Work Text:
"How can I
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀explain
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to you
my state of mind?
The earth
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀has a whole skyful of lights…
The blue sky,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a hell of a lot
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀of stars.
If I were not
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a poet,
I would
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀become
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀a stargazer."
Vladimir Maiakovski, Letter to Comrade Kostrov from Paris about the essence of love
Taekwoon discovered most things from afar.
When he first cried at the realization that distance had a lesson in mind, his voice had barely started to crack. Emotionally and physically away, he would learn what a family was — anything but what he had lived through.
Not long after, life would unfold itself to make Taekwoon understand what bonded families and friends together: affection. Be it blatant, shameless, or quiet. He wouldn’t get to live through this new lesson until the day he met his best friend.
✦
Rain was pouring. Clothing stuck to his body, Taekwoon shivered every time the wind met wet skin. “You promised me,” he heard while harbored under dense trees. “I paid upfront for this foal.”
“Allow me to apologize, Sir,” another voice pleaded. “We’ve never had a stillbirth before.” A sigh. “You can take the foal born last season along with the next one. She’s going to be a beautiful mare.”
“I don’t want that excuse of a mare you’ve got,” and a thunder overlapped the voice. The last thing he could make out of the conversation was about debt. “Back by tomorrow night.”
Taekwoon held his breath as the irritated buyer walked away. He could hear frustrated and violent noises coming from inside the stable. “You dumb, deaf animal.” And a desperate yet subtle cry that could only come from a horse.
He left, damned be the rain, picked up his mess of papers, and sketched the property from memory. That night he would come back, look in the eyes of an isolated animal, and silently promise her that no harm could ever find her again. “Muse,” he called her.
Muse, although genuinely hearing impaired, was everything but dumb. As they matured together, bonded by inexperience, both would understand the respect that comes with attachment.
They spoke through the unspoken — small taps and reverences. Taekwoon was heard without a voice, and Muse learned from kindness. Most of all, they used their hearts.
✦
Taekwoon’s youthful arrogance made him believe there was nothing more to discover. He was wrong.
The window was big enough for anyone, not just Taekwoon, the observer, to see all the lines and hues that formed that body. He tried to look away, but time turned him into a new Taekwoon. Lifting his hat just enough to catch the entire vision, eyes flickering excessively to make sense of it, he was almost memorizing the view.
Every observation that made his journal heavy was there to help him grow. He had never written about that, hoping an oversight would keep it from being real. Not until that day. That day, he used two total pages to add a charcoal drawing. As his thoughts began to overlap his sight, he looked at the sky. His heartbeat seemed to be all over.
There was no realization waiting for him. As natural as hunger or sleepiness, Taekwoon had longing. Indeed, the warmth trying to jump out was a first, but it never
felt out of place. The truth that made him feel what could only be described as invisible stabbing was simply being unable to picture himself pursuing any of this longing. He accepted that even those constellations could be closer than ever living this life of erratic heartbeats, admiration, and desire. A tear found its way to the mole under his right eye — his lone star — but he paid no mind to it.
Being ears for both him and Muse was just one more of the talents that allowed him to be willingly invisible. He would write everything he heard and study possibilities among the notes. As horrible as they could be, the sketches sometimes pointed in the right direction.
No one ever got hurt, but he never fooled himself into thinking his robberies were benevolent. He just needed to survive. He traveled unnoticed, never growing roots or bonds. The quiet protected him.
Occasionally Taekwoon would go back to his charcoal figure drawings and refuse to forgive himself for making such an ugly depiction of what made his body flush. Burning the pocket diaries was not only an act to hide his crimes but also his fascinations.
✦
Taekwoon discovered most things from afar.
His own silence pushed him to cherish every sound nature offered. With time, being guided by the wind was only natural—the call of the finches just as beautiful as the guttural hisses vocalized by vultures. Even busy towns had their charm, full of laughter from happy children and horses trotting.
Regardless of how busy his senses were, the melodies of music always mattered the most. Hidden in plain sight and next to bars, parties, or public gatherings, Taekwoon would spend most of his nights singing made-up lyrics along to the tunes of strangers’ instruments.
✦
A string-instrument musician caught Taekwoon’s attention for the entirety of the full moon. Despite having never seen the player, too shy to walk into the bar, Taekwoon recognized him.
He played with nervous hands, missing notes. Laughed about it. He added sounds by tapping the instrument and his feet. He barely sang - just enough rhymes to keep the rhythm.
It would take until the last day of the new moon for Taekwoon to hear the musician again.
He leaned on a tree next to a window, writing blindly. It was too dark to read the book he got during a recent trip, so he tried to remember verses from older pages and match the instrument’s tempo. Pauses helped him take notes of what worked better. That day went better than others — having missed the music for weeks, he experimented with his own words.
Busy and distracted, Taekwoon could not notice someone approaching him. Startled by metal clicking, he instinctively dropped the diary and grabbed the knife in his belt sheath.
The man froze.
“Drop it,” Taekwoon said, knife almost touching the stranger’s neck.
“It’s a lighter,” he answered Taekwoon. Taekwoon didn’t budge, so he dropped the lighter. By tilting his head back to avoid the blade, his hat fell, and his face was exposed.
When their eyes met, the man smiled, knife still to his throat.
“I’m a thief,” Taekwoon threatened, voice serene as always.
“And I’m a musician,” he was provoked, unexpectedly. With that, the man firmly grabbed his wrist, throwing the knife into the darkness. “What will you steal from me?”
A familiar voice.
The smile turned into a small laugh, and the thief’s eyes widened. They were about the same height, but Taekwoon couldn’t see himself winning a battle without a weapon. And the man still had his wrists.
Taekwoon discovered most things from afar. Most, not all.
It took him seconds to notice the grip was not strong and to take a step backward.
“You can go now,” he told the musician, who brought back the grin from before.
“Oh,” the man picked up his hat. “I don’t want to, really. I take a break by pretending to smoke here. Though you could steal the lighter, that would be a fun story — my friend Jaehwan would cry. And if he cries, I cry. I don’t know how it happens, it’s exactly like how my horse knows when it’s going to rain, one of those things.”
Heartbeats over his thoughts, Taekwoon was paralyzed. His hand rested over his belt, where he kept another knife. He knew that voice but not that face, unable to tell which one was making his stomach funny.
“Sorry for bothering your moment here and all. I’m Wonsik,” he introduced himself, reaching out a hand. Taekwoon did not reach back. “I’m also Ravi when I’m ruining my fingers.”
Taekwoon wanted to run. “I like your music,“ he said instead.
Wonsik’s face lit up, this time with no defiance. “You should come inside and forget about this thief stuff, then,” he tried.
Taekwoon looked around. He remembered what direction the knife flew away and studied how to quickly pick it up before following the path to Muse.
The musician noticed the distress and instinctively touched Taekwoon’s shoulder, who was too surprised even to flinch. “I’ll hope one of these days you feel like robbing me, then.”
Taekwoon scoffed. I could’ve killed him, he thought. I spared him. Convinced, he executed the plan.
Almost ready to gallop away, Taekwoon noticed he was missing his diary. He ran back, boots splashing mud around, hair falling over his eyes.
The item was waiting for him in the hands of the musician. The seconds of picking it up and looking into Wonsik’s face — stupid smile and all — seemed like a challenge for his lungs. By the time Taekwoon distanced himself, he had expected it to disappear.
For him, it was funny, albeit somewhat humiliating, that what he experienced with closeness was so provocative.
Thinking he could solve this puzzle, Taekwoon did not go after music for an entire moon cycle. Little changed, as he knew the notes by heart. Little changed, as the musician’s voice pierced his dreams.
✦
Guided by Taekwoon, Muse trotted peacefully; both enjoyed the middle-afternoon sunshine. He sensed her a little uneasy right before hearing erratic gallops in their direction. So erratic, she felt the vibrations before any noise reached him.
Taekwoon had no acquaintances; therefore, he did not look. Could be just a child learning. Maybe a horse freed himself from a human.
“So you didn’t run,” a familiar loud voice stopped his thoughts. “You should tell me your name—”
Obligated to turn his head, a confused Taekwoon asked, “How did you find me?”. He squinted his eyes while trying to understand, face contorting.
“What do you mean, how did I find you?” Wonsik immediately replied, able to stay still on his horse for the first time. “With my eyes?”
Taekwoon could not say a thing, busy internally trying to decipher what kind of joke that was.
“I recognized you, was all. Your hat, your height, hair in need of a haircut. Skinny legs. This entire thing going on here,” Wonsik gestured to him and Muse.
Skinny legs. Has he looked at himself? He thought, chuckling. “You having nice clothes doesn’t mean you can mock me.”
“I wasn’t,” Wonsik interjected quickly. “Not at all.” Taekwoon was going to speak but was surprised with a mischievous face asking him, “Are you planning on robbing my clothes, then?”
“Oh, now you’re mocking me,” Taekwoon said playfully. “Very well.”
Facing front, he touched Muse — she quickly started galloping and gaining speed. Taekwoon held his hat in place and laughed as he heard the desperate pleas to stop and wait, knowing Wonsik was amused as well. Taekwoon was not going fast, knowing that if he did, Wonsik would never catch up.
He was guiding them through a grassy field when for the second time that day, Muse became uneasy. As he lowered their speed, he looked back. Wonsik was not riding the horse, who was still. It was visible which grass spot had someone over it.
“Don’t try to get up,” Taekwoon warned as he got closer, kneeling to look for injuries. “Feel anything weird?”
“Yes,” Wonsik said with his eyes closed. “You’re undressing me. I knew you wanted my clothes—“
“Shut up, it’s just your shirt,” he replied, still focusing on injuries. “Don’t make me laugh now.”
Wonsik did feel sore in at least three spots, but opening his eyes, he found the kneeling man smiling, so he smiled too.
“You know,—“
“It’s Tae—Leo,”
“You know, Tae-Leo,”
“Taekwoon.”
“Do I actually have a concussion here or,” he joked, causing Taekwoon to make a cynic face and humorously punch his arm. “The fuck was that for, I’m bleeding to death here!”
“You’re fine; you’ll just bruise,” Taekwoon closed the button shirt and fell on the grass as well. “You’re a menace to this horse.”
“You’re a menace to me,” he retorted. “Last time you put a knife to my throat.”
“And I would do it again.”
Wonsik turned his head, catching Taekwoon baring all his teeth in a smile, still looking at the sky.
Facing the stars, as Taekwoon always did, felt wrong for the first time. At that moment, he wanted to look away. Look to his right, and ask about the heartbeats. He touched his own chest with only fingertips and closed a fist over air.
“Taekwoon,” Wonsik called. “If a bug walks over me I might actually die.”
✦
Wonsik always had interests to pursue. “You should teach me how to ride,” he would say, interrupting a sacred nap.
Taekwoon slept under trees, hat over his face.
“How do you keep finding me?”
“Again, with my eyes. You’re spottable.”
“I’m not, no one ever notices me,” Taekwoon argued, yawning.
“Yes, I know you are an outlaw and everything,” Wonsik played with a knife, mimicking the day they met. “So will you teach me how to ride?”
Wonsik would learn that Taekwoon did not know horse riding; he merely knew Muse. Muse’s friendship with the musician would come naturally; he gave gentle commands. She bowed to him every time.
When Taekwoon caught Wonsik singing very close to her, as if she could feel the words, he again grasped at the air with a fist over his chest.
✦
Taekwoon traveled, and an unspoken rule prevailed: he would always return to that town. Surely Wonsik’s shared little luxuries were nice to have around, but he would come back even before that was established.
With time, he started entering the bar and getting to know more people. As skittish as always, people ended up finding that rather charming.
“You’re the first good thing Sik has ever gotten us,” a friend once said.
While Taekwoon understood the questionable compliment, Wonsik jumped to argue about it.
It was easy, easier than before. But nothing ever as easy as Wonsik. Taekwoon hoped for the infatuation to wear out, fearing one day his heart would pour all over.
✦
Wonsik had the habit of always taking off his hat whenever someone else did, surely intending to be polite, but for Taekwoon, mostly entertaining. He would rest his own hat every time he wanted to look at Wonsik’s tanned face and the way he smiled almost closing his eyes.
Taekwoon had the habit of writing whenever Wonsik played, which made the former change many improvisations not to include anyone singing. There were times when the two of them were the last ones to leave, that Wonsik pretended to be passed out drunk to hear Taekwoon’s timid singing. Taekwoon knew, it was what made him timid.
When actually drunk, Wonsik was talkative.
“You should join us sometimes,” he would tell Taekwoon. “I like your voice,” he would insist. Taekwoon dismissed him coyly. “What was your childhood dream?”
Taekwoon lifted his eyebrows.
“Sorry, screw that, what do you want people to remember you for?”, he corrected himself.
“Maybe a poet, lyricist,” Taekwoon digressed sleepily. “You?”
“I’ve always wanted to be famous.”
“Why do you use a fake name, then? I have a fake name to hide,” it seemed fitting that nearby towns knew only Leo, at the most.
“I think it’s easier to create. Wonsik isn’t ever coherent, Ravi tries,” he talked, giving himself no time to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you have a point. You’re better than me at being a cowboy.”
“But I’m a sad cowboy.”
“Let Leo be the sad cowboy. Write about it,” he pointed to the papers. “Taekwoon deserves to smile,” was his selling point. And so Taekwoon did, a loud, hearty laugh that melted into a hiccup. “See?”
“Sometimes I’m stuck thinking if you are wise or just really stupid.”
They disagreed on the response to that, but it would never matter. Every day the answer changed.
✦
The unfamiliarity of feelings only escalated when Taekwoon got a couple of temporary jobs and even assisted Wonsik’s journey through sheep herding. Difficulties made him want to run away, and sometimes he did.
Foraging was never fun, but it granted him knowledge of beautiful paths. There were a handful of locations that he could find blindly and even some that few knew about — he could tell when men altered nature.
His favorite trees, growing even when he did not anymore, could now each season feed more flocks. Taekwoon’s younger self used
to thank the birds for leaving behind the lower-hanging fruits, so at twenty-seven years old, he still would not raise his arms more than necessary.
Taekwoon liked picking fruits warm from the sun. Persimmons, plums, the ever-delicate peaches. It made the flavor brighter, juices dripping. If found, dry leaves were stored for afternoon tea.
On that day, he hardly noticed when the birds singing turned into a serenade of insects. The sun was almost gone.
Being alone with the stars had not been the same for quite some time. There was no quietness left. Days and nights went with ease, painlessly. So he wondered, why does my chest feel like a cinder?
He thought back to the moment when he first witnessed a nude man. A short-lived pyre. It felt close, at times, but still so far from the same. No fuel could be so distant. This time, it had a name, a face — voice, smell, laugh, heavy hands, anxieties, and tears. Ignoring his heart to avert shame was not a path Taekwoon could healthily endure. He pondered his fear of pushing Wonsik away: by confession or choice.
Without an ounce of motivation, Taekwoon set camp among some of his favorite trees, as he had done many times before. He sang to soothe himself and fell asleep, holding the diary delicately against his cheek.
Taekwoon, having slept resembling old habits, expected to wake up following the ever-distant sun.
It was barely morning when he heard metal clacking.
“Sorry,” Wonsik said when their eyes met, Taekwoon still squinting. “I wanted to make juice.”
Many thoughts crossed his mind, and a hundred words could be said, but Taekwoon lay down again, laughing.
“Don’t ask,” Wonsik mentioned when he heard the laugh.
Taekwoon looked at him again. “I really wasn’t going to.”
Wonsik needed help making juice, Muse was out of water, and Taekwoon could barely get up because it was too early for his body to feel that heavy.
“Come here,” he asked, voice dry.
Wonsik dropped the mugs and followed. He only sat down next to Taekwoon, who was still lying down.
“I knew this was the closest place you could be and I had nothing important going on—”
“I still didn’t ask, though,” Taekwoon replied, eyes closed and a wide smile.
Wonsik chuckled. He moved his hand to push the hair out of Taekwoon’s face, but Taekwoon used his own hand to stop Wonsik’s. Lowering their hands, Taekwoon landed them on his chest. Always working overtime, it felt like a bird was trying to get out, freeing itself from restraints.
They shared a silence, Wonsik speechless and Taekwoon unusually wanting to scream.
It ended quickly and naturally.
“I think your horse’s gone,” Taekwoon noticed.
✦
Although stealing for a living got behind, some joys still felt the same.
“You got me a book!” Wonsik jumped. “After the party, I want to hear the story.”
He knew Taekwoon would not loot books without a tale worth telling. Priorly reserved to their demise as ashes from burnt pages, these narratives were now shared with him.
Before falling asleep on a sofa, Taekwoon told the story of a cowboy that believed love poems were his only chance at charming a lady. His choice was a beautiful, thick, cloth-bound book. Weeks were spent considering whether to write something inside, only for him to decide against it, admitting to a friend that he did not want to look desperate — even if he was in love.
Despite loving beautiful books, the lady was only interested in mystery fiction. Receiving the gift, she looked for an inscription. There was none. The very day it arrived, the book was left to collect dust among others.
Taekwoon, grinning, was either proud and considering it a rescue or just too tired.
“A book can’t be left unread,” Wonsik said before noticing Taekwoon was already half asleep.
Still intrigued with the tale, he opened the book, finding an inscription that read:
Our song flows steadily
There is no need for lyrics in this rhythm
— from a sad cowboy to a musician, in memory of a quarter-of-a-century spent brightening the world around him, a day at a time.
He held that page open for a while, fingers over the handwritten note. Wonsik sighed; he could easily have so much to say about it — but all would be redundant. No need for lyrics.
✦
Wonsik would often be earlier than the sun or any rooster.
“Taekwoonie, want to go with me to retrieve a horse?” he whispered.
“How much,” Taekwoon mumbled without opening his eyes or facing Wonsik, who did not answer. “It’s your horse, isn’t it?”
“I can pay,” Wonsik offered. “I don’t want to go alone,” he begged, pouting and lying beside Taekwoon. Intending to plead once more, he wrapped an arm around his sleepy friend, hugging him from behind.
Taekwoon gasped. Wonsik had a palm over his chest and hot breath unmistakably hitting the back of his head. “We’ll go, put on a shirt,” he said, gently elbowing Wonsik’s bare stomach.
“Thank you, thank you,” Wonsik was still whispering. He laid a kiss on the mop of dark hair. “I’ve already woken up Muse.”
When left alone, Taekwoon exhaled nervously. His face flushed just by thinking about the sight of the exposed torso combined with a husky whispering voice. He tried not to pay mind to such details when spending time with the musician, whose body was always on display, but it was helpless when any closeness was for him only.
Hugging himself one time, as if it could feel the same, he giggled alone.
✦
Since the loneliest of times, Taekwoon had adored spring. He carried stolen flowers, roots and all, to bring beauty elsewhere. They didn’t always survive, which would only change when Wonsik came along and introduced him to a farmer, his friend Hakyeon.
Hakyeon explained pollination and why having certain flowers near fruit trees was usually beneficial. That the surrounding beauty brought workers day and night; if not for them, the fruits could be small, tasteless, or never grow.
“Nature does her job,” he said. “Some species are self-pollinating, and sometimes we have to help.”
Taekwoon asked how.
“I meddle,” he answered with a smile. “Bring pollen from one to another. Carefully.”
“Is that how nature intended?” Taekwoon questioned nonchalantly.
Hakyeon chuckled. “It’s how we get to bite the sweetest fruits,” he said, still grinning. “I think mother nature would like that happiness.”
Taekwoon’s lips curved a little, eyes with a promise. No secret was shared, but he would keep it anyway.
“You know, I tried to teach beekeeping to Wonsik once,” Hakyeon said while scratching his forehead. “If he was a flower, he’d certainly be one that bees hate.”
Picturing Wonsik running away from a swarm of bees, Taekwoon let out a nasal laugh. “He would need your help,” he commented.
Hakyeon agreed, looking sideways to meet Taekwoon’s eyes, his sealed lips struggling not to let out the loudest cackle.
✦
Taking care of sheep was considered peaceful or inspiring labor for some. Wonsik just found it incredibly dull, already used to pacing in circles and plucking out random hairs on his body. Enters Taekwoon.
“Thank you for coming,” Wonsik told him, whispering, for the third night straight. “Having you around helps a lot.”
“I like it here,” Taekwoon answered.
“Shh—“Wonsik gestured for silence. “Muse is asleep—she can feel it, “he argued, and before Taekwoon could say anything, “whisper language.”
“Whisper language,” Taekwoon agreed, taking a sip of water to hide his infatuated smile.
The sky was clearer there, out in the field. Taekwoon would join Wonsik’s irregular sleeping schedule; it meant he could spend time with the moon — and someone else. Both lying on the grass, Taekwoon wondered if Wonsik couldn’t stay still because of mosquitoes or if it was all fidgeting.
Taekwoon moved his hand to lightly brush over Wonsik’s, and asked: “Do you know the name of any of them?”
Wonsik closed his palm over the bony hand.
“I know that one has two people holding hands,” he pointed in the direction of a constellation. “But you’ve got to be a little creative to see it.”
“I can see it, I think,” Taekwoon squinted. “They are sort of joined.” Without looking in another direction, he interlaced their fingers. “Like this.”
Wonsik closed his eyes and grinned, teeth squeezing the lower lip.
“How long do you think they’ve been like that?” Taekwoon asked, still squinting. The sensation was that his heartbeats were audible.
“All I know is: if they ever get apart one day, we’ll be long gone.”
Feeling smaller than ever, Taekwoon could only stay silent. They were close enough to hear each other breathing out — sounds that melted away with the wind and joined the hooting owls and the creaking trees.
Taekwoon yawned, eyes already watery from the weather. He knew what to blame: flowers and their pollen.
Wonsik brought their intertwined hands to his own face and gave Taekwoon’s fingers a little peck. Such tenderness was overwhelming, but they did not dare to speak about it that night. When they fell asleep, their hands were still linked.
Before sunrise, Wonsik was awake with a numb forearm being used as a pillow. Taekwoon faced the other way, hair too messy for Wonsik to catch a glimpse of his face. Carefully retrieving his arm, he got up to care for the sheep.
✦
Summer was as tiring as it was beautiful. Sweating and roaming around a populated town was never Taekwoon’s idea of a summer day, but he learned to live with it — and even savor the moments only his new habits could grant.
His misery was halfway neutralized by Wonsik, who enjoyed every second of walking around tanned and awfully dressed. The longer days gave space for the certainty of an inspiring night, and Taekwoon did not argue with that.
Taekwoon was leaving Hakyeon’s farm when he found the musician as tanned and awfully dressed as he had envisioned.
“I’ll be free after lunch and everyone bailed on me for the night,” Wonsik blurted out. “Morning.”
“Morning, cowboy,” Taekwoon poked fun at him.
“Maybe we can finish that song?”
“I don’t think so,” Taekwoon’s answer had Wonsik frowning. “At least not here, I’m sticky and it isn’t even noon.”
“It’s fine, we can—“
“Want to go for a swim?”
The suggestion had Wonsik lighten up in an endearing, childish way, making Taekwoon’s afflictions fade.
Taekwoon warned him that they would ride for about an hour and stressed the need for a hat and at least a shirt. They had made long journeys in the past, and every time, Taekwoon ensured that both they and the horses would be safe and healthy. More than once, he wondered if he was purposefully driven to oversee all details because Wonsik liked getting nagged, truth accepted on the day Wonsik claimed to be able to play and sing while riding his horse. He could not.
During the trip, like any other of theirs, they took turns telling anecdotes. Such different experiences of growing up were always refreshing to share. Taekwoon learned how Wonsik got his scars, mostly from horse-riding, and shared the many of his own — none from horse-riding but some as stupid as slicing his neck while trying to trim his nape hair.
They would bicker only to end up loudly harmonizing to unwritten lyrics. Entire debates were forgotten when Wonsik still ran face-first through tree branches despite all the recently gained skills.
Only Taekwoon knew the path, memorized from years of delineating maps. Consequently, he spent much of his time asserting to Wonsik that he would immediately know when they got there, and there was no need to ask about it constantly.
It was not a lie. When the pleasing sounds of a water stream invaded their ears, Wonsik knew they were close. Amidst the forest, a bright glade, quiet if not for the waterfall dropping into the pond. The spray of water all around had him amazed, thrilled to get out of his sweaty clothes.
“What do you think?” Taekwook asked as he got off the mare. “It’s usually empty like this.”
“It’s beautiful,” Wonsik clumsily got to the ground. It’s like I’m meeting a part of your mind here, he almost said. “I’m glad you invited me.”
Taekwoon was delighted to share his admiration towards that place and, more than that, overjoyed that it was Wonsik. While he moved the horses to a shadier area, Wonsik played soothing melodies.
“Let’s go,” Taekwoon offered, tilting his head towards the waterfall.
The rocks leading to the top were easy to climb, and he did not intend for it to be a competition, but Wonsik quickly dropped the instrument and ran. Both started chuckling and undressing along the way, and even if Wonsik got to the rocks first, Taekwoon was agile and familiar with it.
Taekwoon was getting rid of shirts and underwear when Wonsik reached the top, only one piece left to strip. The race was still on. However, they matched each other’s pace and exchanged glances once before jumping together.
Wonsik’s scream was short-lived, but it made Taekwoon laugh even after emerging from the water.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Wonsik confessed, slicking his hair back. “I rarely swim this free—I’m afraid someone will steal my clothes and I’ll have to ride naked.”
“There is a thief around,” Taekwoon murmured. “He’s just not really into confrontation.”
“Oh,” Wonsik expressed, enacting surprise. “I heard he threatens friendly people with knives.”
“He gets them gifts! And rarely steals anymore!”
“I can’t hear you,” Wonsik swam closer to the waterfall. “I’m gonna hide from the thief here!” he screamed.
Taekwoon watched Wonsik get away. Sunkissed muscles, dark hair spiky at the ends, and for only a second, toned, slender thighs — going underwater too soon to retain but still making him want to howl. Wonsik was sitting on the edge of a large stone behind the fall when he joined.
It was slightly darker there, light peeking through the water, shining all around the entirely nude figure of Wonsik. To describe that scene, Taekwoon could only think of sloppy words that would make no verses. He tried inside his mind, but only his stare was registered.
Wonsik interrupted loudly. “It’s so noisy here we could sing our hearts out and no one would listen.”
Taekwoon sat beside him, so he could communicate without screaming. “Bit ironic if we went with the verses about whispering,” he noted jokingly. He hummed the song as intensely as he managed to.
“We can still try to whisper,” Wonsik said close to his ear.
Amidst the noise of the fall and the noise of his heart, Taekwoon felt deaf. Focusing on his sight, he barely noticed the foreign hand touching his thigh. He pushed back all the hair blocking his line of vision, only to find Wonsik drinking every piece of him.
Wonsik trailed his fingers upwards, tracing random water drops around Taekwoon’s waist and tummy. Their gazes locked again as his ribs were caressed tentatively and stayed like that until the same fingertips reached his lips, playing with their plumpness.
But Wonsik wasn’t mocking, not even smiling. He had a stiff posture and breathed heavily. Taekwoon kissed the fingertips slowly, hesitantly.
Wonsik’s other hand reached his hips, palms brushing over his stomach — which seemed to be twirling, heat pooling all around.
One last look, and both leaned forward, sealing their lips.
Kissing Wonsik resembled eating fruit after picking it on a warm day. It was soft and warm, and he felt that if he didn’t do it carefully, it would drip.
They were slow and experimental, and when Taekwoon nervously pulled back, Wonsik grabbed his hip anxiously. They beamed at each other, and Taekwoon felt liquid, sliding back into the water.
Taekwoon discovered most things from afar.
Eyes closed, out of breath, he only exhaled. The water did nothing to cool down his body, did not change his turmoil — but that wasn’t his intention.
Taekwoon discovered most things from afar. Most, not all.
He rose from the water, immediately bringing Wonsik down from where he sat. Wonsik was going to speak; he knew that and answered first. Holding Wonsik’s face, he touched their lips again.
He was fierce yet dreamily careful. Much as watching Wonsik get disarmed was pleasant, actively feeling it was remarkable. Indulging himself in the learning path, he could feel Wonsik anxiously tugging, grasping at every available stretchy patch of skin.
Taekwoon’s roving hands made Wonsik smirk. Kisses that shared space with laughter melted away inevitably as their naked bodies embraced.
Struggling to find words, the composers could only rest their foreheads together and breathe. Taekwoon moved his hips forward and got to watch Wonsik pant, eyes still open, glaring into his soul. He whined, weakened — and went open-mouthed, tongue-first, soul-bared. Taekwoon felt the bitten nails sink into his back.
Wonsik again turned bashful, touches soft and nervous. It made Taekwoon’s heartbeats jump. There was no shame of their arousal, only a dive into the unknown. Like everything about Wonsik, Taekwoon was glad to explore.
Water made their skin rougher as they ground into one another, which was indisputably not ideal, but Taekwoon got to bite Wonsik all over his neck, and that was his concept of ideal.
Grateful for the empty surroundings, Wonsik found himself sensitive, needy and moaning. Taekwoon was gentle everywhere but with his teeth; it made Wonsik almost feverish. He went for a kiss to make it easier on his skin, but Taekwoon bit his lower lip, mischievously smiling.
So he brought them closer, chests aligned, lust colliding. Their hands met halfway, aiming for the same release. Mouths yielded as Wonsik grabbed Taekwoon’s always too-long hair, and Taekwoon translated his feelings into biting.
Wonsik took hold of his chest, calloused fingers roughly fondling responsive skin. Theoretically, Taekwoon wanted to go lower, taste sweat, and lick every indentation on the tanned stomach. Realistically, he couldn’t think beyond scraping his teeth on collarbones, trying to reach the same sensitive spot that had him hopeless, without compromising his lone hand stroking both of them.
Taekwoon gave up, afraid he would drown, and not in a figurative, lyrical way. He giggled at his train of thought.
“What,” Wonsik said, slightly snorting without knowing why.
“Help me here,” Taekwoon whispered to his ear, huffing, almost a disguised moan, and that was all it took for Wonsik.
His moan was sloppily swallowed with a kiss, and spams were converted into eager ambition. Taekwoon kept going leisurely, watching him. When it became too much, he withdrew Taekwoon’s sore wrist and took over, purposeful hands first scratching the small backside.
Taekwoon could only hide his face timidly, breathing heavily on Wonsik’s neck. It was all for him now, and the unintentional roughness of the touch fogged his insistent thoughts.
His climax hit him at once; the absence of any teasing made him once again sink his teeth into that flesh, body almost cramping. Taekwoon was dizzy. The feeling he believed to be known was dismantled before him.
Wonsik’s squeal ended as a snort. His palm was still when he kissed Taekwoon’s cheek. When he held Taekwoon’s face, they shared unhurried, joyful kisses — eyes not leaving each other.
“I think I need to lie down,” Taekwoon said, voice dry.
“I thought about picking you up but I still can’t feel my legs,” Wonsik confessed. “Come here,” he dragged them towards the fall.
The force of the water made their hair look funny, loud torrent overpowering any possible noise. Happy faces barely visible, both focused on washing away any sweat — and still, they knew it was all fine. It was easy.
As easy as resting looking up to the sky, the sun obfuscating most of their sight — the soaked cloth sprawled beneath their bodies drying rapidly under it.
“You always asked how I encountered you,” Wonsik poked Taekwoon’s face mole. “You are so striking—I could find you in darkness,” he expressed with a serene demeanor, aware that such sincerity dazzled Taekwoon.
Taekwoon’s tale was far from finished. His songs would forever tell the story of a sad cowboy who, for the most part, was not sad at all.
He poked back, a ticklish touch to his waist. “I might actually steal your clothes,” he said, snorting, and laid his face on Wonsik’s chest to feel his laughter.
“You know—“ Wonsik tried to speak among giggles. “About us—”
Taekwoon moved his lips towards Wonsik’s neck, kissed his new-found favorite piece of skin there, and whispered something next to Wonsik’s ear — making the other smile and nod, whispering back.