, a subtle frown appearing on his features. It’s unlike Ricky to skip classes too—but at this point, what exactly is unlike Ricky? He’s not had an argument with Ricky like this before, so Gyuvin can’t tell with certainty what his boyfriend will do in the aftermath of it all. He’s not that much better, considering he’s never skipped classes himself until he did so for the few days he spends with Gunwook and Taerae.

Either way, he resolves to wait for a bit more. Five more minutes—if Ricky doesn’t show his face in five more minutes, then Gyuvin will cut his losses and look for him back in their room instead. The seconds pass by him relentlessly. Gyuvin checks his watch every few seconds, but none of the passing moments bring him any closer to Ricky—not even when all five minutes are up.

Gyuvin heaves out a soft sigh, disappointed by the lack of Ricky, and eventually moves to leave. He lifts his leg, about to take the first step back towards the dormitory building, and finds himself immediately halting when—

“Shen Quanrui.” 

A deep voice, chilling enough to send shivers down his spine, calls out a name that sounds vaguely familiar. Gyuvin’s head snaps towards the classroom, eyes widening subtly in surprise. 

Shen Quanrui… it’s Ricky’s name, but spoken with such a foreign twang—and so unlike the way Ricky says it himself—that Gyuvin almost fails to recognise it. A small part of himself asks him to remain quiet, even though he doesn’t know why. He listens, and inches closer towards the door, left slightly ajar by the last person who left the place. 

… or they’re about to, considering he hears a sigh sound so near to the door. Gyuvin can’t quite look in, but…

“Yes, professor?” 

Ricky.

It’s his Ricky speaking, and a professor that Gyuvin doesn’t quite know the name of. He knows of the professor only because the older man is quite difficult to not have an impression of. When he first came to pick Ricky up from this particular class when they first got together, Gyuvin noticed that the professor unabashedly stared at them leaving. Gyuvin even remembers asking Ricky about it because he was subtly disturbed by it, and the only response he got from Ricky in the past was that the professor was just weird like that and to pay him no heed. Gyuvin of course listened to Ricky, but this time, the unease he feels deep inside almost makes him feel sick.

“Your boy. Is he finally out of your life?” 

Gyuvin freezes in place. He even forgets how to breathe, the bubble of air held in the back of his throat as his mind races at those words—Ricky’s boy. Is the professor referring to… him? And if he is, then is he actually finally out of Ricky’s life? Did Ricky and the professor know each other personally enough for them to discuss such personal matters? And… is Ricky glad to have that distance between himself and Gyuvin again?

“No, professor. He’s just… busy,” he hears Ricky immediately reply. Gyuvin knows he should probably stop listening in, but a part of him is relieved that he at least sticks long enough to hear that he’s still a part of his boyfriend’s life. That he hasn’t been pushed out of Ricky’s life from his own little outburst. Gyuvin breathes out a sigh, finally allowing himself to breathe, until… 

“A pity. I thought you finally got rid of him.”

Finally? Got rid of him? Gyuvin can’t even begin to comprehend what he’s hearing. The conversation ensues without much heed to Gyuvin’s ability to understand.

“With all due respect, he is my boyfriend and he will continue being my boyfriend. I’m not getting rid of him—”

“And who said you could talk to me like this?”

All of a sudden, silence ensues. It’s akin to a thick blanket smothering over amber flames, burning brightly from Ricky’s passion as he defends Gyuvin’s status as his boyfriend. On other occasions, Gyuvin will be gloating about this, and go to sleep gleefully that Ricky is so confident in their relationship. 

But Gyucin cannot help that the lack of a response baffles him and tries to inch closer towards the door to hopefully be able to listen in. Instead of a reply, he only hears the shuffling of footsteps, and the sound of something heavy thudding to the floor. What… exactly what was it? Gyuvin’s brows furrow in his concentration and partially because of his own frustration from the lack of context he’s provided.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Ricky say after what feels like ages. His boyfriend’s voice is soft, feeble, and trembling like all the times he hears emotions take over Ricky. His brain paints a vivid image where his eyes fail to see—Ricky, with his lower lip quivering from the emotions he fails to hold back, with the pupils of his eyes trembling, and with his body tensing up that Gyuvin can’t help but worry if his boyfriend will just snap in half if Gyuvin’s not careful enough. He can’t see all of that, but all at once, his heart aches for Ricky, and wishes he could do something beyond just standing there, helplessly, listening into a conversation that he doesn’t belong in.

It becomes less of a conversation when he hears something else. 

A loud sound crackles through the air like lightning. 

It’s disconcerting, cutting through the thick tension—Gyuvin hears the sound of flesh hitting flesh, a sickening loud smack that has Gyuvin’s fingers clenched so tightly into fists. It’s… who…?

“If you’re sorry, you’d show it with your actions instead of making me do it for you, Shen Quanrui. Or have you forgotten how to do everything? Do I have to teach you again?”

“No, sir! I remember, I… I promise I remember. I’m sorry.” 

There’s no pause between those words and more sounds, sounds that sound awfully like the rustling of clothes, and more smacking of skin. Gyuvin hears the little groans of pain, all stemming from Ricky alone, and, although he wants to burst through the doors and put an end to this insanity, his adrenaline-fuelled body takes the coward’s way out and brings him towards the washrooms instead, far, far away from the classroom.

Gyuvin barely reaches one of the cubicles before he’s heaving right into the toilet bowl, throwing up his insides until there’s nothing left of him to give up, until there’s nothing he can do but to continue running away in shame moments after, when the walls of the washroom threaten to close in on him. 

Gyuvin doesn’t do the admirable thing. He doesn’t barge into the classroom to put a stop to the insanity. He doesn’t save and protect Ricky like he promises he’ll do, and all this, because he is nothing but a coward who’s only capable of running away. 

Gyuvin stumbles his way back to their room, ashamed, terrified, and feels the first bits of hatred for himself festering deep inside of him, with nowhere else to go.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin doesn’t know how much time passes by. His mouth tastes of bile, of regrets, and of anger that he can’t quite figure what—or who—it’s directed towards. Although he hoped returning to his room would be some sort of comfort, he finds that people like him are hardly ever deserving of it when he leaves his own boyfriend to suffer. He has no idea what pushed him to run away, and why that energy hadn’t been directed towards saving Ricky, but the sinking reality that perhaps, there is reason as to why Ricky has been so secretive with his suffering. Judging from his own reactions, it’s no wonder Ricky didn’t want to tell Gyuvin anything. He must have known how cowardly his boyfriend was and decided that it was not worth it at all. That Gyuvin cannot enact what he promises to do, because he is simply too incapable of doing so. He’s too sheltered. That must be it. Gyuvin laments not just his upbringing but also himself as a person. He wishes there’s something else to blame. Someone else. 

Yet, there’s no one to blame except for the man he sees in the mirror, eyes sunken in, the discolouration underneath his eyes in a sickly purplish hue an outward manifestation of his fatigue. Gyuvin doesn’t even recognise himself there anymore—his chestnut brown hair is wayward and sticks out in random places, his cheekbones are sallow, and his lips are chapped and slightly raw in some spots. He hides the mirror away after a while, for nothing about fixing his appearance will change just how much turmoil he feels deep inside of him as he comes to terms with just how terrible of a lover he actually is for Ricky.

His rumination falls short, when he hears the faint sounds of the door knob. It rattles in its place, before the key slides in just right to unlock. When the door opens, there is only one person he hopes to see.

At least his hope isn’t dashed when Ricky is the person that appears as the wooden door pushes open.

It goes without saying, really, that Ricky is beautiful. Even after everything, Ricky is beautiful, when his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bloodshot, widened in what Gyuvin supposes is the emotion of ‘surprise’ when Ricky finally catches sight of Gyuvin. When his gaze follows Gyuvin as he sits up from the bed, the same way Gyuvin’s eyes don't leave his boyfriend. He can’t cry. He shouldn’t cry. Gyuvin tries something else instead.

“Ricky,” Gyuvin whispers, desperate. The tremors in his voice betray the way he tries to appear okay, and almost immediately, his eyes are filled with tears that he doesn’t even believe he deserves to shed. Gyuvin gets up from the bed, stumbles the short distance towards Ricky by the door, and falls to his knees, loud sobs wracking through his body as his hands reach forward, gripping pathetically at whatever part of Ricky he can hold onto—his shirt, pants, hands, thighs… anything and everything, as he sobs and cries and does everything that he feels as if he shouldn’t. 

“Ricky, I’m sorry, my Ricky, I’m—I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” Gyuvin chokes out. He presses his face into Ricky’s torso, inhales so deeply because his lungs burn for air that he doesn’t give himself. “Forgive me, please, Ricky… please.”

Gyuvin doesn’t even know what he’s seeking forgiveness for. There are too many things that he has to apologise for: from the way he has never known how much Ricky suffered, to the way he decided to argue with Ricky and not even spare a single thought for his boyfriend, up until the fact that he had not managed to be there for Ricky when it’s been clear as day that his boyfriend had needed it. Needed him.

It must have only been hours ago when the incident happened, but Gyuvin feels as if it’s been days—and that he has failed, and is still failing now even as he grasps at Ricky and begs for forgiveness that he doesn’t even deserve. It’s unlike him in church where he prays and believes that all is forgiven once he does, no. Gyuvin knows that he isn’t, and he shouldn’t be, for as long as he lives. He committed unforgivable sins, hurt Ricky, and failed to protect him.

“Qubing.” 

It’s a single word, two syllables, with Ricky’s tongue curled around his name the same endearing way it usually does, the way it didn’t those days prior when they had fought. Even though he’d missed this and he’d much rather not hear his lover call him any other way, Gyuvin knows that he doesn’t deserve it—that this olive branch that’s stretched out towards him by his lover is one that he shouldn’t even think of possessing. Gyuvin feels himself break even more, as he finally looks up at Ricky, and from where he kneels, sees just how broken and tired Ricky looks like too.

Of course, Ricky still looks flawless on the very surface with his perfectly gussied up face with the light makeup he knows his boyfriend puts on, but beyond all of that, Gyuvin sees it all. He sees how Ricky’s eyes remain bloodshot, where there are tears in them, mimicking Gyuvin’s. He sees plump lips gently bitten upon, subtly chapped even underneath the light gloss of the lip balm he’s sure Ricky put on before he left for his classes today. There’s a quiver to his lower lip the same way he remembers it from days ago—a trembling and silent cry for help that Gyuvin ignores in favour of his own emotions. Gyuvin doesn’t ignore them now, and wishes he can turn back time to pay them heed in the past as well.

“I’m sorry,” Gyuvin whispers again, because it’s all he can muster up at this moment. There are so many other things he wants to say. He wants to stay calm, like how Gunwook advised him to, to talk things through, but when reality slaps him so square in the face that he’s still reeling from the revelations from hours ago, how can he stay calm?

“I failed you.”

“No you didn’t, Qubing. It’s just… it was just an argument, you’re not the only one at fault—”

“It’s not,” Gyuvin insists, voice raw with emotion, as he reaches his hands underneath Ricky’s shirt. He hears his boyfriend’s breath hitch, and the beginning of a pained whimper that he cannot quite hold back on, and Gyuvin knows. All this while, when Ricky rejects his touchiness and only wants to cuddle to sleep, when Ricky says he isn’t in the mood because he’s too tired from his assignments, when Ricky tenses up and when his breath hitches, it’s all because of the pain. Pain that Gyuvin didn’t know, all because he doesn’t think to ask further, all because he thinks respecting Ricky’s space is through silence and waiting… Gyuvin feels as if he’s part of the reason why Ricky’s been suffering for so long. He doesn’t even make it easier for Ricky when he reacted so strongly right after the first time he found out, spilling so much hurt over untrue claims that Ricky doesn’t trust him.

And even if Ricky doesn’t, Gyuvin knows he deserves all of it. He’s hurt Ricky, and he’s failed him, even if Ricky is insisting that he hasn’t.

“I went to find you today, Ricky,” Gyuvin continues, squeezing his eyes firmly once to force out all the tears that blur his vision. He watches as realisation slowly settles within Ricky’s features, when his boyfriend finally realises what his statement means. Gyuvin then pushes Ricky’s shirt up higher, and is met with a sight he somehow expects and doesn’t all at the very same time—there are painful-looking bruises littering his boyfriend’s torso. It’s all bruises he’s never seen discolour Ricky’s smooth skin before like this, not until recently when he’d seen similar bruises form on Ricky’s shoulders. They’ve mostly faded by then, but with the ones here, with the ones on Ricky’s torso right now… Gyuvin breathes a soft sigh, as if to expel the nasty slew of emotions that bubble up inside of him. He’s angry that someone had hurt his boyfriend like this, but he’s angrier at himself for not being strong enough to stop it. Perhaps he’s really been too sheltered, Gyuvin concludes—a firm judgement of himself—as he leans in to press trembling lips upon taut skin, all as his boyfriend stands there, back bowed, choking back on a sob. He knows nothing of the pains of the world, embroiled within his family’s suffocating embrace, trapped within the church’s walls. Gyuvin is ignorant and he knows that now, as he tries to correct his wrongs with each press of his lips against bruised skin, to balm over hurt Ricky goes through, to let Ricky know that Gyuvin now knows, and that he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. That Ricky will never need to use the untrue excuse of Gyuvin being busy to escape the grasps of a professor Gyuvin still knows close to nothing about, though he arguably does, enough to know that he absolutely abhors the other man and that he’d want to see him dead. Gyuvin doesn’t think about all that now, when he continues pressing love on Ricky’s skin, and soothes his lover as he cries until Gyuvin inevitably sheds more tears himself too. 

This time, unlike all the other times, they actually talk about it. When Gyuvin finally finds that he has pressed enough kisses to the bruises on Ricky’s skin, and when Ricky is calm enough, they lie down in bed together, with Gyuvin’s arms curled protectively around Ricky, and they talk about it. It’s a sombre topic to breach, but a needed one nonetheless—for the first time, they’re on the same page, and while Gyuvin doesn’t push for an answer still, he doesn’t accept the silence and instead gently guides Ricky to share. To finally let Gyuvin in, past the walls that Ricky builds around him, in what he hopes is a calmer manner like Gunwook suggested.

“How long has this been going on?” Gyuvin can’t help but ask as he reaches down to gently press a soft kiss upon Ricky’s temple. His boyfriend is still shaken, body frail within his arms, but Gyuvin cannot tamp down the trembling of his own body too. Apologies still linger at the tip of his tongue, left unsaid in favour of asking questions that he feels are needed. Ricky turns to look at him, eyes bloodshot, but he doesn’t look as if Gyuvin is forcefully invading his personal space anymore. Gyuvin is thankful for at least that. He doesn’t believe in God anymore, but he can’t help his old habit of thanking Him that Ricky forgave him, and that he’s willing to let Gyuvin slowly. Bit by bit.

“It’s a long story,” Ricky replies, lips pursing together into a thin line.

“Still—I am here to listen to everything, my love. We have all the time in the world. Together.”

“...Fine.”

Gyuvin makes good on his words and listens, as Ricky tells him everything. There are parts of Ricky’s recounts that have Gyuvin clenching his jaw and filled with regret that he hadn’t been there—even if they hadn’t met yet—and he’s… appalled, really, that things have gone on for so long. Ricky can’t even pinpoint a single year, but it happened even before university.

“He’s a family friend,” Ricky explains, when Gyuvin’s lips part softly in surprise, because his brain can’t make the connection.

A family friend.

“You haven’t told your parents?”

Ricky blinks a few times before he eventually ends up looking away. He doesn’t actually reply to Gyuvin verbally, but his actions speak a thousand words. Behind Ricky’s stoic expression, Gyuvin sees it all—the loneliness of a man too fiercely independent and secretive, which is simply the product of a boy who’s forced to grow up with only himself to rely on. He gently reaches down to grasp Ricky’s hand between their bodies, intertwining their fingers together before he raises Ricky’s hand gingerly to his lips, pressing a soft kiss upon flushed knuckles.

“I promise I’ll make sure you’ll never be hurt like this anymore, Ricky,” he whispers against Ricky’s hand, words laced with a steely conviction that doesn’t waver. Gyuvin’s gaze shifts towards Ricky then, the corners of his lips curved into a faint smile. “You don’t have to go through any of this alone anymore. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Ricky, I love you. I… I don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

Gyuvin feels as if all the wrongs in the world are righted, when Ricky looks at him with a smile that softens at his features as his cheekbones rise—his Ricky is always so pretty especially when he smiles. There’s laughter, wet, yet relieved, as Ricky leans in and guides Gyuvin’s head up to let their lips meet in a soft, and tender kiss. Gyuvin spills all his love for Ricky there, and immediately feels that same affection replenish in him, as he slowly picks up the pieces of what makes the both of them, gently putting it all together once again. 

“You really don’t seem to know when to stop,” Ricky whispers, and Gyuvin feels all the affection uttered into those words, fondly exasperated, with a smile on Ricky’s features all the same. “I got the memo, Qubing. And I love you too.”

Ricky is right. Gyuvin doesn’t know when to stop, and he doesn’t feel as if he needs to.

“I thought you knew that,” Gyuvin retorts, and finds that it’s easy to reflect the smile he sees on Ricky’s face on his own features as well. “And, I love you too.”

Time passes them by like this. It’s gentler this time, when Gyuvin can find Ricky in his arms, and when the soft pockets of silence are now filled with gentle laughter as they hug each other and hope that the presence of each other is enough to heal the little parts of themselves that ache. Gyuvin holds onto Ricky, and finds that the days he spends without his boyfriend only shows him just how much he needs Ricky, and how his heart beats just for his boyfriend. 

There is no Kim Gyuvin without Shen Quanrui.

Gyuvin enshrines that as his absolute truth, and falls asleep with the knowledge nestled deep in his heart and Ricky softly breathing right next to him in his own slumber.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin, as promised, doesn’t leave Ricky’s side. 

It’s been days since then. Gyuvin stays close to Ricky, out of his own fear that something bad will happen to Ricky once again. He stays, because he can feel how Ricky relaxes beside him as they walk down the hallways together. Ricky’s assailant is a coward, even more so than Gyuvin himself, and he is also an all-around lowlife that chooses actively to hide behind the power he somehow possesses as Ricky’s parents’ friend. This monster manages to hold Ricky hostage because he attacks Ricky where he’s weakest—by toying with his dreams and aspirations. This monster dares to promise no future for Ricky if he tries to even speak up against him, or breathe a single word of abuse to anyone else. 

Gyuvin knows all this now, and it’s precisely because he does, that his protective streak only grows even more intense for Ricky who felt as if his hands had been tied for too long a time. Gyuvin resolves to undo the shackles that weigh his boyfriend down, and to allow Ricky to soar.

“And you’re sure you don’t have any classes that you have to attend?” Ricky asks Gyuvin, as they round the corner together. Gyuvin hums his response, a non-committal sound that leaves him because he’s sadly all too aware of his own commitments. But until he can solve the problem entirely, his classes, his academics, his life—everything—can wait.

“Not now. Classes are cancelled for me, thankfully,” Gyuvin lies straight through his teeth. He grins wide, hoping that his expression is enough to disperse the questioning stance Ricky’s decided to take. When his boyfriend seems—although not too convinced—to be appeased with the answer and nods, Gyuvin allows himself to take a soft breath of relief, the air expelled softly between his parted lips hopefully subtle enough to be ignored. 

When they finally arrive at the entrance leading to Ricky’s first lecture of the day, Gyuvin smiles and bids his lover farewell with a tight hug that he admittedly doesn’t want to part from. It takes Ricky’s laughter and a hand of his softly shoving at Gyuvin’s shoulder before he even bears to part.

“I’ll be right outside, waiting for you,” Gyuvin promises, looking around as if in search of something. When his eyes land on an empty bench, he’s quick to point it out towards Ricky as their eyes meet once more. “There.”

“Okay,” Ricky replies, and turns to leave. Gyuvin keeps his eyes focused on his lover, intent on making sure Ricky gets into the lecture hall safe, so he notices the way Ricky stops mid-turn to instead face Gyuvin once more. There’s a sweet flush to pale cheeks, a petulant expression somehow permanent on Ricky’s features: from his naturally pouty lips, the softening of his gaze, and the slightly awkward expression he pulls. Gyuvin finds it adorable.

“See you later,” Ricky whispers, and before Gyuvin can register anything beyond that, his boyfriend surprises him with a soft peck square on his lips. Gyuvin’s left blinking rapidly as he reels in the aftermath of the show of affection, fully initiated by Ricky without Gyuvin’s pining for it. These moments are rare, if Gyuvin’s honest, so he keeps this feeling dear in his heart. He’s sure his smile is too embarrassingly wide now, by the way his cheeks hurt just from smiling alone. 

“I love you, Ricky,” Gyuvin can’t help but say, pulling Ricky into one last hug until he hears his boyfriend laugh as he pulls away once more. Gyuvin doesn’t want to loosen his arms, but he is inevitably forced to do so. His fingertips linger, trying to hold onto Ricky for as long as he can before he has to inevitably part from his other, and better, half.

“I know,” Ricky replies, expression soft—this softness reserved only for Gyuvin—and turns to leave once again. Gyuvin can’t keep him for much longer, even if he wants to, and even if he knows that he will see Ricky again in two hours. But Ricky is definitely better than Gyuvin at this, because he manages to breach the entrance, but not without turning back one last time. In the stream of students that make their way in, Gyuvin feels as if time freezes for the both of them, as Ricky mouths the words ‘I love you too’ to him, and disappears behind the door with a smile.

Gyuvin wishes he could chase Ricky all the way in. 

But because he can’t, he just waits until the door shuts entirely, and for the lecture to begin, before he makes his way to the bench that he promises Ricky he’ll be at. When he finally settles down on the wooden surface, he doesn’t idle about—there are things that Gyuvin has to accomplish even though he’s put his academics aside for now. There’s parchments of paper that he brings with him, all collated in a single folder, some already scribbled upon and some empty. Gyuvin writes, because it’s the one thing he knows how to do best besides loving Ricky, and he writes, because he believes that if there’s anything that can change their circumstances, then it’d be through words that he can spill on paper. It only has to work once.

Gyuvin believes it will.

Time. That thing, named ‘time’, is lost between Gyuvin’s hand and the ink that he lays on the paper. There are too many things he has to say and too little space. It all has to fit in one proper page, it has to garner the attention of anyone whose eyes lay on them, and Gyuvin struggles through making proper sense of it for the entirety of Ricky’s lecture. He doesn’t keep track of it, not when he feels as if the last draft is nearing completion. The metal nib of his pen scratches against the rough parchment like never before, with fervour and desperation that has nowhere to leave other than through the words he expresses onto the paper.

Gyuvin’s focus only breaks when he hears the chime of the church bells a distance away. An hour passes just like this, with Gyuvin being none the wiser. At the very least, the hour being up means that it will only take another hour until he sees Ricky again. With this resolve in his mind, Gyuvin returns to poring over the many pieces of parchment, writing, and rewriting, and writing again until he is finally satisfied with what he has.

It’s as if Gyuvin’s meant to finish by then—no earlier, no later, as if dictated by fate. The doors to the lecture hall opens alongside the chime of the church bells, and out comes a steady stream of students, chattering away with some about to head to their next lesson, or some lucky enough that this is their one and only lecture for the day. Ricky is one of such lucky people, and Gyuvin finds he is infinitely more lucky because of that. Gyuvin is quick to keep the papers away, filed back into the folder with the latest piece settled right at the top of the stack and simply sits there waiting for Ricky. This wait lasts for exactly half a second before he’s pushing himself off the bench to stand right by the entrance instead, occasionally blocking a few students intending to make a sharp—and shallow—turn right after exiting the lecture hall. It’s not Gyuvin’s fault, though, so he doesn’t move and simply stays there until he finally catches a familiar figure walking out of the door.

Gyuvin doesn’t even let Ricky walk too far away as he reaches out to grasp his boyfriend’s arm to tug Ricky to himself. He’s surprised that he hadn’t gone crazy in his wait with how much more settled he feels as soon as he has Ricky in his arms, and laughs when he receives a soft gasp from pretty pink lips and a light smack to his arm. All of which are so normal, coming from Ricky. Gyuvin doesn’t see how he’ll ever be able to live without this being his norm—Gyuvin orbits around Ricky now, and has for a while. He can’t see himself doing anything other than that, to the point he’s convinced he’s been orbiting around the other man ever since he was born—just unknowingly so, until recently.

“I missed you,” Gyuvin whispers as soon as he buries his face deep enough against the slope of Ricky’s shoulder. Gyuvin takes in a deep breath and sighs out in contentment when all his senses are filled with Ricky. The two hours are nothing in the grand scale of things, but Gyuvin clings onto Ricky either way, as if they only have this short moment in time left with one another, even if Gyuvin swears he will let that time drag on until forever if he’s able to. 

“You’re being awfully clingy,” Ricky murmurs. He’s protesting, but his arms are wrapped around Gyuvin too, equally clingy in his own right. That alone causes Gyuvin to laugh, because really, Ricky should have seen himself. He doesn’t say anything else though, and allows himself to simply bask in the sweet warmth that is his boyfriend, where they stand by the entrance, only just out of the way. Gyuvin doesn’t exactly mind just staying here forever…

“Ricky! Gyuvin hyung!”

Just like this, their time together, alone, is cut short. Gyuvin isn’t exactly surprised by the presence, when he lifts his head and catches sight of the very man he’s asked to meet. 

“Gunwook? Hey,” Ricky says, sounding clearly surprised at the presence of his own friend. Gyuvin hums, grins wider, and finally stands upright to greet Gunwook as well with a wave of his hand. 

“Gunwook-ah! Fancy meeting you here,” Gyuvin exclaims, acting pleasantly surprised, even if he knows exactly why Gunwook showed up, as if pieced together by sheer cosmic coincidence. 

It starts with a small plan, whispered between Gunwook and himself in the pockets of time when Ricky is in class, Gunwook isn’t, and Gyuvin definitely isn’t. Gyuvin asks Gunwook to meet him on this day where he knows both of them have coinciding free time to spare for one another. Because Gyuvin can’t rest easy without knowing that Ricky is safe and far away from that professor, he doesn’t part from Ricky, but certain circumstances forced him to have to reel Gunwook in for help. And he trusts Gunwook, trusts that he will never let Ricky come into harm’s way even though he’s a year younger than both Gyuvin and Ricky. He’s smart enough to have skipped a grade, wise beyond his years, and also protective over his longtime friend, Ricky. Gyuvin can’t find anyone else that can be better than Gunwook to temporarily take over the role of hovering around Ricky on his behalf.

But he doesn’t want Ricky to feel as if he’s depositing him somewhere. It’s why Gyuvin stages this supposedly chance encounter. Everything, down to the way Gunwook softly gasps and asks Ricky if he wants to go with somewhere with him is calculated, but Gyuvin wasn’t exactly expecting Ricky to look at him and ask:

“Qubing, do you want to join us?”

“No! No, Gyuvin hyung can’t join us, Ricky. It’s been so long since we last hung out together like this, so it’d be nice if it’s just, you know, the two of us?”

Gyuvin is saved by Gunwook’s quick wits and his interception, only because he almost nods and agrees all too readily to Ricky’s offer in direct jeopardy of his own plans. Gyuvin knows he will follow Ricky to the ends of the earth if that is what his boyfriend wants him to, and whilst sometimes admirable, this trait of his is admittedly far too dangerous in situations where he needs to be apart from Ricky, even if only for a while. He misses Ricky too much to be apart for too long—but thankfully, he doesn’t expect himself to be gone for more than an hour. 

“Gunwook’s right,” Gyuvin replies, and presses a last kiss to Ricky’s cheek before he pulls away even if it takes him far too much effort to do so. And soon, after he allows himself to take in his boyfriend’s beauty as if he’s not done so for more times than he can actually count, he turns to Gunwook with a smile.

“Please send him back safely afterwards, Gunwook-ah. I’ll be waiting.”

Gunwook sports a particularly toothy, and boyish, grin as he playfully salutes towards Gyuvin. “Roger that, Gyuvin hyung! I’ll return Ricky back, happy and full.”

Gyuvin can at least trust Ricky in Gunwook’s hands. He smiles, waves them both goodbye, and watches until they disappear behind the turn of a corner.

Almost immediately after, the smile fades from Gyuvin’s features. He knits his brows together, lips pursed together in firm determination.

Gyuvin will protect Ricky, even if it means risking academic career and subsequently—quite possibly—his entire life.

Gyuvin finds out quickly, after all, that his life is complete as long as Ricky is in it, preferably happy and flourishing, with a smile so bright it burns into the back of Gyuvin’s eyelids. Everything else is, and will continue to be, secondary.

The steps he soon takes are filled with determination, and a fierce desire to want to keep Ricky safe.

The path he takes is familiar. When he really thinks about it, these are the paths he walks down with Ricky sometimes as his boyfriend moves from one class to the next. Hatred curls and twists around in the pits of his stomach like cold tendrils that sting in their frost when Gyuvin thinks about the many times he sends Ricky into his live drawing classroom—he’s unknowingly sent Ricky in where he’s suffered so many times, even if Ricky’s already done so for years that stretch beyond this short university year they’ve had. Gyuvin wishes he could turn back time. It’s a desire he cannot fulfil, he knows, but he still cannot help the regret he tastes in his mouth—acrid, bitter, and tinged with rage he can now expose.

Gyuvin does the next best thing as he flings the door to the classroom open. He knows, for a fact too, that this professor is always in this classroom, rooted to the ground like monsters that dwell within dark, dingy environments all because they have nowhere else to go. Although this classroom is nothing like that with the peeling parchment on the walls of drawings—charcoal smeared on paper akin to the blackening of his own heart as he ached with the anger that has nowhere to go—within a well-lit room, ventilated and open with an empty raised platform of oak wood, and multiple easels with their corresponding chairs surrounding around the platform. Gyuvin doesn’t linger long enough to take in his surroundings beyond the preliminary glance—one he does to ascertain that he’s alone—before he walks straight to the teacher’s desk. He’s quick to settle on it, time now moving in constant ticks of the second hand, bringing him closer to the time he knows the professor will be in here.

When the door opens again, Gyuvin knows exactly whose hand is on the handle. A part of Gyuvin wants to rip that hand into shreds for what it dared to do to his Ricky. It’s a swift, and incredibly violent, thought that he should not entertain and so he doesn’t. Gyuvin keeps his eyes fixated on the man that enters—dressed in a loose dress shirt and slacks, sleeves folded halfway up his sleeves. There is flint-grey hair that dusts over the previously darker strands, denoting the professor’s age even more blatantly. That in of itself is enough to have Gyuvin grip tightly onto the edge of the table in abject frustration and disbelief, because he cannot comprehend how a man at that age somehow finds some sort of pleasure in antagonising someone more than half his age, indulging in sick abuse, and somehow still shameless enough to show his face as if he’s done nothing wrong instead of hiding away in shame.

Gyuvin belatedly realises how angry he is—he has to manually tell himself to relax his jaw and unclench it the same time his fingers release their grip on the table, relaxing despite the shaking of his joints. Gyuvin waits, though impatiently, as the elder man steps further into the room, and finally notices the fact that he’s not alone.

Gyuvin first registers surprise. It’s written all over the professor’s features: the raise of his brows, the subtle widening of his eyes, and the way his mouth hangs open tells Gyuvin everything he needs to know. His presence is indeed unexpected, and throws the professor slightly off balance. 

It’s supposed to be Ricky, after all. At this time, on Wednesday afternoons, is when this sorry excuse of a man will ask for Ricky’s presence, and do such unspeakable things to Ricky that Gyuvin’s heart aches at the mere thought of his boyfriend suffering under the hands of the older man. After insisting for days on end that Ricky should stay far away and that Gyuvin will protect him from the repercussions of doing so, Gyuvin faces the lion head on himself despite the pleas from Ricky to just leave it be and that avoidance is the key. Gyuvin doesn’t believe the problem will be solved if they stay quiet, and he is ready to cause an uproar.

“Hello, professor,” Gyuvin begins. He isn’t even sure if he manages to hide his loathing, but he can’t say that he cares. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Gyuvin watches as the surprise from the professor dissipates. The expression wipes away from the man’s face, almost as if the emotion is completely fabricated—there are no raised eyebrows, no widened eyes, no soft gasp. All that’s left is a man, almost glaring at Gyuvin, for a brief moment before he turns away and busies himself with setting his belongings down, as if Gyuvin doesn’t exist in his eyes.

Gyuvin doesn’t want to admit it, but the change sends chills down his spine. There’s a slight frown that forms on Gyuvin’s features, all as he pushes to stand upright, hand reaching out to grasp onto the professor’s shoulder to garner his attention once again. He doesn’t wish to be ignored, not when he is trying to prove a point. The action works to halt the professor, though Gyuvin’s hand is easily swiped off the slope of the man’s shoulder far swifter than the time it took for it to be there.

“You must be my favourite student’s boy.” The professor finally speaks, but Gyuvin wishes he never did in the first place. His fist curls beside him tightly, almost flushing white from the exertion. Gyuvin has to resist the urge to swing. He abhors how the professor diminishes Ricky into nothing but his favourite student when he is a poor teacher undeserving of his class. He hates how dread settles in the back of his throat when the professor recognises him too, without his prompting, because it speaks volumes on just how much they’ve been observed under the professor’s scrutinising eyes. Is the professor aware of the love Gyuvin whispers against Ricky’s skin when he thinks no one is watching? Does he know that Gyuvin would much rather die than to see Ricky upset? There are so many questions that swim in Gyuvin’s head, all without proper answers and resolutions, leaving only an increased anger that Gyuvin doesn’t quite know how to tamp down. His hands fly upwards without thinking, and grips the collar of the professor’s dress shirt so tightly that his body shakes from the tension. 

“You will not address my boyfriend this poorly,” Gyuvin forces out between gritted teeth, anger seeping through the small gasps between the rows of enamel. Frustratingly enough, all it does is pull a laugh from the professor. Unlike Ricky’s melodious laughter that lifts Gyuvin’s spirit, the professor’s laughter is decidedly dissonant, sharp and painful as it echoes within his eardrums. The man continues, laughing and laughing without a single thought for Gyuvin. 

“And what will you possibly be able to do if I continue?”

Gyuvin doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll ruin your life.” 

Contrary to Gyuvin’s expectations, he doesn’t see fear, but rather, just amusement curling at the man’s features as he scoffs, twisting his face into an unsightly mess as the corners of his lips twitch into a sharp grin. 

“You wouldn’t be able to, boy,” the professor promises, and pats Gyuvin’s arm like he’s pitying him. It angers Gyuvin even more, fists curling tighter around the shirt that he hopes the fabric stretches and gets ruined underneath his fingers—although that’s not enough to make up for the amount of hurt the professor’s put Ricky through.

“You don’t know that.”

“And how will you do it?”

It’s Gyuvin’s turn to laugh this time. 

Gyuvin pushes the professor back with his hands and takes pleasure in the way the man stumbles backwards helplessly. He doesn’t show a single shred of concern for someone who’d usually willingly be late for classes just to help out a fellow schoolmate. Gyuvin only chuckles lightly at the man’s plight as he reaches downwards to pat at his bag a few times firmly.

“Do you know what’s inside here?” He asks, though he doesn’t wait for an answer to continue. 

“An article I’ve written myself, detailing all the abuse you’ve put Ricky through… all the unspeakable things you’ve done, all written down on a piece of paper.”

Gyuvin’s cheeks hurt. He wonders if he’s smiling too much, looking almost manic as he approaches the man, each step shuffled forward pushing the older man backwards until he’s eventually met with a wall. Gyuvin chuckles, the surge of confidence somehow guiding him to be downright abrasive and confrontative, finger poking and digging at the professor’s chest, as if he’s only barely managed to find an ill-fitting lid to cover over his rising anger—thici, viscous, and ready to spill out anytime. They of course bubble over, and Gyuvin hopes it scalds the man before him.

“What do you think the university’s administration will do, professor, if they find out that one of their teachers has been abusing a student? Even if you cry wolf, I assure you that the article that I publish, coupled with a few photos, can at least ruin your sorry life. Do you think you can get away with this forever? I won’t let you, professor. I’ll keep publishing this article, keep showing the evidence of your misdeeds, until you’d be forced to leave, your life ruined,” Gyuvin continues, the scenario he’s dictated being one he dreams of as he works on draft, after draft, after draft. He needs to see the professor completely done for, with no option for reparations. Monstrous scum like him do not deserve the niceness of starting over.

Gyuvin needs to ruin the man through and through, in order to only just slightly make up for the pain that this professor dares put Ricky through.

He finishes his spiel, half expecting the professor to say something afterwards. A part of Gyuvin even wants to hear the man beg for mercy so that he can recount this meeting with the professor to Ricky, and assure his boyfriend that everything is fine, will be fine, and that he’ll continue protecting Ricky until the end of time.

But it doesn’t happen. Seconds pass like this, until the professor smiles as if he’s not been threatened, with all of Gyuvin’s cards laid on the table.

“Are you done? My class is starting soon,” the man answers, much to Gyuvin’s chagrin.

“You’ll see what I can do,” Gyuvin quickly adds. It is a threat as much as it is a promise—and one that Gyuvin swears he will fulfil. 

Gyuvin has no choice but to let go when he hears the sound of the door opening once again, followed by the lively chatter of students that begin to slowly file in. He bites down on his lower lip, casting a quick glance towards the door—he knows this situation is to his detriment, and that he must remain a spotless slate to be as credible as possible when he does publicise the article. Gyuvin quickly moves away from the professor, who begins to readjust his shirt, made messy by Gyuvin’s fists. The students’ chattering dies down for a brief moment, probably confused by his presence more than anything else.

He’s about halfway out the door, when—

“Oh, and Gyuvin?” The professor calls out, causing Gyuvin to turn back to look at him. 

“I’ll make sure you regret this.”

Gyuvin is pushed out by the crowd, along with the shutting of the door, and doesn’t get to ask the professor what he means.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

There’s nothing.

A part of Gyuvin wonders if he should be worried that there is, virtually, silence from the professor’s end. Admittedly, the chilling words he heard kept him up late on the first night. That worry somehow solved itself when he heard Ricky call for him, where they naturally fell asleep beside one another. 

When days pass with that same silence from the other side, however, Gyuvin believes that the professor is all bark and no bite. Ricky is finally free.

Freedom, to Gyuvin, doesn’t feel that much different if he’s being honest. They still lie on the same bed together, bodies bare, warmth pressed so closely together that he isn’t even sure where he begins. Gyuvin, after all, feels merely like an extension of Ricky, and nothing much more. He doesn’t wish for it either, not when he can wake up beside Ricky like this, tracing the aftermath of their shared love from the night before. Gyuvin is proud to don them, even prouder when he sees them on Ricky—and can’t help but want to trace them, reaching his hand out towards Ricky, whose eyes still remain closed. He knows his boyfriend is awake, though, when there’s a faint smile that plays on Ricky’s lips as he leans into the touch while letting out the softest, and most content hum Gyuvin’s ever heard from him.

“Has he been bothering you these days?” Gyuvin asks softly, all as he traces his fingers down the soft slope of Ricky’s bare shoulder, and down his arms. He marvels at the soft skin and tender flesh, muscles making a pretty  form that makes up an even prettier Ricky. Gyuvin can’t help but smile just from the sight alone. Luck always seems to favour Gyuvin—that must be the reason why he’s blessed with Ricky like this, in his arms, adorably perfect even just by breathing.

“Not really. I haven’t seen him in a while,” comes Ricky’s reply, voice subtly raspy and heavy with sleep. 

Gyuvin’s smile only blooms, both from the sheer endearment he feels towards his boyfriend, and also from his own satisfaction towards the answer. Ricky doesn’t know what Gyuvin’s done all those days ago—and Gyuvin wants to remain it as such. He doesn’t want Ricky to worry beyond what he wants to wear today, or what he’d like to eat for his next meal—which Gyuvin will make sure he gets. 

“That’s good,” Gyuvin murmurs, leaning forward to gently slot their lips together in a soft kiss, admittedly growing rather amused when he heard the soft whine coming from Ricky as he cited ‘morning breath’. Their morning together is slow, saccharine, nothing like the morning breath Ricky antagonises about—and then proceeds to forget all about—and everything like the love that overflows from Gyuvin and spills into the gaps between the both of them. 

Gyuvin doesn’t wish to pull away. He doesn’t, actually, until the tinnish trill of their shared alarm clock goes off, reminding him that he cannot stay with Ricky in bed for any much longer. When danger doesn’t seem to return to Ricky, Gyuvin supposes he can return back to classes himself, too. Perhaps today will be the day.

“Do you think time is just a lie? A mere concept, and perhaps, we can stay in bed for longer?” Ricky questions, all as his eyes finally open. He’s still squinting subtly though, as if still maladjusted to the amount of light that seeps past the thin linen curtains. Gyuvin laughs, endeared by his boyfriend, and falls in love endlessly as he always does.

“You’re starting to develop some interesting sense of humour, my love,” Gyuvin comments, earning a small indignant huff from Ricky.

They stay for a few more minutes, either way, until a dull thud from the wall interrupts their peace—as much peace as a room with a shrill alarm clock going off could be—and forces them to lift their heads, eyes directed towards the direction of the wall. Their neighbour must have thrown something towards the wall once again, if only to convince the both of them to get up and switch the alarm off. As they always do.

“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” Gyuvin murmurs. Although he pulls away with hesitance that sags at his bones and threatens to bring him back to Ricky, Gyuvin is at least strong enough to reach over towards the alarm clock, shutting it off with a click of a button.

Although every single fibre of his being is telling him to stick close to Ricky today, Gyuvin remains parted as he gets out of bed entirely. He helps Ricky out of bed as well, despite all of his boyfriend’s complaints and expressed desire to remain in bed. Gyuvin portrays his own pity towards their own situation, of course, but continues to gently lead Ricky around the room, until he eventually ferries the man right into the bathroom where they begin to wash up for the day ahead of them.

“I feel like I need to skip classes,” Ricky grumbles, words somewhat muffled when spoken around the toothbrush shoved between his lips. Gyuvin, thankfully, is someone who knows what Ricky is saying even as he’s mumbling through everything no matter the situation—whether it was because Ricky was sleepy, too lazy to enunciate, or in this situation: brushing his teeth. The sound of the soft bristles repeatedly brushing over both their teeth serves mostly as background noise, too, as Gyuvin decidedly ignores his boyfriend’s reluctance to attend classes for today.

“You’ll be fine, Ricky,” Gyuvin finally says after he spits the toothpaste out of his mouth. He turns the tap on, washing the froth from the basin away before he fills up a cup with water, handing it to Ricky right after his boyfriend follows his movements of spitting into the sink. It’s only after Ricky takes the cup that Gyuvin does the same for himself, sipping and gargling the water around before that, too, was spat out. He wipes away at the small dribbles of water around his mouth with the back of his palm, and waits until Ricky is done as well, before he speaks once more, a smile playing faintly on his features.

“When classes end, we’ll see each other again. Like we always do,” he promises. This time, with their minty fresh breath, Gyuvin leans in to capture Ricky’s lips into a soft kiss, still wet with water. He doesn’t receive a protest about morning breath this time, but rather, about Gyuvin being the ‘good, model student’ just because he’s refusing the notion of skipping classes.

“Though, for a good, model student… you definitely skipped classes last time, though. I act like I didn’t know, but I knew. Can’t we just do it, Qubing? Skip classes?” Ricky asks, sulking just subtly as he looks at Gyuvin. 

It takes all of Gyuvin’s effort to not relent.

“We shouldn’t do it. You know I did it last time because of other circumstances,” Gyuvin adds, as if to justify the irony and hypocrisy in his actions now, compared to from a few days ago.

“Well, my circumstance is that I’m tired, kind of moody, and don’t feel too well. Maybe the stars are telling me that we both have to rest,” Ricky grumbles in response, huffing and making his way out of the bathroom without Gyuvin, as if to show how indignant he had felt. Gyuvin sees it all, understands it all too well, and knows he must offer something to appease his poor, poor Ricky, forced to succumb within the evil grasps of academia and the very real, and widely-accepted, concept of time.

“We can go get your favourite smoothie from the fruit store after classes, my love. It’ll be my treat,” Gyuvin promises. It halts Ricky in his footsteps, head whipping around as he turns towards Gyuvin with his eyes narrowed into a glare.

“You’re just promising me this because you want your favourite smoothie from there, too. This is a win-win situation for you,” Ricky laments the same time the pout on his lips deepens. Gyuvin’s laughter fills the room, loud and booming in its quality, hearty and filled with nothing but adoration for his lover that too accurately calls him out for his secret hidden intentions.

“You know me too well,” Gyuvin whispers, as he rushes forward to close the distance between the both of them, arms slinking around Ricky’s waist from behind. “But you cannot blame me. The mango smoothie is to die for.”

“So is the strawberry. And for your information, I’ll be getting two cups because I deserve it for even entertaining you and your weird insistence about attending class, you model student.” After Ricky says this, he turns his head to the side slightly. 

When their gazes meet, Gyuvin finds his heart catching in his chest, all as he feels his resolve waver. Ricky sighs, and his shoulders follow along the soft exhale from between his lips.

“Are you sure we can’t skip? At least just for today? We can stay in bed and cuddle the whole day.”

A part of Gyuvin wants to give in. He’s no model student anymore, as Ricky rightfully points out, and he’s  just trying his best to really be one, now that the danger is out of the way. He stands there, humming faintly, hands splayed against the softness of Ricky’s tummy. The reason for skipping is right in his arms, but he knows there are too many things the two of them want to do. It’s a result of both of their own fiery determination to make a mark in the world, be it through drawn or written art—that entails them going to class and becoming the best version of themselves. It’s why he shakes his head, all to gently reject Ricky’s proposal, although terribly tempting. All to listen to the wavering voice of reason inside of his head.

“Sorry, my love. We shouldn’t. You’ll regret it when you realise you’ve lost precious time to work on your assignments in class too,” Gyuvin replies. Ricky lets out a faint groan in protest—all of which prompts Gyuvin to add, “Like you’ve done a few times already. So no, as the voice of reason, I say we do not do things we’ll regret.”

Ricky grumbles, because he knows he is fighting a losing battle. He slumps into Gyuvin’s arms, sighing out dramatically for good measure before finally pushing himself away and shoots Gyuvin a final, and last, glare. Gyuvin knows he’s won for once. Just this time around.

“I expect to see you outside my classroom the moment I leave it,” Ricky adds, still endearingly grumbling away as he shuffles towards his closet, the outfit he’s already picked out for today from the night before hung around the varnished wooden handles. Gyuvin watches him from where he stood, the smile never quite leaving his lips. He watches Ricky don his clothes, watches as he heads to the small vanity—which is really just a small mirror between the messy clutter of opened spellbooks and small bags and vials of spices and bags of herbs—to put on a light layer of makeup. Ricky looks at him halfway through getting his hair done, brows arching in questioning. 

“Are you not going to get ready, Qubing? Are you going to go to class naked?” He asks, voice lifted in an accusatory lilt—though Gyuvin does catch a large hint of amusement in his words. 

“I can’t help but ogle when my lover is the most beautiful man on earth,” Gyuvin reasons. A part of him does admit this as truth to fluster Ricky more than anything, but it is nothing but the truth as well. Ricky, to Gyuvin, is more beautiful than the sprawling hills he remembers from home, and sweeter than the tastiest mangoes he has ever sunk his teeth into. He can never get enough of his boyfriend, and if Gyuvin’s being honest, he doesn’t think he ever will.

“Sappy,” Ricky grumbles, as he gently pats onto his own carefully styled hair. “If you’re not going to get ready, I am abandoning you and going to classes alone.” 

That threat is enough to light a fire underneath Gyuvin. He gets ready at record-breaking speed—made possibly only because he’s skipped the bulk of what Ricky puts in so much effort into doing: Gyuvin only puts on a cream-coloured shirt fit for the weather and a pair of brown slacks, completing his look and his routine by brushing his hair.

“Look, I’m ready faster than you are,” Gyuvin concludes with a satisfied grin, proud of his own accomplishment as he reaches for a pair of socks, pulling it on. “Maybe I’ll abandon you instead, and go to classes alone.”

Gyvuin is halfway through slipping into his shoes until he notices Ricky staring at him.

“You know you’d never abandon me, even if given the choice,” Ricky comments. “You’re physically unable to do so.”

Gyuvin wants to deny this, but he knows he cannot at all. There is too much truth in Ricky’s words, where the truth of Gyuvin’s love is far from being a secret between the two of them, and even to the people around them.

“Of course, my Ricky,” Gyuvin decides to reply, stepping closer until he can envelope Ricky into a hug once more.

“There’s only Kim Gyuvin if there’s Shen Quanrui,” he whispers softly. A truth that he knows and lives by, the words a gentle yet profound profession of his love. He doesn’t know where else to put his love, if not between the gaps of where he and Ricky unfortunately cannot fuse together. He doesn’t know how to dial back on it, either, especially when Ricky becomes the only thing he knows. 

“You’re…” Ricky begins.

“Too much,” the two of them say in unison. There’s light laughter that leaves Gyuvin, somewhat proud of himself for managing to accurately predict Ricky’s words. But he knows it too well himself—Ricky tells him this all the time, and Gyuvin knows it to be the truth himself, too. He can never do things halfway, can never do things just enough. He is always too much, but to Gyuvin, that has never been a bad thing at all.

“And we still have to work on that pronunciation of yours, Qubing. You’re still getting my name wrong,” Ricky replies with a soft click of his tongue. Gyuvin wonders if Ricky’s aware of his own faults when it comes to pronouncing Gyuvin’s name—though he supposes it never had been to Gyuvin, when his name sounds so adorable when it comes from Ricky. All Gyuvin does is nod gently and bring his hand into a rather limp salute, laughing shortly afterwards.

“Yes, my love. We will work on that, but for now, I suppose we have to head for class?”

Ricky makes a big show about this. His response begins with a loud huff, is followed by a faint grumble, and then ends with a small nod of his head. Gyuvin is, as expected, positively smitten and leans close to press a last kiss to Ricky’s cheek. He then slides his hand down between the both of them, gently lacing their fingers together before he squeezes, the movement light and gentle.

“Let’s go, you big baby.”

Gyuvin leaves the room with Ricky in tow, laughing heartily as his boyfriend smacks him on his arm for his insolence. Love follows them even through the jumbled mess of loud laughter and the constant faint smacking of arms, and love is all Gyuvin feels as he walks down the hallways with Ricky, through one building to another, past green fields where he remembers the laughter the both of them shared together, on sunny days, rainy days, and even days where laughing felt difficult. Gyuvin loves Ricky so much that it feels as if it shows on his face, branded upon his skin. 

And though Gyuvin is the one that tells Ricky that they must attend classes, he is also the one that shows all the reluctance in the world when they’re finally at the door leading to Ricky’s classroom. They stand by the side, if only not to block the path of the rest of the students milling about. Ricky’s already attempted to leave once so he can set up his art supplies properly—their roles change drastically, from willing to unwilling and vice versa, and now, Gyuvin is the one who clings on desperately.

“I’ll miss you so much,” Gyuvin whispers, nose crinkling up a little. He thinks of the three hours they’ll be forced to spend apart, thinking about how upsetting that reality is, and ends up inching closer to Ricky, fingers curled tightly around his boyfriend’s palms as if that’d somehow stop Ricky from parting ways with him. There’s a small bout of defeated laughter that leaves Ricky’s lips, whilst he gently presses his forehead against Gyuvin’s own. Gyuvin’s eyelids flutter shut, and he basks in the moment where he can take a soft inhale and smell the sandalwood and fresh citrus that surrounds Ricky. 

“You will see me in three hours,” Ricky mutters, before he pulls back. When Gyuvin reopens his eyes to look at his boyfriend again, there’s a particularly playful grin that toys at his plush lips. “Or, you can see me earlier, if I skip—”

“My love,” Gyuvin begins, fondly exasperated, as laughter slips past his lips in disbelief. “You’re not skipping the rest of your class just to see me earlier. I have my own classes, too.”

And because he is so responsible, he ultimately pushes away his desire to stay close. Besides, Ricky knowing fully well that it’s three hours before they can meet once again is enough for Gyuvin—he will take his wins wherever he can. The last bits of tendrils, gum-like and so incredibly sticky, finally loosens enough between Gyuvin and Ricky for Gyuvin to willingly part with Ricky for three long hours.

“Tch, I tried. Don’t regret not letting me skip classes, Kim Qubing,” Ricky says teasingly, faux annoyance sounding even endearing when processed within Gyuvin’s head.

“I won’t regret it,” Gyuvin mutters, words sounding too much like a promise. “See you later, my love.”

Ricky smiles subtly, heading towards the door. Ricky’s hands prettily around the door frame, delicate and lithe fingers wrapped around the frame, holding onto it, the paleness of his skin contrasting beautifully against the dark oak wood. He pauses then, and arouses the attention of Gyuvin who admittedly has not taken his eyes off of his boyfriend just yet.

“See you later, Gyuvin,” Ricky greets, before his smile widens. “I love you.”

“And I love you, too.”

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

The church bells ring for the first time, serving as a reminder that an hour has passed. Gyuvin works hard in poetry class and tries not to make all his poems about Ricky when they’re tasked to come up with eight poems as an in-class activity. He fails for exactly seven of them, and only succeeds on the last one when he runs out of time to finish the eighth before the activity ends. Gyuvin continues to count down the time, impatiently waiting for it to pass.

The second time the church bells ring, his class is gathered in a circle to workshop their poems. It’s Gyuvin’s turn to present and he confesses, for the first time in a while, that he’s left a poem somewhat unfinished. He’s met with understanding and a chorus of the same sentiment echoing with a few students and eventually, asked to talk about the remaining ones. Gyuvin prepares to do so with one hand holding his notebook open for him to read from it. He’s poised to begin, lips parting and breath taken, when a sudden series of frantic knocks sound against the wooden door of their classroom breaks the whole class out of their silent focus. Gyuvin is frazzled, thrown off by the sudden intensity of the loud sound, tinged with impatience and anxiety that he feels all too easily. Dread settles and twists inside of his body as an unwelcome guest, and Gyuvin tastes it at the back of his throat when he rushes towards the door after he abandons his poems. He opens the door, and is surprised when he sees…

“Taerae hyung?”

“Gyuvin. Oh, fuck, thank the heavens that you’re here,” Taerae blurts out, leaving Gyuvin even more confused than he’s begun just before he opens the door. Gyuvin sees a frazzled mess of a dear friend—he lacks the usual poise that he possesses, especially in the days where he’s stayed with Gunwook and Taerae. There’s only frenzy reflecting on the deep brown of Taerae’s eyes that Gyuvin feels as if he should take seriously.

“Hyung,” Gyuvin calls out to Taerae. A part of him almost feels bad at how panicked Taerae is. “Calm down first. What’s wrong?”

“No, Gyuvin. I cannot calm down. It’s… it’s Ricky, he…”

Taerae’s voice is eventually drowned out by the voices inside of Gyuvin’s head. Ricky? Isn’t he supposed to be in class? Come to think of it, why is Taerae the one who comes to look for him, when the elder is from a whole entire major? There are so many questions he has swimming in his head. He feels as if he’s pulled underwater, the sounds around him muffled. Ricky, he…

“... Gyuvin… Ricky… trouble… Gyuvin!”

Gyuvin feels himself grow numb. When he snaps back to reality, he feels Taerae’s grip on his arms, shaking him firmly until Gyuvin recollects himself.

“Where is he?” Gyuvin asks, and watches as Taerae hesitates. His eyes dart around, like he knows, but doesn’t want to share. Gyuvin feels his patience wane, and this time, it’s his hands that fly up to grasp at Taerae’s arms, squeezing so tightly it causes the man to let out a short gasp in surprise. Gyuvin’ll apologise for that later on.

“Hyung! Please. I need to know where he is.”

Taerae purses his lips for a brief moment.

“He… he’s still in his class.”

Gyuvin can barely register if he’s thanked Taerae for the information. He doesn’t even cast a glance backwards to the classroom before he breaks into a sprint, each heavy footstep against the cobbled path a dissonant thudding that notifies the world of his presence whether he wants them to or not. He rushes down the winding paths, crosses the fields without sparing a glance towards the sprawling green, and inches closer to Ricky’s faculty building, towards his classroom. The closer he gets, the more dread fills in his body and chokes him up. There are screams of fear, and a commotion that he can’t quite piece together. Gyuvin has one hand wrapped around the knob handle, about to enter, when the door on the other side of the classroom swings open with an accompanying loud crash when it collides with the wall beside it. The campus’s security guards exit the classroom, flanking a man between the both of them. Gyuvin registers the man the moment they turn—Ricky’s aggressor looks him right in the face, and it takes but a split second for him to break into frenzied laughter. He doesn’t look as if he’s sound at all—Gyuvin doesn’t see even a single morsel of the man he met days ago, calm to the point of indifference. The guards seizing him have no control over the way he moves and leaves a trail of unease around him. It feels like an extended bout of mockery—his laughter wanes only when he runs out of breath,  but he doesn’t rest, for his arm raises to point towards Gyuvin, as if directing his mocking on Gyuvin, and Gyuvin alone.

“What did I tell you, boy? You’d regret it!”

Gyuvin’s blood runs cold.

The door is pushed open haphazardly, uncaring about the aftermath of his careless action. He doesn’t know where to go beyond needing to be right by Ricky’s side. He prays, fervently, to a God that clearly doesn’t listen to him. A God that’s given him up the moment he’s met Ricky and fallen for him. A God that forces Gyuvin to push past the crowd that blocks his path so frustratingly so, until he finally elbows past them and reaches a clearing.

Perhaps, his God is far more benevolent than Gyuvin has been thinking he has been all these while, keeping Gyuvin away from the mess of it all, because what unfurls in front of his eyes is hell on earth—he sees scarlet on the wooden laminated floors, on stained fingers trying to hold someone up, on the wound on Ricky’s chest that spills a copious amount of blood still even when there is pressure pressed into it. He sees Gunwook, kneeling and shakily hunched over Ricky, and he sees Ricky bleed in Gunwook’s arms, body limp. Gyuvin screams loud enough to grasp Gunwook’s attention, who looks at him with so much relief that Gyuvin doesn’t think he should be able to provide.

“Gyuvin hyung,” Gunwook hiccups, turning to Gyuvin. Gunwook’s fingers are shaking, holding the weight of something far too much for a man as young as him to carry, and his eyes are bloodshot and filled with tears that have yet to join the trail of the ones already flowing down the soft flesh of his cheeks. 

Gyuvin falls to the ground and scrambles close, tears blurring his vision once more as his arms wrap around Ricky, his lover’s body limp against his own. Gyuvin shakes Ricky, tries to get anything out of him, anything other than being ignored by the man in his arms, but he doesn’t get anything. He receives nothing but loud sobs from the man kneeling beside him, as Gunwook’s arms weakly grasp at Gyuvin’s own, blood smeared everywhere. 

“Hyung, he’s… he’s gone,” Gunwook says, flinching as if the word burns at the tip of his tongue. “He’s—Ricky… Ricky, he—”

“No!” Gyuvin snaps immediately and hunches down as if he can block out the preposterous claim that Gunwook is spouting—sheer nonsense that he doesn’t want to pay attention to. He curls into Ricky, presses his ear to Ricky’s chest because that’s where he’ll hear his heartbeat the strongest. Gyuvin presses down firmly, despite the fact that scarlet now drips down his temple and down his cheek, stained in colour that shouldn’t ever come out from Ricky if not from his paintbrushes, and tries to listen to anything beyond the muffled pleas from Gunwook and the heavy breaths he takes.

“Ricky, please, please, my love, my heart—my Ricky, please,” he pleads, voice wretched, as he grows more desperate. “You can’t, you can’t—we still have the world ahead of us that we… no, I still owe you your strawberry smoothies, Ricky. You said you wanted two, right? I’ll buy more for you. I’ll buy more than two for you as long as you respond to me, just, please—”

“Hyung…” 

Gyuvin ignores Gunwook calling out for him, as he gently pinches at Ricky’s arm, right on the fold where his forearm and bicep meet, because he knows how much it startles Ricky whenever he playfully pinches him there. This will startle Ricky awake, surely, anything to wake his lover up from the sleep that he’s not supposed to be taking in the middle of class—

“Hyung!” 

A shout, enough to silence the world around them, when everyone falls to silence, where everyone realises that they should leave the place. Gyuvin freezes, turning to Gunwook, eyes blown wide as he takes in Gunwook’s frame once again. The younger man is shaking like a singular leaf caught within harsh whipping gales, and resembles nothing like the dependable rock Gyuvin ends up leaning against for more times than he can count, expression spelling of a pain that Gyuvin is sure reflects the one he has on his face. Gyuvin doesn’t know what to do, as he cradles Ricky closer, as he tries to feel the soft tickling of his boyfriend’s breath against his skin. He aches for things he knows deep inside of his mind won’t happen again, and he mourns a loss that feels as if he’s being ripped apart and forced to feel every thread of sinew of himself pull apart mercilessly. 

“Please, stop,” Gunwook pleads with Gyuvin, as a choked sob leaves the younger man.

“Ricky’s gone, hyung,” he adds, crying more than Gyuvin is.

“He’s never coming back.”

The next thing Gyuvin sees is the colour—or rather, the devoid of—that reminds him of Ricky all the time. Black, and then nothing at all.

Gyuvin loses Ricky on a day he doesn’t think he will.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Grey, and horribly overcast.

The skies mourn, too, on the day Gyuvin is forced to put Ricky to rest.

Gyuvin dresses in clothes that do not belong to him—his closet is too bright for an occasion as sombre as this, but he feels right at home in them. Inky black is supposedly foreign, yet it’s all he ever knows now. Ricky would have liked this weather, Gyuvin morosely observes, as he stares into the hole that grows deeper, the sound of the shovels a monotonous metronome as dirt falls to the ground beside the two men digging. He doesn’t catch names, can’t quite remember them, but it matters little. Gyuvin digs a hole of his own—his finger rubs the fabric of the thin mesh lining on the sleeves of the shirt he wears completely raw from how much he’s fidgeting with it. Gyuvin can only look on, helplessly, as he is subject to a harsh reality he doesn’t accept, and it has been days since then. Gunwook and Taerae doesn’t let him stay alone, but they don’t interrupt him when all Gyuvin does is stay holed up in the room he shares with Ricky, eyes quietly scanning the room around him—at where Ricky once was, each bit of Ricky breathed into the room that Gyuvin can see him even when he closes his eyes.

It’s a small ceremony—although Ricky’s parents have been notified of the procession, they don’t do much beyond sending bereavement flowers, almost as if Ricky is not their flesh and kin. Like it isn’t their friend that killed their son. Like it isn’t their son who’s gone from the world… forever. Gyuvin cannot even bring himself to be upset, nor does he have it in himself anymore to cry. He cried when he woke up in the infirmary, after he passed out—a reaction, citing the nurse, that had been a given ‘considering his mental state’. He cried, too, when Gunwook had cried right by his bedside, with Gunwook mourning the loss of his friend and Gyuvin, the loss of his boyfriend. Gyuvin eventually runs out of tears, and only feels a sour numbness when the coroner informs him of the cause of Ricky’s… Gyuvin can’t bring himself remotely close to acknowledge the reality of that situation.

Gunshot wound to the heart—an immediate death. He shouldn’t have felt any pain when he left. I’m sorry for your loss, kid. Let us know if you need anything.

Gyuvin doesn’t know if he actually needs anything. He needs Ricky back, but can anyone give his boyfriend back to him? He tries to be strong, to give his all in pretending like he’s fine, but Gyuvin doesn’t think he has anymore left in himself to give, when he has already given everything that he has to Ricky.

“Hyung.” 

Gyuvin lifts his head then, away from the two men working at the burial site, and towards the side, where he sees familiar people. In all honesty, Gyuvin doesn’t think they fare too well, either. He sees Gunwook and Taerae, both donning a similar suit of sombre black and white. Gunwook’s previously full cheeks now sallow, while dark bags seem to cling on the underside of the younger man’s eyes. There’s a hand gently pressed onto Gunwook’s bicep, and he sees how Taerae is trying to comfort his boyfriend through the loss of a friend. Gyuvin doesn’t get the privilege of this comfort, nor does he think he’ll ever receive it from anyone other than Ricky.

There are many words left unsaid between all three of them standing there. Gyuvin knows that the questions of concern are lingering on both the tip of their tongues, but doesn’t try to ease them into sharing them—not when he’s sure the answer is already written all over his features. Gyuvin turns away, because he cannot bear to look at Gunwook for too long when all he can remember is the colour of red on Gunwook’s hands. It is not the younger man’s fault, nor is it Gyuvin’s. The circumstances are just… unfortunate.

“They’ll be done soon,” Taerae adds, as if trying to maintain some sort of peace over the whole situation. Gyuvin doesn’t even know why he’s trying. “Are you going to stay?”

A part of Gyuvin knows that he is not blamed by the people around him, and Gyuvin feels as if that is precisely the problem. 

Because Gyuvin should be blamed. 

There are so many things that he still regrets about that day—if he listened to Ricky’s insistence to stay in their room for the day, if he didn’t insist to go when Ricky had told him that he was feeling off, if he hadn’t approached the stupid professor in this barbaric manner, if he had somehow managed to actually protect Ricky from it all… then perhaps, their presence will not have been needed today.

He regrets that he wasn’t by Ricky’s side when it all unfolded, and most of all, he regrets that he isn’t the one being laid to rest instead. He failed everything, failed Ricky, and all that’s left for him is to pick up the pieces of himself that don’t have an owner to return back to anymore.

Ah, right. Taerae’s question.

There are so many things he wishes he could say. He wants to apologise that he’s failed to protect Ricky, and also for being so stubborn. He wants to say he loves Ricky, where he’ll subsequently beg his boyfriend to return back to life—and that this is simply just a cruel joke that has an end. He wants to whisper the poems he’s written for Ricky to his lover as he kisses down his body and holds him close. But Gyuvin doesn’t say it all. All he does is nod his head, and force a smile to his lips. It’s weak. Almost insulting. Gyuvin doesn’t find it in himself to actually care.

“I will stay,” Gyuvin finally replies. “I’m not going to leave Ricky. He’ll… be lonely. And he doesn’t like feeling lonely.”

Gyuvin watches as the two of them exchange a look with one another. He knows there are questions they want to ask, support they want to provide, but Gyuvin doesn’t give them the opportunity to do so when he just smiles again, this time forcing his eyes to crinkle just slightly. Even if he is wasting away from the inside, Gyuvin hopes he doesn’t end up becoming a burden to the people he cares about.

“I’m a little tired, so I’ll just rest until they’re done,” Gyuvin announces, and doesn’t wait around for a response before he makes himself scarce. He turns a blind eye and gives himself no opportunity to look behind himself as he walks towards the makeshift tent a small distance away, with each step dragged against the soft blades of grass beneath the soles of his shoes. There, almost forgotten, laid… Ricky. In his coffin, undisturbed, unknowing of the sheer anguish that Gyuvin’s gone through in the days he’s been gone. There is only one person there besides him. Gyuvin recognises them barely: the attendant in charge of standing guard over Ricky’s coffin. Gyuvin shoos them out of the tent quickly enough to grant himself and his love the final moments of peace.

Gyuvin spent every waking moment of his time wondering why he had to continue living. He dreams of Ricky when he does fall asleep, replaying the gruesome scene he finds again and again because it’s all his brain can ever think of, and wakes up gasping for a man that he knows he’s lost. Gunwook and Taerae try their best to provide any form of support to their friend, but all their efforts are futile–Gyuvin doesn’t think he’s salvageable anymore.

“Ricky…” he calls out softly once more, in hopes of hearing a response, his voice a gentle tremble. He doesn’t receive anything, expectedly, as he walks closer to the coffin. He still cannot believe that Ricky is inside there, lying down, not breathing. Reality hits him far harder than he thinks possible, when he walks up to the open casket and sees Ricky once more.

His lover is not smiling. His eyes are closed, and his lips are stuck in a relaxed state. There is a surprising amount of colour to his countenance, made possible by the mortician. They’ve done a good job—it’s all Gyuvin can think of when he looks down at his lover. But it isn’t Ricky. His lips are almost too pale, and though a soft pink flush is dusted over his cheeks in place of the blood that rushes to Ricky’s face naturally, it’s just not… Ricky. There is no eyeshadow. No perfect winged liner. No translucent red lipgloss that resembles the fruit he likes to eat so much. Gyuvin wonders if Ricky will complain about the makeup that the mortician’s done for him. Gyuvin thinks he will.

“I wish you were back here,” Gyuvin murmurs to Ricky. To himself, because he supposes Ricky can’t hear him anymore. 

There are many things, Gyuvin reckons, that he needs Ricky alive for. There are also many things that Gyuvin regrets having ever done, where regret follows him like a stubborn shadow, unable to shake away. He wishes Ricky were still alive. He wishes that they could both be with each other when they graduate from university. That Ricky’ll be here when Gyuvin becomes a successful journalist, the same way Gyuvin will be there when Ricky becomes a renowned artist. Gyuvin wants Ricky to be there for them to celebrate their 10th anniversary together, and then celebrate a few more 10s with one another because Gyuvin cannot imagine himself with anyone else. Gyuvin… he just wants Ricky back.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises once again, as he takes in Ricky’s figure once more. He still looks so beautiful, shirt already changed out of the blood-stained one that he wore days ago. Gyuvin doesn’t know how to process the emotions that he feels beyond constantly and fervently praying that somehow, Ricky will come back to life. But that’s impossible, isn’t it? Gyuvin knows that…

… wait.

Gyuvin’s eyes rake through Ricky’s body once more. Gyuvin is in charge of deciding what outfit Ricky should don, but he doesn’t remember asking for accessories to be put on Gyuvin. Yet, there is a golden brooch pinned onto his chest, the shape of an intricate butterfly and a deep red ruby embedded within its body. He recognises the brooch, vibrant against the inky black of Ricky’s clothing, the colour that Gyuvin insists they have to be for his lover who wears nothing else other than the shades of a moonless, starless, sky. Gyuvin always thinks it’s because Ricky shines so vibrantly that there is no choice than to dim it down with his clothes, somehow. That vibrance never goes unmissed in Gyuvin’s ever watchful eyes—especially not when his entire existence orbits around his lover.

When he looks at the brooch again, Ricky himself is the one person Gyuvin recalls. He is, after all, the person who told Gyuvin what butterflies meant, and why he adored them so much.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

“Sometimes, I dream of being a butterfly,” Ricky whispered, voice soft as his breaths tickled against Gyuvin’s chest.

Gyuvin hummed, because he really did not know why Ricky thought that way. But he was curious to a fault, and bit the bait his boyfriend left him without fail. “Why?”

“In witchcraft, they represent transformation and rebirth. I wish I could transform. I wish I can be reborn, so that I will be free from…” Ricky’s voice sounded so far away, but Gyuvin knew exactly why those feelings had floated to the surface. How could they not, when every single part of Ricky’s life had been weighed down, shrouded in a mess far deeper and painful than Gyuvin could even comprehend?

“Ricky,” Gyuvin whispered, conviction surging in his body, as he leaned closer and hugged his boyfriend tighter to himself. “If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll make sure you can do it. You can be reborn, and I will find you, and love you again.”

Gyuvin’s proclamation was easily met with laughter. And then…

“Silly Qubing. That’s not possible, unless I die. I’m okay with accepting my life, and my fate, as is,” Ricky replied, smiling despite the heaviness of his words. He sounded resigned, accepting of his own fate—more than Gyuvin, who just could not seem to let go.

“But if you could be born again,” Gyuvin insisted, continuing to press for an answer. “Would you choose to be so? And would you still… love me?”

Ricky smiled in response, cupping Gyuvin’s cheeks as they remained laying there together in silence. Bodies and souls both bare, Gyuvin was willing to give up his everything to Ricky, in exchange for another morsel of Ricky’s love, be it in this life, or in their next.

“First of all… I would love you a thousand times over, Qubing. Even in the next life, and our next, and our many next lives. As for rebirth…” Ricky trailed off for a moment, his eyes cast elsewhere. Gyuvin wondered if it was wistful yearning, or a silent resignation that he witnessed on Ricky’s face. He wasn’t given much time to ponder when Ricky turned to him, with fiery determination blazing in his eyes.

“I’ll choose to be reborn. There are still so many things that I want to do.”

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin finds himself frowning when the memories all come rushing back. 

Butterflies. Transformation. Rebirth. 

If Ricky’s given a chance of rebirth, he’d take it. There are still so many things Ricky wants to do, too. Gyuvin promised him that he can do it too. How can Gyuvin bring someone back to life? Is that even possible? He mulls over it again, and again, obsessing over a reality that he doesn’t even know exists.

Gyuvin continues to rack his brain, eager for a solution, desperate for a miracle. There must be something somewhere—he just hasn’t looked hard enough. Witchcraft. Miracles. Ricky. Ricky, who believes in the magic of the universe, thrumming right underneath the soft soils of earth, buzzing in the air, flowing in the waters, and gently nestled into everyone’s bodies. Gyuvin squeezes his eyes shut as the world spins around him, more flashbacks rushing to his mind: libraries, books, and the soft swipe of Ricky’s lips over his own amidst conversations of forbidden spells and magic that’s far too much for a normal human to bear. 

It’s Gyuvin’s only one and only chance. It’s Ricky’s only way.

“Ricky,” he gasps out, breath heavy as his eyes finally open once more, his vision blurry as he struggles to get accustomed to the world around him. When his eyes finally focus on his lover once more, he knows what he has to do.

“I’ll make sure we can fulfil your wish,” Gyuvin promises. He takes a deep breath, gaze not once faltering.

“I’ll give you a chance to live again.”

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin is, admittedly, someone who tends to avoid discomfort—whether by choice or otherwise.

There is no reason for him to stare it right in the face when he’s lived his entire life quite normally: Gyuvin is—was—a good Christian man who prayed to his God every day and attended church with his family every Sunday without fail. He is also from a well-to-do family, even if lesser than Ricky’s, and he doesn’t go to sleep wondering if there will be a hot meal waiting for him when he wakes up in the morning. 

If anything, he is a hallmark of a completely normal man raised right, privileged enough to have nothing but comforts surrounding him.

The first time he truly felt discomfort, it was when his parents had forced him to confess. Ricky was there for him, then, and they kissed for the first time that day.

The second time he felt that same feeling, it was when he was perusing books that he promised he would never touch again—Ricky had asked him to swear that he wouldn’t, and Gyuvin is nothing if not a man who listened to his lover without fail. Ricky was there for him, too, and gently explained the unease away.

Gyuvin believes, though, that the third time will be right about now, but he doesn’t have Ricky with him.

A part of him is almost glad that he doesn’t, because he knows what he’s about to do will inevitably put a frown right upon his lover’s face. Gyuvin doesn’t like making Ricky upset if given the choice—it’s the only way he can convince himself that he’s fine without Ricky by his side, even when everything else about him points towards otherwise.

Gyuvin feels as if he is committing a crime. When he steps into the library, the brief glance the librarian casts towards him feels too heavy even though he’s in the library at an appropriate timing—the sun is still up in the sky, and he is not the only student there. But because of his intentions, it almost feels as if he shouldn’t be here.

“Forgive me,” he whispers to himself, to Ricky—to no one in particular—as he steps deeper into the library, past the students there, poring over books that Gyuvin doesn’t pay much attention to. His focus is on getting back to the very place that unsettles him, tapping into knowledge that he swears to Ricky he never will. A part of him convinces himself that he’s doing it for Ricky, but a small part of Gyuvin knows exactly why he’s doing this.

The book is where he’s last left it. 

Weeks ago, when Gyuvin was simply desperate to know more about what his lover did, he chanced upon a book that had caused his goosebumps to stand on end, the contents so heavy he should have known that he would find nothing from there at all when it came to Ricky’s rituals. 

But a part of Gyuvin believes that there is a reason as to why he’s chanced upon that book. His fingers hook around the top of the spine, gently removing it from the shelves, and reads the title embossed into the hardcover. There are dust marks he remembers as his own hand swiping over the surface just briefly weeks ago, and it’s testament to just how unvisited this portion of the library is.

“The Art of Necromancy”.

The book title reads loud and clear. It’s concise and cuts to the chase, leaving no room for debate as to what the contents within it would have been. Gyuvin doesn’t think he’ll ever open this book again with full intentions to actually read through the contents in detail. But in a sense, he hasn’t expected himself to fall in love so deeply with a man that became so integral to his life that his heart aches in his absence.

Love, Gyuvin resolves, is always entirely capable of causing people to make radical decisions, and Gyuvin?

He is more than willing to take the plunge to grant a chance for Ricky to be reborn once again.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

The moon hides behind the deep grey clouds on a night like this—almost as if the moon itself does not wish to bear witness to Gyuvin’s actions. But he doesn’t pay anything heed beyond the weight of his messenger bag, now filled with items essential to the ritual he’s read about again and again for days, and the shovel that taps against the side of his calf with every step he takes. It’s a blind attempt, and Gyuvin knows that all too well, but he cannot live with himself if he doesn’t at least try.

Gyuvin also thinks about what he’d be like if it all fails. Will he relent to the fate he’s been bestowed, or will he continue to challenge it, unable to accept a reality where there is no warmth by his side? The mere thought jinxes his ritual, and he finds himself pushing it away to make space for the blind faith that it’ll work.

It is, after all, penned down that the caster must believe it possible. Gyuvin wants to believe nothing but that.

The small trek to the burial site is familiar to Gyuvin. There is not a single soul in sight, and with the small paraffin lamp he’s equipped with, Gyuvin can’t see much beyond the small distance ahead of him, where the edge of the light guides him closer and closer to Ricky’s tombstone. 

Gyuvin doesn’t acknowledge it even when he arrives right at the foot of the grave—never has, never will—but he knows it is Ricky’s because of the flowers he remembers placing on there. The flowers are replaced every time they wilt, because Gyuvin believes that Ricky only deserves the prettiest things on earth, and the blue Forget-Me-Nots are beautiful and a testament and a soft, silent plea from Gyuvin to Ricky: “Do not forget me.”

Although the flowers are wilted by now, Gyuvin doesn’t bring fresh ones with him. 

He believes that there is no need to do so. Not when Ricky will return to him soon, unscathed, unhurt, and free to do whatever he chooses to do for the rest of his—their—life together. Gyuvin will promise to buy fresh flowers for Ricky again when he returns, and they will return back to their room, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder, and their hearts beating together in a synchronous rhythm once more.

Gyuvin sets his belongings on the ground before he holds the shovel in both hands. 

“I love you, Ricky,” he whispers, desperation dripping from every word he utters. He then heaves a deep breath, raises his arms in anticipation, and digs the sharp end of the shovel into the dirt, the sound of the metal shoved into the soil increasingly loud in the silence of the air around him.

There is no turning back now. Gyuvin digs, and digs into the soil, all in an attempt to unearth the coffin beneath his scuffed shoes, beads of perspiration trickling down his temples from the exertion as his body strains and aches from the admittedly backbreaking labour. His hands grip tighter around the body and the handle of the shovel the deeper he digs, soft grunts leaving him, whilst his mind only floods with thoughts of Ricky and how it’ll all be worth it at the very end of the road. 

Gyuvin isn’t sure how long it will take, as the piles of soil build up around him. The hole grows bigger, larger, and he is standing within a pit now, but it still takes a long while before his shovel actually hits something harder than just soil. 

It takes a while more for him to fully dig through the soil and unearth the coffin. When he looks up from where he is, Gyuvin realises just how deep he’s gone. The faint light from the lamp is barely visible from where he stands, and it unsettles him enough that he remedies this by quickly climbing up the small slope upwards to grab the lamp and the rest of his belongings down with him. When he is back by the coffin, Gyuvin steps towards it slowly—how long has it been since he’s last seen it? Up until now, he still can’t believe that Ricky is in there even though he’s seen it for himself.

Gyuvin remains entirely unconvinced as he gently swipes away at the residual soil before he pushes open the wooden latch to the coffin’s lid. His hands are slippery when he holds onto the lid, body aching from the exertion, but he pushes through either way. He is so close now, and frankly, he’s also running out of time. The watch he wears on his wrist tells him all he needs to know—there are only just a few hours left before the day breaks, and he needs all the time he can get for this to succeed. 

Gyuvin takes in one deep breath, and pushes it all out in a slow exhale as he lifts the coffin’s lid, and is immediately met with a rather putrid stench that has him backing away and coughing. The smell of rot and decay almost worries him, but he knows he is still well within the seven days of Ricky’s death to enact this ritual—in fact, it is the last night he can. He has to work fast, pushing the lid fully open so that he can fully expose his lover’s body within the coffin.

It’s only then that he looks down, and his heart seizes at the sight of Ricky once more. The pictures that populated their shared room do no justice for just how beautiful his boyfriend is, even when the acrid air of death surrounds him. Ricky is still achingly beautiful, and Gyuvin has to remind himself that he is here not to admire Ricky, but rather, to bring the man back to him.

Gyuvin sets up the ritual quite easily. He’s remembered it by now, committed it to memory even though he does bring the book along with him in case he needs to refer again. The obsessive way in which he pored over each and every written instruction in fear of misstep results in the fluidity of his motions as he sets the ritual up, bringing out the items that he needs for it. There are candles, herbs he didn’t even know existed, and a bag of salt that he sprinkles around the perimeter of the coffin, designed to keep unwanted evils away, and to ensure that the ritual has the best chance at succeeding.

There is a part of it that frankly scares him. Gyuvin hasn’t even seen Ricky do something as extreme as this, but he remembers the instruction as clear as day—he has to sacrifice something in order to get another back. In this case, the recommended sacrifice is the caster’s own blood. Gyuvin is willing to give more than just that for a chance—the dagger he brings with him is a metallic, solid testament to his own conviction. When Gyuvin steps back briefly from the setup, it is… significantly brighter than before. There are enough candles lit up that the paraffin lamp pales greatly in comparison, and there is only one last thing left to do before he has to chant incantations that frankly sound more like gibberish than actual words in Gyuvin’s head.

Gyuvin stares into his open palm, dirtied and smeared with soil, and breathes a deep sigh.

Gyuvin slashes his palm with the sharp dagger, hissing and drawing blood that spills out from him almost immediately. He follows the instructions well, too afraid to mess up, and stands only a small distance away from Ricky now, back facing him like the ritual dictates. His palm stings in the open air as more blood spills from the gash, blood dripping onto the ground beneath him, onto his shoes, as he recites the incantations that he reads off of the book, only because he’s afraid he’ll mess it up. The instructions are simple from here on out—he simply has to keep repeating it until it works, and he has to keep his eyes away from the dead or it won’t work. Gyuvin isn’t sure just how long he can handle not looking at Ricky, but… he tries his best.

Gyuvin can spend an eternity trying if it means it’ll bring Ricky back.

Gyuvin’s lips turn dry. His throat becomes hoarse, as he continues chanting, and chanting, eyes scanning over the incantations again and again until his tongue possesses enough muscle memory to repeat it without the help of the book. It’s bad manners, but he tosses it aside for now, just so he can focus on the spell, and eventually uses the dagger to dig a deeper gash into his already bleeding palm, in hopes that the additional bloodshed will somehow accelerate the process. He’s grasping at straws, but it’s… fine. It’s fine, as long as Ricky—

All of a sudden, a gasp sounds in the air. 

Sharp, painful, and oddly disconcerting—but perhaps, most importantly of all, not from Gyuvin.

When Gyuvin whips his head—and body—around to look, he sees Ricky, sitting up from within the coffin and lips parting in loud gasps only someone alive can make. The grip Ricky has on the coffin’s edge turns his joints ashen white, and Gyuvin ends up in a mad rush towards Ricky, falling to his knees until he’s level with the man. It feels unreal that Ricky is there, very much alive.

“Ricky! My Ricky, you’re—”

“Qubing? Qubing,” Ricky gasps, his voice holding a hoarse rasp that feels oddly like sandpaper, completely cutting Gyuvin off. For some reason, Gyuvin enjoys that. He’s longed for days like this to return again, where his words will finally be met with the sweet cadence of Ricky’s voice, as opposed to the silence that tended to follow his words—a silence so poignant that Gyuvin ends up talking less, out of the fear that he will eventually take the silence as his new norm.

Will Ricky comprehend what’s happened? Will he realise that Gyuvin has done the impossible, and given Ricky the chance at rebirth? Would the both of them finally be able to seek happiness together, in peace, far away from Ricky’s aggressor that’ll rot away in prison for the foreseeable future?

“What… what have you done?!”

That was unexpected.

All at once, Gyuvin feels guilty. The dagger in his hand drops into the coffin as he reaches his blood-stained hands out towards Ricky. It feels like a slap in the face when Ricky gasps and reels back, almost as if something distasteful is nearing him when it’s just Gyuvin. He’s confused, hurt, and desperate for an answer that he doesn’t get because Ricky begins to heave, taking loud, painful-sounding gasps of air whilst his fingers clutch shakily at the fabric of his shirt. Gyuvin both hears and sees Ricky shift from that to hitting harshly at his chest, dull thuds filling the air around them. It must hurt. It must hurt, so why is Ricky doing this? Gyuvin has to stop it somehow. He needs to.

“Ricky, stop it,” Gyuvin begs, eyes blurring with tears as he reaches out to grasp onto Ricky’s hands. This time, his boyfriend is too weak to pull away, but he collapses in on himself, back arching forward as he continues to take sharp gasps of air. “What’s… what’s wrong? Why are you… why are you hurting?”

Ricky looks up at Gyuvin then. Gyuvin, as much as he wishes to deny this, cannot recognise Ricky in this state. There is so much pain reflected in the deep orbs of his eyes, tears trickling down sallow cheeks. Ricky’s lower lip trembles as he continues shaking his head, looking at Gyuvin almost as if he’s seen someone strange. Someone he doesn’t remember.

Someone he doesn’t know.

“You’re… you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” Gyuvin pleads once more, fingers squeezing around Ricky’s wrists. Gyuvin has to hear his lover cry out in pain, teeth sinking so harshly into his lower lip that he draws blood—and all Gyuvin can do is witness as Ricky falls apart. As Ricky deviates from what Gyuvin thought would have happened once the ritual’s over.

“You… you shouldn’t have done this!” Ricky exclaims, again and again, the words echoing so harshly from between his lips that it causes Gyuvin’s head to hurt. 

“Ricky, I don’t understand… please, calm down and tell me—”

“I can’t fucking do it,” Ricky spits, a pained sob leaving him right after. Gyuvin tries to pretend that it doesn’t affect him, but the way he grips onto Ricky’s wrists harshly says otherwise, blood smeared upon soft skin and etching red between the crevices all as he ignores the stinging he feels deep in his palms. Gyuvin doesn’t know what to do.

 “You shouldn’t have done this. Why would you go to such lengths? Qubing, I’m supposed to be dead!”

“And I don’t want you to be! You said you wanted to be reborn, didn’t you? You said you wanted to live. I’m doing this for you—”

“Qubing, no. This is exactly why I told you to swear that you wouldn’t find out more. No one was supposed to do this. Nothing good comes out of it,” Ricky whispers, voice softening. Gyuvin doesn’t think it’s a good sign, but for now, he’s just glad that Ricky sounds as if he’s calmed down, even if all the next breaths he takes sounds as laborious as the previous ones.

“To me, something did,” Gyuvin protests, loosening the grip he has on Ricky’s wrists. Ricky’s sobbing. Ricky’s sobbing, and all Gyuvin wants to do is to throw his arms around his lover and pull him into a hug and shield him from all the pain that he’s going through, even though he doesn’t know why. “You’re back. It’s the best thing that can ever happen. To me. To us.”

“You don’t understand. You never know when to stop. I knew it. You never do,” Ricky cries out softly. Gyuvin can feel hands trying to push at his chest, pressing into it weakly in a poor attempt to push him away. He retaliates by tightening his arms around Ricky.

“Then make me understand, Ricky. What is it? What am I not understanding?”

“The fact that I’m supposed to be dead! You don’t get that, Kim Gyuvin! I’m supposed to be dead, and stay dead!”

Ricky’s words feel like a slap to his face. Gyuvin inevitably freezes, and Ricky takes it as the perfect opportunity to push Gyuvin away.

Gyuvin witnesses as the world collapses around him. All he can see right in front of him is Ricky, still heaving, upset, and so clearly angry with Gyuvin that he doesn’t know what else to do other than to try to grovel for forgiveness. He shakes his head, desperate for this to be just a bad dream—that he hasn’t actually started the ritual yet, and that he’ll wake up again with a start because he’s somehow failed. He digs his fingers into his own palms, and feels the pain shooting through them. 

“Ricky,” he calls out to his lover once again as his hands reach out weakly towards the man. They fall short this time, not because Ricky is pulling away, but because Gyuvin doesn’t think he deserves to hold Ricky anymore. Gyuvin’s clearly upset Ricky somehow by bringing the man back to life, for risking everything he has of him to continue with the ritual. Ricky is there, in front of him, seated in the coffin, but why does he still feel so far away? And why has the peace on Ricky's features, as he was laid to rest, completely disappear, almost as if it never existed in the first place?

“I’m sorry. Forgive me, I’m sorry… I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” Gyuvin whispers, voice trembling as he grips hard onto the edge of the coffin, tears freely trickling down his cheeks in fat droplets. Gyuvin doesn’t know what to do, and can only witness as Ricky stares at him. He wonders if there’s only hate left between the both of them as Ricky takes a shuddering breath and closes his eyes, fingers clutching so tightly onto the fabric of his own shirt that Gyuvin wonders if he’ll end up tearing it. He wants to reach out and pull Ricky’s hands away, because he knows how precious the shirt is to the man, but he doesn’t dare to. Not if he runs the risk of making Ricky hate him even more than he already seems to do.

“I don’t want you to hate me,” Gyuvin admits soon thereafter, hiccuping softly. “I don’t know what to do if you hate me, Ricky. Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t… Qubing, I— I don’t hate you,” Ricky whispers. Gyuvin finds himself deflating slightly, relieved by the words. Ricky wouldn’t lie to him. He never does.

“It’s just. All this, all you’ve done,” Ricky gestures around him, around them, with the free hand that isn’t clutching at his chest. At the very part where Gyuvin knows he was shot dead instantaneously. Gyuvin remembers it like it was yesterday—and he is somehow only noticing it now. Why…

“It works, but not for good reason. I’m hurting, Qubing. I’d much rather stay dead than to feel, feel this,” he whispers, hand now pressing against his chest, as his breaths left him in laboured exhales, replaced by inhales that seem harder and harder to take each time. “I feel like I’m being shot a thousand times over. Again, and again, and again—that… that’s the price of coming back to life.”

And because Ricky doesn’t lie to him, Gyuvin knows that this is the truth. Unfiltered, unapologetic, and incredibly candid. Gyuvin is essentially forcing Ricky to live through the pain of how he died again, and again, and again, that he’d much rather be dead than brought back to life. 

There’s nothing but guilt in Gyuvin’s body. He surges forward to pull Ricky into a hug once more, desperate to try to make things feel better. Ricky doesn’t retaliate any further. He doesn’t push back, nor does he do much beyond sobbing into Gyuvin’s shoulder as he continues clutching at his chest. 

“It hurts so much, Qubing,” Ricky admits. “I can’t do it.”

“Ricky, there must be a way. A way for it to stop hurting. I’ll find it, I’ll—”

“You can’t. You won’t. It’s not possible. You need to know when to stop, Qubing. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Gyuvin doesn’t know why Ricky is even apologising. 

He’s not the one at fault—not when Gyuvin is the one who doesn’t know how to take away the pain. That he’s the one who selfishly brought Ricky back to life without even realising just how torturous it’d feel for Ricky, who’s so weak and in so much pain that he can do nothing but cry into Gyuvin’s shoulder. Or at least, it’s what Gyuvin thinks Ricky can do, until he feels movement from beneath him, and hears the sound of metal dragging against the smooth wood.

All at once, dread becomes Gyuvin’s unwelcome friend he can’t seem to push away. It settles deep into the crevices of his bones, making up the cartilage that moves between his joints as he pulls back, eyes widening as he sees Ricky’s shaking hand grabbing tightly onto the bloodied metal handle of the dagger.

Realisation settles in quickly.

“No, no… no, Ricky, no—”

“I’m sorry, Qubing. I love you.” 

It’s the last thing Gyuvin hears from Ricky before his ears are filled with other things: the sharp sound of a dagger piercing flesh, a soft cry, and the clanking of metal on the wooden surface of the coffin as it drops from Ricky’s hand.

Gyuvin sees the life spill out of Ricky for the second time, from the exact same spot on his chest, and is just as unable to stop it this time around. He cries, and sobs, as he desperately holds onto the lifeless body that collapses against his own. Gyuvin tries to gather Ricky together again, and tries to gather the broken pieces of himself that he surrenders to his lover, lost between the blood that pools between them.

Gyuvin doesn’t even get to say ‘I love you’ back.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

The sunlight streamed gently through the window, harsh rays diffusing into soft warmth past the drawn sheer curtains. Was it morning? Midday? Deep into the afternoon? Gyuvin did not know, but he found that it did not matter, either. With the window closed shut, Gyuvin did not get to hear the sounds of nature from outside, but he assumed it was made out of sweet melodies and gentle harmonies—because how could life be anything less beautiful, less happy, when he had Ricky in his arms, hugging him, with his face gently pressed into Gyuvin’s shoulder?

Gyuvin couldn’t help but smile, his fingers gently combing through the soft locks of Ricky’s raven black hair, finding appreciation in the freshly dyed locks. They were always maintained so well, though Gyuvin did feel as if he was conditioned to appreciate the slight ammonia of the man’s hair dye by now from how often Ricky tended to dye his hair ‘for upkeep’. Gyuvin did not find it difficult at all to be attuned to the chemicals, either way—not if Ricky was involved.

But for today, they relaxed. Free from studies, free from the ever crushing responsibilities that students their age held, problems so big now that Gyuvin was sure would feel smaller in the future when they looked back into this portion of their life. What he knew, however, was that he would never regret the time he had spent with Ricky.

“Qubing,” Ricky whispered softly, garnering Gyuvin’s attention entirely. He hummed then, pulling back just slightly so that their eyes could meet. The corners of his lips were easily curved into a smile—all because it was just that easy to be happy around Ricky, the same way it was just so easy to love him. He still dreamt of a church wedding, with Ricky right by his side, but he supposed he would have to find a church willing to wed the both of them together. 

“Yes, my Lovelicky?” Gyuvin asked, the corner of his lips curled into a cheeky grin, only for his expression to soften as he laughed the same time Ricky had groaned. Ricky could roll his eyes all he wanted, but the flush on his cheeks and the subtle smile that appeared had told Gyuvin all he needed to know—Ricky liked the nickname.

“Never call me that again,” Ricky mumbled, voice soft and shy. Gyuvin let out a small laugh, because he was inherently always weak for the man, and would do anything Ricky had asked him to. No more Lovelicky, Gyuvin supposed. Even if he knew just how much that little nickname tickled his boyfriend’s fancy and made him blush.

“Fine,” Gyuvin whispered, leaning in to press two kisses upon Ricky’s face—one on each flushed cheek, his actions tender before he pulled back with a soft smile. “What is it, Ricky?”

Ricky, as if pleased with Gyuvin’s eventual return to his actual name, had smiled, nodding his approval. Gyuvin had to resist the urge to coo and pinch at Ricky’s flushed cheek, barely held back only by the fact that his hands were already gently squeezing Ricky’s waist, feeling the soft flesh underneath his fingers.

“I was thinking,” Ricky began, voice soft. Intimate. Gyuvin leaned in, just so he could listen to Ricky better.

“When I die… what will you do, Qubing? Will you come with me?”

Gyuvin found himself frowning subtly at the question. He had to think about Ricky… dying? The mere prospect of it was painful enough for him to shake his head, as if to physically rid himself of the thought. But Ricky looked on, clearly expecting a proper answer to his question. 

And because he was a man who listened all too well to his lover, Gyuvin started to give it a proper thought. What would he do in a world without Ricky? In all honesty, all he drew was blanks. How was a world without Ricky even possible anymore? But… he knew what he wanted to do. If there was a reality in which he had to suffer without the man in his life, then…

“I wouldn’t come with you,” Gyuvin replied softly, unable to stop himself from laughing the moment he noticed the furrow of Ricky’s brows and the petulant pout that appeared on his features—telltale signs of his boyfriend’s upset state, even though Ricky would always try his best to deny he ever showed his emotions outwardly. 

“Ricky,” Gyuvin called, moving his hand to hold onto Ricky’s, bringing it up gently so he could press a soft kiss to the back of his palm. “I’ll make sure the whole world knows how much I love you first. I’ll do it fast, and once the whole world knows, I’ll come find you.”

Gyuvin smiled then, squeezing Ricky’s hand gently, before bringing it to press upon his own chest, to allow for his lover to feel his beating heart. That, too, was for Ricky, the way everything about Gyuvin had turned to become. 

“And I won’t make you wait for long.”

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

Gyuvin remains entirely inconsolable. There is no remedy to the pain that he feels, nor does he think he actually deserves it. It's too much. Gyuvin knows this all too well this time around.

Ricky dies in his arms. He dies in his arms, again, and Gyuvin has no other choice than to pick up the pieces that fall apart around him. He sobs, and bemoans, arms tightening around the lifeless body that he ends up having to experience a second time. It’s hell on earth, worse than the life of the condemned that he’s been conditioned to fear. The flames of hell can consume him whole in purgatory and Gyuvin will not flinch—there is no greater pain than losing Ricky twice.

“Ricky, my Ricky,” he sputters, voice hoarse from the sobs that scratch at his throat like sandpaper. The wound on his hand is palpable more so than ever as it finds home in Ricky’s hair, the black locks now matted with Gyuvin’s blood that drips endlessly—but even that is not as painful as the way his chest aches and his heart seizes when reality sinks in once more. 

He remembers his promises. He remembers all of them, the ones he shared with Ricky, the ones he promised Ricky when he saw his lover fast asleep, the burden of the world temporarily lifted off of Ricky’s shoulders as he slipped into a restful slumber. All Gyuvin wants is to give Ricky peace. 

In a sense, Ricky did have it—he remembers how at ease Ricky appeared to be when he was put to rest, but Gyuvin acts on his own accord. He acts based on his selfishness, on the very basis that he misses Ricky too much to leave him alone. Ricky is absolutely right—Gyuvin is physically unable to part from Ricky even if he tries his best to do so.

But Gyuvin disrupts that all. He does so, and brings Ricky back into the world where he feels nothing but pain, the tears endlessly trickling down sallow cheeks whilst he cries and cries and tells Gyuvin that he’s done wrong. That he’s not supposed to be back here, and that it hurts too much for him to do so. Gyuvin disrupts Ricky’s peace for his own benefit, and the guilt feels like acid he’s forced to swallow down his throat—it burns, but Gyuvin believes he deserves it. 

“I’m sorry, my Lovelicky,” Gyuvin cries, his face a slobbering mess as it presses into the crook of Ricky’s neck. Ricky doesn’t breathe, doesn’t respond, and only stays in his arms, limp like a ragdoll. When Gyuvin finally dares to pull away, there are tear tracks that have dried upon Ricky’s cheeks. He is beautiful, even in sadness, even in death. And Gyuvin wishes he’s been strong enough to keep it that way.

“I was selfish. I’m selfish.”

The admittance feels like he is slicing through himself—he forces himself to admit the faults that he has, and the mistakes he’s committed in a late show of regret and remorse, as his hands cupped Ricky’s cheeks, gently and tenderly wiping away at the tear stains, and he inevitably gets blood on his lover’s face. He apologises, profusely, because it’s all he can do.

Gyuvin remembers a time where he promised to let the world know how much he loves Ricky. That promise still stands, but what is Gyuvin to do, when his world is condensed into the man that remains limp in his arms? Gyuvin doesn’t think before he’s climbing into the coffin, the small space a squeeze for the both of them. He doesn’t expect heartbreak to feel as if it’s tearing him up from within, but it does, even as he cradles Ricky close to his body, pressing Ricky’s head to his chest with one hand, and the other curled around his shoulders.

“Have I told you I love you enough, my Ricky?” he asks, even though he knows he will never receive an answer. He presses his lips to Ricky’s forehead in an all too delayed kiss, as a show of his love. And then another, and another, and another, until Gyuvin cannot bring himself to part from Ricky one more time.

“I love you,” he whispers, and hugs Ricky tighter to himself. “I love you. Do you know that, my Ricky?”

Gyuvin doesn’t think he can live another moment longer. He frees one hand just to scramble for the dagger, shaking fingers gripping onto the metal handle.

“And I’m sorry it took me so long, even though I said I wouldn’t keep you waiting,” Gyuvin whispers once more. The bloodied dagger is then thrust deep into his own chest, causing Gyuvin to let out a sharp gasp in response as the pain blooms from the stabbed area. Blood spills from between his lips, the same way he witnesses it leaving Ricky’s lips. 

Gyuvin’s dying.

He knows he is, but as he looks down on Ricky, blood dripping out of the both of them from the very same place, Gyuvin can’t help but smile as he pulls the dagger out of himself, letting the now-useless weapon clatter back onto coffin’s base, just to free his hands to hold onto Ricky again.

He cradles his world in his arms as he tastes iron on the tip of his tongue, and lets their lips meet in a belated kiss.

“I… love you, my Ricky,” he whispers, voice cracking. Gyuvin sounds far away even to himself, voice muffled by the ringing in his own ears. “My world...”

The world around him goes silent as he feels the last of himself slowly slip away.

Gyuvin doesn’t keep his lover waiting this time around, when he’s already let the world know just how much he loves Ricky by simply whispering those words to him alone.

Ricky is his world, his everything, and Gyuvin finds happiness in finally joining his love. 

Gyuvin… 

He is finally whole again.

──────── ∘ ❪ ❋ ❫ ∘ ────────

A thousand words will not suffice
The moment our eyes meet, realisations dawn
How your love has me in an inescapable vice

The candles burn brighter, their flames far from precise
To hold on to hope, wishes sung to embers like an antiphon
A thousand words will not suffice

The first time I hold you, against unwelcome advice
When you wake up, lips parted in a gentle yawn
How your love has me in an inescapable vice

Paintbrushes on canvas, painting colourful skies
A hopeful contrast to the dark void, it is drawn
A thousand words will not suffice

Words upon words, I try to be concise
The crude, amateur ways in which I hopelessly fawn
How your love has me in an inescapable vice

Obsession is hardly ever wise,
And though it tends to be frowned upon—