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Choi Beomgyu is a happy person. He lives a good life; he's pursuing his passions, studying musical theater, which, stereotypes aside, lets him live a comfortable life as an openly gay guy with other queer friends with similar interests. He has a cute, sweet roommate with whom he can afford a nice if small apartment off campus, who has a bad habit of spending weeks at a time at his boyfriend's place instead, leaving Beomgyu free to do whatever he wants the rest of the time. He has an amicable relationship with his ex who he still hangs out with regularly. He has a seat on the student's council of his faculty, because both students and professors adore him. He's a familiar, friendly face around campus. His parents love him and call him every week.
He's handsome.
He's funny.
He's kind.
He's tired.
He loves Kai – platonically. They met in freshman year and were inseparable since; they got an apartment together because they spent almost all freshman year sleeping over at each others' dorms. Beomgyu had to explain to Taehyun about six times that the reason they wear each others' clothes to class isn't that they're dating until Taehyun felt secure enough to ask Beomgyu out. They used to game together, study together, watch movies and shows together. They don't really have the same taste in things, but it never seemed to matter with the two of them, and both of them loved music more than anything else they didn't really agree on. They were best friends. Still are, in a way.
But now there's Yeonjun. He was there since freshman year, really, but as more of a dream, an aspiration. An integral part of freshman orientation in their department: Choi Yeonjun. As close to a star as a student can get. Then came their third year, and Yeonjun the dream, now a pretty post-grad teaching workshops and giving guest lectures when he's not too busy studying for some main role, became Yeonjun, the face always somehow showing up wherever Kai and Beomgyu were hanging out, starting conversations, taking interest in their lives, paying for their coffees and lunches and dinners. Beomgyu finds out at some point that Kai was the one who started this, the summer before their third year, when he went to see Yeonjun perform, and when getting his autograph after the show mentioned shyly that he went to Yeonjun's old university. That he looked up to him. Said something cheeky about one day playing opposite him, just you wait, to hide his nerves.
It got Yeonjun's attention, if nothing else. They were hooking up before Christmas came around, and dating before Valentine's day. Yeonjun showed up on February 14th in a bright red suit with a red rose tucked behind his ear and kissed Kai silly right in front of the lecture room their entire class was still piling out of. Nobody has really let Kai live that one down yet.
And that would be cool, and Beomgyu would be happy for his best friend, because Yeonjun is attractive and successful and does his best to keep up with his boyfriend even when life gets busy or he's touring across the country, he adores Kai to death and buys him all the fancy clothes and gaming equipment Kai could possibly want, but Beomgyu never expected Kai to be the type to become all but obsessed with his boyfriend the second he had that relationship in the bag. Yeonjun became the priority. Kai's interest no.1, the thing he wanted to talk about the most, the one he asked to make plans with before asking Beomgyu. He started staying over at Yeonjun's instead of at their place. Stayed on the phone with him while eating dinner instead of hanging out with Beomgyu. His friend Kai slowly disappeared behind this beast that was Yeonjun-and-Kai. He still hung out, sure. But it just wasn't the same anymore. His mind was somewhere else, past worrying about grades and getting forward in ranked matches and helping Beomgyu dye his hair purple at 7 am after pulling an all-nighter for an exam they both kind of knew they were destined to fail. They were with Yeonjun, with plans for following him on his tour in the summer, getting new sheets for their bed; worrying about what his parents are going to say when he brings Yeonjun home for the holidays. It wasn't really the same Kai Beomgyu had spent three years of his life building a relationship with; and he wasn't sure he liked this version anymore.
Beomgyu loved Taehyun; he loved Taehyun a lot, and that was the problem. Taehyun is perfect, because he's handsome and strong enough to push Beomgyu around but careful enough not to hurt him while he's at it. He's witty and he adored Beomgyu, at least Beomgyu thought he did. He talked a big game about loving him while they dated; about wanting to feel the Beomgyu makes him feel all the time, about wanting to learn how to be happy from him, how to be happy with him — always in that same serious, detached tone. Beomgyu used to think he said it that way so he wouldn't show how deeply he really feels about Beomgyu, but as time went on, he slowly started to realize that for Taehyun, it just never was that deep to begin with. Or Taehyun wasn't capable of deep. Wasn't capable of heat unless someone was getting naked. Beomgyu wanted to indulge Taehyun's admiration, his little boyish crush on him, and find a Taehyun who would love him madly, who'd break both of his legs jumping off a bridge to see him smile. He wanted to give an inch and take a mile. But what he found was a cool, quiet love. Love in blunt compliments and dozens of messages sending clear signals that he'd rather have shouted in his face instead. In little jealous comments, Taehyun laughed off right afterwards because he never really meant them in the first place. He wanted a love that would leave him drained, boneless and numb, drowning in the afterglow of it, like a good run, like an orgasm.
Instead, he was just exhausted and miserable on the day when he came back from the bathroom wearing Taehyun's shorts after a poor excuse for a date night that was really just them taking time out of their schedules to fuck, because that was the part of dating they excelled at, and told Taehyun he thought their relationship wasn't working. Taehyun didn't fight him on it, and Beomgyu felt a hair's breadth away from snapping when their relationship ended with an "I understand" and a hug that shouldn't have been as awkward as it was.
It was a good break up, objectively. They stayed friends, Taehyun still talked to him at parties and between classes, still came over to his and Kai's place to watch sports with Kai on their TV while Beomgyu ate their snacks and pretended to care about what was happening. Even worse, Taehyun still put his arm around him sometimes while they hung out, still told him that he was the prettiest person in the room like he always was when he got insecure about the outfit he picked out for whatever occasion they found themselves at and started fishing for compliments. It made Beomgyu think, or maybe it made him realize, that Taehyun never really loved him at all; he just wanted to fuck him a bit more than he wanted to be just friends.
He has a best friend who's never there anymore, and an ex who he can't find the words to tell to stop coming around, he's got dozens of friends all over campus who don't really care about him unless he's around, he has extra responsibilities to the faculty, an apartment to care for all on his own, and worrier parents he stopped telling the truth about his life to years ago, because he doesn't want to have to handle them, too.
He's exhausted. A little bit more, every day.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
He gets home before 3 am. He's not drunk, because Taehyun was stuck to the bar the whole party and Beomgyu didn't want to see him today, but his legs are killing him from dancing his heart out to get away from the absolute bullshit his life has become lately. He kicks off his shoes, tosses his jacket over the back of the couch, drags himself to his bedroom and drops down onto the bed, arms thrown open, trying to sink into the sheets and become one with the mattress.
There’s alcohol in his pantry, and Kai is at Yeonjun’s again – he could get a bottle and get drunk at his own little party of one with nobody there to judge him, no exes to avoid and no appearances to keep up. It’ll be his party and he can cry if he wants to. But he’s too worn out to stand.
Maybe in an hour or two, when his insomniac brain tears him out of sleep again for seemingly no reason. Now, he can sleep.
Except.
As he lets his body relax, and as he slowly evens out his breathing, he hears it. The quietest creak, coming from the door to Beomgyu’s built-in closet. Soft steps, going across the room.
His eyes shoot open.
The steps pause, and then continue, and then the reading lamp on Beomgyu’s desk turns on. He looks towards it, at the tall figure drawn in sharp light and shadow by it. His guest pulls out Beomgyu’s chair and sits on it backwards, his back towards the light and his face towards Beomgyu. He’s wearing a black hoodie, black pants; a black mask covers his face and his hair is in his face, obscuring his eyes from view, but Beomgyu knows who it is nonetheless. It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other.
“I want to be alone,” he says, intending to snap but grumbling instead.
The man huffs in amusement, drumming his glove-covered fingers against his own elbows. “No, you don’t.”
No, he doesn’t. He likes to be alone with his thoughts sometimes, sure. Lie on his bed and listen to music and forget about the world – but he’s never been the type to want to stew alone in his own misery; and he’s feeling pretty fucking miserable right now. Taehyun could have come looking for him – he knew Beomgyu was at the party too, they talked about it. He could have unglued himself from the bar long enough to check if Beomgyu came. If he was having a good time. How he was doing. Kai could have gone with him, or could have played Smash and done shots with him on their couch, instead of ditching his friends to suck Yeonjun’s dick. They both abandoned him, Kai for his stupid fucking boyfriend and Taehyun for a bottle of Jim Beam he didn’t have to pay for. So much for friends.
“I told you to never come in here again.” That, at least, isn’t a lie.
“Mhm,” his guest tilts his head, and even though Beomgyu can’t see his face, it feels playful. Maybe it’s his tone; the amusement in it. The mocking edge. Teasing. Like he’s bantering with a crush who’s playing coy. “You did do that. But I missed you today, and I fucking hate parties, so I came here…” He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a keyring with two keys and a little teddy bear keychain on it. “And I tried your door, and guess what? My key still worked. And then I tried your bedroom door – and you didn’t lock it at all.”
Beomgyu presses his lips together, his jaw tight. He should sit up; he should face this directly. He withdraws slowly towards the wall instead, seeking the security of something safe against his back. “An open door is not an invitation.”
“Maybe,” the man admits. “But, tell me this, Beomgyu.” He leans forward, and even though Beomgyu can’t see his eyes, he can tell he’s being watched intently. It makes him want to curl up on himself; it makes him want to stare back twice as hard. “What would a person who doesn’t want me here, someone who’s scared of me – what would they do? Hm?”
His voice sounds so sweet; it’s dripping with honey. Beomgyu could imagine it saying other things, things that could make his spine melt, things that could make him dizzy, instead of dropping like a heavy stone into his stomach.
When he doesn’t answer, the guy shifts in the chair impatiently, one leg starting to bounce. “Tell me. I know you know the answer to this.”
“They’d change the locks,” his voice cracks on the words. His hands close into fists. He meant to do that. He meant to. He wanted to. It wasn’t… safe. He wasn’t safe. Someone else had a key to his and Kai’s apartment. Could walk in anytime. Has before.
But he didn’t do it.
He did not do that.
The man’s voice is sweet again. “Would they lock the door to their room?”
Beomgyu’s eyes drop from the man to his own comforter. “They’d lock the door to their room,” he mumbles in agreement, quiet but loud enough to be heard clearly.
Then it’s quiet. And Beomgyu, with a lump in his throat, slowly relaxes a little. He reaches out to grab at the soft material of the comforter, sniffs back the wetness he did not notice building up. He breathes out through shaky lips. And the man waits him out, until eventually, Beomgyu’s eyes lift towards his again.
Then he lays his head on his arm and asks, casually, “How was the party?”
And Beomgyu snorts, still wetly, and wipes at his face with his free hand. “Awful. Taehyun was there – drinking his way to the ICU.” He rolls his eyes, and then rolls over a little to stare at the ceiling. “They played the music too loud, I thought I was gonna go deaf. This girl almost threw up on me after trying to wash down her Skittles by chugging a whole beer. I danced with some people, but everyone had their own friends to go back to.”
His guest hums sympathetically. “Why did you go?”
Does he know he’s setting up a perfect punchline? He probably does; he knows a lot of things he shouldn’t. “Because I didn’t wanna be alone.”
Thankfully, the snort that escapes the man sounds equal parts surprised and amused. Maybe he doesn’t know everything. He can read Beomgyu’s mail but not his mind.
“You should’ve stayed here,” he says, casual, light-hearted. Toying with his crush again. “Hung out with me.”
Beomgyu’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his head almost instinctively, but the longer his guest lets the words linger, the more they burrow into Beomgyu’s brain. “What…” he clears his throat. His fingers are all tangled up in the comforter now, from how much he’s been twisting it around his fingers. “What… would we have done? If I stayed?”
He sees the man’s hands flex before he sits back up, lifting his head and then tilting it again. Actually thinking about it. Imagining it? It’s hard for Beomgyu to do so; it’s hard to think about a tall dark shadow watching Netflix with him. That’s weird; this whole thing’s wrong – normal things don’t fit into it; they can’t.
“Whatever you’d want us to,” the guy responds eventually, but even he himself doesn’t sound satisfied with it.
“That’s a cop-out.” That’s not what he wants; is it? He wants someone’s all, but not like this. He rolls onto his back fully. “Haven’t you ever thought about it? You have to have a fantasy.”
“About a million of them,” the man snaps, offended. Beomgyu is almost amused, or maybe he does genuinely think it’s funny; there’s a flutter of something in his chest when he hears it, and the tone it comes in. Of course he’s imagined dates with Beomgyu. Over and over and over again.
“Then tell me one.” He closes his eyes. It’s a terrible idea; he does it, anyway. Then his mouth twitches with a silly thought. “Or are you scared of me?”
“I’m scared of scaring you off,” the guy throws back. It’s playful again, but this time, Beomgyu doesn’t really feel afraid. He’s not being toyed with; he’s playing.
He puts his arms behind his head. Does he look pretty like this? Stretched out on his bed? “Just pick one that’s not just you fucking me.”
This is what it’s about at the end of the day, isn’t it? About someone getting naked; as it always is.
His guest almost laughs, letting out a stuttered breath instead. Would he have a nice laugh? He has a nice voice – he has to. “What if it ends with me fucking you?”
Beomgyu pouts. “On our first date?”
There’s a pause, and Beomgyu is tempted to look, but he doesn’t, afraid of losing his nerve if he does. That would make it real – seeing the guy right here, in Beomgyu’s room; taller than him. Bigger than him. Could Beomgyu even fight back if he tried? He has no idea.
He can’t think about it.
He can’t.
“I want to take you to an amusement park.”
He lets himself smile. “Cliché. Okay. What do we do there?”
“I win you a plushie. One that kind of looks like you, and I give it to you, even though I’d almost rather keep it.”
“Mhm.”
“I buy you cotton candy and it tints your whole mouth.”
“What color?” It’s still hard to imagine, but he almost thinks he has it. The noise, the smells, the tension of it.
“Whichever you’d like, if you ask nicely.”
“And if I don’t?” He won’t. He wouldn’t. Or he would, until the guy regretted saying it. Same difference.
“Then I’ll buy you the blue one – it’ll make your lips look pretty.”
He licks them subconsciously, then regrets it. The urge to turn his face away is almost overwhelming. “What if I want pink?”
“You’ll look good in blue.”
Beomgyu takes his hands from under his head, swipes them down his own cheeks, down the sides of his own neck. He sighs, and lets them rest beside his head. More open, now. More vulnerable. “What then?”
“We’ll go on a haunted house ride.”
“Why that? Do you like horror stuff?”
“It’s not my favorite.”
“Then why?”
He makes the mistake of opening his eyes, looking over at his guest, who’s watching him so closely, comfortable in Beomgyu’s chair, head resting on his arm again. He’s right there. Wouldn’t take him more than three steps to get to the bed, to pin Beomgyu down, to—
“I think I like seeing you scared, Beomgyu.” It’s so thin, so quiet. Almost reluctant. A confession that stings after it’s uttered.
It makes sense, doesn’t it?
“You’d be there to protect me, though,” he points out, rolls over onto his side, folds up on himself.
“Yeah, I would be,” his guest nods, voice still basically a whisper.
They stare at each other. Beomgyu licks his lips and is almost surprised when he doesn’t taste sugar on them. He thinks he sees the guy track the movement.
“What’s your name?”
He isn’t expecting an answer, not really, but it comes; a little too quickly to be sincere. “Steve.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah.”
“Smart.”
The guy shrugs, then finally, for maybe the first time looks away, lifts his head and intertwines his fingers so he can stretch his arms out. He looks like he’s contemplating something, the best Beomgyu can tell.
When he looks at Beomgyu again, he’s half expecting to hear the truth, so when he hears a calm and clear, “Beomgyu.” instead, it takes him by surprise.
“Yeah?”
“Do you want me to stop coming here?”
He feels tongue-tied, which is stupid, because the answer is clear. Of course he doesn’t want his apartment broken into. Of course he doesn’t want to come home to some guy lurking in his closet.
But his voice struggles to come out when he answers with a, “Yes.”
The man pulls his sleeves up to cover his knuckles – it’s such a shy gesture, so out of place in this room, in this situation. “Then prove it to me.”
Beomgyu feels goosebumps rising all over his skin. He hides his hands between his thighs, presses them together as tightly as he can. “What?”
His guest sits up, lets his arms hang by his sides now. “You didn’t lock your door, Beomgyu. You haven’t convinced me yet. How badly do you want me gone? What are you willing to do?”
This was fun; just a few seconds ago – he’d swear he was having fun. He shuts his eyes to block it out again, squeezes them shut as tight as he can, tucks his chin in. “What the fuck do you want?”
And then there’s steps again, and then the voice is so much closer when he hears it again, and it’s syrup and honey and everything good with the world. “I’ve watched you do so many things, Beomgyu.” There’s something wrong with the way he uses Beomgyu’s name; like it’s a weapon he’s holding up to his throat, when what it should be is warm and familiar. A pat on the head and a slap in the face. “And you’ve looked so pretty doing all of them.” He’s close enough now to really whisper. Beomgyu thinks that if he feels a stir of his breath he might lose his mind. “But I never got to watch you undress.”
Beomgyu opens his eyes. There’s wetness gathered on his lashes, and the other man is right there, crouching next to his bed. From this up close, even with the light behind him, he sees his eyes – the glossiness in them. Can see his chest expand as he breathes a little harder. Is he imagining it? Beomgyu thinks he might be sick.
“You want a striptease?” He’s whispering, too, because he can’t say this shit out loud. He thinks he’s shaking, but he’s not sure.
The eyes he’s staring at squint, and he can see the hint of a furrowed brow. “I want you, Beomgyu. I want to see you. More of you.” A little pause, and then even sweeter than before, “I always want to see more of you.”
Beomgyu blinks through the sting in his eyes. He sniffles. The man doesn’t move, not even an inch. He doesn’t grab at him; doesn’t take what he wants – he just watches, and waits. And Beomgyu is so tired, and he wants so badly to just go to sleep.
“Okay.”
“Okay?!” His guest perks up immediately. Even as Beomgyu swallows back the little he ate at the party, the guy’s whole body ripples with new, nervous energy. He shifts in his crouch, grabs one of his hands with the other like he had to hold them down to keep them still.
Ever so slowly, Beomgyu forces his own muscles to move, unfurling little by little, lifting himself limply with his hands pressed into the mattress. He almost falls over when he loses strength in them, and he can see the man watching him twitch with the urge to reach over and catch him. With his legs limp, he crawls backwards on the bed at the sight of it, back towards the safety of the wall.
“Are you… gonna… stay there?”
“Why?” The guy blinks, then looks down at himself, then back at Beomgyu, and something about the sheen over his eyes sharpens a little. “Are you afraid I’m gonna touch you?”
Beomgyu presses his lips together and doesn’t answer, but that by itself seems enough to make his guest understand. Or maybe it’s the uncontrollable trembling of the arms he’s still leaning on, the tension in his body.
“I promise I won’t, Beomgyu. I wouldn’t do that without your permission.” He sounds so sincere, and it’s so, so fucking ridiculous. He broke into Beomgyu’s room; he’s making Beomgyu take his clothes off—
Is he?
He didn’t say no. He said okay. He gave that permission; because it seemed like such a little price to pay for his peace of mind; even if he keeps coming into Beomgyu’s apartment while he’s away, even if he never leaves him alone, at least he’ll go back to doing it where Beomgyu doesn’t have to see – right? He just needs to follow his fucked up logic tonight; prove that he wants him gone or whatever.
The lesser evil.
And maybe that means that this man wouldn’t touch him, that he is, in some sort of absurd way, safe right now, but he doesn’t think he can do this with the thought of it in his mind. Of this guy snapping, losing control, or just waiting for him to be naked and vulnerable to pounce, so close he will get no chance to even think of escaping before he’s trapped.
“I…” He licks his lips, chews on his bottom one hard enough for the sting to bring some clarity back to his nervous mind. “Please. From the chair?” He swallows, widens his eyes deliberately. He’s cute when he’s begging, when he makes puppy eyes. He’s always been told that. “Pretty please?”
He feels something in the air shift almost immediately, but he doesn’t dare to hope until he hears a huff behind the man’s mask. It’s amused, and resigned. Beomgyu almost collapses back onto the bed in relief, but he manages to hold himself up this time. “Okay,” he says, lifts his hands, palms up, to show he’s giving up. “I’ll move back if it makes you more comfortable.” Then, to Beomgyu’s surprise, he moves forwards, making Beomgyu twitch back and the back of his head hit the wall uncomfortably. He rests one palm on Beomgyu’s comforter, lays his chin on it and tilts his head in a way that would look cute if not for the circumstances. Beomgyu thinks, from the scrunch of his eyes, that he’s smiling. “Since it’s our first date.”
Beomgyu stays frozen while the man stands up and walks back to the chair, flipping it around this time to sit in it properly, legs spread and hands folded loosely in his lap, looking as comfortable as if he was sitting on his own couch. It’s that position that first makes Beomgyu wonder if this guy is going to make him watch while he jerks off to Beomgyu taking his clothes off. He knew that already, though? It’s always — about someone — getting naked.
Once the guy is settled in, Beomgyu starts to move, careful not to stall too much unless it gets him in trouble. He just wants this over with; he wants this night over with. He wants to strip, then kick this creep out, and then drink until he can’t see anymore.
And then change. The fucking locks.
He sits up on his knees and takes a shaky breath, staring resolutely at the plaid pattern on his comforter, willing himself to zone out and do this on auto-pilot. He’s taken his clothes off thousands of times; he knows how to do this without a single thought in his brain. Lift a hand up, find the buttons of the smooth cream button-up he wore today. Just the two top ones were unbuttoned – casual; not an invitation. He didn’t go out to get laid; he hasn’t wanted to have sex in a long time at this point. Some days he thinks it means there’s something wrong with him, but usually he doesn’t have the energy to care.
He shakes his head. The thoughts distract him, but they don’t make him feel any better. He finds the third button, and pops it open clumsily before moving onto the next one. Fifth one. Untuck the shirt. Sixth one. Seventh.
He closes his eyes while he lets it slide off of his shoulders, trying to ignore the other set of careful breaths in the room. The man hasn’t moved yet – to grope Beomgyu or himself. But his breathing almost sounds as shaky as Beomgyu’s.
Dropping down to sit on his heels, Beomgyu folds the shirt carefully before putting it aside. He wore an undershirt today, and he’d do just about anything to put off having to take it off. His guest doesn’t seem to mind; he watches every movement with rapt attention, even though Beomgyu is obviously stalling. Waiting him out again; letting him play.
He reaches for his belt next, struggles to pull it open with his fingers all stiffened up, and wishes he was going faster; that he could get his body to move more swiftly, to get this over with, instead of dragging it out like this. He tries to think about something else, but the first thing that pops into his mind is the noise of an amusement park and sweet cotton candy.
The belt gets tossed onto his pillow carelessly, along with that line of thought.
His pants, at least, he manages to open quite quickly, and he makes sure to have no thoughts at all while he lays down on his back to take them off all the way, pushing them down his legs almost aggressively. He’s glad he didn’t wear some stupid skinny jeans just to show his ass off at the party; he might have thrown up before he got them all the way down to his knees – but when he sits back up to fold those, too, and sees the guy’s hands balled up into fists like he’s fighting with himself to stay still, he thinks he might be sick anyways.
When the pants are carefully laid under the shirt at the foot of his bed, he pauses, stupidly hopeful. “I would’ve gone to bed in this – I wouldn’t take the rest off.”
It’s not even a lie.
There’s a huff, an almost petulant one this time. “Beomgyu. Do you want to be a tease? Do you want me to come back for more?”
He closes his eyes and swallows, his throat dry with the nerves. “Just saying. You wanted to see the real me, didn’t you?”
“I want all of you. All of you.”
There’s a spark of anger in Beomgyu’s chest, and he keeps his eyes shut and jaw tight while he tears the undershirt over his head. “Then have that truth, too.”
He hears a gasp and wants to roll his eyes despite everything. He’s attractive – but he’s not gasp-worthy, is he? He’s fuckable, not an art piece. He lets himself fall onto his back.
He’s almost there. He’ll just take his underwear off, and—
“Socks, too?”
“Everything.”
Beomgyu reluctantly sits up to obey, tosses his socks to the side carelessly, maybe showing his hand. He never gave a fuck about whether his laundry was neatly put away.
It’s almost a relief to lay back down, until Beomgyu puts his palms on his own hips and has a brief, nauseating vision of the man crossing the room, getting on top of him, replacing Beomgyu’s hands with his own. If he did… if he… touched Beomgyu, hurt Beomgyu… it would’ve been his own fault. He was stupid; he was reckless; he didn’t change the locks.
The tears that welled up in his eyes earlier finally spill over while he starts tugging his underwear off, and he keeps twitching and sniffling until he’s able to kick it away from himself, fighting the urge to curl up until his body compromises by pulling his knees up while he covers his face with both hands, his breathing getting irregular and strained, almost belated panic taking over his brain while he shakes and shakes and struggles to breathe. Eventually it gets too much and he has to roll over onto his side, coughing and gasping for breath until he’s able to even his breathing out again, crossing his arms over his chest, curling up the way he’s wanted to all along.
He blinks through his wet eyelashes at the man still sitting on his chair, still just watching, once the shakes subside enough for him to open his eyes again.
He doesn’t say anything, and Beomgyu digs his nails into his own skin the longer the silence stretches on.
“Is that enough? Have you seen enough?”
And to his surprise, it’s not the sweet voice that replies, but a strange, cool, sharp one. “You’re not done.”
Beomgyu blinks, coughs, sniffles. He has to look and sound disgusting at this point. “What?”
The stranger lifts his gloved hand – they’re disposable gloves: cooking gloves? Cleaning gloves? – and taps at his throat. Confused, Beomgyu does the same, just for his fingers to find skin-warm metal that he forgot was even there. He wore a thin golden chain on his neck to the party, to sit in his open shirt collar, draw attention to his throat, to his clavicles. A cute little something, to make him that extra bit pretty.
He feels more tears fill his eyes; for a second he wonders if he could just tear the necklace off.
“I never take it off,” he argues – lies – in a shaky voice.
“Beomgyu,” the teasing voice chides gently. “It’s cute when you lie, but we both know I can tell when you do.”
He wants to argue back – he wants to call that bluff – but he’s so tired. So he closes his eyes again, undoes the clasp of the necklace at the back and tosses it towards the chair; hears it hit the floor. And then the room goes silent again.
There are no noises of the man getting off, but also no noise of him getting up or out of Beomgyu’s apartment. Beomgyu chokes on a sob but swallows it back, rolls over to his other side, facing the wall.
“I did what you wanted. Now I’m going to sleep. You better see yourself the fuck out.”
He wanted to yell it but it’s a whisper. It’s barely audible. He can’t breathe, or speak, or think.
After what feels like too long, there’s movement, and Beomgyu thinks he might pass out with relief when the muffled steps disappear through his bedroom doorway, then thinks he will pass out from fear when they come back – but all the man does is toss a blanket over him; one that smells like butter popcorn, the one they keep on their couch.
Then he says, “Thank you, Beomgyu. Sweet dreams,” and Beomgyu holds his breath until he hears the front door close.
He shakes under the blanket, with no idea of how much time is or isn’t passing, and he thinks he will pass out from exhaustion at any moment, but instead, a restless energy fills his bones and he rushes to the bathroom, still wrapped in the blanket, and starts nonsensically brushing his teeth until his gums hurt, then he throws up in the sink and brushes his teeth again. He tosses the blanket to the floor and gets in the shower, scrubs at his own skin to try and get any trace of the guy’s gaze off of it; he’d peel it all off if he could – he’s tempted to. He sits on the tiles and cries. He washes his face until it’s scrubbed red, then slathers a cream on top like it’s going to help. He goes to Kai’s room and puts his clothes on instead of his own, then lies down in his bed, clinging to a plushie his roommate left behind.
When he falls asleep, it looks like midday outside already.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
He doesn’t know why he doesn’t tell anyone. He could; he should. But he can’t. It simmers in his chest when Kai comes home Monday night after spending the weekend away, it bubbles behind his teeth when they’re in the library and Taehyun remarks that Beomgyu is unusually quiet. When another student from the council says he looks distracted.
He thinks, help me. Someone broke into my apartment. I think they’re still watching me. Help me. Save me. But he doesn’t say any of it out loud.
Throughout the weekend, he sleeps in Kai’s room, wears Kai’s clothes because he’s afraid of going into his own closet and not finding it empty. When Kai comes back, he switches to sleeping on the couch in the living room. If it were up to him he’d wear the same hoodie Kai found him in on Monday the whole week, but people would notice, so he grits his teeth and salvages clothes out of his closet and piles them onto his bed and tapes the closet door shut. When Kai questions him sleeping on the couch, he switches to sleeping in a pile of his own clothes on the floor. He sleeps like shit.
Some nights, he dreams of telling Kai about what happened, every sordid detail of it, and in his dreams, Kai takes him into his arms, cradling him to his chest like an overgrown baby, shushes and soothes him while he cries hysterically while reliving the whole thing, and then he takes his face into his disposable glove-covered hands, and asks, “Why didn’t you change the locks?”
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
A week passes, then two, and nothing happens. On Wednesday the third week, Beomgyu falls asleep in his own bed.
On Friday, when he and Kai are getting back from class together, there’s a small box right in front of their door. It’s bright red, tied with a pink ribbon, and there’s a note tucked under the bow of it.
Kai beelines for it, probably thinking it’s from Yeonjun, because most gifts sent to their apartment are, but Beomgyu freezes in the middle of the hallway. He doesn’t know how, but he knows that something’s wrong. It’s a box; not a package. Not something you’d have sent, but something you’d deliver by hand. Yeonjun would be here to deliver something like this himself. Plus, Kai is literally about to pack a bag and leave for his place for the weekend again. He could just give it to him when they see each other tonight. There’s no reason for the gift to be from Yeonjun.
And who else would leave gifts on Beomgyu’s doorstep?
“Huh.” The grin on Kai’s face fades a little as he looks at the note, the box already in his hands. “I…” he frowns, tilts his head like a puppy in confusion, and then looks at Beomgyu, who’s still standing way too far away. “I think it’s for you? It says it’s from Steve?”
Beomgyu thinks he might drop to the floor, or throw up in the hallway. He does neither. He bites down on his cheek and asks, “Is that all it says?”
Kai glances down at the note again. “It says… ‘I miss you’ ?” He frowns at it, then. “Who’s Steve?”
He has no idea – has had dozens of theories. Maybe he lives in their building. Or goes to their university; or both. He’s not in the theater department, but Beomgyu has taken external classes too. Literature, photography… it could be anyone. They could have run into each other in the grocery store. Beomgyu could have picked up his wallet on a train when it fell out of his pocket. Maybe there was no rhyme or reason to it at all; maybe he just saw Beomgyu on the street and followed him home.
“He’s…” The guy who broke into our apartment. Twice. More times, probably, but I only caught him the one time, when he was going through my things, and then one night, he waited for me, and he made me prove to him that I wanted him to stop coming to our apartment, so I …
I’m so scared, Kai. Don’t go to Yeonjun’s this week. Please stay.
“I… met him at that party… the other week?” His voice is strangled. He can’t believe the words that are falling out of his own mouth. “He… he walked me home.”
“And you didn’t tell me?!” Kai squeaks out, scandalized, even though he didn’t even ask Beomgyu if he had a good time at that party. He didn’t give a fuck until the box showed up.
“It wasn’t that serious,” Beomgyu finds himself gritting through his teeth. He’s almost angry enough for it to chase away the fear. He finally walks over to the door. “He was just… really into me.”
Kai raises his eyebrows at him. “But you let him walk you home.”
I want to be alone. No, you don’t.
“It beat walking home on my own.”
He takes the box out of Kai’s hands, unlocks the door to their apartment, walks straight to his bedroom and locks the door behind himself.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
It’s just a box of chocolates. It sits open on Beomgyu’s desk while he calls Taehyun to invite him over, because Kai closed the front door ten minutes ago and the fear is starting to set in, even though he technically should be safe with the door to his bedroom locked tight. Taehyun questions the invitation, and Beomgyu can’t blame him. They hang out, but not without other people around; not anymore. Beomgyu should probably just go out again instead, but there’s an itch under his skin at the thought of it. In here, he’s surrounded by walls – he lives high up enough for nobody to be able to look into his apartment through the windows. Out there, he could just be… one of the faces in the crowd. Every shadow in an alley. Every set of footsteps that’s not Beomgyu’s.
He doesn’t want to go outside.
Taehyun comes later than he promised, but he brings food, and they eat it on the floor of the living room while Taehyun talks about baseball like his mother never taught him how to shut up – and for a second, Beomgyu is grateful for Taehyun, and his stupid, quiet loving ways. Because Taehyun knows how to shut up, but he knows that when Beomgyu is too off-kilter to be the life of the party himself, he needs someone else to pick up the reins. Because he brought food, realizing that Beomgyu wouldn’t have called him here if everything were okay, and he can barely bring himself to eat when something goes wrong.
Beomgyu still thinks it’s unfair Taehyun isn’t in love with him – wouldn’t it be beautiful if this guy went nuts over him?
Maybe it wouldn’t be – he thinks back to the chocolates on his desk. Could Taehyun ever do that? Could he break Beomgyu like that? Make his knees turn weak and his hands tremble whenever he just as much as thought about him? Could Taehyun love him so much he’d bury him under his love?
They finish eating, and they play a game together that Taehyun has always sucked at. Beomgyu thinks he feels almost good like this; he’s being taken care of, being cared for. Between matches, he shifts over to look at Taehyun, who has a serious little look on his face, and he asks,
“Do you think it was a mistake that we dated?”
And Taehyun glances at him out of the corner of his eye before sighing. “I don’t know,” he replies. “I liked you a lot – but I wasn’t making you happy. I got that.”
“Did you love me?” Beomgyu can’t help but press. He tries to think about what he’d do, depending on Taehyun’s answer. Will he ask to get back together? Kick Taehyun out? Pull him in? Push him away? He wants to crawl into his lap right now, lured by the safety of his presence. He’s a familiar frustration and Beomgyu needs that familiarity right now.
“Of course I did.” Taehyun’s tone is familiar, too. Serious, kind of offended. He’s not raising his voice, he’s looking at Beomgyu now with a frown on his face, but there’s nothing fiery about his reaction. He just seems baffled by the question, more than anything else. “I wasn’t lying to you. The feelings I told you I had for you were the feelings I had for you, Gyu.”
Childishly, he finds himself pouting, the words scratching at him unpleasantly. “Then why did it never feel like it, Taehyun?”
And of course, instead of being childish right back, Taehyun shrugs, looks Beomgyu up and down and says, “I think love’s just never meant the same thing to the two of us.” Before turning back towards the TV.
Beomgyu wants to throw his controller at his ex’s face. He wants to get into a fight.
He starts a new match instead.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
They do shots of bourbon when they get bored with video games and watch terrible reality TV. At some point, Taehyun mentions some stupid bourbon-based cocktail he learned from a bartender friend of his, and they end up in the kitchen, Taehyun guiding Beomgyu through the steps of it with slow, slurred words, then giving up and guiding him with his own hands instead. He’s all over Beomgyu, touching his hands, his arms, his waist, talking into his ear, pressing up against him. Beomgyu has seen him horny enough times to know the signs; to know where this is going. They split the cocktail Beomgyu made, trading off drinking from the same glass while they lean on the kitchen counter with Taehyun’s arm wound around Beomgyu’s waist, staring at each other’s mouths.
When they wind up kissing as soon as the glass is empty, they taste the same, and there’s something almost fun about it. They back up into the living room, and Taehyun picks Beomgyu up just so he can drop him onto the couch cushions, and Beomgyu laughs despite it all, because he didn’t really miss Taehyun, but he missed his muscles; he missed the fun they had in the bedroom, how light and secure Taehyun could make him feel.
He missed the compliments, and watching Taehyun undress, feeling Taehyun’s fingers in his hair and Taehyun’s dick on his tongue. They sucked as a couple, but they had the sex down to an art.
Taehyun tries to take Beomgyu’s shirt off and he panics so hard he leaves a nasty bite mark on Taehyun’s shoulder where his jaw clenched tight when Taehyun tugged his shirt up. He apologizes, and Taehyun laughs it off, even though it sounds a little fake, and Beomgyu’s able to spin it when he tugs Taehyun close again and runs his hands up the insides of Taehyun’s bare thighs. Taehyun takes the hint and then takes Beomgyu’s cock because he’s smart enough to not question why Beomgyu doesn’t want to take his clothes off, and just horny and drunk enough to not want to stop because of it. They do it in Kai’s bed, after Beomgyu makes up some shit about having run out of condoms and needing to steal his roommate’s. Taehyun follows him like a lovesick duckling when he leaves him on the couch, bites the back of his shoulder through his shirt while he goes through Kai’s nightstand, and doesn’t protest when Beomgyu tackles him onto Kai’s baby blue blankets.
It feels good, and it gets Beomgyu out of his head. He lets himself lose his mind between Taehyun’s legs and it’s not that bad. Taehyun kisses him in the afterglow, and he’s good at it, and he brushes Beomgyu’s sweaty hair back, and it’s nice.
They shower together and heat up frozen pizza and listen to old music and fall asleep cuddling on the couch. It almost feels like they never broke up at all.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
Beomgyu wakes up alone, with no note or text from Taehyun left behind to let Beomgyu know why he left. He finds Taehyun’s number in his phone, thinks about calling him, then deletes his number instead.
Fuck him, really. For being so good at getting Beomgyu to get his hopes up, every time.
He goes into his room, picks up the box of chocolates and sits down with them on the couch. They could be drugged, or poisoned, or filled with something disgusting. Maybe Steve hates him now, now that Beomgyu told him to stay away. Now that he locks his bedroom door every night. Maybe he went old school, filled his treats with needles and razor blades.
When he bites down on the first one, some part of Beomgyu is excited to find something horrifying. That would teach Taehyun a lesson, wouldn’t it? He left Beomgyu alone, and it led to Beomgyu suffering. Poor Beomgyu; he choked on his own blood and died. He was poisoned, and ended up in the hospital. How could you, Taehyun? How could you, Kai?
They’re good.
The chocolates are okay.
There’s nothing wrong with a single one of them as far as Beomgyu can tell, and he obsessively eats all of them until he feels sick just from how much chocolate he ate in one go. It was an actual gift. The dude missed him, so he left him chocolates. Maybe he’s asking to be let back in. Like an ex crawling back to his doorstep. Taehyun would never. But it’s Taehyun who gets to fuck Beomgyu and then ditch him in the morning?
Beomgyu throws up in the bathroom, then sits on the cold tiles with his eyes closed and tries to think of nothing at all.
He thinks about the man instead; the glossed-over eyes, the gloved hands, the large frame that Beomgyu would have appreciated in any other scenario. His voice, his teasing tone, his breathy laughs, his restlessness and the way he always seemed so reluctant to let his eyes leave Beomgyu for even a second.
I always want to see more of you.
He feels bile coming up but he never ends up spitting it out. He just sits and stares right ahead of himself, then reaches into his own pants to touch himself. He’s not sure why, but some part of him feels the urge to go back through that night – everything he said and did, every button undone and inch of skin exposed, and rewrite the paralyzing terror of it. Wasn’t it hot being watched that closely while he took his clothes off? Didn’t it make him excited, to know that he had that much power over the man, to have him captivated just by taking off his shirt, that the guy wanted it enough to move back when Beomgyu asked, because he was weak for Beomgyu’s puppy eyes, because he wanted to see him more than he wanted the opportunity to touch him. Him, him, him. He had the power. He should’ve gotten off on it. Not cried like a baby. He was wanted, he was desired, what he had was good enough to drive a man crazy.
But he can’t quite do it. He tries, but the nausea is still there, and he can’t get himself to get hard no matter what he does. He beats his fists into the floor until it hurts, then picks himself up and drags himself into the living room. Still no messages on his phone. He thinks he’s crying, because there’s no other reason for his cheeks to be this wet.
He takes the red box and sets it outside his door, open and empty. Taehyun left the door unlocked when he left; Beomgyu doesn’t lock it, either. He goes to Kai’s room and lies face down on his bed.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
There’s a knock on the front door. Beomgyu hears it, since he left the door to Kai’s room wide open. Taehyun doesn’t knock; he’d always rather call when entering the building instead and have Beomgyu wait for him with the door open while he gets up to their floor. Kai would just walk in, and Yeonjun has his own key. Beomgyu feels his stomach cramping.
He sits up, and hears another knock.
He’s only wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and he picks up one of Kai’s hoodies to wear on his way to the door, just to have more layers between himself and whatever is waiting on the other side of that door. With another knock, he rushes through the living room into the hallway; he’s too terrified of hearing the door open next. Why didn’t he lock it again?
He should have bolted it, he realizes as he’s pulling it open. Should have.
On the other side of the door, there’s a tall figure, dressed in all black. A black padded jacket, black jeans, a black hat and a black mask. So nondescript it’s notable. His hair is in his face again. From this up close, he feels even taller than usual, when Beomgyu has to tilt his head back to look at him properly. He’s never felt this small next to anyone, not even Kai, who’s objectively just as tall as this guy.
“Beomgyu.” Familiar. Heavy. Like it’s a pet name, like it’s a loaded gun.
Beomgyu’s heart is in his throat. “Steve.”
It gets him an amused huff. “You got my gift.”
He wants to ask how did you know? but the next question would be, how did you know that I’d know? because he could have just tossed the box into the trash. Could have. Should have. Would have.
When he doesn’t say anything, the man shifts on his feet. “I didn’t expect it to not even last a full day, though. Did you get hungry? Or did Taehyun help? I know he stayed over last night.”
Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t talk about him.”
“Why not?” The guy asks, curious and innocent, like he’s just a friend asking for gossip. “Is he the reason you’ve been crying?”
God, of course his face and eyes are still swollen. Beomgyu covers them with his palms. “No.”
“No?”
“I cried because of you.”
There’s a pause, and then the man’s voice comes from just a tiny bit closer and Beomgyu stumbles back, even though it leaves the doorway even more open than before. “Did you miss me too?”
Beomgyu uncovers his eyes enough to shoot the man a withering look. Is he kidding? He has to see the anger and fear in Beomgyu’s expression, but he doesn’t seem shaken by it even the slightest bit.
“I missed you a lot; I thought about you all night yesterday. About what you were doing, with him.”
It feels wrong, even though Beomgyu knows it’s kind of irrational to think so – someone thinking of him getting laid, imagining him naked, imagining him getting off. Maybe from anyone else, it wouldn’t bother him, but like this, it feels dirty; like it’s sticking to his skin and leaving him sullied with it, with this guy’s sick fantasies. He crosses his arms over his chest, curling in on himself, like he could block him from pulling Beomgyu’s form into his mind if he shielded it enough.
“Were you jealous, knowing he’s going to get to fuck me?” He snaps back, just to feel in control again; get some ground back under his feet.
“Yeah,” the guy admits, and it’s too simple for Beomgyu to be satisfied. “I was jealous he was going to see the thing I’ve been replaying in my head for weeks; that he’s going to get to touch it. But I’m not jealous of him fucking you – I know he doesn’t know you like I do. I know he can’t make you feel as good as I would. So he can do whatever you want him to do to you, because you’re gonna forget all of it once I’ve had you, anyway.”
Beomgyu finds himself rolling his eyes, braver than he feels. “No one’s ever fucked me as well as he did.”
He can see the smile in the man’s eyes; hear it in his voice. “Well, you’ve never been with me before.”
“You don’t know jack shit about me.”
Everything moves so quickly after he says that – the guy moves forwards, Beomgyu takes rushed steps backwards, almost falling over in his panic, then he realizes his own mistake when the front door falls shut and he hears the click of the lock. His whole body shudders at the sound and he turns to run to Kai’s room where he left his phone lying on the pillow, but he’s not fast enough, he feels something heavy slam into him from the side and then he’s hitting the wall, vision going blurry when his head makes impact, and pain blooming outwards from the tip of his shoulder. His legs hold him up, but it’s no use – before his shaken brain clears enough to get him moving again, he’s trapped between a pair of arms, and there’s warm breath on his ear, warming the side of his face, making him scrunch his eyes shut as he feels his entire body shake again in disgust.
“Beomgyu.” It’s the sweet voice. A quiet, gentle whisper. A gun to his head. “Let’s not—” A sharp breath – a suppressed laugh, or maybe a suppressed yell. “Let’s not do stupid things. Hm?”
To Beomgyu’s surprise, he pulls back then, away from Beomgyu’s personal space, even though his arms still stay caging Beomgyu in between them. His head feels cottony and his ears feel full, but he slowly turns around until his back hits the wall, putting even more empty space between him and the man.
He smells nice, like brown sugar and laundry detergent, and that just exacerbates Beomgyu’s nausea.
Why? he thinks about asking. Or, Why me?
I thought you’d never touch me without my permission. I thought the point was that I wanted all of this.
He should have bolted that door.
“I—” he starts, but he’s cut off immediately.
“I know everything about you,” the man says sharply, and there it is. The indignation Taehyun didn’t give him last night; the fire. “I know about every toy you ordered off the internet, and everything you and him sexted about. I know what noises you made when you liked what he was doing, and the ones you made when you didn’t. I know what you look like while getting your dick sucked, or while you’re getting jerked off at a party when you think that nobody can tell you and your boyfriend aren’t just making out.” He leans forward, and Beomgyu has no more space behind him to escape to, so he weakly lifts his hands instead, like he could ward him off from coming closer with them, like he has a fighting chance. “I know you, Beomgyu.”
He closes his eyes; he wishes he could zone out, leave this situation and go somewhere else, but it’s too real. The guy’s breathing is too loud in his ears; the pain in his shoulder is too sharp. He made his bed, and he has to lay in it.
“He…” Beomgyu’s not sure where he’s going with this; but he has to play – if he wants to make it through this, he has to play. “He didn’t fuck me last night.”
A click of the tongue; so loud, even through the mask. “You don’t have to lie to me, Beomgyu. I told you – it’s cute, but it’s useless.”
“Not lying,” he argues, his eyes still closed. “I was the one fucking him.”
There’s no response, so Beomgyu reluctantly forces his eyes open, even though his head is spinning slightly. The guy considers him thoughtfully, something weird in his eyes when Beomgyu focuses on them through the curtain of hair.
“That’s not what you fantasize about, is it?” He doesn’t know why he puts out a challenge like that; it’s so stupid of him – maybe he stopped caring. He just wants to see this guy squirm, before he does what he wants to do to him. “Getting fucked by me.”
“I’ve thought about it,” the guy replies almost immediately. “I’ve never let anyone top me, but I’d let you.”
So stupid; like an eager crush. It’s okay if it’s you. Disgusting. Beomgyu daydreams about throwing up all over that thick black jacket.
“You’d let me pop your cherry?” He has to sound as derisive as he feels, but it still doesn’t phase the guy.
“I’m not a virgin – I had to do something when jerking off to you wasn’t enough,” the man tilts his head, playful and teasing again, like last time. “But sure. You can be my first, Beomgyu.”
“If you like me so much, why would you sleep with other people?” Beomgyu shoots back. He sounds jealous to his own ears. It’s easy to pretend, isn’t it? this was supposed to be all about him.
For the first time, the man actually laughs. It’s deep and it’s a little mocking and it only twists Beomgyu’s guts further, but it feels so significant. He laughed. “Oh, you thought you could be the only one sleeping around? That’s not how this works, sweetheart – if you get to be a whore, so do I.”
Beomgyu feels his chin tremble, and he’s not sure why. Something about the way he said it, the disgust and mockery in his voice. He’s not a slut; he doesn’t sleep with just about anyone. He’s not, but he feels like it right now. Feels cheap, like a toy that gets loaned out to whoever drops a quarter in the tip jar.
“How many people did you fuck while wishing they were me?” There are tears on his lashline again; he’s such a fucking crybaby.
“Why? Are you jealous?”
“It’s pathetic,” Beomgyu spits, and his hands clench into fists. “When I was balls deep in Taehyun, I didn’t think of you once; what kinda man—”
He shuts up immediately when the guy invades his space again – not quite touching him, except for Beomgyu’s hands that press weakly into his chest. His breath hits Beomgyu’s face again, brushing past his cheek and jaw like a warm caress he wishes he could wipe off of his skin immediately. “Do you want to change that? Do you want me to give you something to think about? Something to compare to? Something to wish you were getting instead?” He says it through his teeth, and it’s more of a threat than an offer. It’s a challenge; the calling of Beomgyu’s bluff.
His breathing quickens until it gets tight and panicked, wheezing in his chest. He thinks of this guy’s hands on him; of getting slammed into the wall again until he’s too dizzy to fight back. Getting tossed onto the couch again, but this time he doesn’t feel light; this time he doesn’t laugh when he lands, he squeezes his legs together instead of opening them wider, just to feel gloved hands force them apart.
“Do you have nothing to say to that, Beomgyu?” The voice taunts, and when Beomgyu continues hyperventilating, it lets out a strange, strangled noise, like the tail end of a suppressed moan, and then the man is moving back and Beomgyu’s skin slowly stops feeling like he’s constantly being shocked by electricity. He’s shaking so hard his teeth chatter. Who’s the pathetic one now?
“Why do you do this, Beomgyu?” Why, indeed. “You want to be powerful so bad; you want to look like you just don’t care, but we both know better, don’t we? You play the whore, but that’s not you,” the more he speaks, the sweeter his voice gets, and the more tears Beomgyu feels roll down his face. “You don’t want them to pass you around; you want them to stick around – if it were up to you, you’d only have one man for the rest of your life, right? Your ride or die? You want to be a good, loyal boyfriend, right? For the rest of your life. I can do this for you, Beomgyu,” emphatic, almost desperate, like he needs Beomgyu to hear this. “I know you so well? I know what you need, and I know what you want. I know Taehyun isn’t enough for you – and he never was. You settled, when he asked you out, because you didn’t wanna be alone. You never wanted to be alone. And you want Kai to finally leave you the fuck alone, because he’s not good enough anymore, either.” Beomgyu feels a tug on the hoodie he’s wearing and freezes. “You keep wearing his clothes like it’ll help, but the truth is, he doesn’t love you like he used to anymore. Not like I do.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Beomgyu forces through his lips, barely audible.
The man sighs. “Think about it, Beomgyu. We could have a life that’d be so much better than this? We could run away together – move to a different town, away from all these people. We’d never have to call any of them again. It would just be you and I. I’d beg for money on the street for a living if it meant getting to spend the rest of my life with you. It would be so good. You and I. Ride or die.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, he blinks his eyes open and squints up at the man hunching over him. “No.”
There’s a tense pause, and then the guy looks down, hanging his head between them. “I said think about it, Beomgyu,” he teases, but it sounds a little sad this time.
He sniffs, swallows with some difficulty, his breath evening out. “How long do I get,” he rasps out, and it almost hurts to talk. “Sixty seconds?”
The guy looks up, frowning at him. Too close. He’s too fucking close, still. “As long as you need.”
“Bullshit.”
“You want me to leave again.”
“I never wanted you to come inside in the first place.”
“But you wanted me to come.”
No, is the answer he should give. They stare into each others’ eyes stubbornly instead. He put the box out. He knew what he was doing.
Clearly finding what he wanted in Beomgyu’s guilty eyes, the guy pulls back, finally freeing Beomgyu from the captivity of his arms. And Beomgyu doesn’t run. “Prove it to me.”
The words send another panic shooting through him, and he presses himself into the wall as hard as he can, crossing his arms over his stomach. “How.”
For a moment, it seems like his unwelcome guest is thinking about it, eyes flitting from place to place but never quite leaving Beomgyu’s body. “Give me something. Show me how bad you want me gone.”
“Like what.” Beomgyu doesn’t want to play along; he doesn’t like this guy’s games. He always loses them.
“Something you don’t want me to have.” He’s smiling again. Beomgyu’s jaw clenches.
He doesn’t want this guy to have anything of his; he could shove his dirty sock in this guy’s pocket and it would fill that criteria – but he can’t get away on a technicality, can he.
Reluctantly, he looks down at himself, trying to take stock. He could give him a piece of clothing, some stupid memento he brought from home. The friendship bracelet Kai made him in freshman year at some arts and crafts workshop, half ironically. He should give him something that means nothing, pretend that it’s hard to part with, just to get him to go away.
But wouldn’t he know?
Does he actually know Beomgyu, or is he just pretending?
He looks up at the man again. Beomgyu doesn’t know anything about him – not a thing. Not his name, or what his face looks like under the mask.
“I want… let’s make a trade.” What is he doing? Why?
A breathy laugh, and the same teasing tone from before. “It’s already a trade, Beomgyu.”
“I want more.” It sounds so wrong coming out of his mouth.
“More of me?”
He can tell it’s working, just by the guy’s tone – he is so stupidly into this; into Beomgyu playing by his rules.
“If you tell me your name, I’ll let you kiss me.”
Beomgyu can see his eyes widen. He wants it; he wants it so bad. “I’m… I’m not stupid, Beomgyu. I know you’re gonna run to the police with it.”
He huffs through his nose, frustrated, shaking. “I want something. And you want to kiss me. Deal or no deal.”
It doesn’t take the man as long as it should. “I’ll give you my first name.”
That would be enough, wouldn’t it? Beomgyu lifts his chin, for the first time since the guy walked in. “No tongue.”
“Deal.”
Beomgyu expected the guy to let him make the first move, and he doesn’t know why, because as soon as he finishes agreeing to Beomgyu’s stupid trade, he’s moving forward, and then Beomgyu’s face is in his hands, and his fingers in Beomgyu’s hair, and Beomgyu is cringing, freezing, tears gathering in his eyes again as he meets the man’s dark ones from up close. They’re watching him so intently he feels like he’s shriveling up under the attention the longer they linger on him.
Then one hand leaves the side of Beomgyu’s face and comes up to pull the black mask down.
It’s kind of a let-down. It’s just a face. It’s kind of handsome, with distinct defined lips, a soft nose. With this face, and his height, the guy could probably have anyone he wanted, if he tried even a little bit. Could have had Beomgyu, if he came up to him at a party and opened with a good joke. It’s so stupid; it’s so fucked up.
When he smiles, it makes a dimple appear on his cheek, giving him a sweet, innocent look. He holds the back of Beomgyu’s head, and tilts his own to get even closer.
“My name’s Soobin,” he says against Beomgyu’s lips, and then presses their mouths together.
Beomgyu feels it from a distance, having finally found a place in his brain to escape to from the things his body is going through. Lips on his, insistent then gentle then more insistent. Fingers caressing his face, his neck, running through his hair. The man – Soobin – doesn’t grope him, or press their hips together, and Beomgyu is distantly grateful for it. He can barely breathe with his nose blocked from crying. More tears are running down his face. The inside of his head feels echoey. He’s afraid to open his mouth, even a sliver, and invite Soobin to break their deal and take more than what Beomgyu promised him.
By the time Soobin pulls back, Beomgyu is almost choking, and he gasps for breath in the aftermath, even though Soobin still remains close to him, and the air he forces into his lungs is tainted with the taste of Soobin’s own breath. Was this worth it? He has a name and a face now, but does that help him at all? He still doesn’t remember ever meeting this guy.
Reluctantly, he meets Soobin’s eyes – they’re laughing, the corners of his mouth turned up. It’s worse like this, seeing his whole expression instead of just taking a guess from the look in his eye.
“You tasted desperate.” Like it’s a joke, that Beomgyu was crying uncontrollably throughout the whole kiss.
“You got what you wanted,” Beomgyu spits, because he can’t get himself to speak normally.
“Did I?” Soobin tilts his head. “Or did you want me to have this? Did you want to kiss me?”
Beomgyu hits his fists against the wall, like a petulant kid. “We made a deal.”
“My name for a kiss.”
“You knew what I was giving you.”
Soobin studies him, biting his lip, eyes drawing maps of Beomgyu’s face. “Give me one more thing.”
“No. Leave.”
Instead of obeying, Soobin comes close again, puts a hand next to Beomgyu’s head. He knows how to work Beomgyu now, just like Beomgyu figured out how to work him. Beomgyu is terrified of him physically, and Soobin wants Beomgyu’s body too much to be smart about it. Beomgyu may have thought he had a leg up, but he’s actually still just catching up.
“One more thing. Just a truth – that’s all.”
Beomgyu stays frozen, a prey animal playing dead. He doesn’t even nod; he doesn’t have to. This is not about his consent.
“Taehyun.” Soobin looks down at Beomgyu’s lips, then back into his eyes. “You slept with him again, even though you two broke up. Did it mean anything?”
It sounds so sincere. If it were a friend asking, Beomgyu would think he actually cares about the answer – but he’d never tell a friend about any of it.
Did it? Mean something?
It was so comfortable; the most comfortable Beomgyu had been in a while.
And then Taehyun just… left.
Beomgyu stares at the mask bunched up around Soobin’s chin. “Not to him.”
Soobin hums, then nods, then finally leaves Beomgyu’s personal space again. “I guess I can go now, then.”
Beomgyu can barely see anything anymore. His mind is a million miles away. “Please.”
“Think about it.”
He thinks he nods. At some point, the door unlocks, swings open and then shuts. He collapses to the floor.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
It’s been a week. Beomgyu has been living off of gummy bears and coffee. The first three days back at campus, he left every room Taehyun walked into, and his ex quickly got the memo. He missed a student senate meeting and ignored the emails scolding him for it. He doesn’t really sleep these days, he naps and wakes up from nightmares about rubber sliding over his bare skin. Kai is worried. Beomgyu told him it’s about him hooking up with Taehyun over the weekend. Kai buys it, because he doesn’t care enough to figure out he’s lying, probably.
His head feels empty and filled with things he wants to forget all at once. His skin feels ill-fitting, all of his clothes scratchy, every sound too loud, every taste too strong. If it were up to him, he’d lock himself in his bedroom, hide under a blanket and never come out again.
Kai thinks he’s moping, and keeps trying to hug him even though Beomgyu can’t stand physical touch right now. He brings him a tub of blueberries and cream ice cream and eats half of it while Beomgyu licks his spoon. They watch movies together that Beomgyu barely remembers a single scene from.
Life is strange. When he’s in the bathroom in the dark, pulling at his hair, he wonders if he wants to run away from this. Never call anyone ever again. Beg on the street for a living. Think about it.
He wants his entire life to just… stop. He wants Kai to stop talking to him, he wants people to forget his name. He wants his parents to stop calling, to drop out of school. Some nights he’s sure that means he wants to die. Some nights he imagines it, thinks about how he’d plan it, how he could make sure Kai wouldn’t find him. Some nights he wonders how he could plan it so that Kai would find him. Or maybe Soobin could find him, just to know what it’s like to ruin something you love for yourself. He imagines, with a nauseous glee, how devastated Soobin would be, knowing he’d never get to play around with Beomgyu again. He could kiss and fuck and grope his corpse all he wanted, but it would never talk back. It would never be the same.
None of the plans he makes in the middle of the night he ends up carrying out – and maybe that makes him a coward. Maybe that’s him making another choice, it’s just him not changing his locks again. Putting the box out. Not killing himself. Leaving himself open for the taking.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
Beomgyu hated Taehyun. He doesn’t think he always did, and he’s not sure when he started to, but there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to care when he comes home from class to see Yeonjun holding a sobbing Kai in his arms, and instead of explaining, Yeonjun hands him a phone with a text from Taehyun’s number that someone from his family sent, informing Kai that he passed the day before.
It’s been a long time since he saw Kai cry. He watches it now with morbid curiosity, his red face, the snot and tears, while he sits down on the floor, feeling completely numb.
Taehyun beat him to it; he fucking beat him to it.
Bastard.
He doesn’t cry. Yeonjun stares at him for a bit, then takes Kai to his own bedroom. Beomgyu turns on the TV. He doesn’t know what to do.
—¡!¡!¡!¡—
He’s invited to the funeral, but he doesn’t go. Kai does, clinging to Yeonjun’s arm, in matching black suits that are clearly too expensive not to stand out. Beomgyu hugs Kai before they leave. Kai said he understands why Beomgyu isn’t going, but Beomgyu thinks he was lying. He doesn’t say anything else before they go.
Beomgyu left his door unlocked; he sits on the floor of the living room and thinks about it again. There are knives in the kitchen; he doesn’t live high up enough; he doesn’t have anything he could overdose on. He wants this to stop. He wants everything to finally go quiet again. He wants everyone to leave him alone.
Someone knocks on the door.
He stumbles to his feet, dizzy and numb. He tears up looking at the spot in the hallway Soobin pinned him against that last time, but blinks the tears away. He opens the door.
Unlike Kai, unlike Yeonjun, Soobin isn’t wearing black today. He’s dressed in a blue shirt and gray slacks, face uncovered, hair parted neatly to show his forehead instead of being in his eyes. He looks handsome; like he’s ready for a date. Beomgyu would throw up at his feet if he had anything in his stomach.
“You know what day it is.”
Soobin’s mouth twitches, almost into a smile. “Yup.” He lifts the bottle of whiskey he’s holding. “I thought you might want a drink.”
Beomgyu stares at him; looks him up and down. His whole weight is on the door, because he doesn’t feel strong enough to stand up on his own anymore. He leans into the door until it opens wider. Soobin grins widely while he strides inside, takes his neat black dress shoes off and settles down on the floor in the living room, like he’s a friend who’s come over to drink dozens of times before. Maybe he has; maybe he did shots at Beomgyu’s coffee table while Beomgyu was sleeping for months before he ever caught him snooping around his room.
He closes the door and tries to follow but runs out of the will to move at the end of the hallway.
“Soobin?” He asks, and he barely recognizes his own voice.
“Hm?” Soobin doesn’t turn around; he’s so comfortable in Beomgyu’s apartment, like he’s the host and the guest here.
“Do you think good things happen to good people?”
Did he deserve this? He knows he did this to himself, but did he deserve it. Was it the world putting him in his place?
Soobin shrugs. “I don’t think good people exist.”
Beomgyu nods, drags himself to the couch and collapses onto it. He’s vulnerable lying down but he doesn’t care. He rolls over onto his side, and watches Soobin crack the bottle open. Soobin makes eye contact with him and smiles. Beomgyu doesn’t react.
“Did you think about it?” Soobin asks eventually, taking a swig directly from the bottle. He only cringes a little afterwards.
“Yeah.”
“And what do you say?”
He doesn’t want to live the rest of his life with Soobin; he doesn’t want to live anymore.
“Was it you?”
A weird glint appears in Soobin’s eyes, and it’s answer enough, isn’t it. “Was it me what?”
Beomgyu swallows a lump in his throat he didn’t think he was capable of anymore; he’s going to cry again. Crybaby. “Is Taehyun dead because of you?”
Soobin puts his elbow on the table and rests his chin in his palm, expression mischievous; flirtatious. “Would you kick me out if he was?”
He thinks about it. “No.” Maybe he can put Beomgyu out of his misery too.
The reply seems to make Soobin excited; he smiles wider, sits back up and takes another drink. “Good riddance.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
Soobin’s eyes zero in on him again, and Beomgyu tries to crawl away, but there’s only so much space on the couch, only so far he can press himself into the back of it until Soobin has him cornered again, hovering again, too close again.
“I brought this for you,” he says casually, lifting the bottle again. “You should have some.”
Beomgyu doesn’t want to drink; he doesn’t want anything of Soobin’s, but what he wants is not the point right now, as Soobin pours the whiskey into his mouth through a gap between his lips, then pinches his nose to make him swallow.
He smiles when Beomgyu does and it mixes with the burn of the alcohol in his throat to make him tear up even more. Crybaby.
Soobin seems almost fascinated by the tears running down his face, his mouth falling open slightly as he watches them fall. “Beomgyu? Can I kiss you again?”
No. I don’t want you to. Just kill me. Just please kill me.
He closes his eyes instead, tilts his head up towards him. Soobin kisses him softly, and tucks his hair behind his ear. Beomgyu sobs into it, and Soobin kisses him a little harder. It makes him dizzy, or the whiskey does. Or the hunger, the sleep deprivation. He doesn’t know or care anymore.
When Soobin pulls back, he pets Beomgyu’s cheek, and he opens his eyes again, watching him watch Beomgyu almost tenderly.
“I’m gonna make this so good for you.”
He doesn’t ask what this is – he reaches out instead, tugs at Soobin’s sleeve. “Why’re you dressed like this?”
“Hm?” Soobin looks down at himself, clearly taken aback, then laughs his breathy laugh. “I was at church before this; but I rushed right over. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”
At church?
Beomgyu blinks, and then it clicks. That’s what it was, wasn’t it. Christmas of their second year. He and Kai went to a concert held by the local church choir, out of curiosity and because they served warm drinks for free. Kai giggled the entire time into Beomgyu’s ear about a singer who looked like he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Beomgyu, but Beomgyu could never pick out who he was talking about in the mess of people all dressed in the same kind of clothes. He didn’t really bother to look too hard; Taehyun was already clearly winding up to shoot his shot, and Beomgyu was willing to wait him out. It was fun; like a little game. I know you want me, and I’ll be here until you come and get me.
He grips Soobin’s sleeve tighter. “We’re gonna leave all of this behind, right?”
Soobin reaches up and covers Beomgyu’s hand with his own. “That’s the plan.”
“And you’ll never say his name again.”
“Promise.”
Anywhere but here; he wants to be anywhere but here. “I do.” He can barely hear himself; it’s better that way.
“You do what?” Teasing, playful. Toying. Beomgyu doesn’t have the strength to play right back.
“Want to run away with you.”
Soobin rubs his thumb over the back of Beomgyu’s hand, and it would be soothing if it were anyone else. “Prove it.”
He swallows his heart, lets go of something deep within himself, and in the resulting quiet, he lifts himself up, looks Soobin directly in the eyes, then lets his own slip shut again, and he kisses him.