Chapter Text
Jacob's life is but a succession of storms, slowly waiting for the silence to come.
It never does.
-
They get a new kettle. Bright red, the type a quaint old woman on your street would have.
Jacob opens the cupboard to make tea for them. Precociously placed, right next to his tea, are tins of pineapple.
Kevin says nothing. "One lump, please."
-
Which is mightier, the penis or the sword? How many people have pondered it while staring at a bunch of them through a viewfinder?
Another day, another commission. Another day of forging love for consumption. And not for the first time, he wonders - where are their parents? It's like they floated from the streets and ended here. On this dirty, disgusting bed sheet. That he told them to take to the dry cleaners. Yesterday.
The man in front of him is getting nailed. Crucified. Something hard and fast and sore penetrating him, endlessly. The man keeps mumbling words. Younghoon? Jacob can't quite hear it. He keeps waiting for the final nail in the coffin to come, for the battered remains of their self-made sepulchre to give out.
He's never paid much attention to the walls here. They could do with a lick of paint. A full tongue stripe of it.
He thinks he'll title this one The Charge of the Boyz Brigade. No-one watching will care for the joke, but at least Jacob can snicker when he uploads it.
600 strong, baby.
He looks back down to his camera, away from the ceiling that his eyes have wandered to.
He's forgotten to start the film.
-
He comes home to Kevin cleaning the bottom floor. He's wriggling around to something from the radio, singing and polishing the dining table. It takes Jacob a few seconds to recognise the song.
But he remembers it.
"What's up, Beyoncé?"
He might as well have walked in and called him a faggot.
"I'm joking, sorry. You sound good."
Kevin perks up at that. Turns around and goes back to polishing.
He leaves him to it. Goes to his bed and lies down. Doesn't even take his clothes off.
He must have slept for a century.
His door creaks open, and he wakes up with a blanket on him.
Or maybe he dreamt that bit, too.
-
He makes the mistake of telling him his name.
"The jokes write themselves..."
Which is why he didn't want to tell him.
"...Bae."
The body plastered behind him laughs, and then runs out the door.
-
He doesn't need to imagine anymore.
The bathroom has a lock. It's right there. A lock that Jacob so painstakingly bolted to the door.
He really did need a piss.
The door flies open when he pushes it. It's not empty. Kevin's leaning on the shower wall, resting his head into his arm. Jutting the small of his back out. Trying to thrust into himself with his index finger.
He hears him. Or feels him, his exposed skin rippling with goose bumps.
"Jake, fuck, I'm so glad you're here, I-"
Why does he keep talking so much? It's not like he needs help.
He knows this part. Knows the script off by heart.
He pushes Kevin's fingers out the way and shoves his own in. Replaces them with his dick.
He has him up against the wall, then on his hands and knees. Bent over the edge of the sink, then on his back on the floor. There's a lot you can do in a small bathroom. Jacob decides to do Kevin.
It's only when he's panting under him, red and begging for mercy, that he pulls out. Doesn't think about it. He comes, all over Kevin's stomach. A little landing in his pubes.
The man underneath him has already came, dried spunk glazing his happy trail.
They look at each other. Heaving, catching their wayward breath. Either the shower's broke, or one of them remembered to turn it off.
He hopes Kevin's ass doesn't hurt in the morning.
He hopes the shower still works if it does.
It's when he pulls himself together, wandering up the stairs, that he remembers to ask.
Did I kiss him?
And he did. He slowly rocked inside him, pressed his lips to his, mumbled you're mine into his mouth.
God knows how many times he said it.
Kevin said it back.
Said I'm yours.
Called him by his name.
Jacob.
-
Not coming in today, Changmin reads aloud to the studio.
Applause and cheers come from his audience.
"Who's he coming in, instead?" Chanhee snorts.
Changmin sticks his phone back in his pocket. "Poor guy, whoever he is."
Younghoon’s resting his head in Chanhee’s lap, half dozed off.
Changmin glances at him. Just for a second. Burns the image in his mind, so he can have something to keep when he leaves.
"Wanna get KFC?" Younghoon suggests.
"Sure. I'll go pick it up."
-
They lived off each other, for a while. When they started.
They made ends meet the one way they knew how: ₩75,000 for a blowjob. Jacob got his ass turned out - that was the worst part. Getting fucked. Enjoying it. Forgetting, halfway through, that a transaction was taking place. That he got paid for the forged pleasure of his company.
They used the money to buy ramen and soda: no wonder their cum tasted like shit.
(Jacob forgot the rent once. His landlord found him alone. Said “I know what you do for a living.” Said a bunch of other things, things he doesn't remember, while he got fucked boneless into the mattress. He was still cleaning cum out his ass days later.)
They - or maybe he - stopped contact with the outside. Stopped taking handouts. Took on different names, while Jacob figured out how to bypass firewalls. Got to the sites they needed to get to. Found a digital audience who would pay.
There was a lot of sex. A lot more bickering. Jacob being a stickler for condoms and testing; New being too prone to contingency. ("나 미국 상관없어-" "캐나다" "-한국 다르다"). New’s revolving door of friends who were there for the ride, regardless of what the ride entailed.
It was when they began to make money that he got stuck. With 3 people who realised how serious he was.
Who knew porn could be so maudlin, so monotonous?
-
"Who's better, me or them?"
Jacob makes a game of seeing how hard he can stare at his eyelids. Why does he always want to talk after sex? Fuck.
"Whatdymean."
He knows exactly what he means.
"Like... them."
...
"Cause they must be like, super hot and stuff."
He remembers when he met Younghoon. Yeah, Kevin's right.
Shame about the having-a-pile-of-rocks-for-a-brain thing.
"Yeah, but..."
"But?"
Is he stupid, or is he fishing?
"It's a job to me. I don't think about it. I get in, film, and get out. And..."
"And?"
And they're not you, Kevin.
A hand starts brushing his chest. He stays silent.
He thinks he falls asleep after that.
-
"Hey- hmph," something wet comes down the phone, a hush a laugh - "Jacob? Jake, hyungie?"
It's 3 something now. Was 3 something when the alarm bell came though.
"Yes?" he says, trying to sound stern. He blinks away fog from his eyes. What time did he usually get up for work, again?
"Me and Y-" someone hushes, a quick stop. "Me and Younghoon were thinking..."
That would be a first. He can feel breath from the receiver, holding it against his neck.
"Hm."
"What if..." the bed keeps rustling, "what if- I know the threesome scenes are popular," did someone just bang a bedside drawer, a wall? His end or theirs? "What if me and Younghoonie filmed something ourselves?"
He coughs. Splutters. A rustle of blankets.
"Su-"
And then there's an exhale, a giggle coming from somewhere. Somewhere not here.
"Greaaat, Jake, because I think Changmin said something about wanting to, uh, film-"
He hangs up, throws his phone to the bedside table.
The breathing down the receiver is still there.
"Was that them?"
This voice is fully awake. A giant red ball of sweat plastered to Jacob's side.
"Yeah."
"What did they want?"
"I don't fucking know, I'll see in the morning."
He faces the wall. A web of flesh detangles itself from his side.
But it leaves a touch. Just slight, on his hip. At this time of night, the walls are the same colour of his eyelids.
-
When he wakes up, they don't look at each other. He starts shoving clothes from the floor on himself.
Doesn't even bother showering.
He's not looking at him, but he knows he's staring at the ceiling.
He knows.
He knows that he knows.
-
"Serious question, how has no-one complained about the noise?"
New and Younghoon laugh, trying to push each other away. "We have an agreement with the owner."
Of course. Sloppy Rent Boys Suck Landlord Dick, Vol. 3
"Where's Q?"
"Changminnie? We don't know."
And they're off again.
-
Q is sitting in a room, the same room that Jacob is in now. Sitting in his chair, gazing out the window.
It's Jacob who breaks the silence.
"Hi."
"Shut the door."
He does. He takes the seat opposite him. The one behind the desk, where a client would sit.
Q turns to him. He's been crying.
"How long have you known?"
"Known what?"
"I'm not stupid, Jacob."
He's not.
Q’s the furthest thing from stupid, and Jacob sure feels stupid right now.
"…you mean Younghoon and…?"
“Yes.”
All the pennies, cents and won drop at once.
He doesn't feel richer for it.
"Shit, Q, I'm sorry. I didn't know until… last night? They phoned me and-"
"Yeah. I know. I was in the other room."
Jacob goes somewhere else in himself. A small cough from Q snaps him back, and the gulf of desk threatens to swallow them whole. Spit them back out all over again.
"Shit."
"Did you really not know?"
"No. I... Q, I'm so fucking sorry."
His gaze is still hard on him, bloodshot, but something softens. Gives way.
"Changmin. My name is Changmin, now."
Jacob turns to the door. "Sure thing, Changmin."
"Oh, by the way."
"Hm?"
"Who's Kevin?"
-
He’s driving.
The song comes on the radio again.
Twit twit twit twit...
It swims around his head. It's like the whole world has come to jeer at him, in the form of an innocent pop song.
A baby fox crawls onto the road.
He serves to the other side, nearly colliding with something else.
The song's changed now. Jacob doesn't know this one. It's dead noise.
The world hasn't stopped for him.
It's not his song. He doesn't own it.
It's everyones song.