Work Text:
0 — ALL THINGS BEGIN IN SILENCE
The elevator’s surfaces are polished enough to eat off of. That’s what makes Jake re-check his phone, to be sure he’s in the right building. But the Naver Maps pin doesn’t budge.
This is it. Park Residences.
The thing is, Jake knows what the prices are, for the Seoul National University area. Black glass exteriors, a marble-floored lobby, not to mention elevators this clean, don’t fit the 400,000 won price range in the apartment ad he answered.
But the ad was posted by Park Jongseong—practically a pillar of the SNU social scene—and from what Jake knows of his campus rep, he’s not one to represent himself falsely. The only alternative is to think he’s a serial killer, intent on luring people through apartment subterfuge, but Jake simply doesn’t have time to think about becoming a crime statistic.
It’s only two weeks to the start of the spring semester. He needs accommodation.
Once out of the elevator, it’s not hard to find the café in Jongseong’s message.
He walks through the café’s automatic doors, and spots Park Jongseong, easy.
It’s the weekend, and the café’s other patrons are dressed casual, but Jongseong’s in a gray overcoat with a dress shirt inside, and from the way he’s sitting with his legs crossed, his slacks and shoes take only a second to spot. He looks as out of place in the café as Jake feels inside this building. He looks like an office exec, and makes Jake feel shabby in his black cotton tee, unbuttoned flannel on top.
“Jongseong-ssi,” he says, when he reaches the table.
Jongseong stands up, and gives him a firm handshake. Gestures to a chair.
Jake sits down.
“Can I get you anything? The selection here’s good. Caramel macchiato, five stars.”
Jake makes to stand up, and accompany Jongseong to the counter to order, but Jongseong doesn’t move at all. He stays in his seat, and instead raises his right hand, like he’s answering a lecture question. A staff member comes over.
“I’ll have the apricot tea,” Jongseong says. He tells Jake, “You?”
Jake settles for what Jongseong mentioned. “Uh, caramel macchiato. Iced.”
The staff member bows at the waist to them. It’s undeniable preferential treatment. There are people in line at the counter, saying their orders, but Jongseong never once had to stand. It’s also not lost on Jake that no talk of payment was ever brought up.
But Jake has no time to mull it over, because Jongseong’s already talking.
“So, Jaeyun-ssi. I’ll start by admitting a tiny lie.”
Fuck, he really is getting killed and disposed of today.
“What do you mean?” Jake says. “And you can just call me Jake.”
“OK, Jake-ssi,” Jongseong says. “I hope this isn’t a deal-breaker, but I’m not actually looking for a roommate. I posted that ad to find a replacement for me. I’m moving out, and I don’t want my hyung left alone, when he’s lived with me since the beginning. Put simply, he needs someone with him. Or else he’ll forget to take care of himself, and I don’t want that. Everything else in the ad is factually true. Four hundred thousand won a month, inclusive of everything. No deposit needed, you’ll soon see why.”
Jake scratches the nape of his neck. “And who is this hyung you’re talking about? I’ll level with you, I do need a place, but I think it’s still my right to know who I’ll actually be living with. I won’t be shacking up with someone crazy, will I?”
Jongseong laughs. “Judge for yourself. You’ll be living with my cousin. Lee Heeseung. I’m sure you know him.”
Good fucking god.
Jake does know. Granted, not all that much, and certainly nothing important. They don’t move in the same circles. But by the fact alone of studying at SNU, at least hearing about Heeseung’s been inescapable. Top of his batch, darling of the political science department, and financier of sundry campus projects. Not to mention, there’s his assemblyman father, with his very public presidential ambitions. Everyone at SNU with functioning sense organs knows about Lee Heeseung, and what, Jake’s just supposed to deal with the fact that they’re potentially going to be roommates?
He sighs.
“Good sigh, or bad sigh?”
“It’s an I don’t know how to process sigh. You two are cousins?”
Jake doesn’t even know why he asked—it’s immaterial information, and he blames the shock—but it’s out there, so he’ll let live.
“His mother and my father are siblings. Oh, the drinks.”
The staff member from earlier sets down Jongseong’s apricot tea, fragrant steam wafting off the top, as well as Jake’s macchiato. Jake takes a big sip to calm himself down, at the same time that Jongseong speaks.
“Back to the point. It’s not a deal-breaker, is it? I’m really hoping this is my last interview. Eight so far is eight too many.”
“Interview?”
“I wouldn’t say yes to just anyone. I’ve had way too many people chomping at the bit to room with my hyung, solely off of hearing his name, and to be frank, I don’t play when it comes to him. Why do you think I told you to prepare references? Give me their names and contact details, I’ll call right now. Something productive, while I wait for my tea to cool a bit.”
Jongseong stares at him with sharp, stone eyes, at odds with how gentlemanly he’s been so far.
Jake opens his contacts, and shows the name he’s pulled up.
Jongseong’s face births a small smile.
“You’re friends with Taehyun-ah?”
Jake nods. “Science bros. Best review partner ever.” He doesn’t miss the way Jongseong addresses Taehyun familiarly. Then again, he is Jongseong. Like Lee Heeseung, Park Jongseong has his own SNU rep—he knows everyone worth knowing. Jake’s never really interacted with him until now, but he’s certainly seen how many people greet him as he walks around the halls. It’s not far-fetched to think he’s close with Taehyun in his own way. Taehyunnie’s been holding out on him though, not talking about this connection at all. Jake will have to grill him about it later.
Contrary to what he said, Jongseong makes no move to call Taehyun. He just says, “And your other reference?”
Jake scrolls to a different contact—Professor Kim Namjoon, physics.
He shows it to Jongseong. “He’s a professor in my department, we’ve grown to be friends. Hoping he’ll be my thesis adviser next year, actually. Not sure he’ll answer if you call him right now, this is his department line. If he doesn’t, you can try the number below. That’s his personal one.”
Jongseong looks at him, saying nothing, starting to sip at his tea like some serene Chinese emperor. Jake guesses he’s sizing him up, putting together the pieces Jake’s given him so far. Jake’s not one to brag, but he knows he’s a good candidate. Great academic record, he’s got other references should Jongseong want them, and the budget to meet what was stated in the ad. Honestly, he’d go up to 600K for the sake of a good unit, but he hopes it won’t come to that. He’s got money, but not so much as to be reckless.
Jongseong, without at all calling any of the contacts Jake’s given, says, apropos of nothing, “Are you a noisy roommate?”
“Uh, no?” Jake’s brows furrow at the swerve. “I do play violin regularly though, so if that’s an issue—”
“Good, hyung plays instruments, too.” More sipping of tea. Jake’s compelled to copy him with his macchiato. “How likely are you to bring people home?”
“Okay, damn? I’d say not very likely? I hook up once in a while, but I tend to just go to their place. Is that TMI? And anyway, the whole reason I’m leaving my existing arrangement is that my current roommates bring too many people home. Constantly noisy. Can’t have that when it’s already my third year. My subjects this term are a bitch.”
Jongseong nods. “You’ll certainly get your peace and quiet with hyung. And you won’t lack space.”
“Great,” Jake says, cold drink nearly half-finished. “It’s not like I need a lot of space, I don’t have that much stuff. Mostly I just hope there’s a spot for my violin, and enough shelves for my books.”
A pause. Jongseong’s head tilts slightly to the side, which makes Jake wonder if he said something wrong. When Jongseong next speaks, it’s another swerve, unconnected to all that came before, akin to a cow suddenly falling from the sky.
“Leave your macchiato. Let’s go.”
“What?”
“I’ll take you to the unit. Honestly, I was good with you the moment I saw Kang Taehyun on your contact list. Come on, I’m on the clock. Got somewhere to be, myself.”
Jongseong stands up right after that, and Jake’s helpless to do anything but follow. Sans payment, or any goodbye to the staff, Jongseong strides out of the café, and Jake trots along behind him.
What can he do? Jongseong’s near marching through the hallways with his briskness. If anything, at least Jake’s a step closer to actually having a place.
He’ll take what he can get.
1 — THESE ARE MY ONLY INTENTIONS
The elevator takes them to the 15th floor. The topmost, going by the fact that there are no buttons for any higher floors on the panel. The doors slide open, not into the building hallway Jake expected, but into what looks like an entryway, with a beige carpet so plush Jake can’t feel his shoes making contact with the flooring. They walk a short distance and make a turn.
When Jake gets his first look at the unit, his hand shoots out for Jongseong’s coat. He tugs.
“The fu—I can’t afford this, man. No way this is four hundred thousand won. There’s a catch.”
There has to be. Four hundred thousand won, for the SNU area, is just a step above a goshiwon. It gets you a place just good enough so that your parents don’t get a heart attack, when you take pictures for them. For four hundred thousand, you get something a tad cramped, but livable. The kind of place you can take people to, so long as they’re not uppity.
Which is to say, there’s no universe in which the unit he’s seeing now is within his price range. People would have to pay in the double digit millions for a place like this. Jake’s not struggling, but he’s not that wealthy.
Certainly not wealthy enough for the plush carpet, for the hardwood flooring he can see where the carpet doesn’t reach. Not wealthy enough for the cream couch that could seat ten, no sweat. Not wealthy enough for the TV with so many more inches than Jake knows what to do with. Not wealthy enough for the kitchen worthy of Architectural Digest. And certainly not wealthy enough for the fact that a little ways from the couch, there’s a fucking Steinway grand just chilling.
He doesn’t let go of Jongseong’s sleeve.
“Didn’t you hear me? I don’t know what kind of mix-up happened in your head, but four hundred thousand’s not enough for even a tenth of this place. I can’t afford this.”
Jongseong shrugs off his hand.
“You’re not paying for the unit,” he says. “The amount I put in the ad, that’s just a token thing. Didn’t I explain already? What matters is that hyung has someone good with him, someone I think he can live with well. Would you be more comfortable if I raised the price somehow?”
“Defeats the purpose of me saying I can’t afford it. But seriously, Jongseong-ssi, this is wild shit. Are you sure this is allowed? What if it’s, I don’t know, fucking illegal to undercharge like this?”
Jongseong chuckles, and as they walk to the couch, he says, “You’re the only person who sees undercharging as a negative. Anyway, who would question me? My parents own this building. Breathe easy.”
Jongseong points to a spot on the couch and says, “Hold tight, let me see if hyung’s awake.”
Jake’s left alone as Jongseong goes to get Heeseung. Fitzgerald was right about rich people. Here Jake is, sitting on a couch that looks like it could cover tuition if cannily sold, and he’s left thinking about how easily Jongseong said that his parents owned the building. Fuck, who even lives that kind of life? No wonder Jongseong didn’t bother with paying at the café. Knowing what he knows now, he’d be surprised if Jongseong didn’t own that place too.
Jake drums his fingers on his knees, picking at the denim of his jeans.
He thinks it’s maybe less than five minutes, and then back comes Jongseong, with a pajama-clad Lee Heeseung in tow.
Pajamas of soft cotton, from the looks of it, subtly patterned with small—what are those? Fleurs-de-lis?
Heeseung’s hair is slightly ruffled, like he took a nap but was yanked out of it before he could really settle. His wire-rimmed glasses give him single parent vibes.
Jake stands up, and bows only barely less than at the waist.
“Nice to meet you, Heeseung-ssi.”
Heeseung’s return bow is shallower. He squints a bit, draws his glasses down the bridge of his nose, then back up again. “Oh, I think I know you. I see you around sometimes, when I’m with Beomgyu. You’re Taehyun’s friend, right? I don’t quite know your name, though, sorry.”
“Hyung, this is Sim Jaeyun,” Jongseong says, smoothly cutting in. “Remember, I’ve been looking for who’d replace me? Here you go. Taking physics. Junior in the coming term, like me and Sunghoonie.”
Heeseung says, “Pleased to properly meet you then, Jaeyun-ssi.”
Jake waves away the formality. “You can call me Jake. I’m almost sure you’re older, so please address me comfortably. And we’re going to be roommates, so I hope we get on well.” He adds in extra niceties, foundational to the Korean way of things. “I’ll count on you. I’m in your care.”
A small smile appears on Heeseung’s face. “If I’m going to call you Jake, you can call me hyung.”
Jake nods. At that, Jongseong nudges him forward, closer to Heeseung, and then he gives Heeseung’s cheek a pat. “You two can take it from here. Discuss whatever else is needed. But please make this work, okay? If I have to do another interview tomorrow, I might just cry.”
Jongseong leaves after that, like a harried parent rushing off to a morning meeting. It leaves Jake with the dilemma of what to say to Heeseung, now that it’s just them.
Heeseung makes them sit down. Jake returns to his spot on the couch, and Heeseung takes the armchair perpendicular. For a while, all they do is just look at each other, Heeseung silent in a way that Jake suspects would be overbearing, were it not him doing it. His face is too soft in his silence to give Jake any unease.
Jake cuts into the quiet first.
“So, anything important I should know about you? Or stuff you’d like to know about me?”
“I’m sure Jongseongie explained things.” Heeseung stretches out his long legs, until he’s borderline man-spreading with how relaxed he is. “I’m not difficult to be with, I don’t think. If I need space, or some quiet, I’ll tell you straightforwardly. For obvious reasons, my bedroom’s off limits, but everywhere else is fine. I play piano, as you can see. Guitar too, sometimes. And I’m not picky about food, or anything like that. Delivery’s really easy to get, too. How about you? What should I know?”
Jake scratches his kneecap, thinking of where to start. “Let’s see. I play violin, but I’m never obnoxious about it, and just like you said, you can tell me if I get too loud. Also not picky about food. I can cook passably. Basic stuff. Breakfast things, staples like kimchijjigae, bokkeumbap, stir-fries. I’m really good at ramyeon? Is that a skill? Oh, and I don’t know how to bring this up not-weirdly, so I’ll just say it: you don’t have to worry about me bringing people home. Jongseong-ssi asked me about it.”
“He prods out of love,” Heeseung says, chuckling. “So long as you’re discreet, we won’t have issues.” He points to the TV, and to the smartphone in front of it. “That’s the house phone. Nothing on there except music apps and key numbers, like the building staff, necessary services, and all the nearby establishments. Add in your emergency numbers later, any shops or the like that you call frequently. Should I really explain anything else? You got a peek of the kitchen, though you can explore it later. You’ll be staying in Jongseong’s old room. Don’t worry, we had it cleaned. I can take you shopping after we’ve finished moving you in, if you want your own stuff. Your room has an attached bathroom, and as you can see from looking around, you won’t lack storage space. I’ll give you a full tour later, and get your payment arrangements set up. For now, do you want to eat? I can give the chicken place on the eighth floor a call, unless you’re in the mood for something else?”
Jake’s got no problem with chicken, but he’s high off finally having a place to stay, one way better than he ever expected, so he’s running on gratitude. The thought of Heeseung spending on him, even if he’ll be eating too, just doesn’t sit right.
What better opportunity is there than now, to show that he’s going to be a good roommate?
He gets up off the couch.
“If you show me where the pans are, and let me look in the fridge, I can whip us up something quick?”
Heeseung says, “It’s your place now too, Jake. Of course you can cook if you want. Come on.”
Jake follows Heeseung to the kitchen. There’s a brief spell where he doesn’t touch a thing, for fear of tainting the space somehow, the kitchen all sleek granite counters, stainless steel fixtures, and warm wood accents. But when Heeseung points to the pans hanging on racks, and even opens the fridge for Jake, Jake decides it’s time to leave reverence behind, and get cooking.
He opts for a classic—kimchi fried rice, except ridiculously upgraded. Jake would’ve been fine with just rice, kimchi, chopped onions and garlic, seasonings, maybe some diced sausage, but Heeseung insists they load it up. In the end, it’s a meal in itself, full of thinly sliced pork belly, and bits of Spanish ham from a package so expensive-looking, Jake lamented only using it for fried rice. But Heeseung looked way too happy handing him the ham, eyes all crinkly, so Jake gave in.
By the time they’re done eating, Heeseung’s patting his stomach, and his smile makes Jake think he’d happily cook every day, with that as payment.
When enough time’s passed since their meal’s end, Jake starts cleaning up.
“I can wash,” Heeseung says, making to get up, pushing his dining chair back.
Jake shakes his head. “Dishes won’t kill me. Taking physics, remember? I’ve survived worse.”
Lest Heeseung get any ideas about insisting, Jake clears their dishes as speedily as he can, taking everything to the sink. He makes a quick detour to the house phone—Jongseong and Heeseung are wild to use the latest Galaxy for such basic stuff—and opens Spotify. The account name is horribly dull: unit1501pr. Save for about two dozen songs in the Liked Songs playlist, there’s nothing else.
Well, it’s as good a time to start as any.
Jake creates a new playlist, and labels it Unit 1501—Home.
He adds the only song he can think of, off the top of his head. He blames his old roommate. Junyeong always washed dishes to Bieber, and Jake picked up the habit. He adds Intentions, sets it to loop, and then he’s back to the sink.
Jake gets to work, singing.
“Shower you with all my attention, yeah, these are my only intentions…”
It’s only as he’s gotten to the bowls that Heeseung pipes in again. “You have a pretty voice, Jake.”
Jake fights to keep his rhythm of soaping everything.
There’s no escaping the sudden warmth of his cheeks though. And out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Heeseung smile.
2 — I DON’T KNOW YOU, BUT I WANT YOU ALL THE MORE FOR THAT
Jake’s official move-in, three days later, is the smoothest he’s ever known.
The cause: Heeseung going overboard.
He arranges to have three guys around to help, ones that look way too old and move way too briskly to just be students roped in, lured by free chicken and beer. Jake doesn’t even have that much stuff. His clothes, books, his violin, his picture frames, his box of Polaroids from over the years, his hygiene stuff, and a few other knick-knacks, are the sum of his possessions.
With five of them doing it, after about half a day’s work, Jake is ninety percent done, and Heeseung sends the movers home. Jake’s still got a last box to unpack, but his clothes are in his way-too-big new closet, his toiletries are on his bathroom counter, his frames are on a shelf in the living room, and all that’s left is to arrange his books, and his last few bits and bobs.
Smoothest move-in ever, he’s not taking it back.
But along with it being the smoothest, it’s the tenderest.
Once it’s just him and Heeseung, Jake can think of no other word.
Tender, tender, tender.
There’s a tactile aspect to Heeseung that he didn’t see when they first talked, and now it’s showing itself, full force. He’s like the world’s most well-raised child as he inspects the pictures Jake’s put up, fingers almost afraid, with how gently they touch. One a picture of Jake and his family, back in Australia, Jake holding a beach ball thrice the size of his head. One a picture of him and his dog Layla, taken by his mom when the three of them went for an autumn walk. One a picture of him and Taehyun by the Han River, a hasty selca, hands holding fruit popsicles about to melt. One that’s just him, grinning while holding a clipboard, taken during an org meeting break.
Heeseung touches each framed photo over and over, acting like a man who’s been told he’s about to lose all his memories.
“You look like you want to ask me things,” Jake says.
Heeseung takes a while to reply.
“We have time.”
And then Heeseung moves on, past the pictures, to the shelf Jake’s filled with his books, still sans order, horizontally stacked. The way Heeseung runs his fingers along the spines, you’d think they were hieroglyphs. There’s Jake’s battered copy of Cosmos, by Carl Sagan. Volumes of poetry by Arthur Rimbaud, which he read on a whim in first year, and then fell in love with. Books by Stephen Hawking. Kuhn’s Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Hamilton’s Mythology. More poetry—Anna Akhmatova, introduced to him by Professor Kim, as well as Baudelaire, and Mary Oliver. Three dozen other books: physics, the other sciences, and novels from Han Kang and Hwang Sokyong, courtesy of Taehyun. Heeseung goes through them all, and it’s like he’s breathing them in, sewing them into his flesh.
Jake doesn’t know what to say that would fit the mood, the softness blanketing them both, so he settles for something general, but still true.
“You can read them. I mean, if you want, hyung.”
Heeseung looks at him, and his gaze stays.
“Really, I wouldn’t mind.”
“Not that. How you called me. Say it again.”
“Uh—hyung?”
Heeseung nods, and looks like he’s received a perfect grade, instead of just having been called hyung, likely common for him.
“That’s good,” he says. “Get used to that. I’m your hyung.”
Heeseung’s sentence tastes mild on Jake’s tongue, like the cold, clean broth of naengmyeon. No authority—Heeseung isn’t lording his age over him. On the contrary, with his tone, it’s like he’s given Jake blanket permission to take refuge in him. Warmth floods Jake’s chest. Had things shaken out differently, he might still be apartment hunting. Or he might’ve ended up with someone dull, or fractious, or whatever other negative thing. But no, instead he’s here with Heeseung, who’s telling him he’s his hyung, not as a reminder of power, but as a promise to protect.
Heeseung moves around their unit, continuing his kindly inspection: Jake’s sets of cutlery, the mug from his dad with a kangaroo on it, the small collection of magnets Jake’s added to the fridge door. That word from earlier stays in Jake’s head—tender. Heeseung’s looking through his things, but the feeling it gives off is not of someone waiting to judge, but of someone making space. Heeseung, quietly, subtly, is carving out a space for Jake. Making him welcome.
They don’t know each other all that well yet. Only surface things. Jake knows a little of Heeseung’s preferences, some of his habits, the fact that he’s related to Park Jongseong. Heeseung knows only surface things about Jake, too. But watching Heeseung now, getting to know Jake through his things, Jake can only feel hope.
A song pops into Jake’s head, but before he can do anything about it, Heeseung says, “Let’s leave your final box for later, before dinner. Quick snack, what do you say? There’s a good ramyeon shop a little ways from here, hyung’s treat.”
The reinforcement of hyung doesn’t go unnoticed.
Jake says, “Okay, let’s go.”
The song stays on the tip of his tongue all the way to the shop, and the lyrics resonate within the cavern of his head, even as they order and eat. Jake will add it later, when they’ve gone back. He knows it well enough that there will be no problem, putting it in the house playlist.
Falling Slowly, a song he first heard in a café, back on a day out in Melbourne.
I don’t know you, but I want you all the more for that.
The lyrics fit. Jake doesn’t yet know Heeseung. Not meaningfully.
But that’s not such a bad thing.
His hyung is undiscovered country, and Jake can’t wait to explore.
3 — INSTRUMENTAL: MÉDITATION, FROM THAÏS (WE ARE BUILDING A HAVEN)
The first three and a half weeks of Jake’s third year are…fine. He can’t say they’re easy—at SNU there’s no coasting. But he more or less stays above water. Jake gets through his classwork no problem, he hasn’t been late once, or missed any classes, and he actually manages to be ten percent ahead on his problem sets.
But as the semester’s first month closes, things pick up.
Leading to now: agony.
Jake’s cross-legged on the carpet of the living room floor, loose papers from his problem sets scattered around him, and on the glass coffee table, his open textbook. His problem sets are the main issue. His assigned textbook reading, he still has a bit of a margin. The problem sets though—fuck. It’s only three in the afternoon, and it’s practically a crime to be holed up studying on a Saturday, but Jake already feels a possible headache coming on.
For how shitty he’s starting to feel though, it’s nothing compared to how Heeseung looks.
His hyung’s across from him, also cross-legged on the carpet, and his brows are so furrowed you could use them to irrigate. At least Jake’s only feeling the possibility of a headache. Heeseung looks like he’s already there, fingers creeping under his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunching shut. Heeseung only gives himself five seconds of comfort, and then he opens his eyes again, and sucks in a long breath.
Heeseung tilts his head to the left, then the right, wincing, and then he’s right back to reading. Jake has no idea what’s on Heeseung’s open laptop, as the back of the screen is to him, but by the ring-bound papers beside the device—Jake caught a glimpse of an article on Rousseau—it’s probably his thesis. Reasonable thing to think. Heeseung’s in the year above him. Thesis, then. Probably.
Does it really matter, though?
Jake’s in STEM, and his hyung in political science, but they share one crucial similarity—they’re both on the verge of a breakdown.
Their nearing collapse is so thick in the air Jake can taste it, like wet, clumped dust on his tongue.
Jake marks his page with a blue Post-It flag, and shuts his textbook.
“Hyung, we have to take a break.”
“In an hour,” Heeseung says, but his voice is weak as a reed, like he’s just waiting for Jake to insist so he can give in, too.
Jake does just that. “It has to be now. Look at us. We look fucked. Not in the nice sense, either.”
Heeseung looks at his pile of readings, a field of orange and yellow highlights, as if mustering the strength for another bout of resistance. But his body itself betrays him with a yawn. “Okay, point conceded.”
Jake doesn’t give him any more opportunity to change his mind. It’s still only the afternoon. They’re both likely going to push for at least one more session, two to three hours long, depending on which one of them really gives out first. But they can afford at least an hour of rest, maybe an hour and a half, no?
Jake settles on a two-part course of action.
First, food.
He gets up off the floor, hissing at the stiffness in his legs, and goes to the house phone. He pulls up their chat with the chicken place on the eighth floor.
“Half yangnyeom, half fried?” he says.
Heeseung gives him a thumbs-up. “Order coffee, too. I’ll pay.”
“Split,” Jake says. “I’ll pay for our food, you pay for the coffee, deal?”
Another thumbs-up.
Jake sorts their meal out, ordering chicken, tteokbokki to go with it, and a side of cheese balls. The coffee’s next. He’s grown attached to caramel macchiatos, courtesy of that first day with Jongseong, and Heeseung tends to take his coffee on the plainer side, so Jake gets him a latte. He decides on the hot options for both, so they don’t rush drinking.
Once that’s done, Jake goes to the wall-mounted hanger they put up for his violin—part two of the plan.
He takes the violin, and the bow mounted underneath, and after a quick tuning check, Jake sits down on the couch.
“I’ll play while we wait for the food.”
He thinks of a piece. It can’t be anything loud, or with too many elements. Their minds need to decelerate, not go more abuzz. In the end, Jake goes for a tested choice, something that will soothe, after five hours in the sadistic embrace of their term requirements: Jules Massenet’s Méditation.
Jake plays two scales to warm up, and then he’s off.
He watches Heeseung react to the first few measures. Jake can’t tell from his face if Heeseung knows the song, but at least his features are smoothing out, and that’s enough. Jake plays more, careful to keep his volume as low as possible, only just enough to be heard. He was serious in his thinking earlier: their minds can’t afford any more stimulation. So Jake doesn’t even obey the music’s correct dynamics. Instead he plays excessively soft, and slower than the intended tempo.
Having played Méditation plenty, he lets muscle memory take over. Instead of minding himself, he minds Heeseung.
Looks at the way his body loses its stiffness, by degrees. The way Heeseung’s shoulders drop, snail-slow, until he actually leans back a little, supporting himself on his forearms extended behind him. He just relaxes, and relaxes, and relaxes, like he’s been put into some trance.
Jake wouldn’t be surprised at all if Heeseung suddenly closed his eyes. He wouldn’t begrudge his hyung a brief moment of sleep, but no, Heeseung doesn’t do that. His eyes are hazy, a mere step away from being half-lidded, but for all that, there’s still no doubting the direction of his stare.
Jake’s minding Heeseung, but Heeseung, for all his laxity, is minding Jake, too.
For the seven or so minutes that Jake manages to stretch the song to, Heeseung never once looks anywhere else.
At the end, Heeseung just smiles, and he says, “Come closer to hyung, Jaeyun-ah.”
Jake’s got no idea where the Jaeyun-ah came from, when Heeseung’s only ever addressed him as Jake so far, but maybe languid Heeseung is a different beast than him at all other hours. He doesn’t repeat his words, only looks at Jake, and his eyes are enough to have him getting up from the couch. Jake leaves his instrument carefully on the couch cushions, and settles beside his hyung.
Jake says, “What’s up?”
Heeseung hums, and reaches out for Jake’s hand.
And then he presses a kiss to it, lips slightly chapped against Jake’s knuckles.
Brief as it is, it’s a sucker punch. Jake’s winded.
“Thank you for that,” Heeseung says. “I needed it. We both did.”
“Mm-hm. No problem, hyung.”
“Can you play it again for me?” Heeseung’s eyes are wide and brown and young, imploring without words.
Jake nods, and gets his violin again.
“You’re so good to hyung, Jaeyun-ah,” Heeseung says, and Jake can’t explain the feeling that bubbles in his guts.
He’s sober, and he’s drunk. Afloat in the air like a stringless kite, and yet rooted to the ground like a sycamore.
4 — WE WERE YOUNG, AND WE WERE FOOLISH
This is the most argumentative grocery run Jake’s ever been on.
No, they’re not shouting at each other in the aisles, or disrupting other shoppers, but Heeseung’s got an opinion on every godforsaken thing Jake puts in their cart. Jake gets a bottle of sesame oil, and Heeseung insists on olive, and avocado oil, too. He takes bottles from the shelves, holding them under the store’s fluorescent lighting—is this really the brand Jake likes, and so on. Jake goes to get white sugar, and Heeseung says they should get brown, too. How about sugar cubes? Jake puts in apple juice, a thoroughly inoffensive choice, and Heeseung adds grape, peach, and pomegranate. It’s not that Jake’s got an issue with how many things they’re getting. Food’s practically the only thing his nominal rent is going to. But if Heeseung doesn’t say why he hasn’t been happy even once with any of Jake’s choices, Jake will blow like a radiator cap.
He still manages to keep his mouth shut through the meat section, even as their cart ends up looking like they have a pride of lions as pets. Jake holds his tongue all through produce, too—he picks only oranges, and basics easily used, like carrots, potatoes, staple aromatics, and cucumbers, but Heeseung goes for apples, muscat grapes, apricots, and peaches wholly out of season, with price tags that make Jake want to choke. Heeseung also buys different kinds of mushrooms, a few radishes, lettuce, and cabbage.
Which is, y’know, it’s fine, yeah? Heeseung’s clearly used to having a stocked fridge and pantry. Jake won’t police his eating habits. But when they get to the processed food aisles, and Heeseung says they should get one of each kind of ramyeon, Jake has to call a halt.
“I misheard, right?” Jake says, rolling up the sleeves of the blue plaid he’s wearing. He’s going for the serious vibe. “You didn’t say one of each kind.”
Heeseung stays quiet, shifting from foot to foot, like a child caught with cake crumbs around the mouth.
“Hyung, we’re only two people. These packages have four packets each, and you want to get one of each kind? Are we eating only ramyeon for the rest of the semester?”
Heeseung scratches through his hair. “It’s not that—”
“Plus we still have ramyeon at home. Let’s not be wasteful.”
“I’m not trying to waste money, I’m—”
Jake crosses his arms. “You’re what?”
The next two sentences from Heeseung’s mouth aren’t ones Jake expected at all.
“I’m trying to learn you, okay? I’m trying to be good for you.”
“By buying me every kind of ramyeon in the Seoul Metropolitan Area?”
Heeseung tsks. “Don’t be purposely dense.”
“I’m not, hyung,” Jake says. And he’s really not. What’s left for Heeseung to be good about? He’s been basically the ideal roommate since the beginning. He’s not noisy, he always hypes Jake up when he gets a good quiz score, they’ve divvied up chores fairly evenly, and Heeseung actually listens when Jake swoons over Brian Greene, and string theory. And now he’s saying he wants to be good? Doesn’t he see he already is?
Heeseung fiddles with the collar of the black button-down he’s wearing, and then his fingers toy with the cuffs. In a halting voice, he says, “I want to know things about you, so I can be as good of a person to live with, as possible. You picked up apple juice. I chose other kinds because you might want variety. You chose white sugar, but sometimes brown sugar tastes better with brewed coffee. And I know you like ramyeon, just like me. But I know what I like, and it might not exactly be what you like. So I want to offer you choices, and over the course of seeing you make them, I’ll learn. And that way we’ll get better and better for each other. That’s what I want. For us to get better and better for each other.”
Jake lapses into what he thinks is a very sensible silence.
Heeseung’s explanation is Plato’s allegory of the cave. Jake’s finally seeing what’s real: his hyung’s not being wasteful. He’s not just dumping things into their cart in a casual display of his opulent upbringing. He’s not buying extras for kicks. Everything he’s done has actually been an effort to find ways to understand Jake better, albeit circuitously.
One thing still, though—why not just ask?
“If you want to learn me, you can just ask, hyung.”
Now it’s Heeseung who goes quiet, and they just stand like that, cart in between them in the ramyeon aisle. In and of itself, it’s no problem, but when the seconds just continue to tick by, and Heeseung’s still mute, Jake starts feeling wary.
Finally, after a seeming age, Heeseung’s tongue pokes into the inside of his cheek, and he says, “Can you handle how much I want to ask?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” his hyung says, and then Heeseung just puts his hand on the front end of their cart, and starts tugging it along. Jake tries to get back to their aborted conversation, but he’s prevented by the way Heeseung starts taking ramyeon from the shelves. No, not one of every kind, but it’s clear he’s still making educated guesses, about the range of what Jake might like. Different types of cheese ramyeon, some spicy ones, some mild ones, some packages of instant jjajangmyeon, and jjapaghetti too. Also some seafood ramyeon, bibimmyeon, and ones flavored like gamjatang, apparently for Jongseong.
They proceed like that, their stopped conversation basically the sword of Damocles, or maybe it’s just Jake who minds, because they get to the sweets aisle, and Heeseung’s lips are still pursed. The thing is, Jake isn’t Heeseung. His hyung might be perfectly content to leave things in the air, but Jake always prefers over-communicating. Heeseung will have to suck it up.
As Heeseung starts rifling through the shelves, Jake speaks.
“What did you mean, hyung?”
“Hm?” Heeseung says, chucking far too many gummy bear packets into their cart. Packages of yakgwa, yanggaeng, Pepero, and multi-colored gangjeong soon follow.
“Earlier.” Jakes inches their cart forward, following Heeseung’s footsteps. “You said: can you handle how much I want to ask? What did you mean?”
“You’re very straightforward, Jake.”
Maybe he is, but maybe Heeseung’s also just evasive.
Jake says as much. “I like to think I’m normal. You’re just too reticent, hyung.”
He’s not even sure why he’s so bent on an answer. But the thing is, Jake grew up in a family where attention to social cues was a prized skill. Kind of a family basic. Which means he’s very good at hearing what isn’t said, at parsing the subtleties of people’s words, their body language, their actions.
Can you handle how much I want to ask?
Jake’s no fool. It’s a cocked gun. Loaded question if there ever was one.
Thing is, loaded with what?
Heeseung puts a big bag of jellybeans into their cart, and then he moves from being on the front end of it, to standing by the side, closer to Jake.
Then he says, “I want to ask you a lot of things, Jaeyun-ah. Are you sure you can handle everything I want to know?”
Their eyes meet, and the more the silence wears on between them, the more the cocked gun scales up, pistol to rifle.
What does Heeseung want to ask? What kinds of things does he want to know? What does he want to uncover? There’s only one way to gain those answers, isn’t there? If Jake wants to figure out the things Lee Heeseung wants to learn about him, the only option is to let him muck about.
Should he let his hyung do it?
What seals the deal is Jake’s memory of move-in day. Heeseung that day had been careful, and considerate with every piece of Jake that was moved into his home. The epitome of curious gentleness. Is Jake trusting too much, too early? Maybe. But he thinks Heeseung’s not the type to be rash with anything he asks, and learns from that asking. It gives Jake the confidence needed to pick his answer.
“You can ask, hyung,” he says. “Relax yourself, and ask.”
There’s a beat or two where they’re in limbo.
And then Heeseung takes his permission, puts it in between his teeth like a wolf with a chunk of flesh, and runs amok.
He moves even closer. He opts to go right beside Jake, behind the cart, so that now, the only way to push comfortably is for Jake to cede half the space to his hyung. They put one hand each on the cart’s handle—Jake’s right, pressed up against Heeseung’s left, palms curled. This close, Jake can feel his hyung’s presence even more palpably. It’s like standing against a lamppost: you can’t help but note every inch of you against the metal. Jake’s hyper-aware of all points in contact with Heeseung’s body.
But there’s no way to back out now, because Heeseung leans in, and says, “So I can ask anything?”
Jake gulps.
“What do you want, then? Tell hyung everything you want, Jaeyun-ah.”
A cough leaves Jake, like an engine’s sputter. “What?”
Heeseung chuckles, but there’s a predator’s glint in his eyes. He points to the shelves around them.
“In terms of sweets, what is it you want?” he says. “What did you think I meant?”
Jake pinches his hyung’s forearm. “You’re evil. You know you didn’t mean the sweets.” And then in English, he adds, “Get thee behind me, demon.”
Heeseung laughs, but gives him no quarter. Even after Jake explains that he’s pretty basic in the sweet stuff department, Heeseung doesn’t take it as a prompt to grant him a reprieve, but instead, as even more permission to flood him with questions. It’s like Jake’s green light was the bomb he needed to break his dam against curiosity.
All throughout the other aisles they visit, he’s a ball of queries.
Ah, you like this toothpaste. No sensitive teeth, then?
Soft bristles? Same.
You really like lemon-scented dish soap? We can always get another kind. I’m just used to it because Jongseong prefers it. He was always the dishes guy between us.
Oh, but you like your cereals slightly on the sweet side? I just eat normal corn flakes. Honestly, I didn’t grow up around cereal. I remember eating a lot of yachaejeon for breakfast.
You’re opposites with Jongseongie, then? He loves cream cakes.
Doenjang over gochujang? No, me, I like spice, so I’m on gochujang’s side.
Ogyeopsal? Chadolbagi? No way. I’m boring and traditional. Samgyeopsal or galbi, every time.
On and on, Heeseung keeps asking, about food and cleaning products and hygiene items and basically everything under the sun, until Jake thinks, by the time they get in line to pay, that Heeseung probably knows him more than many of his longtime classmates, just from the sheer number of questions he’s managed to fit into one grocery trip.
Even once they’re already loading their purchases into the back of his hyung’s Audi, Heeseung still doesn’t stop. This time he asks about Jake’s memories of Australia, about the changes he went through, moving from there to Seoul.
Heeseung closes the trunk carefully, and that’s when Jake puts a hand on his arm.
“Hyung, we have nothing but time. You can ask more later. I’m not going anywhere.”
Like in the grocery store, Heeseung goes silent again. It’s not until they’re in the car, and he’s putting the key in the ignition, that he says, “I don’t think you really know how much I want to know you. If I’m honest, even I’m not sure why I want to know you this much. But I’ve decided I’m not stopping myself.”
Heeseung says nothing more after, and Jake can’t quite think of anything to say either. What’s there to be said, when Jake feels like he’s been confessed to, sans an actual confession? Heeseung’s admitted something, and Jake knows it’s not the normal kinds of things you admit. Normal admissions are about you not knowing to cook, or that you’re a bit disorganized, or that you eat mint chocolate. What his hyung just said? Not a normal admission at all, so Jake feels justified in not knowing how to react normally.
He opts for quiet thinking, as they begin the short drive home.
The car’s stereo is the only source of sound.
First there’s a forecast for the evening: a light wind through the city, apparently. Then, a short news bulletin from KBS, followed by endless news pieces in English. Heeseung aimlessly changes the station, and his careless button-pressing brings them to one playing foreign music. They land midway through some Ed Sheeran song Jake doesn’t know one bit. The lyrics are about fire alarms and books and dodged classes.
Still, he already knows, from how charged this moment feels, he’ll have no problem remembering the melody, the words.
This Ed Sheeran song, at 5:09 pm on a Sunday in Seoul, marks the most unique grocery trip Jake’s ever been on.
A grocery run is usually the definition of mundane, but this one feels like a seed being pushed into soil.
5 — CAN WE KEEP EACH OTHER COMPANY?
A body barrels into Jake’s back, an arm coming from behind to drape over his shoulder.
He’s only three beers in, along with two shots of tequila, so the impact doesn’t jar him. He only pitches forward a little. But Heeseung, the one who did the barreling, is nowhere near as sober as Jake still is. It’s plain on his visage, when Jake turns to face him. Heeseung doesn’t look wasted, but there’s certainly a shine in his sleepy eyes, and more than that, he’s pulling Jake to him a little too enthusiastically.
Kept this close to his hyung, Jake suddenly exists in a bubble made of three ingredients: the subtle musk of Heeseung’s cologne, the soft scratch of his knit cardigan, and the heat of his breath, reeking sweet with green grape soju. Heeseung doesn’t stop there, either. As if he doesn’t already have all of Jake’s attention, suddenly he’s also at Jake’s ear, more breath than voice as he says, “You having fun, Jakey?”
“Yes, hyung,” Jake says, and it’s the truth.
This is the kind of party he likes. Lively, but survivable. You’re a little fucked, a little slow the day after, but you’re not destroyed. You’ll still function. There’s no shortage of people passing out drinks, and Jake certainly fears the violently aquamarine punch he saw, but there’s also food in abundance to soak up the alcohol. There are a lot of attendees, but not so many that Jake’s being pressed like a waffle in between sweaty bodies. Etiquette ten out of ten, too—there are no pushy partygoers constantly shilling unnamed substances. It feels more like an absurdly large, chilled hangout than anything, so Jake has no problem telling Heeseung that he’s happy.
Heeseung says, “Good, good. Come with me for a second, it’s time you really met everyone.”
Jake lets himself be tugged along via the hold Heeseung’s got on him, the two of them walking side by side.
Everyone turns out to be a sizable group of people, clearly revolving around Choi Yeonjun, who’s holding court, sat in the center of one of the couches, with a highball glass of the punch in his hands.
There are people Jake already knows, of course. Kai, whom he knows through Taehyun, Beomgyu whom he’s talked to a few times through Heeseung, and Taehyun himself, tonight’s invite-giver. Yeonjun he knows in passing since he’s Taehyun’s hyung, and Soobin the same way. Heeseung was right to say they needed to properly meet. This is the first they’ll be truly interacting, outside of greetings, and scattered small talk in the past.
“You brought your Jake!” Yeonjun says to Heeseung, and Jake immediately feels eyes on the pair of them.
Jake would like a small correction issued—he didn’t come here at Heeseung’s behest. He got an invite from Taehyun, and Heeseung the same, but from Beomgyu. But Heeseung makes no move to correct his hyung, and when Jake looks at Taehyun so he can clarify, his friend does nothing. Clearly occupied with being in the middle of Beomgyu and Kai, both clinging to him.
Beomgyu himself looks more dangerous than Yeonjun does, gleaming eyes promising catastrophe.
“Nice to see you, Jake,” he says first, tone warm like they’ve been friends since middle school. But then he adds, with naked glee, “Finally have someone, eh, Heeseung-ah? My baby deer, all grown up. Come give appa a kiss.”
“Get fucked,” Heeseung says, but he’s still keeping Jake close like his personal barnacle, so Jake thinks it’s a weak comeback.
Beomgyu laughs, low, and presses a kiss to the corner of Taehyun’s mouth. “Oh, believe me, I will.”
The implications are as overt as a billboard sign.
Jake’s salvation comes from Soobin, who takes a small throw pillow, reaches past Yeonjun, and whacks Beomgyu right in the face. He says, “Stop needling Heeseungie. I, for one, want to meet Jake properly.”
After that, Soobin moves away from being seated so close to Yeonjun. That frees up space between them, which he pats. Despite his I’m a harmless marshmallow vibe, Soobin’s stare is more unflinching than expected, and Jake separates from Heeseung to sit in the offered spot. That has him flanked on either side by Soobin, and Yeonjun. With a jaunty hand wave, Yeonjun simply banishes Heeseung to a nearby armchair.
“Jake,” Soobin says. “Tyun-ah talks all the time about you. I didn’t expect you to come with Heeseung. You’re a lovely change of pace though, from Seongie and Hoon.”
“No one ever expects anyone to come with Heeseung anyway, save his cousins,” Yeonjun adds.
Again, I didn’t come with Heeseung. Technically, it’s both true, and false. Okay, he’s not Heeseung’s plus-one. But they did walk in together, on account of the whole roommates thing, so—ah, Jake doesn’t even know anymore.
He settles for something safely courteous.
“It’s great to finally get to know you, hyungs. Properly like this.”
Jake shoots Soobin his nicest smile—his toothy one—Yeonjun too, and suddenly Soobin’s hand is pinching his cheek.
“Sweet boy. I’m keeping you.”
Yeonjun puts an arm around Jake’s waist. “Well, my Binnie has spoken. We’re keeping you, darling. Ever so pretty with that grin, those cheekbones. No wonder Heeseung’s so set on you.”
“Way to friend-steal, hyungs,” Taehyun says, from where he’s still squished between Kai and Beomgyu. Jake registers his words, but the meaning’s drowned out by the fresh maelstrom in his head.
Heeseung is what?
Jake waits for his hyung to react to what’s been implied. But when he looks at Heeseung, he’s just in the armchair, man-spreading again, like he’s sunning himself on a beach chaise. Surely Heeseung’s got thoughts? Yeonjun directly said he was set on Jake, and yet Heeseung’s quiet as a graveyard. If anything, his only reaction is to look miffed by how Yeonjun and Soobin have Jake between them.
Jake doesn’t want to assume, of course, but the longer Heeseung’s silence goes, and the more choked he looks by Jake’s closeness with his elders, the more Jake gets to thinking.
He’s not blind. He has something with Heeseung. Friendship, at the very least, and a cozy co-habiting relationship besides. But mixed with all that, yes, something else, too. Something as yet unclear, but growing. Fueled these last two months by their constant proximity. Living together, studying together, cooking together, eating together, shopping together. Jake coming home to Heeseung reading papers, lying down on the living room couch, pillow under his head, fleece blanket thrown over his legs. Or Heeseung coming home to Jake making flashcards, while waiting for the meat to defrost for dinner.
Thing is, their something has never been directly addressed. All Jake knows is that him and Heeseung have gotten close, and the rest he’s inferred from disparate bits of data. Such as the fact that Heeseung hasn’t brought anyone home since the start of term, and him neither. Jake supposes it’s possible that Heeseung had entanglements, and he simply didn’t know, but he hasn’t been hearing anything through the campus grapevine, and god knows how quickly news spreads when it’s about the Lee and Park cousins.
Wait, why is he even speculating on these things?
Heeseung’s still silent, still just looking at him.
Fuck it.
Jake sends out a small test, like throwing a line into the water for fish.
He sidles up even closer to Soobin, and puts a hand on Yeonjun’s thigh. “I’ll be honest, it’s nice to finally be able to talk with you like this, hyungs. Thank you for such a warm welcome.”
Yeonjun’s smile is blinding.
“Gyu-yah, take notes,” he says. “This is what a good dongsaeng looks like.”
“Bitch,” Beomgyu says, but with zero venom. “Like you don’t run to me when you need a shopping buddy. I have KakaoTalk evidence from this morning. Beomgyu darling, come with hyung to COEX this Sunday.”
Kai pipes in. “You’ve forgotten me and Taehyun, Yeonjun-hyung.”
Soobin defuses things with a deft hand. He tells Kai, “You two are unforgettable, loves. But you know Yeonjun-hyung. He’s just conforming to type. You know how he is about people with cheeks he can squish.” Then he says to Jake, “Of course we gave you a warm welcome. Any friend of Taehyun’s is ours too. We hope you come to more of these things, and take time to hang out around campus as well. Tyun-ah will give you our numbers tomorrow, I won’t let him forget.”
Jake’s happy with the easy acceptance he’s been given, of course. But far more than that, what eats his attention is the sudden storm on Heeseung’s face. Heeseung looks like thunderclouds, the way they’re a deep gray, with spots aglow, a promise of lightning to come. His lips are a tight line, and his eyes flint-like. Maybe it’s the tequila, but Jake doesn’t back down. They’re like two gunslingers with Colts pointed at each other. Their stare-down goes so long it’s approaching uncomfortable, but then Heeseung fires his shot.
“Jaeyun-ah,” he says, voice as stark as carved stone.
Jake clutches the neck of his beer bottle a little tighter.
Heeseung pats the arm of the chair he’s sitting in.
“Mm?”
“Come here,” Heeseung says. “Come close to hyung.”
The hubbub of the party doesn’t pause, but in Jake’s world, everything’s so quiet he swears he can hear the dust motes.
Jake looks at Heeseung, testing, confirming, and when Heeseung doesn’t alter his sentence, or change the cast of his face, Jake stands up.
He goes to his hyung. Thankfully, the armchair’s style gives it a pretty wide arm, and if Jake kind of sits side-saddle, he fits. His hyung doesn’t do anything like hold him by the waist, the way Yeonjun did, but he does rest his arm atop Jake’s thigh, hand curled over Jake’s knee.
A number of reactions sprout up all at once.
Soobin just looks bemused. Yeonjun’s eyes are alight like he can’t wait to grill them about this little happening. Taehyun’s got a brow up, that suggests Jake will receive a series of questioning texts within two days. Kai looks pleased—but then he always looks pleased about the world in general—and Beomgyu looks like he’s been handed the best present of all: something he can hold over Lee Heeseung’s head.
Aside from their reactions, Jake also feels other stares. He thinks it’s beyond helping, now. He’s got quite a social circle of his own, but it’s always been people in his department, friends from his campus org, and assorted other contacts he’s kept passingly in touch with. He’s never been in the middle of this kind of circle, the one that rules the campus hierarchy, sitting pretty atop it like a pyramid capstone.
He doesn’t care much for it, but he knows a difference has just been born in this moment.
Before, he was Sim Jaeyun, third-year physics student.
Now he’s Sim Jaeyun, third-year physics student, known to Choi Yeonjun and his circle, and involved with Lee Heeseung.
Heeseung squeezes Jake’s knee, before rubbing at it, and his thigh, with the palm of his hand.
His rubbing coincides with a new song blasting through the house speakers, replacing the one that just ended.
Jake will never be able to forget Bieber’s Company, even to the day he dies.
6 — YOU’RE THE ONE I WANNA GO THROUGH TIME WITH
Jake doesn’t notice it until they’re well into their brunch.
His food’s worse than a Greek hydra.
Chop off one hydra head, and two grow back. But his food? The moment he takes one bite to reduce what’s on his plate, it’s rendered moot thrice over. As soon as he manages to eat half of his yachaejeon, suddenly Jongseong’s giving him haemul pajeon. As soon as he’s finished his ramekin of strawberries, Heeseung’s offering his own fork, a chunk of peach with fresh cream speared at the end of it. The worst offender is Sunghoon, seated on Jake’s other side. He’s not even paying any attention. Jake’s eating gyeranmari, but Sunghoon’s offering orange jam to spread over it.
Really? Orange over egg rolls?
Heeseung and Jongseong, Jake can understand. He’s grown to learn that Heeseung adores it when Jake shares food with him—his hyung’s eyes always glow during their 10 pm snack nights. Jongseong? Dad friend. If he’s eating, he can’t abide others not doing the same. Sunghoon though, Jake only gets him when he decides to stop eating, so he can figure out just what’s going on.
Here’s Jake’s conclusion, fueled by hot chocolate, and Heeseung’s continuously offered peach dessert: Park Sunghoon is in fact piling Jake’s plate with mutant food combos, so that he doesn’t look so obvious staring at Kim Sunoo.
Sunoo. Friend of Jungwon, freshly-introduced to them as finally Jongseong’s official boyfriend—to use Heeseung’s words—and they were insufferable in high school, to use Sunghoon’s. Also a friend of Nishimura Riki, apparently already a legend in the dance department, despite only being a freshman.
Riki’s been quietly hacking at Sunghoon with a chainsaw through his eyes, to which Sunghoon’s only responded with purposeful ignorance. This Jake’s come to realize, now that he’s not eating anymore.
Jake respects the hustle. He’s only just met Riki, and yet he can admit, if he were in Sunghoon’s place, he wouldn’t be as brave. Riki’s looking at Sunghoon, face a controlled storm, but Sunghoon’s undeterred as he observes Sunoo. He’s not outright offering him food, but he looks to be subtly noting what Sunoo likes, and nudging the platters of those foods his way—pajeon, gamjajeon, beef and mushrooms, as well as the grapes, and sliced peaches.
Jake bumps Sunghoon with his elbow, and speaks in his lowest voice, mindful of how close Sunoo is.
“Why don’t you actually say something?”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Jake giggles behind his fist. “You sure?”
“I’m not about to say hey, you’re cute out of nowhere, Jake.”
Apparently Sunghoon’s louder than intended. It catches the whole table’s attention.
Jungwon says, “You think Jake-hyung is cute, Sunghoon-hyung?”
Sunghoon coughs. Not gonna lie, Jake’s a tad offended that instead of looking at him, Sunghoon instead looks at Heeseung. But that becomes a very understandable reaction, when Jake himself looks at his hyung. Heeseung’s face? Neutral as an ice sheet. The only hint that he feels something, is the way he leans forward, and turns his head to fix his eyes on Sunghoon.
“Heeseungie-hyung, don’t misunderstand—”
“What, you don’t think Jakey’s cute?”
Jake doubts there’s anyone at the table who doesn’t sense the trap. If Sunghoon says Jake isn’t cute, Heeseung’s face suggests he’ll get offended on Jake’s behalf. If Sunghoon does the opposite, Heeseung will be offended for a whole other reason. Presumptuous to think? Maybe, but is Jake really being presumptuous, when Heeseung’s now pulling him close with a hand on his shoulder?
“Hyung, you know it’s not like that. I mean, yeah, Jake’s cute—”
Jake hams it up. “Why thank you, Hoonie.”
Heeseung says, “He’s cute, and?”
“God, hyung, don’t put me on the spot like this! Jake’s cute, have to be blind not to see that—”
Jake bumps Sunghoon with his elbow again. “You know how you can save yourself.”
Sunghoon glares at him. “I hate you right now, Sim Jaeyun.” And then he turns to Heeseung. “I’m not touching what you have with Jake, hyung. You know I wouldn’t. And besides,” here he hangs his head, “I’ve kind of got my eye on someone else.”
Jake puts a hand over his mouth. He didn’t actually expect Sunghoon to save himself like that. But eh, they’re here, aren’t they? Now he’s invested. Everyone else at the table seems the same. Heeseung’s demeanor especially, has changed. Now he’s a balloon about to pop, squeezing Jake against him like he’s sure closeness will heighten their coming glee. Jongseong’s fifty-fifty, like he’s annoyed that his meal was interrupted, and that it better be worth it. Jungwon’s his opposite, impish, like he’s just caught classmates passing love notes. Sunoo’s looking purely curious, given he and Sunghoon haven’t much talked the entire meal. Riki’s the only one who looks even remotely displeased. Jake’s got an inkling as to why, but he won’t bring it up. They’ve literally only just met.
Jungwon fans the fire. “Eye on who, Hoon-hyung? Come on, I had to be bored alone in high school when you all left for college. Make it up to me.”
Sunghoon worries his bottom lip, sharp canines digging in, and then he says, “I’m murdering you all in my head right now, but…”
“Put us out of our misery,” Heeseung says. “Who is it?”
Uh-oh. Mat-hyung card.
Sunghoon looks at Sunoo.
His words come out like a burst geyser. “You can laugh at me after this, and if you’re like, taken or anything, I’m obviously going to back off, but since I’ve already fallen into this hole of embarrassment, I might as well put wallpaper. Anyway, it’s, uh—it’s you.”
Sunoo smiles. “It’s me what, hyung?”
“Really going to make me say it, huh?” Sunghoon huffs. And then he pulls the pin on the grenade. “I think you’re cute.”
Sunoo says nothing at first. He too drops his head like Sunghoon did, looking at his plate—a section of pajeon, some bulgogi, errant cubes of tofu. And then he pushes the platter of beef and mushrooms towards Sunghoon, and says, “I think you’re cute too.”
Pandemonium.
From Jungwon, a series of pleased claps, like he’s just finished a theater show. From Jongseong, a sudden slap on the table, and an astounded look on his face, put on for effect, eyes bugged out. Heeseung says in English: “Wow, hardcore.” That sends Jake into a laughing fit, one that gets him bent double, gripping onto Heeseung’s knees for support. Which would’ve been dandy, except, as he’s bent like that, laughter still spilling, he feels his hyung hold him closer. And then Heeseung’s lips are in his hair, pressing a long kiss there.
Jake tries not to go still, so as not to alarm his hyung, but he doesn’t manage entirely.
When he rises again, he looks at Heeseung.
Under his breath, Heeseung says, “Was that okay, Jaeyun-ah?”
Jake goes with the truth. Being honest with each other’s served them well so far.
“More than okay, hyung.”
As in the grocery store, Heeseung takes that as permission. Post that sentence, Heeseung keeps them flank against flank, Jake resting his hand atop Heeseung’s closest thigh. As has become familiar, Heeseung settles his arm over Jake’s shoulder. Jake can even feel his hyung’s loafers against his own shoes, their feet side by side under the table.
Everyone slowly goes back to eating, but Jungwon suddenly tells Heeseung, “I see all, hyung. Never forget.”
That cements it for Jake. He’s only just met Jungwon, but he’s already a little in love with the boy’s mischief. On Sunghoon’s end, Sunoo’s clearly already conquered him. Jake’s seen Sunghoon’s normal energy around campus—suave, tongue trained like Heeseung’s from growing up in a political family, and just as regal as Jongseong, the Park part of him shining through. But Sunghoon’s grinning like a fucking Samoyed as he and Sunoo trade food, and Sunoo starts making little comments, about liking the way Hoon’s dress shirt hugs his shoulders. Jongseong is assured beside Jungwon, going Heeseung’s route, kings in their peace. Riki still looks a little troubled, but when Jungwon’s careful to distract him by talking about an intro to Choi Yeonjun, Jake thinks everyone’s going to be okay.
And that’s when he realizes—this, he knows this.
This is the same thing he’s got in Australia, the same feeling. His brother seated beside him, already eating pancakes, and his dad still making more on the stove. His mother, singing, as she brings slices of melon to the table.
Family.
He says as much to Heeseung, voice soft.
“I really like this, what we have, right now.” He lets his eyes rove, and settle one second each on everyone there, to say everyone’s included. “Reminds me of my mom’s song for my dad. Do you know Time in a Bottle?”
Heeseung nods. “Think I do.” And then, as if he was there at that table in Brisbane from the beginning, he sings softly, “I’ve looked around enough to know, that you’re the one I wanna go through time with…”
Jake smiles.
If he could, he’d bottle this up completely. Store it in a time capsule to be viewed over and over. Loved over and over.
Here, with these six people, Jake’s home again.
7 — IF WE NEVER TRY, HOW WILL WE KNOW?
Of all the things to spark it, it’s the sight of Heeseung reading over Jake’s essay, on the limits of general relativity.
Sure, it’s quid pro quo. Before his own essay’s turn, Jake looked through a portion of Heeseung’s senior thesis, for readability feedback. He drew green stars next to strong points, marked up clunky paragraphs, and showed the parts where he just couldn’t follow Heeseung’s logical tangles. But that’s one thing. Heeseung’s thesis is an actual academic requirement.
Jake’s essay? Heeseung’s struggling through it, and it isn’t even for any class. It’s solely for an ongoing discussion Jake’s been having with Professor Kim: relativity, versus quantum mechanics, versus string theory. Not at all a matter of academic need, only personal interest.
And that, the sight of Heeseung putting in so much determined effort, to understand something Jake’s done purely for love, is what sparks the thought that makes Jake crumble.
It arrives as a complete unit. No unfolding step-by-step, like a neat geometric proof. Asleep to awake in a second.
Oh my god. Fuck me. I love him.
The following thought:
Fuck me again. Does he love me back?
Jake grips at the fabric of his jeans, to ground himself. Really, now? Of all the times to realize his love for Lee Heeseung, it had to be now? Of all the places, it had to be here, in the damn campus library, surrounded by fellow students, and the reek of college struggle?
What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—
“Jakey, are you OK?”
“Huh?”
Heeseung looks at him, a little wide-eyed. “You’ve been saying a string of what the fucks under your breath. In English. People are starting to look. Was my thesis that bad?”
Oh god, he was muttering aloud?
“No, no, hyung,” Jake says, trying to keep his voice down, while at the same making it clear to Heeseung that his thesis isn’t the problem. He wants to explain the true problem, but how?
Not your thesis at all, hyung. The issue’s you, actually. Because you’ve been nothing but good to me since the first day we met. People don’t usually live up to the hype about them—there’s always something disappointing—but the only disappointing thing about you is that you eat too much yanggaeng for it to be normal. You’ve taken care of me, and I like to think we’ve brought out better versions of each other. Fuck you, I’ve tripped and fallen in love. Now what?
“So what is it then?” Heeseung says, oblivious to Jake’s internal panic.
“Uh, fuck. Give me a minute? Two minutes? I need to get a grip.”
Jake slaps his cheeks lightly. It gets him a worried look from Heeseung, but he’s still given his two minutes. Listen, two minutes is a long time. Jake knows how long it can be. If he asks for just two extra minutes before Heeseung forces him out of bed, because he was stupid enough this term to choose a lot of morning classes, it can be worth an eternity. But right now, two minutes is less than a second. One moment, Jake’s just finished asking for two minutes, and the next, his brain’s done with a VCR of his time with Heeseung, 1.5x speed.
Conclusion? Unchanged.
He’s still in love.
“That’s two minutes. What’s going on with you, Jaeyun-ah?”
Oh god, he’s brought out the Jaeyun-ah.
As brutally ironic as it is, Jake being on this precipice reminds him of something he heard from Heeseung, four days ago. A song he was idly singing under his breath, as he stirred their pot of doenjangjjigae. Sung by Stacey Ryan, as he later told Jake.
If we never try, how will we know, baby, how far this thing could go?
Jake thinks: Stacey Ryan, I hope you’re happy. Look at me now.
“Come tell hyung,” Heeseung says, all patient snake charmer. “Don’t you trust me yet? Don’t things always work out when we put our faith in each other?”
Well, he can’t say it’s not a good point.
Jake half-turns his body so that his back is partly to Heeseung. Then he takes one of their big Post-It pads, and one of the fine-tipped markers on their table.
He writes:
Think I’m falling in love with you. Nah, pretty sure it’s a done deal.
Thoughts?
(Please don’t break my heart. If you do, please still let me be your roommate. I’ll be good! Just cook me consolation ramyeon.)
Jake grits his teeth, and rips the Post-It off the pad.
Hands it to Heeseung.
Heeseung reads in seconds, but to Jake it’s 13.8 billion years, the age of the universe itself.
Heeseung sets the Post-It on the table, in front of them.
He takes the marker, and uses it to point to Jake first, then to himself. Then to Jake again, then to himself, as if emphasizing you and me. And then he draws a big equal sign under the last line of Jake’s note, redrawing each line over and over, until it’s coal-black on the yellow paper.
Jake realizes he’s wrong. The universe isn’t 13.8 billion years old.
There was no universe, before now.
He and Heeseung love each other. This is everything’s true beginning.
8 — I DON’T WANT TO RUN THIS TIME
When he enters the café, Heeseung sees Jake still engrossed in a conversation with Taehyun.
It’s fine—it gives him time to go up to the counter, and request a song change. Heeseung doubts anyone else would be able to do such a thing. The rights of most patrons don’t extend to the café playlist. But when the girl manning the register clocks that it’s him asking, she agrees easily. He slides her a 50,000 won note for the trouble.
Even when the song changes, Jake still doesn’t notice him. As Heeseung walks closer, he hears snatches of their topic. Something about physical cosmology, and then Taehyun’s thoughts on Hitchens.
It’s Taehyun who sees Heeseung first, as he’s facing in his direction, but he says nothing as Heeseung comes to a stop behind Jake. Heeseung softly places his hands on Jake’s shoulders, and then he drops a kiss to the crown of his hair, taking a moment to savor the citrus of Jake’s shampoo. Jake doesn’t even turn, just sinks into Heeseung’s touch, the back of his head pressing against Heeseung’s solar plexus as he leans back.
To Heeseung, that one act alone is more satisfying than any academic distinction, any word of praise from his professors, or parents. Jake’s grown used to his touch, and doesn’t need to see him to know that it’s his: Heeseung’s won all that’s worth winning.
Post his tactile hello, Heeseung pulls out the last chair at the table. He sits down beside Jake, arm stretching to rest on his chair’s back, a grounding reassurance that he’s here. That they’re together.
Taehyun’s looking, to be sure. Heeseung knows how Kang Taehyun looks when he’s filing away information. Heeseung lets him. It efficiently takes care of spreading the news to everyone relevant, from his side of the social circle—Yeonjun and Soobin, Beomgyu and Kai.
Heeseung drives the point home by telling Jake, “Tell hyung about your day, my baby.”
Jake’s instinct to answer takes over, as predicted. “Long, but fine. Pair of two-hour lectures today. Yours?”
“Progress,” is all Heeseung says, moving his leg closer to press it up against Jake’s. “Professor Jung approved the latest parts I sent in for comment. I’m a little over halfway done. Solid pace.”
Jake smiles at that, and Taehyun offers congratulations, but apparently that’s the end of Jake’s tether for small talk. He leans in to tell Heeseung, “You’re okay with this, hyung?”
It’s not hard to figure out what Jake means. What they have is fresh. It’s only been a week since Jake confessed, and they got together. Seven days so far of paradise, their shared home bathed in laughter, cuddles, and kisses as plentiful as rain. Outside of the unit though, they’ve been moderate, mostly just holding hands, or Heeseung sneaking kisses in random alcoves.
To Jake, this sudden openness must be a massive departure.
But Heeseung’s been thinking since Jake’s confession, about how to make it clear to him that he’s all in.
Only yesterday did he settle on this, on what to do.
Heeseung catches Jake’s gaze, then conspicuously touches his own earlobe: listen.
The song he requested has only just hit its chorus, and Heeseung, voice mellifluous, sings along.
These are the words he hopes Jake will take to heart.
“I can feel it, I don’t want to run this time. I can feel it now. Hey, I can feel it, shining like the sun this time, and I know now—I don’t want to run away…”
Heeseung sings along for a little bit more, and when he ends, Jake says, “You’re sure? We talked about this. If you want to keep things low-key, you know that’s fine.”
His Jake. His darling, sweet, considerate Jake. His honey.
“You’re about the only thing I’m sure of, Jaeyun-ah,” he says.
Heeseung’s certain that at least a few of the nearby patrons are listening in. Likely the majority. It’s the root of Jake’s concern, of that he’s sure. Heeseung can’t blame him. Before Jake really knew him, he must’ve relied only on what he could piece together of Heeseung’s reputation—Lee Heeseung, cousin to Park Jongseong and Park Sunghoon, and of a slightly reclusive bent. All that’s been by choice. Despite his forays into the SNU social sphere, Heeseung’s nevertheless remained, where it matters, private. He funds projects, attends events, and is genial when encountered, but he wants nothing beyond that. He’s never let himself be sucked into long conversations, has never quite seen the point of living politically, to use his father as an example, ahead of him actually having to do so, post-graduation.
So—the concern from Jake is understandable.
But ultimately unnecessary.
Something more important exists now, something that supersedes Heeseung’s dislike of people prying into his affairs: Jake.
So long as he gets to love Sim Jaeyun in relative peace, he’ll swallow any scrutiny. Besides, that’s all he’ll ever allow anyone. People can look, maybe whisper a little, but the moment Heeseung gets a whiff of people trying to insert themselves into his relationship, all bets will be off.
He tells Jake, “They can have this, they can look. I’ll allow a bit of speculation. I think that’s a fair trade, for the security of everyone knowing I’m taken. Everyone knowing I have you, that you have me, too. No one can meddle, but I won’t hide you, Jake. Why would I? Somehow you chose me? Let me crow about that, sweetheart. You’re worth every bit of my pride.”
Jake’s face goes a violent shade of red. Heeseung chuckles, and dots his warm cheek with a lingering kiss.
Taehyun says, “Never thought I’d see the day, Heeseung-hyung. Breaking news, wealthy recluse goes wild.”
That gets a full laugh out of Heeseung, while Jake dramatically plants his face on an empty spot of the café table. He groans, and says against the wood, “Taehyunnie, not you, too.”
“I don’t get to celebrate this?” Taehyun says, sipping on his drink that looks like it’s seventy percent whipped cream. “I don’t get to celebrate two of the people I love being together?”
Jake resurfaces from his bout of embarrassment.
“I’m not opposed. I just didn’t think it would happen like this, you know? Like, lump sum. All at once.”
Heeseung gets an idea.
“If you want, we can have the scrutiny off you. You want that, Jakey?”
Jake nods. “Please.”
Heeseung says, in a voice that rings out across the café—“Everyone’s next orders are on me, and will be until I leave. Take full advantage!”
That certainly gets the attention off them. People suddenly scramble to line up again, and get new orders in. Drinks, food, who knows? Heeseung doesn’t care. It’s a negligible blow to his wallet, and if it accomplishes the task of pleasing Jake, it’s money well-spent.
Jake balls up a clean table napkin, and throws it at Heeseung. Hits him square on the nose.
“You’re incorrigible.”
Heeseung puts on his most boyish smile. “I know.” Then he adds, “I love you, honey. In case you needed reminding, today.”
Jake’s a tomato again, but his grin makes Heeseung’s heart swell.
He leans in, resting his cheek against Heeseung’s arm. “Love you too.”
Taehyun snaps a photo, fiddles with something on his phone, and then only a minute later, his phone pings multiple times.
He reads the screen. “Gyu-hyung says he’s casting you out for not telling him first, three knife emojis after. Soobin-hyung says he’s happy for you both, yellow heart emoji. Kai-yah says you have his support. He sent a picture of him with a thumbs up. You have mine too, of course. And then Yeonjun-hyung says dinner next week to celebrate, his treat.”
Heeseung says, “If Jake wants to go, no problem with me.”
Jake sighs. “Fuck, we’ll get grilled like octopus. I wanna die.”
Taehyun laughs, and Jake does too, but with a cute tinge of nerves.
Looking at them, Heeseung sends a silent word of thanks to the universe, for the joy in his life.
9 — INSTRUMENTAL: BÉNÉDICTION DE DIEU DANS LA SOLITUDE (SUPPORT, RETURNED)
“Do it for me, hyung. Put a pillow over my face and end it.”
Heeseung looks at his wristwatch. “Time of death, 1:22 pm.”
Jake laughs, but there’s a groan laced in. Heeseung takes Jake’s flashcards away. Jake’s been studying since nine-thirty, so he’s nearing the 4-hour mark. Heeseung knows he’s a hypocrite for being the one to say this now, when he was insane enough in sophomore year to go seven hours one time, but he tells Jake, “Break time, love. What do you want to do? I’ll make you some steak if you’re hungry.”
Jake only arranges himself on the living room couch. He lies down with a slight recline, via two thin pillows under his head. Then he points to the piano, and says, “Want to nap, actually. Play me something? Just until I fall asleep. But you have to wake me in an hour. I’ll eat then.”
“Okay,” Heeseung says, but instead of going to the piano, he joins Jake on the couch.
He’s still sitting up, but he cages Jake with his arms, and leans down.
He noses along Jake’s hairline, down his forehead.
“I’ll help lull you to sleep a little quicker, before I play you something. Let hyung kiss you, please?”
Jake hums, hand already going to Heeseung’s nape.
Their lips slot together. Heeseung goes slow, arresting all of Jake’s attempts to deepen things. When one of Jake’s hands goes to the side of his neck, in an attempt to pull Heeseung fully down, Heeseung only grabs him by the wrist, pinning him that way. He’s content enough just feeling Jake’s lips under his, the soft way the two of them are moving against each other. It’s only when Jake’s whining a little at Heeseung’s repression that Heeseung asks for entry into his mouth, with a soft touch of tongue to Jake’s bottom lip. Jake moans like he’s been wounded, shudders a little, mouth falling open in surrender.
Even though the pace was his idea, even Heeseung can’t help himself once they really get into it. Their kiss remains measured, but Heeseung presses Jake into the cushions with his weight, drunk on Jake softly licking against his tongue, against the insides of his cheeks, a little on the roof of Heeseung’s mouth. When Heeseung lets go of Jake’s wrist so he can cradle his face, Jake’s hands go to Heeseung’s back, wrapping around him, searching under Heeseung’s shirt. Heeseung shivers from his touch, groan dropping like ripe fruit into Jake’s mouth.
Jake’s nails start lightly scratching down his back, and Heeseung pulls away from his lips to start kissing his jaw, down his neck, as Jake’s nails play. “My Jake. Hyung’s gorgeous boy. Everything I could ever have wanted.” Jake’s palms soothe Heeseung’s skin as Heeseung keeps speaking, words laced with kisses. “My perfect, pretty Jaeyun-ah. Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so soft under me like this. Hyung loves you so much.”
“I love you too, baby,” Jake says, head tipping back, neck arching closer to Heeseung’s mouth. “Fucking adore you. How are you mine, huh? Plucked you right out of my dreams.” Jake lets him wreak havoc on his neck and throat a little longer, and then Jake pulls Heeseung up so their mouths can meet again. His words are muffled by their lips pressed so close, but Heeseung can still understand him perfectly. “Really, really tempted to stop studying. Let’s just fuck instead—”
The heat leaking out in Jake’s words is the same heat starting to boil under Heeseung’s skin. It’s tempting, Jake’s right. Heeseung will strip him right here, put his mouth all over him, shatter Jake into sweet chunks, and he’ll swallow each darling piece until they have no beginning, and no end. But see, Jake likes his pleasures unrestrained, fulfilled at the very moment they’re thought of. Heeseung? No, he likes to stretch things to their breaking point, enthralled by the moment when the tether snaps, when the logs burst into flame.
What’s sweeter than indulgence well-earned?
Heeseung groans, giving Jake a last, deep kiss that has them heaving when they separate. He tastes a hint of blood on his bottom lip.
“Tease,” Jake says, with a courtesan’s eyes. “You owe me tonight.”
“Anything you want, pretty,” Heeseung says. “I’ll fuck you so hard into the mattress, make you go hoarse from screaming. Just hold out for the afternoon, hm? Doze like you wanted, dream of good things to come. Think of it as study motivation.” He nuzzles Jake’s nose with the tip of his. “Let hyung play you something now, hm?”
Jake steals a last peck, before he lets Heeseung stand up.
Heeseung goes to the Steinway. Almost as soon as he sits, he knows what to play.
He hopes Jake appreciates this. This piece is entwined with all of Heeseung’s fondest memories. This was the song his grandfather used to play for him as a lullaby, before sending him to bed. It’s one of the first pieces he ever mastered, making the effort to, once his skills were up to par.
Jake gave him Massenet.
Heeseung will give him Liszt.
The way the piano’s positioned, Heeseung knows Jake will only get an obstructed half-view of him, mostly his back, but that’s how Heeseung likes it. He doesn’t want Jake putting any extra effort in, trying to watch him. He wants Jake to get his rest.
As Jake did before, Heeseung plays disobediently, hang the actual score. He doesn’t even have it out. Sheet music’s unneeded—this song is tattooed onto his bones and flesh. This is his understanding of love, made auditory.
He wants it to last, so Heeseung plays at the speed of a brook trying to carve a canyon. It strains all of his skill, fingertips working to press the keys with infinitesimal care, a musical conversation that never rises past the volume of people whispering in a dark corner.
The song has no words, and Heeseung doesn’t bother voicing any of his thoughts, but he knows Jake will understand him. It’s become a thing he’s grown to expect, Jake’s ability to grasp his meanings, with barely any need for Heeseung to verbalize. Heeseung looks at him one way, and Jake already knows if he’s in the mood for food, or wants to cuddle, or wants to talk, or simply rest. Heeseung pats a chair, or some nearby spot, or the tip of his knee, and Jake knows whether he wants him in his lap, or just beside him. Heeseung simply has to stare a particular way, and Jake will say, “I love you too.”
Before long, he can no longer hear Jake’s light shuffling on the couch. Heeseung knows he’s fallen asleep, but not once does he think of stopping. He’ll play this song over, and over, and over, for however long Jake sleeps. He won’t hear, but that isn’t the point. Heeseung isn’t playing this for a reaction. He’s playing because the one he loves needs to rest, and he’ll shift the world’s axis if he must, to give that rest to him. His fingers will get tired. They’ll cramp. He’ll wince. But he won’t stop.
The song—Benediction of God in Solitude.
Heeseung’s not religious. But if there’s one person who deserves the blessing of any deity, it’s the one he’s currently playing for.
10 — IN YOU I TRULY FEEL I BELIEVE
Heeseung’s temples are doors with people constantly knocking on them.
His headache makes his skull feel like an overgrown melon, and the throbbing in his temples makes even the slightest motion a punishment. His fever makes everything worse, makes him sluggish, body leaden on the couch where he’s camped out. He’s overheated, it’s noon but he doesn’t want to eat anything, and his throat is filled with desert sand. Heeseung regrets telling Jake this morning that he only felt a mild headache, that it’d pass. If he hadn’t lied, like a whole fool, Jake would be with him now, and he wouldn’t be in this hellscape alone.
Fuck the way his body gets sick on a fucking schedule. There’s a always a crop of two to three days every semester where his body decides to be bastard to him, and the only thing Heeseung’s thankful for is that it came so late into the term this time. Well, that, and he’s thankful for the fact that Jake’s coming.
Jake’s reply to his earlier message:
Missed classes won’t be the end of the world, don’t worry. There in 30 minutes, hyung. Wait for me.
It’s been twenty minutes since. He only has to hold on for the next six hundred seconds.
There’s a small part of him that’s regretful. When he texted Jake, pleading for him to come home, he did so fully knowing his boyfriend had a whole day of lectures on the docket. He wouldn’t really have minded, had Jake ignored him. Even so, Heeseung can’t find it in himself to be unhappy that Jake’s coming. How can he, when that thought’s his lifeline, right now?
He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming.
The short wait gives him time to think about one very salient fact: he texted Jake.
All the years of his life, outside of his parents, Heeseung’s only ever called Jongseong, or Sunghoon, when he’s sick. Sunghoon’s way of caring for him? Plying him with distractions: soft singing, reading him a book, or whispered aimless chatter, sending Heeseung to sleep with his voice as white noise. Jongseong, the utter opposite—keeping quiet, but tending to Heeseung with matchless diligence. He’d make jjamppong, loaded with clams and shrimp and squid, overcoming the blandness of Heeseung’s taste buds by cooking him spicy food. He’d hover, wiping Heeseung down with cold towels, even bathing him on occasion. It’s always been instinct: Jongseong or Sunghoon. But when his fever started spiking today around mid-morning, and it began to sink in that he was, in fact, well and truly sick, Heeseung’s mind screamed only one sentence.
Tell Jake, get Jake, I want Jake.
Heeseung’s brought out of his thoughts by the ding of their unit elevator, and within seconds, Jake’s coming towards him, dropping his satchel, and the bags in his hands, on the coffee table.
Heeseung makes to get up, at least into a sitting position, but Jake shakes his head and kneels on the floor by his side.
Before Heeseung can even make grabby hands, Jake’s already coming close, hugging him.
Heeseung groans into Jake’s chest, nosing into the black cotton of the T-shirt he’s wearing. Heeseung recognizes it as one of his own, but all clothes are their clothes now, so he minds not one bit. The fabric smells of Jake, of sunlight, of dry grass and a hint of sweet grapefruit.
Jake holds him tight, but rubs his back with contrasting gentleness.
He pulls back to look at Heeseung, thumb stroking the apple of one cheek.
“Hey, my sweetheart,” Jake says. “Sorry I took a while, huh? Had to get stuff on the way, for you.”
Heeseung dismisses his apology. How could he even think it’s necessary? The only thing of importance is that he came.
Heeseung drags his aching body close to Jake again, and tucks his face into the crook of his neck. He speaks in that soft, warm space.
“Thank you,” Heeseung says. “Thank you, thank you…”
“I would always have come. Always, hyung.”
It’s not the first time Heeseung’s heard it, or a version of it. Jongseong and Sunghoon have always said the same. His mother and father, too. Jake saying it now is a new wonder all its own, and Heeseung, even with his sickness, still feels blessed. Imagine, all these people in his life, and for years and years he’s only ever heard that—I would always have come.
Heeseung expresses his gratitude by nuzzling Jake’s neck for a bit, before dotting a kiss to his shoulder.
Jake says, “Let me take care of you, okay?”
“Please. Please, I need you.”
“Don’t you worry, honey, we’ll get you better. I’m here.”
Heeseung thinks it’s a mark of Jake’s personality, his inherent, unstinting goodness, that not one word of scolding has passed his lips since he arrived. Sunghoon scolds at times, as does his mother, when they’re the ones taking care of him. They’re never harsh, but there’s always a hint of disappointment, that Heeseung tried to keep his illness self-contained, until it became too much to bear alone.
You need to tell eomma these things, my darling. You know you’re my first priority, the most important thing in my life.
Sunghoon’s version is always a little more stern:
You always do this. Call for me earlier, hyung. You don’t have to wait until it’s this bad before you ask me. Please get that through your skull.
In contrast, no hard words pass Jake’s lips, not even a judging sigh. He only goes to sit cross-legged on the living room carpet, in front of Heeseung’s supine form. He reaches for one of the bags on the coffee table, and from it takes a packed takeout container. He removes the lid, and Heeseung immediately smells meat, a strong hint of black pepper, and maybe a bit of—is that clove?
Jake says, “You good with beef soup? It’s got noodles. If you think you can’t stomach it, I got seafood porridge also. And you might hate the tastelessness of water, so I bought some peach iced tea.”
Heeseung smiles, reaching out to stroke Jake’s cheek with the back of his index finger. “Thank you for being good to me.”
“I love you,” is all Jake says, as if it’s the only answer needed, and Heeseung quite thinks it is.
At a considerably lower voice, because of his dry throat, Heeseung says, “Love you, too. I love you, honey. Thank you for being here.”
Heeseung has no idea where the endless gratitude’s coming from, but he has no plans to stop. Maybe in terms of words, yes, but even so, he still looks at Jake, making sure to fill his gaze with tenderness. Tenderness for this boy in front of him, who’s done nothing but make him happy, and lead him home. It’s too early to say it, so he keeps it under his tongue like buried treasure, but Heeseung already thinks this is what his parents have. A partnership. Someone there through both mountain and valley, midnight darkness and dawn.
Even as Jake guides him to sit up so he won’t choke, even as he starts feeding Heeseung small, careful spoonfuls of soup, the hue of Heeseung’s thoughts doesn’t change. Still that same thing: Jake looks like he’ll be what Heeseung’s mother turned out to be, for his father. His appa adores his eomma, thinks sacred every inch of ground she walks on, and as Heeseung looks at Jake, he thinks—ah, he’s my equivalent.
Jake feeds him more beef soup, the flavor soaking his tongue, and soothing every inch of him.
Heeseung knows there will be a new song to add to their house playlist.
Nothing could ever be a better fit.
I know some things are not real, but in you I truly feel I believe.
Heeseung can’t sing it now, ill as he is, so he looks at Jake instead, and croons with his eyes.
11 — INSTRUMENTAL: PRIMAVERA (OUR LOVE WILL ALWAYS BE SPRINGTIME)
Heeseung’s well into his eighteenth loop of Einaudi’s Primavera.
Jake’s already managed to get changed for the night into his pajamas, evening routine done. Even having washed, his face is still red, and heat still radiates off of him, courtesy of his night out drinking, with Sunghoon, Taehyun, and Kai. He’s seated beside Heeseung, the two of them positioned like students who’ve never once sat together, forced into proximity by a teacher’s meddling. Heeseung has his hands on his lap, fingers tapping his thigh, and Jake’s got his arms crossed.
Jake’s words flow slower than usual.
“You want to tell me why I’m getting the cold shoulder?”
Heeseung has an answer.
He just thinks the answer wouldn’t be very well-received. So he stays silent, Primavera still playing, the strings of the piece as discordant as Heeseung’s own emotions. It wouldn’t take long at all to answer Jake. But there’s no version of the answer that sounds acceptable to Heeseung’s adult ears.
Jake huffs.
“Really not going to tell me, hyung?”
Heeseung gears up to speak, but where to begin?
Apparently, his silence lasts just one second too long.
Jake says, “If you’re just going to stonewall me, I’m going to bed. I don’t deserve this at three in the fucking morning.”
There’s no thinking twice. Jake stands, and by the left turn he makes at the hallway, not right, he’s heading for his own room. Heeseung feels like he’s been dunked into lye—over the last week, they’ve gotten used to sleeping beside each other, Jake incrementally moving into Heeseung’s room, which has become their shared bedroom. Jake now creating separation makes Heeseung’s guts twist. He didn’t drink a thing tonight, only a glass of pomegranate juice, but he’s the one feeling dizzy, like he’ll vomit any second.
Heeseung prays for a downright miracle. One of those movie moments where Jake will look back, and see the remorse on his face. But Jake doesn’t look back. Doesn’t change direction. Heads to his room, which Heeseung wholly thought he’d never use again, and Heeseung’s left alone, Primavera still playing like a jeer.
Heeseung’s breath leaves him in a loud exhale. He hits his forehead with his palm, over and over, hand moving to scratch through the hair just above his nape.
There’s so much he wants to say.
That he never meant to give Jake the cold shoulder. That his silence had nothing to do with him at all, and was rooted solely in Heeseung’s own frustration, at his tangled feelings and wants. He wants to say that he loves him, that he’s sorry, that he knows it’s no cake walk to take on Lee Heeseung.
But he can’t say any of that, because Jake’s holed himself up in his room, and Heeseung’s out here, waiting for the gallows.
Should he go? Should he knock on the door? Or should he leave it for later, hope that time will cool their heads, and make his tongue a little less useless?
Primavera keeps playing. Springtime.
Heeseung scoffs. It’s not springtime at all.
He’s in a nuclear winter, one he fashioned himself.
Heeseung closes his eyes, and tilts his head against the backrest, like a supplicant seeking help from above.
As he’s on the verge of calling his mother for advice, he hears a door open.
His head twists to look, so quick he’s surprised he hasn’t snapped his own neck.
Jake emerges from the hallway, heading in his direction.
Heeseung doesn’t dare say anything, the air between them fragile like spun sugar.
Jake rubs a hand across his eyes, sighing. And then he sits down exactly where he sat before he left. Heeseung is still, immobile from his own fear. He’ll cede all control to Jake. However Jake wants to play this, Heeseung will agree, whole in his submission. He has no high ground. In fact, he’s on the lowest ground imaginable. Jake is a mountain summit, and Heeseung so low he’s beneath the earth. They say the flap of a butterfly’s wings can cause a tornado. Heeseung won’t risk a thing.
Jake inches closer, bridging their gap at a pace that would’ve already killed Heeseung, had he held his breath to wait. He doesn’t stop until the sides of their pajama-clad legs are pressed together. Heeseung keeps his eyes on Jake’s hand, as he puts it atop Heeseung’s knee. Jake pats it, and his head turns so they can look each other in the eye.
“Is it stupid,” Jake says, “that it’s only been a week, and yet I don’t think I can sleep without you anymore? Stupid, right? Who gets this dependent after just seven days? We’ve slept apart our whole lives.”
Heeseung shudders. How can he say it?
Do you know I’ve never liked having anyone in my space? Always hated it. Another body next to mine, flailing limbs, blankets fought for. But that first night I slept beside you, when you weren’t sure how tight to hug me, I knew I never wanted to sleep alone again. My body learned how to have you next to it, and now I think if you ever make me sleep alone, it’ll be nothing but a wilderness.
When Heeseung keeps silent, Jake says, “Please say something, love. I can’t take this. We have to talk it out. Or at least show me some sign you want us to resolve this, if you’re not going to speak to me.”
Courage. Heeseung has to summon his courage.
But first, a quick balm for both of them. Softness, to pave the way.
Heeseung pulls Jake into him, guiding Jake to rest his head on Heeseung’s chest, as they sit side by side. Jake whimpers, and throws an arm over Heeseung’s stomach, fingers clutching his pajama top. To Heeseung, it’s a heartbreak. Jake shouldn’t be the one whimpering, shouldn’t be the one reaching out, when he’s only ever been blameless.
“You have to tell me, hyung,” Jake says, more defeated than Heeseung’s ever heard him since they met. “If I did something, or said something—”
“No,” Heeseung says, and the word comes out louder than planned. He immediately course-corrects, peppering Jake’s hair with kisses, whispering against the soft, brown strands. “You didn’t do anything, or say anything wrong. Don’t think it, Jaeyun-ah. This whole stupid thing, it’s on me. Hyung is sorry, my heart. I’m so, so sorry.”
“You—what?”
Jake pulls away from Heeseung’s chest to look at him.
Heeseung hangs his head.
He feels hands on his cheeks, guiding him to look up again.
“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” Jake says. “What’s there to hide from me when I love you?”
And there it is. The crucial difference between them. The root of this whole thing.
To Jake, love’s a key. It unlocks all things, makes transparent all that’s opaque, shines a light on all that used to be in darkness. To Heeseung, love’s a box. Love gives one new constraints, new limits within which to operate. Now Heeseung has stricter standards to live by, because he has a partner to consider. Jake’s in the mix. Before, any mistake, any weakness, would only ever have affected him. Now, any bungling has the potential to touch Jake, and that Heeseung can’t abide.
It’s why he said nothing, when Jake told him about his plans, about Sunghoon’s invite for a drink. What could he ever have said?
No, don’t go, it’s still too new, what we have. I still crave you too much. Go far from me later—not yet, not now. Stay. I want you.
Petty possessiveness. A clinging, childish need. Therefore, unacceptable to express to his significant other.
But isn’t that what got them here?
Heeseung sighs.
“If I tell you what got me this way, I won’t blame you if you think it’s plain stupid.”
“Stupid?” Jake nuzzles the tips of their noses together, Heeseung’s face still tenderly in his hands. “Explaining yourself to me will never be stupid. Doing that will help me love you better, honey. It’ll never be stupid, okay? Now, tell me. Open up that heart I love.”
“I—”
“You what?”
“I shouldn’t have let you go on your little night out.”
“What do you mean?”
“To be as plain as possible, I didn’t want you going.”
Jake’s brows furrow, and his jaw ticks visibly.
Heeseung heads off a possible misinterpretation. He holds Jake’s wrist, keeps his palm pressed to Heeseung’s cheek. “Not that I don’t want you spending time with our friends. And Hoon’s literally family. It’s not that. It’s just—oh, how do I explain this without sounding like a child? I wanted you to stay with me. Not to go out. In my eyes, what we have is still so new. We’ve only known each other going on four months, and haven’t even been dating for a full one. That amount of time’s so short to me. Even at the risk of sounding foolish, I don’t quite want to share you yet. I don’t mind people knowing about us, but at the same time, I want to keep you close for a little longer. Just you and I. You understand what I mean, baby? I’m needy over you. I want you a lot.”
Jake sighs, his breath’s exit a slow affair.
He takes his hands away from Heeseung’s face, and his expression goes a bit less tender.
“You wanted me to stay with you?”
Heeseung nods.
“But here’s the thing, hyung. You didn’t say that.”
There’s nothing castigating in the tone. In fact, it reminds Heeseung of his favorite professor, now thesis adviser—Jung Hoseok’s never raised his voice to him, not once in the endless number of consultations Heeseung’s done with him, nor all their shared classes prior. His professor’s always had a particular way of delivering corrections: no trace of humiliation, no judgment, no cruelty. Only a kind sternness, bringing attention to mistakes without ever calling Heeseung’s worth into question.
Jake’s done the precise same.
Heeseung says, “You’re right. I didn’t say it.”
“That’s where the works gummed up, hyung. I know how you see me, don’t think that I don’t. You look at me a lot, and you say nothing, and it’s like you automatically expect me to know what you mean. And in the little things, that’s fine. You look at me one way, and I know you want black coffee, not a latte. You look at me another way, and I know you want to go to Minsu-sajangnim’s ramyeon shop, you won’t be satisfied just with the instant kind. When you start to walk beside me closer than normal, I know you’re about to sling your arm over my shoulder, and that you want me stuck to you tougher than gum on a sole. But big things like this, hyung, you have to use your words. I like to think I know you, but no one ever knows anyone perfectly. I don’t read minds. It flatters me, knowing that you think I can grasp all your silences. But we’re both only human. We’re two people, still. Not one entity combined. You need to tell me these things, okay?”
“I really am sorry, love. First I didn’t communicate, and then I dug myself a worse grave by welcoming you coldly. I’m sorry. You know I don’t ever mean to hurt you. But I still did, and I’m sorry. I promise to do better.”
“You did hurt me. If we hurt each other, let’s not ever gloss over it. So that nothing festers. But you’ve acknowledged the hurt, and so have I. Now I want you to know something more important.”
Heeseung raises a brow.
Jake kisses him soft on his left cheek. “I forgive you.” Then his right. “I love you.”
It’s Heeseung that brings their lips together with a tender hand on Jake’s jaw. He doesn’t rush, and he ends it with two last pecks on Jake’s plush mouth, for good measure.
“Thank you for forgiving me. I love you so very much.”
“I know you do. I feel it all the time. What we have, it’s as special to me as it is to you, hyung. Never doubt it.”
At the end of his sentence, Jake returns them to how they were originally seated. Once again his head is on Heeseung’s chest, arm right over his navel, the couch trying to swallow their cuddling bodies with its softness. Jake says, “Stronger trust will come in time, I know. But I’ll ask you explicitly, too: in the future, please try to trust me more, hyung. If you have something to say to me, say it. And if you hurt me, if I hurt you, if we hurt each other, then remember that it’ll never be anything, compared to what we have.”
Jake points to the speakers all of a sudden, and adds, “This is Einaudi, right? It’s not Richter, I know it isn’t. Einaudi?”
Heeseung nods. “Primavera. The word means springtime.”
“Mm-hm,” Jake says. “I know. We’ve just had our first little snowfall. But our love will always be springtime. Don’t forget, hyung.”
Heeseung kisses Jake on the forehead, a nonverbal promise—I won’t.
12 — I’D GIVE YOU THE SUN IF YOU ASKED ME
Heeseung isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing right now.
On the surface, an easy answer: he’s lying in bed beside Jake, who’s napping. It’d bore a stranger to tears. What’s notable about two people lying down together in silence? Jake’s not even awake, and Heeseung’s certainly not speaking. But if someone were to cut him open, the truth would spill out.
On the outside, he’s simply in bed with Jake.
Inside, he’s praying.
It’s meditative almost, how centered he is in his feelings of adoration. In his heart, nothing but his love, and in his head, nothing but a montage of how Jaeyun’s been treating him. It’s only been three days since Primavera soundtracked their first real conflict. Heeseung still feels he hasn’t done enough groveling, enough apologizing.
And yet over the same period, what has Jake done?
Jake hasn’t been treating him like they fought and fixed things.
He’s been treating him like he never did a thing wrong at all.
If anything, Jake’s been more effusive, more indulgent with his love. He’s brought Heeseung French toast in bed. Has only smiled and kissed him despite his clinging, even when a pot of suyuk boiled over, because Heeseung was too busy hugging Jake from behind. Last night he fell apart under Heeseung like a night lily blooming—they didn’t stop well until the sky was pink-orange. Throughout every moment of the last 72 hours, Heeseung’s been looking for any sign of Jake still feeling traces of how he was hurt.
Jake’s shown none.
Like he’s just chosen to go amnesiac, about what went down.
Sure, maybe Heeseung’s overthinking it. He’s actually pretty sure he is, compared to Jake who’s shown no dwelling. But really, to forgive Heeseung so completely, that it’s like nothing ever happened? Heeseung wasn’t raised that way. He was taught to bear a keen sense of fairness, of what’s required before anyone’s redeemed. It’s work that overcomes transgression. You earn your salvation in proportion to what you do to deserve it. He knows he did nothing massive, but big sin or small, one has to show genuine reform. It’s why he’s been so diligent about loving Jake well, about proving to him his sincere resolve to do better.
And yet Jake’s been so nonchalant about everything.
How can he even be that way?
Heeseung has no idea.
He can’t help but turn to his side, to spoon Jake, to kiss his shoulder, and whisper to him how impossible his goodness is, in Heeseung’s eyes.
“Jaeyun-ah,” Heeseung says. “My gift. What on this sorry Earth made you choose me? I don’t deserve you.”
He keeps doing that, dotting kisses to Jake’s hair, nape, shoulders, and back, speaking all the while.
You’re going to tell me to get you off this pedestal, but it’s high, honey. I can’t help it.
My little sweetheart. You mean so much to me.
Jaeyun-ah. I wonder if you know how much I love you.
Heeseung keeps on, and loses track of how many things he’s said, how many kisses he’s left on Jake’s skin, by the time Jake starts to stir. He squirms against Heeseung, but only for a second. He soon relaxes, body turning slow to face Heeseung, his eyes opening. Jake says, “What’ve you been whispering about, love? Or was I dreaming?”
Heeseung makes himself small, tucks himself against Jake’s side, cheek against his chest. Jake’s heartbeat is still unhurried, freshly-woken as he is from sleep.
“Still all clingy, my hyung?”
“Mm,” Heeseung says. “Jaeyun-ah, are we really okay?”
“You’re still on that?”
“Can’t help it,” he says. “I get that it was small. But it’s still a bit of a surprise to me that you’ve forgiven me so totally. You’re so alright with what happened. Almost like it didn’t. How are you like that?”
Jake wraps his arms completely around Heeseung, holding him like a child against his body. His lingering sleep warmth seeps into Heeseung’s skin. One of Jake’s hands finds its way to Heeseung’s face, patting the cheek not against Jake’s chest. It reminds Heeseung of how his mother used to put him down for a nap, the same rhythmic touches.
“Am I supposed to be otherwise, hyungie?”
“You’re…foreign to me,” Heeseung says. “Your love. I’ve never met anyone who loves like you.”
“What loves have you known?”
“Good ones,” Heeseung’s quick to say. “But still, not like yours. If I ever did something wrong, appa was always stern and immediate in his correction, and he’d follow up a lot after, to make sure that I’d learned. Eomma, she’s quick to forgive, but she doesn’t brush aside the fact that you did something wrong. When we were talking, when you were acknowledging how I hurt you, you reminded me of her. Sunghoon, he gets angry a little first. Then he forgives, and the matter’s closed forever. Jongseong, he resolves by meticulously picking through the issue, and the context around it. Talks your ear off for days after, to make sure the air’s clear. You, you have traces of them, but I’ve never seen anyone clear a grievance out like you. It’s like you don’t even recall that I did anything wrong.”
A long silence ensues. And when it ends, Heeseung expects some weighty explanation. It’s what he’s used to. He comes from a family of explainers, people with no shortage of words. But Jake, he only ends the silence with one sentence.
“If you took a sand grain and dropped it into the sea, do you think the sea would sense it?”
It clicks for Heeseung, in that moment, why Jake’s acted the way he has.
Jake continues, “To you, love’s a response, hyung. You’re loved because you do lovable things. You’re forgiven because you’ve shown remorse, and the necessary improvement. Why wouldn’t you be loved and forgiven? You’ve done the things needed to prompt both responses. And none of that’s wrong. It’s what you’re used to. To you it’s like this: I forgive you because I love you. Cause in place, effect inevitable. But to me, I love you and forgive you. Grasp the gulf between those, and you’ll get why it’s so easy for me to keep loving you.”
Three days ago, Heeseung called Jake’s love a key, and his own love a box. Maybe Jake’s love needs amending. Jake’s love is both key, and beginning. A key in that it unlocks things, sets things free, but also a beginning, in the sense that before anything else, to Jake, love is first. Everything’s bedrock and precondition. To Heeseung, love comes after. After what? After you’ve done the things that merit it. Jake wasn’t wrong to call love a response for him.
Heeseung finds it hard to grasp how loved he currently is, because he thinks he hasn’t done anywhere near enough, to merit the kind of love Jake’s giving.
But to Jake, love’s not something to give. It was there from the start, well before Heeseung ever thought of asking.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Heeseung says, kissing Jake’s chest, lips pressed to the white fabric of his sleep shirt. “My angel of a boy.”
“Understand now?” Jake says, leaving his own kisses in Heeseung’s hair. “Love is first, hyung. I didn’t pause my love when you hurt me, and then only restarted it once you said sorry and I forgave you. Trust this—even as you were hurting me, I loved you. When you said sorry, I loved you. When I forgave you, I loved you. I was in love every moment of our fight, and every moment after, and I love you even more now than I did then. What you did, it’s so small, hyung. You see it so big, like it’s a mountain, and thank you for caring so much. But to me it’s a sand grain. Sand grains don’t think to compete with the sea. My hurt will never be greater than my love for you. I don’t know if you’ll get it—of course, if I hadn’t loved you, our fight wouldn’t have hurt. But at the same time, precisely for love of you, it never hurt at all.”
Sim Jaeyun. This boy with love in his veins, not blood. With gentleness under his skin, not flesh.
He keeps saying love is first, that he loves Heeseung before anything else.
It’s why Heeseung knows he’ll never deserve him, though he’ll always be determined to try.
Heeseung thinks it’s very right, what he added to their playlist yesterday afternoon, when Jake was cooking them ramyeon—should Jake ever ask him for the sun, he’ll burn himself to cinders putting it in his hands.
13 — OFF MY FACE, IN LOVE WITH YOU
Perhaps renting out the whole restaurant was overkill.
Jake’s not the first person Heeseung’s introduced this way, so he already has an experience bank. Everyone’s always appreciated the engineered privacy, a shield against the pressure of meeting Heeseung’s parents.
Jake, however, seems to be going the opposite way.
Instead of the lack of extra eyes soothing him, the place down to minimal staff, it looks like the absence of people is making the situation worse, making it sink in more that Jake’s in fact meeting a member of the National Assembly, and a scion of the Park conglomerate family, regardless of them being, to Heeseung, simply his appa and eomma.
Heeseung pats Jake’s knee, trying to still his jittery legs. “Are you going to launch into outer space, sweetheart? It’s just my parents.”
Jake takes a big gulp from his glass of cold water. “My parents are normal parents. Yours aren’t. Your appa’s going to be president sometime soon, I’m pretty sure, and your eomma’s family owns like, at least three percent of South Korea. People normally own percentages of companies, not countries. Don’t you dare ask me to calm down.”
“I’ll have to,” Heeseung says, laughing as he checks his watch. “Because it’s almost four o’clock. Which means they’ll be here any minute. Appa and eomma are never late.”
Jake drinks even more water, and fiddles with the rolled up sleeves of his white dress shirt. If only his parents weren’t five minutes from arriving, Heeseung would tell Jake to go to the bathroom and pee first. Or like, splash his face a little.
At four o’clock sharp, one of the restaurant’s front of house staff comes towards their table, Heeseung’s parents in tow. Jake shoots out of their booth seat, like a ball launched by an air gun.
He gives a ninety-degree bow. Heeseung opts for his usual way of greeting his parents. He kisses his father on the cheek, which he receives in return, and his mother first a kiss on the back of her hand, and then on her forehead. Like his father did, she kisses Heeseung on his cheek, with the addition of ruffling the top of his hair the slightest bit. She taps the knot of his black tie too, which he knows to be a sign of approval. Heeseung’s father takes care of pulling the chair out for his wife. Only when the elders have sat down does Jake rise from his bow.
“Please sit,” Heeseung’s father says.
Heeseung and Jake do as told.
“There’s no need to look so afraid, Jaeyun-ah,” Heeseung’s mother says. “We’ve heard so much, and are delighted to meet you.”
Ah, his eomma. Ever fond of two birds, one stone. She’s simultaneously moved to put Jake at ease, while quietly signaling that they already know his name, already have information on him. Heeseung will fight any war for his parents, but would it have killed them to choose a different opener? He shakes his head. It’s not like he can change his appa and eomma now. Lee Youngdae will always be Lee Youngdae. Park Haejin will always be Park Haejin.
Heeseung’s just thankful they’ve already communicated base approval. Heeseung recalls that almost-friend he had in middle school. Until now, he still doesn’t know what it was his parents unearthed about him, but what they said that day is still in Heeseung’s brain: “Oh, you’re a Park? Certainly not any Parks we know.” A two-sentence kill. Far cry from their words for Jake.
“It’s also very nice to meet you, abeonim, eomeonim. Thank you for making the time to see us today.”
“You’re a thoroughly polite young man,” Youngdae says. “I like that about you. And of course we would’ve made time. What our son needs, we’re happy to give. From what we’ve heard, you’re rather special to him. We never would’ve turned down a chance to get to know you.”
Heeseung’s content to stay silent, and focus on monitoring. Good so far. Which isn’t to say things will stay that way. He knows how long these meals with his parents can get. Always more than an hour, typically two. Still lots of time for problems to crop up, but so far everything’s still okay.
The only thing he’s debating in his head—should he make the intro now, say that Jake is his boyfriend, get it out of the way? Or should he wait until they’ve gotten some food in them?
His mother takes the choice out of his hands.
“So, my dear one,” she tells Heeseung, “you asked us here to introduce just a friend, or—?”
Heeseung chokes. Under the table, safely hidden by the ivory folds of the tablecloth, he feels Jake’s death grip on the upper part of his thigh. Heeseung puts his hand over Jake’s, patting to soothe.
“You have to be clear about these things, son,” his father adds.
Heeseung’s spent his life with his father and mother. It’s the easiest work of all, to get at the nucleus of their message: they want to know what Jake means to him, so they can act accordingly.
He doesn’t really fear them axing his relationship. Heeseung can still only count on two hands the number of people they’ve truly disapproved of. His parents are simply keen to know where to put Jake, relative to everyone else in his life, so they can treat him with the commensurate importance. Heeseung remembers how it was with Beomgyu—pre-intro, Gyu was one marble in a jar of dozens. But once Heeseung’s parents liked him, they spoiled him to bits. Late in freshman year, he was at their house nearly every Saturday.
Ah, well.
Now or never.
Heeseung brings Jake’s hand to the top of the table. And then he takes it in his, in plain view of his parents.
“He’s my boyfriend, appa, eomma.”
Sudden English bursts out of Jake’s mouth. “Oh my god, you just told them straight like that. We haven’t even had appetizers.” And then he seems to realize what he’s just done, and he coughs, switching back to Korean, profusely making little bows to Heeseung’s parents—“I’m sorry, I didn’t expect him to go so direct.”
For about five seconds, their table’s mute.
Then Heeseung’s father says, right to Jake, “And how long have you been with my son?”
“It was a little after midterms, abeonim,” Jake says. “So, about two months now? Little under that? We only really met when this semester started, and I became hyung’s roommate.”
“Not even two months? That’s extremely recent.”
Youngdae looks at Haejin, and they quickly confer like that, wordless. Heeseung hopes his parents are concluding the right thing. Not that he’s gone insane and decided to introduce Jake with only two months under their belt, but that he felt it wise enough to do so, even despite such a short time together. He hopes they’re recalling the girlfriend he had in high school. They got together early in sophomore year, and Heeseung only introduced her halfway through their senior one. Jake’s different.
Please let them be coming to the correct conclusion.
Please, please, please.
His mother does a conversational swerve, out of nowhere.
“You two are roommates? He’s the one Jongseong-ah’s been talking about?”
Heeseung nods.
Haejin smiles at Jake, reaches out to pat his arm. “I’m liking you more and more. Seong-ah is picky. He was raised that way, to have strict standards. But he’s spoken to us of you in very glowing terms. Sunghoon as well. And how are you finding being with Heeseung? Tell us what it’s been like.”
This is a test. Heeseung knows so, not from his mother’s words, but from her eyes. She always used to take him to corporate meetings, when he was younger. How could he ever forget his mother’s eyes, the envy of a hawk’s? She’s gauging how Jake will respond, whether he’ll sugarcoat, and if not, whether his honesty has grace for a spouse. Heeseung has faith Jake will pass—his Jaeyun is one of the most socially adept people he’s ever seen.
Jake, hands still clasped with Heeseung’s, says, “Overall, it’s been good. Hyung works too much at times, and he needs coaxing when he broods, but it’s nothing we haven’t handled. I’m sure he’s had issues with me, too. I can be frenetic. Touch indecisive. I like to think we balance each other out. And on all the most significant counts, it’s been lovely, living with him. He’s considerate, but not a pushover. He’s conscientious. Greatly caring. And our social circle makes everything all the warmer.” Then Jake gets a bright look in his eyes. His plump cheeks show, and he says, with a smile, “He takes care of the dishes less than I’d like, though. But he makes up for it. Ten out of ten at laundry, especially folding. Hyung and I shore each other up wherever needed—that’s what matters.”
Heeseung’s mother laughs.
“That’s my Heeseung, to be sure. He does despise dishes. But he’s easy on the eyes, no? I’d imagine that softens the blow of him not cleaning up much, after he cooks or eats. Jongseong’s the same. Cooks very well, but always leaves an apocalypse behind. Sunghoon’s the departure from the norm. Very neat, that nephew of mine.”
Heeseung wants to hide under the tablecloth.
Really? Easy on the eyes? He knows his mother’s still testing, but of all the the things to test with!
Jake’s unfazed. “Frankly, eomeonim, your entire family’s easy on the eyes. And you’re right, it does soften the blow. With time, I hope to bring hyung over to my side of things, that a sink without dishes is the only good sink.”
That gets soft laughter from Heeseung’s mother, and a wide smile from his father, eyes crinkled. Which means Jake’s passed, with distinction. Not that Heeseung wouldn’t fight for him, if it were otherwise, but it’s always good when your partner gets your parents on-side.
With every passing second, Heeseung’s growing more and more confident that this meal will be a success through and through. Maybe this will actually go way easier than he expected. He can hope, can’t he?
His father shuts that notion down quick. “Don’t think you’re safe from questions, Heeseung. You’ve brought him to meet us despite being together less than two months. I have my guesses as to why, but I’d like it directly from your mouth. How do you feel about Jaeyun-ah?”
Fuck. Spoke too soon.
He feels Jake’s hand in his shudder a little. Heeseung tightens his grip, to keep them both anchored.
“Appa, are you seriously asking me to declare myself right now?”
His father’s eyes harden. “How would you feel if I closed my own feelings off, and refused to tell you, for example, about my love for your mother? You’re with family. Surely no circle could be safer than this?”
Heeseung can’t say his father’s stance is surprising. If there’s one area where his appa has always taken pride, it’s in his wife, and his love for her. Heeseung’s met other assemblymen. Other men, period. Most keep their spouses at a safe distance. They’ll express love, but only the crust of it. Quick one-liners, perhaps two to four sentences of detail if pressed. But one thing Heeseung has known all his life—Lee Youngdae loves Park Haejin as the sky loves every star in it. His mother has always been his father’s refuge. He would never have made it this far, had he had a different life partner. And Heeseung knows his father knows that, with every cell in his body.
Come to think of it—
Heeseung says, “I’ll say it in the way you’ll understand best, appa. Jake is to me, what eomma is, to you. You know me. I was never like this in the past. But that’s because Jaeyun-ah wasn’t around then.”
Jake squeezes Heeseung’s forearm with his free hand. “Hyung, you don’t have to go overboard.”
“What’s excessive about the truth?”
There, he’s said it. Made himself clear. Let his parents do with that what they will.
His father and mother share a look again, a long one. Then his mother says, “You really do take after your appa. You take a while to choose, but once you have, there’s no swaying you. I won’t bother to ask if you’re sure. You’re my son, and I know you always think deeply about the things that matter to you. If you say Jaeyun means as he does, then your appa and I welcome him to our family.”
“Eomeonim,” Jake says. “There’s no pressure to accept me so quickly. Please take your time. Abeonim himself said it—what I have with hyung is very recent. I’m happy to show you both, over time, that I can be a good partner. That he and I can be even better than we are now.”
Heeseung’s mother doesn’t change course.
“You’re sweet to say so, Jaeyun-ah. But the fact that you’re resisting, and looking out for us, only convinces me more that our son made the right choice. You’re moving carefully. Daunted, I’d say, by the reality of the work needed to build a partnership that lasts. That’s the right attitude. One must be humble in the face of great things. I won’t speak for my husband, but I approve of you a great deal.”
Haejin looks at Youngdae once she’s said her piece, and Heeseung does the same, trying to gauge what his father will say. He’s 7/8ths sure it will be positive. His parents have always been of one heart on most things. But Heeseung’s not about to count his chickens before he’s seen them all hatch with his own eyes. A glance at Jake shows him taking the same attitude—he’s looking at Youngdae like he’s the one deciding the fate of the universe.
The verdict comes in seconds.
“We’re grateful for your concern, my wife and I,” Heeseung’s father says to Jake. “My darling is right. Your own hesitance is a credit to you. It means you’re a careful man. Nevertheless, to discount my son’s feelings is to discount his own knowledge of himself. His mother and I, all our faith is in him. On the whole, he’s always made intelligent choices. To bring you to us now seems one of his best ones yet.” Youngdae reaches out then, to hold Heeseung and Jake’s hands in both of his own. Then his eyes meet Heeseung’s. “Your mother welcomes him to our family. So do I. You’ve always been a good son, our pride and joy in one. If you love Jaeyun this much already, if you say you know who he is to you, then we trust you.”
“Appa—”
“Do your best to take care of each other,” Youngdae says, now addressing them both. “It’s the most wonderful thing in the world, to have someone to care for, and yet also someone who will care for you. Don’t waste that. Heeseung-ah, appa is happy that you’ve found someone you love so dearly. And Jaeyun-ah, because you are dear to Heeseung’s heart, because you yourself are good, then you are dear to us, too. Heeseung is our son, but now so are you.”
Heeseung knows the gravity of what’s just been said. He knows how his parents address his friends. They love Yeonjun and his boys, they love the classmates of his that he’s valued enough to introduce, but they’ve never called anyone their child, too. Their own son, just as much as Heeseung naturally is.
Heeseung can only think to express his gratitude in one way.
He stands, and because he does, Jake does too. They stand to the side of the table, and now it’s Heeseung’s turn to bow at the waist. He stills, the lines of his body perfected by practice, and it’s an act Jake follows smoothly.
“Heeseung-ah, Jaeyun-ah, there’s no need for that,” Heeseung’s mother says.
Heeseung rises out of his bow, as does Jake, and Heeseung says, “Thank you. This is so much more than I ever expected to receive today, appa, eomma. But I guess I should’ve had more faith in the two of you, that you’d always be on the side of my happiness.”
His father says, “You’ll always be our priority, son. We may poke and prod, perhaps get too involved, but you know that’s only ever been out of a desire to safeguard you. To give you the best of everything. We’re sure we’ll see much more of Jake over time, but what we’ve seen so far, it’s very good. He’s so suited to you already, and you for him.”
Heeseung doesn’t doubt it. What Jake does after they’re back in their seats only proves it further. He immediately presses in close to Heeseung, sides plastered together, hands joined again atop the table. Heeseung knows it for what it is—this is Jake’s own, firmly quiet way of saying that he’s more than happy to be here, that he’s proud to be with Heeseung, that he takes happiness and comfort from being beside him, just as Heeseung does in return.
“You’re both so happy,” Heeseung’s mother says. “That’s a good foundation, but remember that love is work. Let your love fuel you, and keep your hands joined as you build something you can be proud of.”
Heeseung nods. “I’ll do my best. He’s worth everything, eomma.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart,” Jake says. “Remember what I said? Saved five countries in the past, to have you with me now.”
That puts a wide smile on Heeseung’s father’s face.
“You both have such a future,” he says. “I look forward to seeing it.”
Haejin reasserts her presence with grace. “We’ve gotten the hard part out of the way, now we can get to know each other in comfort. What do you all say to some food, my darlings?”
Heeseung’s father latches on to the changed direction, and responds easily, “Right. Appa’s treat today, my sons. Heeseung-ah, I don’t know Jaeyun’s preferences yet, so you two work out what to order, and I’ll learn that way.” He turns to Haejin and says, “How about you and I? We’re never going to go wrong with seafood. Oh, but they have very good tangsuyuk here, I remember. Maybe we should get that? Heeseung-ah, should we get some malatang? How good are you with spice, Jaeyun?”
Heeseung’s a freed balloon, with how light he feels. Jake’s beside him, talking about tangsuyuk and asking Heeseung’s eomma about what noodle dishes look good on the menu. His father keeps naming possible things to order, as if a dozen of them will be eating, and not four. And his mother is excitedly pointing to different spots on the menu, asking Jake what kinds of noodles he prefers. Does he tend more towards rice noodles? Does he prefer jjajangmyeon? Perhaps udon?
In short, everything’s playing out as if the world has never known any other configuration than this. The way Jake and his parents are now interacting, he can almost imagine that it was in fact Jake and him from the beginning. As if he took Jake home in middle school, said I made a friend today, and simply never stopped since.
Ah, his Jake. His boy of never-ending sunlight.
Heeseung presses a kiss to his cheek, taking his time. Then he raises Jake’s hand to his lips, and kisses the back of it.
“You drive me mad, you know that? You’re incredible. And I’m so happy you’re mine.”
“That why you were singing Off My Face when we were showering?”
Heeseung says yes. It’s true enough. But he also waits for Jake to realize what he’s just unwittingly admitted.
“Jakey, baby,” Heeseung says, trying to hold his laugh in by biting his bottom lip.
And then it clicks.
Jake twists his body to face the back of the booth seat. He presses his face to the upholstery for a second, letting out a muffled groan. When he turns to face everyone again, he’s back to his apologies, to his frantic bows. And then he says, “Abeonim, eomeonim, please tell me you’re going to forget what I said. I don’t know why I said that. I forgot myself for a second. I’ll bury myself in an unmarked grave after this, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Heeseung’s mother waves it off with a tiny smile. His father, on the other hand, laughs fulsomely.
“That’s something I never expected to know. But I suppose it’s only proof that life is still full of surprises, at any age.”
Heeseung caves. He covers his mouth with his hand to dampen the volume, but laugh he still does.
Jake, scarlet-cheeked, slaps Heeseung on the arm.
“You’re really laughing at a time like this. You’re lucky I’m off my face for you, too.”
Heeseung does know. He won’t stomach others contesting it—he’s the luckiest man on Earth.
14 — LIVING FAST FORWARD, BUT NOT TONIGHT
As the night wears on, the more Heeseung wants to cut a hole in the living room couch, so he can chuck himself in his upholstered grave and just start decomposing.
They’ve been going half a day already. Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki arrived a little after lunch, bearing four boxes of fried chicken, and bottles of lemonade. Heeseung doesn’t even remember the reason the maknaes gave for their arrival anymore. Something about wanting a day away from “the strict hyungs.”
No matter. All Heeseung knows now is this: if Riki asks him to play yet another game of FIFA, he’s going to start a protest. Or die. Whichever he manages first.
Jake’s in a comparably better state, from what Heeseung can see. He’s sprawled out on the living room floor, building a Lego dinosaur landscape with Jungwon, except the dinosaurs all look mutant because the two just disregarded instructions, and went ham. But Heeseung can see the way Jake’s progressively sinking into the carpet, and even Jungwon’s starting to look woozy as he puts blocks together.
Sunoo seems to be holding up well, the sounds of a drama coming through his phone speakers, but he yawns every now and then.
Riki tells Heeseung, “Last game?”
Heeseung puts his foot down.
“No more tonight, Riki-yah,” he says. Then he lugs his body off the couch, and stands.
He claps, twice.
“Time for bed,” Heeseung says, and the delivery ensures it’s not a question, but a fact. He meets eyes with the maknaes. “You three wash up. The guest room is clean, you can all sleep there and go home tomorrow. There are pajama sets inside, and the guest bathroom’s stocked. But bedtime’s non-negotiable. It’s time to sleep.”
Sunoo has no objection. He fiddles a little with his phone, before locking it. Jungwon takes a bit longer to obey, finishing a last section with green blocks first. Ferns, or something. It’s Riki who needles, smile entirely too bright for forty minutes to midnight. He goes to Heeseung and pokes him in the side a few times. It’s like getting vaccinated by an overeager doctor.
“You just want us tucked in. Abeoji wants his alone time with appa.”
The difference in address isn’t lost on Heeseung, and it’s easy to accept. Between him and Jake, he’s always been stricter. More inclined to enforce limits, whereas Jake runs himself ragged in an effort to give the maknaes all they want. If they’re not calling Jake appa, they’re occasionally teasing him with eomma, or eomeoni, but Heeseung has always been abeoji, and he has no problems with that. Someone’s got to be the stern one.
He tells Riki, “And if I do? If I do want to spend time with appa, what about it? You’re complaining? Don’t want breakfast tomorrow?” Heeseung smiles, to make sure Riki knows he’s just teasing.
The little one takes it well in stride. “Ew, love. Anyway, Jongseong-hyung’s been making us too many hashbrowns for breakfast recently. Tomorrow, okonomiyaki instead, please?”
“You tease me, and then ask. The audacity.”
Jake says, “As if you’re not going to give in.”
Heeseung huffs. “You didn’t need to expose me that way.”
The maknaes laugh, Riki loudest of all, pushing Heeseung’s shoulder in his glee. In the end, Heeseung tones down everyone’s mirth, making shooing motions so the young ones can start getting ready for bed. The three head in the direction of the guest bedroom. How they’re going to fit, especially with the tower Riki is, is no longer Heeseung’s concern. They’re smart, they’ll figure it out. All he wants now is to be able to stay in the living room, decompress with Jake in peace, and maybe sneak in a few kisses, a few touches.
Except Jake’s determined to clean up everything first.
Heeseung says, “Leave it for tomorrow, honey.”
Jake keeps picking up stray Legos. “Say that when you scream after stepping on one of these.”
Hard no. He’s shared Jake enough. Now it’s time for just the two of them.
Heeseung goes to their house phone, their playlist. There are a great deal more songs now, and Heeseung thinks of one he can add, that might communicate to Jake the essence of what he wants.
He searches for it, and plays Love in Slow Motion, by Ed Sheeran.
He lowers the volume, puts it on loop, and then goes to Jake, who’s occupied with Legos, still.
Heeseung sidles up behind him, and the sudden contact causes Jake to drop the blocks he’s got in his hands. They fall to the floor in a clatter. Heeseung wraps his arms around Jake’s stomach from behind, resting his chin on Jake’s shoulder. Softly, he says, “Leave it for tomorrow. Slow down with me, tonight.”
“Heeseungie…”
“Shush,” Heeseung says, turning his head to run the tip of his nose along Jake’s cheek. “Let me hold you close like this. I’ve missed you.”
Jake says, “Big baby.” He still leans back against Heeseung though. “We’ve been together all day.”
“You could stay in my lap twenty-four hours and I’d still miss you.”
Jake coos, then turns to face Heeseung. His arms go to Heeseung’s shoulders, wrapping around his neck. Heeseung’s hands go to Jake’s waist, tugging him close so they can dance. Nothing fancy, mostly just them swaying, maybe a neat box-step once in a while. Heeseung’s priority isn’t their dancing, but their closeness. Having Jake with him like this, surrounded by his smell, his warmth, and the soft solidity of him, under Heeseung’s fingertips.
They don’t really sing along either, Heeseung only going with whatever snatches of lyrics he can catch up to, in the midst of staring at Jake.
“I need to tell you you’re beautiful, ‘cause it’s been a while, and I apologize,” Heeseung croons, a hand moving from Jake’s waist to stroke down his cheek. “You’re lovely every second of the day, Jaeyun-ah. I haven’t known cold since you came to me.”
Jake leans in, pressing his forehead against Heeseung’s chest, before he kisses it over Heeseung’s shirt.
“That’s good,” he says. “This heart should always be warm. It belongs to someone good. Belongs to the one I love.”
Heeseung has no words for the sensation that takes over him. The most expedient way would be to call it love, an overwhelming rush of it, but it’s not just that. He has no idea how to tell Jake that because of the things he says sometimes, he makes Heeseung feel not like a person, but like something much more endless. Jake’s words, his actions, his very existence, is a scissor that cuts Heeseung’s seams and unfurls him. Before Jake, Heeseung never thought of himself as anything other than Lee Heeseung. Now that they’re together, Heeseung feels a lot like the universe itself, like he’s wide enough to embrace everything, love everything, good and bad alike.
Jake understands the universe through his equations, his books. Through the way he sometimes goes to the roof of their building to look at the stars.
Heeseung understands the universe by being loved by him. Jake’s love is turning him cosmic.
Heeseung wonders if he’ll ever be able to explain it to Jake, to the extent that he wants.
He thinks it’ll take years.
Perhaps when they’re married, he’ll try.
For now he’ll sing to him, hold him, kiss him.
Heeseung keeps Jake close, presses their cheeks together as they dance, and he serenades him.
“I wanna love tonight, one-on-one by the candlelight. Over and over we spend our lives, living fast-forward but not tonight—love in slow motion,” he sings, making sure Jake knows every word is for him. Heeseung belongs to many people, but he’s never belonged to anyone quite the way he belongs to Jake now. To others, Heeseung is a separable component, but he hopes that to Jake, he’s seen as a foundation, a requirement. He could say it in a thousand ways, but he settles for the words that have grown familiar to them. Words that are the soil in which they’re planted: “I love you.”
Jake sighs, and Heeseung feels him step closer, until their feet are under threat of knocking together, sending them stumbling. He holds Heeseung by the nape of his neck. “Sweetheart, kiss me, please.”
It’s Heeseung’s delight to comply. He lets his lips meet Jake’s, his entire body softening once Jake’s mouth is against his. Even with that softness, the kiss escalates, until Jake squirms in Heeseung’s hold, likely thinking about whether their young ones might pop out. Jake’s considerate that way. But Heeseung has no patience right now to think of others. All he has room for is Jake, and the way Jake’s tongue presses softly against his, the way he nips at times on Heeseung’s bottom lip, and then soothes him by bringing him closer, as if saying that his closeness is Heeseung’s salve for everything.
He’s not wrong one bit.
They break apart slowly, only when air’s become a need.
They heave against each other, Heeseung opting to move his kisses elsewhere, dotting Jake’s cheeks, nose, forehead, and temples with them.
Heeseung says, “What’ve you done to hyung, baby?”
“And what is it I’m supposed to have done?”
Heeseung snuffles through Jake’s hair, hands roaming, sneaking under Jake’s shirt to touch him near the waist, up his back, a little on his toned stomach. “You’ve made me hate time. I don’t want the seconds to pass. I want us in amber. I want life to stand still, and if not that, then at least go very slowly. I want every moment I can get with you.”
Jake kisses Heeseung on the cheek. “We’re so young, hyung. If we’re blessed, we have decades ahead. You feel that urgent about it already?”
“A decade is a second, a lifetime a minute,” Heeseung says. He’s aware how it sounds. But he won’t take it back. What he doesn’t have in self-control, he’ll make up for in sheer honesty. This is how he feels right now, and he’s not about to edit it to make it sound safer. “I’m holding you, and it still feels like I need to chase you down. You make me a glutton. Whatever amount is more than everything, that’s how much I want of you. How much I want with you.”
“You’re defeating the point of slow motion,” Jake says, eyes squarely on Heeseung. “Your mind’s running around, and if it’s doing that, then you’re not completely here. Just you and me. Don’t you get it? That’s enough. That’s what makes time irrelevant. Be here. You and me.”
“Teach me, sweetheart. Show me how.”
“I love you.”
Heeseung fails to see how that teaches him anything, but he still says, “I love you, too.”
“You’re still thinking,” Jake says. He runs his palm gently atop Heeseung’s eyes, coaxing them to close. And then Heeseung feels Jake go still, and their little dance becomes a stationary hug, the music white noise in the background. “Just this, hyung. I love you.”
Heeseung thinks he grasps it then.
He loves Jake. Jake loves him.
Their love is time’s killer, and what blots out the world.
What need to go slow? Love’s made them eternal.
15 — INSTRUMENTAL: DUE TRAMONTI (THIS PLACE IS HOME)
It’s only three weeks after finals are over that they get any downtime.
The days right after were a blur, mostly involving house parties rotating like a king’s medieval progress—one at Yeonjun and Soobin’s place, a smaller gathering with Jongseong, Sunghoon, and the maknaes two days later, and then another couple days after that, one hosted by Heeseung and Jake. Then it was a visit to Heeseung’s parents. Only now have they really found time to unwind again, to just be.
Heeseung thinks it’s the right time.
He taps Jake on the thigh. “I want us to play something together.”
They get off the couch, and briefly separate so Jake can take his violin down from its hanger. Heeseung takes his place on the piano bench, rolling his shoulders, and shaking his fingers a bit, to leech the tension out. Jake prepares how Heeseung’s always seen him—a check all over the violin body, then on the tension of his bow, then on the tuning, always unneeded, because Jake practically asks Heeseung to check every other day. Heeseung doesn’t mind. Being his human tuning fork is only another way for Heeseung to love Jake.
Heeseung points to the sheet music on the stand.
“You really like Liszt and Einaudi,” Jake says.
Heeseung smiles. “The same way you really like Massenet and Debussy.”
Jake plays the first few notes aimlessly—ones meant for Heeseung—only to warm up. “We’re playing to tempo, right?”
“Afraid you can’t keep up with me, baby?”
“You wish. I sight read as quickly as I write equations. I’ll smoke you.”
Jake’s teasing only makes him fall in love more.
After a measured five-second countdown, Heeseung starts.
The opening contains repeated notes, just him on piano at first. Of course Einaudi never wrote this for them, but Heeseung chose it for a reason. The song’s stability at its opening represents everything Heeseung wants to be for Jake, as his hyung, best friend, lover, and partner. This is who Heeseung is—his strength is his constancy.
When Jake finally joins, it’s a higher sound, because he’s not playing on cello, but on violin. But as with Heeseung, it’s still perfect representation. Heeseung’s the one underneath, providing steadiness, and Jake’s the one soaring. Their very duet contains Heeseung’s promise, that he’ll be with Jake no matter how high his flight. He can always come home. Heeseung will keep the door open.
As their playing approaches the two-minute mark, it’s Heeseung’s turn to crest. His notes change, matching all that changed in him when Jake arrived. His life was never empty, but sans Jake, it was at times monotonous. One day’s edge melting into the next, time congealing into shapeless blocks. Now monotony’s a thing of the past. With Jake beside him, it’s like the Earth came into existence only days ago, and they’re its first two inhabitants. It’s as if they’re doing everything for the first time, charting everything to be done by all those to come.
Look closely. What we have? This thing is named love.
Jake’s own playing rises again in tandem with Heeseung, and perhaps he really did choose the right metaphor. Everything is new again, and Jake is giving the barren Earth color with his heart.
As they head into the latter half of the song, there’s a portion near the end where it’s just Heeseung again on piano. He can’t distract Jake, who’s about to come in soon to accompany again, but he hopes Jake’s hearing the same thing he is. How wrong it is, for Heeseung to be solitary. How odd, how empty it is, when it’s only one pair of footsteps walking. It hasn’t even been six months that they’ve known each other. But Heeseung’s already set in his thinking. It’s simply no longer right to be alone.
And as if he does know that, Jake goes back to playing with him, as if tacitly acknowledging that the only way for them to live now is beside each other. They go on like that to the end, each note in perfect lockstep, until their playing ceases at the exact same second.
Of course, that’s the very purpose of sheet music, but Heeseung flatters himself by thinking it’s yet more proof of their connection.
Now consigned to silence, Heeseung moves to the end of the piano bench to make space. He pats, and Jake sits down.
“I know better than to think you chose that out of the blue. What are you trying to tell me, hyung?”
“Due Tramonti,” Heeseung says, careful to enunciate the Italian syllables. “Two Sunsets.”
“And? You chose it because?”
“Not necessarily an exact equivalence,” Heeseung says, pressing himself against Jake, mindful not to jostle too much because of the violin he’s holding. “I suppose I just wanted to give you my promise. That it’ll never be just you at sunrise and sunset. That it’ll be you and I. I know there’s no real way to be sure about these things, but I’m a hard worker, Sim Jaeyun. I’ll put my all into being with you. I love you very much, and I’m determined to be good to you. To stay.”
“I’ll be right there with you, love.” Jake turns his head to kiss Heeseung’s shoulder, before he leans against it. “Every sunrise, every sunset. You and I.”
“That’s not all.”
Jake pulls away from him, raises a questioning brow.
Heeseung gets up, and heads to the kitchen’s furthermost cabinet, the one he knows Jake’s never bothered with, because if he had, he’d have discovered Heeseung’s gift already. He takes it out, hidden behind cleverly arranged boxes of foil, and cling wrap. The gift’s leather binding, the accoutrements Heeseung requested, make it a heavier copy than any book on their shelves.
He goes back to the bench, sees that Jake’s hung up his violin in the time he was gone.
Heeseung gives his gift.
Jake opens the custom leather cover, and puts his hand over his mouth. His breath tremors, and only a few seconds after, his eyes glaze over with budding tears.
“Oh, hyung.” With the book still tenderly held, he cranes his neck up to kiss Heeseung on the forehead. “Sweetheart, thank you. What a gift this is.”
Heeseung sees Jake flip through the pages, fingertips hesitant. He appreciates the care Jake’s taking, as he looks at the customizations Heeseung ordered—English text on the verso, Korean on the recto. But he doesn’t want Jake to take care of this copy. He hopes they’ll love each other for so long that this will end up as battered as Jake’s original Cosmos, the one he put on the shelf all that time ago, the day he moved in and flooded Heeseung’s world with sun.
He watches Jake return to the very front of the book, sees his eyes running over and over the inscriptions.
Under the title itself, Heeseung’s written in Korean—I found the universe’s reason when our eyes first met. It came into being to bring me to you.
Jake wipes away tears threatening to fall. And then he dabs his wet fingers on his shirt, and flips a few pages forward, to the dedication Carl Sagan wrote, for Ann Druyan:
In the vastness of space and the immensity of time, it is my joy to share a planet and an epoch with Annie.
Heeseung sees the repetitive path of Jake’s index finger, as he traces the way Heeseung’s boxed in that dedication, drawing an arrow from it, to his own underneath, written in English for Jake.
I understand him very well. It’s also my particular blessing, to share this planet and epoch with you.
“Heeseungie,” Jake says, eyes so, so liquid as they look at each other. “You know I would’ve hated it, don’t you? If it had been any other time, any other place, any other person but you. I’ve always been so thankful. I don’t say it as often as you do, but I feel it as keenly. How unlikely it is that you and I got here. Do you know, I read about it once. The odds of being born at all, 1 in 10, but the 10’s got 2.6 million zeroes after it. That’s just being born. You and I meeting? You and I choosing each other? We practically defied impossibility. Having you’s a miracle, and I look at you every day and think, wow, imagine that this miracle’s happening daily to me. You say you’re happy to share this planet and this epoch, and I love you for it. But don’t ever forget this, Lee Heeseung: you’re my second cosmos.”
“Second?”
Jake brings his head close so their foreheads touch. He gives Heeseung a quick peck, and then says, “My first cosmos is the universe. First thing I ever really fell in love with. You’re my second.”
“Jaeyun-ah…”
“My second, and I hope, with everything I have in me, my last.”