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Gyuvin takes the ring off and stares at how the double-G leaves a red imprint on his finger. His upbringing, his faith, means he will never leave a permanent mark on his body: tattoos are out of the question for him, no matter how much it would suit him or his career as an idol. The red mark on his finger will disappear soon. So will the bruises Ricky’s fingers left on his waist. He leans over, careful not to move around too much, and carefully places the ring on his bedside table.
The mattress creaks. With bated breath, Gyuvin watches as Ricky’s face morphs into a yawn, his eyes opening centimeter by centimeter.
“Gyuvin?” Ricky blinks, looking ever so soft in the faint glow from the nightlight in the corner, from the streaks of moon falling between the blinds. His fiery hair turns indigo in the shadows.
Gyuvin offers a smile. “Hi. Did I wake you up?”
“Sort of, but it’s okay.” Ricky scooches closer. Their exhales catch on each other’s lips. Ricky pulls away, caressing the side of Gyuvin’s head before running his fingers through Gyuvin’s hair. “Why are you still awake?”
“Hmm… just thinking.”
“About what?”
“You.” Gyuvin rubs his finger, the ring’s imprint already mostly gone.
“What about me?”
“How much I love you,” comes the easy reply. Because while Gyuvin’s skin holds no permanence of Ricky anywhere, his heart does. His soul does. If someone were to lay out Gyuvin’s entire being, his aorta would bleed and spell out Ricky’s name. His ribs would have Ricky’s fingerprints engraved in each nook and cranny.
Because Gyuvin believes in God.
And he believes in a God who believes in love.
Ricky’s hand pauses. It lowers to reach for Gyuvin’s. Gyuvin squeezes their fingers together and smiles at how easily they fit.
“You’ve been saying that more recently,” Ricky whispers, shy, his cheeks a dusty shade of rose.
“We’re not allowed to show it on camera as much anymore.” Gyuvin’s chest burns. “Can’t I at least keep telling you how much I love you in private?”
Ricky hums. “Tell me again, Gyuvin.”
“I love you, Ricky-yah.” Gyuvin leans in and presses their bodies together. Ties their legs and ankles into a knot. Tangles their hair together on their pillows. Wishes he could count each of Ricky’s eyelashes in the dark. “Even if the whole world told me not to, I’d still love you.”
“You sound very sure.”
Gyuvin places a fervent kiss against Ricky’s cheek, smiling when Ricky’s eyelashes tickle his cupid’s bow, smiling wider when he sees Ricky smiling back. “Why do you sound so suspicious? Should I prove it to you more? Buy you another ring?”
“Maybe.” Ricky laughs. Gyuvin pokes him in the ribs and then starts tickling him in earnest. Ricky’s laugh will always be the best sound in the world to him.
“I know I didn’t used to be so confident,” Gyuvin says after a few minutes, his hand back in Ricky’s, their tickle fight over with Gyuvin emerging as the clear victor.
Ricky thinks about the Bible in Gyuvin’s bedside drawer, dog-eared (“Sacrilegious, I know, I stopped doing that ages ago!”) and stained yellow around the edges from use. He’s had it since he was a kid.
“You know that I completely understand,” Ricky says. Because he really does. It’s not like being raised in Shanghai meant he had an open and accepting childhood. He knows more than enough about having a specific mindset instilled in you and spending the rest of your life reshaping it into something else entirely. A hybrid, monstrous thing.
“I know, I know, but still.” Gyuvin leaves a kiss on Ricky’s nose. “Just trust me when I say that I’ve never been more sure of anything now. Please.”
Ricky’s lips are a welcome ghost against Gyuvin’s own, light and barely there. “I trust you, dumbass. Of course I trust you.”
Gyuvin makes sure to lean in and make their kiss taste like toothpaste and chapstick and spit. “I’m your dumbass,” he says with a laugh.
Ricky tugs Gyuvin closer, their chests touching, their hearts beating against each other. Warm. “Yes you are. Now go to sleep before I knock you out.”
Gyuvin closes his eyes and pretends to snore. He drinks in the sound of Ricky’s laugh. It’s what he falls asleep to, in the end.
When Gyuvin wakes up, he’s in Ricky’s arms, everything is soft, and he feels right at home. He grins and feels his chin press against Ricky’s forehead as he grins wider. Ricky lets out a hum.
“I’ve loved you for years,” Gyuvin whispers, pulling away so he can see the way fondness bleeds through Ricky’s face: this would be a confession if not for its blatant obviousness.
Ricky just glances up at him, his eyes puffy from sleep and a smile. “Years?”
Gyuvin nods. “Years.”
They blink at each other. Gyuvin can’t tell who’s blushing more.
It starts with Beats headphones. Gyuvin has no idea what else to say to the cool trainee with an English name. Ricky. It suits the guy. Or, he thinks it suits him — he hasn’t talked to Ricky enough to know yet.
When Gyuvin asks Ricky about his headphones, he isn’t expecting such a gentle voice to come out of such an angular face. When Gyuvin asks Ricky what he’s watching on his iPad, he isn’t expecting a K-Drama oozing with romance and cheese.
It doesn’t take very long for Gyuvin to realize that Ricky isn’t just a one dimensional guy who’s tall and cool and talented and rich. Ricky is also insecure and too hard on himself, also ridden with anxiety and incurable insomnia. Especially the anxiety part, if the purple bags under his double-winged eyes or the marks on his palm had anything to say about it.
Suddenly Ricky goes from being an intimidating figure to a potential close friend, and Gyuvin finds a pull at his core that draws him towards Ricky, his feet and hands itching to follow, to poke and prod and tease, to get a laugh out of Ricky’s lips or an annoyed scoff from Ricky’s mouth.
After a month of being at Yuehua, Gyuvin has a dream about him:
They’re in the practice room and it’s morning. Probably early morning, considering the sun isn’t very bright yet. Ricky is dressed in all black, his shoulders broad and smile soft and hair messy and face bare. It’s unfair how pretty someone can be without makeup.
“Gyuvin?” Dream-Ricky says.
Gyuvin takes a step forward. His heart is pounding. There’s music playing from somewhere and it’s loud.
“Ricky?”
“Gyuvin. I’m tired, Gyuvin.”
Dream-Ricky drops to the floor. His feet are bleeding. Gyuvin looks down and sees his feet are bleeding, too.
When Gyuvin wakes up, his mattress suddenly feels too small and too itchy. He makes a mental note to wash his sheets later.
“I had the weirdest dream last night,” Gyuvin says during their water break.
Ricky raises an eyebrow at him. “What was it?”
“Um…” Gyuvin takes another sip of his water. “I dreamt that we perfected the choreo in one try.”
Ricky lets out a huff. “If only,” he says, but his smile is wistful. Not bitter or even slightly self-deprecating. Thank goodness.
“Yeah, haha. If only.”
For the rest of practice, Gyuvin notices how he and Ricky seem a little more confident. He hopes that he’ll never have to see real-life-Ricky fall to the ground like he did in his dream. (Or was it a nightmare?)
A part of him hopes that he and Ricky will get to rise together, alongside the rest of the Yuehua trainees as well: Hao, Yujin, Yunseo, Seungeon, Ollie, Brian, and more. All of them.
It doesn’t take very long for Gyuvin and Ricky to become friends. They’re both the same age. They have similar senses of humor. They even practice English together.
They get into the habit of teasing the younger trainees as a unit. They get teased by Hao and the other older trainees, also as a unit.
It’s hot today. Their schedule for the rest of the day isn’t too bad for once, and they’re both covered in sweat as they get back to their dorm after a long, intense dance practice and equally long, intense vocal lessons.
But the sun hasn’t set yet, which is a good sign. It means they have the time to sit down at the kitchen and gulp the rest of the water in their bottles away. It means they haven’t spent another day rotting on the dance floor.
Ricky fidgets with his water bottle, then lets go, his nails reaching towards his hands again. Gyuvin pulls out a hair tie from his pocket and hands it to him.
“What’s this for?” Ricky blinks.
Gyuvin whips out the other hair tie from his pocket. He’s glad he’s in the habit of carrying them to tie up his shirts or fidget with. “For this,” he answers, curling it around his fingers and making cool patterns as he pulls his hands apart.
Ricky blinks again. He takes the hair tie and starts twirling and pulling it around. “This is kind of fun.” He keeps doing it, trying to copy the patterns Gyuvin makes, but Gyuvin has years of practice on him.
“Yeah, kind of.” Gyuvin tries not to smile too hard. He watches as Ricky struggles to pull at his hair tie and laughs, his eyes sneakily trying to see if Ricky’s palms have scabbed over yet at the same time. (They have. Gyuvin only hopes that they don’t scar. That Ricky won’t pick at them until they bleed.)
Later, Gyuvin lies in his itchy bed and wonders when he started thinking about Ricky so much. When he started caring. When he started noticing when Ricky is about to pick at his skin instead of just a normal itch. When he started worrying about whether or not Ricky had enough to eat.
He tosses and turns and feels something inside of his torso grow, something tangled and complicated and messy. Too tangled to navigate with only his fingers, not nearly as simple as a hair tie.
His heart pounds and it asks him a question over and over and over again:
Do I? Do I? Do I?
He tugs on his blanket and tries to squeeze his eyes into staying shut, a desperate attempt to clear his head that doesn’t work when all his mind can conjure up are sharp elbows and thick eyebrows and a soft laugh and strawberry-scented hair.
“Strawberries are my favorite fruit.”
“Why?”
The smile on Ricky’s face is small and shy. “I’ll tell you some other time.”
Crap.
Gyuvin’s screwed, isn’t he?
I do. I do. I do.
Being forced apart during Boys Planet means the fierce, ugly beast in Gyuvin’s chest that’s been clawing inside for years suddenly rears its head and pops right out into the spotlight.
I do. I do. I do.
Gyuvin had known that the international trainees would be separated from the ones born in Korea. They’d all known. But actually going through the forced friction between them is so much worse. Living it feels like a lie, like a betrayal.
They try easing the tension by teasing each other to start fake beef but all it does is make the chasm in his chest crack open wider. Gyuvin watches the way his best friends are mistreated and can’t do anything but become glassy-eyed and slack-jawed.
He realizes the feeling in his gut when he sees the way the fight in Ricky’s eyes starts to fade is a red-hot dangerous one. He realizes he wants to scoop Ricky into his arms and protect him forever. From all the prying eyes. From all the people who don’t know him. Who see one layer and one layer only.
Then Gyuvin realizes he wants him and Ricky to debut together more than anything.
His dream is no longer just for him. He wants so much more than only one win. He wants it all.
Even after years of knowing him, Gyuvin still manages to surprise Ricky. It’s a mystery and a miracle all in one.
The force which Gyuvin bolts straight into him nearly launches him off his feet. It’s a good thing he’s used to having a tall, gangly boy run right at him.
It’s a good thing his brain still works quickly enough through all of the sleep deprivation and homesickness, or else he wouldn’t have been able to wrap Gyuvin in his arms and stop him from eating shit on the sweaty practice floor.
Distantly, Ricky thinks Gyuvin’s face is too pretty to be ruined like that.
“What are you doing here?” Ricky asks, unable to stop sounding (or looking) so pleased. He tries not to notice how his exhaustion just morphed into a smile. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“It’s late,” Gyuvin says. “I waited for you, but everyone in your group said you wanted to keep practicing.”
“It’s not even two yet,” Ricky says. As soon as the words leave his mouth he realizes just how bad it is that they formed in the first place.
“Ricky…”
“Ugh.” Ricky drops his arms. Gyuvin wobbles but manages to stand up straight.
Gyuvin’s words are honeyed, his smile wide and inviting. “Come on, Ricky-yah. Let’s have a nice long walk back to our beds.”
Ricky stares at himself in the mirror. Looks away because he doesn’t know if he likes what he sees at the moment. “Gyuvin, you don’t understand. I have to be perfect.”
“Says who?”
“The world. All the people watching. The other trainees.” Ricky tugs at his hair. “It’s everyone, Gyuvin, you know how it’s everyone. Don’t you see how many people around us are already gone? If I make one mistake, it’ll be edited and looped to all hell.”
Gyuvin thinks about all the goodbyes he’s had to live through recently. “Of course I see.” His smile drops and fades, the red-hot anger coursing through his veins again. “This is all so unfair.”
Nodding, Ricky takes a deep breath. “Right. Sorry for snapping. And yeah, yeah it is.” He lets himself take another long breath. “Listen, I just… I don’t know what to do or where to go after this. What if I don’t make it? What if we don’t make it?”
“I ask myself the same thing a lot. Asking myself, what’s next? What’s going to happen?” Gyuvin brings his hand to a rest on top of Ricky's shoulder. Then he pushes down as he squats, both of them landing on their butts at nearly the exact same time.
“What are you doing?” Ricky scrambles to get back up.
Gyuvin plops his hand over Ricky’s knee. He gives it a few loving-yet-menacing pats. “Forcing you to rest.”
Ricky rolls his eyes, “I don’t need rest, Gyuvin. I need to be perf—”
“—yeah, perfect. I know. Trust me, I get why you’re so nervous. I know how much harder things are… no, how much harsher people are on you. And Hao-hyung. For… all the wrong reasons.”
Ricky lets out a humorless chuckle. “You could say that.” He tries not to think about the color of his passport, the frantic Korean scrawled in his notebooks, or the insults people have been more than happy to throw his way. It’s crazy, what people will say about you to your face when they think you don’t understand.
Gyuvin scooches closer, his thigh screeching against the linoleum, his skin burning at the feeling. But the fire inside of his lungs is overwhelming and threatens to consume him whole at any minute. “As true as that is, and as unfair as people are, we can’t let our anxiety destroy us. Not now. We can do this, Ricky. I know we can.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.” Ricky’s face is doing something wrinkly and complicated. He’ll never understand what it’s like to be so confident in something no matter how hard he’s tried for the last few years. Even his entire life.
“That’s because I am.” Gyuvin sighs, poking Ricky’s arm. “Listen, you won’t be able to perform well if your condition is shit. So get some proper sleep and stop dancing.”
Shrugging, Ricky considers this. Then he stands up, walks to the side of the room, and picks up his water bottle. When he turns around, he looks defeated, but he’s smiling the faintest of smiles. “Alright, Gyuvin. You win. Let’s go on that walk.”
“Straight to bed, we go!” Gyuvin gets to his feet in record time. He nudges and presses against Ricky the entire way back to their dorm, glad he listened to his instinct, to that itchy feeling in his brain-gut telling him to check in on Ricky.
“You know there’s no way I’m leaving this contest without putting up a fight,” Ricky says, finishing the last few drops of water in his bottle.
Gyuvin looks at Ricky’s tattoo. He wonders if he’ll ever be so sure about anything that’d he be willing to have it be permanent, especially on his skin. Even though he’ll never get one, it’s still an interesting thing to think about.
Would he look as cool as Ricky does with Role Model scrawled across his neck? Would he be able to carry the weight of such a phrase just as gracefully?
“You better give them hell, Shim Ricky.” Gyuvin pats Ricky’s back twice, soaking up all of Ricky’s warmth and hoping to intertwine it with his own.
Ricky’s nod is curt and absolute. “If I get voted off, I’ll make sure people regret it.”
Gyuvin nods back. He laughs. “If I get voted off, I might cry on the spot.”
Ricky takes hold of Gyuvin’s shoulder this time. Gives him a little shake. His eyes are round and beyond boba-like as he shoves his face closer to Gyuvin’s, so close their noses almost touch. “Listen to me very clearly, Kim Gyuvin. We will be on that stage together in a few weeks. There’s not much room for hesitance or anxiety, not anymore.”
Gyuvin’s heart is a staccato. He’ll never get used to Ricky’s five-hundred won eyes. “Hey, who’s the confident one now?”
Ricky shrugs again, “I still think I might be going home at the end of all of this.” His exhausted and faint smile is now an exhausted and slightly-hopeful faint smile. It manages to make his face a dozen times brighter. “But I’ll try to find some of the confidence you have and make it real.”
Gyuvin holds up a fist. “Let’s try and be confident together.”
Ricky presses his knuckles against Gyuvin’s. “Here’s to fighting.”
“And resting.”
“All of the above.”
“Woo!”
When Ricky gets announced as fourth and makes his way up those steps, time slows into a thick caramel. All Gyuvin can hear is the roar of his own blood in his ears and the cheering of the crowd. All he can see is the way Ricky shines: his toothy grin, his smiling eyes. All he can taste is the sugary flavor of realizing this all might’ve been worth it, that his dream is becoming actualized.
When Ricky and Gyuvin collide, it feels like coming together, like when water meets the tide, like fate and familiarity and victory and salt and the faint sweetness of something new.
“We did it!” Gyuvin says into Ricky’s ear, their bodies rocking together, their hug just for them but also for all the people out there. Watching. Waiting.
“We did,” Ricky says back.
The itchy feeling in Gyuvin’s chest turns into flames. He thinks about his old pastor, the one who nobody liked once they grew older, the one who fed the youth group poisonous words they were all too young to refute.
He thinks about how much of his childhood and even his present self has been shaped by what he’s learned on his own and through the church. He thinks about the God who he’s read about, the one who loves everyone. He thinks about the boy in his arms.
Gyuvin is not going to let go of Ricky.
Even if it burns him.
At least, Gyuvin thinks, burn scars last.
At least, Gyuvin thinks, I still know what my beliefs are. I still stay true to myself and the God I know.
The beast in his chest comes out again when Gyuvin goes shopping, trying to wrack his brains for any semblance of an idea for Ricky’s birthday gift. What do you give someone who has enough money to buy anything he wants?
Like the wise hyung he is, Jiwoong advised Gyuvin to get Ricky something special or funny. Something with thought and care behind it. Something that doesn’t have to be expensive. Something money can’t really buy.
So Gyuvin finds himself at a cheap dollar store with Yujin and Gunwook as company, Taerae and Matthew in the store next to theirs. Something about how three of the youngest members can’t be trusted to go places alone.
His feet lead him towards the jewelry aisle. Tiny barrettes the color of the rainbow and necklaces with huge charms stare at him. His eyes start to gloss over until they land on the ring section.
Second row from the top. A line of heart-shaped rings with the most horrendous neon colors imaginable. The beast starts foaming at the mouth as Gyuvin looks at the pink one and thinks about the pink of Ricky’s cheeks when he’s happy or sweaty.
He thinks about how Ricky really likes the color pink because it reminds him of strawberries. He thinks about how Ricky is the color of bubblegum and lavender sunsets.
Gyuvin grabs the ring before he can even finish the rest of his thoughts.
Ricky’s closet is mainly black. Gyuvin can say that he bought it for a splash of color, not necessarily a lie but not the whole truth, either. The plastic feels sharp yet round in his hands and the pink nearly blinds him as it reflects the bright white light, and Gyuvin smiles, feeling like he’s made the right choice.
He special orders a ring box off the internet, one that glows when you open it.
It costs way too much, probably.
It’s worth it.
When Gyuvin slides the tacky plastic ring onto Ricky’s finger, a part of him can’t help but scream, the beast he’s been fighting all this time rearing its ugly head once again. It was the beast who did this, who possessed him to buy Ricky such a gift. He knows it’s a joke. A gag gift. The pink heart is huge and atrocious.
But Ricky looks so happy.
And isn’t that what matters?
If it’s just a joke, why does it feel so real? So right?
“This is fashion,” Ricky says later, holding out his hand and stretching out his pinky. His cheeks are as pink as the stupid ring, and that’s how Gyuvin can tell he’s truly happy. He’s the prettiest person Gyuvin thinks he’s ever seen.
No doubt Gyuvin’s face is just as blushy. He laughs instead of answering, no idea what to say — words turn to mush when he’s this close to a happy Ricky. All he can do is stare.
Strawberries and sunsets, Gyuvin thinks. When Ricky looks at him with that toothy grin of his, all Gyuvin can taste is sugar and pink.
It’s his birthday and Gyuvin feels stupid. He should’ve seen this coming. But even if he’d known, he still could have done nothing to prepare him for this.
When Ricky shows off the Gucci ring, there’s a glint in his eye, and Gyuvin thinks he might be dreaming or melting or both.
I do. I do. I do.
The ring fits perfectly. The double-G shines in the light.
He’s never going to lose it.
When Ricky comes back from Shanghai, Gyuvin feels like he can breathe easy again. He doesn’t even realize the thorns at his sides have practically melted away upon Ricky’s return until he lies down on his bed and feels comfortable, the fog that’s been making his mind buzz for the last few nights finally dissipated. Maybe he’ll sleep for longer than six hours.
He’s scrolling on his phone to get in some serotonin boosts before he sleeps when his door opens. The footsteps are familiar; he doesn’t have to look up to know who it is. The side of his bed dips as they sit on it.
“I know you missed me a lot.”
Gyuvin turns and places his phone back on his bedside table. “I thought Yujinnie was going to room with me tonight?”
“I asked to switch,” Ricky says, biting the inside of his cheek. His fingers stray to pick at his sleeves. Gyuvin smiles because he knows the scars on Ricky’s palms are fading.
“I slept in your bed while you were gone.”
“I know.”
“Your shampoo smells nice.”
“Mhmm.”
“So does the detergent you use.”
“We all use the same detergent, Gyuvin.”
“Yeah, but you make it smell nicer.”
Ricky lets out a soft laugh. Gyuvin takes the time to study how Ricky’s eyes shine in the lamplight, how his hair is unstyled and poofy, no doubt having just showered, and his face is completely bare.
He has a teeny tiny pimple on his cheek, probably from all the stress, and Gyuvin has a thought that strikes through him like lightning and velvet: he wants to kiss that teeny tiny pimple and touch Ricky’s cheekbone and tug Ricky close until all he can dare to breathe is the smell of strawberry shampoo.
The itchy burning feeling in Gyuvin’s body comes back. (Not that it ever entirely goes away.) He feels his heart pounding in his throat.
Ricky’s voice is small when he says, “I missed you, too.”
Gyuvin pulls back his blankets. Doesn’t know what he’s doing but also knows exactly what he’s doing when he pats the empty space. “Sleep here tonight? With me?”
Ricky looks at him. Blinks. “Are you sure?”
I am. I am. I am. Gyuvin smiles and pats the bed again. “I kept it nice and toasty for you.”
So Ricky smiles back. Folds up his legs and shoves them beneath the covers. Giggles when Gyuvin pokes him with icy toes. Laughs harder when he smacks Gyuvin on the bicep and Gyuvin yelps. It isn’t the first time they’ve shared a bed in the three years they’ve known each other. But it feels special, somehow.
Gyuvin pokes Ricky’s elbow. “Why did you miss me so much?”
Ricky pokes him back. “Why did you miss me?”
“I just do. Did.” It might be the sleep deprivation. It might be the way his heart is racing. It might be the soft, soft way Ricky looks at him. It might be because he’s tired of fighting that ugly beast inside of his ribs. But Gyuvin smiles wider and says, “I like it when you’re by my side the most.”
Ricky smiles. “I like it when you’re by mine.”
“Well, I like you. So there.”
Ricky’s brow wrinkles. “You sound like you’re confessing to me,” he teases, but he sounds a little serious.
And Gyuvin is a little serious when he says, “Maybe I am.”
Ricky blinks.
Gyuvin blinks back.
“I think I really like you,” Gyuvin whispers. The beast is no longer in his chest, calmed and assured and molded into the shape of a heart, melted into the fissures of Gyuvin’s bones. It’s him now. He’s never been feral, even if the feelings he’s had for years came with canines and a want so keen it stung and ached.
“Think or know?” Ricky asks, his brow wrinkling more.
“Know,” is the immediate reply. Gyuvin blinks again. “This is really stupid, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
Gyuvin wants to look away from Ricky but can’t. “Me. I’m being stupid… I should’ve waited to confess, or done something special. Like buy you flowers. And we have so much to worry about all the time.”
“Buy me some tomorrow,” Ricky says in a rush. His brow is smooth now. His smile is back, small and lovely and golden.
“Do you like me back, then?”
Ricky closes his eyes and pretends to snore.
Gyuvin leans in and starts tickling him.
“Stop! Enough! Stop, stop!” Ricky says between laughs, batting at Gyuvin’s arms.
“Not until you tell me,” Gyuvin grins, all teeth.
“Okay, okay.”
Gyuvin pauses. He lets his hands fall onto the sheets.
“...I like you too, Gyuvin.” Ricky looks at him, eyes and smile wide. “It’s not stupid. And yes, we have a lot to worry about. But I don’t want to worry about how I feel towards you.”
“You worry about your feelings for me?” Gyuvin says, almost a coo.
“I worried about whether or not you liked me back.”
“Well, that’s dumb.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Even though I feel like I just realized how much I like you, I also feel like… I’ve felt this way for a long time.”
Ricky wants to tease him. “How have you not noticed?”
Gyuvin wants to answer honestly. “I think a part of me might have been ashamed.”
“To like me? Am I that bad?”
Gyvuin’s voice falls to a breathy whisper, cracked and pained around the edges. He reaches up and brushes Ricky’s hair away from his eyes. “You’re a boy, silly Ricky.”
Ricky blinks and his face melts into understanding. “I felt that way at first,” he says, “but luckily I had people around me to teach me otherwise. Especially when I went to California.”
“You were lucky, then.”
“I was. I still am.”
Gyuvin smiles.
Ricky smiles.
Their hands join on top of the sheets. Soft. Warm.
Right.
Gyuvin has a dream later that night.
He’s in a park. Sitting on a bench. The sun is out and it’s a beautiful day.
He feels a presence next to him.
“Ricky?”
Dream-Ricky smiles a gummy smile. He looks his age, for once. “I bought something for you.” He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a ring box. When he opens it, it glows.
Gyuvin reaches for it. His fingers tingle.
When Gyuvin wakes up, he doesn’t remember what was inside the box. But he wakes up with Ricky in his arms. He forgets all about his dream and focuses on what’s right in front of him instead.
It’s almost the end of March. Spring is nearly coming, but March in Seoul is still on the chillier side. At least the sun is out today, setting slower than it usually does.
“We’ve been a group for eight months already,” Ricky says, his hand knocking against Gyuvin’s as they walk back to dorms. Neither their managers nor Hanbin like it when they stay out past sunset.
Gyuvin listens to their footsteps, to traffic, to the crinkling of the grocery bags hanging off their wrists. “It seems like it’s only been a few weeks.”
Ricky nods, then shakes his head. “I don’t know if two and a half years is enough time.”
“Me neither.”
“But we’ve already accomplished so much.”
Gyuvin laughs. “Like a Rookie Grand Slam!”
“Exactly.” Ricky thinks back to all their group has managed to do in only eight months. All the nights that ended with them lying in bed, unable to move a muscle, the taste of blood in their throats, are paying off. All the nights of wondering: Am I good enough? Are we good enough?
Gyuvin can’t help but let his mind go down a spiral. “Sometimes, I wonder where you and I will be once the contract is up.”
“I don’t know,” is all Ricky can really say, but it doesn’t sound resentful or happy, just a neutral fact.
“Yeah.”
Ricky’s face softens. “Hopefully we're still together.”
A smiley, “Yeah.”
Ricky smiles back. “So, I guess we both don’t know where we’ll be after the contract.”
“Nope. The future is totally uncertain.”
“Hmm...”
Gyuvin knocks their hands together. Lets his fingers linger against Ricky’s. They’re in broad daylight, and there are people all around, but right now, there’s nobody in the universe who really matters except for them. “Right now, I only know a few things. And one of them is how much I care about you.”
“Gyuvin…” Ricky says, shaking his head, a surprised laugh falling out of his smiling mouth. “You’re so cheesy.”
“Um, so are you.”
“True. I guess we’ll never know where the end of the road will be,” Ricky breaks eye contact for a second to gesture at the literal road in front of them, the traffic lights neverending, the headlights of cars whooshing by in yellowy-white blurs, “but this means we have to keep going.” He loops his arm into Gyuvin’s, their elbows interlocked, and shoots him a smile that’s all teeth and slightly stained from the mango bingsu they had earlier. Gyuvin wants to kiss him. Gyuvin wants to fall to his knees and stare at him.
“Here’s to figuring things out,” Gyuvin manages to say a good handful of seconds later, his heartbeat going at twice the rate their footsteps are.
“Here’s to fighting.”
“And resting.”
Ricky laughs and his breath comes out in a golden puff. “All of the above.”
Gyuvin leans in and presses his lips against Ricky’s jaw for a brief second. If someone was watching them, they might have mistaken it for a whisper. Ricky laughs and Gyuvin wishes he could feel that laugh humming against the skin of his mouth. Ricky smiles and Gyuvin hopes to see that smile for as long as he can.
When Ricky squeezes Gyuvin’s arm tighter against his ribs, Gyuvin thinks for a second that he can feel Ricky’s heart through all his layers of clothes, through the thick fabric of his coat and his wool scarf. He blinks before realizing he’s simply listening to his own.
“What are you thinking about?” Ricky asks, smiling in a way that lets Gyuvin know he can probably guess the answer.
“You.”
“I’m right here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah.” Gyuvin squeezes Ricky’s arm back. “You are.”
Ricky laughs and Gyuvin can’t feel the March chilliness at all. He can only keep walking and stare, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, at the way Ricky’s hair bounces as he walks, at the lopsidedness of his smile. Gyuvin believes in a God who believes in love, in people. Love is the only way to describe how cotton candy fills up his chest and sticks to his dreams, to his lips, in the mere presence of Shen Ricky.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Ricky says with a poke to Gyuvin’s nose. His finger is cold.
“You’re right, you’re right.” Gyuvin leans into Ricky’s side and soaks up his warmth. They go around a corner, their pace quickening because their dorm isn’t too far away now. “I’ll stop thinking.”
And he does. He keeps staring at Ricky instead.
(Ricky stares back.)