Archive of Our Own

Sometimes, Donghae thinks Kangin needs to work on his timing.

I can do it myself—

Donghae doesn’t even remember where they were, what day of the week or what time it was… When Kangin kissed him for the first time. There’ve been so many, after all… Oh. It must’ve been winter.

Because Donghae remembers having a scarf unwound from his neck, remembers feeling the brisk air despite being indoors, remembers warm and gentle hands coaxing goosebumps from his skin. Donghae remembers Kangin’s face, pink from the cold and from drink, drawing closer, remembers not being able to draw back.

I’ve been wanting to do that.

You’re crazy.

Maybe.

It was nice, innocent, as far as drunk kisses go, as far as kisses between men go. Donghae remembers just standing there, not doing anything. But Kangin hadn’t demanded much anyway. Just the shy press of his cold lips to Donghae’s colder ones.

Was it weird?

Well—

I really have wanted to do that for a long time now. But, you were saying?

Donghae remembers licking his lips and feeling stupid immediately after doing it. But Kangin only laughed.

Tastes like beer.

But Donghae remembers laughing with him.

Nothing happened between them for a long time after that first kiss. Kangin had fallen into an alcoholic coma. Donghae had brushed his teeth and gone to bed. And the next morning, Kangin—hungover and puffy-faced and grumpy—made no mention of it. Not that Donghae had been itching to discuss the older man’s confession that he’d wanted to kiss Donghae. He figured Kangin had merely forgotten and so let the incident slip from his mind.

It must’ve been months.

Hey, Kibum.

Huh—?

Hey, Teuk-Teukie-hyung.

Wh—?

You see this face?

It must’ve been months afterwards when a few members had gone out. No one was exactly sober by that point, but Donghae remembers sitting beside Kangin, remembers Kangin suddenly cupping his chin and giving his face a shake.

What?

What about it?

I kissed it.

Donghae remembers Kangin’s hand being sticky from spilled soju, remembers feeling his cheeks heat up. But the other members just laughed. Even Kangin laughed. So Donghae laughed, too. No one believed Kangin.

No one believes me?

Donghae was still laughing when Kangin’s other hand found his face, when Kangin scooted closer, when Kangin tugged Donghae closer.

Kangin, you sex predator!

It was innocent as far as kisses between drunk men go. Just the lengthy press of lips, sticky, spicy, sweet. Donghae remembers laughing even more out of embarrassment once Kangin relinquished his head, remembers the others laughing.

He remembers how serious Kangin got, how sharp and clear Kangin’s eyes were. It must’ve been a few seconds, Kangin staring at Donghae like that. But then he joined in, laughed with them.

Who wouldn’t kiss this guy, huh? Look at him.

Yeah, yeah. Just keep your face away from mine.

What Donghae can’t and doesn’t remember is how he and Kangin ended up alone later that night. Neither of them was still drinking, even Kangin, miraculously. But they’d ended up at a bus stop somewhere, sharing a bottle of water. Donghae remembers lacing his fingers at the back of his neck and shivering.

I’m not a sex predator.

I know, stupid.

Kangin had bumped their knees together.

Sorry about earlier. Were you embarrassed?

No, not really.

Good. Me, neither.

Donghae remembers returning the gesture.

Are you always going to kiss me when you’re drunk?

I will when I’m sober, too.

Donghae remembers his hands falling into his lap, his eyes widening as he turned to the older man, his breath catching. Donghae can’t and doesn’t remember if he said anything. Thinking about it, he probably didn’t have anything to say. But Kangin hadn’t demanded an answer, even after he said:

If you want.

Donghae never imagined that Kangin would be the romantic, sentimental type, but a week later, the older man had politely asked to speak with him privately during a rehearsal break.

This looks like a good spot.

It was a fire escape stairwell, but Donghae told himself it was all relative.

So, you wanted to talk about something?

Kangin had grabbed Donghae’s shoulders and steered him a few steps back before taking one of Donghae’s hands in both his own and lowering himself onto one knee.

What are you—?

Donghae remembers looking to either side of him and feeling stupid immediately after doing it. They were, of course, alone. In the semi-darkness of a fire escape stairwell. Kangin holding his hand. Kangin kneeling.

I like you.

Wh—

I like you. A lot. That’s why I’ve been kissing you, you idiot.

Hey—!

I mean—okay, sorry, I take that back. Not the liking you a lot. I do. I take back calling you an idiot.

Can you stand up? This is ridiculous.

But this is how a man is supposed to propose, right?

Donghae remembers staring down at Kangin, not knowing what to say or do. It was all so ridiculous. A couple of kisses when he was drunk, and now this?

Donghae freed his hand from Kangin’s grasp—

Right.

—and got down on one knee as well.

But you’re supposed to have a ring.

Donghae remembers carding his trembling fingers through Kangin’s hair, leaning forward, nesting Kangin’s bottom lip between both his own. He remembers Kangin smiling against his mouth, Kangin gripping either of his elbows, Kangin nudging at his lips with his tongue.

Donghae remembers recoiling with a grimace.

What? I’m sorry. You didn’t like that—

No, I did—I do. It’s—my knee hurts.

Donghae remembers Kangin comically peering down between them.

Oh.

Then they were laughing again, their voices echoing in the stairwell. Even now, Donghae can’t believe no one caught them, the noise they’d made.

We should go.

Yeah.

Kangin stood then, offered Donghae a hand. And Donghae took it, if only to touch the other man for a few moments longer. He likes to think Kangin knew that all along.

Kangin did.

From then on, their kisses weren’t separated by months, or even a week, only days or hours that they’d count impatiently.

Is something going on with you?

Huh? No, what are you talking about?

You and Kangin. I know you two fight once in a while, but you’re always disappearing now.

Oh, no, it’s nothing, really.

Donghae remembers feeling terrible, lying to Eunhyuk like that. He wasn’t embarrassed, liking Kangin, Kangin liking him. But they’d agreed they shouldn’t bother the others. Not that they were overly concerned about what the others thought.

And that meant getting reckless.

Kangin had snuck Donghae into his room one night, had convinced the younger man that they strip to their underwear before nesting in his sheets. Donghae hadn’t been particularly difficult to persuade, considering it was the middle of summer. But he remembers lying there silently for the longest time wondering if Kangin had really fallen asleep after wishing him good night. He remembers feeling increasingly uncomfortable as the minutes dragged by. Not because of the circumstances—sharing a bed with Kangin while they were both nearly-naked, no. Donghae had become uncomfortable because, well…

That just wasn’t the way he slept.

Whether he was being polite or shy, Kangin had settled himself on his back, his arms to his sides, and Donghae had seen no other option but to position himself in the same way. Thinking back on it, if anyone had walked in and whipped off the blanket, there would have been little to nothing suspicious about their nearly-naked bed-sharing, their bodies touching only at the elbows and, whenever Donghae fidgeted, their pinky fingers (or pinky toes).

Still, Donghae had spent those slow-crawling minutes debating if he could roll over without disturbing the other man. When he’d finally decided that Kangin had surely (undoubtedly, positively) drifted off, he slowly and carefully maneuvered himself onto his side. (Donghae remembers holding his breath as he did so.)

After giving a victory shout (in his head, of course), Donghae had tucked both of his arms to his chest and his hands under his chin, had drawn his knees up slightly. But even laying like that, his forearms alongside Kangin’s upper arm, his knees bumping against Kangin’s thigh, Donghae couldn’t fall asleep. Because Donghae had made the mistake of facing Kangin. Because Donghae had (unconsciously) given himself nothing else to look at but Kangin, the older man’s face made gentler by sleep and softer by the hazy glow above their heads (Kangin had been kind enough to provide a nightlight).

Even now, Donghae doesn’t know what compelled him to do it, but he’d freed one of his hands and inched the blanket down and away from their bodies. He can’t remember what he’d been thinking (probably nothing) as his fingers brushed Kangin’s now-exposed arm. But he remembers being able to feel the baby-fine hair there that he couldn’t see—

Why aren’t you sleeping?

—remembers being able to see that, even though his eyes were resolutely closed, Kangin was frowning, remembers feeling like he’d just been caught stealing someone else’s food or… well, touching someone while they were asleep.

Hyung’s skin is soft.

Even now, Donghae doesn’t know what made him blurt out something so strange, but it didn’t stop it from being true. And though he’d been somewhat aware of the fact that he ought to be mortified, or at least withdraw his hand and apologize, he simply continued mindlessly running his fingertips over Kangin’s skin, now venturing from bicep to shoulder to collarbone.

Is that a reason for not sleeping? And what am I supposed to say to that anyway?

Donghae took a quick peek at Kangin’s face—Kangin’s eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile had replaced his tiny frown—before shrugging.

I don’t know. ‘Thank you,’ I guess.

Kangin hummed in answer, and they lapsed into a heavy—though by no means awkward—silence. (Had they both held their breaths?) Kangin permitted Donghae a few more moments of innocent exploration before saying,

Donghae-ah, why do you like me?

Your skin is so soft. Almost like a girl’s.

Donghae (unconsciously or not) propped himself up with his other arm then, watching in absent-minded fascination as his thumb dipped into the ‘v’ of Kangin’s throat.

Hey, are you even listening to me?

Huh? Of course I am.

Donghae remembers almost jumping when Kangin snatched up his trekking hand, his thumb having just found the tender flesh of the underside of Kangin’s chin, when Kangin (finally) opened his eyes and shifted on the bed to mirror Donghae’s position. He remembers (finally) feeling embarrassed, worried that he’d angered Kangin.

But when he finally dared to look Kangin in the face, it was to find Kangin smiling at him fondly, if only a bit curiously. And it was then that Donghae realized Kangin had yet to release his hand, had in fact started to toy idly with his fingers.

Donghae, I’m serious. Why do you like me? And don’t say it’s because my skin is soft because you only found that out now.

Thinking about it now, he should’ve felt shy, or at least wary, suddenly needing to define his feelings for Kangin but, Donghae being Donghae, he’d spoken without much thought.

Hyung looks and acts really strong and tough, and you are really good at disciplining and scaring us, but really you’re kind and gentle, and especially nice to me, and whenever I hear your singing voice I think that a real gentleman is singing, and even when you’re only speaking you’re so manly and confident, but then I see your face and I think that hyung is a secretly delicate and sensitive pretty person.

You—

And your skin is soft.

Lee Donghae—

Why does hyung like me?

Donghae remembers the look on Kangin’s face, a sweetly tortured combination of annoyance and satisfaction, remembers grinning obnoxiously as he stared Kangin down, daring the older man to answer…

Do you remember the crying episode of ‘Exploration of the Human Body’? How we had to act out scenes with that university girl?

Donghae nodded obediently but, suddenly lost as to where Kangin was going having recalled something from so long ago, he finally stopped smiling in favor of staring at Kangin bemusedly.

You ended up not crying and making a joke, but when you started you were so serious about it, I suddenly thought, ‘Oh, Donghae is so pretty. His face isn’t made for crying.’

Donghae remembers not knowing how to react. Compared to his own teasing (but nevertheless true) explanation, Kangin’s had been touching and (Donghae half-hates to admit it) cool. He remembers staring even harder at Kangin’s face to find any signs of mockery but only found Kangin’s eyes averted, studying their hands as the older man twined and untwined their fingers one at a time.

Do you mean that—?

And you have girly hands.

Kangin’s eyes darted to Donghae’s face then. But even in that briefest second, Donghae caught the mixture of mischief and tenderness in his gaze that was singularly Kangin.

I want to take care of you so that I never see that crying face again. That’s why I like you. Or maybe it’s the other way around—?

So kiss me then.

Huh?

You heard me, Kim Youngwoon.

Donghae remembers Kangin cursing in mock-irritation at Donghae’s rudeness, remembers ignoring it and simply draping his leg over Kangin’s thigh, wriggling closer eagerly.

Fine.

So Kangin did. On the back of Donghae’s hand.

Hyung! You knew what I meant—!

Donghae remembers yanking his hand out of Kangin’s grasp to swing his arm in a mini-tantrum, remembers feeling Kangin slip an arm around his waist, feeling Kangin’s fingers burn into the small of his back, remembers needing to shut up because he was suddenly very busy, what with Kangin half-laughing, half-licking into his mouth.

And, as breathless as Kangin had left him, he remembers almost whining when Kangin pulled back, smirking triumphantly.

You punk. Now go to sleep.

Donghae remembers the first time Kangin convinced him to dance for him. In private.

Come on. Please?

Fine, fine, you big baby—

And take your clothes off, too.

Are you drunk?

No. So, will you?

I don’t—

Donghae.

I don’t—can’t—I don’t do that kind of dancing.

Are you blushing?

Donghae remembers. He was blushing furiously, even in places he never knew he could blush. His pulse had been pounding in his temples. He’s never been ashamed of his body, of course. Kangin made it a habit to compliment his body—in hushed, hot whispers, of course. And it wasn’t as if Kangin’s never seen him naked. They were, of course, alone. In Kangin’s bedroom. His bedroom, where sometimes they would steal away to.

But it was different this time around.

I’ll even turn off the lights, if it’ll make you more comfortable.

Kangin got up from his bed and made to switch off the ceiling fixture.

I want to leave the lamp on though. So I can at least see—

No.

Huh?

Donghae had grabbed the back of Kangin’s shirt before he could reach the switch beside the door. He remembers not being able to breathe or think, remembers needing to clear his throat a few times before saying,

The lights. You can leave them on.

He remembers the way Kangin had smiled, sweet, sexy, sincere. But he also remembers being extremely grateful that he wasn’t the only one blushing by then. He watched as Kangin reseated himself on the edge of his bed. There was a moment’s pause, the both of them nervous and staring into each other’s flushed, blank faces.

Then, Kangin smiled once more.

As innocent as it was, Donghae remembers growing apprehensive at the other man’s expression. That is, until Kangin started humming “Midnight Fantasy.”

You’re crazy.

But Donghae returned the smile, took one of Kangin’s hands to lace their fingers briefly, guided Kangin’s hand to the zipper of his jacket in offering. Donghae still can’t believe a person could look that adorable and smug at the same time.

His heart was still pounding, his body still hot all over, but instead with excitement, not embarrassment.

Donghae remembers feeling silly at first, swaying while shrugging out of his jacket, rolling his hips. But the sight of Kangin’s face, a combination of arousal and appreciation and encouragement, Donghae remembers it didn’t take long for his shirt to go, for his hands to start roaming his own body, for his bold invitation for Kangin to undo the button and zip of his jeans. Donghae doesn’t even remember when Kangin stopped humming. But he remembers stripping to his boxer briefs, remembers Kangin gnawing on his bottom lip and fisting his hands in his bed sheets, remembers thumbing his waistband and smirking.

Come here. Donghae.

He remembers how low, soft, urgent Kangin’s voice had been. Those two words. His name. And he’d obeyed, approaching the other man, standing between his quaking thighs, folding his arms loosely around his neck, leaning down and kissing him, deep and languid.

So sexy, Donghae…

Stupid.

He remembers feeling Kangin’s hands on his hips, feeling Kangin sliding his boxer briefs down so they pooled at his ankles.

What are you—

Let me. Please.

He remembers not being able to say no, not being able to say anything. He remembers only watching Kangin fist his cock, feeling Kangin run his tongue along the entire length of it, feeling Kangin welcome him down his throat, seeing Kangin smirk up at him, lips at the base of his cock.

He remembers not lasting very long, remembers feeling drugged and drowsy right after, remembers being mortified for coming in Kangin’s mouth.

Come here.

Kangin gathered Donghae in his arms, settled them together on the bed.

He remembers not caring that he was naked while Kangin wasn’t.

Kiss me, Donghae.

He remembers doing as the older man bid without a second thought. He remembers Kangin licking desperately into his mouth, remembers Kangin pulling away before he wanted him to. He remembers pouting, remembers Kangin chuckling.

See, you taste sweet. So don’t apologize.

He couldn’t see how, but he’d blushed again.

What about you, hyung?

He remembers struggling to stay awake, remembers not being able to lift his arm to find the lower half of Kangin’s body to make his point.

Just sleep, dummy.

The last thing he remembers from that night is Kangin brushing his lips across his brow, Kangin locking their fingers. Sometimes, he thinks he remembers Kangin humming “Midnight Fantasy” again.

Kangin did.

Donghae laughs, too, when he thinks about the encore. They hadn’t been keeping track of how long they’d been kissing (seriously and sober—even Kangin), how long they’d been sneaking around to do… well, more-than-kissing. But nothing too serious or scary. They didn’t really have the time anyway. But it felt like a long time. And they were touring as a—Donghae laughs and blushes thinking about the term—couple. They’d spent months joking about getting in trouble being in different countries or even just in hotels.

It must’ve been a month after that first time Donghae danced for Kangin (in private), and Donghae hadn’t thought that either of them were serious about messing around in hotels to maybe-get-in-trouble. Donghae knows he hadn’t been (that) serious.

But he remembers. They’d been performing “Marry U,” and when Kangin sang his line, he’d look straight at Donghae.

I want to put you to sleep in my arms every night…

Maybe it was just the romantic and sentimental emotions behind the words in general. But the way Kangin’s eyes were as dark and hungry as they were affectionate, Donghae knew the other man was thinking about that night in his bedroom.

And Kangin had confirmed it when, after the members had reconvened in the dressing room, all of them exhausted, he slung an arm around Donghae’s shoulders and invited the group at large:

Drinks anyone?

No way.

Are you kidding?

Donghae remembers how anxious he’d been. Because he’d caught on. Kangin must’ve been just as anxious, because Donghae remembers how tight the older man had squeezed his shoulder.

Yeah, sure. I’ll have a few.

Just Donghae? Hm, all right then.

Take care.

Good job today.

See you two later.

Eunhyuk had been the last to leave, glancing at the pair of them curiously. Donghae just nodded slightly, hoping he looked reassuring. But Kangin swept away any and all worries about his best friend when he slid his hand from Donghae’s shoulder, up his neck, into his hair.

Come here, Donghae.

Donghae had played innocent, leaning away to look Kangin full in the face, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised, but a smile tugging inevitably at his lips.

What, no beer? I thought we were drinking?

Kangin just laughed and released his possessive hold on Donghae’s hair.

Fine. I won’t kiss you.

Donghae remembers his shock changing from feigned to genuine, remembers frowning—

You have to kiss me first.

—remembers making a disgruntled noise. Kangin had beaten him at his own little game. But winning and losing were all relative, he told himself, especially since he eagerly grabbed either of the other man’s biceps and crushed their mouths together. Really… They’d both won.

Can—Donghae—will you—for me—

Will I what?

Donghae had pinned Kangin against the wall, holding their hands on either side of his head, had given himself permission to scour every bit of Kangin’s throat and collarbone with his tongue and teeth, had slotted their legs, grinding their trapped erections.

Your mouth—for me—thinking about it—please—

Donghae would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about “it” those past few weeks either. He’d wondered what it would be like to have Kangin in his mouth like that, to make Kangin feel good like that.

Donghae would be lying if he said he hadn’t been unbearably nervous.

If you want…

…he mumbled into the side of Kangin’s neck, hoping he sounded teasing and sexy, not scared or selfish.

Of course I do. That’s why I’m asking.

Donghae chuckled shakily before releasing Kangin’s hands and stepping back to appraise the older man.

So, will you?

It was probably that simple question—sulky and hopeful at the same time—the same question Kangin had asked that night—that prompted Donghae to laugh once more, to roughly yank at the measly obstacles that were the button and zipper of Kangin’s jeans, to lower himself onto the floor as gracefully as his trembling legs would allow.

Kangin peered down at Donghae, his face hot and flushed, his fingertips digging into the wall in his desperation to muster some control, his eyes wide but unfocused.

Donghae peered up at Kangin, his face hot and flushed, his fingertips barely hooked on the waistband of Kangin’s jeans and underwear, but his eyes strangely bright.

He’d never seen Kangin like that. So far above him, but somehow… Just somehow at his mercy.

Donghae…

His heart still thunderous, his fingers still unsure, but his name like an undeniable force as hushed as it was, Donghae gently guided Kangin’s jeans from his hips. As shy and nervous as he was, he’d found himself blinking curiously at the older man’s tented underwear.

Look at me, Donghae.

So he did, turning his face up at Kangin once more.

What if we get caught?

He remembers his question tumbling in a rush, remembers Kangin frowning.

So, you won’t.

I—

He remembers Kangin’s eyes boring into his before darting away, remembers watching Kangin reach for his jeans, bunched at his knees, as if in slow motion.

Fine, you won’t, so don’t—

Donghae doesn’t remember what had come over him, but he’d thrown out both of his hands to bracket Kangin’s hips and pin them to the wall. And before Kangin could protest, he (finally) dragged down Kangin’s offending underwear and (finally) freed his (somehow) still hard, neglected erection.

Ah—!

Donghae had relocated one of his hands, wrapping his fingers at the base of Kangin’s cock. It wouldn’t be his first time touching Kangin like this, no. He knew that Kangin liked it slow and deliberate to begin with, liked it when he tightened his fist when he stroked upward, liked it when he palmed the head before stroking downward, his thumb light and ghosting along the underside.

He remembers glancing up at Kangin and feeling smug immediately after doing it, remembers feeling emboldened by the sight of Kangin then, leaning fully against the wall, eyes shut but lips parted, chest rising with his quick and shallow breaths.

Before he could lose heart, Donghae arched his neck forward and brushed his lips across the head of Kangin’s cock. Donghae remembers musing over how hot, how smooth the skin there was, remembers wondering what it would be like to…

Oh, shit…

Donghae had sucked a tentative inch into his mouth, had given an experimental prod of his tongue. And Kangin had reacted beautifully. Donghae remembers hearing, aside from the other man’s curse, the dull sound of the back of Kangin’s head finding the wall, remembers feeling the need in his grip when one of Kangin’s hands found his shoulder, remembers chancing a peek up at Kangin to find the older man looking down at him as well, eyes fighting for focus.

Well, if doing so little could get so much out of Kangin…

He remembers sliding his lips further down Kangin’s length, remembers finding the intrusion strange but not uncomfortable, remembers his eyes unwittingly fluttering shut as he thought,

Ah, this is what Kangin tastes like…

…remembers the dizzying synesthesia of feeling and tasting and hearing Kangin like that, remembers Kangin murmuring his own exact thought:

More.

And Donghae had been more than willing to give more, take more, Kangin more than willing to take more, give more.

Even now, he doesn’t know if he was really that good at it. Back then, for the first time, anyway. Because, even now, he remembers not knowing what to do with his teeth (to the point that it was the first time he’d gotten angry that they were so big) or what to do with his hands (to the point that Kangin had kindly guided one of them to his cock to pick up the slack, what with Donghae gagging in all his anxious and inexperienced glory).

But even now, Donghae’s gut clenches when he thinks about the heady intoxication of having Kangin in his mouth like that, of making Kangin feel good like that. Back then, even for the first time. He remembers the quick melt of Kangin’s coherence, the older man panting and groaning half sentences, half words in time with the bobbing of his head.

Yourself—Dong—hae—touch yourself—to see—I want to see—

So Donghae had, pulling off of Kangin to wrestle himself out of his jeans. He remembers not caring that a small trail of spit and precome had clung to his chin because Kangin had reached down and swiped it off with his thumb before pumping his own cock, watching Donghae do the same, his pupils blown but his gaze (somehow) still tender, adoring.

More—please—Donghae—

Kangin made a small gesture, cock still in hand, that (had the circumstances been even slightly different) would be comical at best, obscene at worst. But Donghae merely grinned impishly, Kangin humbly. It was a smile Donghae had made sure to imbue into his memory—the gentle lift at the corners of Kangin’s mouth, the softening of Kangin’s brow, the trust and vulnerability in Kangin’s eyes—figuring it may be the first and last time he’d see it.

It wouldn’t be the last.

But, it was slower work then, Donghae eager to please Kangin, desperate to find release himself. Kangin, too, seemed torn between the two, what with his alternating demands of:

Let me watch—

—your mouth, Donghae—

—yourself—I like it—

Eventually, with a laugh half out of frustration, Donghae gave up and simply focused his attentions on Kangin, ignoring any and all further moaned requests for exhibitionism. Eventually, Kangin, too, gave up and simply let himself fuck Donghae’s mouth, one hand in Donghae’s hair, the other folded around Donghae’s free hand, slick with Donghae’s own precome.

Donghae remembers Kangin’s punishing grip, in his hair, on his hand, Kangin’s grunted,

Can I—your mouth—?

—remembers not knowing what Kangin meant by his fragmented question. That is, until Kangin’s hips halted abruptly, his come flooding Donghae’s mouth, Donghae’s throat, molten and bittersweet. Donghae remembers swallowing without a second thought (the first thought being, where else could it go?). But he remembers. His third thought had been one of triumph, knowing he’d (finally) returned the favor, thinking he’d like to return the favor again (though hopefully somewhere more private the next time and the next and after that).

I—

Donghae remembers perking up at Kangin’s voice, strangled and spent, but (Donghae was glad) utterly satisfied.

Hyung?

Can I… just with my hand?

Huh?

Kangin made a weak-armed gesture at Donghae’s own (though now half-wilted) erection.

Donghae remembers peeking down at himself and feeling silly immediately after doing it. Donghae would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt embarrassed for (somehow) forgetting about himself, then (somehow) stirring immediately after imagining Kangin touching him—knowing what it was like to have Kangin touch him.

Of course.

Donghae had taken the initiative, easing Kangin’s jeans and boxer briefs back up his legs as he stood. But he hadn’t been the only one. Though he’d meant to fuss over redoing Kangin’s button and zipper, the older man had simply swatted at his hands with a chuckled,

Never mind that…

…and dabbed at the lower half of Donghae’s face with a moist facial napkin. Donghae remembers jerking away, startled.

Where’d you get that?

Kangin clucked his tongue but betrayed his amusement with a fond smile before jerking his head at the nearby makeup table.

Sungmin’s. He won’t mind. Now, come here, let me—

Donghae meant to obey, seeing as how Kangin was simply showing a flattering amount of consideration for him. Really, he’d meant to…

Hey!

Then again, he’d also meant to engage in a spontaneous game of tag, the two of them very much alone in the dressing room, and had gone as far as to yank Kangin’s pants down once more to give himself the advantage. But Donghae (somehow) forgot that his own jeans and boxer briefs were still gathered around his thighs and so managed only to pivot on the spot and waddle two (he lies and insists at least a dozen) steps away before Kangin wrangled him back by his collar.

You punk…

Kangin laughed fondly, pulling their bodies flush, back to front, and wrapping his arms around Donghae’s chest and waist.

Are you running away because you don’t want me to touch you, after all?

Donghae remembers struggling in vain to crane his neck to look Kangin in the face, to free himself from the admittedly welcomed prison of Kangin’s arms, to catch his breath or calm his immediate response to Kangin’s body.

No—I do—

Kangin tightened his arm around Donghae’s chest then, pressed his mouth to the spot behind Donghae’s ear, dragged his nails up along one of Donghae’s thighs…

Good.

…and without preamble, Kangin’s hands were on him, everywhere at once, but somehow always between his legs, his fingers already slick and tight around his cock. Because he knew that Donghae liked it overwhelming to begin with, liked it when he drew betraying ‘no’s from Donghae’s lips because the younger man didn’t think he could handle another second without coming before he wanted to, liked it when Kangin gripped the base of his cock and murmured a teasing,

No more?

But this time was different.

Kangin took no heed of Donghae’s whimpered,

Wait—hyung, no—

—and kept pace, furious and punishing, like he was challenging some unknown threshold.

So—good, hyung—w-wait—

Donghae distinctly remembers the coppery tang in his mouth—he’d bitten through his bottom lip—, remembers Kangin’s other hand fisting in his hair and coaxing him to turn his head, remembers Kangin crushing their lips together, Kangin licking into his mouth, Kangin laughing immediately after doing it because he tasted it too—and knew what it meant.

Donghae had been reduced to guttural moans that were either one of two words: ‘good’ and ‘hyung.’

As if testing his sanity at that moment, Kangin made a simple demand:

My name, Donghae.

Ka-Kangin—Kangin-hyung—

That’s not my name.

As if scolding him like a teacher would a student, Kangin pressed a fingertip teasingly close to Donghae’s entrance (though now that he thinks about it, Donghae doesn’t think punishments usually feel that good).

Young—woon—Youngwoon-hyung—

Good.

Donghae had thought so, too. And, even then, he’d thought it reward enough to hear Kangin moan that single word, moan hot and damp across the side of his face,

Come for me, Donghae…

Donghae didn’t needed telling twice. But he wasn’t so far-gone that he failed to notice Kangin’s cock, (somehow) already hard, throb against his ass when Donghae mangled his name. And now that he thinks about it, it was probably that—knowing he affected Kangin like Kangin affected him—that threw him over.

He remembers how an eternity had passed before he finally came down, his mind stitching back together pathetically slow, remembers he’d given up on supporting his own body, but Kangin had been more than willing to do that for him, an arm once again secured around his chest.

You’re so messy.

He remembers groaning weakly at Kangin’s chuckled insult,

That’s your fault.

I know. I like that.

He remembers yelping (he lies and insists it wasn’t that unmanly) when Kangin dabbed at his cock, hyper-sensitive and arguably abused, with another of Sungmin’s makeup towelettes.

Don’t be a baby—

You’re being mean—

Come here, damn it—

He remembers wriggling out of Kangin’s hold only to have his legs give out beneath him. But he can’t and doesn’t remember how they’d both landed in a sweaty, half-clothed, panting, laughing heap on the dressing room floor. Just that Kangin had resigned himself to lying on his back before maneuvering a still pudding-like Donghae onto his chest.

Better?

Donghae remembers being nearly too exhausted to raise his head from Kangin’s shoulder to peer down at him, to see Kangin grinning up at him.

No. I think I’m on my—my—you know.

That’s okay.

He remembers blinking dumbly, remembers Kangin heaving a put-upon sigh.

We can sell your pants. Those ELF girls will pay a lot if you say they’re Super Junior Donghae’s Super Show outfit covered in his own—

He remembers silencing Kangin with a sloppy kiss.

What, it’s true—

And again, before Kangin finally conceded.

Donghae remembers laughing to the point of crying when he read this letter. Or, well… Sometimes he isn’t quite so sure. Because sometimes he thinks he has it wrong. That he may have cried to the point of laughter instead.

There was nothing particularly funny or sad about Kangin’s letter this time around. Romantic and sentimental, sure, the way Donghae hadn’t imagined Kangin could be but nevertheless is. He tells himself that, if it was the latter—that he’d cried himself to laughter—it was merely because he missed Kangin more than he cared to admit.

Then again, there was a certain irony to this letter. So ironic (but nevertheless sweet) that, other times, he’s sure he’d laughed enough to cry.

Because Donghae remembers what Kangin had said when they’d filmed the MV for “It’s You.”

Pfft, why am I the one with the letters? That’s so old-fashioned.

He’d complained incessantly (behind the PD’s back, of course) about his role in the drama section of the MV. Kangin being Kangin, he’d ignored the fact that Sungmin, too, had letters for that section, and that Siwon had a just as old-fashioned (and maybe even a little crazy) role of shouting into a public telephone.

Hyukjae gets to pretend to graffiti a wall, and Heechul-hyung gets to pretend to ride a motorcycle. So why am I stuck reading a fake letter, sitting under the neon lights of a fake bar? I would never do that, jeez.

Donghae still teases Kangin about his tantrum that night. Over a fake letter, of all things. Especially now, to think they would exchange letters as if cell phones (or even one of Siwon’s pay phones) never existed. Donghae rifles through the undeniably large collection of letters that have accumulated, feeling warm and giddy. Sure, sometimes he gets lonely enough, sad enough to maybe cry reading them. Still, he can’t understand why he’s so puzzled by this single letter. Had he cried, or had he laughed?

Ah. That’s right. Maybe he hadn’t laughed, after all. Now that he thinks about it, he probably had cried. Because, as funny as that night of filming had been, the hours before had been nothing short of an emotional ordeal.

Now that he thinks about it… They had their first fight that day.

And, regrettably, it wouldn’t be their last.

Filming in the studio had started at a typical, ridiculous hour in the morning. Yet everyone had been in high spirits. Everyone, that is, save Kangin.

The older man had been moody and withdrawn. Though it goes without saying that he’d made enough of an effort to be professionally amicable with everyone. Everyone, that is, save Donghae.

Donghae had merely thought Kangin tired and frustrated, having to film the dance sequence in one take. He’d even suggested that they creep away for a little quality time (in private, of course). But his shy invitation had been rejected.

Later. Donghae.

He remembers feeling his face heat up but insides grow cold. In the year or so—even then, Donghae had been pleasantly overwhelmed thinking about the length of time—that he and Kangin had been intimate, the older man had never once turned down an opportunity to sneak off even if only to share the briefest of kisses.

Oh, okay then.

And so Donghae had scolded himself inwardly, deciding the time and place had been, even more than usual, far from ideal.

That is, until Kangin revealed the real reason for his shortness with Donghae.

The PD had called for a much-welcomed midday break. But while the others fawned over the monitors or helped themselves to snacks, Donghae—in much the same way Kangin had so long ago—politely asked to speak with the older man in private. Except this time, instead of a fire escape, they ended up just outside the studio, though mercifully alone.

Donghae remembers how they stood awkwardly for a good minute before he offered a tentative,

Um, so, I think the MV will be pretty nice…

Kangin opted to remain silent, instead staring at Donghae, his eyes uncharacteristically scrutinizing, but somehow distressed.

Then, finally,

Donghae-ah.

Hm?

It’s been more than a year hasn’t it? Me and you—us. It’s been a long time.

Donghae remembers feeling himself shrink at the insecurity in Kangin’s voice. Had he been suffering because of Donghae but simply cared too much to not end things sooner? Was this really it? What had Donghae done wrong? What could he do from then on? Did Kangin hate him?

Why haven’t you ever told me you love me, huh, Donghae?

He remembers his tears, which had until Kangin’s question been burning without spilling, freezing in his eyes.

Was that all?

Is that all?

What do you mean ‘is that all’? That’s a lot, I think.

I mean—

I tell you all the time, whenever I can. But you never say it. Is it that you don’t? Not really, anyway?

Donghae had been struck dumb, more by the barely-concealed hurt in Kangin’s voice than by Kangin’s actual accusation. Of course he loved him.

Of course I love you, you jerk.

His tears returned with a vengeance but, remembering time and place, Donghae desperately willed them away.

Yeah, that’s right. I’m always the stupid jerk, the mean idiot.

Hyung—!

What are you guys doing? We’re filming.

Donghae remembers the sinking of his gut as he watched Kangin walk away from him, remembers having to shake himself mentally. He was supposed to be working. But Kangin’s defeated voice, defeated expression were like a vice around his heart.

He remembers… They only just started the next take when he froze in their formation.

Donghae-sshi, wake up! Again, please!

He remembers bowing and apologizing profusely but noncommittally because… Kangin had been right.

Donghae said ‘I love you’ sparingly when other people were around, and always under the pretense of camaraderie, of friendship. A guise he’d thought was clever. But when they two were alone, it had only ever been Kangin murmuring that phrase. Always the same way. The palm of one hand cupping Donghae’s nape, the fingers of the other brushing his cheek. Then always, without fail, those words, hushed and intense and sweet, breathed into his mouth before Kangin locked them in with a kiss.

Donghae remembers the next take going smoothly, uneventfully. But he’d danced numbly, his mind so abruptly weighted…

Of course he loved Kangin.

And it was then, the song starting once more, the words ‘it’s you’ like a mantra, that he decided.

They were transitioning for the second verse, for Kangin’s entrance. And in those two beats—two heartbeats that threatened to cause his chest to burst—two steps that drained him of more energy than those strenuous hours—his back to the camera—the other members focused on themselves—but Kangin just a foot away, the two of them face-to-face—Donghae locked gazes with the older man and mouthed, clearly, earnestly,

It’s you. I love you.

Donghae remembers watching Kangin’s face change with recognition—the widening of his eyes, the slow flush of his cheeks, but best of all, that ever-memorable, sweet, coy smile.

Kangin-sshi!

If there had ever been a time to confuse laughter and tears, it had been those following moments, Donghae replete with appreciation for having been accepted, understood by Kangin. (Never mind the fact that Kangin had taken his turn at apologizing and bowing to the members and staff.)

It hadn’t felt like it at the time, but the matter had been resolved so easily. With a simple ‘I love you.’ But, simple as the phrase may be, Donghae knows now… Hearing it from Kangin—strong, manly, warm, adorable Kangin—had meant so much, he’d decided the phrase would mean nothing in comparison coming from him—frivolous, scatter-brained, juvenile Donghae (Kangin insists he’s none of these things).

Still. That phrase, even from Donghae, was what Kangin had wanted.

The next two takes, which would ultimately be the last needed for the PD to call the filming a success, were flawless.

I’m sorry, I was being stupid, but thank you so much.

Donghae remembers Kangin tugging him aside immediately after the final cut, remembers Kangin draping an overcoat across his shoulders in preparation for the nighttime chill, remembers the rushing warmth brought upon by Kangin’s hurried, murmured words, remembers Kangin’s fingers lingering on his wrist a second (or few) longer than was necessary.

I love you too, Donghae.

You two again! Hurry up, we’re going!

The ride to the outdoor set was unbearable. Being the last ones into the van, Donghae and Kangin were left sitting beside each other. To be so physically close after their first real quarrel, but unable to express their mutual relief… But like that drunken night ages ago, Kangin pressed his thigh alongside Donghae’s. Except this time, Kangin wasn’t promising to stop kissing Donghae while under the influence, no. This time, Kangin was promising Donghae everything.

Donghae remembers how scared he’d been, pretending to fall asleep to give himself an excuse to rest his head on Kangin’s shoulder, remembers Kangin briefly shaking against him with silent laughter, remembers feeling doubly glad.

Because Kangin had understood: Donghae was returning the promise.

And what am I wearing? I thought we’re supposed to be enhancing our charms for this video. It looks like I went through Sungmin’s closet today.

When Kangin wasn’t complaining about the letters, he’d complained about his outfit. But by then, Donghae realized that Kangin’s brattiness was the only way the older man could divert his displeasure at not being able to spend any proper time together.

Had Donghae laughed when he read the letter and thought of that day, after all?

Aside from the irony that, despite his hatred of letter-writing at the time Kangin now sends Donghae letters rather consistently, Kangin had used his hatred of the Sungmin-like (thus, according to him, distasteful) cardigan to shrug out of it between takes and wrap Donghae up in it instead.

I’d rather freeze than wear this thing…

…he’d sighed, rubbing Donghae’s upper arms vigorously over the sleeves.

But you’re so skinny. Jeez, I don’t know why they only put you in a t-shirt.

Donghae remembers feeling incredibly nervous and giddy during those times between takes. It was the boldest Kangin had ever been—being more than an affectionate hyung—while around other people. But either no one noticed or no one cared. Though Donghae can hardly understand how they couldn’t have noticed.

You’re wearing only a t-shirt, too. Put the sweater back on, hyung.

Yeah, well, I’m not cold.

Of course you are.

Not as cold as you though. Your nipples are showing.

“What are you laughing at?”

Donghae looks up from the letter to find Shindong in his doorway. He wipes a stray tear from one of his eyes before gesturing at the letters scattered atop his bed and in his lap.

“I was bored, so I started reading some of the things Kangin-hyung sent me.”

Shindong smiles at him, like a father would his son who’s poring over collectible toys, then jerks his head slightly.

“C’mon, princess, let’s eat. You’ll get skinnier just sitting there reminiscing.”

“Don’t call me a princess. And I am not skinny.”

It was almost too easy the way everything settled down after that first argument. Kangin came to terms with the fact that saying ‘I love you’ was redundant. Of course they loved each other. ‘I love you’ was already there in Donghae’s eyes and Donghae’s too-toothy smiles and Donghae’s impatient touches, there in Kangin’s smirks and Kangin’s crinkle-eyed laughter and Kangin’s lewd jokes (all of which were based on something Donghae had done recently that Kangin deemed sexy or surprising or both). And so, no more than a week later, the older man suggested they no longer bother exchanging the words at all.

Why was it bothering you so much anyway?

Donghae asked, peering down at Kangin, the older man’s head nested comfortably in his lap.

You turned into an ‘I love you’ demon that day.

You need a nose hair trimmer.

Donghae sniffed delicately (his nose hair was perfectly under control, thanks… not that it stopped him from checking later in the day) and pressed on.

You could’ve asked me nicely, you know. Instead of being such a baby about it. We fought over something like that…

Is that any way to talk to me?

No.

Then—

But I love you, so it’s okay.

Kangin, sulkily feigning sleep by that point, cracked open one of his eyes to half-glare up at Donghae.

Punk.

You love me, too.

Kangin continued to glare at him (though fiercer now, both of his eyes open). But Donghae only grinned, fluttered his eyelashes.

So kiss me then.

So Donghae did.

If there’s one thing Donghae’s disappointed about between him and Kangin, it would be just how correct he’d been: as comfortable as they were in the week-long afterglow of that first argument, things had settled down too easily.

The following months were an avalanche of small squabbles, each more petty and nonsensical than the last. Things between them reached fever pitch by the start of summer, a time that—barring separate or conflicting schedules—should’ve been spent lazily with the other members.

But instead…

There was the argument over Donghae spending time with SHINee.

Why don’t you adopt them already, if they’re so damned cute.

Then the argument over the song Kangin had assigned Donghae for a ringtone.

What am I, your wife?

Then the argument over Donghae shopping with Eeteuk.

We were called Kangteuk for a reason, you know.

Then the argument over Kangin dragging out some of the members drinking without Donghae.

You bastard, did you drunkenly kiss them all, too?

What’s wrong with the two of you, huh?

Heechul had scolded them one day. (They’d just argued over what to do with the watermelon rinds—the current record-holder of “petty and nonsensical” arguments.)

You’re making everyone else uncomfortable… and fucking irritating me.

They’d set their private lives on a shaky pedestal, the mortar of which was crumbling onto their professional and very public lives, and that little outburst from someone outside of it was what prompted their bickering to cease as abruptly as it began.

As tense as they’d been, the respite couldn’t have come at a better time. Plans for the second Asia tour and the fourth album were being organized, and they’d come to a silent yet mutual agreement to leave their relationship (problems and all) on the backburner.

The next few weeks slipped past, as peaceful as they were lonesome. Try as he might, Donghae had found nothing but emptiness in the otherwise enjoyable interactions with the other members. And while the strain from schedules was nothing new, Donghae had found a sad kind of comfort in his exhaustion—it left him no energy to feel sorry for himself (well, for the most part) or to miss Kangin (for the most part, anyway).

But then—

I miss you.

It was nearly four in the morning when Kangin called and answered with that phrase before Donghae could properly greet him. But now that he thinks about it, he probably hadn’t been able to say anything, what with the weeks of silence before then and the weeks of arguing before that.

But then…

Earlier that day, they’d all gathered to film the Sorry Sorry-themed Kyochun CF. Donghae hadn’t meant to, but it was during one of the breaks when he and Eunhyuk were speaking that he suddenly became hyper-aware of Kangin speaking with Eeteuk a few taunting feet away. He’d wanted to slip away (they already had to share a separate dance sequence for the CF, he didn’t know how much more he could handle before the floodgates gave). But then Kangin was there, at his shoulder, addressing the camera, calling attention to Eunhyuk.

Donghae remembers his breath hitching, his skin prickling. He could feel Kangin’s breath against his cheek. It was the closest they’d been in ages. And even with the familiar warmth of Kangin’s scent, the staccato of Donghae’s heart tattooing his ribs, Donghae had never felt so distant from the other man.

When had he become so physically attuned to Kangin? So emotionally attached?

He hadn’t meant to, hadn’t meant anything by it, but then Donghae was touching Eunhyuk, laughing easily with them. It was for the camera, he told himself. And this was nothing beyond how he normally behaved with the other members, especially Eunhyuk. Still, he could feel Kangin watching him.

Was Kangin lonely, too?

But then, that was that. The filming ended, and they all left for their respective schedules.

Donghae remembers. Try as he might, he had been unable to fall asleep, those questions drilling through his skull, through his eyelids. He’d finally resigned himself to a sleepless night, hoping it wouldn’t affect him so terribly in the morning, when Kangin had called.

He remembers not knowing what to do, staring at the screen and seeing Kangin’s name, Kangin’s picture, not knowing if he’d be able to speak.

Then those words. ‘I miss you.’

He hadn’t mean to, but then—

I miss you, too.

And it was true.

I’m so sorry for everything, Donghae. I’ve been so selfish. But we never get to see each other. And when we do, it’s always with the others there. I miss you, and I’m always missing you.

Donghae remembers wishing Kangin’s voice had been more distorted over the phone to save himself from having to hear the older man’s anguish. Because it was Donghae’s too. He remembers needing to bite the back of his hand to stifle his sobs. Because, try as he might, Donghae had been unable to stay his tears.

Have you cried a lot all this time? Donghae?

He remembers shaking his head adamantly and feeling silly immediately after doing it. Of course Kangin couldn’t see. And maybe it was this little mistake that had him chuckling wetly into the phone.

No, who do you think I am?

He remembers Kangin sighing. Then,

Donghae-ah.

Hm?

I know you’re lying—

Donghae had been, but that didn’t mean he had to admit it.

—and I told you all that time ago that I’d take care of you so you’d never cry. So, please, don’t make it so difficult for me and stop being a crybaby.

It was like Kangin to make something insulting sound affectionate, but Donghae understood that behind Kangin’s teasing were an apology and a promise, both. And, more astute than he’d thought himself capable, Donghae let the older man save face. Instead of acknowledging the likely dent Kangin’s words had dealt to his ego, Donghae merely laughed in answer.

But Donghae remembers: Kangin had laughed, too.

They laughed for what felt like ages, bleeding themselves of the phantom resentment that had simmered between them. When Kangin next spoke, Donghae remembers feeling doubly relieved that he could hear the smile, the sincerity in the other man’s voice.

Donghae-ah.

Hm?

Let’s press, press the reset.

It’s true. Until Kangin’s enlistment, they’d celebrated nearly every occasion together. Except maybe Children’s Day, despite the fact that they constantly call each other crybabies. But Kangin had stayed true to his word, making sure Donghae’s eyes were tear-free. That is, unless Kangin had just forced ‘one last’ shot of soju down Donghae’s throat or had just tickled him mercilessly. For some time it seemed as if any and all of Donghae’s tears would only ever be from laughter or yawns (or strong food).

But Kangin being Kangin, the older man would sooner rather than later test the younger man’s ability to withhold his tears.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I’m fine, really. Teukie’s being nice to me for everyone else.

Donghae would be lying if he said he hadn’t immediately teared up despite Kangin’s obvious desire to sound reassuring over the phone.

He was homesick enough as it was, what with the extensive Super Junior-M promotions, but hearing about Kangin’s drunken brawl had him in a tailspin. He didn’t know if the news made him want to return home sooner or to run away and never face the older man again.

Donghae being Donghae, he’d made a third option for himself and simply cried.

I’m sorry, Donghae.

What for? You’re the one who’s hurt—

You’re crying, aren’t you?

It wasn’t a question. Not really, anyway. And this time, Donghae didn’t bother shaking his head, didn’t bother lying.

Of course I am.

I’m sor—

Why can’t you take better care of yourself when I’m not around? Hyung? Why do you have to make me worry so much? And not just me, but the other members, too. And the company. And what about your parents? Hyung?

I’m sorry, okay?

Don’t yell at me.

Then don’t scold me. Who do you think you are?

Donghae remembers. It was the second time he’d ever wished the phone service wasn’t so clear, the first time he’d ever wished their phone call would just mercifully disconnect. Because the silence after Kangin’s question was absolute, impenetrable.

Had they both held their breaths?

Donghae-ah—

No, you’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll call you later. Take care.

Shit, don’t you dare—

Donghae remembers how badly his hands shook as he hung up on Kangin, as he brushed away the tears streaked across the screen of his phone and his already-swollen face.

Hyung?

He remembers being embraced from behind, a warm chest flush against his back, a stubbled jaw against his cheek, one arm wrapped around his waist, the other arm around his shoulders, a hand across his still-streaming eyes.

It’ll be okay. Kangin-hyung and everything else. It’ll all be okay.

Siwon.

It’s something Donghae will never admit to. But standing like that, being hugged like that. It didn’t smell like Kangin or feel like Kangin. A little too tall, a little too stiff-limbed. But Donghae remembers squeezing his eyes shut behind Siwon’s fingers, remembers convincing himself entirely that the other body belonged Kangin.

He remembers feeling grateful and guilty, both, commandeering Siwon’s bed that night, pretending the legs he’d tangled his own with, the torso he’d clung to, the neck he’d smothered his face against were all Kangin’s.

Hyung, your toes are freezing.

Sorry. They won’t be in a bit.

Okay, okay. Don’t worry about it. Now go to sleep.

He hadn’t meant to take advantage of Siwon. Everything was wrong, and it proved more difficult to pretend in the dark, under covers, when he knew how Kangin’s skin felt, how Kangin breathed when he drifted off. There was no hand at the back of his neck, no fingertips ghosting down his cheek, no conspiratory ‘I love you.’

But he told himself it was all he had. That it was better than nothing.

And Donghae had made sure to make it up to Kangin the following day, hardly giving the older man a moment’s rest in his hotel room before taking him in his mouth, uninvited and frantic and filthy.

What was that for?

Donghae hopes he’ll never have to tell Kangin that it had been an apology.

I just really missed you.

He remembers Kangin gently taking his face in his hands, leaning forward to kiss him, remembers jerking away. He’d wanted to taste Kangin for a little while more. Bittersweet. Like their finally meeting up, alone and lonely, the both of them apologetic—for different reasons.

What’s wrong—?

Touch me, hyung.

Kangin must’ve seen the desperation in Donghae’s face, heard it in Donghae’s voice, because he bothered only to nod once before lifting the younger man by his waist, and Donghae dutifully snaked his arms around Kangin’s neck, locked his knees at Kangin’s hips.

I missed you, too.

They landed heavily atop the bed, but Donghae only tightened the cage of his limbs, using his position to grind up against Kangin. And Kangin being Kangin, Donghae relished in the fact that the older man was already hard in his still-undone jeans.

When Kangin’s mouth found its way from Donghae’s collarbone to Donghae’s lips, the younger man finally gave up, welcoming the familiar, possessive intrusion of Kangin’s tongue. And when Kangin’s hands slid from Donghae’s thighs to Donghae’s ankles, the younger man finally relinquished his hold, letting his legs fall flat on the mattress.

Kangin rose onto his knees then to undo Donghae’s button and zipper.

The strange, discomforting combination of thoughts and emotions—Was that cheating even though all he and Siwon did was sleep? Donghae couldn’t help it anyway, he missed Kangin too much. Does he love Kangin too much?—had Donghae dizzy with impatience, his own hands shoving frenetically at the waistbands of his jeans and underwear.

Donghae, relax—

Please—just—

Donghae—

Hyung—

But you’re crying!

Donghae remembers how stunned he was when he realized that Kangin had been right, his fingers coming away from his face nearly dripping with tears and the hair at his temples soaked and clinging to the skin there, mingling with his sudden cold sweat. He remembers struggling to explain to Kangin or even to himself.

I—I’m sorry. I don’t know—

Hush already, you crybaby.

Donghae didn’t ‘hush already,’ nor did he stop crying (even then, he didn’t think he could stem either his garbling or his tears anyway). But Kangin didn’t seem to mind, simply brushing his lips along the now-drying, salty crystalline streaks, all the while murmuring his own apologies and Donghae’s name. Because Kangin didn’t understand: Donghae didn’t want him to be gentler, kinder.

But whether he thought himself undeserving or not (because he did), Donghae couldn’t help wanting and needing Kangin like that, consoling and comforting. And so he let him.

Your hair’s so long.

Mm. You don’t like it?

I do. It’s nice. Almost makes you look manly.

I am manly.

Kangin reached to card his fingers through the longer, still-sweat damp strands, angling his face upward from its resting spot on Donghae’s chest to study the younger man carefully.

Are you okay?

Even then, Donghae knew Kangin had asked out of concern over his earlier (and still unexplained) hysterical crying and apologizing—which ultimately led to their ridiculously wet faces during sex. Thinking about it now, Donghae had ruined their first time together by crying before there was anything to cry about.

Still, it was an easy enough question to deflect.

A little sore.

And to punctuate his answer, he wriggled his hips against Kangin’s weight.

Don’t do that. You’ll get me started again.

What if I want you to?

Because Donghae had found that once they’d started, it’d been easy enough to disguise his tears of frustration and remorse as those of pain. Because—and, crybaby he may be, Donghae is no baby when it comes to physical pain—it had hurt about as much as it had felt wonderful in the way only new and thrilling things could feel wonderful.

Donghae can’t remember what else they’d said that night, or which of them had fallen asleep first. But he does remember wondering why the equal parts ‘hurt’ and ‘wonderful’ had become so normal for them, wondering if, when they next got a chance to, there would finally or ever be less ‘hurt.’ Or none at all.

But something must’ve broken between them that night, that first time—maybe never again would the stars align in their favor, the gears turn as they wanted, their timing spare them the need to play catch-up or rewind…

Because it would only be a month before Donghae experienced a sickening case of déjà vu.

Are you okay?

Yeah, I guess. Teukie gave me a good scolding, though.

Except this time, Donghae couldn’t find it in him to cry, or even to feel sorry for either of them. Except, if he was to be completely honest, maybe he’d felt a bit sorry for himself. He’d spent his birthday working in a different country. And without Kangin. Was this supposed to be the older man’s idea of a present?

What the fuck are you talking about? Of course not. Who do you think I am?

Donghae hadn’t meant to pose the question aloud, much less to sound so disappointed and condescending at the same time (he still doesn’t know how he managed to sound like either of those things and hopes he never does so again).

They suspended me. I don’t even want that for myself, and you think I want it for you? What’s the matter with you, Donghae?

I—

Even now, Donghae doesn’t know what had been the matter. It was simple, really. Kangin had made a mistake. In no way had it been his first, but up until then, it had been the worst.

I’m sor—

Yeah, I know. You’re sorry. I’m sorry. We’re always sorry.

Donghae remembers how stunned he was when he realized that Kangin had been right, remembers how the air in his lungs had gone stale, putrid even, from his sudden inability to breathe, how his phone knocked against his cheek from the force of the shaking of his hand.

I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow. Happy belated birthday.

And even when Kangin hung up without waiting for a reply—a ‘see you’ or ‘thank you’ or even another ‘sorry’—Donghae had been too numb to cry.

And even when Kangin burst into his hotel room late the next afternoon, Donghae had simply leaned against the door after locking it, arms crossed, unmoving and unmoved by the other man’s steely gaze.

Then something must’ve imploded between them because Donghae can’t and doesn’t remember which of them initiated the confused scuffle—confused because what started as growl-filled fisticuffs segued into growl-filled kisses—more teeth gnashing than teasing nibbles, more collar grabbing than coaxing touches.

This—is so wrong—

I know—

Should we—st—?

They’d set fire to the bridge. So what if they weren’t just watching it burn, but caught in the flames?

Clothes off—now—

Donghae doesn’t remember who said what, only that the only ‘clothes’ they’d bothered with were their pants and underwear, that the only ‘off’ they’d managed was to free their cocks while bunching the fabric round their knees. But anything less than ‘now’ had been out of the question.

Those dozen or so steps to Donghae’s bed flew beneath their frantic feet. But there was no need for manners or delicacy, Donghae flinging himself onto all fours, peeking over his shoulder to watching Kangin rummage in the bedside table and produce a small tube of hotel complimentary hand lotion.

Even as he clumsily wriggled to undress just a bit more, Donghae remembers the force in Kangin’s voice—

No, on your back. I want to see you.

—remembers the churning in his gut as Kangin wrapped his fingers around his bicep.

So Donghae did.

Donghae would be lying if he said he hadn’t been frightened by the mixture of irritation and impatience on Kangin’s face, if he said he hadn’t been all the more impatient himself, egged on by Kangin’s rough handling. There was no romance or ceremony in the way Kangin finished the job of yanking off Donghae’s pants and underwear, in the way he parted Donghae’s thighs with his knees, in the way he haphazardly shoved a pillow halfway under Donghae’s lower back.

But as the silent and still pause between Kangin popping open the lotion and snapping it closed lengthened, Donghae remembers opening his eyes without remembering when he’d closed them.

It’ll hurt.

He remembers the whiplash of Kangin suddenly losing his edge, betrayed only by the fact that the older man’s cock was bobbing proudly against the hem of his t-shirt. He remembers searching Kangin’s eyes, now hesitant and unsure, before sitting himself up. Snaking one arm around Kangin’s neck, Donghae drew him in for a kiss—soft, slow, apologetic—using his other hand to guide Kangin’s coated fingers between his legs. He pulled away only to rest their foreheads together.

Not if you take your time. We have time.

So Kangin did—they did, finally shedding all their clothes, sharing brief but lingering kisses. Donghae reached between them to take Kangin in both his hands, and he remembers Kangin’s small but obvious shudder. Slow and deliberate, the way Donghae knew Kangin likes it, he coaxed the older man into action. He’d be lying if he said it was painless. But with the measured curl, careful scissoring of Kangin’s fingers, it didn’t take long for ‘wonderful’ to eclipse ‘hurt,’ for Donghae to turn into a writhing, gasping bundle of over-stimulated but unsatisfied nerves, for Kangin to regain and voice his urgency.

I can’t wait anymore—

Then now, already—it doesn’t hurt—

Still, it didn’t stop Donghae from whimpering when Kangin finally withdrew his fingers, when Kangin unnecessarily slathered himself with the (jasmine-scented) moisturizer. Taking the initiative, he hooked his ankles high on Kangin’s back. And it was then, the swollen, leaking head of his cock pressing against Donghae’s entrance, that Kangin managed a small smirk.

What are you waiting—?

The intrusion hotter, thicker than a couple of fingers, Donghae couldn’t help hissing, couldn’t help digging his nails into Kangin’s shoulders. But Donghae made no complaint to stop, and Kangin had no intention of stopping, pushing slowly, steadily further into the small body beneath him. Kangin moved immediately after sheathing himself in Donghae, deftly slipping a hand between their bodies. Slow and deliberate, he timed his thrusts with the stroking of Donghae’s cock.

Donghae remembers forgetting to breathe, being unable to breathe, being aware of only where his body met with, moved with Kangin’s. He remembers letting one of his arms fall to drape over his eyes but tightening his legs around Kangin’s torso.

Don’t.

He remembers Kangin pulling his arm away from his face to lace their fingers, to plant their hands on the mattress beside Donghae’s head. He remembers turning away instinctively.

Your face, Donghae.

Panting laboriously, his lips parted and his eyes streaming, Donghae bothered only to throw the older man a hazed, sidelong glance, managed only to rasp,

Too good—too slow—

And in response, Kangin released Donghae’s cock to lay himself over the younger man, to help himself to the flushed and glistening offering of Donghae’s throat. And again by instinct, Donghae threaded the fingers of his free hand through Kangin’s sweat damp hair, canted his hips to meet Kangin’s still full and torturous thrusts.

Kangin sunk his teeth into the taut flesh and corded muscle of Donghae’s neck, ignoring Donghae’s half-protesting moan to murmur,

You crybaby.

But no matter how thorough and teasing Kangin wanted to be, it didn’t take long for him to humor Donghae’s half-growled, half-whined insistences of ‘damn it, hyung, faster,’ especially when the younger man started making desperate, determined attempts at rolling them over. So mid-hyung, Kangin raised himself onto his knees once more and, digging his fingers into Donghae’s waist. Brutal and relentless, the abrupt change in angle and speed had Donghae coming hot and thick, keening Kangin’s real name.

Capitalizing on Donghae’s weak, unresisting state, Kangin fucked the younger man no more than a dozen times before burying into Donghae a final time, feeling himself fill the younger man’s tight and still clenching body, his head thrown back as he mouthed Donghae’s name to the ceiling.

Donghae remembers how Kangin had collapsed immediately onto him, how they’d both groaned pathetically when his come, cooling and tacky, squelched between their bellies, when Kangin slipped out of Donghae. He remembers fighting uselessly against sleep, remembers Kangin mixing up and combining ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you,’ remembers not even caring and simply muttering,

Go sleep… also… me, too…

But he didn’t sleep for long. Because he also remembers how his limbs were still achey and his mind was still foggy—not to mention that the room and sheets still smelled heavily of sex—when squinting at the bedside clock revealed it was only two in the morning.

But it wasn’t until he tried wiggling out from under Kangin’s sleeping-deadweight, staring longingly at the bathroom door, that Donghae noticed the bed beside theirs, that Donghae remembered Eunhyuk was supposed to room with him that night. And though the bed was mercifully empty, the only explanation for it would be that Eunhyuk had come in while they were in their post-coital coma and tactfully left in favor of sleeping elsewhere.

—hae-ah? Why—moving—?

Nothing, nothing—

Donghae calmly pulled the blanket higher up around Kangin’s back.

—go back to sleep.

Torn between being mortified and grateful, Donghae quickly decided that he’d settle the matter with Eunhyuk if it came up and, even if it didn’t, that he’d make sure he and Kangin went about things with more brains—and that he’d treat Eunhyuk like the emperor.

Going to Haiti had been one of the toughest decisions Donghae ever made in his life. But it had also been the simplest. In Donghae’s opinion, he hadn’t changed much in the two or so years that he and Kangin were together. And maybe that had been the problem. Maybe he didn’t get worse personality- or behavior- or manners-wise (he hopes he hadn’t been all that bad about those to begin with), but he certainly didn’t get better. He’d devoted himself to Kangin completely. And exclusively.

It was time for Donghae to give himself to other people. The way he used to.

It’ll only be for a little while. I think it’ll be good for me.

But I know you. You’ll be miserable.

I’m not that selfish.

That’s not what I meant. You’ll cry every day because you’re too damned selfless.

Even then, Donghae knew the reason for Kangin’s worrying and nagging. Sure, Kangin would probably be right in predicting Donghae crying a lot. No, it was simpler but all the more heartbreaking than that:

Kangin was restless.

Left with nothing to do—no activities to keep him occupied—Kangin had developed a habit of fussing over Donghae. It was of little help that Donghae’s situation had been the complete opposite, what with his constant traveling for promotions and relentless schedules even when he was in Korea.

Donghae had endured for some time, telling himself it was better for Kangin to call and text and visit him incessantly than for the older man to fall into a self-pitying, aimless (or worse, drunken) slump. But really, he doubts either of them expected Donghae’s patience to last for long.

Hyung, I’m so tired—

I know, but—

I only have time to sleep for an hour. I’ll call you when I get to the airport, okay?

Donghae remembers. He’d almost fallen asleep in the ensuing silence. But then.

Am I that much of a burden to you?

And maybe if he hadn’t been so exhausted, Donghae would’ve answered more promptly, more comfortingly. Instead, he’d lain there, his words stringing together from brain to mouth ridiculously slow because… Had Kangin become a burden?

It’s not like that—

I’m sorry. Take care.

No, don’t—

‘Don’t hang up. Don’t put words in my mouth. Don’t misunderstand. Don’t think I’m not trying. Don’t call yourself that. Don’t let me go to sleep like this.’

Even now, Donghae doesn’t know how best he could or should have ended his sentence—if Kangin had simply given him the time.

‘Don’t hate me.’

But Donghae couldn’t afford to lose any more sleep, no matter how drowned in tears or fraught with nightmares. But. It was a mark of exactly how exhausted Donghae was that he’d fallen asleep instantly with dry eyes and dry cheeks, that he’d woken up unaware of having had a single dream, bad or otherwise.

And like that, Donghae left the country, somehow so energized knowing he was getting his first real chance in a long while to take care of someone other than himself that he forgot to call Kangin.

But it goes without saying that Kangin never once left Donghae’s mind in spite of the sweltering heat, saddening conditions, and manual labor when he was in Haiti. He’d reminded himself to correct Kangin: though he definitely cried many a time, it hadn’t been every day. And though it goes without saying, too, that guilt nagged at him in a voice ironically much like Kangin’s that he hadn’t called from the airport before leaving. Still, Donghae never once contacted the older man while he was away.

And vice versa.

Donghae remembers the overwhelming disappointment when, having landed at the airport, the first text message he received had been, not from Kangin, but Eunhyuk.

I have something for you.

Donghae remembers seriously considering turning Eunhyuk down in favor of getting in touch with Kangin. But it took only a quick mental scolding—he was well and done with neglecting people he cared about, not to mention he owed Eunhyuk without the two of them speaking about it— for him to pocket his cell phone and ask to be driven to the dorms instead.

Did you miss me that much?

He threw himself onto Eunhyuk’s bed with a small laugh, the other man shutting his bedroom door.

Do you guys have food? I’m starv—

How’s the composing? For the repackage?

Donghae blinked dumbly, watching Eunhyuk rifle through the folders of sheet music on his keyboard before remembering to answer.

Uh, good actually. Why, have any of the plans changed? I really want there to be violins—

No, nothing like that. Here.

Donghae stared at the sheet of paper in Eunhyuk’s outstretched hand, then at Eunhyuk’s face, wondering. Had he secretly written the entire song himself behind Donghae’s back? But no. Eunhyuk only smiled gently, patiently, and waved the offered paper slightly. Suspicion replaced by curiosity, Donghae sat up and took the page. He glanced at it briefly before blinking up at Eunhyuk once more.

You finished the lyrics already? I thought we were supposed to—

Yes, okay, sorry, just read.

And so Donghae read, Eunhyuk sitting beside him on the edge of the bed.

Donghae remembers reading Eunhyuk’s messily written lyrics once, twice—

—remembers that by the third time through, he’d hunted blindly, desperately for the other man’s hand for something to hold onto because—

—Did Eunhyuk really understand what his words meant to Donghae? What his words were doing to Donghae?

The hand squeezing Donghae’s, firm and reassuring, made it clear.

Yes, maybe Eunhyuk really did.

You and Kangin-hyung are going to sing it with the KRY guys.

Donghae watched with tear-blurred eyes as Eunhyuk eased the paper from his trembling fingers, then took a moment to blink them away before finally turning to his bandmate. He opened his mouth to speak, but… to say what? But Eunhyuk understood, politely averting his eyes only after searching Donghae’s face to ensure the younger man wasn’t crying (too much), and continued, his voice light.

I already showed Kangin-hyung. He likes it. Says he can’t wait to record.

Donghae remembers how his voice shook, hoarse and disbelieving. And really, there was nothing he could say. Except maybe to ask Eunhyuk why he hadn’t finished the lyrics sooner when Donghae needed them far more, leaving for his actual trip to Haiti.  Did every man in his life have bad timing?

Yeah. Me, too.

Still, lucky for Donghae, Eunhyuk had said everything for him.

Did Hyukie show—?

Donghae remembers how hard he’d tried in those first two seconds upon seeing Kangin the following week to exercise some discipline and restraint, remembers failing miserably but gloriously when he’d thrown caution to the winds and thrown himself along with it and into Kangin’s unsuspecting arms.

Yes, yes, yes. Hyung, I missed you so much.

Us, too!

And before he knew it, Yesung and Ryeowook were interrupting what, in Donghae’s (still somewhat) childishly selfish mind, should’ve been a wonderful reunion full of kisses and maybe even a little groping or more. Never mind the fact that they were in the lobby of the recording studio.

Donghae had run to meet Kangin when he spotted the older man approaching, his bandmates chasing after him half-scolding, half-cheering. And though Donghae had paused for those two seconds to feast on Kangin’s pleasantly surprised expression before finally embracing him, nothing humanly possible could be done to stop the combined supersonic force of the vocalist duo.

So there they were, a wriggling mass of limbs and laughter, the four of them together effectively blocking the entrance.

Geez, you guys are so embarrassing. Can’t you act like adults?

Kyu-honey!

Even now, Donghae doesn’t know which of them had wrangled the maknae—who’d slowly and cautiously made his way to the door to join them—into their affectionate scrum amid coos and sniggers, but Donghae remembers the two seconds that he and Kangin locked gazes—through flailing arms and hair full of too much product—remembers Kangin’s smile, warm and radiant as he mouthed,

I missed you, too.

Donghae remembers how their post-group cuddle high carried them through that day’s session of recording, remembers never once caring that he and Kangin were flaunting their feelings with their shared smirks and constant tickling and pinching for any excuse to touch each other.

He remembers finally, finally, taking his turn to sneak Kangin into his room to spend the night together, remembers how they’d diplomatically decided to behave and content themselves with simply burrowing under his sheets. That is, until—

Hyung’s hungry.

Then go cook something.

No one’s supposed to know I’m here, dummy.

He remembers being kicked out of bed. More precisely, being nuzzled out of bed, Kangin’s nose insistently budging up against the back of his head, muted laughter puffing warmly through his hair.

Fine, fine. Wait here.

He took his time padding to the kitchen, pausing once to mouth obscenities and hop about on one foot as he clutched the other (he’d stubbed his big toe on a doorframe he forgot existed, what with his being too lazy or too drowsy or both to turn on the lights in the hallway). And once there, nearly all the water he’d set to boil for Kangin’s ramyun evaporated by the time he found the kimchi tucked away on the top shelf of the refrigerator.

I can cook better even with my eyes closed.

Donghae jerked violently from his half-sleep, bent over the counter with his head resting atop his folded arms, but found he couldn’t right himself: Kangin had draped himself over Donghae, his forearms beside Donghae’s elbows, his mouth against Donghae’s nape. Their bodies molded together like that, snug and familiar and right, even now, Donghae doesn’t know which of them had been harder, needier.

Bedroom.

But your ramyun—

“You let all the water boil away.”

Donghae jerks violently from his reverie at Eeteuk’s disapproving voice. With half a mind to angle his body away from the band leader to hide his denim-confined erection, he peers into the pot with a small frown.

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

The older man tousles his hair, laughing grudgingly, “No wonder Kangin says you’d be a terrible wife. I’ll call Wookie. What do you want to eat?”

“Anything, I guess. Sorry about the ramyun.”

“Maybe you’ll be a better husband, then, huh?” Eeteuk muses almost knowingly, stopping only to brush his knuckles along Donghae’s jaw before making for the front door of the dorm with a final, “And make sure you clean everything up.”

Donghae remembers the thorough scolding he’d gotten from Heechul the morning after Kangin’s sleepover (they’d left the pot of swollen but unseasoned noodles on the stove and the container of kimchi on the countertop—though miraculously they’d made the small effort of turning the burner off), remembers nodding along with half a mind to put on an apologetic pout.

Donghae remembers finding the note Kangin had tucked into the waistband of his boxers, remembers the disappointment of waking with empty arms and an empty bed melting into relief and a newer, deeper fondness for the other man. He hadn’t known then, but that note—now softened and smudged with time and a dozen too many readings (so that Donghae can now without fail identify Kangin’s penmanship)—would ultimately crown the sheaf of letters Kangin would send.

Going into the army had been one of the most ill-timed decisions Kangin ever made. But it had also been the most important. And as it turned out, his decision to enlist hadn’t been a whim, but an arrangement discussed extensively with the managers and the company. Kangin had thought everything backwards and sideways, poking for holes in the plan. And he knew, as did everyone else: people would think he was running away.

In Donghae’s opinion, Kangin had changed remarkably in the past year—from living so recklessly his words were apologies more often than not, to living so deep in insecurity he had to slowly but surely relearn how to be himself. How to take care of himself so he could take care of others, of Donghae. The way he’d promised all those years ago.

Kangin wasn’t running away. He was testing himself.

You know it’s for the best.

I know you know I know you’ll be miserable.

You don’t know that.

I know. I know you’ll be more than fine.

They both knew Kangin would be fine. With the huge number of things in their lives going so well—the fourth album was a hit, the repackage was a hit, the third tour was set to start in a couple of months, all the members were successful in individual and group activities—it would come as no surprise that Kangin would make it through the army just as great.

It was Donghae they were worried about, as much as Donghae hated to admit to his own lack of self-confidence. They’d been together for two years. What would become of them spending two years apart?

Do you really have to rush in? The notice said you have until October.

There was an unmistakable pleading note in Donghae’s voice, but he made little effort to be apologetic for it. He’d resigned himself some time ago to always being (just a little) selfish when it came to Kangin. Something which, it seemed, the older man appreciated, hiding a smile by pressing his lips to the inside of Donghae’s wrist.

You big baby.

Donghae slipped his hand out of Kangin’s grip only to wrap both his arms around Kangin’s neck, drawing their bodies impossibly closer. Maybe if he held on tight enough, long enough, he could make (just a little) part of himself stay with Kangin even when Kangin left. Of course, what Donghae didn’t know (or maybe he did) was that, through all those days and kisses and shots of soju and tears and risky trysts, he already had.

If I leave in October, it would be an even worse birthday present for you than last year.

Yeah, that was a pretty bad birthday.

And though he tried to make a joke of it, Donghae nevertheless found himself weeping silently into Kangin’s neck. But Kangin only hushed him patiently, gently, his hands warm and sure at Donghae’s back.

I miss you already.

Just think of it as a short journey.

So Donghae did—does.

Even now, he remembers gathering with the members and fans on a day that was inappropriately too sunny, too cheerful to be seeing Kangin off, remembers not seeing a single face void of tears, remembers making sure he hugged Kangin just one last time.

He remembers that, as he did, he’d tucked a note, hastily scribbled and folded without the corners matching up, into the waistband of Kangin’s underwear.