Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

San is no stranger to the ocean. He and his family frequented beaches when they had the chance over the course of San’s teen years, but never did they actually stay at a beach town for an entire summer. Most of his visits to the beach were restricted to a single day’s sunrise and sunset, twelve whole hours of walking around, shopping for souvenirs, and tanning down by the beach.

But this time, they take a five-hour drive down to the southern coast for a vacation that is supposedly for San, but San feels like he’s in a moving prison cell the entire way there.

After all, once the summer is over, he is to be shipped off to Europe for his studies at his parents’ behest. He isn’t exactly opposed; after all, it’s an opportunity that he’d be foolish not to take advantage of. But he knows that this whole extravagant voyage is just another tactic for his parents to expunge him from their life, at least for a while. Which San finds incredibly unfair, since he’s practically invisible to his parents to begin with.

They have the financial means of sending their only child off to a heap of foreign countries to study something he has absolutely no interest in, just so he can be qualified enough to inherit his father’s throne as a CEO of some business he truly knows nothing about. They never bothered to tell him what he would be doing and he doesn’t know when they will but he cares too little to ask.

Sometimes, San feels like the only reason they had him in the first place was to have someone that could inherit the family business and keep the legacy going. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if they forced him to have a kid just so they could keep the family name alive and well.

San contains a scoff as thoughts that threaten to drown him in the very ocean they’re about to arrive at pound away at his psyche. It’s not what he needs right now.

It’s supposed to be a fun summer.

The house they arrive at is exactly what San expects. It might as well be a replica of their actual home—large, lavish, luxurious. Just by the ocean this time.

His mother is bouncing on her heels as she hops out of the car with a gleeful squeal, rounding back to the car to retrieve their luggage. San lets out a lamentful sigh, unbuckling his seatbelt with one final morose thought, You two would be completely fine if I disappear this summer.

He hauls a total of one suitcase into the house (being his own, while his parents wheel in four, plus two duffels), not bothering to navigate the entire premise before he settles for one of the bedrooms on the second floor, farthest away from the master bedroom on the ground one. It’s a surprisingly cozy room, probably the smallest out of all of them, with somewhat of an old-fashioned country feel to it. Tacky daisy wallpaper, white lining, wooden furniture… it’s a treasure trove compared to his room back home.

He flops down onto the pastel sheets and wonders how in the world this bedroom exists in such a grandiose house. It even smells like a home, not the metallic, plastic scent of modernity. Who does this house belong to? Who has stayed in this room before him? He can’t help but wonder.

“Sannie!” his mother’s voice rings from downstairs. “Unpack your things quickly and get changed! We’re going out for dinner by the docks as soon as we’re ready!”

San rolls his eyes and lets out the biggest silent groan he can. Unfortunately, the entire place has air conditioning, so he can’t fabricate the heat stroke excuse. If he said his stomach hurts, they’d give him a big ole “suck it up,” maybe throw a plastic bag in his lap in case he hurls, and bring him anyway. If he said he felt feverish, his mother would feel his forehead and say, “You feel fine to me!” even if his body was on fire. San finds this ironic considering they can’t be bothered to spend quality time with him outside of these vacationing days.

So he pulls himself off the bed, throws on a wrinkled button down and slacks, and forces his feet back down the stairs where he waits by the entrance, which his mother takes as a sign of enthusiasm when in actuality, it’s everything but.

The drive is only about five minutes but it feels like another five hours of torture, of watching tinier beach houses and strips of sand and beach flash by, soft indie tunes playing in San’s ears. His parents chat with each other about something that doesn’t concern him. And he doesn’t bother asking where exactly they’re headed.

The sun is hanging low and pale in the sky, rendering it some kind of a somber periwinkle with just a few wisps of orange clouds. They arrive at a parking lot right beside a line of docks, each dock home to a variety of boats attached to wooden posts, bobbing in the gentle waves of the ocean. The stone walkways are littered with people here and there, conversing, laughing. San hates the look of all of them.

It’s only when San steps down the spotted stones that he realizes the diversity of the people he’s seeing. From rugged and burly to classy and dainty, but San can’t help but feel like he can see the distinct line between them despite them all being huddled into one area.

He knows exactly what this is.

“The Choi family?” comes a rough voice from San’s behind.

“Ah, yes! We have reservations at seven,” his mother says to the approaching stranger.

San turns around to see a man who looks to be in his forties, with hairy arms and tan face, probably as a result of long days being beaten by the sun. His arm muscles bulge beneath his plain white t-shirt, though the roundness of his belly certainly speaks against the rest of the man’s muscularity. Black splotches and lines of ink stay hidden beneath the flimsy fabric, just barely peeking through.

“Aye,” the man says, his voice gruff. “Right this way.”

San begrudgingly follows the man and his parents to an entire fucking yacht, a long white body stretching three docks’ lengths, its golden lights illuminating the luxuries that await inside. From what San can tell, the yacht is four whole floors, and there are already people waiting on board with their fancy champagne glasses and twinkling jewelry.

San already feels seasick.

“So you are the owner of this fine establishment?” his mother questions as they climb aboard.

“Ah, not the owner. Just a guide. The boat I own ain’t nowhere near as fancy as this baby,” the man says, laughing as he pats one of the walls.

The inside of the yacht isn’t unlike a hotel ballroom. Chandeliers and gold plates, crystal lights and mahogany, the scent of metal and roses. It all screams wealth. San doesn’t even feel like he’s on the water.

Why is he even here?

“This is such a nice place, isn’t it?” his mother asks, poking San’s arm.

“Yeah,” San gets out, stressing a loosened jaw to hide the tension building in all of his muscles.

“You might meet a nice girl while you’re here, son!” his father says not-so-jokingly, throwing an arm around him and shaking his shoulders.

“Ha, maybe.”

Either his parents are fucking stupid, or they’re just ignoring the fact that their son is clearly uninterested. They both laugh and turn away, their attention stolen by another family a few meters down.

“Oh, my… Minji, is that you I see?” his mother calls out, her tone bright.

San huffs, feeling his heels turning before they can stop them.

Minji. Right. He knows Minji.

Minji the fucking homewrecker.

He snorts as he leaves his family to the woman who could single-handedly crush the Choi family between her fingertips should she or San’s father open their mouths.

Disgusting.

He steps out onto the yacht’s first deck, one layer of four. There’s a flight of stairs to his right, leading up to the second one. To his left is where the dock is, where he sees a few more wealthy guests climbing aboard. How glorious it would be to just abandon it all, get back on land where he can just sit and watch the sunset without a soul to watch his body sink into a life he never wanted a part of.

Swallowing, he sighs and turns to his right.

The second floor is a little bit busier than the first. It’s where all the people are gathered for the outside dining, which he assumes is what his parents came here for in the first place. That, or it was an arrangement made to meet up with Minji and her husband. Whatever the case, San doesn’t care.

He slinks into the interior section of the restaurant, where he’s stopped by a man in a neat black vest and cuffed white sleeves.

“Reservations, sir?”

San narrows his eyes at him.

“Choi. My parents are downstairs but they asked me to get them a table.”

The man pulls something up on the tablet he’s holding, regarding San with a simple nod. “Sit wherever you’d like.”

Jesus, do rich people get away with this shit all the time?

San scoffs as the man walks away, stopping each and every guest that dares step foot in the restaurant even though all of them probably have enough power to ruin the poor man’s life.

The restaurant is decorated the same way as the lobby. Dim gold lights bouncing off deep reds and browns, the blue of the sky the only semblance of variety. And once the blue fades to black, San will be stuck again.

He weaves through the aisles of booths and tables, which are considerably emptier compared to the tables out on the deck. Of course they are; who wouldn’t want to eat outside under the starry sky while the ocean breeze salts their food?

On the other side of the restaurant is an archway leading into what looks to be more of a lounge area, complete with velvet seats and an entire stage, wholly unoccupied and barren save for a lone bartender wiping down glasses. He frowns, confused.

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” asks the bartender.

San is still gazing around the space as he traipses over to the bar and takes a seat on one of the stools. Sighing, he turns to the bartender, dressed in the same uniform as every other waiter on this godforsaken boat, his unkempt dark brown locks hardly styled despite the place in which he works.

“A drink, I guess,” San mutters.

“Do you have an ID?”

San wants to laugh. He knows damn well he isn’t old enough to drink; hell, he doesn’t even know most alcoholic beverages and what they taste like. But he gets his driver’s license out anyway and hands it to the bartender, completely straight-faced and nonchalant.

The bartender’s eyes barely look over the ID before he snorts and slides the license back over to San. “You’re funny.”

San shrugs. “It was worth a shot.”

“Tch. Well, I’ll make you something fruity, then.”

San gives him a shrug in response, letting his elbows rest on the polished bar, his head already starting to spin. When was the last time he ate? Slept? He can’t remember. The days all blend together anyway; for all he knows, it’s been an entire day since he’s eaten. Did he even remember to eat breakfast this morning?

The next thing he knows, he’s hearing a glass slide over in his direction, a pink gradient with a maraschino cherry, half a strawberry, and some sort of sprig garnishing the ice floating on top. “Hope you like,” says the bartender before he turns away to rinse the shaker he just used.

San’s brows crease as he leans in to take a sip from the black straw, his nose scrunching at the very blatant hint of alcohol in the drink. It’s not overpowering in the slightest; in fact, the main thing San can taste is mint and strawberry, but it’s there and he knows it. He frowns over at the bartender, not that he’s paying attention, but that frown slowly turns upward into a knowing smirk before he takes another sip.

“Do you have, like, bar food here?” San asks, only to realize how stupid the question sounds as soon as it’s out.

“There’s a restaurant right next door,” the bartender replies stoically, barely turning his head. “That’s where you get your food. Nobody comes to the bar for food. They come here for drinks.”

“Then why is nobody here?”

“They’re all busy mingling.” He’s starting to sound tired. San thinks he knows why. “They spend all their time out on the deck and only come here when they want drinks. Everybody’s got their drinks for now. The rush comes later, when the party begins.”

“There’s a party?”

The bartender turns around them, giving San this bewildered look that almost seems offended. “You’re on this boat and you don’t even know? There’s this, like… what’s it called… ball? Banquet? I dunno what rich people parties are called.”

Ah.

San understands the exhaustion behind the bartender’s tone now.

“Basically, once everyone’s done with their dinner on the second deck, there’s gonna be a shindig on the third and first. Music and dancing and all that.”

“What about the fourth?”

“Nobody goes up to the fourth.”

“Why not?”

“You sure ask a lotta questions.”

For a rich person. San imagines the bartender bites those words back. Hell, he imagines this guy has had to bite back so many words that his tongue would sever if someone decided to push him too far.

The bartender sighs. “It’s basically just an observation deck. It’s quite small, so there’s really no reason to go up there unless you wanna go stargazing or something. Though most of the people who get on this ship don’t care about the stars.”

Well, despite this guy’s clear distaste for the wealthy, San is inclined to agree. They care about the stars in their champagne glasses and the bits of gold sprinkled in their food. They care about their diamond-encrusted jewelry and expensive platinum watches. Nature? The sky? The outside world? Those may as well not exist.

“Don’t you have a table?” the bartender asks. San can’t tell if he’s biting his tongue this time. Either he’s genuinely curious, or that’s his polite way of telling San to get the fuck out.

“You’re right,” San says. It’s the latter, he decides. “I’ll… bring this back, when I’m done.” He picks up the glass, raising it momentarily before taking another sip and turning away, not bothering to look back as he walks out of the lounge area.

As queasy as San feels from the interaction, he has to admit, the drink is pretty good.

*

San eventually rejoins his family at their shared table with Minji, her husband, and her stepson, Yeosang. San hasn’t had the opportunity to really speak to Yeosang despite his parents always “encouraging” him to. They deem Yeosang as the only person within their social circle who’s worthy of being San’s friend, at least, from San’s perspective. The kids at the private school he went to? None of them stuck around because they were all the same. Snobby and pretentious. The amount of times San has had to lie and tell his family that he made friends at school would astonish the average person.

However, it’s clear to San that Yeosang does differ from the kids that he went to school with. The boy spaces out during their conversations more so than not, and whenever he speaks, it’s because he’s roped into it.

“What’ll Yeosang be doing for college?” San’s mother asks.

“Ah, he’ll be taking a year off,” Minji answers.

San scowls at the way his mother’s face visibly deflates. So what if Yeosang wants to take a year off? San wishes he could. But he can’t, because that’s a sign of weakness, and the Choi family isn’t weak.

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Minji says, clearly taken aback by San’s mother’s shift in tone. “He’s taking a year off to tutor a youth group at church.”

“Oh, I see!”

San glances over to Yeosang, who has his head bowed down, slowly poking at his entrée with a fork. He almost feels bad for the guy. Almost.

“But after that, he’ll be attending university in the States,” Minji goes on. “Right, Yeosang?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Yeosang blinks, face completely blank.

Are you tired too, Yeosang?

“San,” his mother suddenly says, “why aren’t you eating?”

“Huh? Oh.”

“Eat your food.” The rebuke stings a little more than usual. San wonders if it’s the tone, or the lack of food in his stomach, or the despair swirling around in his gut that threatens to pull him down into a puddle of tears.

He tries to eat. Each bite feels like a rock plummeting down into his stomach. He’s aware that the food tastes good, but the expensiveness of it all is rancid on his taste buds and he can feel tears welling up in his eyes every time he swallows. His mother’s words echo in his brain, however, urgently coaxing him to eat, eat, eat, so he does, and before he knows it, his plate is spotless and his stomach feels like it’s about to split open.

He needs to leave.

“Hey, um… I’m just gonna go to the bathroom,” San says, standing up to leave them with a bow and not bothering to listen to whatever his mother calls out after him.

He has absolutely no idea where the bathroom is, so he settles for going back down to the first floor, where there’s a good chance of finding a bathroom in the lobby. When he bursts through the door of the first one he sees, he shuts himself in a stall, slams the door behind him, and sinks down to his knees.

Fucking pathetic.

Everyone else is out there, eating, drinking, and being merry and rich and happy, and San is on his knees in a bathroom stall, tears brimming in his eyes, stomach churning, head pounding, racing, caving in.

One of those fancy ballroom chandeliers might as well come crashing down on San’s body just to end his misery. He doesn’t want this anymore.

He wants to tear every single portrait off the walls and break every last piece of glass until there’s nothing left of him or every single fucking person on this stupid boat.

He wants to be out there, on the beach with bare feet and nothing but a t-shirt and swim trunks on. He wants to be in the middle of the woods in dirty sneakers with just a water bottle to accompany him. He wants anything and everything but this, a life served to him on a golden platter, blue surging through his blood.

He wants to paint himself red instead.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there for. All he knows is that not a soul comes by; either everyone has steel bladders or they know where the other bathrooms are located. Or, maybe God is cruel and not sending anyone to the bathroom is a sign to show how alone San is and always will be. Honestly, San doesn’t need any divine being to show him that. He already knows.

By the time he exits the stall, his bottom lip tastes like blood and his eyes sting.

There’s music bumping through the walls, and as soon as he steps out onto the deck, he sees why. There’s an entire DJ setup right by the rails, the partygoers swinging their hips and pumping their fists to nineties throwbacks. Strobe lights flash across the sleek white of the boat and shine up at the night sky. Seeing an artificial rainbow like this makes San want to get sick again.

When he climbs back up to the second floor, it’s considerably emptier, save for a few occupied tables here and there. His parents and Minji’s party, however, are gone. Figures.

The third floor is just a slightly smaller version of the first. There’s another sound system set up, synced to the one on the first level, and more strobe lights send neon beams across every inch of San’s vision. He wishes they would blind him.

He doesn’t even bother searching for his parents. He assumes they’re having a good time, wherever they are. And besides, they wouldn’t want San dancing with them anyway; they’d probably tell them to find a nice-looking lady and chat her up a bit. Maybe they’d tell him to get to know Yeosang a little better. And while San has negative one hundred interest in doing the former, maybe Yeosang could be his saving grace of the summer if they do end up becoming friends.

The ascent to the fourth and final tier feels a lot longer than the previous ones. Maybe it’s the height of the level itself. He can see everything from up here—the sky is so close he could touch it, and each floor of the yacht is visible like layers of a cake. He can see the clusters of people, tiny dots moving to an indiscernible beat, the strobe lights seemingly miles away.

He likes it much better up here. Not a single person to be seen, noise drowned out by sheer distance.

This is what he wants. Distance.

To be away. To be gone.

There’s a rail with four rungs that borders the fourth tier, much like the others, but this one is higher. Noticeably so.

San rests his elbows upon it and sighs, his melancholy air billowing out into the summer night breeze, whisking it away. His eyes continue to sting and his heart is pounding even harder now; he’s never been afraid of heights but there’s something daunting about this particular height. He’s finally alone, away, gone, and the longer he looks down, the more he realizes he could be alone, away, gone forever.

One of his feet comes up to rest on the bottom rung of the railing, his elbows sliding off and fingers wrapping around the girth instead.

It would be so easy.

It would be so easy to leave. To finally escape the life he never wanted.

His tears lose to the breeze. He sniffles, knuckles burning white at the mercy of his trembling fingers gripping the metal with nearly all of his strength.

And the last of it would be used to—

“Hey.”

His fingers start to sting along with his eyes.

“Hey!”

He starts to feel like his nail beds could bleed.

“Dude, hey! You fuckin’ deaf?”

San blinks, swallowing a thick lump that had risen in his throat while his mind raced.

“What?” he replies to the disembodied voice.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

San scoffs. The voice sounds familiar. “I’m admiring the view,” he says coldly, though his fingers loosen their grip somewhat.

“Shouldn’t you be down with the rest of the rest of your people?”

“They’re not my people.” San fingers release the railing, though they continue to tremble violently, as if the blood inside them is being electrified. “They’re not my people!”

“So... what the heck are you doing up here?”

San turns around, his body reeling back against the railing at the momentum, his cheeks and eyes aflame.

“I don’t want to be here, okay?” he shouts. It echoes. He wonders if people can hear him.

He has to blink to clear his vision. He has to let the tears spill over.

And once the water curtain pulls away, he’s met with the shaggy-haired bartender’s narrowed eyes and crossed arms, visible annoyance on his face.

But at the sight of San’s wild tears and shivering fingertips, his expression softens.

“Hey… you alright?”

San inhales a fuckton of snot and sinks down to his knees again, this time falling back on his ass and against the railing.

“I’ll take that as a no,” the bartender says. “You drunk? I only gave you one drink.”

“No,” San says, a gurgle sitting in his throat. “I’m not.”

“Then why the fuck are you crying?” The crass language makes San’s blood simmer.

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“I work on this boat. It’s my break… though I should be off the rest of the night since Jongho took over… but, anyway.” The bartender clears his throat. “What’s wrong?”

San wants to laugh again. There’s no sympathy in the question, none whatsoever. And in a way, he understands. He doesn’t need sympathy—he’s wealthy, he has everything he could ever ask for, and a bartender who probably gets paid minimum wage serving rich people drinks has no reason to care about him and his first world problems.

So San stays silent. Just like he always does.

There’s another sigh. “Look, San.”

“You know my name?”

“It was on your ID.”

San scoffs, just barely a chuckle. “My name is Yunho,” the bartender says, crouching down despite being a sizable distance away from San. “Can you tell me what you’re doing up here, San?” His tone is gentler this time, head tilted attentively.

Still, San is wary. He wipes his nose and frowns. “I just… wanted time away.”

“Not a big partier?”

“Nope.”

“Me neither. I hate these fucking things.”

San does chuckle this time. “Yeah.”

There are several seconds of palpable silence between them before Yunho says, “Why were you crying if you just wanted time away? Did your girlfriend break up with you or something?”

“No.” San scoffs. “It’s not… you wouldn’t understand.”

Yunho lets out a long, frustrated cross between a sigh and a groan. “Nah, you’re right. I wouldn’t understand because I’m not rich. I get it. But, like, look. You’re the one on the ground crying. And I’d be a pretty shitty person if I just left you here to cry, as much as I can’t stand you people.”

“That makes two of us,” San grumbles.

“The hell are you talking about? You are one of those people.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to be.”

“Cry me a fucking river.”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

And then, laughter. Laughter in misery. San imagines Yunho must be loving his misery. He probably loves seeing rich people cry. And he gets it. He does.

“So what are you doing on this boat if you don’t wanna be here?” Yunho asks.

“I didn’t have a choice. Parents dragged me here.”

“Hmph. Overbearing rich people. Those are some of the worst.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an adult, though,” Yunho says, shrugging. “Not old enough to drink, technically, but still. You should have a say.”

“Well, I don’t. Like you said, overbearing rich people. They’re some of the worst, and my parents just happen to be under that category.”

Yunho huffs, finally allowing himself to sit instead of crouch, spreading his long legs out in front of him. “Is that why you’re up here? Because you can’t stand to be in their presence?”

San nods silently.

“Well, boo-fucking-hoo.”

And just when San thought Yunho was showing some sympathy.

But San gets it.

Yunho doesn’t have what he has. He imagines Yunho is just barely scraping by with the tips he earns from being a bartender. And San knows that rich people have more money to tip, but not always the incentive to. They like to cling to their money as if it’s their lifeline. And what lowly bartender is worthy of making money just for making drinks?

So yes, in a way, San understands, even though Yunho’s hostility isn’t making him feel any better. He looks away, shame encasing his body in a pitiful cocoon.

“Look, kid,” Yunho says, but San doesn’t lift his head. “Well, maybe I shouldn’t call you kid since you’re the same age as me…”

That grabs San’s attention. “What? You are? How do you… you’re a bartender, though!”

“Nobody’s gotta know my age. My uncle doesn’t give a shit as long as I don’t serve underage folk. Besides, I’ve been told I look twenty-five. Though I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not.” Yunho chuckles. “But yeah, I’m eighteen. Lookin’ at you, though… definitely makes me feel older.”

“Thanks?” San pauses, then asks, “So, if you knew I was eighteen, why’d you make me that drink?”

Yunho shrugs. “You looked like you needed it. Plus, I ain’t really got anything to lose. My uncle’s the owner of this boat, so if he found out, the most I’d get is a slap across the face. Or, if he’s in a good mood, maybe I’d get away with just a few scoldings. Or, if he himself is drunk off his ass, he’d laugh and tell me I did good.”

“You work here because your uncle owns the boat?”

“Aye. In exchange for labor, I get to live under his roof. It ain’t much, but it’s something.” Yunho shrugs again. “I don’t get paid by the hour, so tips are my spending money. Though, with how stingy y’all rich people are, it ain’t always much. I noticed that the drunker y’all are, the more y’all tip. So sometimes, I make the drinks a little stronger than they’re supposed to be.”

San can’t help but laugh. Yunho’s right; San has witnessed it firsthand. One time, his father drunkenly tipped more than the actual meal’s cost, and his mother was too distracted to notice that it was because their waitress had big breasts. All the while, San watched his father’s eyes follow that poor woman’s figure with the urge to punch his father in his vile face.

He can’t get mad at Yunho for that.

He sniffles again and wipes the tears with his shirt sleeve, relieved that Yunho’s spiteful words somehow managed to calm him down just the slightest bit.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

Yunho raises an eyebrow. “You’re thanking me for spittin’ at you?”

San shrugs. “I’m not mad, because I know all the stuff you said is true. I guess it was nice to hear it from someone else.”

“You’re a strange one,” Yunho says.

“I got everything to lose.”

Yunho’s eyes narrow into slits again, though this time, they’re accompanied by a smirk.

“So, rich boy,” he says, “I told you something about me. Now tell me something about you.”

“Thought you don’t like me because I’m rich.”

“Yeah, you’re right. But I told you something about me, so it’s only fair that you tell me something about you. And, you should also step away from that railing.”

San glances behind him. He’d almost forgotten how close he was to tasting freedom. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth, he inches forward until the gap between him and Yunho is just a few legs’ length away.

“Well… what do you want to know?” he asks.

“I dunno… what’s it like, having that much money?”

San snorts. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Must be nice, though. You get whatever you want. Lotta people don’t have that.”

“Yeah, I know. But… money really can’t always buy you happiness.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Yunho’s tone does a complete one-eighty, the scowl reappearing on his face. “I can’t stand it when y’all rich people mope. You can buy whatever you want. You can get whoever you want. That’s what people want. People want money, and that’s what you have. Why the fuck aren’t you happy?”

San’s eyes screw shut again.

Why isn’t he happy, Yunho asks.

There are many reasons why, but he has this gut-wrenching feeling that no matter how in depth he goes, Yunho will never understand.

“What’s the point in me telling you when you’re not going to believe me anyway?” he spits back. “Why are you even wasting your time on me? If you hate me so much because I have money, why are you bothering? What, are you gonna rob me? Beat me up? Newsflash, the money isn’t mine, it’s my parents’. And it’s not like I asked to be born into this kind of lifestyle. I don’t want it. So to hell with you and your fake sympathy. You don’t know a damn thing about me, and I doubt you really want to know.”

San unsteadily rises to his feet, blood refilling his jelly-like legs. He gets it, he gets why Yunho has this preconceived notion about him, but at the same time, he doesn’t need the constant reminder that he comes from money. He doesn’t need someone to tell him that he should be happy even though he isn’t.

He has enough of that in his head.

“Should’ve fucking jumped,” San mutters as he barely brushes Yunho’s shoulders as he passes, only to be seized by his arm by a rather large hand.

“Hey.”

“What the hell? Let go of me!” San exclaims, but Yunho doesn’t budge. He simply stares at San, his eyes fiery and brows creased, a deep frown carved into his face.

“Were you really gonna jump?”

“What does it matter?”

Yunho’s fingers tighten around his arm. When San looks down, he sees that Yunho’s hand can encase nearly the entire circumference of his arm.

“I can’t have people dying on this boat,” Yunho says. “You’re not going anywhere until we land.”

“What, gonna keep a rich dude hostage because he was about to kill himself?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” San can only detect a smidge of sarcasm. Yunho’s grip around his arm loosens ever so slightly, his face softening. “Look, dude. I’m sorry if I was hostile—”

“You were.”

“Whatever. But, look, whatever it is you’re dealing with right now, it’s not worth killing yourself over.”

“What would you know?”

Yunho lifts his chin, and it’s only when he takes a step closer that San realizes just how big the guy is. San has to tilt his head up just to see his eyes.

“Just like I don’t know a damn thing about you, you don’t know a damn thing about me,” he hisses. “Let me tell you this right now. If you jumped, you wouldn’t have died unless you hit your fuckin’ head on the railing down on the first deck.”

San gulps, wondering what horrors Yunho has witnessed with those eyes of his.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight until the night’s over. If you’re going back down, I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“People would notice,” San tries halfheartedly.

Yunho laughs spitefully, shaking his head and finally releasing San from his vice grip.

“Trust me, San. They’re too blinded by their jewelry to notice someone like me.”

And once again, San is inclined to agree.

*

San finds himself back on the second deck after splashing more cold water onto his face. Turns out there’s two bathrooms on every level.

The entire second level has practically cleared out by now, save for a few older folks who don’t have the bones to dance. The lounge area is still vacant, save for a different bartender.

However, at their table, he finds Yeosang reading a book.

“Oh, hey,” Yeosang greets as he sits down.

“Not partying?”

Yeosang shrugs. “My parents know I’m not huge on social gatherings. I tried to, but I think I’ve danced enough tonight to last me the entire year.” He chuckles and bookmarks the page. “What about you? You disappeared for a while.”

San exhales. “Just not feeling too hot.”

“Ah. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t miss out on much, really. Though I think our parents are a little drunker than they think they are.” Yeosang shakes his head. “Let’s hope Minji doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t think I don’t know about Minji and your dad sneaking around.”

San’s entire body goes rigid, but Yeosang only laughs and picks up his book again. “Minji’s a bitch. She wrecked her first marriage and she has all the power to ruin another. All for some fucking money. But hey, don’t worry, I’m not gonna say anything, either. I think the both of us know we’re in no position of power here.”

San lets his muscles relax, but something sour continues to sit in his stomach. Whether it’s the nerves from feeling Yunho’s patrolling gaze or the news that his father’s infidelity isn’t going unnoticed, he isn’t sure.

He realizes then that yes, he is in no position of power here—his parents keep him around because they want him to continue their legacy, but that’s about it. They could disown him and he would have nothing and they would continue to have everything.

So that’s what he has to do to keep living.

Keep his mouth shut.

*

San ends up having to drive home because as Yeosang said, his parents indeed got drunker than anticipated. They sit in the backseat with their heads slumped against the windows, far away from each other. San occasionally steals glances through the rearview mirror; their eyes are open but their hearts are closed and he wonders if they know just how frayed their marriage truly is.

They’re able to walk but they don’t say a word to each other. San trails behind them, watching as they simply remove their jackets and disappear into the master bedroom, where they will presumably argue or continue to not say anything at all.

San doesn’t hear anything that night except the summer breeze tapping away at his window, but he isn’t sure if it’s a good thing or not. A double-edged sword, perhaps.

*

The next time San meets Yunho is by complete chance.

He’s given the task to go grocery shopping, and when he protests, his mother pinches the bridge of her nose and tells him “just go, please,” without a single detectable hint of patience. Had San kept pushing her, she probably would have exploded.

So San takes the car to the closest grocery store, the list stored in his phone. It’s a small place, much smaller than the supermarket back home.

As he’s traveling the winding aisles and walkways, he sees a familiar body, a buff man with tattoos and a round belly, this time much dirtier. He’s over by the seafood section, browsing the display of fillets and shellfish over crushed ice.

And approaching him is none other than Yunho, more casual this time around dressed in stained jeans and a loose-fitting white tee, his own half-sleeve of tattoos on broad display.

The unknown man can’t be his uncle—he said so himself; he doesn’t own the boat. San can’t help but wonder what Yunho’s relation to the mystery man is.

Feeling a nervous bubble forming around him, he ducks his head and scutters over to the vegetables.

The thing about Yunho is this: he’s tall. Very. Tall. Probably the tallest person San has ever seen. But maybe that’s because he isn’t picky, maybe he eats whatever he can get because he has to. He’s well nourished and full of muscle, his arms toned but not exactly thick. The muscles bulge just slightly and his waist—his unfairly thin waist—is the neck of the hourglass that is his body.

Does Yunho have bodily proportions that boggle San’s mind? Yes. Is he mesmerizing to ogle at? Absolutely. Does San find himself sneaking glances while his fingers hover over herbs that he can’t differentiate between? Unfortunately.

And that’s his downfall. After saying something to the mystery man, Yunho just so happens to turn and catch San’s eye.

And he smirks again, just like he had on the boat.

San quickly averts his eyes, honing in on the labels instead while giving himself a mental beating because Yunho just caught him staring.

Ah. Parsley. Thyme. Cilantro? Why does his mother want cilantro? He takes a gander at the list again; half of the things on here, he’s never seen in the house, ever.

And then, “Well, well, well… look what we have here. Glad to see you’re alive.”

San can’t help the gasp that slips out of him, his eyes rising to see Yunho smiling down at him. “Your parents got mighty drunk, you know that? Maybe you should keep a better eye on them.”

Up close, San can get a better sense of him. No longer does he smell like cheap cologne; it’s all ocean and gasoline and while it’s honestly kind of horrendous, it’s a nice break from the headache-inducing fragrance San has to smell whenever his father walks by. And it’s understandable why Yunho smells like that.

“I was too busy trying not to throw myself overboard, remember?” San mumbles, prying his eyes away. “Didn’t think you’d be glad I was alive.”

“Dude, I’m not that much of an asshole. Give me some fuckin’ credit.” Yunho huffs, crossing his arms. “So what’re you doing here?”

“Grocery shopping for my parents.”

“They can’t do that themselves?”

“That’s what I asked, and my mom insisted. Couldn’t be helped.”

“You talk like they treat you like their slave or something.”

“Maybe.”

San frowns at the list. There are way too many items on it that he doesn’t even think his mother needs. With how agitated she’d sounded, perhaps it was just another tactic to get him out of the house so she could do whatever it is rich moms do when they don’t have a parasite to deal with. He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone in his pocket, returning the herbs back to the display. “This is bullshit.”

“What?”

“This. There’s no way my mom sent me here to go fucking grocery shopping. She just wanted me out. Fuck this.”

San storms back over to the entrance and drops the basket off before leaving the store altogether, only to be stopped by a familiar hand around his arm again. “Dude, what the hell? Don’t just grab me out of nowhere!”

“You need to calm down. And I don’t just mean that you need to calm down to me, you need to seriously take a few breaths. It’s not good to go off on your own when your emotions are spiking like this.”

“What the hell do you care? You can’t stand me because I’m rich, remember?”

Yunho bites his bottom lip, glancing from side to side to observe any onlookers. Thankfully, there aren’t any. He releases San’s arm with a weak push. “Look, I’m sorry for grabbing you, but seriously. You need to take a few minutes to calm down. We could go for a walk, yeah?”

“Again, what do you care?”

“Because I’m not a shit person,” Yunho says, frowning as he juts a hip out and crosses his arms. “And don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t care about you that much. I just don’t want you doing something idiotic, especially after seein’ what you went through on my uncle’s boat.”

San takes the few moments they stare at each other to weigh his options. Worst case scenario: Yunho takes him to a secluded location and kills him and steals whatever money he has. Best case scenario: same thing.

The contemplation is nearly nonexistent.

“Fine,” San agrees.

Yunho lets out a sigh of relief. “Well then, let’s get a move on. Do you like seafood?”

*

San does, in fact, like seafood. However, what he doesn’t expect is for Yunho to take him back down to those familiar docks, to a shack, with rickety steps and a neon sign that flickers pathetically in broad daylight.

“Yah! You!” are the first words San hears upon entering, coarse and deep and loud, yet somehow the sound is contained within the chipped wooden walls. “Where the hell have you been? Your uncle’s been… who the fuck’s that?”

Yunho chuckles, reaching over the bar counter to ruffle the man’s hair. “Chill, Mingi. This here’s a friend.” The word doesn’t come out quite right, San thinks.

Mingi’s face immediately scrunches up. “That kid ain’t a friend of yours. You don’t make friends with folks that look like… that.”

“As keen as ever,” Yunho jokes.

“Wait a sec… is this the kid you were tellin’ me about the other day? The one who was gonna kill himself?” Mingi bursts out laughing. “You gotta be freakin’ kidding me! The hell’s he doing here? What, was he gonna kill himself again?”

San winces and looks away. Whoever this ‘Mingi’ person is, he’s not exactly the charmer. And again with the “kid” thing—Mingi doesn’t look much older than him or Yunho. It’s humiliating, to say the least.

But San isn’t surprised in the slightest that Yunho told the tale. “Rich Boy Goes Up to the Fourth Level of a Huge Ass Yacht to Kill Himself.” Yunho must have had the time of his life retelling the story.

“Hey, cool it, Mingi. The dude’s harmless, leave him be.” Yunho groans as he sits down on one of the barstools. “C’mon, San. Sit. Mingi, whip up a Mingi Sting-y, would you?”

“A what?” San questions as he sits, the splintery wood rough against his legs.

“Mingi’s signature drink. It’s as the name implies—it stings when it goes down. My personal favorite.” Yunho snickers. “And, uh… a Dirty Shirley for the rich boy.”

“Comin’ right up, Your Fuckin’ Highness.” Mingi enunciates his facetious words with a curtsey before turning around to get started on the drinks.

“Sorry about him,” Yunho whispers. “He’s a bit… crude. I promise he ain’t all that bad, though.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Mingi says, followed by a hearty chuckle. “Dirty Shirley… he’s a fruity boy, ain’t he?”

“Mingi…” Yunho warns.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

San frowns, confused. “We ain’t used to having visitors here, especially no rich folk,” Mingi explains, though it offers no real clarification. “What’re you doin’ here ‘round these parts?”

“Family vacation,” San says hesitantly.

“And you’re hangin’ around with us instead of goin’ on your fancy beach trips?”

San shrugs. “My mom literally sent me grocery shopping to get rid of me. So no, no fancy beach trips.”

Mingi grunts, seemingly amused. “Rich families are some of the fuckin’ worst. You know how many times I’ve witnessed them husbands goin’ around touching other wives’ waists and staring at waitresses’ boobs? They’re fuckin’ disgusting, all of them.”

So it is noticeable. San wonders if it really is so blatant that these poor women know of their husbands’ infidelity but choose not to say anything because they can’t. As Mingi said, it’s fucking disgusting.

Why marry if you won’t love someone forever?

“Hey, you alright?” Yunho murmurs.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

There’s the familiar slide of glasses against wood, and a reddish drink appears right in front of San’s eyes, topped off with three maraschino cherries and a lemon. Yunho’s is carbonated and clear with just a lemon split at the rim, and to San, it just looks like plain soda water.

“What’s even in that?” he asks.

“Sprite. Vodka. Gin. Tequila, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Mingi likes to mix it up. Sometimes he adds Tobasco,” Yunho says with a shrug before taking one large gulp of the drink, wincing as he slams the glass down. “Jesus, fuck!”

“Why would you subject yourself to that?”

Yunho’s coughs dissipate into laughter, his ears already beginning to burn red. “Gets you drunk quicker.”

“Thought we were supposed to take a walk.”

“After we eat. Ain’t nothing like some fresh fish straight from the sea, prepared to perfection. Those fancy chefs like to sprinkle gold, we like garlic salt and panko crumbs, deep fried goodness that makes you sweat like crazy.”

“And lemon!” Mingi adds.

“What’s with all the ruckus out here?” comes a shrill voice from the door to the side. “I’ve been hearing you guys go on and on for the past half hour; what’s this about a visitor?”

Out comes an oddly staunch yet baby-faced man clad in a dirty white apron and equally dirty jeans, a judgmental frown set into his face. “Who are you?” he asks, eyeing San up and down. “Wait, you were on St. Jade the other day.”

St. Jade must be the name of the yacht, San figures. “Y-yeah.”

“Ah. Thought I recognized your face. What are you doing here?” The man’s tone is considerably less jarring, though San somewhat accredits it to his chubby cheeks and soft eyes.

“He’s with me,” Yunho cuts in.

“Huh. Well, whatever. I’m Jongho.”

“We all went to the same high school, though Jongho here’s definitely got a lot more going for him than us,” Mingi says, throwing an arm around the shorter man, who grimaces as soon as his side collides with Mingi’s. “This is just his summer job. He’s off to college once summer’s done. Yunho and I, though, we’re cursed to sail the seven seas forever.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Yunho deadpans.

Suddenly, his eyes widen. “Wait, Mingi, you were sayin’ something earlier about my uncle.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, your uncle’s been at the dock for a while. Said he needed some help with maintenance on Shelly.”

“Shelly needs maintenance? Fuck.” Yunho stands abruptly. “Fuckin’ hell. San, I gotta head out for a while. You, uh… do whatever, okay?” He doesn’t even wait for San’s reply before he’s bursting through the swinging doors of the shack, kicking up loose gravel as he disappears further down the docks. San watches, flabbergasted.

“Shelly is his uncle’s favorite,” Mingi says. San turns back to him. “Look, San, was it? Yeah. Yunho’s a real busy man. I don’t know what you’re doing around him, but he must’ve really taken a liking to you if he’s bringing you here.”

San scoffs and sips his (admittedly tasty) drink. “He’s keeping me around because he’s worried I’d kill myself if he doesn’t watch over me. I’m not gonna kill myself.”

Mingi sighs. “Dude, from what he told me, it seemed like you were really gonna do it.”

“I wasn’t,” San asserts, though he can’t help his voice from snapping in the middle. He clears his throat. Fruity saliva sits in all the wrong places, and it’s making his eyes water.

“Whatever the case, Yunho doesn’t bring just anyone here. He doesn’t make friends ‘cause he ain’t got time for them.”

“I’m not his friend.”

Mingi snorts, his laughter escaping in short bouts.

“Don’t look that way to me.”

*

By talking to Mingi and Jongho, San learns that all three of them are linked to Yunho’s father—Mingi’s father was Yunho’s father’s best friend before a boating accident brought him to his untimely demise when Mingi was just eight years old. Somehow, for reasons kind of obvious to San, both of their wives walked out; Mingi’s mother abandoned him and Yunho’s just disappeared one day with no warning. Jongho has both his parents who are still on really good terms with Yunho’s father, hence the summer job.

And as it turns out, Yunho’s father owns three businesses: this shack, a boating service, and a fishing service. His uncle owns and runs seven boats across the docks, making him the most notorious sea dog in the area.

Together, they’re the duo that control the docks. As Mingi puts it, “If you fuck with them, you’ll find your way to the bottom of the ocean.”

It’s no wonder why Yunho looks and sounds so tired all the time.

Constantly alternating between helping his father run his seaside businesses and helping his uncle maintain his precious boats, Yunho is quite the slave to the sea.

“They’re all under a lotta stress,” Mingi says quietly. “It’s always real tense between them.”

“Sometimes Yunho doesn’t even go home ‘cause he’s afraid of what’ll happen,” Jongho pitches in.

“I usually crash at Jongho’s place, so I’m able to avoid all that. But Yunho?” Mingi sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t know if it’s his pride or whatever, but he’ll just… find somewhere else to sleep. Sometimes I’m afraid he’ll work himself to death.”

San cringes and looks away so they don’t see his crestfallen eyes.

He understands why Yunho feels such hostility towards him. He really does.

Yunho works himself to the bone and gets virtually nothing. San can get anything he could ever want.

“He’s a good guy,” Mingi says. “Him keeping you around is proof of that. He just doesn’t wanna admit it.”

“He cares,” Jongho adds. “But he’s learned not to show it.”

“Can’t show people you care around these parts. Can’t trust the rich. All they’ll do is step on you in the end. That’s what Yunho thinks… I think. In a way, I agree. But with him, it’s… it goes a lot deeper than that, I feel.” Mingi purses his lips. “Trust me, San. He’s taken a liking to you.”

“Kind of hard to believe,” San says.

“Or maybe he’s just curious,” Jongho suggests. “Curious as to why a rich guy was ready to kill himself.”

“Maybe he wants to understand,” Mingi says.

“I don’t think he will,” San counters.

“Yunho’s got a rough exterior, but he’s kind. Even if he doesn’t understand, he’ll try to. Give him some credit.” Mingi sits up and cocks his head from side to side, wincing as the bones snap. “Fuck, what’s a guy gotta do to get a massage around here?”

*

By the time Yunho gets back, the sun is already painted orange and San is ready to conk out. It’s been five hours since San’s mother asked him to go grocery shopping, but there have been no messages asking him what happened and why it’s taking so long. San only vaguely questions it and wonders what in the world his parents are up to, but he figures his trip to go fake-grocery shopping really wasn’t all that significant to begin with.

“Sorry ‘bout the wait,” Yunho pants as soon as he reappears, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, hair dripping. “Got all sweaty so I stopped by the house to shower. You still down for a walk?”

“Oh… uh, yeah, sure.” San gets up and briefly glances back; Mingi and Jongho had left about a half hour ago and told him that Yunho could shut the place down.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he takes San on a walk down a boulevard of gray and white stones, where the ocean is a neverending stretch across the apricot sky. It’s a straight line from the docks to the beach, and the only thing they pass by are the boats, a fountain, and a few street vendors before they reach the rocky shore.

Rich brown mountains that shoot up from the sea, slippery stalagmites pummeled by high tide. Yunho hobbles over them with a giant smile on his face, as if it’s a jungle gym he’s gone through plenty of times but never got used to. Filled with excitement and wonder and the thrill of exploration.

San is panting as he traverses the uneven landscape, trying his best not to slip and split his skull open on the miniature crags. When they finally conquer the minefield of sea rocks, they reach a much more open beach, sand instead of rocks, where the danger of falling has decreased drastically.

With an exhilarated exhale, San hops down from the last wrong and wipes the sweat on his hairline, shaking the bits of salt water from the strands.

“How do you feel?” Yunho asks.

“Fine,” San says breathlessly.

Yunho smirks and starts walking without waiting for San to catch up. San has to jog up to him and fall into wide strides just to match the slow and steady pace of Yunho’s long ass legs. Noticing this, Yunho slows to what would probably be snail’s pace for him.

“I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do, I go for walks like this,” Yunho says, his head lowered as he kicks the sand in front of him. “It’s a good thing to do to clear the mind.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re good? You don’t feel like killing yourself?”

San’t can’t help but laugh. “No, Yunho. I don’t feel like killing myself.”

“Good.”

They walk together for several moments of silence, just a forearm’s length separating them. San glances around to take in his surroundings. He’s been to beaches like this before; to him, they almost all look the same. Sand and sea. Sometimes grass, sometimes rocks. This particular beach is vacant, however, not a soul in sight, not a beach ball or lounge chair to be seen. Just the soft song of the ocean and the occasional cawing of gulls soaring above them.

San keeps his hands in his pockets, one clasped around his phone in case it vibrates, though he finds himself caring less and less if it does.

“Still don’t like me?” San tries.

Yunho scoffs. “Not really, no.”

“But you’re walking with me.”

“Doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Alright.” San chuckles. “So… back on the boat, you asked me to tell you something about me, but when I tried to, you automatically turned on me.”

Yunho groans, to which San only laughs again. “You asked me what it’s like to have a lot of money. Are you still curious?”

“Sure, I guess,” Yunho mumbles.

“Okay. So let me tell you what it’s like to have a lot of money. I’m eighteen years old. I have the latest iPhone and a laptop that a person working a minimum wage job would have to get ten paychecks to pay for. I’m set to go to university in Europe in the fall because my parents already arranged everything. Everything that I have or could ever want, I could get, because it’s my parents’ money. I don’t have a lot of money. It’s all my parents. If they were to disown me, I’d have absolutely nothing.”

Yunho licks his lips and turns away to look at the sea as he walks.

“My dad’s the CEO of… something. I don’t know, some business that makes a lot of money. I don’t know what it is, because they never bothered to tell me. My mom is basically his secretary. She has a lot of money because he has a lot of money. Now, say my dad was to… I don’t know, fuck up his marriage by being unfaithful.”

San watches Yunho’s jaw tense.

“And say, my mom leaves. Or he leaves. They split. My mom gets money from the divorce. But that’s about it. And me? Why would my mom want to keep me around? I’m just another expense, and I’d just be another reminder of my shitbag of a father. But let’s say that doesn’t happen and my parents remain together. I go to college in Europe, get my business degree or whatever after years of torturous studies that I have zero interest in. I am heir to my dad’s position. I’m supposed to run a business and I have no idea what it is. And then, when I’m older, my dad dies and I’m left in a position I never wanted in the first place. And then, when all is gone, my mom and dad are gone and I’m a miserable hollow shell of a person, I hang myself from the chandelier in my mansion. How does that sound?”

Yunho stops in his tracks, allowing San to take a few steps in front of him before he turns around. From farther away, Yunho seems shorter and San can look him in the eyes without feeling small.

“Being rich isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. Not all of us are happy. Not all of us have it easy. You heard what Mingi said, didn’t you? Infidelity is common. Marriages are on the brink of destruction but nothing is done because then money is lost, and rich people can’t have that, right? So they stay together even though they’re miserable. And the kids either go on and prosper or they’re overshadowed by their parents’ wealth. We’re not human beings. We’re playthings and toys and novelties that our parents can use to brag or to continue the family name. What am I but my money, Yunho? Who even am I?” San laughs, a pathetic, tragic sound that gets lost to the breeze. 

He can see the contemplation on Yunho’s face. Go ahead and call me names again, San thinks, there isn’t a name or insult you can think of that could hurt my pride. I have none.

Finally, Yunho takes a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling as he turns to San.

“I still don’t understand,” he says, “but I appreciate you telling me.”

San releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, figuring that while it might not be everything, it’s something.

“Whatever it is you’re dealing with, it ain’t easy on you. Clearly.” Yunho motions at him. “So I hope that one day you feel better.”

San can’t help the wry laugh that he lets go.

“Yeah. Me fucking too.”

*

When San gets home, the sky is dark, the moon is bright, there are apples in the bowl on the middle of the kitchen island, the fridge is half-stocked, and his parents are snoring soundly.

There are no notifications on his phone.

*

San wakes up to a silent house and a note on the kitchen island.

Went to breakfast with your father, help yourself to whatever’s in the house -Mom xx

He tears it to shreds, sticks an apple in his mouth, and heads for the docks.

*

San has to wait for Yunho to come back from work most days. He waits at the shack where Mingi and Jongho usually are to keep him company. There’s the occasional customer for a pickup order, but other than that, not even dust bunnies pass by. San wonders how the place stays in business.

He learns that the robust tattooed man is indeed Yunho’s father, which is mind-boggling considering Yunho shares almost zero features with the man. San has yet to meet his uncle, though he has a feeling the image won’t be too far off from his father’s.

And besides, San isn’t sure if he really wants to meet meet them.

Yunho likes to pretend he isn’t afraid of anything, but San can see the flurries of fear in his eyes whenever Mingi or Jongho tells him that his father or uncle needs him for something. And Mingi has a literal and figurative big mouth that spills more information than he should.

So San learns more about Yunho than he wishes, and he can’t help but look at Yunho differently each time they walk the beach together. It’s as if the boy is shrinking.

Behind all that muscle and the tattoos and the tired eyes is a boy who is afraid.

And San wants to imagine he understands.

*

“Your parents aren’t asking where you are?” Yunho questions one day beneath a flourishing oak tree just a slope away from the beach.

“They don’t care,” San says, hugging his knees. He checks his phone for good measure; it’s almost three in the afternoon and there are still no notifications. “It’s nice, in a way. I didn’t really go out much when I was in school. Had no reason to.”

“Didn’t hang out with your friends?”

“I had none.”

Yunho looks so confused that he almost looks offended. “That’s gotta be a fat load of shit.”

“It’s not.” San sighs and leans back against the monstrous trunk. “I hated everyone I went to school with. It was this private school, with uniforms and all that shit. A lot of the kids there were really religious too, which, like, I couldn’t give two shits about religion.”

“Hear hear.”

“Might as well have been a religious school. Strict as hell, barely any freedom. If you were so much as one minute late to class, that would affect your school record. They made you into mindless, breathing robots. And everyone was the same. Everywhere I looked, I saw monotony and mundaneness and just… I hated everything.”

Yunho makes a noise of acknowledgement as he lies down on the grass. “You chose not to make friends,” he says.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Mm. Friends are hard to come by. I would’ve wanted to beat every one of those snobby faces into the ground.”

San laughs. “That would be funny.”

That makes Yunho laugh too. It’s the kind of laugh that Yunho doesn’t do a lot; San only ever hears him laugh like that when he’s talking to Mingi. The kind of laugh that means he’s comfortable showing a side of him that not everybody gets to see.

“What was school like for you?” San asks.

Yunho puts his hands behind his head and shrugs. “Public school. Some roughhousing but nothing too major. Lotta different walks of life, but I had Mingi and Jongho and they were all I needed. Couldn’t be bothered to make friends with anyone else.”

San nods even though Yunho isn’t looking at him. “Overall, pointless. I was an average student, but I didn’t really try because it was useless. College? Yeah right. Don’t have near enough money to afford that, and my dad wouldn’t dream of sending me somewhere ‘cause he needs me for work.”

“But he doesn’t pay you.”

“My dad and uncle share a house. I work, I get to live under their roof. That’s how I get paid. If I didn’t work for them, they wouldn’t hesitate to kick me out.” Yunho sits up, grunting, and San looks over at him with sad eyes and a frown that he hopes speaks to his sympathy. “Our families are real shitbags, eh?”

San laughs again. “Yeah.”

“Without them, we’d have nothing.”

“Yeah.”

Yunho nods. The tiniest sign of understanding that San can feel in every nerve.

*

San’s parents take him out to dinner at a seaside restaurant thirty minutes away from the house. His mother orders for them and whatever dish she gets for San looks slightly unappetizing.

It’s good, but it doesn’t beat garlic salt and panko crumbs, and San doesn’t even break a sweat.

When it gets dark, they stop by a strongly-lit strip mall and his mother hits up every fashion outlet that sells overpriced dresses and jewelry while his father spends the entire time at a Men’s Warehouse browsing suits that he probably owns variations of already.

San gets ice cream and waits outside.

And waits.

He shoots a text to his mother at eight.

He gets nothing at eight thirty.

At nine, he arranges an Uber.

He sits in the backseat of a car that for once doesn’t belong to his parents while he watches the night fly over his head.

At ten, he steps out and walks familiar stone pathways until he reaches a dingy little shack and collapses onto the rotting wooden steps.

At ten thirty, he hears a voice.

“San?”

*

One of the scariest things that can happen to a kid is losing their parents at a grocery store. Aisles of snacks and produce create an infinite maze and the strangers are the monsters that lurk in plain sight. And at that age, you don’t know which ones are nice and which ones aren’t; you don’t know if they’ll take your hand and help you find your parents or if they’ll scoop you up and kidnap you.

San never had that happen to him because his parents never let him out of his sight. But that was when he was a child.

He’s not scared, not really. He has a phone and he has means of getting where he needs to go. The freedom that comes with being an adult is rejuvenating.

But even so, it was his parents who brought him to that strip mall. They should have brought him back.

At ten forty-five, there are no notifications on his phone and he’s lying on a bed that smells like must and artificial flowers in a room that costs less than 0.001 percent of his bank account.

Yunho occupies the bed next to his, staring at him as if he’d break any minute now.

“Thank you for this,” Yunho says.

San doesn’t even look over. “For what?”

“For the room. I don’t… I don’t usually have a place to stay. So thank you.”

“No problem.”

It’s a shabby motel but it suffices, and somehow, San feels relieved. He knows that there are people who can’t afford a room like this, and he’s in the presence of one of those people. But for once, he feels normal, like the wallet in his pocket doesn’t weigh a hundred thousand pounds.

“Thanks for… finding me,” San murmurs.

In more ways than one.

He sleeps like a baby that night.

*

San returns home and his parents are still sleeping. He tiptoes up the steps and showers, washing away the scent of motel grossness and replacing it with forty-dollar shampoo and a hundred-dollar body wash.

With his hair still wet, he climbs into bed and waits for his parents to gather him for their next outing.

They don’t, and San watches the sunset alone instead.

*

“No, no, I’m telling you! That bastard deserved every punch I threw at him!”

Yunho is doubled over in laughter at Mingi’s animated retelling of a fight back in high school. “He wants to pick on the underdog, he’s gotta deal with karma. Karma’s a fucking bitch,” Mingi goes on, cracking his knuckles for good measure. “And I’m a fucking bitch.”

San can’t help but snicker. “Picking on someone who’s smaller than you is one of the most cowardly things you can do. If you’re gonna fight someone, fight someone your own size. That’s all I’m sayin’.” Mingi chortles before downing another shot of some liquor that San doesn’t know the name of.

“Ah… hey, Yunho. That reminds me,” Jongho says suddenly, his solemn tone dampening the lively mood. “Your father’s got some business deal goin’ on for little while. He’s taken a trip up north.”

“Eh? How long’s he gonna be up there?” Yunho asks.

Jongho shrugs. “Could be a few days. Maybe a week. Or a few. Who knows? Your pops might wanna take a vacation while he’s up there.”

“And my uncle?”

“He’s still here, though business is a little slow. I think you may be able to take a breather for a little while, is what I’m saying.”

San watches Yunho’s smile grow like the sun’s rays over a horizon.

A breather.

You deserve one.

*

Yunho takes them running. They run on a particularly windy day, where the sand swirls in miniature twisters behind them and the wind beats their faces and tussles their hair and San can’t breathe but he can at the same time.

This isn’t P.E. class where he had to watch the more athletic kids exceed while he did the bare minimum just to pass. He isn’t being forced to exert his energy; he wants to, in exchange for a moment that makes him remember that he’s human.

At one point, Jongho shoves Mingi into the ocean and the boy lets out a scream that sounds a lot like a dying seal (not that San would know what that sounds like) and Yunho laughs so hard that he coughs like an active volcano. San swears he can even see tears.

But they’re happy tears. San would take those over the other kind any day.

He leaves his phone at home because there’s no use for it. He doesn’t want to be interrupted anyway. He’s too busy living for now.

At night, they climb aboard St. Jade. According to Mingi, they’re allowed to on Friday nights as long as they don’t make a mess. Yunho gets back behind the bar and makes San the same drink as he did the first time, except this time around, the taste of alcohol is stronger and it makes San cringe.

“Trying to get me drunk?” he asks.

“Nights are more fun that way,” Yunho says with a wink.

San laughs and sips away at his drink while Yunho pours shots for the rest of them. He enjoys the buzz but he passes on the shots in fear that he’ll get too drunk. And he wants to remember this night.

He sits back and listens to Yunho and Mingi and Jongho reminisce about their wild days in high school. Rowdy tales of questionable choices and sleepless nights spent doing vandalism instead of homework, rebelling instead of conforming, living instead of surviving. San tries to imagine himself in every scenario but unsurprisingly fails to.

And then it all fell away when they turned eighteen. When high school ended and their futures seemed to be set in stone. The alcohol makes the topic a lot less daunting, but San, who is considerably less inebriated, can see the dread behind those three pairs of eyes.

Alcohol is their barrier from the truth. From the fear.

San doesn’t drink. But he understands why they do.

And perhaps Yunho had some semblance of an idea, when San sat at his bar with his head hung low. “You looked like you needed it” is what he’d said, and maybe he said it because he knows all too well what that ‘look’ is—the look you give when you need some kind of distraction because life is becoming too much and you just want to escape for a little bit, and this distraction is the one Yunho is most acquainted with.

San can’t help but look at them and wonder how much of their lives they regret. How many decisions they wish they could take back, how many days they would rewind back to and change. He wonders at what age they all started drinking to escape. He wonders how they used to spend their days. He wonders how many tales they have to tell.

Tell me all of them, so I can live a little bit more.

*

“Still don’t like me?” San tries later that night. It’s two in the morning and Mingi has gone home with Jongho and San has paid for another room.

“Eh,” is Yunho’s nonchalant reply, but the single syllable response is accompanied by a smile, drunken or not.

“There’s a whole person under the money,” San says. “Just like there’s a whole person under all the sweat.”

Yunho’s smile fades at that. He rolls over onto his side and looks at San, almost curiously, one hand under his head and the other clasping the opposite wrist.

“Do you realize that?” San asks.

Yunho blinks. The look he’s giving, it’s almost childlike. Unaware. Unknowing. Lost. Trying to conjure up an answer but coming up short because his body is at war with his brain. San imagines the battlefield up there, withered by sour memories and thunderous slumber. Cannons and gunfire, keeping him awake on the ground or park benches or anywhere he can find that isn’t home, because home is where the monsters are, and Yunho is afraid of the monsters that are everywhere but under his bed.

“I get it, if you still don’t like me. Really.” Somehow, San smiles. “But I’ve never not liked you, if that counts for anything.”

Yunho makes a noise.

“It does,” he says, just a hint above a whisper.

San’s smile grows. “Cool.”

Yunho chuckles and rolls onto his back, closing his eyes, lips tilted up at the sides just a little bit.

San wants to say a lot more, but he bites his tongue. Just like he knows Yunho does when he’s around the economic class he can’t stand. But it’s not because San can’t stand Yunho and his economic class, and it’s not because he wants Yunho to like him. It’s because he knows that Yunho is afraid and uncertain and fragile despite everything. Then again, maybe San is making the wrong assumptions, maybe Yunho is fine, maybe Yunho sleeps okay at night and isn’t afraid of anything.

But he looks at Yunho like this, calmer than he’s ever seen him, some vitality having finally returned to his face, and thinks, You are only human, just like me.

Humans have their limits. San hopes that Yunho never reaches his.

*

It’s a Tuesday night when San’s mother knocks gently on his door to let him know that she and his father are going out for dinner, and San doesn’t even question why she doesn’t invite him to come along.

He realizes then that the trip was never for him.

He sees how hard she’s trying. He can see it in her burned out eyes and the hesitance she displays when her fingers curl around his door. She’s silently begging San to stay away because she needs to figure this all out on her own and he’s just another obstacle that will get in her way. It makes sense now. She was the one who suggested this vacation after all.

San wonders if she knew Minji would be here too. If this trip was a test, not a vacation.

So when San hears the tires against the driveway, he searches up Yeosang’s Instagram and messages him to come over.

Yeosang accepts in a matter of seconds.

*

“I get it,” Yeosang says in between bites of greasy pizza. “I went through the same thing.”

San slurps his cola loudly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Yeosang wipes his mouth and straightens himself out, as if the story he’s about to tell will take up his strength. “My mom cheated on my dad. It wasn’t easy on him at all, and meanwhile, she was all ready to leave. Dad took full custody of me. And then he met Minji, and she was alright at first, but then I noticed that she was hiding condoms in my bathroom.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have sex, San,” Yeosang snorts. “But if my dad came across them, he would automatically assume that I was having sex and wouldn’t even begin to suspect Minji. She hid it in a pretty secluded spot, but it’s my bathroom after all. I watched the box dwindle. Their schedules aligned sometimes, they’d be in the house together but then they wouldn’t be. You don’t know how many nights I spent home alone. And get this, Minji clearly never paid attention to my schedule, so it wasn’t surprising that she thought I was out of the house when I actually wasn’t.”

San nearly chokes on his cola.

“Newsflash, Minji, not all high schoolers go out at night!” Yeosang laughs. “So yeah, I never walked in on them, thank god, but I knew Minji was boning some other guy. Come to find out later that it was your dad.”

“How… how did you know it was my dad?”

“Dude. Your dad is the CEO of the company Minji works for. His name and face are everywhere. When I first met you, I almost felt like telling you about it, but I figured it was better if I didn’t. And, well, turns out I didn’t need to.”

Yeosang is right. San found out because he just happened to need to stay after school one day, and when his father picked him up from school, he pretended not to notice the stray pair of black lace panties standing out against the leather interior. It wasn’t hard to piece the puzzle together when his mom was out one night and Minji “stopped by” to pick up some “important paperwork.”

“It’s not easy, San. I get it, I really do.” Yeosang sighs. “And trust me, sometimes I just get so angry. Like, how could my dad walk into the same situation again? How miserable does one have to get to realize what they deserve? Shit isn’t fucking fair. But then I remember I’m an adult now, I have more freedom now more than ever and I will only continue to get freer the older I get. I won’t be under my parents forever. I have my own life to live. I can’t just sit by to be some mediator for shitty marriages. I’m more than that. They’re adults. It’s not my marriage to settle.”

San watches in awe and Yeosang recites the words as if he’s known them from day one.

“You’re the same, San. You’re not just the product of your parents’ shitty marriage. And I think that’s something you should realize. I get that it’s hard now, but trust me, you really don’t have to be stuck like this forever. Hell, you won’t be. I know you won’t be.”

San doesn’t even realize there’s tears in his eyes until he feels them sting. Yeosang reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

“Everybody finds their freedom someday,” he says. “It’s just a matter of time.”

*

To have and to hold

From this day forward

For better, for worse

For richer, for poorer

In sickness and in health

To love and to cherish

Til death do us part

San’s parents don’t get home until after Yeosang leaves. It’s almost midnight, and San doesn’t even check to see if there are two people under the car’s light.

*

“Why did your mom leave?”

“Wow, what a fun question.”

“I got everything to lose.”

Yunho smirks. “I applaud the bravery.” He sits up and swings his legs over the bed. San does the same. “Well… at first, Dad and I were both confused. She just disappeared after all. Didn’t leave a note or anything. But looking back, and knowing what I know now, I guess… she just… didn’t want to live the rest of her life the way my dad did.”

“What do you mean?”

“My dad’s always been hard at work. These businesses he’s running, he’s been in the game since before I was born. I guess my mom couldn’t handle it anymore. He was always working, doin’ whatever, never really lookin’ out for either of us. And… instead of taking me with her… she just up and left.” Yunho sucks air in through his teeth, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek. “It doesn’t sting as much as it used to. But it still fuckin’ sucks, knowing that my own mom left me with someone who doesn’t even want to call me his son.”

San averts his gaze, finding Yunho’s melancholy visage too much to bear. He can only wonder how it feels to the person who owns it.

“It ain’t because he’s not proud of me or nothin’. I just think it’s because he forgets. I’m a worker to him, that’s it. And that, San, is why I wholeheartedly believe that you choose your family.”

San looks up then to find Yunho’s face filled with much more than just sadness. Some form of determination behind those eyes of his. Some kind of hope. Something other than pain.

“You choose the people you want to keep in your life. You don’t like ‘em, you drop ‘em. Well, if you can. See, I’d drop my dad and uncle in a heartbeat if that meant I got to taste freedom.”

“You’ll get there,” San says almost instantly, Yeosang’s words thrumming in his brain. “It just… takes time.”

Yunho scoffs. “I’m serious,” San cuts in. “You don’t have to work for your dad and uncle forever. You can get a job somewhere else, make actual money that you can use.”

“Don’t think I never thought of that, San.” Yunho sighs. “Trust me, that’s my end goal. To get out of this stupid fuckin’ beach town and go somewhere far away where I never have to see those bastards again. But… I just feel so fuckin’ stuck, you know? If I don’t work, I get kicked out, possibly beaten. I don’t really have anywhere to go. So then what am I supposed to do? It’s a constant loop, San.”

“You still have a beating heart, don’t you?” Yunho raises a brow at the question. “As long as you’re alive, you keep fighting. You wait until that perfect opportunity and you take it. You think outside the box. You picture that perfect future of yours. You find ways to get closer to it, even if those steps might hurt along the way. You deserve to taste freedom, Yunho. Just like the rest of us.”

San feels his heart ablaze. What is it about Yunho’s shifting expression that’s making it pound harder than it ever has before?

“You’ll find your ways to get there,” San says. “You’ll find your way out. I mean… look at you, man.” His hands flail in Yunho’s general direction. “You’re built like… like a fucking teenage superhero or something.”

Yunho busts out laughing. His entire body falls into it. It’s a glorious sight.

“Seriously!” San joins him in his laughter, a chorus of misery and glee thrown into a blender of possibly false hope, but it’ll get them through the night. It has to.

Yunho shakes his head, his eyes crinkled at the ends where his smile meets them. When he finally calms down, he says, almost in disbelief, “Leave it up to some pretty little rich boy to give me a pep talk.”

San forces himself to laugh again just to cover up his true reaction to the words Yunho just uttered.

Pretty little rich boy?

Yunho groans as he flops back down on the bed, it’s springs creaking with his weight falling down on them. “I wanna get outta here so bad, San.”

“Then do it. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or even in the next few months. But do it someday.”

He sees the faint bobbing of Yunho’s head. He’ll take it.

San flops back down on his bed, much like Yunho did.

“I’ll do it too.”

*

San finds out Yunho doesn’t have a phone because he can’t afford one and “I have no use for it anyway.” So he hands Yunho the address to the house along with directions he’d handwritten out and tells Yunho to find him like he’s the X on a treasure map.

“Only at night though,” San tells him. “My parents are usually busy fixing their marriage at night. And, uh, I think you might be able to hop down from the second floor without breaking anything since you’re… tall and stuff.”

Smooth, San.

Yunho chuckles and looks over the piece of paper San has given to him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

It’s no promise, but San will take what he can get.

*

“I wasn’t going to kill myself that night.”

The statement catches Yunho off guard as he gazes around San’s bedroom. It must have come as a surprise to him, the way his bedroom is a stark contrast to the rest of the house. San wonders if the house was actually like this to begin with and it just went through loads of remodelling and construction, and maybe this room was an ode to its original state. Whatever the case, Yunho seems surprised.

He stops in his tracks. “I mean, I was just thinking about what it would be like. I wasn’t actually going to do it,” San continues.

Yunho blinks at him, unmoving. “That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take,” he mumbles. “I’ve been workin’ for the boat business for a while, San. Don’t think I haven’t seen some shit.”

San takes a deep breath and holds it and watches as Yunho finishes up his self-imposed tour. He collapses onto San’s bed, bouncing as he does, and closes his eyes to hide the darkness behind them.

“I was always confused as to why y’all would even consider killing yourselves. Like… y’all don’t have anything you need to escape from. Y’all have homes. Y’all can get anything you want. It seems like a fuckin’ waste, bein’ all ready to give that up.” Yunho shakes his head. “I still think that. I don’t think that’s ever gonna change. But I know that’s my own bias, so…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just, you don’t know the things I’d do to live like y’all. To have the money. I mean, I don’t need all that money, but enough. And rich folks have more than enough.”

San sits next to him, hands under his thighs as he sighs. “You might not believe me when I say this, but I want that too. I don’t need or want all the money my parents have. I just want enough. Enough to live the way I want, you know? And I don’t want to live lavishly. I just want to live happily.”

“You really are a strange one, San,” Yunho says. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a rich person like you.”

“In a way, everyone is controlled by money. Rich or poor. I hate that it has to be like that.”

“Yeah.”

San falls backward on his bed and lets his head hit the mattress with a thud. His eyes fall shut upon impact and he vaguely feels the bed shift as Yunho does the same. “I don’t want to say that we’re the same because it’s obvious that we aren’t,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean there has to be this impenetrable wall between us, you know? Like I said, I don’t not like you, Yunho. I don’t see you as below me or anything like that. And I wish you didn’t see me in this kind of way, but I get why you do, becau—mmph!”

Yunho’s hand is so big that it covers his entire cheek, but his lips are tentative and dainty, chapped by the sun. San freezes and his body short circuits as soon as that pair of lips meet his in a modest kiss, his hand calloused and rough but they cup his cheek so tenderly, almost as if San would crumble.

San doesn’t kiss back because he doesn’t know how to and his mind goes blank and so does the world. He reels backwards, eyes wide open as he catches his breath, all while Yunho just looks at him indifferently, even with a slight pout.

“What did you do that for?” San nearly exclaims, but it comes out more like a squeak, his voice betraying him.

Yunho shrugs. “‘Cause I wanted to.”

“But you… you just… I…”

“It was just a kiss.”

“But—! I… you just… you just kissed a guy!”

“Yeah, and?”

“That’s weird!”

Yunho sputters with laughter, his hands clutching his stomach as he rolls side to side, shaking his head. “I kiss whoever I want to kiss, San. Doesn’t matter what’s between their legs.”

San’s head flies in the opposite direction. He’s surprised his eyes and heart don’t tumble out of him right there. Adrenaline floods his bloodstream, pulsing and dizzying and exhilarating.

It’s not that weird, San knows it. But his first instinctual thought is what would my parents think, because every conversation about his love life has been, “Hey San, see any girls at school you like?” and “One day you’ll find a lovely lady to complete you,” and, most recently, “You might meet a nice girl while you’re here, son!”

Not a muscular, tanned, tall, tattooed guy with cracked hands and an aversion to rich people.

“But… why? I thought you… I thought you didn’t like me.” The last few words are hardly coherent as his voice fails him yet again.

Again, Yunho shrugs with an incredible amount of nonchalance. “Does it matter? I felt like kissing you, so I did.”

“You’re… weird. And n-not because you… like guys, or whatever. Just…” San struggles to find words, the computer in his brain fried and outdated now that he’s just been kissed by a guy. He’s panting and panicking and everything in between as his mouth flounders for something to say.

“And you’re strange, so that makes us even.”

“I… I don’t think that’s how it works.” How what works? San can hardly think right now. All the words he thinks of, he knows they’ll come out wrong. So he settles for pulling his mouth shut and ripping off the zipper.

Yunho stands up, smirking. “If my family knew I was kissing guys, I’d have my ass handed to me for sure.” He stops at the door, turning to San for a final time. “But I gotta live, San. Even if I have this second hidden life, even if I have to lie to have it, I gotta live. And you do too. Think about it, yeah?”

Leaving San frozen and flabbergasted, Yunho walks out, and San doesn’t have the mental capacity to watch him from the window.

He stares up at the ceiling, his head in a whirling yet stagnant spiral until he hears the familiar crunching of tires against asphalt. It’s only then that he turns his head, albeit just a little bit. He needs to get up, get changed and ready to sleep, even though he has a feeling he won’t be able to because the ghost of Yunho’s lips continues to tickle his lips, incessantly.

*

Even if I have this second hidden life, even if I have to lie to have it, I gotta live.

San’s parents stay home one Saturday night to watch a movie. He tells them that he’s getting an Uber to hang out with Yeosang. His mother tenses, visibly so, while his father simply shrugs and tells him sure.

He tells the driver to drop him off at the docks instead of the address he gave. And he tips them extra.

Mingi is there to greet him at the shack with another Dirty Shirley prepared on a fraying coaster, as if he already knew San was going to arrive at some point. “Yunho’s out doing some maintenance on Crystal and Lochness. He’ll be back soon.”

San chuckles and takes a seat. Mingi sighs and leans forward on his elbows. “It was weirdly busy today. Night is when all the people go to the fancier places, though. So it should be smooth sailing.”

“Has Yunho been working all day?”

“Aye. He’s trying to get ahead on all his work so he doesn’t have to deal with his uncle bein’ all up in his business. Though I personally think it’s ‘cause he wants to spend as much time with you as he can.”

“Huh?”

Mingi’s lips turn up in a smile that makes his eyes disappear. “I ain’t never seen him so excited to hang out with anybody before. You’re what he looks forward to at the end of his days. And he gets all mopey when you don’t come around.”

“R-really?”

“Aye.”

San’s fingers circle the rim of his glass, collecting the miniscule beads of water and alcohol as he tries his best to contain a heartfelt smile.

“Oop, I wasn’t supposed to share that with you,” Mingi says, slapping his hand over his mouth but winking at the same time. He takes a quick breath and says the next thing all at once. “Yunho tells me everything, San. And I mean everything.” He repeats his previous action, and this time he pretends to lock his mouth shut and throws away the invisible key.

San wants to ask if he means… that. But he already knows.

Yunho shows up a half hour later, sweat stains soaked through the muddy green t-shirt, dark stains marring his hands and collarbone. He looks fucking exhausted, dry eyes and and a heaving chest, but San can’t help the sizzling pride that rises within him because Yunho went through all of that and still came to see him at the end of the day.

“Oi,” Mingi says upon Yunho’s entrance, “you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Yunho pants with a roll of his eyes. Mingi procures a glass of what San assumes to be a Mingi Sting-y from behind the bar.

Yunho shakes his head. “Just water, please.”

“Damn, real rough day, eh?” Mingi turns to fill a glass.

“The first thing you said to me when I walked in was that I look like shit. Put two and two together, you jackass.”

Mingi just laughs at that and tops Yunho’s water off with a lemon.

“Not in the mood to see my uncle tonight,” Yunho mutters, downing three-quarters of the glass in one go.

“Where’re you gonna stay then?” Mingi asks.

Yunho doesn’t speak. But San already knows the answer.

*

The receptionist at the motel is a short yet hefty old lady whose wrinkles make her look like she hates everything and everyone but she’s actually quite sweet; she sees San and Yunho and she already has the room set aside for them. San wonders if she knows Yunho somehow, or if she has good intuition, or if she has this ability to tell someone’s story just by looking at him.

Yunho’s first stop is the shower, understandably. San waits for him while trying to quell his electrified heart. As much as he wishes he could just erase that night from existence, he finds the memory of it bubbling back up now that he’s in Yunho’s presence again. And the thing is, San had all the power not to go down to the shack, but there was something that drew him in, something invisible but monumental, and he can’t stay away no matter how much he tries to tell himself he wants to.

No, he doesn’t want to stay away. Because at the end of his days, when his parents are trying to mend their marriage, it’s Yunho he looks forward to, too.

Yunho and his eyes and the things he’s seen with them. His voice, and the way he uses it to tell his stories. Stories that San can and can’t relate to, ones that he finds himself immersed in much more than any of the books he had to read for school. If Yunho were an author, San would read every word of his.

Maybe it’s the loneliness. The ache for genuine human interaction and conversation. The thrill that comes with meeting someone that will stick around. After all, as many times as Yunho made it clear he doesn’t like rich people, he still stuck around San and lets San stick around him. And he might not have said anything straightforwardly, but San can piece the puzzle together.

All in all, San is glad that he didn’t let the kiss get to him that much to the point where he shut himself away. It’s not like he would’ve been able to keep his distance anyway. He’s curious; he wants to know why Yunho did what he did. What kind of people does Yunho usually kiss? Who does he save himself for? Who does he give himself to?

Amidst the battle in his brain, Yunho emerges from the steaming bathroom with a white towel tied around his waist but nothing more, rows of abdominal muscles on full display, shining with moisture. San has to turn away as soon as he sees. Some parts of him, internally and externally, twitch in some chemical, hormonal reaction.

“That hit the fuckin’ spot,” Yunho exhales, groaning as he supposedly stretches, not that San turns around and sees him with his arms above his head, every muscle in his arms and shoulders bulging and moving beneath his skin. Nope. He definitely doesn’t see that nor does he imagine it.

San doesn’t know where to land his gaze. He’s caught between wanting to look at Yunho in all of his toned glory and saving himself from the furious blush that he knows will appear if he does. Either way, though, he can’t stop the spark in his heart again, blood pumping to places that have never been quite this feverish.

“Um… you’re not gonna get changed?” No, too condescending. “Jeez, put some clothes on!” He’d just laugh at that. Actually, scratch all of that, Yunho would probably laugh at whatever San could say because San can feel his face starting to flush already, and he’s not even looking Yunho’s way. And he knows Yunho must be getting a kick out of such a flustered San while he’s not even doing anything except being shirtless.

“I’m decent now,” says Yunho, and San opens his eyes without realizing he’d closed them. “Funny. You should’ve seen your face.”

“H-hey,” San mumbles weakly. “I wish I had a body like yours.” “What, I can’t admire what a guy looks like?” “If I looked at you for more than five seconds my knees would’ve given out and I’m sitting down, god damn it.” He finally manages to bring his eyes back up to Yunho, and surely enough, he’s got a navy blue t-shirt on but still no pants. Thank god he’s at least got boxers. If he wasn’t wearing any, San would’ve certainly passed out.

“It was cute, watchin’ you get all flustered like that.” Yunho sits down on his own bed, thankfully.

“C-cute?”

“Yeah. You’re cute.”

San doesn’t know if he’s reading into this too much or too little; what does ‘cute’ mean in this context? As in, physically cute? Cute as in laughable? Endearing? No matter what context San can think of, it’s certainly not what San ever expected Yunho to say to him. Farthest from it, actually.

“Y-Yunho, look, I… I don’t… like guys like that…” Why is his voice shaking?

Yunho just shrugs. “Alright. I’ll stop, then.”

“S-stop what?”

“I won’t call you cute or kiss you or nothin’ if you don’t want me to.”

“B-but—”

It’s the “but” that takes both of them by surprise. Yunho raises a brow at him. “But?”

San looks away again, lowering his face into his hands in shame. Yunho sighs. “Remember how I said that even if I gotta lie, I gotta live? It’s the same situation here. There’s two ways to live a lie. A lie that you want to tell, and a lie that you don’t want to tell. Me, I’m lying all I want. If I can’t have parts of a life that I want to live, I’m doing what’s possible to live the parts I can. I may not be able to kiss guys in front of my family, but I can kiss them in secret. And I’ll hide that part of me from my family for as long as I’m around, until I won’t have to anymore.”

Yunho’s own words seem to catch him off guard. “I’d… rather do it than not do it. I don’t want to hide every part of me,” he finishes off.

San finally looks over to him, only to find that Yunho is gazing up at the ceiling, almost dazed. “I just… I never really thought about… that,” San says. He sighs, defeated. “I never really questioned my sexuality or anything. I never had any interest in anybody.”

“And that’s fine,” Yunho says. “You do you. I ain’t gonna force you to do anything you don’t wanna do. But all I ask is that you keep this between you and me.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” San swallows and takes a deep breath in an attempt to clear his mind; he can’t talk to Yunho when his brain is going haywire like this. Yunho is calm and collected as ever, so casual, like he’s mulled all of this over in his brain time and time again, and maybe he has. Yunho might not have everything figured out, but he sure has a lot. He might not know where he’ll end up, but he knows where he wants to and what he needs to do to get there.

Yunho is brave.

So why can’t I be?

“Hey, Yunho,” San says, clearing his throat just in case. “You said that… you kiss whoever you want to kiss.”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of people do you usually kiss?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“J-just—! Y-you know, what were those people like?”

Yunho laughs, this noble, proud sound that makes San smile somehow despite how embarrassed he is. “I usually don’t kiss pretty little rich boys, that’s for sure.”

There it is again.

Pretty little rich boy.

“But in all seriousness, I don’t know how to answer that, San. They were just people. People I wanted to kiss, so I did. If it worked, it worked, and if it didn’t, then it didn’t. What, don’t tell me you never kissed anyone before.”

San scoffs. “Remember when I told you I hated everyone from school? I wasn’t lying.”

“So I was your first, then?” San nods sheepishly. “Ah… well, sorry ‘bout that.”

“Wait, why are you sorry?”

“Sorry I just kissed you outta nowhere.” It’s the first time San hears Yunho’s unwavering confidence falter.

“N-no! Don’t apologize… it was fine. It’s fine.”

“Alright.”

San brings his hands together and clasps them so hard that he loses feeling in his fingers. Everything he wants to say is on the tip of his tongue, but there’s something lassoing them back down his throat and he feels about ready to burst. There are too many words building up inside him. Too many pent up feelings, too many emotions that he can’t even wrap his head around because he’s never had to before, but then some rugged boy from the docks waltzes into his life and gives it a meaning that he’s never known.

“I liked it, okay?” San blurts. “I liked it when you kissed me.”

There’s just a second of silence before Yunho says, “Oh?”

“Y-yeah.” San’s shoulders finally unwind, slumping. “Like, it felt weird because I wasn’t expecting it and I’d never kissed anyone before and you’re a guy… well, I guess that doesn’t matter that much, but you know. My parents.”

“Right.”

“So…” San groans loudly as his head falls back into his hands. “Ugh, fuck.”

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” Yunho asks, and San’s brain melts to mush.

The words that San had in him since that night that never saw the light of day because he was scared. But hearing them from Yunho… he’s not so scared anymore.

He’s safe within these motel walls. No parents to barge in, nobody else to see. All the lies and secrets, he can keep here. And it’ll only be Yunho to know them.

It’s another thing they share.

San swallows heavily before answering. “Yes.” He looks over to see the most genuine smile Yunho has ever worn, the weariness from his day’s work seemingly having dissipated as soon as the question appeared.

Yunho stands up and San does the same, approaching each other until their toes are touching and Yunho is towering over him again, just like he did the night they met. Except this time, Yunho isn’t scowling at him or spitting words or ranting about how much he hates rich people.

He’s looking at San with such fond eyes that San is breathless when they close and he leans in.

Both of Yunho’s hands cup San’s face this time, the base of his palm reaching just below his jawline. Yunho catches his lips perfectly; San can feel them meld snugly with his, even though his own lips are still inexperienced and slow. Kissing Yunho is like swimming with his head just above water—he’s barely breathing but he’s alive and there’s something thrilling about living despite the risk.

Yunho’s lips move in small, slow pulses as he guides San into a rhythm so natural that San can feel himself falling into it. Perhaps he’s literally falling into it; his muscles are going weak and he’s leaning in even more, his hands coming up to grab Yunho’s elbows because if he doesn’t, he’ll collapse again. Yunho moves one of his hands to San’s waist, keeping his head above water with the other, thumb brushing over the shell of his ear and sending an involuntary shudder down his spine.

Yunho is the one to pull away, his eyes opening slowly. His eyes search San’s, gauging a reaction. “Well?”

“I liked it,” San says almost instantly. “Kiss me again.”

Yunho nods and does exactly that, his lips much more firm this time around. San can’t help but gasp at Yunho’s sudden burst of determination. The hand on his face migrates to the back of his head, pulling him in harder until there is zero distance between their lips, until San feels like Yunho is giving him reverse CPR, stealing all the breath from his lungs.

San whimpers at the feeling of Yunho’s tongue brushing his bottom lip, a shock of arousal surging through all of his muscles that only causes him to pull away.

“Too much?” Yunho questions.

“N-no… just…” San glances down and chuckles, embarrassed. “Think my legs are going to give out.”

“We can lie down.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

It’s a really brief arrangement but god, does it save San some strength. They lay down on their sides and reconvene, and when Yunho does that thing with his tongue again, San lets him, his muscles much more relaxed this time around. His mouth opens to let Yunho’s tongue slip inside, another whimper simmering in his throat as he attempts to move his own tongue just as smoothly.

Yunho’s powerful arms hold him in an embrace tighter than any suffocating emotion out there. No longer does San feel like he’s stuck, at least, not here, not now. If anything, he feels safe, knowing that there is someone who has finally seen past the money that blinds so many others. And he thinks, this man was blinded at first but something pulled him away and San can’t seem to figure it out, but he supposes it doesn’t matter all that much.

San clings onto Yunho’s sturdy biceps for dear life as he loses himself to the motions, the dizzying feeling, the euphoria of it all, the pleasure, fucking hell, the pleasure. San is seeing shapes and colors beneath his eyelids and he can’t fucking breathe but holy fuck, he has never been aroused quite like this.

And just when San thinks things can’t escalate any further, he hears the buzz of a phone coming from the nightstand.

He wants to ignore it, but it’s not a text message, and people normally don’t call him. Reluctantly, he pulls away with a sorry look before reaching over to accept the call, and he doesn’t even check who it’s from.

“Hello?”

“Sannie.”

Ah, fuck.

“Oh, hey, mom.” Yunho’s eyes fly wide open.

“How’s Yeosang?” she asks.

“Oh… he’s asleep.”

“Are you coming home?”

San glances at Yunho nervously. “Um… I was planning on sleeping over—”

“Can you come home, please?” Her tone is bordering furious, and San doesn’t understand why.

“Uh… sure.”

Click.

San frowns at his phone and sighs. “I’m sorry, Yunho.”

“It’s fine.” Yunho shrugs. “Your mom asked you to go home, didn’t she? You gotta go, then.”

“Yunho—”

“Serious, San.” Yunho gives him a smile, or half of one, or one that doesn’t quite look right. “You got parents to go home to. So you gotta do it. It’s okay.” He nods, resolute.

Biting his lip, San stands up reluctantly and packs his things as slowly as he can without it being obvious how much he doesn’t want to leave. He can feel Yunho’s eyes on him the entire time.

Yunho meets him by the door, and San pulls him in for a kiss he isn’t expecting, which makes San grin once he pulls away.

“I’ll come back to you,” San whispers, pecking Yunho’s lips again.

“I don’t doubt you for a second, pretty boy.”

San’s grin grows, stealing as many glimpses as he can before he disappears down the hall and out into the summer night.

On the car ride home, he touches his kiss-swollen lips and imagines his fingers being Yunho’s.

Back at the house, it’s dark. No sign of his parents. He tries to call out for them as quietly as he can without disturbing the walls, but there’s still nothing.

He finds them in the master bedroom, fast asleep, turned away from each other.

Utterly confused but not entirely surprised, he does his usual nightly rituals and falls into bed, his fingers still lingering above his lips.

*

San wakes up and his mother is hovering over a magazine at the kitchen island.

“Where’s Dad?” he asks.

“Ah, he went out.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know.”

San immediately frowns at that. “Why did you want me to come home last night?”

“Is there something wrong with wanting my son to be home at night?” she says without looking up.

San is taken aback by the bitterness behind her words, but he settles for keeping his mouth shut. For all the nights he’s spent out, he’s surprised that last night just happened to be the one she asked him to come home.

Finally, she lowers the magazine and looks up at him, and San is harrowed by what he sees.

She’s lost color in her face. Her bloodshot eyes sag, her fine lines more defined now than ever. Even her lips look like they’re a different shape. Maybe they’ve trembled too much.

“San, I know you’re a smart boy. And I’m sure you have it all figured out by now. Please, just… I know you’re out most nights, doing whatever it is you’re doing, and while I don’t have a problem with that… please stop by the house every now and again. I need to be reminded that I at least have my son.”

She might as well be on her knees, with how desperate she sounds. San can’t deny her like this.

“Okay,” he agrees. He goes over to hug her weakly, and she just leans her head in and puts her arm around San’s waist. There’s nothing else of substance there. San can barely feel her touch. A walking piece of tissue paper.

His father ends up coming back to the house around three, and he immediately picks his wife up and drives away, and doesn’t even ask for San.

*

Mingi has just finished handing a takeout order out when San strides in. His face lights up instantly. “San! Just the guy I’ve been wanting to see!”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing, just been wanting to see ya.” Mingi reaches out for a fist bump. “Yunho’ll be over soon. Hey, whatcha look so glum for?”

“Just shit with my parents,” San mumbles.

“Ugh. Anyway, the usual?”

Over chit chat and an extra strong Dirty Shirley, San learns that Yunho’s uncle has fallen a bit ill, meaning Yunho has double the responsibility but at least the old man doesn’t have the energy to berate him for any half-assed job. Although, knowing Yunho, his jobs most definitely aren’t half-assed. So Mingi assures San that Yunho will be okay.

Yunho returns at dusk, when the pale orange has sunken below a gloomy layer of dark blue, once again drenched in sweat and grime. He comes in smiling, however, beaming, even.

“See you lovebirds later.” Mingi scoffs playfully as he disappears into the kitchen.

Half-ignoring his remark, San steps out into the evening with Yunho’s hand in his. “So, my parents are out again…”

*

“Your shower sure is fancy,” Yunho says as he walks into San’s bedroom, a familiar sight dripping with water and exposed muscle. San swears his mouth goes dry at the reveal just like the first time. “So, what exactly do your parents do when they go out? It sounds like they’re out almost every night.”

“I have no idea,” San says. “My mom… she knows that I know. Like, how messed up their marriage is. I think this whole vacation was one big scheme so she could fix it. Spend more time with him, try to salvage what’s left, but I don’t think it’s working.”

“That’s real sad,” Yunho says, and San can’t detect an ounce of sarcasm.

“I just need to stay out of the way. I’d just get in their way if I go everywhere with them, which is why my mom is okay with me just doing whatever.”

“Does she know you’re sneaking around with me?”

San shakes his head. “I don’t plan on them finding out.”

“Good.” Yunho chuckles. “I’ll just hide in your closet if they happen to come up.”

“That works.”

It’s only moments later that San finds himself in a very familiar position; he’s laying on his side and Yunho is right in front of him, except he hasn’t changed, he’s still in his towel and nothing else, and San’s heart beats less erratically.

Yunho’s hand comes up to cup his face, thumb swiping just below his eye. It’s like San can feel every groove, every break in Yunho’s fingerprints from how those hands must have endured too many calamities and mishaps to count. His chafed skin should feel like unpleasant sandpaper scraping his delicate pores, but San has never felt so comforted by roughness.

You’re my diamond in the rough, aren’t you?

San wonders if Yunho feels the same.

Yunho kisses him again, and San feels more confident this time around, kissing Yunho with the same amount of ardor that Yunho had shown him the first time. But it’s Yunho after all, and he always seems to be one step ahead of San, infinite amounts of heat and passion and all the desire to pass it along to him.

Yunho’s hand falls to San’s waist, fingers ghosting over the skin of San’s lower back. San sighs contently, his hand hooked behind Yunho’s neck, pressing into him to feel as much of him as he can and yet trying to ignore the very blatant… thing poking his thigh.

Even though Yunho’s hormones are getting the best of him under that towel, he doesn’t move his hands any lower than San’s waist, and it’s driving San nuts. It’s extremely safe to say San has zero experience in the realm of sex, considering his first kiss with Yunho made his entire body shut down. Never has he had to touch someone like this or ask to be touched. He doesn’t even know where to begin or what to say that wouldn’t make Yunho laugh at him. He absolutely adores Yunho’s consideration and respect for his body, but god damn it, if Yunho doesn’t touch him more he will lose it.

So San is the one who ends up running his inexperienced fingers down Yunho’s bare side, a feather-light touch that still somehow gets Yunho shuddering, his long fingers tightening their grip on San’s waist. His breath hitches in San’s mouth and he gasps when San’s fingers wander a little too close to the thing.

“San.” His voice is low, raspy with breathlessness. He stops San’s wandering hand where it is. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” San says, solidifying his declaration with a nod.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, right?”

“Nope.”

Yunho’s smile is soft this time, gentle unlike the texture of his hands, but finally, finally, they travel downward just a little bit, fingers dipped just below San’s waistband. “I’ll make it good for you, then.”

That makes more than just San’s heart pump. Yunho reconnects their kiss, his entire hand splayed out below San’s pajamas as he presses their bodies together, his very prominent erection colliding with San’s. San squeals at the sudden friction, once again, going rigid in Yunho’s hold as his brain goes numb with just arousal surging through those horny neurons of his.

Yunho grinds his hips forward, each fluid motion extracting these sounds from San’s mouth that San didn’t even know he could make. His tongue is moving impeccably against San’s, the sloppiness somehow skillful at the same time.

“F-fuck, hang on.” San has to pull away just to breathe. He feels fucking pathetic.

“Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, just… it’s a lot.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Yunho retracts his hand from beneath San’s pants, leaving this hollow, guilty feeling in San’s chest.

“N-no, I don’t want to stop,” San insists. “I really don’t. It’s… it feels really good, trust me. I just… I don’t know what to do.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”

“B-but—”

“I told you I’d make it good for you.” Yunho smirks, sending a strange wave of relief over San’s body. “So don’t you worry your pretty head. Let me take care of everything.”

A few more moments of palpable silence and San finds himself nodding dumbly, Yunho’s silent incentive to catch his kiss again. Except this time, Yunho rolls on top, a massive weight hovering over him that makes him feel so small yet so empowered at the same time. His hands lift the hem of San’s shirt just above his nipples, the sudden chill making San shudder. He kisses San again and again, from lips to cheeks, trailing down his jaw, tongue gliding down his neck as his hands spread out across San’s pectorals.

It’s as if Yunho is aware of the magic his hands are capable of. They’re big enough to cover the entire expanse of San’s ribs for Christ’s sake. His lips attach to one of San’s nipples, taking the other one between his forefinger and thumb, and San’s back arches off the bed, a shrill whine escaping him.

Yunho sighs as his tongue flicks against the hardening bud while San continues to writhe beneath him. His hands fly in all sorts of directions, lost. He doesn’t want to touch Yunho, doesn’t want to get in his way, so he settles for clenching his fists above his head.

At this point, he can’t stop his hips from lifting off the bed at every movement of Yunho’s lips and tongue, chasing the friction he so desperately needs. Yunho finally moves lower, pressing kisses down a straight line on San’s torso, teasing his tongue just below San’s navel as he hooks his fingers under both of San’s waistbands and pulls down.

San’s eyes screw shut as his hard cock springs up, damp and glistening already and painfully hard. He swears he can feel tears gathering already, his face burning with embarrassment.

“Hey.” Yunho’s gentle voice gets his eyes to pry open just a little bit. His face is right above San’s cock, fucking hell. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, just—” San wants to burst into tears. “I’m okay.”

Yunho plants his hands on San’s pelvis and applies just the lightest amount of pressure as if he knows just how much San is going to squirm. The minute he flicks the tip of his tongue against the head of San’s cock, San’s eyes squeeze shut again as his inner thighs spasm in virginal pleasure.

He cries out when Yunho seals his lips around it, slowly engulfing it until San feels nothing but wet heat and fiery pleasure. And as it turns out, Yunho had the right idea in holding San down, except it does little to stop San from cumming embarrassingly fast, hips twitching as they buck up into Yunho’s mouth. Yunho lets out a surprised noise at the sudden intrusion, garbled down by San’s cock and cum filling his mouth.

“Oh, god, oh… f-fuck,” San whines, shielding his face that is now damp with tears. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Yunho pulls off and chuckles. “Hey, don’t worry about it. That was kinda cute.”

“Cute?” San squawks in disbelief. He reveals his face just so he can see Yunho’s—the guy is grinning ear to ear for crying out loud. “I came in two seconds and you thought that was cute?”

Yunho laughs louder as he wipes his mouth and that’s when San realizes, Yunho fucking swallowed. He can almost feel his dick twitching with interest again.

“I’m just happy I was able to make you feel good,” Yunho says. “Although…”

His eyes travel back down to San’s cock, still tinged a shade of red, still hard. “Seems like you’re still rarin’ to go. I could keep going, if you want.”

“Oh my fucking god.” San can’t help but laugh, slapping both hands over his face. “Yes, holy shit. Yes please.”

Yunho chuckles as he guides San’s cock back up into his mouth, his movements a lot less slow this time around. He sinks down swiftly, tongue flattening and spreading against the underside as he hollows his cheeks to suck. San is still reeling from his first orgasm, the sensitivity in his cock still well present, but at least he’s able to bask in the warm wetness of Yunho’s mouth for longer this time.

He still cums in under five minutes, but it beats two seconds. And Yunho swallows again, even lapping up whatever might be left on San’s cock before wiping his mouth and falling on his back beside San again.

San makes a quick trip to the bathroom to wipe himself down with a washcloth, only to return to see Yunho with his towel removed, his own hard cock fit firmly in his hand.

“Y-Yunho…”

“Sorry,” Yunho says. “Hope you don’t mind.”

San doesn’t mind, not at all, but that still doesn’t stop him from growing flustered, like he’s invading Yunho’s privacy or something. Even so, he continues forward, slowly climbing back onto the bed as Yunho moves his hand on his cock in slow strokes.

It’s mesmerizing, watching Yunho pleasure himself like this. His cock is fitting for someone his size, not intimidatingly huge but just right, curved and sculpted, just like the rest of him. His cockhead is glossy with precum, the wetness producing these lewd squelching noises whenever Yunho completes a stroke. He leans back and sighs, fucking up into his fist, hips moving as fluidly as ocean waves.

San finds himself dazed just watching, reaching out to spread his own fingers out across Yunho’s broad, defined chest, teasing the sensitive skin much like Yunho had done to him. He leans in to kiss down Yunho’s neck while his hand moves in lazy circles over Yunho’s chest and taut abdomen. With each of San’s touches, there’s a skip in his breathing, tiny signs that San really is having an effect on him.

And San is loving it.

Loving that he can make Yunho feel this way.

When Yunho cums, it shoots far, some of it splashing up to San’s forearm where it rests just above Yunho’s collarbone. San flinches but watches the rest of the display, thick white ropes of cum splattering over Yunho’s abs, falling into the creases and dripping down his sides.

“Ah, fuck,” Yunho groans, squeezing the last drops of cum from the head of his cock. He huffs, finally releasing his cock and letting his head sink back into the pillow.

San chuckles and grabs the cloth he’d cleaned himself with, dragging it over the traces of cum. Out of curiosity, however, he swipes up a bit on the side of his forefinger and brings it up to his mouth to taste it. It’s not as bad as he would’ve thought, but not exactly up to the level of Dirty Shirley tasty. It’s what he expects from a fluid that comes out of a dick.

“So?” Yunho says. “Was that okay?”

San nods vigorously, leaning in for a kiss.

*

Yunho practices jumping out from San’s window. It’s an easy feat according to Yunho; he just has to hang off the slanted roof by his fingers and let his entire height dangle down before he lets go. San watches it happen, and Yunho lands on the grass with a muted thud.

“Should probably head back now,” he says while he’s down there. Even though it’s dark, even though the moon is but a mere sliver of yellow hanging high in the sky, San can see every feature and then some, of a boy who has somehow brought more light into his life than the gleaming gold ever did. “‘Til ‘morrow, my dear Juliet.”

“Huh?”

Yunho snickers. “Nothin’. See you soon, pretty boy.” He takes off in a jog, hardly so, actually, because he sneaks looks back at San constantly, knowing that he has to go but not wanting to leave the moment.

It’s okay, San thinks. We still have more.

*

San brings Yeosang with him to St. Jade on a Friday night. Jongho’s face brightens in realization.

“Hey, I remember you! You tried to bribe me for a drink!”

“Shit,” Yeosang mutters.

Jongho only hollers with laughter, his entire body tilting back on the barstool. “Nah, man. I didn’t wanna get in trouble so I didn’t give you one, but Mingi’ll make it up to you. Wanna try a Mingi Sting-y?”

“Please don’t make him a Mingi Sting-y,” San pleads weakly. He turns to look at Yunho, who’s watching his friends with a glint in his eyes that San hasn’t seen before.

“I’d love to try a Mingi Sting-y.”

“You heard the rich boy!” Mingi bellows.

San expected Yeosang to choke, puke, hack up a lung, and possibly keel over and die. However, Yeosang takes a long sip and smacks his lips together, cringing in the form of a frown and creased, confused brows. “The hell? Why is this spicy?”

Jongho laughs and pounds his fists on the table so hard that some of the drink spills over. They all laugh, minus Yeosang, who continues to observe the glass from all angles with that same confused expression on his face.

Later on, Jongho sets up the stage in the lounge and shines the spotlight on himself, clearing his throat into the mic before he starts his performance, a dramatic rendition of ‘My Heart Will Go On,’ and San has to admit, the dude can sing.

Yunho and Mingi cheer him on from the front row of leather seats while San and Yeosang watch behind them. They’re considerably and understandably drunker, but at least their spirits are high. San would rather have it that way than any other.

During the chorus, Yeosang leans in and nudges San with his elbow. “Hey, San.”

“Yeah?”

“Yunho. He makes you really happy, doesn’t he?” Yeosang briefly glances over at Yunho, whose side profile is tinted blue from the curtain’s reflection, a magnificent grin spread out across his face.

“What… huh?”

“I’m not blind,” Yeosang says with a wink. “And you two aren’t really subtle with the way you look at each other. It’s cute, honestly. It’s rare that kids like us witness that kind of affection, you know?”

Kids like us.

Kids who grew up not knowing exactly what love looks like.

What does it look like, San wonders.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen two people look at each other the way you and Yunho do.” Yeosang is sure to keep his voice loud enough for San to hear. And honestly, Yunho could possibly hear it too. But San doesn’t entirely mind, and surely Yunho doesn’t either.

They’re surrounded by people who see them. The people that they choose to have around because they’re the ones who will stick. The ones who know things that others don’t and won’t. A family of a different calibre, a different breed, not blood but water that brings more life than that red stuff ever could.

“You don’t know how nice it is,” Yeosang sighs, “to see that kind of affection with my own two eyes. And to think, you’re the one on the other side of his affection. That makes me so happy, San. You deserve to be happy.”

Yunho turns back and smiles. San swears his ears grow three inches with how big it gets.

They applaud Jongho at the end and San wonders who heard Jongho’s voice, if anybody. But nobody dares disturb these five, because they’re in their moment, their own point in time, minutes carved into their ever-changing schedules and shifting lives. If anybody were to find them like this, San would dive into the ocean with Yunho’s hand in his and never look back.

This is his moment. He won’t let anybody take it from him.

*

San gets a room for the two of them that night and apologizes to the sweet old lady at the front desk in advance.

It’s the same room that has seen them time and time again, those same neglected walls that have heard their stories without judgement. It has continued to be a home for the two more than their actual homes, and San supposes that home is not exactly a place.

Not a place, not a person. Just somewhere, where they’re heard loud and clear and the nights get a little brighter and the days get a little longer.

San falls so easily into Yunho’s embrace, his lips now a map he has familiarized himself with ten times over; he has navigated its seas but still manages to lose his breath to the way Yunho moves. They back up onto one of the beds, San scrambling backward and Yunho crawling forward as Yunho’s hands encase San’s waist, lithe fingers instantly slipping under San’s shirt.

“Are you sure you want this?” Yunho whispers against San’s ear before taking the lobe between his teeth.

“God, yes,” San moans through a clenched jaw.

He doesn’t exactly know when the switch in him occurred. Perhaps it was the first night they touched each other like this, or the few nights after, when they slowly explored each other’s bodies for hours until one of them had to go. San knows very well that their nights together are limited, and so he must use the time wisely.

Yunho only tastes vaguely of liquor, most of it having been diluted with several glasses of iced water. It’s sweet and tangy and addictive and all Yunho. San can’t get enough of it. Of him.

They strip each other of their shirts, baring their chests as they run their hands down each other’s sides. San still can’t get over the feeling of Yunho’s calloused hands over his peach fuzz skin, the roughness of them catching on all of San’s baby hairs and pulling ever so slightly, making San’s skin tingle every single time. And the size, good lord; Yunho can fit San’s ass and more in both his hands.

Yunho seizes both of San’s wrists and brings his arms above his head, locking them there as he shoves his tongue inside San’s mouth, twisting around San’s, lips pulling and tugging at each other, reluctant to let go.

Their clothed cocks rub against each other, the friction of it sparking endless amounts of electric heat that surge through San’s every cell. Yunho kisses down his neck and his hips jerk up; he’s prone to sensitivity more so than the average person, he feels, already feeling a dampness accumulating in his briefs. He doesn’t know if it’s just Yunho, or if it’s because he’s still relatively inexperienced, but he’s so embarrassingly sensitive and Yunho always gets a kick out of making his body tremble.

Tonight is no different. Yunho is swift in divesting him of the rest of his clothes. Every kiss upon San’s body is a gift, meticulously placed in areas that he knows San is extra sensitive to. Warm stars that cover his body, invisible signatures that Yunho engraves into his skin, saying mine mine mine, and all San can think when Yunho kisses him is I’m yours.

Yunho’s face disappears between San’s thighs as he holds them up over his shoulders, exposing San in a way that’s extra embarrassing this time around. Legs spread, Yunho dives in, running his tongue up along San’s quivering entrance, all the way up to the tip of his leaking cock. San keens, hips thrusting up again as he feels another surge of precum streaming up his shaft and out through the tip.

“Cute,” Yunho whispers, using his massive hand to guide San’s cock into his mouth. Thankfully, San has gotten a little more used to the feeling and doesn’t cum in two seconds.

Yunho’s fingertips graze over San’s hole, applying light pressure against the puckered rim. San tenses instantly. “I got you,” Yunho murmurs, once again dipping down to move his tongue along with his fingers over San’s hole.

San whimpers at the foreign feeling of something so vulgar and obscene that he never thought he’d experience. Yunho presses his tongue in harder, using his thumbs to further spread San’s ass apart. His tongue flicks against San’s hole at an imperceivable pace, each motion enough to get a puddle of precum forming on San’s belly.

“Mmm… mmm…” San whines in falsetto, already feeling an orgasm building within him. “Yunho, stop, I’m s-seriously gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

Yunho pulls away, this shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “You still wanna do this, then?”

“Y-yes, of course.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind cumming multiple times.” Yunho winks in his direction as he bends over the bed to fish his wallet out of his pocket, pulling out a condom and four packets of lube. He tears one open, squeezing some out onto his fingers that somehow look even longer now.

San watches in fearful fascination as Yunho’s glistening fingers disappear between his legs again, the rough pads of them pressing against his hole again. He flinches at the sudden cold over the sensitive skin. “I need you to relax, babe,” Yunho says, circling San’s rim.

San draws in a deep breath with closed eyes, opening them to see Yunho’s calculating eyes on him, waiting for a reaction. Yunho’s other hand rests comfortably on his thigh with no pressure at all. “Okay.” San breathes again. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Yunho’s fingers are languid and gentle inside him, stretching him slowly. He takes more time spreading them apart and reaching far into San for that spot that San didn’t even know existed before Yunho told him about it. It’s uncomfortable but not painful, the full feeling reaching all the way up to his stomach as his walls clamp around Yunho’s fingers.

They’re so long, stroking what feels like every inch of San’s insides, thorough and considerate. He’s up to three when the discomfort begins to subside and San rocks down onto Yunho’s fingers, eager to feel more deeper inside.

“Are you ready?” Yunho asks at the nonverbal cue.

“Let’s go.”

Yunho smirks and pulls his fingers out, the sudden emptiness rushing over San like a tidal wave. San watches attentively as Yunho rolls the condom on and slicks it up with another full packet of lube, the size of it now fully registering it in his mind now that it’s about to be inside him.

Yunho leans in to kiss him as the tip of his cock presses against his entrance, hushing his whimpers and turning them into moans as he gradually pushes past the tight ring of muscle. “Breathe, baby, breathe,” Yunho murmurs against his lips, his hands cradling San’s face in such a familiar way that makes San momentarily forget about the fact that their bodies are becoming one.

San is panting when Yunho bottoms out, tiny kisses peppered along his cheeks with whispers of breathe, breathe, breathe. One of Yunho’s thumb catches on San’s bottom lip as he kisses down San’s neck, and San welcomes the tip of it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sighing as he wills his body to relax.

Yunho’s first thrusts are agonizingly slow, his cock dragging in and out of San at a snail’s pace, but San is grateful for it; he can feel himself loosening, the initial pain and shock of the unfamiliar intrusion being replaced by small embers of pleasure burning deep within him. He pulls Yunho flush against him, reconnecting their lips and crossing his legs behind Yunho’s back.

“Oh, San,” Yunho breathes, his voice somehow different than San knows it to be. His name is uttered like a blessing and a curse, a virtue among all the sins, and it sends waves of relentless shivers down San’s spine.

Yunho presses forward, hiking San’s hips up, the shift in angle sending his thick cock straight against San’s prostate.

“Oh… oh, fuck…” San moans, hands flying above his head as Yunho holds himself there, the head of his cock pushing against the spot. “Oh my god, Yunho!”

“Love it when you say my name like that, pretty boy,” Yunho says with a hint of a growl, resuming his thrusts at the new heightened angle and driving San further into maddening lust.

Tears are gathering in his eyes again at the intensity of the moment, legs bent over Yunho’s bulging biceps, every breath of his coming out as a helpless moan, his insides igniting with a pleasure he’s never known. Right in front of him, in the center of it all, is Yunho, gazing down at him with fervent eyes that San can see all the sparks of adoration underneath. Whether the tears spill over or not, San can’t tell; each jab to his prostate is blinding and all he can really think of is the man above him. The man all around him.

He can feel his head sinking further back into the pillow, eyes fluttering shut. His head pounds but not with pain. When Yunho wraps his deft fingers around San’s cock and tugs, he’s astounded at the sound of it, how wet it’s become, and he’s all of a sudden too aware of how close he actually is.

His fingers scramble for purchase on the pillow, gripping its edges as Yunho strokes his cock in time with his thrusts.

“Yu—ah—Yunho… gonna…” San’s eyes screw shut as Yunho squeezes the tip of his cock between his two fingers. “Yunho, I’m so close, please—”

“Yeah?” Yunho chuckles, and releases San’s cock.

“N-no, no… no no no please let me cum…”

“Then cum,” Yunho challenges. “I’m not saying you can’t.”

San whines, quite literally taking matters into his own hands as he shoves a hand between their clashing bodies to jerk himself off. “Heh, cute,” Yunho comments. “So desperate to get off… you’re so adorable, San.”

“Mmph—Yunho—”

“Go on, then. Wanna see you cum, baby.” Yunho’s thrusts pick up in both speed and power, eliciting a long, broken groan from San’s throat.

San cums with a long, helpless moan, feeling the wet warmth of his cum shooting and gathering on his abdomen. His entire upper body jolts with pleasure, eyelids struggling to stay open as mind-numbing endorphins race through his body. What he can see through his fleeting vision is Yunho’s everlasting smirk, his bottom lip sucked between his top teeth but corners curled up all the same.

“So fucking beautiful,” Yunho grunts, leaving San with one more powerful thrust before pulling out abruptly and tearing the condom off his cock to stroke himself to a finish, his cum adding to the mess on San’s stomach. “Fuck… fuckin’ shit.”

San can’t help but laugh when he manages to catch his breath, with Yunho joining him shortly thereafter. The taller collapses onto his side, face still alight in laughter as he rolls towards the edge of the bed to reach for the complimentary tissues on the nightstand.

He cleans San up but still insists on a shower, where he kisses San again under a hot stream of water, his hands caressing every inch of breathable skin. He even threads his fingers through San’s hair to rinse the suds away, and San gives him a sunflower smile that spreads further than it ever has before.

“What changed?” San can’t help but ask the inevitable question while his naked body is pressed up to Yunho’s, the moment around them so palpable he can feel it like an iridescent bubble closing in on him.

Yunho doesn’t even have to ask what he means, though he takes a bit to answer.

“It’s not like I had any big revelation about rich people, San. I still don’t like ‘em. It’s just… it’s just you, San. Just you. I ain’t really good with words so I don’t know how to explain it. But when I see you, it’s like, I don’t see money.” He sighs. “I don’t wanna get to know rich people, San. Hell, I didn’t really wanna get to know you at first. But it happened anyway, and I definitely ain’t mad about it.”

San chuckles, and Yunho tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “It’s just you,” Yunho says again.

“Just me.”

Yunho nods. “Just you. You see, San… I’m fine with what I got. I’m fine havin’ Mingi and Jongho. I don’t need anybody else. I got no interest in making any friends, but if it happens, then it happens. I ain’t gonna try to stop it. I don’t wanna associate with rich people, and I’ll always feel this certain way towards ‘em, but… I guess, if one can see past what I don’t have, and I can see past what they do, then it’ll work. You kinda see what I mean?”

“Yeah,” San says, glancing over Yunho’s head, back to him, and he can’t even see what Yunho doesn’t have.

“Maybe I just wish people would see me in a different light,” Yunho whispers as if the words would cut him. “There’s a lot more to me than what they know.”

“Of course.” San intertwines their fingers and squeezes.

“And you, San.” Yunho nods to assert his statement, squeezing back. “There’s a lot more to you. And I’m glad to have gotten to know you.”

“I’m glad too,” San says. “To have met you at all.”

Yunho smiles softly, leaning in to press another chaste kiss to San’s lips. “I know I won’t get to know all of you while you’re here. But I was thinkin’... maybe I don’t want to. Maybe it’s best if we don’t know everything ‘bout each other. Kinda like finding a treasure, you know? You gotta go through a lot to get that. I don’t wanna learn all about you in three months and then watch all of that leave.”

“But…” San sits up, frowning. “You said you don’t have a phone, and I’ll be off to Europe… chances are I won’t get to see you again.”

Yunho shrugs. “It’s gotta be that way, San. You know that.”

San sucks his bottom lip in. Unfortunately, yes, it has to be like that, because this is the real world and not a fairy tale, not all stories in real life have the happiest outcome where the two lovers end up together in the end. Not every relationship is smooth sailing; most aren’t. And San understands that more than anything.

He’ll just have to wait.

“There’s so much more to life than happy endings and futures we can supposedly make for ourselves,” San thinks aloud. “Sometimes it’s just not possible.”

“That’s why I said I gotta live. I gotta do what I gotta do. Maybe not what’s best for me, but whatever I gotta do to make it through somehow.” Yunho’s smile droops but it’s not quite a frown; there’s some shreds of hope between those Cupid’s bow lips. “Sometimes what seems possible is actually impossible, same with the other way around. You just have to do. Do what you can but let life run its course. Find a compromise within yourself. And this is my compromise, San.”

He raises his arm to brush his fingers against San’s jaw, like light bestowing a halo upon an angel.

“I’m not gonna get to know all of you in the span of three months. I want you to keep me waiting. Keep me wonderin’ about you. Give me another reason to make it through. Give me another reason to get outta this beach town. Let me find you again. When our lives are golden and not stuck in some fuckin’ gutter. Even if you love someone else by the time I make it outta here…”

Yunho pauses. San’s jaw drops open slightly as he curls his fingers around Yunho’s wide wrist.

“I want you to be one of the treasures I find.” A kiss to his forehead. “I’ll get to know you then.”

“Do you want me to promise you that I’ll wait for you? Because you know I can’t.” San is shaking his head, his smile feels wrong and there are tears of a different variety making their debut in his eyes.

“I know that,” Yunho says, “and trust me, the last thing I want is for you to wait for me. I know there’s always the possibility of me never seeing you again. But the things that I know about you now, the person I’ve known you to be within this timeframe, I’ll hold onto that. I’ll remember you. It’s the absolute least I can do.”

“And what if I love someone else when or if you find me again? Would you still want to know me then?”

Yunho shrugs. “That’s just another part we don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out.”

San can’t stop the laugh that escapes him. “Well, Yunho… what if I find you first?”

“Then you find me first.”

They both laugh at that, a moment filled with innocuous tears on the surface but tenebrous fear hidden beneath layers and layers of uncertainty. No, their futures are not set in stone; they may be able to picture it, may be able to take the steps they need or want, lie, do, but they won’t always be able to control.

There are only so many things they can make happen. Love is not one of them.

So he understands. There's only so much one can learn about someone in the span of three months. San knows that a lot of time is spent in silence, and that he won't be able to get to know everything about Yunho, but maybe he also doesn't want to; maybe he wants to sit with Yunho in silence and learn about him through the little things. Or, maybe he wants time to pass so he can miss Yunho, so he can forget everything he learned about Yunho and relearn them, and the nostalgia will hit him like a rollercoaster to the face. It'll spread over him like sunshine and maybe San will fall out of love just to fall back in. He knows it will have to happen, and it won’t have to happen.

Life is not a series of chain reactions set off by a falling ball. There are too many winding paths and twists and turns to navigate. Too many harsh winds and ruthless waves to be able to stay on track. Fog and clouds too thick to see past.

San likes the idea of fate and destiny but knows deep down that it can’t be all that.

As his own compromise, he tells himself, If he finds me again, just like he did the first time, then maybe it’s meant to be.

*

To have and to hold To have had and to have held

From this day forward From then to now

For better, for worse For certain, for uncertain

For richer, for poorer For the good nights and the bad days

In sickness and in health In safety and in peril

To love and to cherish To remember and to find

Til death do us part Til new futures do us part

*

Yunho’s father returns to town in mid-August, and his uncle has been bedridden for three weeks with an inextinguishable fever. It’s three more weeks until San has to leave.

When San turns up to the shack one evening, Mingi makes him a Dirty Shirley and tells him to stay away.

San understands.

*

San doesn’t leave the house at night, and neither do his parents. Not anymore. Instead of the TV, he hears the sobbing of his mother and the calm voice of his father. Whatever is going on down there, San knows it’s not his job to mediate. He is more than just a mediator for his parents’ shitty marriage. He was never that to begin with. He’s not a marriage counselor, not a product, he’s a person and he has feelings and his feelings are telling him to jump out the window and run.

So he does; he lands but not without a shock up his thighs. Yunho’s height makes it so effortless.

And he runs. Hobbles over wet rocks and kicks up sand behind his feet. His pristine hundred-dollar sneakers are victim to the various stains of the Earth, soaked in salt water that seeps into his socks. He runs.

He stops in front of the docks. The night is eerily quiet, the shack is closed and not a light shines from anywhere close by. St. Jude isn’t here for some reason; maybe she’s at a different port, maybe Yunho’s uncle decided to get rid of her. San stands there dead center, panting to catch his breath.

He doesn’t silently beg Yunho to find him. He sits down just to sit down.

At two in the morning, he returns home. The house is dark and quiet and when he returns to his room, his window is closed and his bed is made.

*

San is not allowed to see Yeosang.

Shit hit the fan, Yeosang says in his message. I think your dad came clean.

About fucking time, San texts back.

A few minutes later: Are you okay?

San sends the shrugging emoji. I don’t know. I don’t really feel anything right now.

I’m sorry San. Is there anything I can do?

San stares at the message and weighs his options. What lies can he tell?

Taking a deep breath, he messages back, Go to St. Jade this Friday. If Yunho is there, tell him to come see me.

What about your parents?

San chuckles.

Tell him to bring a ladder if he can.

*

On Friday night, by some heavensent miracle, his parents go out. For what, San doesn’t know nor care. He waits cross-legged on his bed, eyes constantly flitting over to his phone for any updates from Yeosang, when there’s a knock on his door at precisely ten PM.

San bounds down the stairs to open the door.

A scoffing boy in a multicolor-stained t-shirt and brown flannel, holding a coil of rope.

“And you thought I’d need a ladder.”

*

Talk to me.

Yunho kisses down San’s throat, creating a stream of saliva down the center of his torso. San writhes under his touch, his hands bound and useless above his head.

We need to talk.

San likes it when Yunho calls him pretty.

I don’t want our final night to be spent like this.

“Yunho… ah!”

“Right here, baby,” Yunho coos, biting down on San’s inner thigh. He sucks a bruise into the skin, only mildly painful. The rest of the pain, San can feel everywhere else.

It’s clashing with the pleasure and San’s head is spinning.

He wants Yunho in every single way possible.

Yunho’s hands travel everywhere, from the crown of San’s head to the tips of his toes, mapping out every inch of him, marking him, settling down and starting again, until San is in tears and his wrists struggle against the coarse restraints imprisoning them.

Every trace of Yunho’s fingerprints sear against San’s skin. His own branding, his own X marks the spot, is everywhere on San.

God, I’m yours.

San begs Yunho to fuck him hard because he never wants the feeling to leave his bones. He can see the conflict in Yunho’s eyes as he processes the request, but it’s Yunho, and Yunho wants nothing more than to give San the night he wants.

Maybe not talking is for the best.

Yunho fucks hard and deep. San’s cock bounces hard and leaking against his stomach as every noise he could possibly make is ripped from him. Yunho absorbs each and every one of them and kisses them back into San’s mouth.

Somehow, and by complete accident, San’s hands wriggle their way out from the rope, the tender skin stinging from the friction as he throws them around Yunho’s neck and pulls him in.

He can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign.

“San… San…”

“Right there, Yunho!” San cries out, his fingers mindlessly snaking their way into Yunho’s hair and tugging.

“Fuck.”

Yunho’s teeth continue to nip at San’s neck, their feverish breaths syncing into one. Each beat of Yunho’s heart, San can feel in his. He’s sweating profusely, and he briefly wonders if it’s because the air conditioner isn’t working or if it’s the nerves, the pent up frustration, the sheer unfairness of time having to tear them apart.

Three words sit on the tip of San’s tongue. He holds them all back, and instead attaches his mouth to Yunho’s shoulder, licking the skin there.

Because what if I don’t?

I can’t leave him with those words.

Yunho spills deep within him, a thin layer of latex nowhere to be found. He’s loud, louder than he’s ever been before, as he sinks his teeth into San’s shoulder and digs the rough pads of his fingers into San’s hips. San hopes both leave bruises.

San didn’t realize it at the time, but he came as soon as Yunho entered him. And he cums again when Yunho pulls out, cum pouring from his thoroughly used hole, his trembling thighs only serving to push more out.

By the time they’re able to catch his breath, San’s tears have long left their harbor.

Yunho gathers his things, rope included, and there’s the sound of a car door slamming. San is still naked, shaking, and afraid.

“San.” Yunho’s hand cups his cheek again, familiar. It’s an instinct now—San grabs onto his wrist and wishes he doesn’t have to let go.

Don’t go.

“I know, baby. I know.” Giving in, Yunho kneels by his bedside and brings his face mere centimeters away from San’s. “Listen to me, San. You remember everything I told you. You do you. You live your life. You do what you gotta do.”

San nods fervently.

“You gotta keep me wonderin’, babe.” Yunho smiles, bittersweet, and takes San’s hand in his. He kisses the pink, irritated patch of skin on San’s wrist. “You gotta make me think about what you might be doin’ out there in Europe. Let me think about all the things you do, the people you meet, the things you see. I’ll wonder for the rest of my days if I gotta.”

All San can do is nod in fear that he’ll scream if he says anything. Yunho has always been braver than him, anyway.

“If we meet again… or if we don’t… I’ll wonder about you,” Yunho says.

At the end of all my days, I look forward to you.

Keep me wondering.

“W-wait,” San pleads weakly, groaning in slight pain as he sits up to swipe a pen and scrap piece of paper from the nightstand drawer. “Yunho, I know that you said you don’t have funds for a phone or any reason to get one, but…”

He scribbles his phone number onto the page and thrusts it into Yunho’s hands.

“You call that number if or when you get one,” San says. “I’m not changing it. I’m not changing that number… for you.”

Yunho reads the numbers to himself, nodding. He even mouths them as if he’s committing them to memory, storing them away beneath the thickest blankets of his gray matter.

“Go, Yunho.” The words slice through his throat like knives.

San can’t distinguish the last emotion on Yunho’s face, but he supposes it’s for the best. Yunho has no trouble escaping through the window, of course. He’s quick to sprint away and San watches in astonishment.

Run, Yunho, far away from me, so I can start my wondering.

*

“When we get back, I’m filing for a divorce.”

“You’ll still go to Europe, Sannie. But… you choose your course of study. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You live your life, honey. I’m sick and tired of controlling it, just like your father controlled me.”

“I can’t believe it took this to make me realize it.”

For better, for worse.

San wonders which one this is.

*

San is no stranger to the sky. He and his family frequented other places when they had the chance over the course of San’s life, but never has he flown alone, and certainly not with the intention of spending one twenty-fifth of a lifetime in a foreign country. Most of his visits to the outside world were restricted to just a few days to a week, seemingly countless hours of doing whatever it is travel magazines recommend.

For the first time in his life, San feels truly alone.

The sky is emptier than he thought it would be. There’s the clouds, but that’s all he sees. He has to look down to see it all—the vast emerald fields and specks of what could be people or trees, sapphire bodies of water that don’t churn but simmer instead. He imagines every mile behind him being those little dashes people draw to show the travel from one landmark to another, and this is it. This is San’s line of little dashes.

Somewhere, everywhere, nowhere. San goes.

Because he has to. He has to go and do and live because his future isn’t set in stone and it never will be. He’s drawing all the little dashes, taking all the steps no matter how little they may be. He refuses to think of all the possible outcomes because there are none, he can’t make one nor predict one. All he can do is go forward. Do what he has to do to see through the next few seconds. Wait until those seconds evolve into minutes and hours and days. Watch as your life unfolds.

And live. Carry on.

And wonder.