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It has been carved in the scripts, even long before colours spread all over the scenes: the romance that urged creatives after creatives to change cinema with its sounds of racing heartbeats and confessions. A girl—with beautiful wavy hair and fishtail dresses—with her man—charming and mysterious, running into the sunsets, chasing their happy ending. Their touches tender, in contrast to the volatile magma between them. Their stares are the first snow—melting softly against smooth skin, in compatibility with the warmth radiating from their words. Their names might stand at opposite ends of a sentence, and it would still be a poem the world would never stop reciting.
Somehow, Wonwoo thinks Mingyu is under the impression that they are in one of these scenes, as the latter docks his fancy mini yacht in the marina, looking up at Wonwoo with the same intensity that challenges the ocean currents underneath their feet. Eager to run into the warm sunsets, one hand on the yacht’s steering wheel, one hand caressing Wonwoo’s long black hair covering his lacy straps.
Eager for a future that would never happen, because the female lead he yearns for is nothing but an illusion with a cheap wig, big leather heels, a comically large coat, and faint eyeshadows.
“Mingyu,” Wonwoo lets the grip on his bag dig into his palms, bitter feelings too heavy to leave his throat along with each exhale. “You’re actually here.”
(Wonwoo certainly does not miss how his own voice raises at the end—for a question that tugs at his chest every time he sees the answer.)
“Of course why not,” Mingyu says in English for some reason and winks, flirtiness insinuating each syllable while he reaches out to help Wonwoo hop on the yacht, oblivious to the utter confusion swirling in the latter’s stomach. “Are your friends tagging along?”
“Yeah, they should be here soon,” Wonwoo answers and fixes his glasses, before turning around to watch his two companions racing towards them barefooted, face flushing, eyes widening, hairs blending into the wind as they keep bouncing and bouncing against gravity. Sea salts fill his nose as his breaths shorten, diaphragm movement matching the accelerating waves.
Wonwoo’s following words, “S—Sugar, Bo, hurry up!” almost gets drowned by the sounds of their hurried steps.
At his command (read: begging), in seconds, the two leap on the yacht, limbs flopping—swimming in the air—before both bodies landed on deck, luggages dropping with various shattering noises, bruising the sophisticated white paint Mingyu had. At last they are here, safe and sound.
In the distance, Wonwoo can see muscular and wide-shouldered-shaped shadows after shadows becoming bigger with every time his heart beats, roaring “Here they are!” as though they were Spartans in war. Dangers that come in masses and mobs, in rage and violence.
Alarms blare in his head, kicking his limbs to move—staying away from the marina as far as possible.
“Mingyu, we need to go now!” Wonwoo wastes no moment to yell out, urging the aforementioned to start the engine right away.
“Ahoy ahoy!” Mingyu sing-songs, sweeping his tongue over his canines, as he steers the wheel—mannerisms so quick, so confident, and so relaxed that in all the time Wonwoo's focus has been on him, it seems to be impossible for Wonwoo to think anything but “This man owns the world.”
Such an idea persists as the yacht fleets across the ocean, shaking the three remaining passengers into the floor. The pinkish horizon seems to be closer and closer, and some tension slowly rolls off their muscles. With no more adrenaline holding him up, Wonwoo has to lean against the wall, scratching his smeared lipstick as though to shield himself from nausea.
Eventually, when the marina and the angry mob are out of sight, Mingyu slows down, taking time to look at the others on deck. He raises one eyebrow at the fallen red wig on the ground, and the sight of Sugar burying her face in Bo’s neck so intimately.
Before he can ask questions, Wonwoo beats him to it.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance although his lips are heavy with the urge for a self-deprecating smile. “Bo is actually Bohyuk, my younger brother… I guess I should’ve gotten him a wig of higher quality when I got the chance.”
Is it the weather or a sense of dread, he wonders, that is knocking ice on his face?
“We’ve been running away from some gangsters ‘cause we accidentally witnessed them, you know, executing each other,” Wonwoo elaborates. “And on our way, we met sweet, sweet Sugar.”
His voice comes out so quiet, but there must be something so vulnerable, so distressed that Mingyu softens his attitude.
“It’s alright,” he says, voice dripping honey. “You guys are safe now, I won’t let any harm come to you, I promise.”
Another line from the films, from the lead to his beloved woman. So in character for Mingyu, since he has extended nothing but kindness to Wonwoo since five days ago when they ran into each other at the resort near the marina—the charming kindness mixed with clear courting intentions that constantly blur the boundaries between them, that keep adding hesitation to Wonwoo coming clean about his identity. Offering to carry Wonwoo's luggage. Paying the receptionists extra to prevent them from bugging Bohyuk and him about identity documents. Listening to Wonwoo's guitar at midnight out of their balconies, praising and reigniting the dream he has soon shoved into the back of his mind. Being the sweetest gentleman who can never keep his excitement everytime Wonwoo initiates something.
Oh, how so easy it is for Wonwoo's heart to mimic the clear and shiny water, reflecting Mingyu's sunkissed skin and handsome figure under both the diving sun and rising moon.
Questions flood Wonwoo’s head about Mingyu’s reaction when he learns the truth. Would he be capable of violence or aggression in the face of betrayal? Or would he still be so gentle, forgiving them due to their difficult circumstances?
Wonwoo remembers how Bohyuk reacted when the younger had learned his older brother had lied about not being able to fix his beloved guitar, when in reality Wonwoo had sold the instrument for Bohyuk's tuition. "You don't lie to people you love," the younger screamed in sadness. "You don't lie to people you love," and the words have carved themselves in his brain ever since.
Yet, he remains a repeat offender.
“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks.
“I’m in charge of a new mansion for some billionaires,” Mingyu steers the wheel once again. “It’s on a private island nearby, should be available for us.”
“Oh, for architect work?” the other cannot hide his surprise. “Or do you have any shady side hustle?”
“It's a pretty big architecture project,” the yacht owner laughs. “The owners allow me to stay there until everything's finished, you know I'm only at this resort for a wedding, so I might have one or two decent outfits for your brother to change to, if he wants, of course.”
He stops for a second, and if Wonwoo did not notice Mingyu closely, Wonwoo would have missed the flushes spreading from his neck to his ears.
“I have my own kitchen area too,” Mingyu runs his hand through his short hair. “If we have date nights, I can show you that I was not bluffing about my cooking skills.”
“Oh.”
Oh.
For a brief moment, one sole word crawls across his mind and expands to the point Wonwoo retreats a step to stabilise himself, Imagine.
Imagine the candles lining up on the marbled dining table.
Imagine the scents of butter melting in the air, of rosemary, and maybe a hint of Eastern spice.
Imagine English love songs in the background, all so distant in comparison with their chatters and giggles.
Imagine the two’s slow realisation that the thing between them is consuming the entire room, and how quickly their touches melt into each other afterwards.
Imagine, imagine, imagine. How bitter he is, when Wonwoo realises no matter how similar the scenarios they are both imagining are, these visions could never be identical—especially while they are living in two separate realities.
It is no different from watching one walking more and more into sinking sand. Wonwoo cannot stand and let Mingyu do it.
You don't lie to people you love.
“Mingyu,” he swallows, eyes staring deep into the other's. “I need to tell you something.”
Once again, Mingyu's smile falters (and Wonwoo's self-hatred intensifies) as he shifts his stance into a more serious one.
“Sure,” the yacht owner nods, carefully assessing which step he should take in such a minefield. “You're always welcome to talk, like, literally about anything you want.”
Wonwoo tightens his fists, starting with the words that have been plaguing in his thoughts:
“Mingyu, I am not who you think I am.”
Even with the yacht owner’s back against the sun, Wonwoo can still manage to see the lights waltzing on every inch of Mingyu's figure. His thick arms and thighs, strained by the black polo shirt and white pants. His hair, slicked with a side part. His round eyes. His sharp nose and his soft lips. His moles and his scars, one on his right eyebrow and one under his chin. His quiet encouragement as he waits for the other to continue.
(There has been no desire Wonwoo has experienced that is greater than his wish to carve everything into his irises right now, before he loses them all.)
“I know you, um, have romantic intentions towards me,” he decides on an alternative—significantly more wordy—route to soften the blow. “However, I need you to know that we wouldn't be able to get married. At least in the foreseeable future... I mean if, only if… the thing between us eventually reaches that point.”
“I am unsure what gave you the impression that marriage is a deal-breaker for me,” Mingyu frowns. “I can assure you, it is the least of my concerns.”
“I can never give you children,” Wonwoo adds, his chest aching at every truth he faces. “And if we are in public, it is impossible for us to display affection without compromising our safety.”
The atmosphere has soon been engulfed by silence as the ocean returns to its beauty sleep. As confusion fogs the yacht owner's mocha pupils, the other pushes and pushes.
“This,” Wonwoo snatches the wig off his head, exposing his messy bangs and curly hair. “Not my real hair… and these,” he throws his long coat off, uncovering his wide shoulders and fit muscles. “None of these are mine.”
A few minutes have passed, before Mingyu finds his voice again.
“And your name?” he asks. “How do you actually want me to refer to you now?”
“Wonwoo's still my real name, Jeon Wonwoo,” the other answers, hands fidgeting and rubbing his own neck. “Figured I don't really adapt to pseudonyms—”
“Wonwoo,” Mingyu mumbles, or rather, chants his name, and it has never sounded better. “Jeon Wonwoo,” the yacht owner bites his bottom lip, uneasiness written all over his features. “Do you… do you have feelings for me or do you not? Because if you say no, I’ll immediately stop doing anything and settle for just being your friend, or simply a companion, for the next few days until the gangsters leave you and, um, Bohyuk alone.”
Wonwoo’s immediate response was something between a “What?” and a “Huh.”
Amidst total astonishment, wonders rush through his mind. Could it be a tale as old as time: the princess falling for the beast before learning he was a prince, or the damsel kissing the peasant before discovering the latter came from royalty? Would it be possible for Mingyu to think he is in such a romance, with Wonwoo by his side?
“Jeon Wonwoo, you don’t owe me any information about yourself,” the yacht owner continues. “If you feel that you’ve wronged me by deliberately hiding certain things, I don’t think you have.”
“Well, of course not,” Wonwoo fixes his glasses, even when his vision is clearer than ever. “T—That's not the point!”
As his voice raises, Wonwoo does not miss Sugar flinching and Bohyuk standing up, ready to intervene in the heating situation.
“W—What I mean is t—that the foundation of our relationship is rooted in deception,” Wonwoo waves around. “Everything that you think you know about me, everything that made you like me and care for me is a lie!” he starts putting up fingers. “Grew up in a rich family full of musicians? I didn’t. My parents are both accountants, and they haven't even been able to retire because we can't afford to. A pure, innocent straight girl who's never had her first kiss? I am a cisgender man, a gay one, sure, but a man regardless. Every move I made was to take advantage of your kindness, and if I could lie to you once, I can do it again, again, and again to protect myself—”
His feet lead him around the deck despite the unstable ground, skin glistened with sweat, trying to tighten the knot that secures Mingyu away from him.
“If I say yes, which I admit there's a high chance that I do, we’d have to do a total reset, unlearn and learn everything, including how I dress as a man, my cold and boring personality, or any other detail,” Wonwoo reasons with every logic he has carefully curated the last few days. “And who can say it is guaranteed that we’d still be compatible when we get to know each other’s real selves, d—do you even want to take that chance, even if it costs you all of these ruining fantasies and maybe, I don’t know, a heartbreak?”
“Okay,” Mingyu nods, of course not without a handsome smile, and from there, the knot that Wonwoo has been struggling with untangles in seconds. Effortless. Simple. Confident.
Accepting.
Willing to take a chance with and for Wonwoo. Because at some point, logical explanations of the mind, however detailed and believable they are, would eventually lose to the instincts and yearnings of the heart. The world’s oldest left-brained, right-brained problem.
“Okay?” Wonwoo repeats, as his eyes widen, sunshine replacing the storm stirring in his chest.
He digs his nails into his palm to ground himself in reality, only to discover that it has never been a dream, despite how surreal the situation has been.
It is identical to riding a whale between the stars, because everything feels so fresh and elevated, raising all of Wonwoo’s limbs in the air.
It resembles walking on cloud nine, because Mingyu’s physical and spiritual embraces have been so soft and gentle.
It is no different from tasting candied flowers, because the words they have exchanged are nothing but dripping honey, luring him further and deeper.
“Okay,” Mingyu reaffirms, leaving no space for doubts in the other. “Yes, Jeon Wonwoo, I am willing to try for us.”
It is no dream, but Wonwoo can never let it slip through his fingers, lest he live with the what ifs for the rest of his life.
It is a battle Wonwoo cannot even be happier to lose.
“Okay.”
Wonwoo mirrors the yacht owner’s nod, staring at the small island peeking from the pinkish horizon, as though he is really running into the sunsets in the ending to a romantic film.
Soon enough, Wonwoo feels tender fingers tucking his bangs behind his ears—marking the first time Mingyu touches his hair, his messy but real dark hair that his family always called a bird’s nest.
Hopefully the first out of many.