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It's a quiet evening. Seonghyeon's fingertips ache from the chilly, dry atmosphere, the sky free of any color.
The bench digs into his back, the metal not meant to be sat on for long, but Seonghyeon will have to withstand it to obtain something far greater—far more rewarding.
He checks his watch. 7:13 PM. The apartment complex is the more subdued, ancient type. Everyone would either be asleep by now, or out doing god knows what. No one is outside for the moment.
Seonghyeon's exhales come out shaky, regardless. The more he does this, the easier it gets, but his brain still has to adjust. Not be consumed by needless guilt.
A balcony up ahead faces him, black railings, inconspicuous. The window nearby's dim, but if Seonghyeon is correct, it won't stay dark for long.
Juhoon had told him all about it in their online chats, while Seonghyeon slurped down on stale, watery ramen beside a cracked phone screen, his heartbeat excited against his breastbone. Juhoon reads at night, sometimes, fictional novels that transport him into another world entirely, a different era. Often, he'd spend hours just turning the pages, and Seonghyeon is fortunate and glad Juhoon's curtains are the nearly-see-through ones, thin and floating about the cold breeze, allowing Seonghyeon a peak into Juhoon's home.
‘What do you like to do for fun?’ Juhoon asked weeks earlier. Seonghyeon's fingers had stung that time around, the cig between them burning orange, dark ash cascading onto the old living room rug. Smoking was a bad idea—but Seonghyeon's no stranger to terrible habits, ones he'd rather die than stop.
If this were a perfect reality, Juhoon would know him. Really know him. ‘I watch you’, Seonghyeon would say, face to face, and Juhoon would laugh—maybe find it cute.
‘Sneak into my room later’, he'd text back, then they'd be long lost lovers instead of strangers who happen to occupy the same apartment complex.
Near strangers.
Seonghyeon would be lying if he said he knew the exact moment this... behavior began. Or more precisely, when everything clicked into place inside his brain, allowing him to view the world differently. Properly. All Seonghyeon's aware of is that he'd always been the observant kind of guy, and he loved looking at people from the moment they caught his eye.
His mother had said he'd been a silent baby, his mouth remaining screwed shut when she'd almost dropped him a few times, or left him inside the bath for too long, or in the backseat of her sweltering car while she left to go shopping or hang out with friends. It's a mystery what she'd think of Seonghyeon's hobbies now, but Seonghyeon finds it hard to care when she's been gone for years.
The window's still dark.
Seonghyeon's hands tremble, itching for the poison stick. "What is he doing?" Seonghyeon voices out against his better judgement. It'd do him no good to keep talking, considering the full moon's high in the sky, and it's already suspicious staying outside this late, breathing in the darkness...
Seonghyeon waits a few minutes, but gets nothing. He contemplates texting Juhoon through his anonymous profile, the side of him Juhoon would probably only accept.
Seonghyeon isn't delusional. If he stays to himself—keeps his persona private—Juhoon would never accept him for who he is.
Juhoon would love him if he only got the chance to know him.
Seonghyeon hates that he's doing this, but the Instagram app flashes across his cracked phone screen right then. It's a necessary evil, one which allows Seonghyeon glimpses into Juhoon's lovely, curated personal life—other than the one he lets only Seonghyeon see in their chats. Seonghyeon dislikes going on there because he'd rather learn about Juhoon more organically, discover Juhoon's likes and dislikes, his beauty and imperfections through his eyes only. But whatever. It’s fine. Polar opposites do tend to attract.
Juhoon has posted something new.
At first, pitch black greets Seonghyeon's vision, until the photo adjusts and mocks him through the screen, Juhoon's pale, grainy hand laid across the sheets, currently interlocked with another.
Seonghyeon blinks, hoping it's just a figment of his overactive imagination. But he also knows Juhoon's hands, deft and long and gifted, meticulously sculpting a torso through the doorway Seonghyeon peered through last Friday, the lax security of Juhoon's university granting him unlimited, priceless access.
Seonghyeon's nostrils flare, his jaw working inside his mouth. He even refreshes the page, but it remains the very same, Seonghyeon's heart blazing against his throat.
The caption infuriates Seonghyeon more, his nails digging hard enough into his palm to draw blood if he keeps it up.
jjuhooni: guess who
comments:
ahnngunho: nice hands babe
jjuhooni: youre lucky i like u
Seonghyeon grits his teeth. Clicks on the ahnngunho profile. Just like he'd suspected—the fucker's the guy Juhoon brings over to his apartment every other week, dark haired and tanned with the movie-star smile.
Juhoon had never mentioned having a boyfriend.
Seonghyeon faces the balcony once more. The lights are on, the window tinged this eerie yellow, silhouettes twirling past it. Seonghyeon can almost hear their laughter, the sounds taunting him.
Seonghyeon stands and hurries for the elevator, his heartbeat pounding away at his ears. He can't focus on anything. His hands shake as he presses his floor number, not knowing what to do. What he should do.
Seonghyeon rushes through his cramped living room, the haphazardly placed sofa tripping him over. "God dammit." Seonghyeon winces, limping to the bathroom despite the pulsating pain from his toes.
The betrayal is almost too much to bear. It stings even more than the freezing water Seonghyeon splashes onto his face from the faucet. He can't believe Juhoon had done this to him.
Seonghyeon watches himself through the bathroom mirror. Exhaustion seeps through his pores. His chestnut curls are a mess and his round eyes are red-rimmed, the way his full lips twitch akin to a ticking bomb. Others would often think of him as innocent—unassuming—but right now Seonghyeon is forcing himself to not do something he'd regret.
Seonghyeon's hands are too wet to scroll through his phone, but he does so regardless. His text messages to Juhoon now feel like a joke, their previously charming conversations irking Seonghyeon to an explosive degree.
Seonghyeon isn't only silent because he prefers the quiet. Silence is the one thing that prevents him from performing something irredeemable.
Seonghyeon grabs the scissors placed inside the cabinet. It glints, thin, sharp, a heavy weight within Seonghyeon's hoodie pockets. Then, he's out, confiscating a tangled pair of earphones, jamming them into his ears and blasting Micheal Jackson's Blood on the Dance Floor.
It will be alright, Seonghyeon thinks, opting for the stairs this time around. Soon.
Finding the corridor leading to Juhoon's front door is almost too easy, Seonghyeon knowing the way like the back of his hand. His fist clenches around the pair of scissors, envisioning how it'd go, how the red would spread, staining shirts like drooping roses.
It's only for a second Seonghyeon halts to think, This isn't worth it. It's late out, he needs to go to sleep, his favorite show might be on by now. But then the door clicks open, a face Seonghyeon instantly recognizes staring right at him. The object of all of his affection.
"...Hi," Juhoon greets. The indoor lights frame his raised brows and tired eyes. He's still so beautiful. Seonghyeon yanks out his earphones, forgetting himself. "Can I help you?"
Seonghyeon's mouth parts, but nothing comes out. Shifting side to side, he curses himself for being so tongue-tied. Juhoon, I'm so happy we finally met, I have so much I need to say to you.
Before Juhoon can react, a second person appears behind him with a smile. Seonghyeon's insides boil with fury.
"Woah, who's this?" He asks. Even has the nerve to wear Juhoon's sweater, his arm around Juhoon's waist.
Seonghyeon immediately straightens, schooling his expression into something... calm.
"I ran out of salt. Could I get some?"