Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The next month, nine pears arrive.

The month after that, a single pear in a spacious box.

Then two.

One.

Six deliveries over half a year, each with a different number of pears.

His phone calls with Seokjin now mostly centre around the topic of pears instead of the trust foundation.

“Can you ask whoever’s sending those to send something else?” Seokjin says. Crunch. “It’s been half a year. I like strawberries more, actually.” Crunch. “Maybe some Jeju tangerines, too.”

Wonwoo pats Dahaeng, who’s fast asleep on his lap.

“That’s assuming I know who sent them.”

Seokjin snorts. “Yeah.” Crunch. “Assuming, of course.”

Two more deliveries: one of an empty box, one of three pears.

After that, nothing. Not even an empty box.

1 year and 18 days before the statute of limitations runs out. They receive nothing for the third consecutive month.

Seokjin hums. “Maybe whoever sent them sensed I’ve really had enough.” Crunch.

“Aren’t you eating a pear right now?”

“That’s beside the point.” Crunch. “I was very disappointed when an empty box arrived.”

The call ends. Wonwoo sits on the floor and stares at the numbers: 3, 6, 9, 1, 2, 1, 0, 3.

It could be a phone number, but it’s one digit short. He can try calling, adding on an extra number from 0 to 9 at the end. But there’s no area code that starts with 3.

Maybe he should shuffle the numbers?

But this went on for too many months. It’d be foolish to not change phone numbers for so long.

Wonwoo goes to the library in town the next day. He logs into the public computer and opens up the homepage of the national post service.

He searches for post codes in Namyangju first. That’s where the pears came from.

12103 points towards a certain Byeollae-dong. That leaves him with 369.

He scrolls down the list of addresses under the same post code. There’s nothing in the street number or land lot that matches 369.

Wonwoo crosses it out. He moves onto the next permutation.

21033. Incheon, Bupyeong-gu, Cheongcheon-dong. Nothing matches 691. Crossed out.

10336. Ilsan, Goyang-si, Jungsan-dong. Nothing matches 912. Crossed out.

03369. Seoul, Eunpyeong-gu, Nokbeon-dong. There’s a land lot number—12-1. Wonwoo circles it.

33691. No match.

36912. Gyeongbuk-do, Mungyeong-si, Mungyeong-eup. Land lot number 103 has a registered address. Wonwoo circles it.

Wonwoo stares at the numbers. He flips them around: 3, 0, 1, 2, 1, 9, 6, 3.

He runs through the postal codes again and end up with two valid addresses:

12196. Namyangju-si, Hwado-eup, Changhyeon-ri. Street number 330.

33012. Incheon, Yeonsu-gu, Dongchun-dong. Land lot number 196.

A total of four addresses.

He looks them up in satellite view. He crosses out one that shows up as a factory building, then reconsiders. He might be wrong—it could be some kind of workplace.

That leaves him with the addresses in Mungyeong, Namyangju, Incheon, and Seoul.

Seoul goes to the last. It’s not a good place for hiding.

He moves Namyangju to the third on the list, because that’s just too obvious.

1 year before the statute of limitations runs out. Wonwoo wears a mask and opens the windows wide. Specks of dust dance in the air as he clears the 5-pyeong one-room he’s been renting for the past nine months. He wipes down the shelves with a wet cloth. All his belongings are in the trunk and backseat of the rental car.

He closes the windows before leaving.

As he drives, Dahaeng wiggles in the carrier bag. Wonwoo reaches a hand to unzip it, eyes on the road. She immediately pokes her head out, turning to catch the passing scenery.

“Do you know where we’re going?” He asks.

Dahaeng doesn’t answer him. She stretches her neck to peer over the dashboard.

“We’re going on a trip,” Wonwoo explains as they go through a toll gate. Dahaeng startles at the voice from the contactless payment unit on the windshield, announcing the fee.

They stop at rest stations along the way. Wonwoo puts out two bowls and fills one with kibble and the other with water. Dahaeng feasts on it and takes a shit in the grass. Wonwoo dutifully cleans it up.

They go all the way until they reach Incheon, the furthest of four addresses. Wonwoo checks in at a pet-friendly guesthouse that accepts one of the passports Junhui’s prepared for him. They don’t ask too many questions before they show him his room.

Wonwoo takes out the disposable litter pads and puts one in the corner. He fills the bowl with bottled water and plops down on the floor.

Dahaeng pads up to him. She nudges her face against Wonwoo’s hand.

“We’ll take a rest and go for a walk,” he tells her.

11 months and 30 days. They check out of the guesthouse.

Wonwoo hasn’t stepped foot in Incheon since he returned from Geneva. He doesn’t miss it all that much.

At least not the place, physically.

He stops by the address and sees a family of three go into the house. He drives away and fills the gas before going onto the highway.

As they pass through the toll gates, Wonwoo pulls the mask over his nose.

There are CCTVs everywhere. Wonwoo parks his car in an alley and puts a leash on Dahaeng.

“I’m hungry,” he says, to nobody in particular. Dahaeng turns to look at him. He rummages for the bag of cat food and the two bowls. “You’re hungry too, right?”

They get out of the car. Wonwoo puts the two bowls on the ground. While Dahaeng eats, he glances around.

It’s a nice neighbourhood, full of low rises and hairdressers and real estate companies. There’s even a laundromat not far away. Above the shopfronts, there are three windows sporting three big letters that read “Taekwondo.” The lights inside are on.

He buys takeaway braised chicken and eats it in the car.

At around 6pm, people begin to return from work. He watches them enter the apartment building, bringing a day’s worth of fatigue on them. He stays there until night falls, snacking on junk food he bought from 7-11.

There’s no sign of anybody he knows.

He drives away.

11 months and 29 days. He wakes up in a guesthouse run by an old couple right at the edge of the Onam reservoir.

Dahaeng takes great interest in the people who are fishing there. She bats at the baits unattached to hooks. Wonwoo stands there and nods politely when people coo at her.

At 10am, he checks out and drives to the address.

The area’s dotted with mostly single houses, cars parked at the driveway, and plots of land with the occasional greenhouse. Not far away, there’s a sign pointing towards a peach farm.

A strange car such as his would stand out in a neighbourhood like this.

He parks the car and goes kill some time at a gardening shop nearby. Dahaeng enters sensory overload, sniffing at every plant she passes by. The shop owner laughs at her when she smells a peculiar one and opens her mouth to breathe.

At 3pm, an old lady goes into that house with a bag of groceries. An old man opens the door for her. The door shuts.

Wonwoo exits the shop and starts the car. He enters the next address.

The drive takes two hours. By the time he arrives at Mungyeong-eup, the sky is darkening. He buys instant dinner at the nearest convenience store and checks in at the minbak.

He’s shown a room with the barest basics: wooden heated floor, a thick mattress folded up in the corner, a coffee table, and a private bathroom.

He got what he paid for. Even if not, it’s only for one night.

11 month and 28 days. Wonwoo wakes up to Dahaeng sitting on his chest, full-volume meowing in his face. He gets up and, without bothering to wear his glasses, spoons two scoops of cat food into the empty bowl. Dahaeng leaps into action.

The fourth and last address waits for him.

Wonwoo washes his face and stares into the mirror. He hasn’t shaved in weeks.

If this happens to be the intended address, he should probably shave first, for whatever reason.

He lathers the shaving foam over his face and takes a disposable razor out of its packaging. The blade makes a quiet sound as it works over his face.

With a path of skin among the foam, he turns on the tap and rinses the blade. He works in rows along the line of his jaw until his face is clean.

He washes his face and looks into the mirror again. He looks weird, but younger.

He throws the razor into the bin.

It’s a 24 minute drive to the address, according to the navigator. Wonwoo doesn’t quite want to go there yet, so he makes a detour to the town centre.

He finds a hairdresser nestled between a pharmacy and a local church, perfect for him in the mood for procrastination.

An hour later, he leaves with his ears and nape strangely chilly. He hadn’t realised his hair grew to be that long, but living in a small town without a social scene can do that to people.

He wanders around town and picks a galbi soup place for lunch. There are a few other customers, so Wonwoo chooses the quietest corner and eats with Dahaeng on his lap, as advised by the restaurant owner.

Dahaeng sniffs the beef broth. Wonwoo fends her approaching little mug away. It goes back and forth like that for an hour before Wonwoo decides to leave.

He drives along the path that leads to the destination, a house at the end of a branch off the main road. He’s entering the territory of bumfuck nowhere as trees lining the road grow denser.

The closer he is, the slower he wants to go.

The smooth pavement becomes gravel as he makes a left onto the driveway. Wonwoo drives slow, then comes to a complete stop when he spots someone by the house.

He pulls the handbrake and unbuckles his seatbelt. Dahaeng wants to follow him, but he shoos her to the backseat before exiting the car.

It’s cold outside. Wonwoo jams his hands into his pockets as he walks closer, shoes crunching on loose rocks, until he’s a few steps away.

He sees him now.

Soonyoung’s tending to what looks like a chicken pen with a basket in hand. He coos at a hen that’s wearing a tiny blue jacket.

Wonwoo takes another step. His soles scrape against the ground, abrasive.

“Hello,” he attempts.

The sound alerts Soonyoung. He turns, looks around, and freezes. He stares, breath billowing in white puffs around him.

The basket in his hand drops.

A few eggs tumble out and crack open. Wonwoo glances at the yolks and whites sliding across the ground, then at Soonyoung, rooted to the spot, eyes wide.

It only lasts a few seconds, then it’s gone.

As always, Soonyoung recovers. “Hi,” he says. A polite smile makes its way on his face, veiling the surprise. He picks up the basket. “It’s been a while.”

Wonwoo hums. He nods. “Quite a while.”

Soonyoung watches him, carefully, smile unfaltering. Wonwoo has a distinctive feeling of being pinned down on a board for dissection.

That, too, lasts only a few seconds.

“We should catch up,” Soonyoung begins, locking the chicken pen. He tilts his head at the house. “You wanna come in?”

Wonwoo nods. He catches sight of a chicken, one in a pink jacket this time. “Can I bring my cat too?”

Soonyoung blinks. “You have a cat?”

“Yeah.”

He peers behind Wonwoo. “How did you get here?”

“By car.” Wonwoo steps aside to let him have a better look.

Dahaeng has her paws on the dashboard. Her mouth is open in what looks like a loud meow, but Wonwoo can’t hear it from afar. The only thing he knows is: she really wants to come along.

Soonyoung looks at the car. Wonwoo lets him.

It’s a new looking car without a dash cam. The license plate probably looks innocuous enough, registered in the same province.

Soonyoung looks some more.

“Okay,” he says, scanning around them slowly. He asks, “Do you have anything on you?”

“No,” Wonwoo says. “My phone’s in the car. Battery out.”

Soonyoung stares at him for a few seconds. At last, he flits his eyes to the house.

Wonwoo goes get Dahaeng and locks the car. They step through the door into the entryway, where Soonyoung takes his shoes off, lining them up next to a pair of dirt-caked boots. Wonwoo toes off his own with Dahaeng in the crook of his arm.

Soonyoung steps into the kitchen. He pulls out two mugs, matching with tiger print. The whole time, he keeps Wonwoo in the corner of his eye. “What are you doing here?”

“Is that how you welcome guests?”

“I don’t have guests,” Soonyoung says simply. He pours some cold barley tea.

Wonwoo kneels down and pulls out a pack of wet wipes. He cleans Dahaeng’s paws before letting her go.

She sniffs Soonyoung’s shoes, then hops cautiously over the step separating the rest of the house. She hobbles slowly, stops at the living room to inspect a shelf, and resumes her investigation.

Wonwoo looks away from her. He says, “I got your pears.”

Soonyoung stops in his movement, the jug of tea held in the air.

He frowns. A second later, he resumes pouring tea into the second mug. “Ah, those pears.” He sets down the jug. “I ordered them when I was in Tokyo.”

“Is that so.”

Soonyoung hums. He takes an apple from the fridge and cuts into it. A segment drops into the bowl. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Half an apple is gone. Soonyoung tilts his head and angles his knife. He asks, almost nonchalant, “Where did you get the car?”

Wonwoo answers, “Rented.”

Soonyoung raises his eyebrows. Thunk. “How about your computers?”

“Recycled.”

Thunk.

“You’re joking.” He laughs. Thunk. “You? Tech free?”

Now, the whole apple is gone. Soonyoung washes his hands and dries them on a dishcloth.

“I still have a gameboy.” Wonwoo stands up. He dusts his knees.

“Does it still work?” Soonyoung asks, bringing out a tray to hold the tea and bowl of sliced apples.

“Of course.” Scratch. Scratch scratch scratch. Wonwoo whips his head around and sees Dahaeng scratching the sofa. “Dahaeng-ah, no—”

He walks over and picks her up, disengaging her claws from the cloth covers. Meanwhile, Soonyoung sets down the tray on the low coffee table.

“Your cat’s called Dahaeng?” He raises his brows, sitting down on the floor.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks down at Dahaeng, who is the face of innocence.

Shameless.

“Dahaeng.” Soonyoung leans back. “As in lucky, like thank god?”

“Right.” Wonwoo scoops her up in his arms like a baby. He sits legs crossed on the other side. “That’s her name.”

Nodding, Soonyoung takes an apple slice. His front teeth sink into the pale yellow of it. Crunch.

“Cute,” he says. Carefully, he extends a hand, which Dahaeng sniffs. He smiles when she rubs her chin on his fingers. “Where did you find her?”

“Outside a shop.” Wonwoo takes a slice for himself. Dahaeng extends her neck to sniff at it. “She tried to follow me home.”

Soonyoung scratches her under her chin. “That’s really friendly for a stray.”

“She is.”

Wonwoo waits for the question—How about you? Where did you come from?

But it doesn’t come. At least not now, not when they clear off the bowl of apples.

Soonyoung gets up to go cut another.

“I still can’t believe you chose to bring a gameboy,” Soonyoung says when he comes back. He takes the first slice, which spills juice past his lips when he bites down. He licks them clean. “I’d be bored out of my mind.”

“You can game with a lot of things,” Wonwoo says. “A calculator, for example.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

Soonyoung snorts. “Like what? Addition?”

“Shooting game,” Wonwoo says. “I programmed one ages ago.”

“Are you sure we’re using the same kind of calculators?”

“The ones we use in high school.” Wonwoo rubs his nose. “If you have one, I can show you.”

Soonyoung looks at him. Something on his face changes, only that Wonwoo doesn’t know from what to what.

“I don’t think I do,” Soonyoung says, looking away. He stands up and stretches towards the ceiling with a sigh. He seems to consider for a second, before saying, “I’m gonna make dinner now. You want some?”

Wonwoo stays for dinner.

Soonyoung lives like an old man, cooking dinner at five and eating at six. It’s not something he imagined either of them doing, but here they are.

“I used homemade kimchi for this.” Soonyoung sets down a steaming pot on the coffee table.

Wonwoo’s stomach grumbles traitorously. He hasn’t had a homemade meal since he started travelling.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I asked my mum to write down all her recipes for me,” Soonyoung says, sitting down. He spoons the stew over his rice.

Wonwoo looks over at the fridge. There are memos stuck to the door, each covered with numbered steps in neat handwriting.

He can count eight.

“Have you been eating the same dishes for a year?”

“That’s plenty enough,” Soonyoung says. He digs in, cheeks full. “I can afford to not repeat dishes for a week.”

The tone of Soonyoung’s voice raises suspicions. “But?”

“I like kimchi jjigae.”

“So you’ve been making the same dish for an entire year.”

“I make kimchi fried rice too,” Soonyoung retorts.

“Two dishes,” Wonwoo concludes.

“I can like something for a long, long time,” Soonyoung says loftily. He takes a bite. “Anyway, how’s the foundation?”

“It’s running well,” he says. Soonyoung hums. “They got your pears.”

“Did you not end up getting them?”

“No,” Wonwoo says. “The lawyer ate all twenty five.”

Soonyoung frowns. “Did he not send them to you?”

“He didn’t know where I was.”

Wonwoo waits for the question, again: where were you?

Only that Soonyoung doesn’t ask. He pouts, splitting the tofu with his chopsticks.

“Too bad,” he says. His mouth closes around the chopsticks. “Those pears are good.”

Wonwoo sees the red of his lips, dipping under the chopsticks as they slide out. He looks away. “I remember.”

They spend a few seconds in silence just eating. Soonyoung breaks it, bringing them away from the pears.

“What have you been up to those days?” He asks.

“Raising a cat. Reading. Some writing.” Wonwoo gets some kimchi. “You?”

“Growing vegetables. Tending to the chickens.”

“Do you eat them?”

“The vegetables?” Soonyoung spoons some more stew. “Yeah. I used some this time.”

“How about the chickens?”

Soonyoung gasps. “Of course not.” He touches a hand to his chest, hurt evident on his face. “God. Are you heartless?”

“I mean,” Wonwoo says. He shrugs a shoulder. A smile threatens to tug at his face. “If you keep chickens, it’s only logical.”

“It is not.” Soonyoung huffs. “They’re family. How could you do that to them?”

“Do you never eat chicken?”

“Not my chickens.”

“So you’ll eat someone else’s.”

“Yes. And fried—” Dahaeng chooses that moment to jump onto his lap “—oh.”

Soonyoung’s hand hover in the air. Dahaeng turns a full 360 before finding a good spot on his thighs, taking his hesitation as permission to curl up.

Gingerly, Soonyoung lowers his hand. Dahaeng’s fluffy fur flattens under his palm.

She begins to purr.

“Wow,” Soonyoung mutters. He brushes a finger under Dahaeng’s chin, which makes her purr visibly. He glances up at Wonwoo. “Are you sure she’s a stray?”

“Used to be,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung looks down at her. He adopts his baby voice. “Is Wonwoo treating you well?” He strokes her head. “You can stay here if you want.”

Wonwoo snorts.

It turns out she might be staying. With Wonwoo, of course, because by the end of dinner she’s still on Soonyoung’s lap, sound asleep.

Wonwoo takes it upon himself to tidy the table.

“Sorry,” Soonyoung says, sheepish as he sits on the floor while Wonwoo takes the dirty dishes to the kitchen.

“It’s okay,” Wonwoo says. He turns on the tap.

“I mean, sorry for keeping you here.” Soonyoung’s voice travels from the living room.

Wonwoo smiles at the dishes. “Because she likes you too much?”

“That I’m not sorry for.”

Wonwoo rinses away the red drops of stew on their bowls. He grabs a sponge and empties a pump of dish detergent on it.

He begins scrubbing.

By the time he’s finished with the dishes and dried his hands, Dahaeng’s still in the same place, Soonyoung in the same position.

“I have a set of spare mattresses and blankets,” Soonyoung says with an apologetic smile. “I can turn up the heating.”

Wonwoo lets out a quiet chuckle.

Dahaeng makes a noise. They both freeze, staring at her as she stretches out.

Then she curls up tighter and covers her eyes with her paws. That alone consolidates Soonyoung’s fate on the floor.

In actuality, it’s not as inevitable as they make it to be. Wonwoo can pick her up and say his goodbyes before leaving. Soonyoung can push her off.

But what are they if not indulging Dahaeng and then some?

“I’ll go get some stuff from the car,” Wonwoo whispers.

Soonyoung nods. He looks down at Dahaeng, hand hovering above her ears, before stroking a finger between them.

Wonwoo puts on his shoes. He opens the front door as quietly as he can.

Wonwoo takes a change of clothes from his suitcase in the trunk. He also gets the disposable litter pads and the litter tray so he can set it up somewhere.

There’s a mattress in the living room when he returns, with a pillow and a blanket in matching covers. Soonyoung’s nowhere to be seen. Dahaeng, though, is curled up in the middle of the plush bedding.

Wonwoo changes into his sleeping clothes and washes up at the kitchen sink. He turns off the lights and goes to bed.

Wonwoo wakes up to the sound of the front door opening.

It’s six in the morning, according to the big clock above the TV. Not bothering to find his glasses, he peers at the door from the living room. Someone comes in through the doorway with a basket in hand.

Wonwoo lies back down. He considers for a brief moment before sitting back up, carefully pushing the blanket off himself without disturbing Dahaeng.

The floor is warm beneath his feet. He pads to the kitchen, where he sees Soonyoung lining up eggs in a carton.

He sees him when the basket is empty. “Hi,” he says, cheeks and nose red from the cold outside.

Woonwoo yawns. “Good morning.”

Soonyoung puts the basket away. “Breakfast?”

“Sure.” Wonwoo rubs his eyes. “I can help.”

“You can sleep some more.” Soonyoung opens the fridge. He takes out a few boxes. “I’m heating up some leftovers.”

“Are you sure?”

Soonyoung turns around. “Unless you really want to help.”

Wonwoo goes back to bed, burrowing under the still-warm blankets. He drifts in and out of sleep, faintly disturbed by the humming of the microwave.

He wakes up again to the click of cutleries. Soonyoung sets down a tray of food at the coffee table. The smell of beef broth is enough reason to leave the blanket.

There’s a big bowl of soup in the middle, surrounded by a few small dishes. They say their thanks and begin eating.

“So,” Soonyoung begins. “Where are you staying?”

Wonwoo freezes with a spoon in his hand. He takes a deep breath.

“I’m not staying anywhere.”

A hum. “Where were you staying, then?”

His brain, defunct in the mornings, does jackshit to come up with an alternative to the truth.

Soonyoung seems to know that, too, waiting with a barely concealed smile as Wonwoo fixates on a speck of sesame on the small plate.

Wonwoo rubs his eyes. He takes another spoonful of soup after Soonyoung.

“An hour or two away,” he decides with answering,

Soonyoung pouts, big enough that it reaches Wonwoo through his blurry vision. “That’s not fair. You know my address.” Soonyoung takes some seasoned spinach. “Where?”

Wonwoo gives up. “Bugan-myeon.”

“Ah,” Soonyoung says, melodic. “We both chose the middle of nowhere.”

Wonwoo nods. He sips on another spoonful of soup.

Soonyoung takes his silence as permission to go on. “And you left because?”

Wonwoo takes his time chewing the beef. He needs to think.

It takes more time than he expected. He’s really going rusty.

“Just needed to,” he says, trying to shrug.

Soonyoung raises an eyebrow, mouth ticking up. “Someone on your tail?”

Wonwoo looks down at his bowl of rice. He takes the first spoonful.

“Something like that,” he mumbles.

Technically, he isn’t lying. Someone’s always on their tail. It’s just a matter of urgency.

Except this time, it’s him chasing the tail that was offered to him.

Same difference.

Soonyoung leans back. His gaze stays on Wonwoo, like he’s waiting for him to falter.

Good thing Wonwoo doesn’t have his glasses on—he doesn’t think he can meet Soonyoung’s eyes head on.

“Try the kimchi,” Soonyoung says at last, scooping rice from the corner he already dug out. “It’s Northern style. The halmeoni near the end of the street gave it to me.”

11 months and 27 days. Soonyoung says he should stay before he can secure a new place. Wonwoo takes up the offer and brings his suitcase in from the car. He returns the rental car and goes back in Soonyoung’s truck. His wad of cash for rent is denied.

“You can help out with the housework,” Soonyoung says. “And pay for half of the food.”

There’s a routine to this, Wonwoo’s happy to discover.

Soonyoung wakes up at six to collect morning eggs from the coop. After putting them away in cartons, he makes breakfast.

From early morning to afternoon, he tends to the patches of land that surround the house, checking on the cabbages. He then takes a break, often playing with Dahaeng or the chickens. If he has any errands to run, he goes afterwards.

Wonwoo does his share: scooping the litter, sweeping the floor, cleaning the windows, cooking dinner, doing the dishes, bringing the kitchen waste out to the compost machine. He knows how to be a passable housemate, but he wants to be a good housemate, so he helps Soonyoung with the plants sometimes, lifting them up for repotting—however much he can do with zero knowledge.

It’s easy to get lost in hiding, in a routine.

Wonwoo doesn’t do what he’s supposed to do. Namely, trying to secure a new place. One week later, Soonyoung doesn’t mention a thing about it as he drives them both to the supermarket where they stock up on groceries.

Wonwoo pays in cash and helps carry them to the pickup truck.

Soonyoung rolls down the windows on the way back. He squints against the sun beating down on them through the windshield.

“It’s getting warm,” he says.

10 months 30 days. Wonwoo buys a bag of litter on their next run to the supermarket. He takes what he can get. Dahaeng is all too happy to use fresh litter again.

Soonyoung still hasn’t asked him to leave.

One month is both too short and too long to know someone. He comes to know about Soonyoung’s mother’s secret kimchi recipe—add fresh shrimps; Soonyoung’s favourite song, SHINee’s “Please Don’t Go”; how many CDs he has: twenty; where he keeps his earthenware that holds pickled goods; his timetable for the compost machine; and who in this town does he trade eggs for what.

“I’m bringing some eggs to the halmeoni at the end of the street,” Soonyoung says. He pulls on a fleece jacket. “Do you want to come with?”

Wonwoo looks up from his book. He lifts Dahaeng off his lap and places her on the spot next to him. She walks away.

“Sure.” Wonwoo stands up. He reaches for his own parka.

It’s a ten minute drive. The destination is also a house in the middle of nowhere. There’s a dog at the front of the house.

“I’ll be quick,” Soonyoung says, turning off the ignition. He hops off the car and takes the eggs, carefully, before making his way to the door.

Wonwoo watches an old lady open the door. The lines on her face smile with her as she sees Soonyoung. She takes the eggs, disappears for a moment, before reappearing with a few bags in her hands.

Soonyoung bows profusely as she pushes them into his hands. Wonwoo unbuckles the seatbelt and gets out of the car.

He makes his way towards them, loud enough they both notice him. When he’s close enough, he bows. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello,” the old lady says. “Oh, are you the friend Soonyoung told me about?”

Soonyoung blinks. “Ah.” He throws Wonwoo a quick glance. “Right, yes.”

Wonwoo gives them a polite smile.

“You both are good-looking young men,” the old lady concludes. “As I was saying, my granddaughter will be back this summer. You should come over for dinner sometime. You’ve met her before, right?”

“Ah, yes.” Soonyoung laughs. “We met when you were with her at the rice shop.”

“Well, I keep telling her to come visit more often, but she says she can’t find the time. I said to her, Jinyoung-ah, one meeting is barely enough to get to know someone. Time flies fast, you have to grab the opportunity before it slips past your fingers.”

Soonyoung keeps laughing, ducking his head. “I’m sure she’s busy with work.”

“What’s more important than finding someone to build a family with?”

“I’m sure you know, halmeonim, the generation has changed—”

Wonwoo reaches out to take one of the plastic bags. Soonyoung startles at the brush of their fingers. He tightens his grip on the handle.

“Do you need help?” Wonwoo offers. He tugs, and Soonyoung lets go. “I can load them onto the truck first.”

Soonyoung blinks, then nods. He passes him a few more bags. Wonwoo is surprised to find he can barely carry them with both hands.

“Thanks,” Soonyoung says with a different smile. “I’ll get the rest.”

Wonwoo nods. He says his goodbyes with a quick bow and walks back to the truck.

That evening, they use some of the spring vegetables from the halmeoni. Wonwoo struggles to name them without an encyclopaedia or the internet at his disposal.

“She said we could just blanch the dureup and dip it in vinegar and gochujang,” Soonyoung says, a strange root of a plant in his hand.

Wonwoo mixes the sauce as Soonyoung watches over the pot. The steam in the kitchen makes the ends of his hair curl, a curvature that reflects light from the ceiling.

The sauce is done. Wonwoo goes check on the radish soup that doubles as breakfast the next morning.

“She seems to like you a lot,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung snorts. “It’s just rare to see an adult below forty here.” He tastes the soup and adds some soy sauce. “Pretty sure her granddaughter has someone wherever she is.”

Wonwoo hums.

He watches the back of Soonyoung’s head, his neck, the line of his shoulder beneath the sweatshirt. The shell of his ears are pink from the heat of the kitchen. Something simmers at the pit of Wonwoo’s stomach, eroding a hole through him.

Wonwoo wants to bite him; cover him in teeth marks all over. He doesn’t know how Soonyoung would look with them, but he’s sure it’ll be good. He’ll make sure it looks good.

The pit in his stomach burns.

“Wonwoo?”

Wonwoo blinks. He sees Soonyoung’s concerned face, closer than he remembers. “Yeah?”

“The rice cooker just beeped,” Soonyoung says, slowly. He probably missed it the first time.

Wonwoo takes a deep breath. He takes the rice spatula out of the drawer and spoons them two bowls.

10 months 22 days. He accidentally learns what Soonyoung looks like buck naked. He hits his head on the doorframe as he backs out of the bathroom.

10 months 13 days. Wonwoo nearly brains himself on the slippery tiles when Soonyoung walks into him in the bathroom, mirror fogged and walls damp.

It’s Wonwoo who should be surprised, but it’s Soonyoung who lets out a bone-shattering scream as he slams the door on his way out.

9 months 29 days. Soonyoung still hasn’t asked him to leave.

Wonwoo buys a new lock from the homeware store. He goes to the local library and prints out an installation tutorial. He takes out the old one and replaces it.

It’s for the better in the long run.

9 months 15 days. They have a new lock now. Nobody accidentally runs into the other in various states of undress.

It doesn’t mean he’s safe, though.

Soonyoung sweats easily—one of the other things he relearns. Back when he trained with Seungcheol, he emptied two bottles of water after each session. Now, in the sun, hand on one handle of a heavy basket while Wonwoo holds the other, he sweats even more, shirt sticking to his back, closely enough that Wonwoo can make out the exact shape of his trapezius.

They got a huge basketful of green plums from another family down the street. Wonwoo has half the heart to point out the purpose of those three years in hiding; they get fresh food from Soonyoung’s popularity.

They stand side by side in the kitchen. Soonyoung removes the stems and washes the plums under running water. Wonwoo dries each one of them with a paper towel.

“They said we need to wash a glass jar with hot water,” Soonyoung says, pulling another twig from the fruit.

“We can do it while the plum dries.”

Wonwoo takes one from Soonyoung’s hand, dripping, before wrapping the paper towel around it.

“After that, we add the sugar,” he recounts the instructions. “And then, we stir every two to three days.” He pulls a twig off. “And then, we wait a hundred days.”

Wonwoo hums. “Patience.”

“It’ll be winter by the time we can use it to make tea,” Soonyoung says with a pout. He hands Wonwoo another plum.

“It’s only June,” Wonwoo says. “It’ll be ready in September.”

Soonyoung looks at him, long enough that Wonwoo considers closing the tap. Just as he’s about to, Soonyoung turns back to the plums.

“I see,” he says, ripping the stem off.

9 months 10 days. Wonwoo wishes Soonyoung a happy birthday and makes him seaweed soup.

Soonyoung’s eyes go wide when he sees the pot. He looks pleased, though a little apprehensive. “How did you know it’s my birthday?”

Ah, shit. He forgot it’s something he learnt when he was digging around.

Soonyoung crosses his arms. He knows, most definitely. It falls on Wonwoo to admit it for the sake of them both.

“I had to look you up back then,” he admits.

Soonyoung hums, tapping his fingers on his crossed arm. “Creep,” he sing-songs. He takes out the soup bowls and cutleries. “It’s unfair. You know everything about me.”

Wonwoo stirs the soup. He takes a small spoon and tastes it. “I don’t.”

“You know more about me than I do you.”

The soup is good. He reaches out a hand, and Soonyoung hands him a bowl.

“You can just ask if you wanna know,” Wonwoo says, ladelling soup into the bowl.

“And you’ll let me?”

Wonwoo looks up from the pot. Soonyoung watches him.

“If you ask,” he says, reaching out for the other bowl.

Soonyoung doesn’t ask. He makes a wish before blowing out the candle, stuck onto a small cupcake he bought from the supermarket.

“You’re lucky I don’t like cakes,” Soonyoung says. He splits the cupcake in half. “Did you know that too?”

“No,” Wonwoo says. He picks up a crumb. “It wasn’t on the computer.”

9 months 1 day. It’s morning. Wonwoo’s cleaning the litter when he hears a loud crash from the kitchen.

Dahaeng jumps and scrambles under the sofa.

“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo calls out. He hears a few swear words, but no answer.

He puts down the litter scoop and walks closer. First, he sees a stray spoon on the floor, a few steps away from the kitchen. He picks it up and keeps walking.

“What happened—” he comes to a stop when he sees him, sitting on the floor. “Soonyoung?”

Soonyoung smiles up at him, but it looks more like a pained grimace. He’s supporting his right arm with the other hand.

“Hi,” he says, grunting a little. There are chopsticks and spoons all around. “I’ll clean it up later.”

Wonwoo gets onto the floor with him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung says. He breaths deep, in and out, purposeful. “Help me up?”

Wonwoo finds purchase around his middle and gets him to his feet. Soonyoung can’t seem to straighten up. They make their way to the living room.

“What happened?”

“Dislocation.” Soonyoung sits down gingerly on the sofa. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Can you get me an ice pack?”

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Wonwoo asks.

Because they can’t. Not without giving their names and social security number.

“It’s happened before.” Soonyoung curls up on himself. He grits out, “Can you please get me an ice pack?”

Wonwoo goes back to the kitchen. He opens the fridge first, sticking his head in to calm his heart.

He pulls a few breaths and shuts the door, opening the freezer compartment to find what he needs.

On his way back, he grabs a towel and wraps it around the ice pack.

Soonyoung’s leaning back now, frowning as he tests the motion of his right shoulder, gripping the socket tight with his other hand. He looks pale and sweaty.

Wonwoo swallows. This is somehow more terrifying than the time Seungcheol busted a spleen.

“Here,” Wonwoo says. He sits on Soonyoung’s bad side.

Soonyoung opens his eyes. He takes the ice pack. “Thanks.”

“How did it happen?” Wonwoo asks.

“Nothing really,” Soonyoung mutters. He rolls up the short sleeve of the shirt and ices his shoulder. He closes his eyes again with a hiss. “I lifted my arm wrong. It happens.”

Wonwoo swallows again. He looks at Soonyoung’s profile, at the tired lines and clammy skin.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pauses. “I know someone in Gyeongbuk. Or if you need anything from the pharmacy—”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung begins, opening his eyes. “I did this a hundred times before, you don’t have to—”

Wonwoo leans in to kiss him.

He can taste the salt of cold sweat, the bitterness of a dry mouth. Wonwoo realises he’s shaking, somehow, when it should be the other way round. Soonyoung blows out a breath, sending a shiver that spreads over him like cracks on a sheet of thin ice, separating him from the fear under his feet.

Wonwoo pulls back, assessing. It’s a second before Soonyoung pulls some stuntman trick and pins him down on the sofa, his good arm across Wonwoo’s chest.

Heavy breath hits his face. Wonwoo stares up, heart thrashing despite being restrained. If he didn’t see the chopsticks and the spoons on the floor, he wouldn’t know Soonyoung’s favouring his left side now.

“What was that?” Soonyoung asks. When Wonwoo doesn’t answer, he pushes down harder, a hint of laughter beneath his voice. His eyes are on the wild side, incredulous. “Shit, Wonwoo. Do you get off on this?”

Wonwoo tests the give. It won’t budge.

He’s a tech guy, Wonwoo wants to remind Soonyoung. He’s just a tech guy who poses little to no physical threat. There’s no need to hold him down like this.

It’s not like he’ll run.

“Was that what you did?” Wonwoo asks back. Soonyoung’s face hovers above his, heavy breath hitting his skin. “When you brought me to the workshop.”

Soonyoung huffs out a laughter. The edge of his forearm grinds against his sternum, one last time, before he lifts off.

“I’m not a sadist,” he says, going back to nurse his bad shoulder at the other end of the sofa, as far from Wonwoo as possible.

Wonwoo stares at the ceiling. He takes a few breaths to calm himself.

He sighs.

“Neither am I.” He presses a palm against his ribs. The ache is back. Wonwoo lifts his head and asks, “Do you need painkillers?”

Soonyoung doesn’t look at him. “We’ve run out.”

“I’ll go get some.” Wonwoo sits up. He gets his feet on the floor. “Can I use your car?”

Soonyoung curls up tighter on himself. “Whatever you like.”

“Anything else you need?”

“No.”

Wonwoo takes the car key from the bowl on the shoe shelf. He slips on his sneakers.

“Don’t move, okay?” He bends down to do his laces. “Don’t even try to clean up the mess. I’ll be right back.”

The answer is a glare.

That’s good enough.

He wears a mask and makes a quick trip to town.

8 months 23 days. Wonwoo gets a kiss.

It could be for good behaviour. He’s been helping Soonyoung out more, keeping him from lifting heavy weights around the house and on the farm.

It could be out of remorse, like an animal licking the wounds on the hand that it maimed.

Wonwoo isn’t even doing anything. Not anything that deserves a peck on the corner of his mouth, at least. He’s marinating some spinach in the kitchen when Soonyoung taps him on the shoulder, prompting him to turn his head.

He doesn’t know what face he ends up making, but it must be stupid—Soonyoung looks all too satisfied with himself before bounding out of the door to chase after Dahaeng, who’s chasing after the chickens.

8 months 8 days. Wonwoo gets another kiss.

He doubts Soonyoung knows it’s his birthday today. Again, he’s not doing anything out of the ordinary.

He’s standing over the sink, rinsing the razor, when Soonyoung sneaks in to plant one on the shaven half of his face.

Wonwoo looks up into the mirror. He can see Soonyoung’s face, blurred at the edges thanks to his shortsightedness, brief as a flash before he’s left alone.

“Dahaeng-ah,” Soonyoung calls in the hallway. He shakes the kibble container. A trilling meow answers him. He begins to coo. “Our Dahaengie, our baby—good morning, give me a hug.” A loud sniff. “Mmmm, your forehead smells so good.” A kissy sound. Dahaeng meows again. “Are you hungry?”

Wonwoo stares at himself in the mirror, eyes bugged out.

7 months 30 days. They drive to the halmeoni’s down the street.

Wonwoo gets out with Soonyoung this time. He spots an overfilled basket of tomatoes by the door.

“I have no idea how we’re supposed to finish them,” Soonyoung mutters as they approach the house. He bows when the door opens. “Good afternoon, halmeonim.”

“Oh, you’re here,” she says, opening the door wider. There’s a suitcase by the shoe shelf. “Jinyoung arrived just today. She’s out with her friends now—you missed her by a few minutes.”

“It’s okay.” Soonyoung smiles. He hands over the carton. “I’m just here to deliver the eggs. I’m sorry I forgot yesterday—”

“We just ran out today,” the grandma says. “Here’s a basket of tomatoes for you. Jinyoung helped pick a few this morning.”

“That’s a lot.” Soonyoung bows. “Thank you so much—”

“Young men like you should eat more,” the grandma chastises. “Anyway, Jinyoung will be here until tomorrow evening. Do you want to join us for dinner?”

“That’s—” Soonyoung laughs. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. You must have a lot to catch up.”

“Nonsense.” The grandma waves a hand. “I told Jinyoung to visit more often. I asked her, is one meeting enough to know someone?”

“Maybe next time,” Soonyoung says, smiling. He reaches out for the basket handle. “It seems Jinyoung-ssi’s quite pressed for time—”

“Exactly.” The grandma sighs. “What a shame. I prepared a few dishes.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Soonyoung says. “Thank you for the tomatoes.”

Wonwoo reaches for the other handle. He realises he’s on the right of the basket.

“Soonyoung,” he says. “You should come to my side.”

Soonyoung looks at him, still wearing his polite smile. “What?”

“You should take this side.” Wonwoo points the basket handle, then at his shoulder.

Soonyoung blinks. He nods and switches sides with Wonwoo.

“Have a good day, halmeonim.” Soonyoung bows one last time.

Slowly, they make their way back, careful not to spill any tomatoes. They load the basket onto the truck bed, cover it with a tarp, and strap it down.

Wonwoo starts the engine and gets them back home.

They have a hard time coming up with ways to use up the tomatoes.

“Tomato kimchi?” Soonyoung suggests as they haul the basket into the house. “Salad? Pasta sauce?”

Wonwoo opens the fridge and puts the tomatoes in the vegetable compartment. “There’s only two of us.”

Soonyoung joins in. A few tomatoes roll from his hands on top of the others. “If it rots, we can just put it in the compost machine.”

“That’ll be a lot of tomatoes.”

The vegetable compartment is full. Soonyoung looks at the basket, at the remaining tomatoes.

“Right?” He sighs, hand on hip. “To be honest, I’ve never used a tomato in my life.”

“Halmeonim will be sad to know that,” Wonwoo says.

“Thank god I won’t be staying here forever.” Soonyoung laughs. “Damn. Imagine how she’ll react if I leave before meeting Jinyoung-ssi.”

Wonwoo takes a deep breath. He closes the fridge, carefully so he doesn’t make a sound.

He’s good at this: moving slowly, quietly. It’s his preferred state of being. He seldom feels the need to break things or slam doors.

Now, though, he kind of wants to.

The urge is new, but the root of it is familiar—the acidic burn in his stomach makes itself known again.

Wonwoo resolves to chop vegetables, cutting them up extra small to expend some of that energy. He empties them into the pot to make stew, then washes his hands.

All is going well. He’s pleased to find a viable outlet for future reference.

“Hey.” Soonyoung taps him on the shoulder.

“Hm?” Wonwoo turns his head.

He’s caught in a warm press on his lips. It’s an ambush.

It shouldn’t be, given how many times it’s happened before.

Wonwoo should be smart enough to observe patterns, but he still closes his eyes reflexively as Soonyoung rises up, using Wonwoo’s shoulder to get onto his tip toes.

He kisses him on the mouth this time, as unpredictable as the next. When Wonwoo opens his eyes, Soonyoung’s back onto the flats of his feet, looking up at him expectantly.

Wonwoo takes a second to consider. The dormant burn in his stomach awakens, curling up his throat. He wipes his hands on his shirt and pushes back.

He bends down and pushes his lips against Soonyoung’s. The force of it is enough to walk Soonyoung backwards, all the way until he’s closed in against the fridge. It shocks a confused sound out of him.

He’s surprisingly easy to push around, Wonwoo finds. Maybe he’s permissive with Wonwoo, maybe he’s just physically easy to push around: Wonwoo holds some height over him and, to his wonder, Soonyoung’s less broad than expected for someone with such a strong presence—in this small town, in the free port, in the workshop, in the gallery.

Soonyoung has to tilt his head up to kiss back. The inside of his mouth is soft and warm, home to the breaths he lets out when Wonwoo breaks away, only to delve in again.

Wonwoo turns Soonyoung’s head sideways with a hand on his jaw. He goes easily, pliant as Wonwoo kisses down his neck, his throat.

“Wonwoo,” he says, squeezing Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“Yes?” Wonwoo mumbles.

No answer. He hooks a finger under the collar of Soonyoung’s T-shirt and pulls it aside.

Where his neck meets his shoulder is a gentle curvature. Wonwoo decides on a spot, opens his mouth and fits his jaw over it.

He bites down, hard enough that the muscle and tendon give under his teeth.

Soonyoung sucks in a breath. “Wonwoo,” he murmurs, hand sliding into Wonwoo’s hair.

Wonwoo holds still for a few seconds, then relaxes his jaw. He pulls back, far enough to assess the situation.

There’s a ring of teeth marks, covered in spit, imprinted onto Soonyoung’s skin. He can count up to his first premolars.

Soonyoung blinks, waking up. He blinks again, slowly, focus travelling down to Wonwoo’s mouth before going back up to his eyes. Wonwoo waits for the recoil.

Instead, Soonyoung’s hand smooths down his nape. He pulls Wonwoo down with a sigh, touching their foreheads as his breaths even out.

Wonwoo stiffens. If anything, this is not what he deserves.

The bite mark glares back at him, red and tender.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last.

Soonyoung hums. He shifts his fingers in his hair. “What for?”

“For—” Wonwoo takes a breath. “For pushing you.”

Soonyoung’s mouth quirks up. “But not for biting me?”

Wonwoo lowers his eyes. He mutters, “For biting you, too.”

They stay like this for a moment, braced against the fridge. Soonyoung strokes his scalp with a lightness that feels too good to be true.

If Soonyoung wants him to do something to show he’s truly sorry, Wonwoo would do it; anything he wants.

Anything he wants.

“It’s okay,” Soonyoung says, eyes softening with a smile. He leans up and kisses Wonwoo one last time, at the corner of his lips. “Let’s make dinner first.”

Wonwoo nods. The hand on his nape slides off. He goes back to the stove and adds two tablespoons of doenjang to the pot.

7 months 23 days. It’s the seventh consecutive day Wonwoo’s getting kisses.

He suspects it’s for show, yet there’s only an audience of two: him and Soonyoung.

If attention is what Soonyoung wants, then Wonwoo’s giving it to him, whenever he asks for it. Wonwoo has never stopped in the middle of putting away clean bowls to kiss someone.

There’s a first, and it’s for Soonyoung.

Soonyoung also likes to choose the most inconvenient times, like when Wonwoo has to literally get a grip on his bladder before he pisses himself, or when he’s tying the plastic bag that holds Dahaeng’s droppings from the litter box, or when he accidentally rubbed his eyes after cutting chilli peppers.

Wonwoo tries to take it in a stride. He’s managed, so far—when Soonyoung kisses him, he kisses back, keeping the amount of teeth moderate. Nothing like that day in the kitchen. He doesn’t push, instead follows Soonyoung’s pace and adjusts accordingly.

He tries to be well-tempered. Fair.

Soonyoung gave him what he wanted in Geneva, the way he wanted it. It’s only fair for him to return the favour.

7 months 22 days. Soonyoung makes him chase for it.

He kisses Wonwoo deep enough, only to pull away at the first hint of reciprocation.

Wonwoo leans in obediently. He offers his tongue. He chases, and chases, and chases. He doesn’t bite down, though, at least not hard enough to keep Soonyoung there.

Soonyoung pulls back at last, arms around Wonwoo’s shoulders, and looks smug with himself for being responsible for Wonwoo’s skewed glasses.

He looks up at Wonwoo. It seems like he’s waiting for something, so Wonwoo bends down to kiss him again.

As it ends, he still seems to be waiting for something.

7 months 17 days. Soonyoung begins to bite more in his kisses.

Wonwoo’s mouth ends up bleeding from it, and Soonyoung kisses him softly like he’s sorry. Wonwoo bites back, lightly, part retaliation and part warning. He takes caution—never as hard as that day in the kitchen.

If Soonyoung wants to play with him like a cat with its newest prey, so be it.

He still kisses him.

7 months 11 days. Soonyoung can’t keep up the pretense. He stops biting that hard during their kisses.

Wonwoo has foreseen it happening. In his experience, Soonyoung gravitates more towards tongue than teeth. This particularly slips out when he’s sleepy, like when they’re kissing on the sofa or in his bed.

He goes back to messy tongue and light nips that night, and stays that way ever since.

Wonwoo’s glad. Soonyoung seems to enjoy himself more like this.

7 months 1 day. It’s a rainy day. They go out briefly to spread a plastic cover over their plants. The rest of the day passes in a constant of wind howling and rain tapping against the windowpane.

They have an early night. Wonwoo’s reading a paperback on the floor, back against the sofa. His mattress is laid out by his side. Soonyoung, at some point between the fifth and sixth chapter, decides to plop down beside him.

By the time Wonwoo reaches the ninth chapter, Soonyoung has laid his head in Wonwoo’s lap.

The weight of it is similar to Dahaeng’s. He read somewhere that it’s about 5kg in weight. It’s an unexpected realisation. Never in his life has he expected to draw comparisons between a human head and a cat; Soonyoung’s head and Dahaeng.

On second thought, they have more in common than first glance. They’re both fluffy. They both bring about the most intense urge to pet in Wonwoo. They’re both something Wonwoo would let stay. Wonwoo would rather die than to push either of them off his lap.

Wonwoo’s focus drifts to the back of Soonyoung’s head. He’s facing away, eyes on the evening news, something about typhoons.

He studies him for a few seconds. He turns back to the book.

Six pages later, Soonyoung shifts. He reaches up.

It gets Wonwoo’s attention. Wonwoo tilts the book to look past the pages.

The hand touches his face, traces up his ear, down his jaw. Soonyoung’s eyes follow the path of his own fingers, the back of his knuckles brushing along Wonwoo’s throat, his chest, his ribs.

“You’ve bulked up,” Soonyoung notes, raising his hand to Wonwoo’s face again.

Wonwoo looks down at him. “Have I?”

Soonyoung hums. He trails his hand along the same path, down the side of his face, then up.

Wonwoo puts down the book. He gives into the urge to pet his hair.

He closes his eyes when the touch ghosts over the bridge of his nose, moving towards his cheek. The sound of Soonyoung’s hand brushing against his ear obscures the constant tapping of rain.

He loses track of how many repeats Soonyoung’s made after ten. It could be somewhere in the thirties.

The hand stops eventually.

Wonwoo opens his eyes. Soonyoung looks back at him, with one of Wonwoo’s hands carding through his hair. He blinks slowly, eyes half closed.

“I’m going to bed,” Soonyoung says.

“Okay,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung lies there for a few more moments. Wonwoo manages to run his fingers through his hair one last time before Soonyoung sits up.

He expects the kiss, leaning forward and closing his eyes. The soft press of lips fulfills it.

They pull away.

“Good night,” Soonyoung says.

Wonwoo opens his eyes. He says, “Good night.”

6 months 21 days. They end up in Soonyoung’s room.

The seduction didn’t take much to succeed. Soonyoung had guided Wonwoo’s hand under his shirt and that was it, as simple as Wonwoo is for him.

They’ve both showered, so there are no qualms. Soonyoung keeps the ceiling light off but bedside lamp on for the atmosphere. Wonwoo wants to get him naked.

“Why?” Soonyoung asks, face red in Wonwoo’s lap.

It’s not like they can’t have sex while clothed. They tried it before.

“I want to see you,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung huffs. “Sap.”

Wonwoo takes the jab, even when he wants to say it’s not true—Soonyoung was the one who said he’d miss Wonwoo when they fucked in the transit hotel—but in his silence Soonyoung takes off his T-shirt, his shorts, then his boxers. At last, he tugs at Wonwoo’s shirt.

Wonwoo doesn’t ask questions such as why. He raises his arms and lets Soonyoung pull it off.

Soonyoung returns to his lap. He leans over Wonwoo to reach the bedside drawer and grabs a bottle of lube. The half empty state of it hits him like a fucking tractor. Wonwoo bites the inside of his cheek as Soonyoung squeezes some onto his own fingers.

“Stop looking,” Soonyoung mumbles, reaching back.

“Why?”

Soonyoung glares. His hand moves behind him. His chest rises and falls with each breath. “You’re so dirty.”

Wonwoo grins. He smooths a hand up Soonyoung’s thigh and comes to a stop at the side of his hip. “Can’t help it.”

Wonwoo knows the moment he breaches himself. Soonyoung moves his hand slower, eyes sliding shut. His mouth opens before he bites it closed with teeth digging into his bottom lip.

He also knows the moment he adds another finger. Soonyoung stills in his movements for a brief second before speeding up, like a lag. As he sucks in a sharp breath, the furrow between his brows deepens.

Wonwoo watches against advice. It’s the first time he’s seeing pleasure play out on Soonyoung’s face, and he doesn’t want to look away.

Soonyoung notices. He ducks his head, surprisingly bashful.

“Do you want help?” Wonwoo asks. He squeezes lube onto his fingers and reaches behind Soonyoung, joining his hand.

“You’re not thinking of helping,” Soonyoung mumbles.

“I am,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung pulls out his fingers. He leans forward until their chests touch. “I went up to two.”

“I know.”

Wonwoo rubs the skin before dipping his fingers in. Soonyoung breathes out heavily against his neck, reaching down to stroke Wonwoo with a slick hand when Wonwoo begins to move.

At three, Soonyoung squirms, making a noise as soft as dripping wax. He grinds forward as Wonwoo plays with his prostate, rubbing himself over the side of Wonwoo’s hip. It repeats a few more times before it ends.

“It’s enough,” Soonyoung says before getting up on his knees. Wonwoo eases his fingers out. “Lie down.”

Wonwoo does. He rests his head on a pillow as Soonyoung settles over him. With a hand behind himself to steady Wonwoo, he sinks down.

His knees slide further apart on the sheets the lower he goes. He takes it all, clenching as he reaches the base, squeezing his eyes shut, holding himself still.

There’s sweat building at his temple. There’s sweat in a thin sheen all over him. Wonwoo strokes him in an attempt to distract him. He gets another soft sound.

He looks good taking cock, better than Wonwoo imagined.

Wonwoo tells him as much. He grinds up and says, “You look so fucking good.”

Soonyoung answers by pressing a hand on Wonwoo’s chest. He moves.

He rocks forward slowly, thigh tensing under Wonwoo’s hand. Wonwoo’s barely moving inside of him, but it seems to be enough, pressing against places that make him sigh shakily.

Soonyoung gazes down at him, daring Wonwoo to move. Wonwoo holds himself still as Soonyoung does as he pleases with him, gaining speed.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung mutters. He rises up on his knees to pull off before sitting back down. Wonwoo grips his thighs tighter as he does it again. Soonyoung grins when Wonwoo moans. “Feels good?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo says. He bites his lip as another sound threatens to claw out of him.

Soonyoung’s hand on his chest begins to roam. Downwards, it travels to his abdomen, where Wonwoo’s tensed up to keep himself from moving. Soonyoung takes great interest smearing the mixture of lube and his own precome dotting along Wonwoo’s navel, fingers crossing the lines of twitching muscle.

“Told you,” he says, satisfied. “You’ve bulked up.”

Wonwoo grinds his head back on the pillow. He heaves in deep breath, an attempt to steady himself before answering, “Thanks to you.”

Soonyoung tilts his head, sweaty and flushed. His hand makes its way upwards and finds one of Wonwoo’s nipples. He circles it with a slick finger. “Why?”

“Fed me well.” Wonwoo groans when Soonyoung sits back down. His abdomen clenches. “Made me carry groceries and vegetables.”

“I didn’t make you.” Soonyoung laughs, twitching around him. “You just went and did it before I could even—” a breath “—think of doing it myself.”

His hand travels past Wonwoo’s chest and doesn’t stop until it reaches his neck. For a moment, Wonwoo thinks Soonyoung would choke him. He takes a deep breath and bares his neck, offering.

But it turns out Soonyoung just wants to hold on, calloused palm molding against the side of his neck. He strokes a thumb under Wonwoo’s adam apple, brushing over it as it bobs with a swallow.

Wonwoo wants to get his mouth on him, so he sits up. Soonyoung leans back to make space for him. He doesn’t get too far before Wonwoo winds an arm behind his back and licks a path up his sternum. He tastes salt.

“Ah,” Soonyoung gasps. He slows down as Wonwoo kisses across his chest, heaving with heavy breaths.

There’s a tremble under his skin, from fatigue or otherwise. Wonwoo holds him still and fits his mouth over a nipple, teasing it with his teeth and tongue. He brushes the pad of his thumb over the other, strokes it until it hardens.

Soonyoung shudders and squeezes around him. He cups a hand over the back of Wonwoo’s head and plants a kiss against his temple.

“Wonwoo,” he exhales into Wonwoo’s hair.

Wonwoo looks up. “Yes?”

Soonyoung ducks down to kiss him, mouth open, searching. He breaks away with a moan when Wonwoo rocks him in his lap.

“You’re gonna make me come,” Soonyoung mutters, pressing his hands to Wonwoo’s shoulders.

“That’s the point.” Wonwoo grinds up.

“Too fast,” Soonyoung says. He kisses Wonwoo again, slow with deliberation. “It’s too fast. We have time.”

They do. Wonwoo shifts carefully and tips Soonyoung over.

He lays Soonyoung down and gets up on his knees. Soonyoung blinks up at him, hair fanned out on the blanket at the foot of the bed. When Wonwoo pulls out halfway, his eyes haze over, sliding half mast. He bites his lip to muffle a moan when Wonwoo pushes back in.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” Wonwoo says. He pulls Soonyoung’s hips onto his lap. “There’s nobody else within one mile radius.”

“There could be,” Soonyoung answers. “Such as you. You came out of nowhere.” He clamps his thighs over Wonwoo’s sides, stopping any kind of movement. It’s a second too late when Wonwoo realises he’s trapped. “You came to find me.”

Wonwoo breathes out through his nose. The hint of frustration only serves to make Soonyoung smile, teeth glinting in the low lamp light.

“I did,” Wonwoo says. He punctuates it with a sharp grind. “So?”

Soonyoung doesn’t let off. He locks his ankles. “Why?”

“You sent me the pears.”

“They’d mean nothing if you hadn’t been looking.” Soonyoung rolls his hips up to meet him halfway. His grin sharpens when he gives the verdict, “You looked for me.”

“I did,” Wonwoo admits. This is common knowledge. He can feel Soonyoung’s heel digging into the small of his back. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

Soonyoung smiles. He winds both arms over Wonwoo’s shoulders, pulling him down.

“Is there a better time?” His breath tickles Wonwoo’s ear. “At least you can’t run away now.”

Then he pulls back with a giggle.

Wonwoo turns his head. Their noses brush. “I’m not running away.”

“Let’s see.” His eyes shine with a playful glint. “Why did you look for me?”

Wonwoo huffs. He looks away. “You like hearing embarrassing stuff, don’t you?”

Soonyoung hums. “Maybe for you,” he says. “But not for me.”

Wonwoo tries to glare, but Soonyoung only sighs when Wonwoo grinds forward again. He raises his hands above his head, playing with the sheets, enjoying whatever this is.

All the while Wonwoo’s trapped.

It seems he won’t be satisfied until Wonwoo gives in. It’s a difficult debate to have with himself when he’s inside Soonyoung.

“I wanted to,” Wonwoo says at last and straightens up. He grips a thigh over his hip. “Now can we get back to it?”

Soonyoung relaxes, but not enough for Wonwoo to move freely. He asks, “When’s your birthday?”

Wonwoo breathes out through his nose again. “Seriously?”

“You said you’d let me ask if I wanna know,” Soonyoung whines with a pout. “You already know mine. It’s not fair.”

“July seventeenth,” Wonwoo says, thrusting shallowly.

“Oh.” Soonyoung’s face brightens. “Our birthdays are close.”

“They are.”

“Where’s your hometown?” Soonyoung asks, tilting his hip a little for the angle.

Wonwoo tightens his grip on Soonyoung. He decides to roll with those questions as fast as possible, if that means they can get back to what they were doing. “Changwon.”

“Mm.” Soonyoung bites his lip, fluttering his eyelashes. “Gyeongsang boy.” Wonwoo snorts. “Do you like seafood?”

Wonwoo pulls him toward himself. “Hate it.”

“Isn’t there like a,” Soonyoung pauses with a gasp, thigh twitching. “A seafood festival there?”

“That’s why,” Wonwoo says.

“I see.” Soonyoung breathes out. “Do you have a sibling?”

“Are you sure you wanna talk about them when we’re—”

“I have a noona,” Soonyoung says first. “You?”

“A younger brother.”

“Ah.” Soonyoung tightens around him. “So you’re a hyung.” Wonwoo grunts. “Are you a good hyung?”

“No.”

“Did you guys fight?”

“All siblings do is fight.”

Soonyoung hums in agreement. “Yeah.” His breath hitches. “My noona was scary when we were younger.”

“Are we gonna keep talking about our families?”

“What’s your favourite ice cream flavour?”

Wonwoo deadpans, “I don’t even know yours.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” Soonyoung says, looking incredibly pleased with himself. “One time offer. Don’t miss out.”

What a good bargain. If Wonwoo were richer, he’d drop millions of US just for that.

“Vanilla ice cream bungeoppang,” Wonwoo says. He squeezes Soonyoung’s hip. “Your turn.”

“Strawberry,” Soonyoung answers in a beat. “How about your favourite colour?”

“Black,” Wonwoo says. “You?”

“Me too.” Soonyoung smiles. “Or blue. Or white, actually.”

“Usually favourite means one.”

Soonyoung pouts. “Don’t make me choose.”

“It’s your question, by the way,” Wonwoo reminds him. He braces a hand beside Soonyoung’s head and bends down to kiss him. Whatever Soonyoung was about to say melts on their tongues. “Anything else?”

Soonyoung levels him a thoughtful gaze. Wonwoo holds it, the best he can with the proximity. He can smell Soonyoung, doused in the scent of their laundry detergent and body wash. Wonwoo touches the tip of his nose behind Soonyoung’s ear and takes a sniff. Soonyoung giggles, squirming.

“That’s all I can think of,” Soonyoung says at last. He reaches up and holds Wonwoo close by the shoulders. “At least for now.”

His thighs relax. Wonwoo uses the newfound room to move the way he wants. Soonyoung raises his hips, shaking as he holds himself still for Wonwoo to fuck into. He’s doing surprisingly well, considering how long he’s held off.

“Why did you bite me?” Soonyoung asks, breathless.

Wonwoo doesn’t slow down. “I thought no more questions?”

Soonyoung holds his face between his hands, forcing Wonwoo to look at him. “Why did you bite me,” he repeats, voice wavering with each thrust. He squints when Wonwoo doesn’t answer. “Were you jealous?”

“No,” he answers.

“Really?”

“You didn’t even meet her.”

Soonyoung’s mouth curls. He lets go and watches Wonwoo move above him, like he has the whole world served to him on a platter.

Which isn’t wrong: Wonwoo’s giving it all to him, head first, both mind and body.

Somewhere, Wonwoo read that praying mantises are eaten by their mates after mating: head bitten off, devoured whole, skeleton and all.

There’s no point in lying, no point in hiding; no point in running.

Wonwoo knew it the moment he packed everything he had in a suitcase. He even brought his cat along.

Soonyoung seems to believe him—he should—and traces a finger over the shell of Wonwoo’s ear. Suddenly, he seems shy, voice quiet as he asks, “Can you bite me again?”

Wonwoo’s stomach tightens at the prospect. He slows down. “You want me to?”

“Yes.” Soonyoung stretches out beneath him, lays himself open on the mattress, a reason. “Anywhere.”

As Wonwoo straightens up, Soonyoung bends his knee. He rests his leg on Wonwoo’s shoulder.

Wonwoo holds his ankle and rubs his thumb over the jut, feeling the bone underneath. He kisses it. The skin is so thin, he fears it might break, so he nips it lightly. It doesn’t even leave a trace. “Here?”

Soonyoung glares with a pout. “Harder.”

Wonwoo chuckles. He strokes Soonyoung’s calf and decides on a spot at the swell of it, right at the level of his mouth when he turns his head.

Biting down comes natural. He does as told, digging his teeth in deeper. It results in a jolt.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung chokes out, eyes on the spot where Wonwoo’s mouth meets his skin. He clenches. “Yes, like that.”

This time, there’s a faint imprint of his front teeth. Wonwoo licks over the spot. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says. He fucks himself back slowly, rolling his hips. “More.”

Wonwoo takes him in. He really is made to take cock, body pulled taut over his frame, like a canvas waiting to be freed of its staples.

Wonwoo wants to be the one to take him apart. He hopes that's not too selfish of him.

He smooths his hand down Soonyoung’s thigh. The flesh dips under his thumb when he presses it back. He picks a spot, a handbreadth above the inside of his knee. He bites down harder, keeps his jaw closed even as Soonyoung squirms.

The mark this time almost makes a full circle. Wonwoo glances at Soonyoung, finding his eyes glassy.

“More?” He asks.

“Yes,” Soonyoung breathes out. “Please.”

Wonwoo pulls out. He backs away enough to be able to reach the base of Soonyoung’s thigh with his mouth. The skin is sticky with sweat and lube and something else.

He bites down sharply. Soonyoung cries out, jumping from the sting of teeth. Wonwoo holds his thigh down to avoid being kneed in the face. For good measure, he bites once on the other thigh, just as hard.

He continues upwards. The side of his hip, bite. The inside of his wrist, a light nip. His forearm, bite. His bicep, bite. His shoulder; his chest; his stomach, just under the last rib.

Soonyoung tugs him up. When Wonwoo pushes back in, he arches, tension tangible in the line of his back. He traces a thumb along the flats of Wonwoo’s teeth, prompting him to bite down lightly. His mouth slackens, eyes following his own thumb as it presses down on Wonwoo’s bottom lip.

Wonwoo kisses it. Soonyoung tightens around him.

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Soonyoung murmurs. He runs a hand over the slope of his shoulder, his arm, his chest, his middle. He reaches between them and touches where they meet. He smiles with a shaky exhale, glancing up at Wonwoo. “What am I gonna do with you?”

Wonwoo looks down. He holds Soonyoung’s thighs by the back of his knees. He slides out slowly, pushes back a fraction, and repeats. The way his rim catches on the head of his cock is addicting.

Soonyoung twists in his grip, face red. He growls a little, “Quit playing.”

Wonwoo laughs, too charmed to do anything else.

“I’m not,” he breathes out, pushing back in all the way. He lets go of Soonyoung’s thighs and stoops down to kiss him. It seems to appease Soonyoung. “Just wanted to see you.”

“Dirty,” Soonyoung mumbles, eyes closed. He kisses back, but mostly keeps his mouth open to pant into Wonwoo’s. It’s too much work to coordinate that with the fucking. “You’re so fuckin’ dirty.”

“You told me,” Wonwoo reminds him.

He fucks in earnest now. He’ll give Soonyoung what he wants, the way he wants it, like he did Wonwoo in Geneva.

It feels like Soonyoung’s closer, but it’s Wonwoo who comes first, blindsided by Soonyoung squeezing down. He stutters to a stop inside of him, gritting his teeth through a whimper as Soonyoung smiles up at him like he won.

It doesn’t last long, certainly not past when Wonwoo pulls out and fingers him.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung whispers, eyes widening. He grabs Wonwoo’s forearm between his thighs, looking down. He heaves in a breath. “Oh, fuck.”

Wonwoo curls his fingers. The tendons in his wrist shift with the light, rhythmic as he rubs over Soonyoung’s prostate. Soonyoung’s nails dig into his skin, not pulling or pushing, just holding on.

“Good?” Wonwoo asks.

Soonyoung nods, squeezing his eyes shut. Shaking, like a bent stake about to splinter.

Wonwoo bends down to take him in his mouth, hand working meanwhile. Soonyoung tastes different here, in a way that makes Wonwoo want to eat him whole. The head of his cock teases the back of his throat, making him swallow around him, but never swallowing down. Soonyoung’s thighs close around his head.

He’s wrenched up by a hand in his hair that holds them face to face. Soonyoung looks at him, eyes lost and afraid. He whines, throat tight.

“You can come,” Wonwoo says. He digs his fingertips over the same spot that makes Soonyoung shudder. Soonyoung’s nails dig into his forearm harder. “It’s okay.”

Soonyoung takes a breath, as if to say something. He ends up taking another, another, then another as he rocks against Wonwoo’s hand and comes all over himself.

Wonwoo fingers him through it. He looks at him for a few seconds, kisses his temple, and eases his fingers out.

When Wonwoo returns with wet wipes and two glasses of water, Soonyoung’s already propped up against the headboard. He watches Wonwoo cross the room, stepping between their clothes on the floor. He takes the water in Wonwoo’s right hand and downs it.

“Do you want some time alone?” Wonwoo asks, standing by the bed. He takes a sip from his own glass. “I can go out.”

Soonyoung puts down the empty glass on the bedside table. He regards Wonwoo for a few moments, then shakes his head.

Wonwoo stays. He brings his own blanket from the living room and pulls it over the both of them.

6 months 7 days. Soonyoung keeps checking on the jar of plums. He counts down to the day when it’ll be 100 days old. As of today, the count is 2.

“Do you think two days really make a difference?” Soonyoung asks as he stirs the bottom of the mixture with a long spoon.

“No,” Wonwoo says. “It’s only two percent.”

Despite Wonwoo’s answer, he still screws the lid back on without tasting anything.

“Maybe it really takes a hundred days,” he says, pushing the jar back to the dark corner of the cupboard.

6 months 5 days. The first thing Soonyoung does when he wakes up is to check the jar of plums. He makes them two cups of cold tea with the extract.

Wonwoo joins him in the kitchen. The weather’s cooling down, as it always does when Chuseok is near. Pears are in season. There’s an abundance of them in the kitchen.

They will always remind him of Soonyoung. If he sees a bruised pear in the grocery shop, he’ll think of Soonyoung. If he sees the word “pear” on the nutritional label of marinades in the supermarket, he’ll think of Soonyoung. If he so much as hears “boat” or “stomach” or something as common as “hungry”, the syllables will remind him of pears, and he’ll remember Soonyoung.

When he sees Soonyoung biting down on a slice, all he can think is Soonyoung.

Soonyoung cocks his head when he catches him staring. He holds out a slice, and Wonwoo leans close to bite down.

He hopes Soonyoung doesn’t know.

5 months 16 days. The mattress in the living room has become Dahaeng’s bed. It speaks volumes of Wonwoo’s neglect.

Of the mattress, of course. Not the cat.

Wonwoo’s been sleeping in Soonyoung’s bed since a week ago. They don’t sleep with each other every day, which is what used to result in them sharing a bed.

“It’s getting cold,” Soonyoung had said after finding frost on the leaves one morning. “You’re gonna freeze on the floor.”

It was an invitation that Wonwoo gladly took.

He is indeed cold, but that’s the natural state of his being. Soonyoung seems more worried than he is with his cold hands and cold feet. He seeks to wrap him in blankets and sometimes wrap himself around Wonwoo.

It’s not a good thing to get used to.

Wonwoo managed alright without such treatment throughout his life. He can’t imagine the day when he’ll feel colder again.

5 months 3 days. It’s been a consistent two weeks that they find frost on leaves in the morning. They cover the plants with a tunnel made of tarp to shield them from cold winds.

After reading a book on keeping chickens, Wonwoo kindly informs Soonyoung that putting jackets on them may cause more harm than good, since chickens keep themselves warm by fluffing out their feathers. They spend the morning in the homeware store looking for insulation materials to modify the coop.

The afternoon sees them trying to fit the styrofoam boards in a way that the chickens can’t peck at them. They clean the coop of its bedding and poop and lay a new one with straw.

By the time they get back inside the house, it’s dark outside. They do the bare minimum, heating up leftover rice to eat with side dishes.

Soonyoung falls asleep with his head on Wonwoo’s lap as he watches the weather report.

A cold front is arriving.

4 months 7 days. Soonyoung comes back from a trip in town with forty heads of cabbage at the back of his truck. Wonwoo has to help unload them in three trips.

“My mum made forty heads of cabbage for a family of four,” Wonwoo says, cutting the cabbage the size of his head into half.

“You never want to run out,” Soonyoung answers. He lines the cabbage up in a big bucket and soaks them in salt water. “Can you imagine a day without kimchi?”

They salt and brine the cabbages a few times. It’s another day before the leaves are soaked through and soft enough to be seasoned. While the cabbages dry in yet another big bucket, they mix together the spices and sauces according to Soonyoung’s secret recipe from his mum.

It’s not so secret anymore, since Wonwoo’s the one doing the multiplication for forty heads of cabbage.

“We use rice powder only,” Wonwoo says as they mix the pumpkin broth in.

“Pumpkin broth adds to the sweetness,” Soonyoung explains. He looks up at Wonwoo while sticking his gloved hands in the mixture. “I’ve been wanting to ask—did you like the kimchi?”

Wonwoo helps him pull his sleeves up. “Yes.”

“How did you find it?”

“A bit sweet,” Wonwoo says. He pours in another bowl of broth. “A bit milder than ours. But not bland.”

“That reminds me.”

“Yes?”

“I’m curious,” Soonyoung says. “About what your family’s kimchi tastes like.”

The ingredients are well mixed. Wonwoo brings another bowl of broth to the bucket.

“Saltier.”

Soonyoung snorts. “Thank you.” He wrinkles his nose at him. “Totally didn’t know that.”

“We use salted anchovies,” Wonwoo says. “And a lot more chilli flakes.”

“Really? Do you have the recipe?”

“No,” Wonwoo says. He looks up and sees Soonyoung pouting, probably without realising himself. “I can ask.”

Soonyoung’s face lights up. “I wanna try.”

“I can bring some back the next time I visit.”

He gets a kiss on his cheek, narrowly avoiding getting red paste on his face. Soonyoung goes back to stirring the mixture with a pleased hum.

Wonwoo hasn’t visited his family in years. Maybe it’s a sign.

3 months 13 days. They catch the first snow.

Wonwoo doesn’t like leaving the house much these days, but for the snow he bundles up and goes out with Soonyoung.

It’s a quiet night. He remembers the snow in Seoul to reflect lights that shine from everywhere. Here, in Mungyeong, night falls without much to save it from complete darkness. A few street lights stand on the deserted street the house is on, few and far between enough for cars, if any. Wonwoo doesn’t even register the snow until it lands on his face.

“We can go in if you’re cold,” Soonyoung says, huddling up against him. “We can watch the snow from inside.”

Wonwoo looks down. He can barely make out Soonyoung’s face in the dimness. There’s snow in his hair, and Wonwoo brushes it away before pulling the hood of his parka over his head.

It’s difficult not to kiss him. The air is cold, and Soonyoung is warm. Wonwoo is cold, so he seeks him out. His face, dry and frozen from the wind, thaws with Soonyoung’s breath as he closes in to feel his lips. When he pulls away, their exhales rise up in fogs of white between them.

“We can stay for a while,” Wonwoo says.

Soonyoung smiles at him, as subtle as the touch of falling snow. He turns to face the fields, dark and rolling away from them.

Wonwoo looks in the same direction.

It’s a good place. He’d like to die here.

3 months 9 days. They go out to town and eat at one of the few restaurants. Snow is falling around them, accumulating on trees and roofs in a blanket of softness. They cover the windshield with a tarp before leaving the truck.

“The kimchi jjim here is delicious,” Soonyoung tells him after placing their order. He shrugs off his parka. “You’ll know when it arrives. The aged kimchi is phenomenal.”

The weather report plays on the TV above the beverage fridge. It talks of snow, of tourism and the impending Christmas. They stay so long, ordering their fifth bowl of rice to go with the sauce, that the hourly news recap has ended.

“I’m glad I don’t know how to make it,” Wonwoo says. “This dish must’ve been invented by rice vendors.”

Soonyoung grins around his spoon. “Told you,” he says, taking the jug to refill their cups. “Eat more.”

Another cycle of the news report begins. It starts with an opening song, a series of news headings, and a greeting.

There’s water spilling over the table. Wonwoo jumps when it drips off the edge onto his jeans. He fumbles for the napkins.

“Soonyoung,” he says. No response. He repeats, “Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung blinks. His eyes widen as he takes in the water he’s spilled. “Shit.” He pulls back. “I’m sorry, do we have—”

“Yes,” Wonwoo takes the jug from his hand and sets it aside. “Can you get a rag? Or more napkins?”

“Wait a second.” He gets up from his seat and finds the restaurant owner, the only person waiting the whole place. He bows profusely and comes back with a cloth. “I’m sorry.”

They clean up the mess under a minute and settle back down. Wonwoo goes back to eating, but Soonyoung has stopped, eyes fixated on an invisible spot between himself and the table.

Wonwoo clears the last bowl of rice. He asks for the bill and pays it. In the end, he has to nudge his ankle against Soonyoung’s to get his attention.

Soonyoung comes back to earth with a startle. He blinks his eyes clear, refocusing on something more tangible, such as Wonwoo.

“Should we go back?” Wonwoo prompts.

They stay silent for a few seconds. Meanwhile, the news dwindles from the TV speakers.

Soonyoung nods. He puts his parka back on.

The drive back home is quiet. It could be the snow—Wonwoo finds that it absorbs sound from the ambience, including himself.

They thump their boots on the doormat before stepping past the threshold. It’s warm inside, both the air and the floorboards. They close the door quickly to trap in the heat and take off their boots, leaving them in the entryway.

Before Wonwoo can take off his winter coat, Soonyoung kisses him. He pushes him against the wall and kisses him, hand reaching past his coat to hold Wonwoo by the side. It’s not long before he begins making his way down.

It’s strangely reminiscent of the day in Geneva.

“Soonyoung,” Wonwoo says, leaning back against the wall. He helps undo his jeans when Soonyoung’s shaking hands slip on the button. “I haven’t showered.”

Soonyoung shakes his head before opening his mouth. Wonwoo isn’t even hard, but that can be easily changed when Soonyoung’s mouth is as warm as it is, taking him all in, deeper than he normally does.

It gets messy fast. There are tears sliding down Soonyoung’s cheeks, which Wonwoo’s convinced are physiological when Soonyoung gags yet again. Spit coats his hand and his chin. Wonwoo brushes his hair back to look at his face.

Soonyoung peers up at him, waiting.

“You’re so good,” Wonwoo tells him, running his fingers through his hair, meaning it more than his words. “So good for me. You take me so well.”

Soonyoung closes his eyes with a whine, another tear slipping down his cheek. He breathes out through his nose and swallows.

Wonwoo comes down his throat, careful not to grip his hair too hard. When Soonyoung stands up, stumbling with the first step, he wraps an arm around him.

“Fuck.” Soonyoung grabs onto Wonwoo. “Pins and needles.”

Wonwoo laughs. He strokes Soonyoung, then kneels down to suck him off when he’s steady enough to stand on his own. He takes him in as deep as he can, feeling the need to reciprocate. Wonwoo tilts his head up.

Soonyoung bites his lip, eyes red as he looks down at him, threading a hand through Wonwoo’s hair. He tips his head back, throws an arm over his eyes before he comes.

He doesn’t stop shaking, not even when they go to bed.

2 months 25 days. They spend their first new year together. There isn’t much to do when most shops are closed. After checking on the chickens and feeding Dahaeng, they go back to bed.

Soonyoung’s always seeking him out lately, more so than ever since that day in the restaurant. He takes and takes and takes, hands and mouth and teeth, like Wonwoo is infinite but his own time is not.

Neither of them are. It’s only a matter of which runs out first.

Wonwoo doesn’t think he’ll run out soon when it comes to Soonyoung. So when he’s asked, he gives.

1 month 11 days. Soonyoung comes back from the vet with one of his chickens in Dahaeng’s carrier bag. There’s chicken shit in it. Wonwoo plans to change it.

“Here.” Soonyoung tosses a pack of chocolate onto the kitchen counter, right next to the vegetables he’s chopping.

Wonwoo stares at it for a second. He looks up. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate,” Soonyoung says. He unzips the carrier bag and frees the chicken.

“I know.” Wonwoo puts down the knife. “Why?”

Soonyoung glares at him. There’s red curling around his ears.

“Happy Valentine’s, I guess,” he mutters, pulling off his beanie and coat. “They were on discount. I thought you liked them.”

Then he makes his way down the hallway, leaving Wonwoo alone in the kitchen.

Soonyoung sulks the rest of the day. Wonwoo realises he’s fucked up with his reaction.

He can’t help it. The chocolate came out of nowhere, not to mention the “Happy Valentine’s” when he has onion juices all over his hands.

At night, he approaches Soonyoung, who’s curled up in the dark. He joins him under the blanket and drapes himself over him, kissing from the back of his neck downwards.

“What are you doing?” Soonyoung asks, glaring over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo says. “For today.” He marks it with a kiss at the end of his spine, midway between the two dimples. “I liked the chocolates.”

Soonyoung huffs. He turns back to rest his head on folded arms. “You don’t have to do this.”

Wonwoo slides down and pulls off his sweats. He dips lower. “Want you to feel good,” he mumbles against the flesh. He nips at the exposed skin on the back of his thigh. When Soonyoung shifts under him, he says, “Just wanna make you feel good.”

11 days. Wonwoo brings back a small box.

Neither of them seem to be a big fan of sweet things. Wonwoo spent a long time at the supermarket comparing brands and flavours. At last, he went with dark chocolate truffles.

Soonyoung looks away from the TV, Dahaeng in his lap. He eyes the small box in his hand, then Wonwoo. “What’s this?”

“Chocolate,” Wonwoo says. He sits down next to him. “Happy White Day.”

Soonyoung raises an eyebrow. He shakes the small box, turns it over, and inspect the labels. A slow smile washes over his face.

“Is this on discount?” He asks, shaking the box again.

“No.” Wonwoo takes the box back and opens it for him. There are precisely nine truffles sitting in fancy packaging, golden leaves flattened and deformed. “They’re quite expensive, actually.”

Soonyoung’s eyes flit up from the box. There’s a brightness in his eyes, or it could be the reflection from flecks of gold.

He pecks Wonwoo on the corner of his mouth. “Yah, Jeon Wonwoo,” he teases and clicks his tongue, taking a truffle out of the box. “You’re good at this.”

Wonwoo snorts. It’s his first time giving chocolate.

1 day. Wonwoo rolls over in his sleep. His arm lands on nothing.

He blinks up at the ceiling in the dark. Soonyoung could’ve gone to the toilet. Wonwoo waits for him to return so he can leech off his warmth again. He closes his eyes.

When he opens his eyes again, Soonyoung’s still not back.

Time passes differently at the peripheries of sleep, but Wonwoo’s sure it’s been more than a few minutes. He pats around for some clothes and finds them bunched up at the end of the bed. Not caring whose he’s putting on, he gets out once he’s adequately covered.

He cracks open the door. Bathroom lights are off, living room lights are on. Wonwoo squints as he walks out, doing the best he can with blurry vision. He finds a figure that looks like Soonyoung, with Dahaeng on his lap, sitting on the floor at the entryway, back against the door.

Everything’s blurry without glasses. Wonwoo walks closer.

A few steps away, Soonyoung says, “It’s tomorrow.”

Wonwoo stops. It takes a few seconds for his head to clear of sleep, then to register what tomorrow means.

Ah. So he isn’t the only one who’s been counting.

Wonwoo yawns into his fist. “It is.”

He can hear Dahaeng purring.

“Are you leaving?”

Wonwoo blinks. “What?”

A pause. The floorboard is warm beneath his feet. As Wonwoo tries to decipher the silence, he realises he’s wearing an amalgamation of their clothing: Soonyoung’s hoodie, his sleep pants. Underneath, he’s wearing marks Soonyoung’s left behind before he’s wearing his own skin.

“You can’t kick me out this time,” Soonyoung begins, voice strained. He swallows with an audible click. “This is my house.”

Wonwoo blinks harder. He runs a hand through his hair. He regrets not wearing his glasses. “What?”

That seems to be the breaking point. Soonyoung heaves in a breath, which strangely sounds like a sob. It’s only then Wonwoo realises.

“If you leave,” Soonyoung says, voice clogged and wet. He sniffles. “Can you please not take Dahaengie away?”

Wonwoo looks around himself, more frantic than he’s ever found himself in any situation. Never in his life was he equipped to deal with others crying. He spots a box of tissues on the coffee table and makes a dive for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wonwoo says, just short of skidding to a stop as he joins Soonyoung on the floor. Upon closer look, there are tears tracking down the apples of his cheeks, down his chin, dripping onto his shirt. Wonwoo pulls out a tissue and wipes it over Soonyoung’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Soonyoung asks, voice wavering.

“I’m not,” Wonwoo says. He offers him another tissue. Dahaeng startles when Soonyoung blows his nose. Damn this cat. “Where did you get the idea?”

“Last time.” Soonyoung takes in a shuddering breath. He bunches up the tissue in a fist. “In Geneva.”

Wonwoo waits for him to continue. He doesn’t.

That’s fair. Both of them should be able to understand.

“That’s ‘cause we didn’t have time,” Wonwoo says. He sits, back against the door next to Soonyoung. Dahaeng peers up at him with round, curious eyes. Wonwoo takes the crumpled tissue from Soonyoung’s grip. He hesitates, then replaces the empty space with his own hand. “Do you have any plans?”

Soonyoung sniffles. Wonwoo pulls another tissue with his free hand and dabs it under Soonyoung’s eyes.

“Teach taekwondo,” Soonyoung mumbles. A sniffle. “Maybe.”

“You know taekwondo?”

“I was gonna enter the national team.”

Wonwoo nods. That didn’t show up on his records.

He rubs his thumb over Soonyoung’s first knuckle. “Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t wanna have my head shaved,” Soonyoung says. He sniffles again with a glare. “I tried it once. It was awful.”

Wonwoo laughs. He reaches for another tissue. Dahaeng leaps off this time when Soonyoung blows his nose.

“That’s good,” Wonwoo says, taking the soiled tissue away. “You have a plan.”

Soonyoung wrinkles his nose. He blinks at Wonwoo, lashes damp and clumping together. “What about you?” He sniffles. “Going back to your team?”

Wonwoo holds his gaze for a moment. He wants to kiss him.

Instead, he says, “Maybe.” He looks down at their hands. “I haven’t used a computer in two years. A lot can change.”

Soonyoung sniffles. “Worst case?”

“IT support in banking,” Wonwoo says. “Most companies still operate on old systems.”

They don’t speak after that. Across the room, Dahaeng scratches in the litter box. It lasts quite a while before she skips out, light in her steps.

“If you leave,” Soonyoung begins. He takes a deep breath. It doesn’t stop his voice from catching. “Can you please not bring Dahaengie away?”

Wonwoo turns his head towards him. “I won’t.” He adds, “And I’m not leaving.”

Soonyoung looks up. His eyes are brimming with red. “Never?”

“Soonyoung-ah,” Wonwoo sighs. He tries to find words that aren’t as sharp at the edges. They’ve never come easy to him. “We can’t talk in absolutes.”

Soonyoung stares hard at him.

That seems to be what sets him off again. With a sob, tears begin to spill anew. Soonyoung’s face scrunches up with an intensity Wonwoo doesn’t quite understand. He doesn’t, but he wants to.

With a sigh, he drops the crumpled tissues on the floor. He cups Soonyoung’s cheek and lifts his face. The wetness of tears slides under his fingers, and Soonyoung blinks up at him before squeezing his eyes shut.

Wonwoo kisses him, pressing himself into it. He can taste the salt when he licks at Soonyoung’s lips, like it’s a wound he left behind. Soonyoung’s breath trembles as he pushes back.

But there are no wounds, no nothing.

“God.” Soonyoung laughs wetly, resting his forehead against Wonwoo’s. His lips twist into a smile as his tears keep falling. “You definitely get off on this.”

Wonwoo lowers his gaze. They’re still on the floor, in a heap, with Soonyoung evidently feeling like shit. This isn’t something he should admit at this time point.

He looks up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, wiping a thumb under Soonyoung’s eyes. They look at each other. With a quiet voice, he admits, “It never happened with anyone else.”

Soonyoung stares at him. A few seconds later, a fresh stream of tears begin to fall. He takes in a shuddering breath and buries his face in Wonwoo’s shoulder.

They stay on the floor.

Wonwoo holds him. He pats the back of his head through it, slowly, until Soonyoung stops crying.

Even then, he cradles Soonyoung’s head against his shoulder. He isn’t leaving.

Stolen Max Ernst rescued in gallery’s secret deal

Updated: 2 days ago

A painting by Max Ernst, a key figure of German Dada and surrealism, has been returned to the Chase Gallery in London after it was stolen from an exhibition in the USA.

“Nature at Dusk” was stolen four years ago from a New York gallery, where it was on loan. Six other paintings, including works by Oskar Moll, have still not been recovered.

Just this year a German lawyer, Hans Dieter, who is said to have clients with information on the painting, contacted the gallery. His letter said: “I am in direct contact with those who are now in possession of the painting. These people are suspicious of the recovery operation. They fear that it may be used to convict them. They therefore expect a payment in advance to establish a basis of trust.”

Mr Dieter requested a 10% down payment of the total price of £3.5m. The gallery paid the sum, drawing it from the £27m insurance for the paintings. For £3.5m, the London gallery had bought back the ownership of the Max Ernst painting.

There remains controversy over what became of the £3.5m. The gallery, at the time of announcing the reacquisition of the painting, rejected claims that the money was paid for ransom. “[The money] was used to obtain information,” said Robert Dickinson, director of the Chase Gallery. “I don’t think we have paid the thieves in any way.”

Works valued over €500 million stolen from the Musée des Beaux Arts de la Ville de Paris

Updated: 10 hours ago

Five paintings, valued over €500 million ($710 million) in total, were stolen from the Musée des Beaux Arts de la Ville de Paris overnight on Wednesday. The works were The Organist by Pablo Picasso, L’Atelier Bleu by Henri Matisse, Violin and Candelabra by Georges Braque, L’Homme à l'Éventail, and Nature Morte aux Poires by Fernand Léger.

The theft was discovered by employees when the museum opened on Thursday morning. The museum has been cordoned off by the police for investigation of the theft.