Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August came, and Jeno was miserable.

It had been a month since the rain had poured on him, and Renjun. Strange, he thought, how everything had returned to the way it had been before they met. He still had the garage, the guys there, breakfasts at the table with his mother and father.

It was what he had lost that hurt like salt to an open wound. Now, the city had never been so dull, and he’d never thought he could miss the smell of cigarette ash in someone’s hair.

Even his mother had noticed Renjun’s absence, passing the attic room to ask Jeno where he had gone. Jeno had said nothing, afraid he might burst into tears on her shoulder if he did. He didn’t know what he would have said to her if he even tried to explain. She had proceeded to tidy the records strewn across his desk, slotting them back on his shelf. Underneath one of the discs had been the paper with Renjun’s phone number on it from the night before Donghyuck’s party. When she had left, Jeno had stuffed it into a drawer and closed it shut.

The air inside the garage was stuffy and sticky on the Wednesday evening that it happened. Jeno had his head down in a car hood, and the radio playing. He wore an old grey paint stained t-shirt over old jeans and his hands were covered, as usual, in grease.

“I thought I’d find you here”, a hesitant voice said.

Jeno froze, letting go of the oil filter he’d been working on. Renjun stood on the other side of the room.

He felt his synapses twist. Renjun had not changed much since the evening in the rain, hair still unkempt and jeans still ripped at the knees.

“I work here, of course you’d find me”, Jeno replied, the fire burning in his throat. He wiped his hands on a rag and slammed a button on the radio to cut it off abruptly. The room went silent.

Squeaky footsteps from shiny black boots echoed as Renjun moved forward. “Hey”, he said quietly, his little finger twisting a stray piece of denim on a rip in his jeans.

“Hey, spaceman.”

“I just finished up in the parlour”, Renjun spoke hesitantly, “I thought I’d drop by.”

“It’s been a month.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you come here for something?”

“I—yeah—you.” Renjun shook his head. “I mean, I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Not here.”

Jeno had already got himself in too deep once before. He wondered if it were possible for Renjun to break his heart again. Still, he grabbed his jacket from the hook on the wall and threw it over his mucky t-shirt. “Come on then.”

“Where?”

Jeno pulled his keys out, nodding to the car parked by the garage door. “Where d’you think?”

--

Primrose Hill was quiet by the time they arrived, and the sun had already set. They hadn’t spoken on the journey, and Jeno had turned the radio up to full volume to drown out the quiet. On the hill, they sat in silence on the grass beside the car. Renjun’s legs were crossed, Jeno an arm’s length from him with his legs outstretched.

“Did you fix that lock yet?” Renjun patted the car.

“No, not yet.”

London twinkled on the horizon. The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, so Jeno was sure it was the city glare that made Renjun’s lips shine like pink starlight.

“You smell like diesel”, Renjun laughed weakly.

“I work in a garage.”

Jeno was not counting the minutes, but the silence dragged with the memories of the rain still clinging to both of them. He could see Renjun picking at the grass and fidgeting restlessly.

“Okay”, Jeno stated once it had become unbearable. “Talk to me.”

“I was talking.”

Jeno shook his head. “That isn’t what I mean.”

“I—” Renjun began but his mouth clamped shut. He was staring forwards, but his eyes darted back to Jeno, lip quivering as he opened and closed his mouth in an attempt to speak.

“We broke up”, he whispered.

“What?”, Jeno shot disbelieving.

“We broke up”, Renjun repeated flatly.

Jeno bit his lip anxiously as the tightening feeling in his chest arose. “When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Renjun turned to face him finally. “It wasn’t working, and you know that too, everyone knew it but they were too afraid to say it.” He paused, “I moved out.”

Lost for words, Jeno stared back.

“It’s okay.”

Jeno looked down at the grass. “Are you happier?”, he asked gently. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Renjun nod slowly.

“In a way.” Renjun breathed out shakily.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Deafening quiet followed. And then the sound of shallow breathing. Jeno expected Renjun to speak, to crumple and cry, or light up a cigarette. But he remained still.

“It’s late”, Renjun said finally.

“If that’s all—”

“Yeah.”

“Should I drive you home?”, Jeno asked. “Wherever that is now.”

“Yeah, I suppose you should.” Renjun regarded the skyline a final time then stood up. “I moved back home, to my parents.”

Jeno jangled the car keys in his pocket, tossing them into his hand. He found he couldn’t quite fit the key into the door lock, his fingers far too jittery. When he did, it clicked open, and he heard Renjun tug on the handle the other side, sitting inside with his hands in his lap.

The space inside Jeno’s car had never felt so small and claustrophobic. It hurt to want. To want more than seemed humanly possible, to be wanted back but never to have. Renjun looked at him with glassy eyes. Jeno slotted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t turn it.

He wasn’t sure who had moved first. One moment his hand was gripped around the gear stick, and the next it was holding Renjun’s jaw. A second ago he had been staring out into nothingness, and the next he was tasting strawberry chapstick.

They kissed, bruising and rough, with desire and need, desperate for each other.

Jeno undid his seatbelt hastily, his lips not breaking contact with Renjun’s as he moved to cup his face properly with both hands. He was on fire, kissing Renjun lit up all his senses at once, and even though it was hot and messy, their lips were burning. Renjun pulled Jeno closer and ran his tongue over the metal stud, whining softly into Jeno’s open mouth and knotting his fists into his paint-stained shirt.

They were clinging to each other, the most united their bodies had ever been. It felt like a dream, but so much more, so much better, and Jeno finally tangled his fingers into Renjun’s hair, holding onto his dream tightly.

They were still fiery, but the kisses became softer, like glowing embers. Jeno brushed against Renjun’s wet lips and the warm taste of strawberry was stronger now that he let himself linger. The taste was overly sweet, artificial, but Jeno was already hooked on it.

Renjun threw his head back against the steamed up window and gripped Jeno’s thigh firmly, his fingernails digging through the denim. It was so hot, and so intense, Jeno felt as though he could barely breathe as Renjun’s fingers slid to the top of his jeans.

They broke apart suddenly, faces close, chests heaving. They’d had no time to think.

“Are you okay?”, Jeno breathed, his fingers still curled into Renjun’s hair.

Renjun was panting. He nodded. “I’m okay.”

“Are you sure you want this?”

“Yeah."

“Not here.” Jeno sealed Renjun’s lips again with a kiss.

The motel was the closest one they could find. It wasn’t unlike the rest of the city that Jeno knew, grubby and functional. Flocked wallpaper and cracked walls. A twin room. They didn’t even have time to push the beds together.

The door shut, and after a brief moment of nervous hesitation Jeno was pushed up against the back of it, Renjun’s hands sliding to the back of his neck and drawing him in for a deep kiss. Jeno licked into his mouth, circling his arms around Renjun’s shoulders and for once he let himself get lost in his dreams.

They stumbled impatiently, knocking into a floor lamp in the unfamiliar territory. It toppled over, but they paid it no heed. The bedsheets were scratchy as they hit the thin mattress, discarding items of clothing onto the tiled floor. Renjun wrapped his arms around Jeno’s shoulders and pulled him in close slowly, like he had been wanting to for so long that he was savouring every second of it now.

Jeno mapped out every part of Renjun with his mouth, teeth grazing his collarbones, lips pressing kisses softly across the wings of the clockwork bird on Renjun’s back, soft and beautiful, until they were skin to skin in each other’s arms. Renjun clung tightly, digging so hard into his shoulders that Jeno knew he would leave angry red scratches.

It could have been rushed, but they took their time. Jeno stroked his fingers along Renjun’s abdomen and ran them slowly up his soft thigh before replacing them with his mouth and nipping gently at the smooth skin between Renjun’s legs. The sheets twisted beside him and Renjun gasped as Jeno felt a hand curl into his hair. Then he felt himself being pulled into the crook of Renjun’s neck, and their limbs entwined until they were scratching and clawing at each other, the sharp springs of the bed digging into both of their backs for the rest of the evening.

He smiled at a now sleepy Renjun and saw all of his dreams reflected in his sated eyes. Whatever they were could wait until the morning, with the blankets bunched between them, and the second bed empty, they had broken each other down and mended the pieces all in one night.

In the cramped single bed, Jeno finally held Renjun in his arms.

--

The tattoo parlour smelled of antiseptic, and familiarity. Seeing the collaged walls and velvet chairs was like coming home. The juke box was playing noisily, and strangely, it was comforting.

Jeno had not seen Renjun since they’d slept together two nights ago. It was not that they were avoiding each other, but more that they did not know what to say. Perhaps it was guilt, or vulnerability now that everything had changed so quickly. He’d still smelled Renjun on his clothes the next morning, the shameful scent of ash and sex.

Jeno rubbed his thumb over the postcard in his pocket to assure it had not fallen out on the walk, feeling afraid to face Renjun. He pushed through the string of black beads covering the backroom entrance. Inside, Renjun was alone at the table, his head buried in a book. He lowered it and looked up innocently at the sound of the beads tinkling.

Jeno wanted to kiss him right then. “What are you reading?”, he asked.

“A book.”

“A library book?”

“No, my own book. It’s about a bird.” Renjun flashed the cover at Jeno and buried his head in the pages, as though suddenly shy.

“Of course it is.” Jeno inspected the thin paperback, a drawing of a ghostly bird with its wings spread, descending from a point above a golden sun. Jonathan Livingston Seagull was printed below. It fitted, with the phoenix, and clockwork bird.

“A seagull”, Renjun continued.

“Pfft.” Jeno sat in the seat beside Renjun hesitantly.

Renjun raised his nose in the air indignantly. “It’s an allegory”, he said, “for life. It’s about learning and bettering. I read it once when I was a child, but I never understood it.”

“And you do now?”

“I think so.”

“It sounds riveting”, Jeno joked.

Renjun pretended to tut, the pages of the book fluttering as he tossed it down on the table.

“Hello Jeno,” he mocked.

“Hello Huang.”

“That isn’t your nickname for me.”

“Spaceman”, Jeno said, exaggerating each syllable as he took out the postcard and slid it across the table.

Renjun frowned, examining it. “What’s that?” He picked the postcard up. “The seaside?”

The postcard was tattered, and there was a hole in the top from where Jeno had pinned it to his bedroom wall when he was fifteen. The front read ‘Greetings From Brighton!’, above a pebbly beach with waves crashing on the shore. He’d bought it on a school trip from a little beach hut-turned tourist shop on the promenade above the beach. They had travelled there by coach, the class of twenty crammed into the vehicle. He had not been back since, but if one of his dreams had come true, he thought that he may as well push his luck with the rest of them.

“Come with me”, Jeno said. “On Sunday. It’s only about an hour’s drive through the suburbs.”

“Are you asking me on a date?”

“I—think I am.”

Renjun looked back down at the postcard and pressed his lips together, hesitating before he swiped it off the table. Jeno worried that he had pushed too far too soon, because a tiny amount of guilt flashed over Renjun’s face. What had happened could have been a one-time thing, a release of pent up emotions and forbidden feeling. Renjun held the postcard up and closed one eye.

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“Yes, I’ll go on a date with you.”

--

“Nice shades”, Jeno quipped as he leaned over from the driver’s seat and pushed open the passenger door.

Renjun flung his back pack into the Beetle and flopped down next to him, lowering his sunglasses slightly to peer over the frames. He smiled broadly in response and Jeno caught a brief glimpse of his own grin in the mirrored lenses as Renjun pushed them back up his nose. It was Sunday morning and the cloudless blue sky provided the perfect backdrop for their road trip.

He had already considered the possibility of awkwardness. The last time they had been in these seats, it had ended in a fervid make-out session. Now it was planned, a real date, and new territory for them both.

Jeno took a deep breath to calm his nerves and slid the gear stick forward, revving the engine.

“You kept it!”

Renjun’s arm was outstretched, the sleeve of his black t-shirt rolled up so that Jeno could see the flex of his bicep as he pulled a small object from the glove compartment. The clear plastic case reflected the sunlight as Renjun waved it in front of Jeno’s face, cassette rattling inside it.

“For long journeys,” Jeno smiled.

Renjun slotted the tape into the cassette player and the intro to ‘pretty in pink’ filled the car.

Jeno pressed his foot down on the accelerator and pulled away from the curb as Renjun wound down the window beside him. He looked divine, with the wind whipping through his hair as they drove down suburban roads out of the city, grey buildings fading to scenes of green grass and eventually chalky cliffs. Guitar chords and basslines carried them along the highways, both of them shouting the lyrics.

“Which way to the sea?” Renjun asked as Jeno swung the door open.

The parking area was dusty and on the edge of town, a steep incline forcing Jeno to check that the handbrake was engaged properly before he got out. Looking around him, he pointed downhill, “that way.”

The salty smell of the sea, and acidic vinegar was distinct as they rounded a corner and were presented with the picture-postcard view of the coastline. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s arm and pulled him to a pedestrian crossing, eager to reach the broad, paved walkway that ran along the back of the pebble beach. Jeno noticed the palace pier in the distance as they turned along the promenade, its sturdy pillars of iron and mock turrets sticking up from the sea like a rusty castle.

The last time Jeno had been to the seaside, he had eaten sticky candyfloss, from a quiet kiosk on the beach, and shared it with his school friends when they were meant to be sketching the geology of the sea cliffs. It had been the end of the summer season with a chill bite to the sea breeze and only the occasional fisherman braving the rough water. Now, the shores were filled with raucous screams of laughter from the foamy waves and skateboarders weaving in and out of the crowds on the promenade.

Renjun squinted. “Where to first?”

Jeno pointed at the pier. “There.”

The lights above the pier entrance twinkled red, barely visible from the glare of the sunshine. The aroma of vinegar was stronger than it had been by the beach, rising from the many stalls lining the attraction.

Underfoot, worn wooden slats with gaps in between revealed a drop to the sea water below. Jeno strode ahead and turned to see Renjun stuffing his sunglasses in his back pocket. His face was pale as he stepped cautiously without looking down.

“Are you alright?”, Jeno called.

Determinedly, Renjun nodded and gripped the iron railing. “I’m fine. I want to get to the end.” He took another calculated step and shut his eyes momentarily as they were drawn to his feet. A sudden gust of wind ruffled his hair and it stuck up at the back, making Jeno smile endearingly as he headed back to walk with him.

White crests topped the waves as they leaned against the black railings at the end of the pier. Renjun held on tightly, his fingers clenched and knuckles white as Jeno peeled his left hand away from the iron and slipped his slowly around it. Neither of them commented on the way that their fingers laced together neatly as their arms hung over the railing, both of them fixed on the vast seascape extending in front of them for hundreds of miles. It felt good to be out of the city, more private, anonymity and freedom washing over them. Renjun’s palm was hot and sticky, a little forbidden, a little exhilarating, and Jeno lived for the thrill.

“If you took a boat out there, the first place you’d get to is France”, Jeno remarked, swinging their hands out over the ocean.

“The north coast?”

“Yeah.”

Renjun turned to Jeno, his eyes crinkling at the edge as he smiled. “You wanted to come to the seaside in your car.”

“I did.”

“How’s living the dream, then?”

The water crashed against the pier. “Perfect”, Jeno smiled.

Humming quietly, Renjun rubbed his thumb over the top of Jeno’s hand. They stayed watching the sea for five, ten, twenty minutes. Jeno wasn’t sure, he didn’t care, not when Renjun’s hand was in his.

“You hungry?”

“Mhm, a little.”

Reluctantly, Jeno slipped his hand out of Renjun’s, nodding to a stall with a blue and white striped canopy in the distant arcade of shops.

Renjun was less afraid on the way back, but he still walked close to the railing, and glanced at Jeno every now and then for reassurance. Jeno carried the plastic bag with two portions of greasy chips, salt and vinegar already added, past the promenade to the beach. It was quieter now that the late afternoon had set in. Passing a row of neat deck chairs, Renjun gestured to an outcrop of rock near the waves and ran ahead to secure the spot. With the portions of chips unwrapped between them they chatted idly while they ate.

“Hey!” Renjun tugged the bag into his lap and huffed. The grey and white bird swooped towards them, diving down towards their lunch. With a flap of its wings, it pulled up sharply and turned away to circle them a few times before alighting on the pebbles further up the beach, pecking at an abandoned ice cream cone. It strutted back towards them after a few minutes, still eyeing their food deviously.

Renjun studied it silently. Taking a sketchpad from his backpack, he rested it on his knees as he fumbled in the bag for a pencil. It was similar to the sketchpads he kept in the drawer at the tattoo parlour. He flipped the pages open and began to draw, peering up occasionally at the bird. Its steely black eyes scanning the beach, each time drawn back to Renjun, plotting its next move.

“You two friends now?”, Jeno laughed.

Renjun paused, using his pencil to point to the bird. “It’s a seagull”, he said flatly.

The lines of Renjun’s drawing were bold and purposeful, like the seagull itself, a sense of animated flight leaping from the page. Its charcoal tipped wings were spread out like a kite and its head was turned to the ground in cunning surveillance.

“Is it for a tattoo?” Jeno could already envision the lines in ink.

“Maybe, one day.” Renjun picked up the pencil again and ran it over the paper to add the final detail. Then, he snapped the sketchpad shut and stuffed it in his backpack. Sensing the stand-off was over, the seagull beat its wings and soared upwards, high above them towards the fading sun, until it was no more than a dot in the sky.

Dusk fell over the deserted beach and took the chaos of the day time away with it. Although they’d watched the sun go down before, the new twist in their relationship cast a noticeably warmer glow around them. Jeno was sure they had been there for hours, but he was content.

His heart only cracked when he looked beside him at Renjun. His eyes were brimming with wet tears. They didn’t fall, pooling in the corners instead.

“What’s wrong?”, Jeno asked.

Renjun stared at the sea. “This feels different.”

“Different?”

“Different to before.”

A twinge of remorse sent Jeno plummeting. “Oh?”

Renjun lowered his head. “I feel like I shouldn’t be happy.”

Jeno chewed at his bottom lip. “I’m sorry, if this is too soon, we can— ”

Renjun shook his head. “I’ve never felt this before.”

“How do you feel?”

“Alive.” The sound of the waves still muffled Renjun’s words. “When I’m with you I feel alive”, he said. “I was so afraid of dying without living,” he paused, sighing softly. “I thought it would get better. I mean, we used to be happy, I thought that’s what love was. But slowly, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t anything he did, or didn’t do, just this feeling that my life was slipping away.” He turned to Jeno. “Have you ever felt that? Like you’ve forgotten how to live?”

Jeno waited for him to continue. He blinked back, the pain in his eyes suddenly softening. Reaching out boldly, he touched Jeno’s cheek with two freezing fingers. “And then someone walked into the tattoo parlour, out of the blue and I came to think that I’d never be truly alive if I weren’t with him.” He stroked the fingers gently down Jeno’s skin.

Jeno shivered and placed a hand over Renjun’s, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips to the freezing fingertips, watching the myriad of emotions once again cloud the eyes looking back into his.

They left their shoes on the uneven pebbles by the shore. The water was cold without the sun’s warmth but strips of bright moonlight illuminated the inky black water and danced around their feet as they felt the waves lapping at their skin.

“What time have you got to be back?”, Renjun asked quietly.

“Anytime”, Jeno whispered in response.

The shadow of the palace pier hid the silver streaks of moonlight as they approached the looming structure, the shallow waves breaking against the columns that supported it. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s hand and ducked behind one of the pillars, pulling him against his chest and wrapping his arms around his neck. The sharp stones on the seafloor dug into the soles of Jeno’s feet as their noses bumped softly. Like two teenagers new to love, Renjun stole secret salty kisses in the darkness from his willing lips.

--

Renjun’s mother had a kind face, and soft dimples. Jeno met her for the first time when Renjun invited him to stay for the night. Permed hair, and a finger adorned with a gold wedding ring, she hummed as she rattled the cutlery in the kitchen drawers.

Her husband was away on a business trip in the countryside for the week, so it was just her and Renjun in the house. She chatted politely, asking Jeno about his work in the garage, her bony fingers gripping a teapot, and her pink polka dot dress swaying as she brought it to the table and poured tea into three china cups.

The house itself was new built and pristine, a circular wooden table with plywood chairs in the lounge. The curtains were a subtle shade of green, and hung from hooks above the window, a vase of pretty purple sweet peas arranged neatly on the sill. Taking a final sip of tea, Jeno swirled the leaves in the bottom of the cup and set it down, thanking Renjun’s mother first.

Renjun proceeded to pull him upstairs by the sleeve of his jacket into a room at the end of the hallway. It was small, a box style room with a bed in the corner, but it was stuffed full. If Jeno thought that Renjun’s desk at the parlour had been an explosion of his dreams, his bedroom was something else. The walls were covered in pages clearly ripped straight out of magazines, newspaper cuttings of celebrities, and even more travel destinations, all clearly left over from his childhood. A turntable was balanced on the floor beside his closet, a minimal collection of records stacked on a shelf next to it.

Jeno dropped onto the bed and shrugged his jacket off. “She seems nice”, he said, thinking back to the way Renjun’s mother had smiled as she addressed him. “Does she know about us?”

Renjun shook his head. “I haven’t told her, but I don’t think I need to. She just knows.” He bent down to flip up the top of his turntable and place a record inside. “She’s getting used to it.”

A song played softly, and Renjun sat in a chair at his desk tapping his foot. Thrown on the top were Renjun’s sketchpads, all open with pencil sketches and scratchy biro outlines.

“Are those your designs?” Jeno tilted his head towards the plethora of drawings that were usually kept so guarded. It was unlike Renjun to leave them lying about.

“A few of them.”

“Can I take a look?”

Unexpectedly, Renjun did not sweep the sketchpads off the desktop in a fluster. Instead, he picked them up, slotting against the wall next to Jeno on the bed. He placed the sketchpads between them.

Jeno picked the first one up and it fell open to a page with a nightingale drawn from compass lines. In its beak, it carried an inked twig.

“They’re years’ worth of drawings”, Renjun said, pointing to the nightingale. “I did that one back in college.”

Jeno touched the drawing lightly, feeling the dips in the paper where Renjun had applied more pressure. “You went to art college?”

Nodding, Renjun leant his head on Jeno’s shoulder. It still made his heart beat quicken. “It was always my favourite subject at school. Then, when I got to college, I discovered ink, and I knew I wanted to get into tattoos.” He turned a page slowly. “I got the apprenticeship in the parlour two years ago. I was lucky, it’s competitive, and a slog.”

Another bird. An elegant swallow. “What do your parents think of it?”

“My mother’s always supported me.” Renjun’s hair tickled Jeno’s cheek like a feather. “I remember one of the first ever drawings I did for her. It was of a sunset. I was six.” He laughed softly again. “It was shit. But she hung it above the fridge for years. Now, she likes to brag to all her friends about her artist son.”

Jeno flipped more of the pages to reveal eagles, and owls with outstretched wings. “Most of these are of birds.”

“Ah—yeah. I guess it’s my style”, Renjun grinned.

Just like his tattoo, Jeno thought as he stroked over the feathered wing of a white swan. “You really like them”, he smiled. “Is there a reason?”

“I suppose it’s where I find most inspiration”, Renjun murmured. “And—” He stopped himself.

“What?”

“It’s really dumb.”

“Tell me.”

“Alright.” Renjun sighed. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a bird.”

Jeno laughed and Renjun poked him lightly. “See. I told you it was dumb”, he whined and pressed his palm to his face. “I thought that one day I would fly. Obviously, I realised when I grew up, but I didn’t stop loving them.” Hesitantly, he glanced at the sketchbook. “I never really show these to anyone.”

“You should. They’re incredible.” Jeno turned another page, seeing the seagull from the beach. It had been a silly bird, but Renjun had made it beautiful in the drawing, tiny, webbed feet and wings extended. “The seagull”, he said, and touched it softly.

“I think it’s one of my favourites.”

In the end, Renjun gathered the sketchbooks up and carried them back to his desk, scattering them messily. Much later, when the two of them were squeezed into his small bed, blankets half covering them and half strewn on the floor, Jeno could not sleep. Renjun’s back was pressed against his chest, and he noticed himself staring through the darkness, at the drawing of the seagull left open on the desk.

--

They had flipped a coin the day before Donghyuck’s party.

“Heads, we go”, Renjun had stated matter-of-factly, digging a coin out of his pocket and resting it on top of his thumb, “tails, we don’t.” He was staying over for the weekend, currently reclined on Jeno’s bed in an oversized, borrowed, checked shirt.

Jeno watched from the other end of the bed as the coin flew up into the air like a rocket taking off as Renjun flicked it forcefully. It landed on the back of his hand – heads up. Renjun rolled onto his stomach and threw his fist in the air triumphantly.

Jeno groaned and buried his head into a cushion. “Alright, but we’re walking there this time.” The words had been muffled by the material.

The last party of Donghyuck’s that Jeno had attended, had been a strange experience, one that he could not decide whether he had enjoyed or not. He thought back to the huge house with a gated front from all those months ago, the sickly sweet fruit punch bowls, the brief romances blossoming in the corners of the room, and all the people in their expensive frocks and satin. Not terrible, but not his thing, whatever that was.

As a result of the coin, they had ended up back in Jeno’s room the next evening. They had two hours until the party started. Jeno had no shirt on, sweaty and sticky from the air trapped in the attic room. He was splayed out on the bed, his hands behind his head.

“We don’t have to stay long”, Renjun said as he threw on a pair of trousers that he had brought with him. They were faux leather, and they clung to his thighs in the most alluring way. Jeno couldn’t help but take a peek at his ass as he turned to inspect his appearance in the mirror. He pulled out a thin white t-shirt from his bag and slung it on, the phoenix tattoo burning bright orange on his wrist and visible on display.

“Not dressing as a spaceman this time, then?”, Jeno grinned, thinking back to the sparkly sliver sequins sewn into the shirt he had worn to Donghyuck’s party. Renjun scowled playfully, walking to the closet and taking a plain black shirt off a hanger on the railing. He slung it at Jeno and it landed on his bare chest.

“What about the tables, are you going to dance on those again?”

“Get up”, Renjun demanded, ignoring the comment.

Jeno rolled out of bed, blankets sliding off his legs into a heap on the floor as he threw the t-shirt over his head quickly and slid his arms through the holes. Patting down his hair, he pulled out a pair of jeans from a drawer, stepping into them and tucking the shirt inside. It was completed by a black belt with a shiny silver chain hanging in a loop.

Dropping back down on the bed, Jeno watched Renjun, who had moved to stand in front of the mirror attached to wall above a low table. It was covered in all of Jeno’s deodorants and aerosols. Renjun knocked them aside, resting his knee on the wood for balance.

“What are you doing?”

“Eyeliner”, Renjun replied, already focused on twisting a small black tube open.

Jeno saw the reflection in the mirror as he applied a single clean sweep of black eyeliner lightly on the lid of his right eye. Through the back of the thin white t-shirt Jeno could make out the distinct lines of the bird spanning his back, visible as the shirt stretched tightly over his shoulders. Jeno felt his stomach stir wildly at the sight. He held his breath as Renjun applied another fine line across the left lid. The look was minimal but striking. To finish it off, Renjun took out his classic tube of strawberry chapstick, twisting it up a notch at the bottom, running it smoothly over his lips and pressing them together.

“You never go anywhere without that do you?”

“I like having soft lips.”

When Renjun turned around, he appeared like he had stepped straight out of a brat pack movie, smoky eyed and glossy lipped. He smiled coyly as he walked forward, with hips that swayed naturally, to sit on the bed. Leaning in, he placed his hands either side of Jeno’s waist and grinned, the eyeliner gripped between his fingers.

“Want some?” Renjun waved the tube about.

“Some of that?”

“Yeah.”

Jeno had never properly worn any sort of makeup. The rest of his band had, because everyone else was doing it, so they did too. He’d only tried once, before a concert when he’d been experimenting with it in the dressing room under harsh mirror lights and no sense of what was good and what wasn’t. It was sloppy and uneven, so very clearly applied without proper experience or practise. Despite this, Jeno had thought that it matched the look he was going for at least halfway to perfect and went out onto the stage with blotchy eyeliner and his base guitar strapped over his shoulder.

“Alright”, Jeno replied, still penned in by Renjun’s arms. The boy on top of him wasted no time in smiling and twisting the lid off again.

“Tilt your head up towards the light and close your eyes”, Renjun instructed.

Jeno shut his eyes as the first stroke of the wet brush touched the edge of his eyelid. It was cold, and it felt foreign as Renjun dragged it swiftly across, holding onto his chin lightly to steady his head. He wriggled as the brush touched his eyelashes.

“Stay still”, Renjun laughed softly, tapping his chin. “I’ll mess up otherwise.”

“Sorry.” Jeno grinned, feeling Renjun’s breath tickle his face as he came closer and placed a quick unsuspecting kiss on the tip of his nose and retracted again.

“What was that for?”

“No reason”, Renjun said, and Jeno heard him unscrew the eyeliner tube again. “I just wanted to kiss you.”

Once Renjun had rolled off him, Jeno stood in front of the mirror, inspecting the lines over the lids of his eyes that matched Renjun’s pretty ones. Renjun’s lines were neat and subtle, the lines of an artist at work, not messy and inconsistent like his own had been all those years ago.

“Do you think it’s alright?”, Jeno asked cautiously, touching the small line with his fingertip.

“You look hot”, Renjun replied.

Jeno was instantly flustered, and he swiped his wallet and keys off the table top, stuffing them awkwardly into his pockets. “I’ll go with it.” He shoved his hands into his jacket following the keys and the wallet. “Anyway, shall we go or we’ll be late.”

Downstairs, Jeno’s parents were watching the television, but somehow, they still noticed the creaking of the floorboards on the stairs. They were both already in their night clothes with the lights turned down low, their routine, they’d usually sit in front of the television each night for hours before they fell asleep watching whatever it had to offer. Behind them now, it crackled with the sound of static, broadcasting a nature documentary with footage of a lion roaming a savanna somewhere on the other side of the world.

“Are you two boys off now?”, Jeno heard his mother say. He stopped abruptly in the door frame with Renjun beside him.

The appearance of Renjun back in the house had not gone unnoticed by Jeno’s parents, and although she had not said it directly, Jeno could tell that his mother was glad. He could also tell that his father was a lot less thrilled, even more so when he had told them he was attending Donghyuck’s party. It had been met by a chorus of ‘who is Donghyuck?’ Ironically, Jeno thought that Donghyuck was the sort of person that his father would like, confident and smart and sort of sophisticated, but he didn’t bother to tell him that. He wouldn’t have listened anyway.

“We’re just leaving.”

“Have fun”, his mother began, adding, “and stay safe.”

“Don’t be back too late”, his father cut in.

Jeno saw his mother turn towards them and squint as she examined Jeno’s face closely. “What’s all that around your eyes?”

Renjun tugged on Jeno’s sleeve, pulling him towards the door and opening it. “Goodbye Mrs Lee”, he called out.

“Goodbye”, she called back cheerily, but Jeno hardly heard it as he was dragged outside to the fresh evening air. He looked at Renjun, astounded, before letting out a short laugh, shaking his head and stuffing his hands back into his pockets.

“Lovely”, Renjun deadpanned, breathing out cloudy air under the glowing porch lights.

“What?”

“Your father detests me.” Renjun took a few steps forward onto the pavement.

“He doesn’t”, Jeno insisted, although even he could not sound confident in his own statement. “He just thinks that your friendship is a bad influence.”

“My friendship?” , Renjun scoffed.

“Yeah.”

“Pfft.”

“I know.”

The route they took to Donghyuck’s house consisted of pathways that wound through the dark estates. They were ugly run down high rise apartment blocks made of concrete. Jeno trudged along the pavements of the desolate roads, the aroma of dust and mud clogging the air. As the city centre emerged, the buildings became taller, modern offices and shopping malls.

They passed a pub with a group of middle aged men sat outside it on wooden benches. They sneered, jeering and throwing insults at Renjun and Jeno as they walked past them, clearly inebriated beyond belief as one of them slammed a pint of lager down on the table and it sloshed over the edge of the glass, soaking the wood. Jeno pulled his jacket tightly around himself, wishing that he had driven.

“Fucking losers”, Renjun hissed, kicking stones into the road. His face softened as he looked up at Jeno.

It was a funny feeling, how peculiar unspoken sentiments were. They were new feelings for Jeno, the feeling of complete safety when he was with Renjun, and the sense that Renjun felt completely safe beside him.

By the time they reached the gates of Donghyuck’s house, it had taken them a total of forty five minutes to complete the journey. The place was filled with people in flashy outfits and expensive suits once again, a whole swarm of them shouting and squealing as they ran to the entrance. Renjun glided up the marble steps with ease. For a moment Jeno worried that he would not fit in again, but Renjun turned to him, beckoning him up with an eager hand and a wide smile.

This party was even larger, and even more extravagant than the first one had been. All the rooms in the house were opened up, and people wandered freely in and out of them with drinks in red plastic cups, howling with laughter. They ran through to the main hall, bombarded by the sound of animated chatter.

This time, the chaos and the giddy darkness was strangely enticing. The vibrations from the music through the floor made Jeno’s skin tingle and the hairs on his arms stand on end. The room was decorated with streams of gold foil paper. Somehow, one had got caught in the glass chandelier and was hanging lifelessly from it, giving the room a warm golden glow as the light from the bulbs reflected off of it. The tables were lined with food, and the sideboards with glass bottles of various unnaturally coloured alcopops and spirits. They got drinks, Jeno’s a classic mixture of coke and vodka, and Renjun’s an unnatural concoction, the shade of cherry. It tinted his tongue red. Jeno took his hand and they moved in time to the beat of the electronic music.

It didn’t take them long to notice Donghyuck in the corner of the room. He couldn’t have been missed, standing there in a pale yellow shirt and black trousers rolled up at the ankles. The shirt he wore was loose at the collar, the jade green tie that Jeno guessed had once been there, knotted messily around his head, dangling down one side and touching his shoulder. He swayed to the beat of the music by himself with his eyes shut, like he was having the time of his life.

“Don’t make eye contact”, Renjun hissed as he tried to dart behind Jeno.

Jeno pulled him out again. “Why not?”

“He’ll gloat about it.”

“What?”

“Us.”

It was too late. Donghyuck had clocked on to them and was moving through the crowd towards his targets. He stumbled but was still grinning as he stopped occasionally to close his eyes and tap his foot to the beat of the song, knowing perfectly well that Jeno and Renjun were both watching him.

“What’s this, Huang?”, Donghyuck started, swaying flamboyantly and then steadying himself with a hand on Jeno’s shoulder. “What. Is. This?” He kept hold of Jeno’s shoulder and squeezed.

“I told you”, Renjun directed at Jeno, huffing and making his hair fly up momentarily then settle again. He turned to Donghyuck and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I knew it”, Donghyuck said smugly. The tie was slipping down his forehead into his eyes. He pushed it up again with his free hand.

“What?”, Renjun repeated stubbornly, folding his arms.

“You two.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, Huang.” Donghyuck swayed, taking Jeno with him.

“I—“

“Don’t try to deny it”, Donghyuck smirked. “I know you. I know when you’re in love, and I know when you’re not.”

“Oh, alright”, Renjun sighed. “Fine.”

Donghyuck let go of Jeno. “You’re a lucky man, Jeno.” He walked slowly to Renjun, leaning in to whisper something into his ear. There was a drawn out pause before Renjun rolled his eyes and scoffed, slapping Donghyuck’s hand away from his ear, letting out a giggle and nodding.

“Interesting”, Donghyuck mused, and wandered off towards a table of drinks.

“What did he ask?” Jeno frowned like he had missed out on some big secret, moving to stand back beside Renjun.

Renjun snorted. “I’m not telling you that. It’d inflate your ego far too much.” He glanced behind him at Donghyuck. “That man asks too many questions for his own good.” He made a grab for Jeno’s empty cup. “Refill?”

A shot of throat-burning tequila later, Jeno found that the stench of alcohol filling his nose was unpleasant, and the music was louder than his own thoughts were. It was him that wandered off this time, pushing past the crowds with a sense of ease as he staggered calmly into another one of the rooms down the corridor, leaving Renjun screaming song lyrics with Donghyuck in the main hall.

The room was smaller, and quieter, the music playing softly from a record player in the corner. Jeno collapsed on a couch, next to a couple that were making out messily, her hair caught in his glasses. He tried to ignore them as he slid off his jacket and slung it on the arm of the couch, leaning back and shutting his eyes with the world spinning a little faster than usual.

“Jeno?”

The voice was soft and gentle. Jeno opened his eyes and the hazy world came tumbling into focus. The familiar face and the blond hair that curled into ringlets, this time wearing a short pale blue dress with thin straps. Ruth smiled weakly at him, her handbag clasped awkwardly between her hands as she lowered her gaze to the floor.

Jeno sat up straight. “Ruth?”

“Hi.” She looked up hesitantly. “How’ve you been?”

“Not bad”, Jeno answered. I’ve found the boy of my dreams, he wanted to say, so at least someone would know, but he thought already that he had been too harsh on her during their last encounter. She stood still in front of him, avoiding eye contact, perhaps out of embarrassment as she stared at a spot on the beige carpet. “You can sit down you know?” He nodded to the space beside him. The room had emptied out a lot, the couple that had been there had stumbled out with their mouths still attached half an hour ago, probably to go and find one of the bedrooms.

“Oh no, Jeno, it’s alright.” Ruth raised her hand in protest, her ringlets bouncing. “You don’t have to be kind to me.”

“Really, it’s fine”, Jeno insisted.

Ruth hesitated for a second longer, dropping down next to Jeno and sighing. “Thanks.”

“It’s busier here tonight”, Jeno commented to fill the awkward silence.

Elbow resting on her knee, and her cheek pressed into her palm, Ruth glanced at him and pouted. “Unbearable if you asked me”, she laughed.

“Not enjoying yourself?”

“No, not really.”

There was a crashing sound as the door swung open and hit the plastered wall loudly, and just like that, the boy of Jeno’s dreams came bounding towards him without warning. His knees knocked the arm of the couch as he stopped in front of Jeno.

“There you are”, he shouted, and bent down to plant a kiss on one of his cheeks.

Jeno flushed bright red instantly, turning quickly to Ruth. Her eyes were wide as she opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water.

“Who’s this?”

“This is Ruth”, Jeno stuttered, he wasn’t exactly sure who she was, in fact, they hardly knew anything about each other. “She’s—uh—a friend.”

“Hi Ruth!” Renjun grinned, waving dramatically. He placed a hand on the back of Jeno’s neck, not so discreetly, and rubbed small circles into his nape. Jeno shivered at the feeling, his spine tingling. “I just came to see if you were alright.”

“I’m alright”, Jeno smiled, sensing Ruth watching them.

“Good”, Renjun replied, and gave a final pat to his shoulder. “I’ve got to go, I left Donghyuck holding my drink. I’ll come back later.”

With that he staggered out, leaving Jeno in a room filled only with the sound of the ghostly record player and the short breaths of a stunned girl beside him. He dared a look at Ruth, who was fiddling with her fingers in her lap.

“You’ve got a little bit of—” She gestured to her own cheek, “pink— on your face.” Jeno rubbed his cheek in the place Renjun’s lips had been, feeling the remains of the sticky strawberry chapstick he had left behind. “Uh—yeah”, she stuttered. “Are you two—?”

“He’s drunk”, Jeno said nervously.

Ruth nodded slowly. “But are you two…”, she trailed off.

“Uh—yeah.”

“Oh.” She looked up. “It’s alright. I didn’t know you were…”

“Gay?” Jeno said weakly. “Yeah.”

Ruth smiled. Jeno guessed it was a comforting gesture, as it was accompanied by another soft, “it’s alright.”

“There’s just people”, Jeno said, “they expect me to end up with a nice girl”, he laughed, “someone just like you, Ruth.”

“Who?”

“My parents.” Jeno felt his stomach tighten and twist at the mention of them, suddenly all too aware of his surroundings.

“They don’t know?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry”, she said sympathetically, clasping her handbag to her chest and inhaling sharply. “I shouldn’t be asking so many questions. It isn’t my place.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll—get us some drinks.” Ruth jumped up quickly from the couch, disappearing out of the room with her dress swaying as she ran on her tiptoes lightly.

When she returned, she was clutching two cider bottles in her hand. She gave one to Jeno, the glass freezing and slippery between his fingers as he sipped at the sparkling liquid, it tingled the back of his throat and made him jolt involuntarily. Relaxing again, he rested his arm on the edge of the couch over his jacket.

“What about you then?”, he asked, gripping the bottle. “Have you found someone?”

Ruth swigged from the bottle, peering up at him as she brought it away from her lips. “Uh—yeah”, she said shyly. “His name’s James. He’s at university, but he lives at home here. He’s coming in a few hours actually. He got caught up at a piano recital”, she laughed, “he’s sneaking out later. Funny, because my parents love him.”

“Do you?”

Ruth hesitated. “He’s nice, yeah.”

“Only nice?”

She brought the bottle to her lips again. “He’s not very dynamic. But hey, aren’t we all looking for the things we don’t have?” Raising her bottle, she tapped it gently to Jeno’s. It chimed softly. Her pink lipstick had worn off around the edges of her mouth and her ringlets had come loose. “Anyway”, she smiled, “cheers.”

Their glasses clinked together, and then they drank to love, and the new world. Jeno sensed that she was comfortable, that she had found a part of what she wanted but not all of it. He had a feeling she would look for it too, when she grew bored.

Renjun joined them, bringing another round of drinks with him and chatting about Donghyuck’s hidden talent for tap dancing that he’d been showing off to everyone for the entire evening. All three of them were intoxicated, laughing at jokes that weren’t even funny, and dancing to pop songs they didn’t even know. The room grew quieter and quieter as time ticked on, until they were the only ones left in it, and at ten minutes past nine, a boy in a black suit and tie, with slicked back brown hair appeared in the room. From Ruth’s grin, Jeno guessed that it must have been James. She left with him, but not before she had turned back to smile thankfully at Jeno.

“She was nice”, Renjun said once she had left. He folded one leg over the other.

Jeno nodded, sipping from a fresh bottle of cider and feeling it rush through him. “She tried to kiss me last time.”

“And did she have any luck?”

Jeno scoffed. “I think you know the answer to that one.”

After that, Jeno shuffled back on the couch, Renjun springing up to deliver his very own rendition of Don’t You Want Me as it played from the record player, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty room. He stopped midway through, running up to the couch and pulling Jeno up by his hands. He gripped onto them as they danced, just like no one was watching, because they weren’t, they had all the time in the world. Renjun leant his head on Jeno’s shoulder as they swayed, and Jeno could feel his hair tickle his neck.

There was a pause and the crackling sound of the needle scratching the disc as the song changed. It was slower than the last one had been, Jeno couldn’t name it off the top of his head, not when Renjun’s lips were so close to his and they were both dizzy from the effects of the drink. His mind chose that time to wander, all over the place. So close, like this, he could feel Renjun’s heartbeat, and his own, they were alive. They paid little attention to where they moved, spinning slowly. Perhaps that was what Renjun had meant when he had told him that he felt alive, because Jeno felt it too.

His knees hit the back of the couch, and he dropped down, Renjun landing in his lap and not hesitating to press a small kiss to the corner of Jeno’s mouth. Jeno kissed him back, softly on the lips, lingering, but stopped suddenly and glanced towards the door.

“What if someone comes in?”

Renjun raised a shaky finger to Jeno’s lips.

“You’re drunk again”, Jeno laughed.

“Uh huh”, Renjun said hazily, slotting his mouth against Jeno’s. “Kiss me”, he demanded.

It was a request that Jeno could not deny, pressing his lips together with Renjun’s. “You taste like strawberries”, he murmured, wiping his tongue over Renjun’s bottom lip purposefully and grinning against Renjun’s mouth.

The kisses were lazy, laced with alcohol, and they made Jeno dizzy. The album on the record player ended and the room was quieter now, the faint sound of muffled music coming from the main room, but they were so lost in each other that they didn’t even notice. Their bodies were intertwined, strawberries and alcohol mixing on their tongues. Renjun’s kisses trailed down Jeno’s neck, over his throat, biting as he sucked marks into it. He tracked back up to Jeno’s face, kissing his jaw, and his lips again.

“What are your intentions?” Jeno breathed, hands moved to Renjun’s waist and resting languidly on his hip. He cocked an eyebrow and waited for the response.

Renjun’s wet lips ghosted Jeno’s cheek lightly as he dragged them over the skin to his temple, pausing right beside his ear. Jeno could feel his soft, panting breath as he lingered there for a moment before he whispered quietly. His breath was hot and scorching to his tragus as his sugary lips formed the syllables of one word. “Debauchery.”

Jeno fell apart as quickly as he had tried to pull himself together. They stumbled through the crowds lingering in the hallways, fingers interlocked. No one was watching, too caught up in their own evening, as they disappeared up a flight of stairs.

The corridor was empty, and so was the bathroom. Renjun reached behind him and kicked the door shut as he hit the wall. A strip of light glowed through the gap underneath as Jeno slid the bolt across with his free hand. Pulling his attention back to the softly lit features in front of him, he cupped his hands around Renjun’s face and guided their lips together, with even more vigour than when Renjun had been in his lap on the couch. The room was cramped, the kisses were messy and frenzied, even without the risk of being seen, they were desperate. Renjun grabbed Jeno’s shirt and pushed him up against the wall next to the basin, knocking a bottle of handwash crashing to the tiled floor. Jeno looked up and gasped at the sound and a new rush of adrenaline pulsed through him as Renjun pressed into him and slid a leg between his.

Lips still attached to Jeno’s, Renjun’s fingers danced across his belt, fiddling with the buckle to make it fall open. Jeno broke contact and leaned his head back. Renjun’s cheeks were flushed, with wet lips swollen as he smirked sinfully, and rolled his hips onto Jeno’s thigh. It was more than he could handle and he groaned loudly, causing Renjun to laugh and snap a hand to Jeno’s mouth to muffle the noise. Biting softly on Renjun’s finger, he ran the stud in his tongue along its length in defiance and wrapped a hand around the back of Renjun’s neck to bring him in close again. He felt the hot breath tremble on his neck, and the building pressure in his jeans released skilfully as Renjun unfastened and tugged them loose.

Threading his fingers in Renjun’s hair, he grabbed impulsively as a palm slid past his waistband, letting out a sharp hiss as he drew in the stale air through his teeth. Renjun hummed in satisfaction at the response and worked his hand harder until Jeno legs started to weaken. He grasped the porcelain basin beside him for support and leaned his head back, eyes closed. Gasping for air, his knuckles whitened as his senses erupted. With his eyes still squeezed shut, he felt lips crash against his own frantically and Renjun’s hand relinquish its hold, as he fell into Jeno’s arms and the two dropped to the floor.

Jeno finally opened his eyes and looked down at Renjun, still nestled in his arms with his head on his shoulder. He stroked his fingertips along Renjun’s cheekbone. “Debauchery?” he teased.

“Debauchery”, Renjun smirked and reached up to kiss Jeno’s neck.

--

When the cab arrived to take them back to Jeno’s house, it was way past midnight. Too exhausted, and too tipsy, blissed out on each other, they did not get far on the walk before their feet had given up on them. They waited next to the red telephone box in a side road near Donghyuck’s house, Renjun snuggled into Jeno’s chest for warmth.

Squinting at the glare from the headlights as the vehicle pulled up next to them, Jeno nodded them both into the backseat. Their hands slid together naturally in the darkness, pressed palms hidden between denim and faux leather whilst the driver fiddled with the dial on the radio. The cab pulled away and the sallow streetlights blurred into a continuous yellow glow. Jeno directed the driver, who swerved the car violently around potholes in the road. Gripping Renjun’s hand tighter out of instinct, their bodies were thrown together and their shoulders collided, only letting go of each other once they were standing on the pavement outside Jeno’s house.

The keys jangled as Jeno scratched the metal plate around the lock, shaky fingers lacking precision as they jittered about in the darkness.

“Come here”, Renjun laughed, slurring slightly and making a grab for the keys. He slotted them into the lock perfectly and shoved open the door.

“Quietly”, Jeno hissed. “We’ll wake them up.”

It reminded him of when he had snuck Renjun into his house in the middle of the night. The air inside the house was much warmer than the chill outside and Jeno slid off his jacket and hung it up, careful not to make too much noise. His shoes were a trickier task, the clunky boots crashing against the wooden floorboards.

“Quietly”, Renjun whispered teasingly, bringing a finger to his own lips.

They tiptoed to the lounge and shut the door, creeping through to the kitchen. Jeno went to the fridge first, Renjun following and tucking his chin over his shoulder to peer inside.

“Drink?”, Jeno asked.

Renjun hesitated. “Just water.”

Jeno gathered two glasses from the cupboard above the stove and filled them with water from the fridge, taking a sip. His head was still spinning, but the fluid eased it, the world coming back into focus more. He glanced at the clock, ten minutes past two.

“Should we sleep?”

Renjun took the glass off the counter and carried it through to the lounge, Jeno watching as he dived down onto the couch. “Soon.”

Jeno sat beside him with his legs crossed and Renjun nestled against him. “Tired?”

“Yeah.” Renjun nodded, “but I don’t want to sleep yet”, he whined. His head fell onto Jeno’s thigh so he lay across the couch, hair splayed out over Jeno’s lap. He rubbed his cheek against the fabric of his jeans, patting his knee. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here.”

Jeno scoffed. “Absolutely not.” He carded his fingers lazily through Renjun’s hair as he pointed to the mantel piece above the fireplace.

“It’s you!” Renjun pointed to a silver photo frame propped up against the wall. The picture was of a six year old Jeno, wearing a tie and a toothy smile. “Baby Jen.”

Jeno’s fingers paused. “Jen?”

Renjun peered up at him. “New nickname?”

“I like it. Maybe I’ll call you Jun.”

Renjun shook his head. “It’s Renjun”, he stated. “Or spaceman. That’s all.”

Jeno grinned. “So, you do like spaceman?”

“Maybe.”

Jeno smiled. “Okay then, spaceman it is.” He looked up at the child version of himself. “That was me at school, back in Seoul. I hated that stupid tie.”

Jeno saw Renjun inspect the rest of the frames around it, one of his mother and father on their wedding day. Tinted sepia, it showed the imprint of a joyous day stained with lines of age and water marks. He knew that his mother was wearing a white dress beaded with tiny gemstones sewn into it and a bouquet of pink peonies, his father in a black suit and tie, smiling beside her. Jeno heard Renjun’s breathing stutter as he scanned over the one next to that, a faded photograph of Jeno, sitting between his mother and father, grinning.

“You look so happy”, Renjun said.

Jeno hummed, running his fingers through Renjun’s hair again repeatedly. He wondered if Renjun was thinking whether his own life could be so picture perfect, whether both their lives could, if the world was just enough to grant them a piece of their own happiness. Renjun’s eyes had grown heavy and tired, in repose. His hair was knotty, Jeno smoothing it out with his fingers gradually. His eyelids fluttered open and closed, liner now smudged below his bottom lid, but still Jeno was drawn to the soft and tired features.

“What?”, Renjun laughed. The tired eyes turned crescent shaped as he smiled.

“You look pretty”, Jeno replied, stroking his temple softly.

He found himself in his own world, never mind the alcohol, their own world, a point somewhere between a dream and reality, the lines were mixed up and tangled as Renjun nuzzled against him. But the world was crueller than it was kind. Jeno wished it would pity him for just a moment, so he could have more times like this.

He let go of Renjun’s hair, and it tumbled down to the edge of his brows as he suddenly jolted up straight. Jeno’s eyes followed Renjun’s gaze and his muscles tensed.

He wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there, or when the door to the lounge had been pulled wide open. Her lips were pressed together.

Jeno’s mouth dried up too quickly.

“Wait—"

The door closed shut again. It didn’t slam, and his mother disappeared. Jeno stayed frozen on the couch, hearing Renjun’s short breaths beside his ringing ears.

“Shit”, Jeno hissed, throwing his head back onto the couch.

“Jeno—”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It isn’t your fault.”

The encounter sent Jeno sobering up, alert and aware as they stepped up to his attic room. He pulled the ladder out from below them, heaving it into his room and sighing. Renjun changed silently into a clean t-shirt and climbed into the bed with Jeno, face to face with him. He shut his eyes and exhaled, opening them slowly as he kissed Jeno’s lips softly.

“What happens now?”, he asked.

“I suspect she’ll tell my father”, Jeno said blankly. “And then… well, I don’t know.”

It took Jeno a long time to fall asleep that night as he tried to make sense of all the thoughts in his head.

--

He had woken up in the morning with Renjun beside him. He felt like shit, and it was not just from the throbbing alcohol induced headache. They had tried to sneak out of the house unnoticed, and got as far as the door, managing to throw on their jackets. It was the handle that had betrayed them, creaking loudly as Renjun pushed down on it.

“Where are you going?”, his mother called from the kitchen. Her voice was its usual pitch, and soft. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.” There was a pause before she spoke again. “Renjun? You can stay too, I’ve laid an extra place.”

Jeno looked helplessly at Renjun. His eyes offered the same helpless expression, hair unbrushed and tangled from the previous night, and eyes red and bloodshot like he had lost sleep. Jeno imagined he must have looked the same himself. The pungent stench of bitter coffee wafted through the air.

Quickly, Jeno did up his jacket all the way to cover the marks on his neck. They had been his second reminder of the night, after waking up beside Renjun, of course. He’d spotted them in the bathroom mirror, deep purple patches. They decorated his skin like little pieces of artwork.

His mother smiled jovially as they sat at the table, his father beside her. Any remaining appetite he had drained away. He did not know if she had told his father about what she had seen. She was her usual self and so was he. Stoic and icy, his face as set in stone as he was set in his ways. Jeno wondered how many years it had been like that, who was counting? The sentiment was rather dire. The shell of the man in the faded wedding photograph.

Renjun swivelled out of his jacket, draping it on the back of the wooden chair. The metal zipper strummed against it and rung thickly through the dense air. Jeno kept his on, zipped tight around his chin.

“Thanks Mrs Lee”, Renjun said as she tipped a heap of fried eggs out from a pan onto his plate. They sizzled briefly, the room falling silent again. Jeno watched as Renjun dragged a knife and fork off the table top, scraping it clumsily over his plate.

“Aren’t you hot, Jeno?” His mother placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t want to take that off?”

Jeno locked stares with Renjun for a second. Behind their calm façade, his eyes showed unease. He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“You’re hungover”, his father said, looking frosty and cold. He took the coffee pot off the top and poured it, steam clouding upwards. His knuckles were as white as the alabaster coffee cup in his hand.

“He’s just having fun. He’s young, and he’s—”

“I know what he is.” His father interrupted his mother with words of venom, silencing the room with a slam of his fist to the table top. She snapped her mouth shut, her face pale as wax, and contorted with worry.

His father stood up and left the room.

--

“Well, shit.”

“Well, shit, indeed.”

Renjun snatched the warm cigarette from between Jeno’s chapped and bitten lips, dragging on it. Streams of smoke drifted from his mouth as he placed it back in Jeno’s.

“What did she say?”

“Not a lot.” Jeno clasped the limp cigarette.

He remembered the day of the breakfast vividly, how he had slipped away to the garage after his father had stormed out of the room like a toddler throwing a tantrum. No one in the house had spoken to him until the evening. His mother had called up to his room, and he had numbly let her inside. She had carried a cup of steaming tea, something fruity and citrus flavoured. All the time when Jeno was a child, if something had happened at school, or there was something she wanted to talk about, she would take hot chocolate to his room, and talk to him. Now it was hot tea, and he knew that she knew. She sat on the edge of his bed, and touched his arm gently, like he were a child again.

“He’s a nice boy”, she had said quietly, and moved the cup between his freezing fingers. “I like him.”

Jeno could not decipher the expression in his mother’s eyes, it was somewhere between despair, and somewhere close to pity, but it all amounted to a vacuous glassy look. He had always believed that she loved him unconditionally, perhaps it was that stopping her from showing the emotions, he meant too much to her.

Jeno flicked his cigarette. “She doesn’t know what to say”, he said. “But we’re talking about it.”

“And your father?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t really spoken to me, not about any of that.”

Renjun slid his fingers around Jeno’s unoccupied hand. They rested on the rough brick, Jeno feeling it scratch him like sandpaper as it contrasted with the softness of Renjun’s hand.

A passer-by turned onto the street, feet splashing in the puddles of dirty water collected in pot holes. Jeno snapped his hand away, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth instead and blowing smoke. When it disappeared the stranger had already walked past them without even as much as a glance. He heard Renjun sigh.

“This is how it is.” He brushed a piece of dirt off the wall. “Hiding away in the shadows from everyone.”

“The world’s changing”, Jeno said.

“Well then it needs to change quicker.” Renjun tucked his hand back into his pocket. “Yeah, maybe we’ll go to space, and maybe we’ll have flying cars or whatever, but it’s the little things that need to change. I can’t even hold your hand without being stared at.”

Jeno thought it cruel, how he had just discovered love, and had to hide it from the world.

--

Two more months of living in the house had driven the divide between Jeno and his parents almost as far as it could go before snapping. There were arguments, and shouting, some involving Jeno, and others just between his parents. His father was cold, and awkward, if Renjun was in the room with Jeno, he didn’t want to be there. Jeno often looked around his attic room, he could picture his childhood and his adolescence. The walls had not seemed so grey when he was only a boy, and they had not caged him in. Now, they were sullen and sunken, like the bones of a cold skeleton.

When he put together his wages with Renjun’s, they could scrape enough together for the monthly rent, because anywhere was better than where they were. They were almost twenty one, it seemed like the easiest option. It didn’t feel a lot like commitment, it felt like the world was theirs.

The apartment was on the other side of town, above a pub on a side road. Painted on the walls, The Hawley Arms was written, and their rooms were above that. The landlords were a husband and wife, the owners of the pub, and they lived below them in the rooms attached to the back. It was furnished, and meant for university students, so the lounge had been converted into another bedroom.

The day they had moved in had been a dry October morning, and Jeno had driven the car around the back of the pub. The place looked derelict, stuffed with broken tables, and stacked barrels. A dark metal staircase lead up to the door, and they climbed it repeatedly with armfuls of cardboard boxes.

“Did you have to bring your entire record collection?” Renjun heaved a box up the old stairs.

“Yes, I did”, Jeno huffed, following him.

Trips up and down, boxes and boxes, labelled lounge, kitchen, bathroom or bedroom on sticky labels. The bunch of keys were rusted, and the apartment was covered in layers of dust that made it look like an old, abandoned relic. The lounge was piled to the ceiling with boxes, and Renjun was staring at the patches of damp on the wall, ugly patches visible through old peeling floral wallpaper. His face had turned serious, pouty lips still shiny and pretty.

“Did we make the right choice, Jen?”, he asked quietly.

Jeno knew it had been a hasty, unplanned decision, moving in with Renjun, living together with the boy of his dreams. But there were no promises of tomorrow, or promises of stability, it wasn’t asphyxiating. For Jeno it was enough to have Renjun the way that he did, and for Renjun to want him too.

He stepped over a cardboard box to come close to Renjun and drape an arm around his shoulder. “Hey”, he said with a small smile. “I couldn’t think of anyone else that I’d rather share a shitty apartment with.”

That first night, Jeno had laid beside Renjun on the single bed, that doubled as a makeshift couch, in their lounge, surrounded by the boxes of their unpacked home. There wasn’t a lot of protection from the harsh autumn air that streamed past the loose window seal and blew like a gale through the apartment. It made him hold Renjun tighter in their perfect, imperfect, piece of paradise, the two of them a locked away secret as they shared the bed meant for one. The gutter itself, but it had the best view of the stars.

Then, they had real responsibilities to think about, like rent and water bills, and a whole city to negotiate. It was the most meaningful he had found his life despite the fact that it had no direction. When he wasn’t working in the day times, Jeno watched the trains go past over the bridge next to the pub, the vibrations shaking the room. Or he’d stare at the crows perched on the telephone wires. Sometimes he’d watch Renjun, with a book in his lap from the shelf bedside the make shift couch.

At night, they would talk for hours, and Jeno would drink up every word from Renjun’s lips like it was fine wine. They could kiss for hours, he kissed Renjun in their dingy apartment and the world was exciting again. Kissing Renjun was his favourite pastime. They’d listen to records in the dark, and fool around in the bedroom to the sound, as the smell of hops and ale came through the open window. Renjun’s head would be pressed into his sweaty shoulder, biting down on the flesh to suppress his gasps in fear of the paper thin walls. Strewn sheets and crumpled pillowcases, a battle of their minds as well as their bodies. Renjun knew how to work him with his artist’s hands, the slide of his soft delicate fingers, with all the precision of a blooming professional. But he seemed to bask in Jeno’s blistered fingers and unrefined touch too and many nights would end with the taste of tobacco and strawberries on their tongues.

Renjun was passing his time reading again. He was on the bed beside a pile of shabby books, one resting on his knees, guided by a flickering lamp light that cast the shape of his shadow onto the wall. His cheeks were painted like roses and he was skimming the pages of the little book with his fingers. Jeno recognised it.

“You’re reading that again”, he said, sitting beside him.

“Yeah.”

“Jonathan Livingston Seagull.”

“That’s the one.”

Renjun held the book up, and Jeno saw the page he had stopped on. In the corner, spanned the image of a seagull, its flight feathers curved out, pinions stretched. It looked like it could fly right off the page into the apartment. He read a snippet of the words.

Life is the unknown and the unknowable, except that we are put in this world to stay alive as long as we possibly can but now we have a reason to live, to learn, to discover, to be free.

“Is it all like that? You never did tell me what any of it meant.”

“It means everything can be more than what it seems to be. I suppose it’s about reaching potential.”

Jeno thought that his life was exactly as it seemed. All that it had been, and what it was now. He could tell it like any other story. Perhaps the book in Renjun’s lap was a book for dreamers, perhaps it was for anybody. He and Renjun, in their decaying apartment, more alive than they had ever been, but stuck somewhere between the dreamers’ end of London and the rest of the world, waiting. All of the birds Renjun surrounded himself with comprised his dreams in a single image. Jeno could tell the book was loved, the pages were well thumbed from rereads and the spine was creased right through the middle. The image of the seagull stayed etched into his thoughts as Renjun snapped it shut and threw it back onto the pile.

Jeno stood up and walked to the desk, pulling open a stiff drawer. He knew where Renjun kept them. The seagull. The seagull was everything. It was freedom, and it was life, and a whole lot of dreams and first dates, the one that Jeno had watched Renjun draw so skilfully. Jeno plucked the sketchpad out from the bottom of the drawer. It had been so long since he had thought about it but now it seemed like the only choice ever. The seagull was formed from the smudges of graphite Renjun had pressed to the paper so carefully. He sat on the bed and placed the pad into Renjun’s lap.

“This”, he said. The bird’s wings looked like they were flapping under the flickering lamp light. “I want this.”

Renjun seemed to understand because his breathing stuttered. He traced a finger over one wing. All he could manage was a choked, “Jeno.”

“When you qualify”, Jeno began again, surer. “I want you do this tattoo, on me.” Renjun’s thumb brushed its beak, leaving smoky grey smudges on his skin.

“You want me to do it?”

“Yes.”

Renjun took Jeno’s wrist, wiping his thumb gently against it. Some of the grey from the seagull smudged onto the skin, like he was marking him. The sketch done by his lover, drawn into his skin by the very same hands. It made Jeno shudder. The fingers walked up Jeno’s arm, rubbing slowly into the flesh, like Renjun were testing out where best the tattoo would fit. He crawled from his wrist, up past his forearm, the touch so light that it tickled.

The hand dipped below the collar of Jeno’s shirt. He wondered if the graphite had already smudged off completely. Renjun played with his collarbone, caressing it with his fingers.

“There”, Jeno breathed.

Renjun’s fingers stopped moving. “There?” He rubbed over the sensitive spot just below Jeno’s collarbone again. “That’ll hurt. You don’t know your pain tolerance yet.”

“That’s where I want it.”

Renjun slipped his fingers out of Jeno’s shirt, replacing them with a soft kiss from his lips against his collarbone instead.

--

One month later, Renjun qualified as a tattoo artist. No more grapefruit stencilling, it was flesh now. They hung his certificate on an old nail sticking out of the wall. It covered it nicely, and it felt like something real, something to hide the cracks that their dreams had, some way out of the gutter towards the stars.

Jeno had dreamt about it more times than he could remember, and he had seen Renjun practising so many more. Nothing quite prepared him for the feeling of being back in the tattoo parlour where everything had started. It was dark outside, except from the harsh fluorescent spotlight over his chest. Somewhere, it felt like he had been building up to this moment since the day that he first met Renjun, and he had. Without his own silly little dreams, he never would have met him.

Jeno was reclined in one of the velvet chairs in the back of the parlour. He unbuttoned his shirt, one, two, three of the buttons, enough for it to slip away from his shoulder. Renjun pulled it down the rest of the way, exposing his collarbone to the cool air as he sat on the stool beside him. He had not said much, completely focused on the task, there was no room for distraction. It was a side of Renjun that Jeno did not see often, he wondered where the dreamer had gone, the glassy look replaced by harsh lines.

The seagull was outlined in black, an impression of the real ink, traced with stencils by Renjun’s hand, the hand that had worked to clean the area with cold rubbing alcohol and smoothed the skin. He was laying out equipment at the side silently. His movements were meticulous, as if he had been preparing his whole life for this, steady breaths, and a steady hand, almost like he wasn’t about to carve a piece of forever into Jeno’s skin.

“You ready?”

Jeno nodded, swallowing at the feeling of Renjun’s light touch through the soft latex glove. It was nothing like when his fingertips had danced over the bone. It was reserved, but still a tender touch, the tenderest touch that Renjun could apply with the invisible watchful eyes of the tattoo parlour.

The first press into his skin stung like hot, hot fire, burning him from the inside out. But then everything about Renjun was like fire, it seemed only fitting, the scorching sensation. He watched the flames in Renjun’s eyes instead, hotter than any fire that the pain could ignite, a flame that poured itself into the piercing touches. Renjun dragged the tattoo gun back and forth and Jeno bit his lip. His eyes were watering, blurring Renjun out of focus as wet tears from the pain fell down his face involuntarily and streaked it.

Renjun stopped, the fire still simmering on Jeno’s skin. “Slow and deep breaths”, he said. “Don’t try to hold them in.” He spared a glance at Jeno’s tear stained face, and Jeno saw his eyes flooded with guilt as they slid shut and opened again. If they had been back in their apartment, he was sure he would have wiped the tears away with a gentle finger, but he could not.

The pain lessened as his skin adjusted in the hours that followed. Jeno sat completely still, watching Renjun’s deep concentration pour into the lines of the tattoo. Renjun covered his shoulder with gauze using soft, nimble fingers that had felt like fire before. Now that Jeno could move, he slowly put a hand on Renjun’s chest, right beside his heart, and Renjun clenched his jaw shut, a piece of gauze falling to the floor as he let it slide out of his hand. He unwound another strip of gauze and tried again to place it over Jeno’s flaming skin.

“You’re shaking”, Jeno said quietly.

“I was terrified”, Renjun replied, Jeno’s fingers slipping away as he added tape to the dressing to keep it firmly in place.

“I never would have known that.”

Later, in the safety of their apartment, Renjun applied all the gentleness that he couldn’t have done under the harsh parlour lights. The bathroom was just wide enough for both of them to fit in, and the lightbulb flickered intermittently.

Jeno sat on the edge of the bathtub, with his palms pressed to the cold enamel, a perfect view of his body in the mirror opposite above the sink. The patch of skin that burned, tender and sore, was still covered by the dressing. His shirt was open all the way down to the last button and his hair hung limply, unkempt, the dark roots growing from underneath the burgundy.

Lifting his hand to the edge of the tape, Renjun peeled it back slowly. It stung and his fingers were cold. Jeno winced, but this time Renjun could run his fingers gently through his hair to distract him as he continued. The gauze peeled away, revealing the fragile skin underneath.

It was red and sore but exquisitely inked and defined. Below the bone, the tenderest black tip of the seagull was unveiled. The delicate shape of it gleamed under the dingy bathroom lighting, wings outstretched, showing every intricate detail Renjun’s fingers had applied, with shades of blue behind it, spanning the length of his collarbone.

Renjun stared at the place just beneath the bone, like it was the first time that he had stopped to admire his own work. He untangled his fingers from Jeno’s hair. “I’m going to wash it now.”

Jeno watched as he filled the basin with steaming water, taking a clean face cloth off a stack on the shelf and submerging it. Bringing it out, he pressed it gently to Jeno’s skin. He winced.

Renjun laughed softly. “You big baby.” He kissed Jeno’s lips, patting softly with the cloth again. “The worst part’s over. If this were anyone else, they’d be doing it themselves.”

“I get special privileges?” Jeno managed a cheeky grin and raised an eyebrow at Renjun. He sucked in breath through his teeth again, hissing as Renjun continued to run the cloth over a tender patch of the new ink.

“You get special privileges.” Renjun placed the cloth on the radiator, taking a dry one and wiping the excess water droplets from below Jeno’s collarbone.

Jeno looked in the mirror, at the bold tattoo, seeing Renjun staring at it too. It was strange, Renjun usually treated his own tattoos like they were nothing unusual, they had been there for so long they were a part of him. It fascinated Jeno, and it seemed to fascinate Renjun too then, the expanse of skin that had been unmarked before, blooming with flecks of colour and hot ink. The stain of Renjun’s artistry on his body, woven into him by dainty hands. It was captivating. The seagull solitary on his skin, perhaps he would garner more one day, but for now he was content.

“You’re art, Jeno.”

The tattoo glittered and gleamed, still tender, still not complete, but beautiful. “This is your work”, Jeno replied.

Renjun ran a finger along his other collarbone and shook his head. “Everything about you”, he said. “I think it’s art.”

Jeno took his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers softly, nodding down to the tattoo. “I love it, thank you.”

That night was like their first time ever, like two new lovers desperate to explore each other. Jeno’s skin was sore, but he let it burn for Renjun, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. Slowly and softly, Jeno stroked up his sternum, and his back, where a few delicate moles were scattered. They looked like the points on a map, he kissed each one, and Renjun placed his own kisses over Jeno’s face, the places where the tear trails had been, like he could finally wipe them away with the flutter of his eyelashes against Jeno’s cheeks. Renjun dug his nails into Jeno’s back like they were the sharp needles of a tattoo gun, engraving their own new patterns into the skin with precision. Tactile touches, warm bodies and a piece of forever. It felt like being alive, of knowing it for sure.

--

The snow pattered on the roof, it had been falling for hours. Renjun was loading a bag with coats and blankets. He had told Jeno that he adored the snow that the winter had brought and spent the days of December beside the windows, watching it fall and collect on the frost painted roof, or sketching the robins on the frozen tree branches. The cold days had drawn them to the end of the year, and they had made the best of what they had in the shabby apartment, with electric heaters and duvet days.

The winter months had cooled everything down. Jeno’s searing collarbone stopped being on fire. The tattoo now completely healed. Jeno could run his fingertips over it whenever he wanted to, so could Renjun. It was how he knew that he was proud of the art that he had created, because sometimes Renjun would stop, when they were lying in bed at night, or in the hazy early mornings, and he would trace along the tattoo, a soft trail and smile, in a dream somewhere again.

This particular night, Renjun came bounding through the room, leaping onto Jeno’s back. He stumbled but caught him, holding both of his thighs to keep him upright. “How do you have so much energy at eleven at night?”

Playing with the ends of Jeno’s hair, Renjun’s sleeves tickled his chin. “I’m just looking forward to it”, he gushed, the sound muffled as he buried his face in the strands.

“Where to?” Jeno hoisted Renjun up and spun them both around, Renjun grasping tighter at his shoulders as the apartment blurred.

“The stars!” Renjun pointed at the damp ceiling and laughed.

“Alright spaceman.” Jeno flung Renjun onto the bed and he shrieked as he landed on his back. His leather jacket almost swallowing him up entirely. “I think that might require something a little more extravagant than a piggy back ride.”

Renjun rolled onto his stomach and grinned. “Primrose Hill will do just fine,” he said. “One last thing.” He rolled off the bed, landing in a heap on the floor and then sprinting to the kitchen. Opening a cupboard on the wall, he reached up and pulled out a dark green bottle. Jeno squinted as he held it up to the light, then lifted a glass out from a cupboard, pouring the liquid. He waltzed playfully towards Jeno, holding the glass delicately by the stem.

“Red wine?”

Renjun nodded, sipping from the wineglass. “I think it’s French. Château Margaux.” He swallowed, his lips stained red around the edges.

“And where did you get that from?”

“The shop at the end of the road”, Renjun huffed. “It’s the last day of nineteen eighty five, we’ve got to celebrate it somehow”, he protested. “Sophistication.” Renjun swirled the liquid. “Elegance, class”, he dipped his finger into it. It collected on the tip and coloured it crimson. He paused and grinned, wiping it on his lips and smirking coquettishly at Jeno. He playfully licked the wine from his lips, never breaking eye contact with Jeno, then dipped his finger again, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He reached out and touched Jeno’s lips, parting them with his thumb to smear the wine against them.

“Sure”, Jeno teased, but he was cut off as Renjun leant in to press his lips to the coating of wine, and he fell to pieces against his touch. The kiss tasted like plums and cherry and was slightly acidic on the palette. Jeno managed to tear himself away and press his thumbs lightly to Renjun’s cheekbones.

“Come on, we’ll miss it if we don’t leave soon.”

With the warm taste of the wine on his tongue, and Renjun beside him, Jeno braced the cold outside the apartment. They trekked over the railway tracks and brightly lit roads, down dark alleyways and lanes to the bus stop. When they boarded the bus, they climbed up the stairs to the top deck and sat at the front. From out of the window, the streets looked like picturesque paintings, crowds of people gathered on them, and topped with thin layers of white snow that had been trodden and compressed. They’d be far too slippery to drive along, the Beetle would never have held up.

It had been a while since they’d been back to Primrose Hill, the hill that had once been their only point of intimacy, but there was nowhere better that Jeno wished to spend the rest of nineteen eighty five. For once, the place was heaving with crowds, families and couples in their coats and wellington boots at the edge of the grassy hill. Jeno and Renjun hung back in the shadows of the night, wishing to preserve some semblance of what had made it theirs. The twinkling skyline was more alive in the crisp winter night than they had ever seen it.

“It’s nearly time”, Jeno said, nodding to the groups of people that had already gathered on some of the benches. “Nineteen eighty six”, he whispered disbelievingly to himself.

Nineteen eighty five had hardly felt anything more than a dream of strawberry chapstick and sugary lips. Jeno wondered what eighty six would bring for them both. He had lost things, but so had Renjun, but they had found a whole lot more. A whole new part of life that was exciting and new, collected some hopes, and some dreams and love along the way.

“What do you want from eighty six?”, Jeno asked. Renjun’s head was leant towards his shoulder, but not quite touching it.

“Something extraordinary.” Renjun’s eyes gleamed as he smiled.

“Space holidays?” Jeno grinned.

“Maybe something a little closer to home.”

“And after that”, Jeno ventured, “eighty seven, eighty eight, eighty nine.”

Renjun looked up at him, as though suddenly afraid. The snow was falling still, and pieces of it had caught on the ends of his eyelashes, melting away after a few seconds near his hot skin. He sniffed. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

Jeno had lost count of the time, but the families around them grew more restless, tiptoeing to make sure they wouldn’t miss the spectacle over the skyline. Renjun’s yearning for the unknown was holding him hostage, not knowing what was beyond the city, and the oceans, at the limit of where his life could take him.

“I want to be with you”, Renjun said from beside him, lowering his head and digging his foot into the snow. “Forever.”

They had thrown the word about so many times before. Forever. But never the forever of their lives together. Tattoos were forever, and dreams, but the future was something else entirely. They were the closest they had ever been to the stars, but forever still felt so far away. It could have been another one of those lines that Renjun uttered with a far off look, it might have been, but he was staring at Jeno.

“That’s a long time.”

“I know.”

“We could get our own place”, Jeno laughed, “a proper place, and we won’t have to rent it. It’ll be even bigger than Donghyuck’s place.”

“That’d be something.”

“We could get a cat.”

“I like cats.” Renjun let out a raspy laugh.

“One day.”

It hurt because it was a dream. Jeno wished someone had warned him about the pain that the beauty of a dream brought with it. They talked about the future like it was set in stone. He knew that they both knew better than that.

“There.” Renjun smiled suddenly, pointing out towards the sky.

The first firework exploded loudly, lighting the night in a shade of electric blue. Midnight exactly. More followed, hundreds of them rung in the new year, filling the skyline. There was no more time to talk, and there was no more time for nineteen eighty five as it was chased away by the glow and the chime of the bell twelve times as it rang through the city.

“Nineteen eighty six”, Jeno whispered.

“Nineteen eighty six.” Renjun leant his head discreetly on Jeno’s shoulder.

Jeno wished for the world to change, but for his life with Renjun to stay the same. He lost himself in the colourful display of the fireworks, which marked a time that had passed, and opened the world to another year.

--

She sat opposite them at the rickety table, Jeno’s reminder of reality. His mother. She had come alone, which Jeno did not mind at all. She had no makeup on, but her face posed a genuine softness. Her shirt was buttoned up tightly, but still seeming to sag off her shoulders like the tiredness in her eyes, the wear and tear of life around them.

“You’ve done it up nicely.” His mother was smiling but it did not reach her eyes. Glancing down at the table top, she pushed forward the ceramic plate towards Jeno. It was covered in foil, which she pulled off carefully to reveal the pie inside decorated by pastry lattices. “It’s cherry”, she said softly. “I made it for both of you.”

Renjun came over then, and placed a hand on Jeno’s shoulder, letting go to reach for the plate. “Thank you.” He smiled and carried it to the counter. Then, he slipped silently out of the room.

Jeno listened as the door clicked shut, leaving him alone with his mother. He tapped his foot nervously on the floor tiles. The air inside the apartment was cold, the heater not yet accustomed to the bitterness of February.

“Are you happy?”, his mother asked, her voice trembling.

Jeno nodded, plucking at a strand that had come loose from around the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m happy”, he said.

“That’s all I needed to know.” Jeno looked up as she dragged her bag up off the floor, taking something from inside it and placing it down on the table. She slid it across towards Jeno. A tattered paper envelope, unsealed. “Your father told me to give you this.”

Jeno picked it up and peered inside, the wad of cash staring back at him, fresh notes stacked neatly. “Money?”

“He wanted you to have it.”

Jeno put the envelope back down on the table. “Couldn’t he have brought it himself?” The money was superficial to Jeno. If his father had known him at all, then he would have known that. “I don’t want his money.”

“Jeno, I didn’t know he would—”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

Jeno wondered if his mother was as lost as he was, seeking comfort. He went to her, placing an arm around her as she pulled him in. Her chin rested on his shoulder and he held her close. She hugged him tightly. She had looked after him for so long, and for once Jeno felt as though he was looking after her.

“You’re so young”, she whispered, still holding on.

He thought of himself through the years of his life. He thought of theatre kisses, and dingy clubs, and holding Renjun in their little apartment. It resonated with him, how young he was and how new to love he was.

--

They lived out the days through the cold winter, into the spring. Renjun’s back ached from hours tattooing clients, and the apartment was cold at night. Trips all over the city, in Jeno’s car, with Renjun’s mixtape on at full blast, they covered all the places on the city map that they wanted to go. There were finger marks all over it now, from where it had been thumbed on long journeys. There’d been parties, Donghyuck’s parties, and others, and sex, and the late night talks and cigarettes while sat on old broken pub tables outside the apartment.

There were times when Jeno sensed that Renjun was searching for something more. When he talked about those dreams and all of the places that he had never been to. That his dream was only partly complete.

Renjun was still in bed. He’d often lay in on Saturday’s. Jeno noticed him as he drifted past the bedroom after a shower, hair still wet and dripping down his shoulder blades and back to the edge of the towel wrapped around his waist. He dropped it and changed into a pair of shorts.

Curled in on himself on the mattress, the thick sheets covered Renjun and bunched at his waist, his hair splayed out wildly over the pillow from sleep. He was turned onto his side and staring at the wall.

Jeno shook his head, the freezing water spraying onto his shoulders as he climbed in -beside him. Renjun smiled when he saw him, the sheets crumpling as he pulled them upwards. Jeno pulled them the rest of the way, over both their heads, faces close and noses almost touching. It encased them, trapping the warm air.

“Hey”, Jeno whispered.

“Hey yourself.” Renjun smiled and brushed tendrils of wet hair out of Jeno’s eyes, running a finger over the crest of his temple. His eyes were dazed and far away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Dropping his hand down onto Jeno’s chest, Renjun drew circles into the tattoo. It made Jeno shudder. “Forever.”

“Forever?”

“What comes after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s next?”

Jeno’s nose bumped against Renjun’s. “Whatever you want.”

Renjun’s fingers tap danced gracefully over the seagull. Jeno’s hair had dampened the pillowcase and it was cold against his cheek. He shut his eyes.

“I don’t want to ruin forever by growing up too fast.”

“You don’t have to grow up yet.”

“There’s still so much I don’t know. Forever feels grown up.”

“It is, I suppose.”

Jeno wondered where the two of them had gone, the two barely grown people that sat on top of the hill, on top of the world and daydreamed, not teenagers but not adults. Renjun’s eyes still burned with the same fire, Jeno could see it this near to his face, but the skin around it was dark and tired looking, like he was faded in some way.

The sheets skimmed Renjun’s collarbones as he sat up, holding him close in their comfort before falling to a heap of cotton on the mattress. Jeno watched from where he lay, the shadow of Renjun that moved to the window and pulled the curtains back. The light flooded into the room all at once, making Jeno squint, his eyes adjusting to the blinding sun. Jeno could see the slender frame, and the delicate skin, doused with sunlight, kissed by its warmth, his spine running down to the waistband of his boxers. He knew every crevice of it inside and out again from all the times he had explored it.

Renjun leant up on his tiptoes to push open the window, and the muscles in his back stretched and tightened as he moved, his deltoid flexing and taut, shoulders rolling and sending a wave of movement through the wings of the bird.

Tossing the sheets off himself, Jeno followed, standing behind Renjun, with the cold from the city air caressing his cheeks. He leant into the touch affectionately, pushing his back against Jeno’s torso, so Jeno bent down and pressed his lips gently to the top of Renjun’s spine. It made him shudder, because his lips were cold against Renjun’s burning hot skin, residual from the warmth of the mattress nest. He could make out the view of grey city streets and pavements of people through the dirty glass. The heart of the city lay further on, blinking lights and tall buildings. There were smudged finger prints on the glass, which Renjun added to as he began to wipe his thumb over it to make the view of the world outside clearer.

“I can’t help but think about what else is out there.” Renjun’s thumb pressed hard into the glass before it fell away, leaving behind the print over the skyline and the world beyond it.

His words filled up Jeno’s lungs like smoke, except the air was perfectly clean and breathable. For a moment he felt as confined as Renjun did, by his own love. Renjun’s breath stuttered, but he regained it by pressing his cheek to the underside of Jeno’s jaw, which Jeno ran his fingers lazily over.

They were so young. He thought of what his mother had said to him, being young, forever felt like it would go on and on, forever was caging Renjun in. Renjun’s back was warm and pliant, moulded into the shape of him, a reminder that he was real, and a note that he was where he was.

Jeno knew what it was. It was wanderlust. He had known for a long time. He loved Renjun hopelessly, and Renjun loved life hopelessly. All of his dreams had fallen to dust the last time he had tried to live them all.

Jeno looked around his home, if this was the gutter, then the city was the stars, and Jeno had grown fond of all of its oddities and wonders. Past the stars, lay the entire universe, the rest of the world.

Renjun looked too, out over the blinkered lights of a city filled with his lost ambition. Merely a terrified little dreamer.

--

Jeno knew that loving Renjun was dangerous. Not dangerous in the purest sense of the word, but risky in the way that his heart could be hurt so easily, that Renjun had made it so brittle and unguarded.

He knew that Renjun’s dreams were big, but sometimes he thought that they were taking him over entirely. In between the days, and the wild nights, and the parties, in the times that it was quiet, Jeno noticed it. He could tell when Renjun was dreaming of something more, he always seemed to know when he was in another world. It was the times when Renjun’s eyes became glassy and looked like they could fill up with tears before he was quick enough to blink them away. It was when his stare was vacant, when they were face to face in bed, and Jeno would kiss all over his cheeks and his forehead to bring him back to reality.

Renjun was daydreaming again, sat on the floor with his dreams spread out around him on the shabby carpet. Jeno had not seen them for a long time. The photographs of the places distant and far away. He sat down beside him, and Renjun smiled, wincing as he pressed his hand down flat onto the carpet.

“Cramp?” Jeno crossed his legs.

Renjun drew his hand back and stretched it, nodding. “I’ve been tattooing all day. A very big back, needed a lot of ink on it.”

“I thought those belonged in the parlour backroom.” Jeno pointed at one of the photographs, one of a glacier spanning a mountain valley. He remembered where it had hung.

“These things? I cleared out my desk, thought I’d bring them back.” Renjun swept the photographs up, holding them in one hand and glancing down at the top of the stack. “My little dreams.”

“Your big dreams.”

“Stupid aren’t they?”

“Absolutely ridiculous”, Jeno bluffed weakly, but the ache in Renjun’s eyes was so genuine that he stopped. He pulled the photograph pile out of Renjun’s hand and chuckled softly as he pressed his lips together and frowned. “No, they aren’t.”

“I was just putting them away”, Renjun said. “I don’t know why I got them out anyway.”

“I do.”

“Why’s that then?”

“Because you’re afraid of forever.” Jeno placed the photograph pile neatly on the carpet, careful not to damage the precious paper pieces. It was almost silent, the only sound creeping in from the outside world, the noise of car engines on the main roads and the low murmur of people on the pavements by the pub. It was quiet enough for Jeno’s thoughts to come out. They were colourful, the thoughts of forever, like the fireworks at New Years, and they were warm like forever should be, for Jeno. But the truth was laid out, and they had stepped around it for long enough. “You’re so afraid of forever.”

“How did you guess?”, Renjun whispered.

“It’s obvious, I know you.”

“This is forever, isn’t it?” Renjun nodded at the cracked walls of the apartment. “All of this. I want forever with you, but you’re right, I am afraid of it. I’m afraid that I’ll fuck it up.”

“But you want that too?” Jeno picked up a photograph - it showed a deep canyon, bathed in orange hues. This time the paper felt like it was taunting him, with a promise of escape from the mundane. He wondered how he could ever compete with it. “You want to go.”

“Stop it, Jeno.” Renjun shook his head “I told you, they’re just dreams.”

“Aren’t they what you want?”

“I want this.” Renjun dug his heels into the carpet, his dirt covered socks scratching against the worn out fabric. “And I want you.”

Jeno thought that Renjun was wrong. He wanted the extraordinary, and he wanted the mundane, all at once. He wanted his dreams, but his dreams were abundant, they did not know the limits like the lines of a map. He was a contradiction. He wanted danger, and he wanted safety too, absent but all there. All of it was contained in the centre of his eyes where the fire was. The flames could only be tamed if every desire was met, so instead it stayed burning. Renjun’s dreams didn’t care much for Jeno, not the way that Renjun did for him. He wanted the world, the gutter and the stars, wanted to be everything at once, and it was tearing him apart.

“And you want your dreams too.”

“They’re still there, growing and growing because my mind tells me I’ve not been alive enough. Because I’ve always had someone there, and I’ve never taken risks. I don’t know what that’s like, I want to know, and it scares me.”

Jeno shook his head. “You’re self-destructive.”

“I know.”

“You’re never happy with what you have. You want everything at once.”

“I am happy. I’m so, so fucking happy.”

Jeno bit his lip to suppress the bitter ache in the corner of his eyes, the watery tears that wanted so desperately to fall yet wouldn’t out of sheer pride. He dared to glance at Renjun, who was staring down at the carpet.

“Is this what you always do?”, he snapped hot headedly, “you get something you want and then you throw it away for something else? Picking people up and dropping them again.”

“Is that really what you think?”, Renjun asked quietly.

Jeno’s shoulders sank. “No, it isn’t.”

“I’ve always been afraid of forever, but I’ve never wanted it more than I have with you.”

Jeno knew that he could not blame Renjun for having dreams, for wanting more. He did not think that anyone could be blamed, it was innate, to want what one did not have, and to know what was not known. Even the guys in the garage had dreams, and in a way they were just as grand as the ones that Renjun had. And it was innate to fear eternity, like he had feared the forever of a tattoo.

Renjun had been trapped before. He’d had to grow up once before and he had withdrawn. He had been in immature love, and he had been in grown up love. They had tried to grow up with it, but at heart they were both still kids. Perhaps they did not need to grow up as fast as they had thought.

Jeno wanted to be stronger, but he knew he would always take Renjun into his arms. Even later, when Renjun’s body was pressed to his, he still felt like he was slipping away, crumbling like the tattered apartment walls. Renjun belonged to nobody, he would not give up his heart, except in those rare seconds that he gave himself to Jeno. He was so near, close but far away, all the same contradictions that came with loving him. From the way that Renjun lay spread out on the bed, he looked like he was surrendering, the street lights shining over him through the window, London glowing pearly white on the inside of his thigh and over his naval. He took in every touch, tender and rough, afraid that it would be gone by morning.

Renjun rested his forehead on Jeno’s collarbone so thoughtlessly, against the place where he had inked a piece of himself. He breathed over the bone softly, leaving a little more of himself there with every pant and kiss delivered to the skin for him to keep. Jeno wanted to believe in every breath.

He laid awake afterwards. Watching Renjun sleep, there was a sheen of sweat that had not dried yet, left glistening upon his forehead. Jeno brushed away the hair stuck to it with a single finger, filled with the urge to hold him close again. Renjun’s eyes were unlike the rest of him, so alive, but now that they were closed, and he was asleep, he seemed to have let down his guard. His face was dull and pallid, ashen. There was something inexplicably vulnerable about him, woven into his expression and his hollow cheekbones.

The book lay on the table beside the bed, the one that Renjun could read over and over, purple cover like a looming figure. Jeno thought about picking it up and opening it to its first flimsy page.

He turned over instead, chasing the sleep that wouldn’t come to him.

--

He caved in three days later, at the same time of night, when again sleep was not on the cards, and his thoughts were gnawing at him, when he felt entirely alone despite the hot body of Renjun beside him.

The first page of the book fell open easily, and Jeno’s stomach twisted in panic. It was illustrated with pictures of the bird. He began to read, aided by the foggy streetlights. He had never been captivated much by books, but it stayed in his sticky palms until dawn broke through the pink filtered sky. The story was simple, in a way, the seagull wanted to fly the highest, higher than all the other gulls, bored of the limitations of land. It needed freedom to be its true self, to be better, and to reach its own version of perfection.

Renjun stirred in the bed beside him, turning over onto his side, lips parted softly. He was much like the seagull on his collarbone, and the one in the book, sometimes, the one he had wanted to be when he was a child. Jeno wondered if it was the inspiration for all of his dreams. The feathered wings he had imagined on Renjun’s shoulder blades, and the wings of the bird that really did span his back. He wanted to learn a lot and live a lot. The discovery, and the aspiration, the climb to a perfect existence. He was like the bird, the broken bird that wanted to fly, a caged creature, with bold promises of forever when he didn’t even know what the next day held.

For a second he felt at peace with the bird on the paper, and the one inked on his collarbone. It was a part of both of them. The seagull was inked on Jeno as a reminder of his love, and it lived inside of Renjun, there to destroy him unless it got what it wanted, two polar opposite existences.

Perhaps if he were to hold on tighter to Renjun, then he would stay. It was instinctive, to hold onto what was loved, but loving someone too much, a bird with fragile wings, holding on could crush it and kill it. But he was afraid to let go.

Thumbing the pages after he had reached the last one, Jeno watched as the illustrations came together, blurring as each picture passed quickly. The image of the seagull was on every page, getting closer and closer to the sun, faster and faster as he flicked the pages rapidly so it seemed the bird was flying across the book from one side to the other. When it stopped on the last page, its shadow was right over the sun.

He was afraid that Renjun would resent him, and his dreams too, if he stayed as he was, with the thirst for more, and then he would end up with nothing.

--

Jeno found it difficult to concentrate. The four corners of the car’s chassis felt like they were shutting him into its shadow. He twisted the wrench, tightening its grip around the pipe as he tugged at it. It did not budge, and he sighed at his failed attempt, discarding the metal object on the dirty ground.

Hot spring and sticky sweat filled his mind, and Renjun too. Not in the way that he used to, not the forbidden feelings, or the slowly growing affection. They were more mature, and they ached a lot more of desperate love, watching as he drifted away. The weeks of conversations of forever, and never. The handfuls of contradictions. He did not want Renjun to wither completely.

They had walked together that morning, from the apartment to the roads that they were so familiar with, a step too far into the mundane. The garage came first, and Renjun went the rest of the way alone to the tattoo parlour. Even then, he had sensed Renjun was holding something back. He had been quiet, in a dream probably, of course, subdued and distant. He seemed preoccupied with thoughts other than London backstreets. When Jeno had asked him if he was okay, Renjun had simply nodded and brushed his finger silently against Jeno’s hand, to offer some reassurance. This time Jeno could not bring himself to believe him. The same thoughts that plagued him at night had arisen.

Jeno reached for the wrench in the dark space, snapping the frustration away with another brutal push in an outlet for his anger. He did not want to let go.

The day distracted him, spare tyres and the burning sun, the simpler parts of life and the simpler thoughts. In the evening there was nothing to distract him. Renjun sat crossed legged on the make shift couch, as usual, a book balanced in his lap. Occasionally he paused to turn a page, or to glance at the fading sun, still subdued, and slow moving. He gripped the book hard though, his cheeks unusually pale and eyes forlorn where his fire should have been.

Jeno was unsure what had compelled his movements because he had thought that he would feel anger rising in his unsettled mind, but in the end all he felt was pity. Pity for the dreamer. It came over him all at once, the surge of adrenalin that pushed him towards Renjun. He sat on the throw, making a dip in the worn out thread and wrapping his arms gently around Renjun’s waist from behind. He was greeted by the warm smell of cloves as he rested his cheek onto Renjun’s shirt, close to where an earring shimmered on his tragus. Renjun was tense for a moment, becoming lax and dropping the book.

“What are you doing?”, Renjun laughed, tilting his head back. His breath fanned Jeno’s cheek.

“I was thinking.” It wasn’t a new thought, it had grown and grown, somewhere in the depths of Jeno’s subconscious, until it had been on his mind without him being aware of it. Somewhere he had known for a while that it would come to this. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t hold on too tight to Renjun, but now that he could, he wondered how it were possible to be holding onto something so tightly that he was about to let go of. He inhaled.

“You’ve never wanted forever more than this, right?”

Renjun nodded his head slowly but did not turn. Jeno was glad, it seemed like they both knew that facing each other would hurt too much. If he looked at Renjun’s face he knew he would never say the words. He stared at the whisps of hair that stuck up from his nape instead.

“Then go”, he said.

Renjun turned his head sharply half way. “What?”

“Go”, Jeno repeated. “Go to all those places in the photographs that you want to go to”, he could feel a lump in his throat, “and come back at the end of it, if you still want this forever.”

“Jeno—”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

There was a moment of silence, and then Renjun turned quickly, his fingers gripping Jeno’s shirt, eyes flaming the way that Jeno always loved. “Come with me”, he whispered, and pressed his warm forehead to Jeno’s. Jeno shut his eyes.

“And leave everything here behind?” Jeno’s head drooped. Renjun said nothing. “You told me that you saved up for it?”

“I saved up for years.” Renjun let go of Jeno’s shirt.

“How many people did you save for?”

Renjun hesitated. “One”, he said. “But I’m qualified now, I could work my way around.” He looked up at Jeno desperately. “You could too.”

“It’s your dream”, Jeno said quietly.

“Are you saying, no?”

“I’m saying go.”

“You want me to go?” Renjun’s eyes were the same kind of glassy now, and misted over, but not in a way that made him seem distant and lost. He searched Jeno’s face, his eyes flickering to focus, the water pooling inside them, water fighting the fire.

“I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay here with me. Even if that’s selfish”, Jeno said truthfully, and his voice cracked as he tried to smile. “Why would I want you to go? But if it’s what you want, then go”, he managed.

“What would you do if I went?”

“The same things I always do.” Jeno felt himself inside the fire of Renjun’s eyes, inside of his dreams, at the centre of the flame. Renjun’s lip was downturned, and he shook his head, like he couldn’t bear to listen. “I’ll just miss you more.”

“The apartment”, Renjun started, hesitating, “and the cat.”

Jeno laughed weakly. “They can wait.”

Renjun reached for Jeno’s face finally and put his head onto his shoulder. “What do I do?”, he murmured, a thumb beside Jeno’s jaw, as if to say, I don’t want to hurt you, like he was trying to hold onto his life here and push away his dreams. The touch resonated as an ache in Jeno’s throat, and a falling tear that Renjun caught swiftly with his thumb. He swiped it away, like an offering of closeness before he would disappear.

--

Renjun left at the end of spring. When summer had laid down its promises, the warmth and leaves on the trees, the days longer and lighter. The weeks that had led up to it seemed to have vanished, quicker than Jeno would have liked them to.

Forever was not on their minds, growing up was. Renjun had no plan, no days to count, except a few rough notes he had scribbled into an old notebook, outlines for the summer of his own life. He had bought Renjun a Walkman and left his cassette inside it. The tape that they always played down empty main roads, the songs of their love story, for long journeys, Renjun’s longest journey yet. Jeno hoped it would be enough for Renjun to come back.

Jeno still wanted to hold Renjun close while he could, right up until the night before he would leave, when his backpack sat by the door, a reminder of the next day. He remembered how connected their bodies had become, a coda, and a cacophony of gasps as Renjun’s body made its imprint on the mattress as he poured all of the anger and the fear, and the unfairness of life into his grip on Jeno’s shoulder blades. Jeno poured his into the press of his palms to Renjun’s hair. That way he did not have to think about the next day, all he saw was Renjun, and the need to take in every detail of his face, to memorise the places he’d become accustomed to, soft skin and inked tattoos instead of sleep.

Afterwards, Renjun had pulled down the front of Jeno’s shirt, more tentatively, and more tenderly than any other action of the night. He had touched the skin, hot and sweaty still, the glistening tattoo on Jeno’s collarbone, and Jeno was reminded of that piece of forever, the art in Renjun fingertips, the forever they could inscribe. They trembled as they moved along the bone, then over the wings and the blue tinges, as if saying, here’s a piece of me, that he was not really going.

“I’m scared”, he whispered against it, chanting. He had breathed over the skin, letting the words linger there.

“I’m scared too”, Jeno had admitted – scared of not knowing, scared of letting go, scared of being alone while Renjun was seeing the world.

Still, the morning had come, and Renjun had a train to catch. Off to Paris, the city of love, alone but full of life. The Walkman that Jeno had gifted him sat in his pocket, shiny like Renjun’s lips were the very first time that Jeno had met him. With his tatty leather jacket, and his torn black jeans, he looked like a bird about to fly for the first time. Jeno could imagine it just like the first time they had met.

“I understand”, Renjun said nervously, and tiptoed to press his lips to Jeno’s briefly, “if you don’t want to wait.”

Jeno just shook his head. “See you soon, spaceman”, he grinned. “Tell me what the stars are like.”

--

Sometimes, Jeno wished the snow would fall like ash again, the way that it had done in winter. Echoes of the days idly lying beside the window panes watching the snow cluster.

It was odd, how Jeno missed all of the little things about Renjun. He was made up of a million shattered pieces, perfectly held together, and Jeno missed them all. Pencil strokes, and ink. Strawberries, and sunsets, and stained ashtrays and concrete walls. He supposed it was part of feeling so alive, it came with every spectrum of emotion. The chapstick he had left behind on the table beside the bed smelled sweet and reminded him of glossy lips pressed to his. He wished to see the flames in Renjun’s eyes, even if he had been so burnt by them, the flames of youth that did not give in to forever. He wished for a glimpse, or he was afraid he would forget what it was like to look at Renjun’s face.

It was dry, and hot on every street in London. The pace of life seemed to resume, all his day time hours in the garage. He’d decided to throw himself into it, he needed the money that extra hours brought. The money covered the rent, Renjun had left some behind too, enough for a few months.

The first postcard home arrived, letters to Jeno. They filled up the room like an exhibit in a museum, memoirs of what could look like a lifetime in written words, cascading on the walls, stuck with tape, a bittersweet reminder of the adventures that were not his. They made the drab apartment seem like the world was in one room. Jeno only cared that they were from Renjun. Renjun never seemed to stay in one place for very long, the postcards and the letters came from different countries, and different cities, stamped in the corner of the paper.

Renjun was in Italy. That’s what the latest letter had said. Jeno’s chest had tightened when he had seen it lying on the floor beside the door, the apartment address, and Jeno’s name written in Renjun’s scribbly handwriting. He had torn it open but held the pages of the letter gently. The calligraphy swirled in long lines of writing, it detailed Renjun’s stay in a hostel in the heart of Venice and walks through ancient palace grounds. On the second page there was a sketch of a gondola floating on a canal. Taped to the top of the paper loosely, was a pressed flower, a little bluebell with flattened petals. Above it, Renjun had written the words, amore mio.

It fell as Jeno touched it, tumbling onto the dusty tabletop. He had been bold enough to let Renjun slip away, but he was not bold enough to say that he did not miss him. He hoped that Renjun missed him too, amongst the dreams. The room full of letters reassured him. His chest ached. Loving Renjun was cruel, it always had been. He thought often, that letting him go had been the kinder of two cruelties, to let go for him to come back, the risk that he had taken. But sometimes, it tore him apart and spat him out again as he held onto the hope of a forever one day.

He set the flower on the sill of the window, counting the days since he had become a fool in love. He pulled the curtains shut. Afterwards he flicked on a record and lay in the dark, with his eyes shut, as he had done with Renjun. It was beautifully melancholic.

--

“Where is he now?”

“He’s sipping his own tea in Vienna.”

Donghyuck laughed faintly, “Is he now?” He exhaled out into the cool August evening. The balcony of his house was quiet. In fact, Jeno had found the whole house rather lifeless without parties and strangers’ faces breathed into it. A change from the alcohol, and the lavishness. It had started to rain more often in the evenings than it had done at the start of summer and the days in mid-July. The air out on the balcony was not restricting like the air inside Donghyuck’s house. They still met up, for the parties, or for whatever, Donghyuck felt like a piece of himself that Renjun had left behind.

“When did you last hear from him?”

“Two weeks ago. He sends postcards.”

Donghyuck’s hand slipped from the table. “How romantic of him.”

Picking up his own porcelain tea cup, Donghyuck smiled, almost sadly. His hair was flattened and dishevelled, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He was drinking spicy tea, the aroma of chai floating through the air as he brought it to his lips. The sun glowed gold on his cheeks, trails of the evening sunset. Gold like the rest of Donghyuck’s life. Jeno hummed, his hands skimming the table as he rested them on top.

Donghyuck frowned, like he could sense the tension. “He was trapped before. I think. Here.”

“I know.”

“He’s a dreamer.”

“I know.”

Donghyuck sipped from the tea, swallowing the last drops and placing it down gently. Jeno looked out to the gardens, his head slumped against his shoulder. Everything was the same in the static evening, London’s lights twinkling like they always did, in the distance.

“I’ll miss him”, Donghyuck said.

Jeno didn’t turn, his cheek instead pressing deeper into the soft leather jacket covering his shoulders. “He’s coming back.”

“Then”, Donghyuck began, pausing, “then he’s just, preparing the rest of his life”, he said unconvincingly, glancing at the floor.

“Yeah, I suppose he is.”

That evening after he had left Donghyuck’s, he drove to Primrose Hill and watched the sun fade. It was empty, where it had once belonged to him and Renjun, so he shouted to the sky and the plethora of stars in it. They made him feel insignificant. He shouted to the dreamer that could not hear him, until his lungs ached. The stars glared back at him. He knew he was a fool because he would always wait. He did not let himself cry. Instead he touched the tattoo on his skin and clung to the hope settled in his chest.

--

The days of October felt lonelier. The dry air was bitter and unforgiving. It reminded Jeno of how long it had been. A whole summer had gone with the wake of days without Renjun. Only the calls from pay phones late at night when the streets were empty and the postcards, and the letters. There was hardly any room left for them on the four walls of the lounge. They came in bursts, sometimes a lot at once, and sometimes weeks without a word.

They had begun to taunt Jeno, full of his own fading hope, and someone else’s dreams written in cursive letters. He often tried to place them to the face that had written them out with such care, wondering whether the wrists had been warmed by leather as he inked the words like a tattoo onto the paper. He wondered if his lips were still painted with strawberries, or if he had bitten down on the bottom one as he wrote. It made him afraid that his mind could not quite piece the picture together in his head, only splinters.

Renjun had been in his dreams again last night. It had begun to happen more often these days. In those times, he was a figment of the memories Jeno held of him, but the visions still seemed so visceral, as if he were there. Jeno hardly ever dreamed, but when he did it was of nineteen eighty five, and chapstick that tasted of strawberry, they were dreams of his lover. Sometimes he would simply stare at Jeno, and other times his hands would wander freely across the skin of his dream self the way he wanted them too. It had been another of those type of dream, so intense that he was sure he was being struck by the sharp tip of a needle again. He dreamed of starry skies too, and hilltops over London, then he woke up alone.

The unopened letter sat on top of the table. Jeno had ignored it since it had arrived through the rusty letterbox that morning. The room was dark like the night that poured through the open window, and the lamp light cast over the walls, making the pages of the letters glow, looking as though they could melt as easily as candle wax. Sometimes he wished that they would.

Walking slowly to the table, he picked up the thin papers and unfolded them.

Dear Jen,

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written. I’m sorry. I hope that you’re still receiving these letters.

I made it to Tokyo safely, I’ll be here for three weeks. At the time of writing this letter, I haven’t seen a lot of the city, but I’m sure by the time it reaches you, the jet leg will have gone away, and maybe I’ll have explored some more. I’ll let you know what it’s like, maybe one day, we could visit it.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I’ve had a lot of time to, even though life doesn’t stop moving, sometimes, here, when there’s no one to talk to, or to know, I get a lot of time for thoughts. I’ve found myself with a lot of time to reflect on my life, and what I think it means. I think about all the time that we spent together, and the things at home I never thought that I’d miss, and all the things that I knew that I would. It feels like so long since I’ve seen your face. I miss you. Lee Jeno, my Lee Jeno. For all the thinking that I’ve been doing, I’m sorry that I couldn’t have put that into better words.

I think about what led me here. It was you. I wouldn’t be here if it were not for you. I suppose that this letter is a thank you, a thank you for-

Jeno stopped reading. He gripped the paper tightly, trying to stop his eyes from prickling sorely. Anger mixed with hot welling tears. Anger at himself, and at Renjun, and at the world. The kind of tears that could be felt in the throat and tasted of salt as he shut his eyes. They rose upwards, the warm feeling, burning him from the inside out like vitriol and making him feel sick. It matched the smell of rancid tobacco from the pub under the apartment. It made his skin crawl. The hollow voices from the streets too. Jeno paid them no heed. Silent tears, no wailing, and no howling, the most painful kind. The letter crumpled between his fingers.

He tore it up. All of the words that Renjun had written with precision. They became tiny pieces, fragments of a whole and flung about the room. They danced for a moment before becoming lifeless and scattering. He did not have the heart to destroy the other letters, all the words on the walls. One was enough. The fragile paper pieces made him cry harder, in his house of cards, the walls of paper letters, like destroying the letter would send the whole apartment crumbling to ash.

He sat for a long time, on the bed that made do as a couch in the lounge. Where he had held Renjun close and listened to his dreams. The tears came then, and he scrabbled on the floor, picking the pieces up and laying them out on the table carefully, but still it didn’t look quite right. He left the pieces there, walking to sit beside the window sill, where the pressed bluebell lay. There was no point in crushing it, it was already dead. He wanted to hold it close. He contemplated lighting up a cigarette, but he knew it would clog up his throat and taste bitter and unpleasant. He had hardly touched them anyway. Instead, he lit it and watched the useless smoke float upwards as tears dribbled slowly down his cheeks. He waited until it burnt right down to the filter. Pointless. Like everything else. He crushed it against the ashtray, seeing himself in the cinders left behind.

He grabbed the ashtray and hurled it at the wall. The glass hit the plaster and smashed into pieces. His anger drained to sadness.

What was he was waiting for? There was no address to send a letter back to. He had lost sight of forever and all he could see now was the next postcard.

--

Jeno ambled past the letters still stuck on the lounge wall and into the kitchen to see who was knocking on his door. The snow was falling heavily again. He smiled wryly at the way it clung to the frosted window, obscuring the view outside, a twisted smile that took him back to another time. Jeno wondered who would be out in a chill like that, been foolish enough to stand out in it. There was only one person that he knew who was as foolish as he was, sought such a bitter thrill.

He turned the handle of the door.

Two hundred and three days. Thirty letters opened.

Snowflakes had settled in his hair and fallen in his eyes, but he blinked them away. He was standing on the doorstep, leather jacket pulled tight around him and backpack clinging to his shoulders. His hair was shorter than it had been when he left, swept out of his face, and his lips were chapped and bitten. Tired eyes, perhaps from the plane journey, but underneath that, full of the fire that had been missing.

Jeno did not say anything immediately, because he was sure it could not have been real, he had dreamed up the scenario so often that it almost didn’t feel unusual to him. But it was like looking at a stranger, the Renjun in front of him, different but the same. Or maybe it had just been too long since he had seen his face.

“You cut your hair”, Jeno managed, voice barely audible as he kept his eyes on Renjun.

Renjun parted his lips, eyes wet and watery. “Can I come in?”

Jeno moved backwards. He had been angry, but this close to what had hurt him, he felt it melt away slowly. Renjun stepped inside, dropping his bag to the floor and pushing shut the door behind him. He walked through into the lounge, looked around at the walls, every inch that was covered in his own words, letters of his life, the postcards that Jeno had left taped up, waxy words and glossy paper, and the writer watching them. His documented dreams, he stopped to stare at Jeno and the world he had created in the room. He gave a single, tentative, restrained touch to one of the papers.

Time moved again as Renjun ran across the room to him. The initial shock that Jeno felt as arms were thrown around his shoulders made him trip backwards, but he had Renjun to hold onto. Renjun clung to him, like it was the first time ever, like he did not want to let go, like it would mend Jeno’s broken heart. Renjun fell back into his arms like no time had passed at all.

“Jeno”, he breathed into Jeno’s hair and then against his lips. A gentle press of lips that was hesitant and tasted like salty tears.

It was by no means perfect, but Renjun had seen the world and come back to Jeno. He was always trying to fly away, and he was inconsistent, a burning cigarette, and glowing embers, all tangled and torn up as he wrote out his love letters and sent them to Jeno. The millions of pieces of himself drawn out on paper like a map.

With the same warmth, and imprints on the mattress, they found each other again. All the days they had been apart. Jeno was sure he could fall in love all over again. Tattoo tracing and rough fingers made everything familiar. Twisted sheets and bare bodies, the feeling of skin on skin. He’d forgotten what the taste of strawberries and cigarettes was like on his tongue. Jeno saw the dreams in Renjun’s eyes and he wanted them too.

In the morning, Jeno would ask Renjun if there would be tomorrows, and maybe Renjun would give him an answer. He’d do a lot in the morning, he’d ask Renjun about where he had been, listen to all of it. Maybe next time he’d go too, out to the stars that Renjun had seen and come back to Jeno from. Maybe they’d go somewhere, be a little less hopeless, be swept away into the world with the autumn leaves as they passed to winter. Maybe this time, there would be time for I love you’s. If Renjun stayed, it would not be out of boredom, or pity, it would be because he wanted to, no other reason.

Perhaps it would be forever, but Jeno thought that they did not need grand promises of forever when they had dreams to tide them over instead.

For now, they lay in the gutter and looked up at the stars shining over them through the dirty apartment windows. Renjun lay next to him on the mattress, a handful of his dreams filling his head.

Jeno’s lay right beside him.