man in love {school 2013}
title: man in love
author: himawarixxsandz
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): heungsoo/namsoon
a/n: i make my canon au's consistent so this is in the same verse as so many ways to be with you and references that one night from ep 15 in there directly from heungsoo's POV. for amy bc everything heungsoon is always for amy and for silvia bC IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR BOYS SILVIA THIS NEVER WOULD'VE HAPPENED FJSLIGE /THE SONG OMFFF/ also i should prob also say the reason i did this with heungsoo instead of namsoon when maybe you could make the argument that it's so clear how namsoon is the one trying to make all the amends etc. and he's more in love etc. etc. i'd like to /differ/ in that i think heungsoo, if you rewatch and look carefully, (oh god don't do that don't ever rewatch this drama tHE PAIN ISN'T WORTH IT) heungsoo does a lot of contradictory things where i am just like bOY GODDAMN YOU IN LOVE.
When a man’s in love, he wants to stay by your side
There’s always so much he wants to do for you
When I’m in love, I want to give everything in my life to you
With just one expectation-your heart
Before medical bills and the ticking clock of leftover months became the dinner table discussion every night, before dinner table discussions soon gave way to mourning silences and an empty chair, Heungsoo remembers being tucked into bed an hour before his big sister has to join him. He remembers his mother kissing his forehead and the lights of his room being flicked off, and he remembers always opening his eyes the moment his mother leaves because he’s not going to sleep until his sister does-that’s unfair to him. Just because he’s younger doesn’t mean he gets tired faster.
He remembers one night, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, fingers curled over the edge of the blanket, listening to his mother brushing his sister’s hair and asking her how her day at school went.
“Umma,” he recalls his sister saying, her voice tiny and young and curious, “how do you know if a boy likes you?”
“I don’t know what boys do today,” his mother replies playfully, and looking back, he thinks she was humoring his sister.
His sister is silent for a moment, but when she forges on, her voice is nervous and firm all at once. “What about with Appa? What did he do?”
The laugh that comes from his mother is sad and amused, and in his room, Heungsoo edges closer towards the door, ears perking up. Talking about his father is a special occasion only and Heungsoo has never been brave enough to ask.
“When a boy likes you,” his mother says, voice thoughtful, and Heungsoo doesn’t know if she’s recalling Heungsoo’s father or choosing to ignore that part of his sister’s question, “he’ll try to be next to you as much as he can. He’ll laugh at things you say for no reason. He’ll do a lot for you, even when you aren’t asking him for it. He should do hundreds of things just to get one thing from you,” she finishes.
“What one thing?” his sister asks instantly, eagerly.
There’s another brief silence, and then comes his mother’s mock-whisper, “Your heart,” that sends his sister into peals of laughter.
Heungsoo falls asleep not long after that, lulled to unconsciousness by a lullaby his sister requests his mother to sing as she finishes brushing the rest of his sister’s hair.
They’re eleven and gangly limbs while the rest of their peers haven’t even begun to shoot upward yet. School is their world and middle school boys are the enemy. They aren’t scary but they’re bigger and they never seem to like the defiant looks in Namsoon and Heungsoo’s eyes, the upstart words in their mouths, whenever they pass by them on the sidewalks outside of campus. The teachers aren’t always there outside before class starts or after lessons end, and Namsoon and Heungsoo are left to fend for each other.
Heungsoo is just a little bigger than Namsoon, but Namsoon is the one that fights like a wildcat, even back then, as if he can’t even feel the cuts and scrapes and bruises being dealt onto him. But every now and again there’ll be a bastard who’ll sneak a hit in that Namsoon isn’t ready for, and this time it happens to the side of Namsoon’s thigh. It’s a blow that brings him down to his knees, and that moment of pause brings in all the pain that the adrenaline momentarily fought off. Namsoon squeezes his eyes shut, coughing, and then suddenly Heungsoo is fighting off five boys heavier and taller than him and winning.
He forgoes honorable punching and kicking and resorts to anything that will bring those five boys twenty times the pain that Namsoon is in. Heungsoo sees absolute red as he digs his teeth into every bit of skin he can get his mouth on, fully intending to break the surface and have them bleed, and he doesn’t know why he can’t stop thrashing and he hears the older boys shouting and he hears teachers running out of the school to draw them apart-sees a teacher, out of his peripheral, helping Namsoon up.
“Park Heungsoo,” the head of discipline is positively livid as he draws Heungsoo back by the collar and the red abates just enough for Heungsoo to look on at the absolutely terrified eyes of the older boys-less literally terrified, and more incredulous that a boy younger than them could do so much damage.
“I was fighting too,” Namsoon pipes up, for preposterous reasons that Heungsoo doesn’t even bother to begin thinking of, as he lets the other teachers dust him off and check for immediate injuries. But Namsoon’s insistent confession goes mostly unnoticed as he’s hauled away to the school nurse-clearly being seen as a victim Heungsoo was defending.
The head of discipline, also the school’s soccer coach, continues to pull Heungsoo in by his collar as the middle school boys trail behind them. “Fucking bit me,” one of the boys mutters, and they all seem to be comparing bite marks on their arms. Heungsoo risks turning his head and glaring. There would have been worse hell to pay if Namsoon had been actually hurt.
“Eyes ahead, Park Heungsoo,” the coach snaps, and Heungsoo scowls. The coach sighs and shakes Heungsoo by the scruff of his school uniform. “Let him defend himself, next time,” the coach orders. “You’re both perfectly capable boys-keep this up in high school and you’ll be expelled-you five, hear that?” the coach directs suddenly to the boys bringing up the rear who all bow their heads, glowering. “Fight all you want when you’re little but you can’t always protect Go Namsoon like that, are you listening, Park Heungsoo?”
Heungsoo sniffs and turns his head.
“Do you love him?” one of the boys behind Heungsoo drawls mockingly to the appreciative sniggers of his friends. “Is he your girlfriend?”
Every extra minute of detention is worth the satisfying crunch of broken teeth Heungsoo wrenches himself out of the coach’s grasp and punches the middle school boy squarely in the mouth.
They’re fourteen and it’s winter and Namsoon’s father doesn’t have the time or care to buy clothes other than Namsoon’s uniform. It’s not nearly enough, and Namsoon doesn’t know how to shop for himself. Snow is falling from the sky, the sun has left well over five hours ago, and Heungsoo and Namsoon are passing a cigarette between themselves. By the time the cigarette is halfway gone, the snow falls thicker and faster and Namsoon has begun to visibly shiver even through his restraint-his determination not to be something as human as cold.
Heungsoo rolls his eyes, moving the cigarette to one side of his mouth as he closes the gap between them, pulling off his scarf. Namsoon dodges Heungsoo’s first attempt, eyes incredulous and amused even as his full lips turn blue. “I’m not your girlfriend,” Namsoon says, and reaches out to take the cigarette back.
This time Heungsoo dodges. He spits the cigarette out onto the ground and smashes it into the snow. Namsoon blinks. “I have more in my pocket,” Heungsoo says, “but you’re not getting any unless you stop being a dumbshit.”
For a moment Namsoon looks like he might lunge and try to take the box out of Heungsoo’s back pocket by force, but Heungsoo attacks before Namsoon gets a chance to and wraps the scarf firmly around Namsoon’s neck. Namsoon looks utterly irate, glancing down at the scarf like it might choke him, and the entire picture is funny enough that Heungsoo turns away to snicker into his palm. Namsoon steps forward and shoves Heungsoo hard into the brick wall they were leaning on, grabbing Heungsoo’s open jacket and snatching the box of smokes from his pocket.
“I’m still fucking freezing,” Namsoon says, as he tilts his head forward and lets Heungsoo light him up.
“Then meet me at my place at noon tomorrow,” Heungsoo says, watching a stream of smoke escape Namsoon’s mouth.
Namsoon frowns. “For what?”
“Don’t fucking question your hyung.” Heungsoo grabs the cigarette out of Namsoon’s mouth and grins, tugging at the scarf around his best friend’s neck.
(he doesn’t take no for an answer the next day and bodily drags Namsoon into every winter wear store down the street from Heungsoo’s house-when Heungsoo’s sister asks where his allowance for the month went, Heungsoo says there was a clearance at the local manga store)
He’s sixteen and his world is in ruins. His mother is gone, his sister is furious with him, he could go to jail at the next misstep, his teachers have given up on him, he’s given up on himself, and there’s an aching hole amongst it all that he doesn’t know how to fill. Something’s been ripped from him, tilting everything out of balance and he knows he can’t ever get it back-he doesn’t need it back, doesn’t want him back, hates him, despises him, wants him dead and if he ever finds him again he’ll kill him.
It’s a night like any other (Heungsoo comes home just a few hours before dawn smelling like smoke and alcohol and the pool hall), but maybe it’s just been one night too many and his sister breaks. She explodes in a way that reminds him of how she’s truly his sister, clearly seeing red the same way he does whenever he’s angry beyond comprehension. Her screams pierce his ears and he’s almost worried that the neighbors will come running, thinking he’s murdering her or she’s murdering him.
He accepts her shrieks and fury with grace because he deserves it, deserves much more from her than a few slaps and hits to the chest because she’s worked hard to keep him safe and well-fed and clothed and warm after their mother’s death and he’s thanked her with delinquency and truancy. “Sorry,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry, noona.”
“You’re not,” she says heatedly, loudly, her voice hoarse from yelling. “You’re not sorry, Park Heungsoo, and you won’t be sorry until you transfer and get your act together and graduate. You’re going to stop all of this-you’re going to promise me that you’ll stop acting like a man in-in-in love who’s lost everything-you’re going to stop trying to find a second version of that kid because all he got you was trouble and that’s enough.”
Heungsoo swallows. “What?”
“You’re going to-”
“Noona, I didn’t love him,” and he doesn’t understand why the words spill out of his mouth desperately-as if he’s trying to reassure himself more than her-as if she even meant it in that way when it wasn’t.
“I never said you did, Heungsoo-ah,” she says wearily, “Does everything I say that isn’t about him go in one ear and come out of the other? Did you hear me? You’re going to behave yourself-”
“Then why did you-”
“That!” his sister yells, her voice rising again irritably. “That’s exactly why, Heungsoo-ah, and that’s what I mean. I’m trying to tell you what we’re going to do from here on out to fix this but all you can think about is how I mentioned him once-I didn’t even say his name-this conversation isn’t even about him, it’s about you, Park Heungsoo, but all you can focus on is that I mentioned him after a year. Stop acting like a man in love and stop obsessing over Go Namsoon, Heungsoo-ah.”
Heungsoo’s mouth tightens. “Sorry, noona,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
He’s eighteen and he hates him, he despises him, he wants to kill him, he’ll never forgive him, and he doesn’t care that Namsoon hates himself more than Heungsoo ever could. He doesn’t care that the self-loathing and apology and desperation is pouring out of Namsoon’s eyes with every gaze that connects. He doesn’t care that there are cuts and scrapes and bruises littering Namsoon’s pale skin-as pale as when they were eleven-years-old and Heungsoo had thrown himself fearlessly at boys older and bigger and stronger than him just because Namsoon was pushed down.
He doesn’t care that Namsoon was beaten to keep Heungsoo safe (Namsoon is being self-righteous for his own self-satisfaction-is being selfish-is being stupid-is making himself feel better-is trying to pretend he can repay a debt that’s endlessly deep).
Before his mind can even form coherent thought, Heungsoo’s hand shoots out and grabs Namsoon’s arm tightly, steadying him when he stumbles. Namsoon’s head whips around and their eyes meet, incredulity in Namsoon’s gaze and realization in Heungsoo’s as he draws away slowly. None of that. There can’t be any of that and Heungsoo needs to lose useless reflexes. The same sort of reflexes that had him screaming and yelling and banging at the locked door of the shed when he’d thought Namsoon had been honestly injured by the fallen chairs.
He can’t keep trying to save a man he wants to kill.
(why did he come what does it matter if Namsoon is being beaten in Heungsoo’s place it’s not supposed to matter)
Every cell in Heungsoo’s body is screaming to move forward, to pull one of Namsoon’s arms around Heungsoo’s neck and help him stand. Heungsoo steps back quickly, fingers twitching and holding themselves back from pressing against Namsoon’s face and checking every gash and scratch the way Heungsoo always did. His hand wants to reach out and wipe away the blood pooling at the corners of Namsoon’s lips. Namsoon is struggling to even pull himself up to his feet and Heungsoo clenches his teeth before he does something incredibly pointless like offering to carry Namsoon on his back.
Instead, he forces himself to turn away and head out without another glance back. His sister’s words from two years ago suddenly echo in his mind as he reaches the cold night air and hears Namsoon’s faint, shaky footsteps following him. Heungsoo swallows tersely and continues to walk, squaring his shoulders and ignoring the faltering way Namsoon walks behind him, ignoring the way Namsoon’s breathing is loud and labored, erasing from his mind the image of Namsoon’s disbelieving eyes when Heungsoo caught him as he stumbled through the doorway (as if Heungsoo couldn’t possibly come after him-as if Heungsoo would skip home, absolutely fine with the knowledge that Namsoon went in his place to get the shit beaten out of him).
Heungsoo draws to an abrupt stop and turns to face Namsoon, words ready and poised on his lips because enough is enough. He’ll say what needs to be said here, and once they get to Heungsoo’s doorstep, Heungsoo will end what he should’ve ended the moment they saw each other after three years.
He needs to stop acting like a man in love.
They’re eighteen and the cold rush of AC in the gym breezes through their hair as they lock their limbs, bodies pushing and shoving to gain just another few seconds of that ball-to be the one to score another point and take off a few more sheets, a few more hours of punishment. Sechan is watching them, keeping score, but Heungsoo barely hears the teacher’s voice anymore. He and Namsoon are playing the way they used to without realizing it, without meaning to.
The game is stilted at first, stiff and polite, but the moment Namsoon’s back brushes up against Heungsoo’s front, he just forgets and then he’s elbowing Namsoon’s stomach, reaching over Namsoon’s shoulder, knocking Namsoon to the side, doing everything he can to get the ball and meeting Namsoon’s gaze without hesitation. It’s such a light-hearted gaze because right now Namsoon doesn’t remember-the game lets Namsoon forget and that lets Heungsoo look into Namsoon’s eyes without seeing any guilt and pain for the first time in too long.
Heungsoo is guarding Namsoon, blocking so that Heungsoo can get a clean shot from the side when Namsoon swerves around Heungsoo and steals the ball from him. Their eyes meet in just that split second and the thought comes unbidden and unrestrained into Heungsoo’s mind as he catches sight of the expression (of the smile, the grin, the laugh) on Namsoon’s face. It yanks Heungsoo back before he hated Namsoon, before thoughts of telling Namsoon to stay away from him would ever cross his mind, before thoughts of hurting Namsoon were even conceivable.
It pulls Heungsoo to a time when maybe he didn’t mind acting like a man in love for his best friend-a time when it used to be Heungsoo who always tried to take the beatings for Namsoon, a time when Heungsoo would’ve done anything to keep Namsoon safe, out of trouble, out of real gangs, in class, safe, warm, well-fed, happy, his.
He collapses onto the gym floor before Namsoon does, and when Sechan steps over to him, hands in his pockets and eyes knowing, Heungsoo turns his head. He looks away. Sechan doesn’t say anything, waiting for Namsoon to get the ball and come back, but Heungsoo feels the statement in Sechan’s expression like a stinging accusation. He shouldn’t have played like that knowing Sechan was there. He shouldn’t have looked at Namsoon. Heungsoo shouldn’t look at Namsoon until he’s learned how to control himself-to stop looking at Namsoon like that so visibly.
Heungsoo has said again and again by this point that he wants nothing to do with Namsoon. That they can never go back to the way they were. That they’re finished. That this is the end, and from here on out, they’re two separate people-classmates and nothing more once they graduate. That’s what Heungsoo has said, clearly and explicitly, right to Namsoon’s face.
He has no explanation to offer to himself for why the mention of Namsoon transferring causes Heungsoo’s stomach to drop to his feet. He doesn’t know why he’s angry-doesn’t know why, once Sechan leaves, Heungsoo cuts Namsoon down with harsh words and a sneer for transferring when Heungsoo was the one who suggested at the very beginning that one of them leaves the school anyway. That’s what Heungsoo wanted. They aren’t friends anymore. Heungsoo hates Namsoon. They can never be friends again. Namsoon isn’t his. He isn’t Namsoon’s. They’re nothing to each other.
(they’re nothing without each other)
“Noona,” he says over dinner that night, “what do guys do to show you they like you?”
She blinks at him, one noodle sticking out of her mouth. “Like-the boyfriends I had?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Are you-do you-” And she looks positively delighted. Her entire face lights up and she leans forward animatedly, her hair nearly falling into the broth. “Next time there’s a festival at your school, can I meet her? Can you point her out to me?”
He stares.
She waits, expectantly.
“I’m full,” Heungsoo rolls his eyes and picks up his bowl, heading for the kitchen sink.
He hears her indignant peppering filter after him as he heads for his room. “I want to see her, Park Heungsoo!” she calls out after him, and he hears the sound of water running as she starts the dishes. “And don’t do anything crazy-some guys go all out when they’re in love and you’re already on a tight rope in school.”
Heungsoo slams the door shut, twisting the lock, and falling back onto his bed spread-eagle. He bends one arm under his head. His sister doesn’t need to worry. He won’t do anything crazy because he’s not in love.
He’s eighteen and exhausted from tears that he’ll vehemently deny ever shedding, weary from all the day’s events, spent from three rounds of vigorous sex, and yet he can’t fall asleep. He lays there, arm cradling Namsoon’s head, limp and lolling in a deep sleep. Through the darkness, Heungsoo looks down at the other man’s expression and snorts softly. At least Heungsoo had the good graces to wash out the tears (that he never cried), but Namsoon’s eyes, even closed and hidden by darkness, are still pink and puffy at the rims.
The thick blanket is loosely thrown over them and they’ve only put the clothes back on necessary to stop them from freezing with Namsoon’s lousy heater. Heungsoo has his khakis and Oxford on, and Namsoon is wearing Heungsoo’s uniform sweater-one size too big, and it’s weird for Heungsoo to breathe in his own scent from Namsoon’s body. They used to share clothes all the time back when they were precisely the same size instead of only roughly the way they are now.
Kissing Namsoon for the first time, Heungsoo thinks, is the craziest he’ll ever get. It’s not the first time they’ve had sex-just the first time they’ve had sex as more than friends (the first time they’ve had sex and looked at each other and kissed and it meant something and Heungsoo has had enough of them doing things without talking about it and he’s had enough confusion-he’s had enough guilt following them around-he’s had enough of Namsoon burying everything inside and leaving Heungsoo to go on a treasure hunt to find the pieces later on).
Heungsoo wonders if it would’ve changed things had he known.
Most likely not.
Maybe Namsoon felt something for Heungsoo years ago, but Heungsoo knows that he hadn’t looked at Namsoon with the sort of eyes that raise Sechan’s eyebrows until Heungsoo thought he could never see Namsoon ever again. Three years ago, it’d been Namsoon who’d been crazy-who’d gotten into any and every kind of trouble just because it passed by him and glared at him wrong. Three years later, it’s Heungsoo who’s crazy-sprinting as fast as he can on a bad leg to make sure Namsoon isn’t cornered by thugs alone, luring Namsoon out to a fight with Jungho, pinning Namsoon to a wall in front of the entire class, threatening Namsoon to show his face at school.
He brings his free hand up across his body, pressing fingertips against Namsoon’s hair, through the soft strands, and down to trace the line of the other man’s cheekbone. Heungsoo doesn’t plan on ever doing this when Namsoon is awake-doesn’t think he can stomach tender touches and uncharacteristic caresses while they’re both conscious and sentient. He glances back up at the ceiling, experimentally closing his eyes because he really should sleep otherwise he’ll nod off during school and Sechan will have his skin.
The backs of his eyelids are covered with images from just an hour ago-of Namsoon’s thin hips, gripped so tightly in Heungsoo’s hands that there must be bruises scattered all over the pale skin by now-of Namsoon’s body writhing and grinding against Heungsoo-of Namsoon burying his face in Heungsoo’s neck, and Heungsoo couldn’t tell if he was gasping or sobbing or begging.
It’ll be a while, he’s sure, until he’s going to even try and gather the nerve to do any of this while Namsoon is awake so he makes sure Namsoon’s eyes are actually closed one more time before Heungsoo tilts his head in and kisses those full lips-parted with even, sleeping breath.
They’re nineteen and it’s their last day of high school-nearly everyone has left already, most to go with their families for a celebration, some to go with each other for gatherings and parties, but Heungsoo promises his aunt and sister a late celebration tomorrow afternoon instead. He stands, waiting in the corner of the auditorium where graduation was held (scattered flowers being swept up, a few balloons here and there, the chairs being pushed back into the side closet), while Namsoon finishes talking and saying goodbye to Injae.
Sechan comes up next to him, hands coming out of his pockets only for the teacher to fold his arms as he glances at Heungsoo, following the younger man’s gaze. “Still looking at him like that, huh?”
Heungsoo turns his head slowly, eyes catching the teacher’s.
“Go Namsoon,” Sechan nods his head, quirks an eyebrow.
“Like what?” Heungsoo asks breezily, as Namsoon smiles down at Injae trying to hide her tears.
“A man in love,” Sechan says, in an oddly resigned way-a few parts also curious, several parts interested, and one part amused.
Heungsoo watches the teacher’s profile, eyes sweeping over Sechan’s expression. “You too, ssaem,” he says, and Sechan’s head snaps back to face him, surprise sliding and replacing the otherwise droll expression. This time it’s Heungsoo’s turn to jerk his chin towards Injae, now on her tiptoes to hug Namsoon.
Sechan gapes for another full minute before snorting. “This kid,” he grins at Heungsoo.
Injae and Namsoon start towards them about then, reaching them seconds later and Sechan tilts his head one last time at Heungsoo before clapping Namsoon’s shoulder and sending them off on their way. Sechan and Injae head over onto the stage to gather the rest of the scattered envelopes that’d been used to hold other paper awards handed out during graduation.
“You’re going with your aunt and sister, right?” Namsoon asks, glancing at Heungsoo.
Heungsoo rolls his eyes and feels like he sees more of the inside of his own head than Namsoon’s actual face when he’s around the bastard. “Tomorrow, asshole,” Heungsoo says, and starts towards the auditorium doors. Namsoon follows beside him. Heungsoo doesn’t look at Namsoon until they’re well out of sight of the teachers. It’s when they’re behind one of the large double doors that Heungsoo threads his hand through the hair on the back of Namsoon’s head and brings their lips together for a swift kiss.
“Ah,” Namsoon says in playful realization, breath tickling Heungsoo’s cheek when they draw apart. “So today it’s my place?”
Heungsoo smiles. “C’mon, bastard.”
author: himawarixxsandz
rating: pg-13
pairing(s): heungsoo/namsoon
a/n: i make my canon au's consistent so this is in the same verse as so many ways to be with you and references that one night from ep 15 in there directly from heungsoo's POV. for amy bc everything heungsoon is always for amy and for silvia bC IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOUR BOYS SILVIA THIS NEVER WOULD'VE HAPPENED FJSLIGE /THE SONG OMFFF/ also i should prob also say the reason i did this with heungsoo instead of namsoon when maybe you could make the argument that it's so clear how namsoon is the one trying to make all the amends etc. and he's more in love etc. etc. i'd like to /differ/ in that i think heungsoo, if you rewatch and look carefully, (oh god don't do that don't ever rewatch this drama tHE PAIN ISN'T WORTH IT) heungsoo does a lot of contradictory things where i am just like bOY GODDAMN YOU IN LOVE.
When a man’s in love, he wants to stay by your side
There’s always so much he wants to do for you
When I’m in love, I want to give everything in my life to you
With just one expectation-your heart
Before medical bills and the ticking clock of leftover months became the dinner table discussion every night, before dinner table discussions soon gave way to mourning silences and an empty chair, Heungsoo remembers being tucked into bed an hour before his big sister has to join him. He remembers his mother kissing his forehead and the lights of his room being flicked off, and he remembers always opening his eyes the moment his mother leaves because he’s not going to sleep until his sister does-that’s unfair to him. Just because he’s younger doesn’t mean he gets tired faster.
He remembers one night, eyes open and staring up at the ceiling in the darkness of his room, fingers curled over the edge of the blanket, listening to his mother brushing his sister’s hair and asking her how her day at school went.
“Umma,” he recalls his sister saying, her voice tiny and young and curious, “how do you know if a boy likes you?”
“I don’t know what boys do today,” his mother replies playfully, and looking back, he thinks she was humoring his sister.
His sister is silent for a moment, but when she forges on, her voice is nervous and firm all at once. “What about with Appa? What did he do?”
The laugh that comes from his mother is sad and amused, and in his room, Heungsoo edges closer towards the door, ears perking up. Talking about his father is a special occasion only and Heungsoo has never been brave enough to ask.
“When a boy likes you,” his mother says, voice thoughtful, and Heungsoo doesn’t know if she’s recalling Heungsoo’s father or choosing to ignore that part of his sister’s question, “he’ll try to be next to you as much as he can. He’ll laugh at things you say for no reason. He’ll do a lot for you, even when you aren’t asking him for it. He should do hundreds of things just to get one thing from you,” she finishes.
“What one thing?” his sister asks instantly, eagerly.
There’s another brief silence, and then comes his mother’s mock-whisper, “Your heart,” that sends his sister into peals of laughter.
Heungsoo falls asleep not long after that, lulled to unconsciousness by a lullaby his sister requests his mother to sing as she finishes brushing the rest of his sister’s hair.
They’re eleven and gangly limbs while the rest of their peers haven’t even begun to shoot upward yet. School is their world and middle school boys are the enemy. They aren’t scary but they’re bigger and they never seem to like the defiant looks in Namsoon and Heungsoo’s eyes, the upstart words in their mouths, whenever they pass by them on the sidewalks outside of campus. The teachers aren’t always there outside before class starts or after lessons end, and Namsoon and Heungsoo are left to fend for each other.
Heungsoo is just a little bigger than Namsoon, but Namsoon is the one that fights like a wildcat, even back then, as if he can’t even feel the cuts and scrapes and bruises being dealt onto him. But every now and again there’ll be a bastard who’ll sneak a hit in that Namsoon isn’t ready for, and this time it happens to the side of Namsoon’s thigh. It’s a blow that brings him down to his knees, and that moment of pause brings in all the pain that the adrenaline momentarily fought off. Namsoon squeezes his eyes shut, coughing, and then suddenly Heungsoo is fighting off five boys heavier and taller than him and winning.
He forgoes honorable punching and kicking and resorts to anything that will bring those five boys twenty times the pain that Namsoon is in. Heungsoo sees absolute red as he digs his teeth into every bit of skin he can get his mouth on, fully intending to break the surface and have them bleed, and he doesn’t know why he can’t stop thrashing and he hears the older boys shouting and he hears teachers running out of the school to draw them apart-sees a teacher, out of his peripheral, helping Namsoon up.
“Park Heungsoo,” the head of discipline is positively livid as he draws Heungsoo back by the collar and the red abates just enough for Heungsoo to look on at the absolutely terrified eyes of the older boys-less literally terrified, and more incredulous that a boy younger than them could do so much damage.
“I was fighting too,” Namsoon pipes up, for preposterous reasons that Heungsoo doesn’t even bother to begin thinking of, as he lets the other teachers dust him off and check for immediate injuries. But Namsoon’s insistent confession goes mostly unnoticed as he’s hauled away to the school nurse-clearly being seen as a victim Heungsoo was defending.
The head of discipline, also the school’s soccer coach, continues to pull Heungsoo in by his collar as the middle school boys trail behind them. “Fucking bit me,” one of the boys mutters, and they all seem to be comparing bite marks on their arms. Heungsoo risks turning his head and glaring. There would have been worse hell to pay if Namsoon had been actually hurt.
“Eyes ahead, Park Heungsoo,” the coach snaps, and Heungsoo scowls. The coach sighs and shakes Heungsoo by the scruff of his school uniform. “Let him defend himself, next time,” the coach orders. “You’re both perfectly capable boys-keep this up in high school and you’ll be expelled-you five, hear that?” the coach directs suddenly to the boys bringing up the rear who all bow their heads, glowering. “Fight all you want when you’re little but you can’t always protect Go Namsoon like that, are you listening, Park Heungsoo?”
Heungsoo sniffs and turns his head.
“Do you love him?” one of the boys behind Heungsoo drawls mockingly to the appreciative sniggers of his friends. “Is he your girlfriend?”
Every extra minute of detention is worth the satisfying crunch of broken teeth Heungsoo wrenches himself out of the coach’s grasp and punches the middle school boy squarely in the mouth.
They’re fourteen and it’s winter and Namsoon’s father doesn’t have the time or care to buy clothes other than Namsoon’s uniform. It’s not nearly enough, and Namsoon doesn’t know how to shop for himself. Snow is falling from the sky, the sun has left well over five hours ago, and Heungsoo and Namsoon are passing a cigarette between themselves. By the time the cigarette is halfway gone, the snow falls thicker and faster and Namsoon has begun to visibly shiver even through his restraint-his determination not to be something as human as cold.
Heungsoo rolls his eyes, moving the cigarette to one side of his mouth as he closes the gap between them, pulling off his scarf. Namsoon dodges Heungsoo’s first attempt, eyes incredulous and amused even as his full lips turn blue. “I’m not your girlfriend,” Namsoon says, and reaches out to take the cigarette back.
This time Heungsoo dodges. He spits the cigarette out onto the ground and smashes it into the snow. Namsoon blinks. “I have more in my pocket,” Heungsoo says, “but you’re not getting any unless you stop being a dumbshit.”
For a moment Namsoon looks like he might lunge and try to take the box out of Heungsoo’s back pocket by force, but Heungsoo attacks before Namsoon gets a chance to and wraps the scarf firmly around Namsoon’s neck. Namsoon looks utterly irate, glancing down at the scarf like it might choke him, and the entire picture is funny enough that Heungsoo turns away to snicker into his palm. Namsoon steps forward and shoves Heungsoo hard into the brick wall they were leaning on, grabbing Heungsoo’s open jacket and snatching the box of smokes from his pocket.
“I’m still fucking freezing,” Namsoon says, as he tilts his head forward and lets Heungsoo light him up.
“Then meet me at my place at noon tomorrow,” Heungsoo says, watching a stream of smoke escape Namsoon’s mouth.
Namsoon frowns. “For what?”
“Don’t fucking question your hyung.” Heungsoo grabs the cigarette out of Namsoon’s mouth and grins, tugging at the scarf around his best friend’s neck.
(he doesn’t take no for an answer the next day and bodily drags Namsoon into every winter wear store down the street from Heungsoo’s house-when Heungsoo’s sister asks where his allowance for the month went, Heungsoo says there was a clearance at the local manga store)
He’s sixteen and his world is in ruins. His mother is gone, his sister is furious with him, he could go to jail at the next misstep, his teachers have given up on him, he’s given up on himself, and there’s an aching hole amongst it all that he doesn’t know how to fill. Something’s been ripped from him, tilting everything out of balance and he knows he can’t ever get it back-he doesn’t need it back, doesn’t want him back, hates him, despises him, wants him dead and if he ever finds him again he’ll kill him.
It’s a night like any other (Heungsoo comes home just a few hours before dawn smelling like smoke and alcohol and the pool hall), but maybe it’s just been one night too many and his sister breaks. She explodes in a way that reminds him of how she’s truly his sister, clearly seeing red the same way he does whenever he’s angry beyond comprehension. Her screams pierce his ears and he’s almost worried that the neighbors will come running, thinking he’s murdering her or she’s murdering him.
He accepts her shrieks and fury with grace because he deserves it, deserves much more from her than a few slaps and hits to the chest because she’s worked hard to keep him safe and well-fed and clothed and warm after their mother’s death and he’s thanked her with delinquency and truancy. “Sorry,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry, noona.”
“You’re not,” she says heatedly, loudly, her voice hoarse from yelling. “You’re not sorry, Park Heungsoo, and you won’t be sorry until you transfer and get your act together and graduate. You’re going to stop all of this-you’re going to promise me that you’ll stop acting like a man in-in-in love who’s lost everything-you’re going to stop trying to find a second version of that kid because all he got you was trouble and that’s enough.”
Heungsoo swallows. “What?”
“You’re going to-”
“Noona, I didn’t love him,” and he doesn’t understand why the words spill out of his mouth desperately-as if he’s trying to reassure himself more than her-as if she even meant it in that way when it wasn’t.
“I never said you did, Heungsoo-ah,” she says wearily, “Does everything I say that isn’t about him go in one ear and come out of the other? Did you hear me? You’re going to behave yourself-”
“Then why did you-”
“That!” his sister yells, her voice rising again irritably. “That’s exactly why, Heungsoo-ah, and that’s what I mean. I’m trying to tell you what we’re going to do from here on out to fix this but all you can think about is how I mentioned him once-I didn’t even say his name-this conversation isn’t even about him, it’s about you, Park Heungsoo, but all you can focus on is that I mentioned him after a year. Stop acting like a man in love and stop obsessing over Go Namsoon, Heungsoo-ah.”
Heungsoo’s mouth tightens. “Sorry, noona,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
He’s eighteen and he hates him, he despises him, he wants to kill him, he’ll never forgive him, and he doesn’t care that Namsoon hates himself more than Heungsoo ever could. He doesn’t care that the self-loathing and apology and desperation is pouring out of Namsoon’s eyes with every gaze that connects. He doesn’t care that there are cuts and scrapes and bruises littering Namsoon’s pale skin-as pale as when they were eleven-years-old and Heungsoo had thrown himself fearlessly at boys older and bigger and stronger than him just because Namsoon was pushed down.
He doesn’t care that Namsoon was beaten to keep Heungsoo safe (Namsoon is being self-righteous for his own self-satisfaction-is being selfish-is being stupid-is making himself feel better-is trying to pretend he can repay a debt that’s endlessly deep).
Before his mind can even form coherent thought, Heungsoo’s hand shoots out and grabs Namsoon’s arm tightly, steadying him when he stumbles. Namsoon’s head whips around and their eyes meet, incredulity in Namsoon’s gaze and realization in Heungsoo’s as he draws away slowly. None of that. There can’t be any of that and Heungsoo needs to lose useless reflexes. The same sort of reflexes that had him screaming and yelling and banging at the locked door of the shed when he’d thought Namsoon had been honestly injured by the fallen chairs.
He can’t keep trying to save a man he wants to kill.
(why did he come what does it matter if Namsoon is being beaten in Heungsoo’s place it’s not supposed to matter)
Every cell in Heungsoo’s body is screaming to move forward, to pull one of Namsoon’s arms around Heungsoo’s neck and help him stand. Heungsoo steps back quickly, fingers twitching and holding themselves back from pressing against Namsoon’s face and checking every gash and scratch the way Heungsoo always did. His hand wants to reach out and wipe away the blood pooling at the corners of Namsoon’s lips. Namsoon is struggling to even pull himself up to his feet and Heungsoo clenches his teeth before he does something incredibly pointless like offering to carry Namsoon on his back.
Instead, he forces himself to turn away and head out without another glance back. His sister’s words from two years ago suddenly echo in his mind as he reaches the cold night air and hears Namsoon’s faint, shaky footsteps following him. Heungsoo swallows tersely and continues to walk, squaring his shoulders and ignoring the faltering way Namsoon walks behind him, ignoring the way Namsoon’s breathing is loud and labored, erasing from his mind the image of Namsoon’s disbelieving eyes when Heungsoo caught him as he stumbled through the doorway (as if Heungsoo couldn’t possibly come after him-as if Heungsoo would skip home, absolutely fine with the knowledge that Namsoon went in his place to get the shit beaten out of him).
Heungsoo draws to an abrupt stop and turns to face Namsoon, words ready and poised on his lips because enough is enough. He’ll say what needs to be said here, and once they get to Heungsoo’s doorstep, Heungsoo will end what he should’ve ended the moment they saw each other after three years.
He needs to stop acting like a man in love.
They’re eighteen and the cold rush of AC in the gym breezes through their hair as they lock their limbs, bodies pushing and shoving to gain just another few seconds of that ball-to be the one to score another point and take off a few more sheets, a few more hours of punishment. Sechan is watching them, keeping score, but Heungsoo barely hears the teacher’s voice anymore. He and Namsoon are playing the way they used to without realizing it, without meaning to.
The game is stilted at first, stiff and polite, but the moment Namsoon’s back brushes up against Heungsoo’s front, he just forgets and then he’s elbowing Namsoon’s stomach, reaching over Namsoon’s shoulder, knocking Namsoon to the side, doing everything he can to get the ball and meeting Namsoon’s gaze without hesitation. It’s such a light-hearted gaze because right now Namsoon doesn’t remember-the game lets Namsoon forget and that lets Heungsoo look into Namsoon’s eyes without seeing any guilt and pain for the first time in too long.
Heungsoo is guarding Namsoon, blocking so that Heungsoo can get a clean shot from the side when Namsoon swerves around Heungsoo and steals the ball from him. Their eyes meet in just that split second and the thought comes unbidden and unrestrained into Heungsoo’s mind as he catches sight of the expression (of the smile, the grin, the laugh) on Namsoon’s face. It yanks Heungsoo back before he hated Namsoon, before thoughts of telling Namsoon to stay away from him would ever cross his mind, before thoughts of hurting Namsoon were even conceivable.
It pulls Heungsoo to a time when maybe he didn’t mind acting like a man in love for his best friend-a time when it used to be Heungsoo who always tried to take the beatings for Namsoon, a time when Heungsoo would’ve done anything to keep Namsoon safe, out of trouble, out of real gangs, in class, safe, warm, well-fed, happy, his.
He collapses onto the gym floor before Namsoon does, and when Sechan steps over to him, hands in his pockets and eyes knowing, Heungsoo turns his head. He looks away. Sechan doesn’t say anything, waiting for Namsoon to get the ball and come back, but Heungsoo feels the statement in Sechan’s expression like a stinging accusation. He shouldn’t have played like that knowing Sechan was there. He shouldn’t have looked at Namsoon. Heungsoo shouldn’t look at Namsoon until he’s learned how to control himself-to stop looking at Namsoon like that so visibly.
Heungsoo has said again and again by this point that he wants nothing to do with Namsoon. That they can never go back to the way they were. That they’re finished. That this is the end, and from here on out, they’re two separate people-classmates and nothing more once they graduate. That’s what Heungsoo has said, clearly and explicitly, right to Namsoon’s face.
He has no explanation to offer to himself for why the mention of Namsoon transferring causes Heungsoo’s stomach to drop to his feet. He doesn’t know why he’s angry-doesn’t know why, once Sechan leaves, Heungsoo cuts Namsoon down with harsh words and a sneer for transferring when Heungsoo was the one who suggested at the very beginning that one of them leaves the school anyway. That’s what Heungsoo wanted. They aren’t friends anymore. Heungsoo hates Namsoon. They can never be friends again. Namsoon isn’t his. He isn’t Namsoon’s. They’re nothing to each other.
(they’re nothing without each other)
“Noona,” he says over dinner that night, “what do guys do to show you they like you?”
She blinks at him, one noodle sticking out of her mouth. “Like-the boyfriends I had?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
“Are you-do you-” And she looks positively delighted. Her entire face lights up and she leans forward animatedly, her hair nearly falling into the broth. “Next time there’s a festival at your school, can I meet her? Can you point her out to me?”
He stares.
She waits, expectantly.
“I’m full,” Heungsoo rolls his eyes and picks up his bowl, heading for the kitchen sink.
He hears her indignant peppering filter after him as he heads for his room. “I want to see her, Park Heungsoo!” she calls out after him, and he hears the sound of water running as she starts the dishes. “And don’t do anything crazy-some guys go all out when they’re in love and you’re already on a tight rope in school.”
Heungsoo slams the door shut, twisting the lock, and falling back onto his bed spread-eagle. He bends one arm under his head. His sister doesn’t need to worry. He won’t do anything crazy because he’s not in love.
He’s eighteen and exhausted from tears that he’ll vehemently deny ever shedding, weary from all the day’s events, spent from three rounds of vigorous sex, and yet he can’t fall asleep. He lays there, arm cradling Namsoon’s head, limp and lolling in a deep sleep. Through the darkness, Heungsoo looks down at the other man’s expression and snorts softly. At least Heungsoo had the good graces to wash out the tears (that he never cried), but Namsoon’s eyes, even closed and hidden by darkness, are still pink and puffy at the rims.
The thick blanket is loosely thrown over them and they’ve only put the clothes back on necessary to stop them from freezing with Namsoon’s lousy heater. Heungsoo has his khakis and Oxford on, and Namsoon is wearing Heungsoo’s uniform sweater-one size too big, and it’s weird for Heungsoo to breathe in his own scent from Namsoon’s body. They used to share clothes all the time back when they were precisely the same size instead of only roughly the way they are now.
Kissing Namsoon for the first time, Heungsoo thinks, is the craziest he’ll ever get. It’s not the first time they’ve had sex-just the first time they’ve had sex as more than friends (the first time they’ve had sex and looked at each other and kissed and it meant something and Heungsoo has had enough of them doing things without talking about it and he’s had enough confusion-he’s had enough guilt following them around-he’s had enough of Namsoon burying everything inside and leaving Heungsoo to go on a treasure hunt to find the pieces later on).
Heungsoo wonders if it would’ve changed things had he known.
Most likely not.
Maybe Namsoon felt something for Heungsoo years ago, but Heungsoo knows that he hadn’t looked at Namsoon with the sort of eyes that raise Sechan’s eyebrows until Heungsoo thought he could never see Namsoon ever again. Three years ago, it’d been Namsoon who’d been crazy-who’d gotten into any and every kind of trouble just because it passed by him and glared at him wrong. Three years later, it’s Heungsoo who’s crazy-sprinting as fast as he can on a bad leg to make sure Namsoon isn’t cornered by thugs alone, luring Namsoon out to a fight with Jungho, pinning Namsoon to a wall in front of the entire class, threatening Namsoon to show his face at school.
He brings his free hand up across his body, pressing fingertips against Namsoon’s hair, through the soft strands, and down to trace the line of the other man’s cheekbone. Heungsoo doesn’t plan on ever doing this when Namsoon is awake-doesn’t think he can stomach tender touches and uncharacteristic caresses while they’re both conscious and sentient. He glances back up at the ceiling, experimentally closing his eyes because he really should sleep otherwise he’ll nod off during school and Sechan will have his skin.
The backs of his eyelids are covered with images from just an hour ago-of Namsoon’s thin hips, gripped so tightly in Heungsoo’s hands that there must be bruises scattered all over the pale skin by now-of Namsoon’s body writhing and grinding against Heungsoo-of Namsoon burying his face in Heungsoo’s neck, and Heungsoo couldn’t tell if he was gasping or sobbing or begging.
It’ll be a while, he’s sure, until he’s going to even try and gather the nerve to do any of this while Namsoon is awake so he makes sure Namsoon’s eyes are actually closed one more time before Heungsoo tilts his head in and kisses those full lips-parted with even, sleeping breath.
They’re nineteen and it’s their last day of high school-nearly everyone has left already, most to go with their families for a celebration, some to go with each other for gatherings and parties, but Heungsoo promises his aunt and sister a late celebration tomorrow afternoon instead. He stands, waiting in the corner of the auditorium where graduation was held (scattered flowers being swept up, a few balloons here and there, the chairs being pushed back into the side closet), while Namsoon finishes talking and saying goodbye to Injae.
Sechan comes up next to him, hands coming out of his pockets only for the teacher to fold his arms as he glances at Heungsoo, following the younger man’s gaze. “Still looking at him like that, huh?”
Heungsoo turns his head slowly, eyes catching the teacher’s.
“Go Namsoon,” Sechan nods his head, quirks an eyebrow.
“Like what?” Heungsoo asks breezily, as Namsoon smiles down at Injae trying to hide her tears.
“A man in love,” Sechan says, in an oddly resigned way-a few parts also curious, several parts interested, and one part amused.
Heungsoo watches the teacher’s profile, eyes sweeping over Sechan’s expression. “You too, ssaem,” he says, and Sechan’s head snaps back to face him, surprise sliding and replacing the otherwise droll expression. This time it’s Heungsoo’s turn to jerk his chin towards Injae, now on her tiptoes to hug Namsoon.
Sechan gapes for another full minute before snorting. “This kid,” he grins at Heungsoo.
Injae and Namsoon start towards them about then, reaching them seconds later and Sechan tilts his head one last time at Heungsoo before clapping Namsoon’s shoulder and sending them off on their way. Sechan and Injae head over onto the stage to gather the rest of the scattered envelopes that’d been used to hold other paper awards handed out during graduation.
“You’re going with your aunt and sister, right?” Namsoon asks, glancing at Heungsoo.
Heungsoo rolls his eyes and feels like he sees more of the inside of his own head than Namsoon’s actual face when he’s around the bastard. “Tomorrow, asshole,” Heungsoo says, and starts towards the auditorium doors. Namsoon follows beside him. Heungsoo doesn’t look at Namsoon until they’re well out of sight of the teachers. It’s when they’re behind one of the large double doors that Heungsoo threads his hand through the hair on the back of Namsoon’s head and brings their lips together for a swift kiss.
“Ah,” Namsoon says in playful realization, breath tickling Heungsoo’s cheek when they draw apart. “So today it’s my place?”
Heungsoo smiles. “C’mon, bastard.”