Joshua tosses and turns on his bunk. After a thousand grueling hours, he sets himself up underneath their tiny window overlooking Gangnam, counting the red and white flashes of cars on the highway. He doesn’t hear Junhui until he’s right behind the couch, his pajama pants dragging softly on the carpet.
“Oh,” Junhui says. “I was just—” He points vaguely to nothing.
“Hi,” Joshua says, because if he’s polite, he can continue lying about this. “Are you getting water?”
“Yeah.” Junhui blinks. “Um, no, not anymore.”
Junhui sits decisively on the opposite arm of the couch with a burst of courage that Joshua recognizes from drinking games and vlogs and impromptu kisses. He digs his feet into the cushion. It’s still a dull surprise to see him like this, young and lean. He’s not the person Joshua married.
But he’s not not that person, either.
“Maybe we should talk,” Junhui begins.
Joshua doesn’t want to. He says, “Okay.”
There is a moment of tense silence. Rain starts tapping gently at the window, smothering the muffled sound of Chan’s snoring. Somebody downstairs starts knocking pans together.
“This is weird,” Junhui whispers.
“I know.”
“Are we supposed to pretend like nothing happened?"
Joshua shrugs. "I guess so."
"I miss you.”
Joshua flinches. He wasn’t expecting that. He moves to hold Junhui, to take his hand and brush his hair out of his face, before his stomach clenches and he stops. Eleven other people are sleeping in this apartment. Anyone could walk in.
It’s not fair, to complicate the group like this. It’s selfish.
“I miss our life together.” Junhui falls forward on his knees, close enough that Joshua catches the familiar-unfamiliar scent of him. Boyhood and the wrong toothpaste. “I know it wasn’t real, but we were real, and it’s hard to just—forget about that.” Junhui looks down at his lap. “I don’t want to forget us.”
“You know we can’t…” Joshua looks away, feels his face go hot. “Do that here.”
“Why not?”
“Someone could find out.”
Junhui scoots closer. He trails a finger up Joshua’s forearm, where the veins used to be pronounced. One of a million things Joshua misses: his own body, the result of diligent years in the gym. Now he’s back to square one. Junhui pauses at the crook of his elbow like he’s thinking the same thing. How daunting the work ahead is.
“We won’t let anyone find out,” Junhui says. “The others can help.”
His hope is killing Joshua. He's making this so much harder.
Joshua pulls his arm away. “In this life, we can’t.” He shakes his head, his throat tight. “Things are different here. There’s too much at stake. This has to be enough.”
Junhui’s face shutters. He leans back like he’s been struck. It’s not enough, he thinks, loud enough that he might as well have screamed it. Joshua can still read him like an open, well-worn book. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.
“Goodnight, Jun-ah,” Joshua mumbles. He gets up and shuffles toward the bedroom before he does something he can't take back. “I’ll see you at the recording tomorrow.”
/
Years, they lived together in the Los Angeles of his memories. All that time and not a single earthquake. That should’ve been his first indication that something was wrong.
But Joshua didn’t question it.
He was happy.
/
“Are you sure this will work?” Junhui called over the whipping wind.
The port was teeming with people, but it was a strange crowd. Joshua spotted the same couple walk past three times, ostensibly in the middle of the same conversation. No one looked at anyone else. Seagulls lifted and landed in the exact same spot. Even the pattern of the cold, salty breeze was predictable, down to the minute. They could’ve been living in a looped recording of the harbor.
Junhui squinted, the sun in his face, his shoulders stiff with nerves. His legs contorted like noodles to keep the hot metal bench from burning his bare thighs. He looked ridiculous. Joshua took his hand.
“I can’t think of anything else to try,” Joshua admitted.
“Wherever we’re really from,” Junhui says, drawing his jacket tighter around his shoulders. “I hope we still know each other.”
“Of course we will.” Joshua turned to him. “And, if we don’t. You know I’ll find you, right?”
Junhui laughed. Joshua didn’t. Stayed dead fucking serious, even as Junhui fidgeted and blushed and said, “Ah, okay. I’ll find you, too.”
The ferry started boarding. Joshua led the way and snagged a spot right at the bow where Junhui could admire the barnacles. Everyone else was decked out in the same stereotypical outfit of cargo shorts, visors, and binoculars. They hadn’t even brought their cell phones.
When they pulled away from shore, Joshua prayed for the first time in a very long time. Sea spray stung his cheeks, made his eyes water.
“Look!” Junhui pointed. “There’s a dolphin!”
It was unfair how handsome he looked blatantly breaking the rules, standing on the bottom tier of the railing. Joshua climbed up next to him. Wind roared in his ears. His stomach swooped with every dip of the boat. All he could see, from end to end, was blue. Exhilaration sparked in his chest.
Joshua threw out his arms and laughed. Junhui turned, and the look on his face was enough to knock the breath out of Joshua. He couldn’t help it; he fisted a hand in Junhui’s hair and dragged him down into a kiss, clumsy and wet and deep.
When they pulled apart, Junhui asked, “Are you ready?”
“Let’s go together.”
“Together,” Junhui echoed. He grinned.
They jumped straight into the sky.
/
Weeks later, Joshua returns late from filming a variety show and runs into Junhui in the kitchen, standing above a brand-new hotpot table. Fixings have absolutely dominated the counter: thin red slices of steak, fish balls, clear shrimp, bowls of uncooked noodles, and sprigs of leafy greens. The smell is so familiar it makes his knees weak.
In the corner, there’s an absolutely massive plate of kabocha squash. At least three gourds’ worth.
Joshua stands in the threshold of the door, his bag hanging limply from one hand, just cut clean through with misery. He knows he should walk away before the memories drag him down… but he can’t. Just a moment, he thinks, to admire what he once had. Just a moment.
Junhui doesn’t say anything. He looks at Joshua for a moment, communicating more with his eyes than most people can with their whole bodies. He fills a ladle with broth and blows on it gently, then feeds it to Joshua, holding his chin in one hand.
Afterward, Joshua’s mouth is sticky with broth. Salty, earthy, warm.
Junhui swipes his bottom lip clean with a thumb, like he has a hundred times before. Joshua’s heart flips. Reflexively, he swallows.
Quickly, awkwardly, Junhui turns back to the hotpot, but Joshua sees it: that little smirk, those hooded eyes heavy with satisfaction. They’ve done this song and dance before. He’s not a saint; he can’t resist forever.
Nobody knows that better than Junhui.
Nobody knows him better than Junhui.
Junhui's back is still turned as he fusses with the shrimp. Joshua takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold of the door, into the kitchen, into the memory brought to life. He reaches for Junhui's hand.
[FILL] as all empires do (pt2)
Insomnia, you fickle beast.
Joshua tosses and turns on his bunk. After a thousand grueling hours, he sets himself up underneath their tiny window overlooking Gangnam, counting the red and white flashes of cars on the highway. He doesn’t hear Junhui until he’s right behind the couch, his pajama pants dragging softly on the carpet.
“Oh,” Junhui says. “I was just—” He points vaguely to nothing.
“Hi,” Joshua says, because if he’s polite, he can continue lying about this. “Are you getting water?”
“Yeah.” Junhui blinks. “Um, no, not anymore.”
Junhui sits decisively on the opposite arm of the couch with a burst of courage that Joshua recognizes from drinking games and vlogs and impromptu kisses. He digs his feet into the cushion. It’s still a dull surprise to see him like this, young and lean. He’s not the person Joshua married.
But he’s not not that person, either.
“Maybe we should talk,” Junhui begins.
Joshua doesn’t want to. He says, “Okay.”
There is a moment of tense silence. Rain starts tapping gently at the window, smothering the muffled sound of Chan’s snoring. Somebody downstairs starts knocking pans together.
“This is weird,” Junhui whispers.
“I know.”
“Are we supposed to pretend like nothing happened?"
Joshua shrugs. "I guess so."
"I miss you.”
Joshua flinches. He wasn’t expecting that. He moves to hold Junhui, to take his hand and brush his hair out of his face, before his stomach clenches and he stops. Eleven other people are sleeping in this apartment. Anyone could walk in.
It’s not fair, to complicate the group like this. It’s selfish.
“I miss our life together.” Junhui falls forward on his knees, close enough that Joshua catches the familiar-unfamiliar scent of him. Boyhood and the wrong toothpaste. “I know it wasn’t real, but we were real, and it’s hard to just—forget about that.” Junhui looks down at his lap. “I don’t want to forget us.”
“You know we can’t…” Joshua looks away, feels his face go hot. “Do that here.”
“Why not?”
“Someone could find out.”
Junhui scoots closer. He trails a finger up Joshua’s forearm, where the veins used to be pronounced. One of a million things Joshua misses: his own body, the result of diligent years in the gym. Now he’s back to square one. Junhui pauses at the crook of his elbow like he’s thinking the same thing. How daunting the work ahead is.
“We won’t let anyone find out,” Junhui says. “The others can help.”
His hope is killing Joshua. He's making this so much harder.
Joshua pulls his arm away. “In this life, we can’t.” He shakes his head, his throat tight. “Things are different here. There’s too much at stake. This has to be enough.”
Junhui’s face shutters. He leans back like he’s been struck. It’s not enough, he thinks, loud enough that he might as well have screamed it. Joshua can still read him like an open, well-worn book. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone so badly.
“Goodnight, Jun-ah,” Joshua mumbles. He gets up and shuffles toward the bedroom before he does something he can't take back. “I’ll see you at the recording tomorrow.”
/
Years, they lived together in the Los Angeles of his memories. All that time and not a single earthquake. That should’ve been his first indication that something was wrong.
But Joshua didn’t question it.
He was happy.
/
“Are you sure this will work?” Junhui called over the whipping wind.
The port was teeming with people, but it was a strange crowd. Joshua spotted the same couple walk past three times, ostensibly in the middle of the same conversation. No one looked at anyone else. Seagulls lifted and landed in the exact same spot. Even the pattern of the cold, salty breeze was predictable, down to the minute. They could’ve been living in a looped recording of the harbor.
Junhui squinted, the sun in his face, his shoulders stiff with nerves. His legs contorted like noodles to keep the hot metal bench from burning his bare thighs. He looked ridiculous. Joshua took his hand.
“I can’t think of anything else to try,” Joshua admitted.
“Wherever we’re really from,” Junhui says, drawing his jacket tighter around his shoulders. “I hope we still know each other.”
“Of course we will.” Joshua turned to him. “And, if we don’t. You know I’ll find you, right?”
Junhui laughed. Joshua didn’t. Stayed dead fucking serious, even as Junhui fidgeted and blushed and said, “Ah, okay. I’ll find you, too.”
The ferry started boarding. Joshua led the way and snagged a spot right at the bow where Junhui could admire the barnacles. Everyone else was decked out in the same stereotypical outfit of cargo shorts, visors, and binoculars. They hadn’t even brought their cell phones.
When they pulled away from shore, Joshua prayed for the first time in a very long time. Sea spray stung his cheeks, made his eyes water.
“Look!” Junhui pointed. “There’s a dolphin!”
It was unfair how handsome he looked blatantly breaking the rules, standing on the bottom tier of the railing. Joshua climbed up next to him. Wind roared in his ears. His stomach swooped with every dip of the boat. All he could see, from end to end, was blue. Exhilaration sparked in his chest.
Joshua threw out his arms and laughed. Junhui turned, and the look on his face was enough to knock the breath out of Joshua. He couldn’t help it; he fisted a hand in Junhui’s hair and dragged him down into a kiss, clumsy and wet and deep.
When they pulled apart, Junhui asked, “Are you ready?”
“Let’s go together.”
“Together,” Junhui echoed. He grinned.
They jumped straight into the sky.
/
Weeks later, Joshua returns late from filming a variety show and runs into Junhui in the kitchen, standing above a brand-new hotpot table. Fixings have absolutely dominated the counter: thin red slices of steak, fish balls, clear shrimp, bowls of uncooked noodles, and sprigs of leafy greens. The smell is so familiar it makes his knees weak.
In the corner, there’s an absolutely massive plate of kabocha squash. At least three gourds’ worth.
Joshua stands in the threshold of the door, his bag hanging limply from one hand, just cut clean through with misery. He knows he should walk away before the memories drag him down… but he can’t. Just a moment, he thinks, to admire what he once had. Just a moment.
Junhui doesn’t say anything. He looks at Joshua for a moment, communicating more with his eyes than most people can with their whole bodies. He fills a ladle with broth and blows on it gently, then feeds it to Joshua, holding his chin in one hand.
Afterward, Joshua’s mouth is sticky with broth. Salty, earthy, warm.
Junhui swipes his bottom lip clean with a thumb, like he has a hundred times before. Joshua’s heart flips. Reflexively, he swallows.
Quickly, awkwardly, Junhui turns back to the hotpot, but Joshua sees it: that little smirk, those hooded eyes heavy with satisfaction. They’ve done this song and dance before. He’s not a saint; he can’t resist forever.
Nobody knows that better than Junhui.
Nobody knows him better than Junhui.
Junhui's back is still turned as he fusses with the shrimp. Joshua takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold of the door, into the kitchen, into the memory brought to life. He reaches for Junhui's hand.