Archive of Our Own

San Francisco, California

Joshua’s life falls apart in a terribly anti-climactic way. 

In all honesty, of the numerous times his decisions have blown up in his face, this has to be one of the most boring. It’s nearly laughable how unoriginal it is. 

“Are you cheating on me?” he asked plainly, tapping the AmEx that belongs to his fiance’s mistress against the kitchen island. It’s marble— even though Joshua had told Byeonggi over and over again that Granite looks the same and it stains less easily. Marble is horribly porous. But, no, he insisted. Said it’s higher class. That’s why there’s a faint puddle of red right in the middle, soaked into the rock. Joshua supposes maybe it was Byeonggi’s mistress’ mistake. Byeonggi doesn’t like red wine. How didn’t Joshua see that before? 

“Yes,” Byeonggi replied, just as plainly. 

Joshua hummed. “How long?” 

Byeonggi shrugged. “A while.” 

It was pretty cut and dry after that. The inevitable collapse of a house that’s had its stilts blown out from under it. Joshua packed his things— or, he packed everything he could into the luggage he owns. He stacked everything into a neat pile next to the door, and then he vacuumed the carpet. 

He’s spent the last year of his life making their apartment feel like a place he could be proud of. He’s not going to leave it with an un-vaccummed floor. God knows Byeonggi won’t vacuum it himself once Joshua is gone, so Joshua does it one last time, just for peace of mind. He makes the bed, too. Fluffs the pillows. 

Afterwards, when his heart rate has evened out, he stands in front of the window at the far wall, arms wrapped around his chest, chewing on his bottom lip. It’s cloudy outside. Dark with the threat of rain. Cars bumble up and down the hill, and pedestrians walk back and forth, and the Earth doesn’t stop spinning. Joshua has hit the ground, and only realized after the fact that he didn’t fall far. It’s incredibly anti-climactic. A long breath in and a short breath out. He’s not as surprised as he should be, probably. 

Goddamnit. 

Joshua doesn’t move when the apartment door clicks open. He hones in on a shadowy figure at the end of the block through the window. Someone in a dark red raincoat, walking uptown. 

“Um, what the fuck is going on?” 

Short breath in, long breath out. Joshua shuts his eyes and squeezes his hands into fists against his arms. He turns around in one smooth movement, ball of his foot sliding over the wood floor that he picked out specifically for the grain. A smile attaches itself to his face, but he can tell it looks fake, so he quits trying. “Hi, Wonwoo,” he says calmly. “You’re leaving today, aren’t you?” 

Byeonggi’s brother blinks. He’s wearing loose khaki shorts that cut just below his knee and a striped brown polo that’s probably older than both of them hanging off of his frame. Tattoos are visible on his forearms, winding down his skin, a plastic bag of books in one hand and a steaming hot cup of gas station coffee in the other. No lid. He lifts the coffee-hand to his face and nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose, lenses fogging up immediately. 

“Yeah. I think so,” he says, jutting out his bottom lip to blow his hair off his forehead. He’s stopped in the middle of the entryway like he’s afraid to come inside. 

“You think so, or you know so?” Joshua sighs tightly. His eyes flick down to Wonwoo’s feet, grimacing at his incredibly practical sandals. 

Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. He lifts his arms up at his sides a few degrees, and glances around the apartment. Shakes his head. “Are you telling me to get out?” Another laugh. “Yeah, I’m leaving today. I’ve got a long drive home.” 

He finally comes back to life, kicking his shoes off by the door, stepping inside enough to set his coffee on the kitchen island. Joshua watches as coffee sloshes over the edge of the paper cup, spilling across marble. He opens his mouth to tell Wonwoo to clean it up, but he’s already doing it, ripping a paper towel off the roll. 

Byeonggi let the counter stain with red wine. 

“Great,” Joshua says. “I’m coming with you.” 

Wonwoo stops, hand hanging over the trash can, soiled paper towel dropping into the bin. “Excuse me?” 

“I’m coming with you,” Joshua repeats. He tips his head in the direction of his bags. 

The next laugh Wonwoo lets out is more solid. He looks Joshua up and down. Usually that wouldn’t get a rise, but Joshua is feeling just a little bit prickly. He stands up straighter. 

“No the fuck you’re not,” Wonwoo says. The lid of the trash can clangs shut. Joshua flinches. Wonwoo sets one hand on the counter, fingers landing just shy of the goddamn AmEx card that caused all of this in the first place. He looks at Joshua like an idiot. “What is happening right now? Where is Byeonggi?” 

Joshua sniffs. “I told him to leave before I put a bullet through his brain.” 

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes. His brows pull together, and his eyes narrow. He huffs lightly, making a pathetic little noise. “What the fuck is happening, Joshua?” 

“He’s been fucking someone else,” Joshua says plainly. Everything is so plain about today. He could have said Byeonggi is having an affair, but that sounds too plain. Joshua aches somewhere deep down in his chest, and he’s desperate to knock the feeling loose with words. “It’s over. I need to get to New York.”

A tiny, strangled noise leaves Wonwoo’s lips. His ears are bright red. “He—” he cuts himself off. He almost sounded like he was going to act surprised. He scrubs a hand over his forehead, blowing out a long breath, changing his tune. “Wow.” Not surprised. Just wow. 

“Yeah. I’m already packed. I vacuumed the floor. I’m ready to leave whenever.” 

“Are you, like…” Wonwoo visibly cringes, waving his hands in a vague circle. “Okay?” 

“Am I okay?” Joshua squints at him. “Hm, let me think. My boyfriend of two years— no, my fiance who I moved across the country for— away from all of my friends and family, mind you— just admitted he’s been cheating on me for nearly a year.” Joshua scrunches his nose up condescendingly. “I just told you I vacuumed the floor in the apartment I’ll never be coming back to, Wonwoo. I’ve been better.” 

“Right,” Wonwoo says. He straightens up and starts walking towards the guest room. “I don’t think you should come with me.” 

Joshua scoffs. He rolls his eyes back into his head, trailing Wonwoo to the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. “Seriously, Wonwoo?” 

“Yes, seriously.” Wonwoo starts shoving clothes into his duffel bag. He’s only been here for two days, but his things have exploded across the room. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” 

“Not a good idea,” Joshua repeats incredulously. 

Wonwoo looks up at him for a beat, lips pressed into a line. “There’s much faster ways to get to New York.” 

Joshua snorts. “I don’t care.” 

“I’m a shit driver,” Wonwoo argues weakly. That literature degree really worked wonders for him, he’s got logos, pathos, and ethos nailed down. 

“Yeah, obviously. Have you seen yourself? I don’t care,” Joshua emphasizes. He raises his eyebrows in challenge, pinning Wonwoo down. 

Wonwoo stares back at him, teeth clenched. 

He gives seven seconds later. Joshua is counting. Puts his head in his hands, pushing his glasses up into his hair in the process. “Fuck,” he groans. Then again, with more feeling, “Fuck.” 

Joshua gives him seven more seconds to cope. It’s hard to come to terms with fate. He checks his watch after Wonwoo’s seven seconds are up. “So, what time do you want to leave?” 

Wonwoo drives a shitty, old station wagon. 

“Actually, it’s a nineteen eighty-nine Chevrolet Caprice,” he grumbles when Joshua comments on it. 

It’s kind of ugly. A shiny, dark red color outside, and a red-maroon interior. Wonwoo has clearly done some work on it to update it to fit his needs. Joshua doesn’t really give a shit as long as it fits his bags and doesn’t break down in the middle of the road somewhere in Kansas, or something. He can’t for the life of him think of any other state in middle-America right now. He’s kind of having a hard day. 

It started raining almost as soon as they got on the road. The sky opened up and started crying on Joshua’s behalf, because he doesn’t have it in him to do it himself. He sits in the passenger’s seat, legs crossed, body angled towards the window, watching fat raindrops roll across the windows. Wonwoo’s car smells faintly of cigarettes. It makes Joshua’s mouth water, even though he’s been pretending he’s not the type to do things like that. 

He shifts, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out. The window fogs up under his nose. 

Wonwoo clears his throat awkwardly. “Are you cold?” 

“No,” Joshua lies, arms hugged to his chest. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. He doesn’t give any indication that he doesn’t believe him, but Joshua sees his fingers move towards the heat controls, ticking it up a few notches. He turns up the stereo a bit, too— he’s playing a Nico album. Joshua doesn’t know what his angle is. 

He glances at Wonwoo out of the corner of his eye. Arms extended to white-knuckle the steering wheel. His sleeves are riding up his biceps, his shorts up his thighs. He’s covered in tattoos— ink curling down both of his arms and over the knuckles of his right hand. It makes Joshua’s mouth water, even though he’s been pretending he’s not the type to like things like that. 

Wonwoo looks nothing like Byeonggi. Wonwoo takes after their mother, and Byeonggi after their father. Wonwoo’s hair is a bit too long, and a bit too curly. He doesn’t use product, and he’s got one too many piercings in his ears. His clothes don’t fit, and you wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at him that he has money. He uses an old iPod that he carries around in his pocket, and wired headphones, and he has tattoos that would make him unemployable for any job Byeonggi has had for the past fifteen years, probably. 

Joshua never thought too hard about the differences between Byeonggi and Wonwoo. He never thought too hard about Wonwoo at all, honestly. Now he kind of has to. 

Wonwoo is nothing like Byeonggi. Wonwoo is an author. He’s soft spoken, and quiet, and his parents are disappointed in him. Byeonggi is none of those things. He’s loud, and brash, and he’s done everything right. 

Joshua’s head hurts. He could use a cigarette. He’d never smoke around Byeonggi, because Byeonggi hated it. He’d curl his lip and act disgusted. Last time he caught Joshua smoking, he refused to speak to him for three days. 

“When I said you probably don’t want to come with me, it’s because I’m not going straight home—” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He winces like Joshua is going to smack him for admitting it. “I backloaded my trip so that I’d hit all the national parks on the way home instead of the way there— to keep myself from getting bored out of my mind while I drive back.” 

“Okay,” Joshua says. 

Wonwoo looks at him like he’s crazy. “That’s it? Okay?” 

“What else do I have to do, Wonwoo? I’ve got nowhere to be. I don’t care as long as we get to New York before I run out of clothes.” 

“We could probably take six months, then,” Wonwoo snorts, nodding back towards Joshua’s bags in the back. 

Joshua punches his shoulder in a non-friendly way. Maybe Wonwoo and Byeonggi aren’t that different after all. 

“Sorry,” Wonwoo mumbles. 

Or, maybe they are. 

A few days ago, Wonwoo called late at night, and said he was in town and needed a place to crash. Byeonggi took the call. Didn’t consult Joshua during. He hung up and told Joshua afterwards, “My brother is coming to visit. Get the guest room ready.” 

Joshua looked at him blankly. “Your brother who has spent the past two years seeing us as little as possible is showing up in the middle of the night?” 

Byeonggi shrugged. “He said he forgot to call sooner. He drove from New York.” 

And Joshua got the guest room ready, and Wonwoo showed up, looking more or less the same as he did at Christmas. Byeonggi was already asleep. Joshua welcomed him in, and showed him to the bedroom. 

“Thanks for this,” Wonwoo said. Joshua knew he wasn’t telling the full truth, but at the time, he didn’t care enough to get it, either. 

There’s a lack of caring in the Jeon family that Joshua used to despise, but he thinks he’s fallen too far into by now. It’s coupled with an odd sense of caring too much about all the wrong things. Christ. Joshua’s life is a mess. He’s got nothing going for him. He’s been unemployed for six months, because when he got laid off, Byeonggi told him not to find something else. Why did he listen? 

“Why did you need to stay at ours?” Joshua asks bluntly, raising his voice over the music and the patter of rain against the roof. “Why are you even in San Francisco?”

“I—” Wonwoo stumbles over his own words. He chokes a bit, and then lets out an awkward laugh, still gripping the wheel tighter than he needs to. “Don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Not really.” 

Joshua stares at him, unamused. “How do you not know why you drove across the country?” 

“Well— it’s not that—” Wonwoo’s face screws up, he raises his hand defensively. “I know why I came, but I didn’t mean to end up in San Francisco, I was supposed to go to LA.” 

There’s a few seconds of stilted silence, Joshua waiting for Wonwoo to continue, Wonwoo taking too long to realize he’s being waited on. 

“My agent forced me to take a break. I’m trying to write my second novel,” Wonwoo clears his throat. His shoulders are all stiff and tight, like he’s stressed out just talking about this. “And it wasn’t working at home, so I drove across the country to try to find inspiration.” 

“And LA wasn’t inspired enough?” 

“No, it’s too hot. I got too hot,” Wonwoo admits. He wiggles a finger under the neck of his shirt like he’s still feeling the heat. “I don’t know why, but I just went north last second, and I wasn’t even going to tell Byeonggi I was there, because I didn’t want to see him— but when I got in, the hotel I’d booked had bedbugs, and there was no where else to go, and I didn’t want to sleep in my car in the middle of the city— so—” 

Joshua exhales. “Should have gone to LA.” 

“Yeah. I should have,” Wonwoo snorts softly. 

“But I guess then I would have stayed,” Joshua says. A half-baked observation that he’s been lingering on. The alternate reality where he didn’t see such an easy escape route. Where he stayed, and waited for Byeonggi to come back home so they could work it out. Sure, eventually they’d have soured again, but Joshua probably would have given it another shot. He’s grown numb to caring about the right things. 

Wonwoo looks away from the road to study Joshua— two turns of his head between paying attention. His forehead is all wrinkled up. “Seriously?” 

“Well, I don’t want to give you too much credit.” Joshua frowns, picking at a thread on his sweatshirt. “You’re hardly a hero. I barely know anything about you, you’ve spent the last two years avoiding us.” 

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Wonwoo lies. He sounds like he’s lying as he says it. It’s painfully obvious. Joshua almost rolls his eyes. 

“Honestly, Wonwoo, come on.” 

“I—” Wonwoo coughs. Shuts his mouth. Gives in. “Okay— I did— but it’s not because I didn’t want you to know me—” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” Joshua cuts him off. “You should quit trying so hard.” 

Wonwoo laughs. It’s surprised and loud. He exhales afterward, his fingers loosening a little on the wheel. “What do you want to know about me, Joshua?” he asks, voice pitched lower than before. Warmer. 

“I don’t know. What is there to know?” 

“Um.” Wonwoo swallows, throat bobbing. He really thinks about it. Joshua doesn’t bother to interrupt him, or rush him, he just stares at the road in front of the car. “I haven’t written anything worth something in almost two years. I hate my brother. Always have. I only have two friends— my agent and my agent’s husband— and I think they find it sadder than I do.” 

“That’s…” Joshua trails off, eyes flicking over Wonwoo’s body folded up in the driver’s seat. “Something.” 

“Aw, come on,” Wonwoo complains. “You can’t goad me into oversharing and then get mad that I overshared.” 

“I’m not mad, I’m just surprised you were so forthcoming with it.” 

“Tch,” Wonwoo sucks his teeth. 

“It’s fine. I’m glad, Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo squints at him, face twisted up in a sour manner. “Everything you say sounds so loaded.” 

Joshua scoffs. “What is that supposed to mean?” He knows exactly what it means. 

“Forget it.” 

“Okay.” 

Wonwoo eyes him. “Are you not going to tell me about yourself?” 

“Mm,” Joshua hums. “No.” 

“Alright.” 

“Alright.” 

It’s not that Joshua doesn’t want Wonwoo to know about him— it’s just that— well, actually, it is that. Joshua has spent the last two years not knowing Wonwoo, and he doubts a drive across the country is going to change much. But, who knows. Wonwoo has a sort of quality about him that tends to make Joshua think and feel, as annoying as that is. 

The night Byeonggi introduced Joshua to Wonwoo, Byeonggi was late by half an hour. Joshua sat at the bar alone, sipping whatever too-expensive cocktail he was drinking that night, and he thought about ending things. He hated when Byeonggi was late. 

He sat alone until a man approached him. Too long, too ungroomed curly hair, glasses sliding down his nose and tattoos nearly reaching his fingers. He approached Joshua first— Joshua usually gets approached first, so that wasn’t out of the norm— but the way it happened was new. 

“I’m sorry, I never do this, and that sounds like a line, but it’s really not— and— sorry, can I sit here? I’m Wonwoo.” Wonwoo winced at his own words. 

Joshua kicked out the chair next to him, smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. But you have to tell me why.” 

“Why?” Wonwoo spluttered. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. He looked genuinely nervous, and Joshua was a little too endeared. He had already been thinking about ending things with Byeonggi. “What do you mean, why?” 

“Why me?” 

“Oh,” Wonwoo blinked. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, you’re beautiful— and— okay, this is going to sound like another line— but I’m an author—” 

“An author,” Joshua repeated, eyebrows plucking up. His smile fought its way out fully. 

“I mean— I’m trying to be. I haven’t had anything published but a few short stories so far,” Wonwoo rubbed his neck. He winced again. Put his elbows on the bar and dropped his head into his hands. “Fuck. Oh my god. I am so bad at this.” 

Joshua laughed. A real, genuine sort of laugh from the bottom of his chest. “You just need a muse.” 

Wonwoo smiled, then. He’s always had a great smile. “Maybe I do.” 

Looking back on it now, if Joshua had thought a little harder about it, he could have figured it out. A Korean author in a bar in Manhattan— one of those sick, upscale places that artists don’t hang out— at the exact same time as Byeonggi’s black-sheep brother was meant to be there. 

Maybe Joshua just didn’t care. He was thinking of ending things, and he wanted something to tell him to pull the trigger. He thought, for a second, as he reached out to brush two fingers over Wonwoo’s knee, that he’d found it. 

“I see you two found each other!” Byeonggi said, warm hand meeting Joshua’s back. He didn’t apologize for being late. He bent down and kissed Joshua, and didn’t hug his brother. “Josh, this is Wonwoo— Wonwoo, Josh.” 

Joshua will never forget the look on Wonwoo’s face. It was all in his eyes, frantically searching Joshua’s face. Desperate and scared. Joshua’s heart sunk in his chest. He forced a smile. Turned towards Byeonggi. “You’re late.” 

“Am I?” he asked, checking his watch. “Must have lost track of time at my client meeting.” 

He didn’t apologize. He seldom did in general. But he had a good job, and a bright future, and he was handsome, and stable, and the picture of everything Joshua imagined for himself. Clean cut, ambitious, and assertive. Joshua at his side as a high-maintenance, well-dressed, East-coast trophy husband. 

When Joshua got home that night, he unlocked his phone to a text he’d typed out to Jeonghan but never sent. 

I think I need to end things with Byeonggi. Could you picture me with an artist, or am I insane? 

He deleted it, thumb held down on the backspace key. Typed out a new message. 

Joshua Hong: I can’t make it next weekend. Byeonggi has a work thing I need to go to. Sorry :(

Jeonghan started typing. Stopped. Started again. 

Jeonghan Yoon: Alright.

Joshua has always been stubborn. The difference between Wonwoo and Byeonggi, at the end of the day, is that Byeonggi happened first, and Joshua refuses to give up on something until it’s dead and beaten into the ground. He hates being wrong. 

The gold band on his left hand feels heavy. Joshua spins it with his thumb, staring down at his fingers like they’ll do something about it for him. 

It’s still raining. Joshua has no idea where they’re going. They’ve been on the road for hours by now. Wonwoo stops for dinner at some roadside noodle place. They eat quietly, sitting across from one another. Wonwoo doesn’t seem bothered by the quiet. He doesn’t seem bothered by Joshua staring at him. 

“What?” he asks once, but when Joshua shrugs, he continues on as he was. 

It’s still raining when they get back in the car. The sun is long down. Byeonggi hasn’t texted Joshua once. No one has. 

Joshua closes the car door behind him, buckling his seatbelt. Wonwoo gets into the driver’s side, shaking out his wet hair. 

“Wonwoo,” Joshua says. 

He turns to Joshua like a meerkat, all wide-eyes and parted lips. “Huh?” 

“If he asks you where I am, don’t tell him.” 

“It’s really over, then?” Wonwoo says immediately. 

Joshua blinks at him. “What kind of question is that? I’m hours from home and all my shit is in your car.” 

“I don’t know! I know he’s been shitty before and you’ve forgiven him!” Wonwoo says a little defensively. He jams his keys into the ignition and starts the car. 

He’s right, but it doesn’t make Joshua feel any less sick about it. His stomach turns. He considers getting out and asking to use the phone inside. Calling someone— anyone to come get him. 

But there’s no one. Because Joshua forgave Byeonggi for every shitty thing, and now he has nothing but this. 

“Fuck you, Wonwoo,” Joshua bites. He turns towards the door, folding in on himself to lick his wounds privately. 

“I wasn’t trying to be abrasive,” Wonwoo mumbles. There’s a few moments of silence. The car starts moving. “He doesn’t ever speak to me, but if he does, I won’t tell him.” 

Joshua swallows the painful lump in his throat. He avoids the urge to stare. Trace the lines of Wonwoo’s profile with his eyes and commit it to memory. To figure him out.  

Wonwoo is just unassuming enough to have Joshua wanting to throw himself under the knife to make sense of it all. 

Joshua shuts his eyes, forehead resting against cold glass. He inhales, and exhales, and forces himself to find sleep.

Joshua Tree National Park, California

Two years ago, Wonwoo showed up at some fancy bar in Manhattan to meet his brother and his brother’s boyfriend. The place was stuffy. Not a place he’d ever go of his own volition. Chock full of people pretending to be sophisticated. 

Wonwoo showed up twenty minutes early, just as he always does, because he has a perpetual fear of running late. He doesn’t want anyone to think he doesn’t value their time. He does. He cares too much, probably. 

He sat at the far end of the bar and ordered a whiskey neat. He was still drinking then. Using it as a balm for his impending suffering. 

The fact that Byeonggi had met someone that he liked enough to introduce to the family was strange. Byeonggi dated a lot, and he settled very little. He had one girlfriend a while ago that he started bringing around, but after that fizzled out, there’d been nothing. 

Wonwoo had preconceived notions about what Byeonggi’s boyfriend would be like. Stuck up, certainly. Probably beautiful in a very particular way. Groomed more than anything else. Dressed well— someone that cares a lot about money, and eats out of Byeonggi’s hand. 

After Wonwoo finished his first drink, he ordered another. Glanced down the bar, straight to the other end, and saw a man that made him do a double take. Triple take. His mouth went dry, despite the sting of alcohol still lingering on the back of his tongue. 

He was beautiful. Soft brown hair and sparkling eyes. He kept checking his watch, swirling a straw in his drink and tapping his fingers on the bartop. The low lighting in the room shone in hues of red and orange, catching his skin in a way that made Wonwoo want to take a picture. Just looking at him made Wonwoo’s fingers itch between the bones with the urge to write. 

Wonwoo never approaches anyone when he’s out. He’s not the type. He never sees anyone that interests him enough. 

This man interested him enough. He picked up his drink and walked over. 

“I’m sorry, I never do this, and that sounds like a line, but it’s really not— and— sorry, can I sit here? I’m Wonwoo.” Wonwoo winced at his own words. This is why he never approaches anyone. 

Joshua kicked out the chair next to him, smile pulling up at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. But you have to tell me why.” 

“Why?” Wonwoo spluttered. He could feel his body tensing up without his permission. He felt stupid, and he probably looked it, but Joshua only smiled wider. “What do you mean, why?” 

“Why me?” 

“Oh,” Wonwoo blinked. He pushed his glasses up his nose. He felt sweatier than he should. “Well, you’re beautiful— and— okay, this is going to sound like another line— but I’m an author—” 

“An author,” Joshua repeated, eyebrows plucking up. He seemed genuinely interested, which Wonwoo wouldn’t have expected from anyone there. Maybe Wonwoo’s preconceived notions were all wrong.  

“I mean— I’m trying to be. I haven’t had anything published but a few short stories so far,” Wonwoo rubbed his neck. He winced again. Put his elbows on the bar and dropped his head into his hands. This is why he doesn’t approach people when he’s out. He’s bad at it. “Fuck. Oh my god. I am so bad at this.” 

Joshua laughed. A real, genuine sort of laugh from the bottom of his chest. “You just need a muse.” 

Wonwoo peeked out of his hands. He stared for a few seconds, and then he smiled. Licked over his bottom lip and took another drink of his whiskey. “Maybe I do.” 

Looking back on it now, if Wonwoo had thought a little harder about it, he could have figured it out. A Korean man in a bar in Manhattan— waiting alone at the bar, checking his watch like he was waiting on someone. Maybe Wonwoo just didn’t care. Wonwoo was thinking of distancing himself from his family, and he wanted something to tell him to pull the trigger. He thought, for a second, as Joshua reached out to brush two fingers over his knee, that he’d found it. 

“I see you two found each other!” Byeonggi said, putting his hand on Joshua’s back. He didn’t apologize for being late. He bent down and kissed Joshua, and Wonwoo felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach. “Josh, this is Wonwoo— Wonwoo, Josh.” 

Wonwoo will never forget how it felt. Eyes frantically searching Joshua’s face. Desperate and scared. He’d never wanted god to smite him down more than he did in that moment. 

Joshua smiled in a much less genuine way than he did a few minutes ago. Turned towards Byeonggi. “You’re late.” 

“Am I?” Byeonggi asked, checking his watch. “Must have lost track of time at my client meeting.” 

He didn’t apologize. He seldom did in general. 

There are a lot of things about the situation that nag at Wonwoo. Lots of questions he has. What would have happened if Byeonggi was thirty minutes later? If Wonwoo was the type of person to approach people? Mostly, what the fuck did Joshua see in Byeonggi? 

Joshua and Byeonggi never made sense because Joshua isn’t the type to eat out of anyone’s hand. He’s opinionated, and sure, and stubborn. He’s beautiful, but in a frustratingly natural way. When he smiles, Wonwoo’s breath catches and his heart stutters. He dresses well, but it’s not overdone. It’s obvious that he’s clung to at least a bit of reality. 

Over drinks that night, Wonwoo downed too much whiskey. Byeonggi made fun of his writing, and Joshua pushed back, showing interest. Wonwoo threw up in the alley outside on his way home, but he didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, or just because he felt sick. 

That was the night Wonwoo’s life turned on its head. He went home and stared at the ceiling for hours on end. Waited for his vision to stop spinning and then dragged himself up to sit at his desk. He wrote his first book in five days. Got published. Got an agent. Decided to put some real distance between himself and his family— finally. 

He shoved down the horrible, awful nagging feeling in his stomach that told him that whatever he felt for Joshua that night wasn’t just a fluke. Every time he showed up to a mandatory holiday party at his parent’s house, he’d slip out the door as soon as that feeling started climbing up his throat again. 

For two years, Wonwoo has ignored his brother. Ignored his brother’s perfect fiance. For a year and a half he’s been trying to write anything that doesn’t amount to a pile of shit. Words and fragmented sentences cobbled together into listless poetry, but only if he’s being kind to himself. A failing creative. Worse, a one hit wonder. 

This is stupid. His life is stupid. He swallows down the feeling again, because it’s starting to crawl up his throat again. 

“Shit,” Wonwoo hisses, his hand jerking slightly as he pours water out of his portable kettle into his thermos. It’s not hot enough to burn him, because he was too impatient to wait for it to heat up all the way. Water rolls down his thumb and onto the hood of his car. He shakes his hand dry, fumbling around in his pocket for a packet of instant coffee, tearing off the top with his teeth and dumping it into his water. 

It’s maybe six in the morning. He hasn’t checked since he turned his phone off a bit ago. He woke up around five thirty to the buzzing of a text message— that’s a good four and a half hours of sleep. More than he gets some nights. It’ll do for now. He has this shitty coffee to hold him over. 

When he woke up, he had three texts waiting for him. One from Chan that he’s been ignoring for a good two days, How’s it going? Please tell me you’ve got at least five thousand words. And two from Byeonggi. 

Byeonggi Jeon: You left? 

Byeonggi Jeon: Did you see Joshua on your way out? 

Wonwoo had to swallow down the bile in his throat before he clicked that one open. He squinted at his phone, glasses wherever he tossed them in the back last night. 

Wonwoo Jeon: Nah, man. 

Byeonggi responded almost immediately. Wonwoo briefly wondered where the fuck he’d been since Joshua dumped him if he was just getting home at five in the morning. Maybe with his mistress. Then, Wonwoo realized he doesn’t really give a shit. 

Byeonggi Jeon: Alright. 

No drive safe, no thanks for visiting. All the sterile cut and dry communication that Wonwoo has come to expect from his own kin. 

Wonwoo shut off his phone after that. Threw it into the back of the car and got out as quietly as he could so he didn’t wake Joshua. Joshua has been sleeping basically since he closed his eyes last night. The whole breakup thing must’ve taken it out of him. He woke up briefly when Wonwoo stopped the car and shook his shoulder to tell him he can lower his seat if he wants, they’re stopped for the night. Joshua made some sort of sound of agreement and fumbled with the bar under his chair until Wonwoo reached over and helped him. He managed to unbuckle himself, though. Turn on his side and curl in on himself like a wounded animal. 

Now the sun is rising, first beams of light peeking over the horizon and into the sky a deep, amber orange. There’s no rain down here. Barely any clouds. Wonwoo shoves his hand into his sleeve and wipes the mess he’s made off the hood of his car, grabbing his coffee around the rim of his thermos. He wanders a ways away from the car, over to a big gray rock he can sit on to watch the sunrise. 

The original plan was to stop at Death Valley. He wasn’t going to venture this far south, but the opportunity felt too good to pass up once he had Joshua in his car. Taking Joshua to Joshua Tree. Whatever. Wonwoo doesn’t know why he bothered to drive the extra hours, but he did, and now he’s here. He highly doubts Death Valley would knock anything loose in his head, anyway. He was banking on the death of it— which sounds stupid when he thinks about it now. 

Wonwoo brings his coffee to his lips, wincing at the sour taste of it. He hates instant coffee. It’s all he drinks when he’s making it himself. A subtle form of self harm. Punishment.

He digs around in his pocket for his cigarettes, setting his thermos down on the rock next to him. He’s pretty sure he’s not meant to smoke in a national park, but it’s, like, six in the morning and no one is here yet besides a few early rising hikers at the far end of the parking lot. Wonwoo feels his body relax on his first inhale. 

Forearm resting against his knee, Wonwoo exhales, tipping his face towards the sky and shutting his eyes. The sun warms his face. Desert air is dry, but it’s not unbearable at this time of year. 

He jumps when the car door slams, eyes snapping open. 

Joshua is scowling, sleepily stumbling out of the car, arms crossed over his chest. He’s wearing one of Wonwoo’s sweatshirts that he must have pulled out of the back seat. Wonwoo forgets to blink until his eyes dry out. Joshua squints at Wonwoo’s package of instant coffee sitting on the hood of the car. He wanders over slowly, blinking against the sun. 

“Do you seriously drink that shit?” he snips, gazing down at Wonwoo like an all-seeing, godly entity. 

“Jesus—” Wonwoo starts, holding his coffee closer to his chest. Before he can defend himself, Joshua bends down and steals the cigarette straight out of his hand. “Hey—” He complains, but it’s too late. Joshua has removed himself too far to steal it back without putting in effort. “I only took one hit.” 

“God,” Joshua ignores Wonwoo entirely as trembling fingers lift the cigarette to his lips. “Your brother would never let me smoke.” He puffs out a laugh. Takes a drag. 

Wonwoo looks down at his pocket, wondering if it’s worth it to take out another. He shouldn’t. “It’s bad for you,” he says aloud, trying to convince himself more than anything. 

Joshua looks at Wonwoo like he’s stupid. “I’m just trading one bad for the other. It’s only fair.” 

There’s a painful moment of silence. Wonwoo clears his throat. “Vices.”

“Mmm,” Joshua hums. He settles in where he’s standing, weight on one hip, elbow bent and resting against his body. Smoke spills over his bottom lip. He studies the horizon, turning to survey their surroundings. His mouth twitches downwards. “Where are we?” 

Wonwoo looks around, swinging his arm out to gesture towards the trees. He’s pretty certain that Joshua Tree is a well known landmark. That Joshua could get there if he thought harder about it. “You know…” 

“No. That’s why I asked,” Joshua says, no recognition passing over his face. 

“It’s a national park—” Wonwoo tries. 

“What’s the national park called, Wonwoo?” 

“It’s Joshua Tree National Park,” Wonwoo spits out. He stands up off the rock, coffee sloshing over the edge and running over his fingers. His cheeks heat up for no good reason. Why would it be embarrassing to drive a man running away from his fiance to a park that shares his name? Wonwoo isn’t embarrassed. 

Joshua blinks at him, arm falling to his side. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes.” Wonwoo runs a hand through his hair. “Why would I lie about that? Stupid thing to lie about.” 

“Did you bring me here because of the name?” 

“No—” Wonwoo says quickly. Shakes his head. 

Joshua raises his eyebrows. It makes Wonwoo’s palms itch. 

“I mean— I was going to go to national parks, anyway— and the original plan was technically Death Valley— but it was raining—” 

“It was raining all the way in Death Valley?” 

“No— but— fuck, Joshua!” Wonwoo huffs, digging his toe into the dirt. “Are you really going to make me say it?” 

Joshua doesn’t back down. “Yeah. I think I am.” 

Wonwoo grits his teeth. Takes a deep breath. “Yes. I took you here because it shares your name, and it felt more appropriate than Death Valley, which shares a name with dying. Happy?” 

A shrug. That’s all Wonwoo gets. A shrug and half of a smile as Joshua turns away from him and starts walking towards the desert, feet shuffling against the dirt. 

“Where are you going?” Wonwoo shouts after him. 

Joshua glances back over his shoulder. “To see the trees, dumbass. Isn’t that why we’re here?” 

A choked up little noise escapes the back of Wonwoo’s throat. He looks down at his coffee, and his feet. Back up at Joshua, figure slowly getting smaller. “Hey!” he calls. “You have to put out your cigarette!” 

“Says who?!” Joshua yells back.

“The United States government!” 

“Fuck them!” 

“Josh—” Wonwoo shuts his mouth, looking around to make sure there’s no fucking park rangers there to shoot him. He feels like that could happen. He shoves one hand into his pocket and starts trotting after Joshua. “At least wait up—”  

Wonwoo finds no inspiration among the Joshua Trees. 

He followed Joshua into the desert until Joshua stopped walking, looked around, and said “This is it?” 

That was it. There’s nothing else. Wonwoo shrugged. 

“They’re not even nice looking trees.” 

“Well, then, you can be happy knowing you’re the prettier Joshua variety,” Wonwoo said mindlessly. 

Joshua looked at him like he was insane, and then turned around and walked right back to the car. He sat in the passenger’s and waited for an hour as Wonwoo wandered around trying to strike up some sort of divine ingenuity and came up empty-handed. 

When Wonwoo returned to the car, packed up whatever shit he’d left laying outside, and turned the ignition, Joshua didn’t say anything. He just continued sitting, staring out the front window. 

They’ve been driving for a good three hours, and Joshua has been quiet. Wonwoo doesn’t know how long he can take it. Wonwoo’s scratched up Le Tigre CD can only do so much to occupy the stuffy, stilted silence in the cab. Wonwoo has played it twice over, and Joshua still has nothing to say. 

Maybe Wonwoo should have made sure Joshua was, like, mentally sound before he let him tag along. It’s definitely not in Wonwoo’s best interest to have a beautiful, emotionally volatile man in the front seat of his car. Not safe for either of them, frankly. But, like most things in Wonwoo’s life, he’s caught on a little too late to back out now. 

He clears his throat awkwardly in preparation to say something. Something. He hasn’t decided what, yet. Glancing over at Joshua— Joshua glancing back at him. He doesn’t know what he should say. If he asks Joshua if he’s okay again, Joshua will probably gut him in the middle of the highway. Wonwoo opens his mouth, releasing a tiny breath— still undecided on words. 

Joshua’s face is hard to read, Wonwoo is realizing. All the time— he’s able to maintain a neutral mask that doesn’t give anything away. His eyes gloss over, and his lips lay flat. As if he’s purposefully distanced himself from his body. He’s doing it now. He doesn’t drop it when he says, “I’ve never been able to sleep while your brother is driving.” 

“Uh,” Wonwoo blurts. How did Joshua beat him to words? “I’m sorry?” he tries, because he doesn’t know what Joshua wants from him. Some acknowledgement that he believes himself to be better than his brother, maybe. Confirmation of the idea presented. Wonwoo is pretty sure the obvious doesn’t need to be stated. 

“Why are you sorry?” Joshua asks, emotionless as ever. 

Wonwoo squints. “Because my brother is a cunt?” 

“Okay.” Joshua turns back to the front. Unsatisfied. Wonwoo can tell he’s unsatisfied. That’s something. 

“I— don’t get you, Josh—” Wonwoo says, voice cracking like he’s begging. He kind of is. “You have to tell me what you want, or this trip is going to be incredibly painful for both of us.” 

Joshua’s lips part slightly in the middle before he regains composure. “I’d like it if you sounded a bit more sure about it,” he says carefully. 

Wonwoo nods. He swallows. “Good. Yeah, sure. I am sure of it. My brother is a cunt. You’re too good for him. I’ve known that since the night we met.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Hah!” Wonwoo can’t help the laugh that escapes his throat. “Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously.” 

“I didn’t think the obvious needed to be stated. I mean, honestly, Josh, look in the fucking mirror.” Wonwoo slams his hand down on the steering wheel, dangerously close to hitting the horn. “Look at any picture of the two of you.” 

Joshua sniffles. “I don’t care about looks like that.” 

“I mean, even beyond that—” Wonwoo audibly exhales. His ears feel hot, but he’s too worked up to not argue his point. His mother always wanted him to be a lawyer. “My brother is a cunt. He’s fucking insufferable. You’re interesting, and socially adept, and not a self-centered loser.” 

“I’m plenty self-centered.” 

“You’re a contrarian is what you are,” Wonwoo says, rolling his neck to try to release some of the built up tension in his shoulders. It doesn’t really work. 

Joshua makes a soft humming sound. He holds out his left hand, gold band still wrapped around his ring finger. Details etched into the metal and inlaid with diamonds. Probably expensive. “What am I going to do with this stupid fucking ring?” he mumbles to himself, spinning it around his finger. His frown settles into his face, marring his smooth skin. 

“Pawn it. We can find a place in the next city we get to, I’m sure.” 

“No,” Joshua says immediately. “Not violent enough.” 

“Woah— that thing is expensive—” 

“Ah, I forgot you’re pretending to be a starving artist,” Joshua clicks his tongue. “Too bad. I’m going to throw it into the desert.” 

Wonwoo gapes, head snapping between Joshua and looking at the road. His arm moves too far to the right, car jerking off onto the rumble strip for a second. “I mean— Josh, really?” 

Joshua scowls. “Yes, Josh really. Fuck you, Wonwoo.” He cranks down his window with such conviction that Wonwoo can’t argue, the air vacuuming in from outside and creating that horrible, unequal pressure whomp whomp whomp. 

“Jesus fuck—” Wonwoo shouts over the noise. “You really don’t need to do that— we can make money off of that— like, a month’s rent in your new apartment—” 

Joshua glances at him one more time before chucking the ring straight out the window. Afterwards, he reaches down calmly and rolls the window back up, crossing his arms and staring out the windshield like nothing happened. 

“Alright,” Wonwoo sighs, all the tension in his shoulders back with a vengeance. 

“Maybe a crow will find it and bring it to someone who needs it,” Joshua says. “Maybe a crow will find it and fly it right back to you because you want it so bad. You seem like the type to make friends with crows.”

Wonwoo snorts. Shakes his head, unable to maintain the sour look he’s trying to pull. 

Joshua falls asleep a little bit after he wastes thousands of dollars by throwing his ring into the desert. Or, at least he pretends to sleep. Wonwoo can’t tell, and he doesn’t try to find out. 

A roadside attraction for fossilized dinosaur tracks gets them both out of the car again. Standing over footprints from those little fuckers from Jurrassic Park, arms crossed, Wonwoo squinting, Joshua wearing his sunglasses. 

“I kind of thought dinosaurs weren’t real,” Joshua says. 

Wonwoo looks at him, maintaining his squint. “What?” 

Joshua shrugs. “Too far removed from my reality to care about.” 

“Maybe you should work on that.” 

“Probably,” Joshua says. He looks at Wonwoo, but Wonwoo can’t see his eyes through his glasses. 

They stop in the next town at a diner with a motel nearby. A place called Tuba City. 

“How did you know I played Tuba in high school,” Joshua says. Wonwoo splutters like an idiot for a second before Joshua turns around to walk into the diner. When they sit down across from each other at a booth, Joshua pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. Cool in that maddeningly effortless way Wonwoo never got down. Says, “Just kidding,” without looking up from his menu. 

Wonwoo lets out a long, tight breath through his nose. He bites at some dry skin on his bottom lip, eyes scanning the menu without taking anything in. It’s a diner. Everything’s the same as every other diner. Wonwoo has eaten at places like this the entire way to California. “I played clarinet in high school.” 

Joshua looks up, eyebrows raised. “You did?” 

“Unfortunately. It seems kind of lame now.” Wonwoo grimaces. “Well, it was lame then, too. I was really scrawny and everyone would call me Squidward.” 

Wonwoo looks up just in time to catch Joshua laughing. He claps his hand over his mouth afterwards. Says, “Sorry.” 

“No.” Wonwoo waves him off. “It is funny. It’s stupid. I quit because I hated practicing.” 

“No gumption.” 

“Not one bit. I’m gumptionless.” Wonwoo lays down his menu on the table. He still didn’t look at anything. He’s just going to order eggs. 

“Such a sad way to live,” Joshua tsks, a tiny smile lingering on his lips. 

He hasn’t complained once about whatever the hell Wonwoo has him doing. For some reason, Wonwoo expected that he would. They haven’t even slept in a bed yet. No showers. Just shitty, powdered coffee and cigarettes. A crick in Wonwoo’s neck from laying on his back last night. 

Joshua and Byeonggi’s life was charmed. Byeonggi has a good job. He’s wealthy beyond his needs. Joshua clearly benefitted from that. Over the past couple years, on the off moments that Wonwoo crossed paths with the two of them, he was always stuck by the way Joshua melted into whatever situation he was in. Whoever he was with. Byeonggi made him worse— even if it’s not Wonwoo’s place to say so. 

It isn’t Wonwoo’s place to say so. He has no right. 

A friendly older woman comes to take their order. Wonwoo fumbles through deciding on sides as he’s asked. Clearly, he didn’t read the menu. Joshua looks at him afterwards, a cup of steaming coffee in front of the both of them. Fresh, not powdered. 

“I want you to stop calling me Josh,” he says plainly. 

“Okay,” Wonwoo answers. Plainly. Then, even though it’s not his place, “Why?” 

Joshua plucks a cup of cream out of the carousel on the counter, dumping it into his mug. He watches the cloud bloom in his coffee before picking up his spoon to stir. “No one ever called me Josh until Byeonggi. I think I hate it.” 

“Alright.” Wonwoo nods shortly. 

“Thanks.” 

Wonwoo picks up his own coffee, not bothering to put anything in it. He’s used to not bothering. The first sip burns his tongue. He ignores the way Joshua smirks at him, opting to pull his phone out of his pocket instead. It slides around on the table as he fumbles to turn it on. He hasn’t touched it since this morning, but he wants to make sure no one is dying. Has died. Not that he’d be able to do anything if they were or had. 

His screen lights up with a few notifications. Five missed calls. Four from Chan, one from Soonyoung. A handful of texts from each of them. Nothing else. Byeonggi hasn’t checked in again— Wonwoo doesn’t have many other people that care what he’s up to. He huffs softly, scrolling through Chan’s texts. Nothing new. No one is dead. 

“Who is it?” Joshua asks, doing a piss poor job at pretending he’s not leaning in to try to get a glimpse of the screen. Nosy. “Girlfriend?” 

Wonwoo can’t help the face he makes. It feels bitchy. “God, no. My agent. He’s bothering me about where I am. What I’ve written.” 

“Did he not know you were coming?” 

“I told him after I left,” Wonwoo mumbles, rubbing his head with the heel of his palm. 

“Oh, look at you, rulebreaker,” Joshua teases. 

Wonwoo looks at him, unamused, mouth pressed into a flat line. 

“Or not. Tough crowd.” Joshua picks up another cup of cream and dumps it in his coffee, like he’s just looking for something to do with his hands. The spoon plinks against the edges of the mug when he stirs the spoon around. He didn’t wait for the cloud of cream to bloom this time. “You should probably let someone know you’re alive. It’s nice that someone is checking in on you.” 

“He knows I’m alive, he’s just a pain in my ass.” 

Joshua glares at him. Not the point, he’s saying. 

Wonwoo hates being made to feel guilty. Joshua shouldn’t even be able to make him feel guilty. They barely know each other. This is stupid. 

Still, Wonwoo sighs and slides out of the booth. “I’ll be right back.” 

As soon as his feet hit the dusty parking lot, he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, squints down at his phone through the glare as his thumb hovers over his contact list. Soonyoung and Chan are right next to each other, thanks to the shared last name. When they got married, Wonwoo argued that Lee-Kwon was too much of a mouthful, so they went with Kwon-Lee instead. Assholes. 

He should call Chan. Chan is the one with questions for him. The one that’s been up his ass since he left. But, Wonwoo is too much of a milksop. His ex-boyfriend taught him that one while they were breaking up. He was British. Bad times all around. 

Wonwoo chews the nail on his pinky finger, kicking a rock across the pavement. He squints against the sun. Looks back to the diner as if he’ll be able to see inside. Wonders if Joshua is looking out at him— judging him. He’ll never know. The sun is too bright. 

He clicks on Soonyoung’s name, then the call button. 

“This better not be a butt dial,” Soonyoung answers on ring two.

Wonwoo rolls his eyes, leaning against the trunk of his car. “Hey.” 

“Where the fuck are you, man? Chan has been neurotic.” 

“Neurotic for Chan is, like, incredibly low level. I’m sure he’s fine.” 

“He’s not fine!” Soonyoung insists. He’s whisper-shouting, probably trying to avoid Chan hearing him. “He won’t touch me and he’s biting his nails again!” 

Wonwoo snorts. “I don’t believe you.” 

“Okay, the biting his nails part is true, though,” Soonyoung hums. “We worry about you, Wonu.”  

Nicotine is finally working through Wonwoo’s body enough for him to loosen up a little. Flexing his fingers at his sides. He looks around. Back at the diner. Where he guesses Joshua is sitting inside. “I’m in— fuckin’ — Arizona. Tuba City, Arizona.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“I know.” Wonwoo chews on the inside of his cheek. He knows he’s going to have to give up the ruse eventually. Soonyoung and Chan always figure him out, no matter how hard he’s trying to keep things close to his chest. He might as well get it out now— he laughs awkwardly, tapping the ash off his cigarette. “So, uh, funny story, actually. I had to divert to San Francisco, and I ended up staying with Byeonggi for a couple of nights—” 

“No way—” 

“And when I was leaving, I walked in, and Joshua was standing there, mad as all hell, and he asked to come with me. Byeonggi cheated on him. So, he was getting the fuck out too—” 

Soonyoung gasps. “You’re with the guy you wrote a book about.” 

“The book wasn’t about him.” 

“But, like, it was, in a way,” Soonyoung argues. “It was clearly the product of musing. He being the muse.” 

“If you really want to exaggerate the truth, sure,” Wonwoo frowns, rubbing his chin with his thumb on his way to take another drag. 

“So you took your muse to Tuba City, Arizona?” 

“No. I took him to Joshua Tree first.” 

“That’s kind of sweet, actually—” 

“He hated it.” 

“Nevermind.” 

“And tomorrow we’re going to Mesa Verde.” Wonwoo drops his cigarette butt on the ground and squishes it out with his toe. A big patch of cloud drifts over the sun, leaving a chill in the air and a respite from the glare on the window. Inside, Wonwoo can see the shadowy outline of Joshua’s side profile, staring blankly at the table. “I had planned to go to national parks on my way home, and I told him I’m not changing that plan if he’s hitchhiking.” 

“It’s not really hitchhiking if your brother’s hot ex-fiance is riding in your passenger’s seat.” 

“Well—” Wonwoo frowns, tongue feeling too big in his mouth. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Chan calls from somewhere off in the distance. 

“Wonu, I have to tell him everything you just told me, you know that, right?” Soonyoung rushes. 

“Yes. I know.” 

“I need you to hang up on me so I can tell him you hung up on me.”

“Was already planning on it.” 

“I love you, be safe, use protec—” 

Wonwoo hangs up. He turns off his phone again, because he knows Chan will try to call as soon as Soonyoung says the words phone and Wonwoo in conjunction. 

Shoe dragging across the ground, Wonwoo stands in place for a moment. Takes a deep breath, and then drags himself back inside. Their food has just arrived, waitress topping off Joshua’s coffee. 

“Everything okay?” Joshua asks, as if he has any right. 

“Fine,” Wonwoo grunts. He pours ketchup over his eggs, ignoring the way Joshua’s lip curls. “He’s bothering me about my next book.” 

“And you haven’t written any of it?” 

“No,” Wonwoo snorts. Funny joke. “God, no.” 

“Your first one was, what? Two years ago?” 

“Yeah. Just about. I’ve been useless since.” 

Joshua’s knife slices easily through his french toast, syrup spilling over the edge onto the plate. “Greatness takes time,” he says sagely. 

Wonwoo takes a bite of his food. Too much ketchup. He wipes the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. Talks while he’s chewing, “My first book wasn’t even great.” 

“Yes it was,” Joshua says immediately. Then, when Wonwoo doesn’t say anything, “I’m sure it was.” 

“You never read it.” 

Joshua scrunches his nose. “No. Sorry.” 

“Did my brother read it?” 

“Definitely not.” 

Wonwoo’s chest blooms with a sick sense of relief. “It’s okay. It’s nothing special.” 

“It must be something special. You were a New York Times Bestseller.” 

The next drink of coffee Wonwoo takes is too bitter. “It’s not hard to get on there if you have two brain cells and a semi-interesting concept.” 

Joshua pauses, fork hanging mid-air. He blinks at Wonwoo, bored. “You have worse self esteem than me. It’s kind of embarrassing.” 

“I know.” 

“Maybe you should work on that.” 

“Probably.” 

It seems unfair that Joshua gets to judge Wonwoo while Wonwoo isn’t wearing sunglasses to hide his eyes. Wonwoo tips his head down and continues eating instead. Milksop tendencies, etcetera, etcetera. The sounds of the diner fill the silence, silverware clanking against dishes, cook calling out orders in the back. Wonwoo drinks his sour coffee and crosses his ankles together. 

“What was your concept?” Joshua asks. He’s probably just trying to be polite. 

Well, if he was trying to be polite, he would have read the book when Wonwoo sent a copy to Byeonggi’s address with both of their names on it. A decision he mulled over for weeks. Because what if Byeonggi sniffed out Wonwoo’s musings? What if he figured it out? That the book was, more or less, inspired by that interaction with Joshua at some fancy, stuffy bar in Manhattan two years ago. 

Of course, reading between the lines would require Byeonggi to think about something other than himself. Wonwoo had more hope that Joshua would be able to figure it out. What he thought would happen, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. 

“Eugh,” he winces. He hates talking about his own work like this. It feels silly. Whatever he wrote speaks for itself. Chan has coached him over and over on the importance of promotion— but Wonwoo still doesn’t care for it. Joshua isn’t asking for a pitch, though, he’s just being polite. Radical honesty, then, will work. Wonwoo is too tired for anything else. He hasn’t showered in two days. “Yearning for what’s missing, I guess.” 

“Hm.” Joshua studies him for a minute. “Maybe I’ll pick it up when we get home.” 

“Sure,” Wonwoo says, banking on the fact that Joshua won’t bother. 

The motel in town is clean enough. 

They book a room with two queen beds, because it’s cheaper than two. Joshua has Wonwoo haul in three of his bags from the car, seemingly selected at random, but apparently he knows exactly the contents of each one. He launches into a multi-step nighttime routine, standing at the bathroom counter with the door ajar, while Wonwoo sits on one of the beds and turns on the news. 

No one has reported Joshua missing, at least. No incriminating photos of Wonwoo on CCTV, the suspect to an adult kidnapping. Wonwoo wonders if Byeonggi would even think to report Joshua missing if he hadn’t done anything wrong. He might let it sit for a day or two before he thinks about it. Well, I was so busy with work, he’d tell the news. Then he’d plead, Josh, baby, if you’re watching this, please come home. 

Wonwoo shakes his head, snapping himself out of his anti-social daydreams. He glances over at Joshua in the bathroom, leaning over the counter at his waist, picking at something on his face. Wonwoo’s eyes drag down his back, over where his ass is pushed out, down his legs. Wonwoo forces himself to look away. 

He clears his throat. “Do you know what you’re going to do when you get to the city?” he asks. “Do you even have a place to stay?” 

Joshua leans back, standing upright. He turns to look at Wonwoo for a few judgmental seconds before turning back to the mirror. “It’s really rude to ask people that, Wonwoo.” 

Whatever offer Wonwoo had— telling Joshua he has an extra room if he needs a place— dies on his tongue. He shouldn’t offer things like that to people he barely knows, anyway. He doesn’t want to live with Joshua right now. He’s trying not to make impulsive decisions— like driving across the country because he has writer’s block. “Right, sorry,” he coughs, grabbing his cigarettes off the nightstand. “I’m going to go have a cigarette.” 

There’s no acknowledgement as he leaves. Outside, he leans over the railing in front of their door, shutting his eyes and cursing himself for the nth time in the past two days. He lights his cigarette with shaky hands, dropping his lighter on the ground afterwards. 

“Shit.” 

He bends over and picks it up. Turns around and leans against the motel wall, one arm across his chest. 

The sun is setting in the distance. It’s pretty. Wonwoo is so tired. He watched the sunrise this morning, and here he is, in Tuba City, Arizona, watching it set. 

He tries to conjure up any concept worthy of writing about. Comes up blank. Sand sifting through shaky fingers. This is what it feels like, he decides, to be utterly useless. 

Fucking Tuba City. Wonwoo hates it. 

When Wonwoo comes back inside, Joshua is in bed. Freshly showered, pink-cheeked, scrolling through his phone, though he doesn’t seem bothered by whatever he’s reading. Maybe he blocked Byeonggi’s number. 

He doesn’t look at Wonwoo when he says, “I’m going to read your book when I get back to the city.” 

“Okay,” Wonwoo says. He toes his shoes off at the door. Grabs a change of clothes, and goes to shower. 

He’s sure Joshua is just being polite. Whatever his version of that is. 

Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado

Byeonggi Jeon: Are you coming back for any of this? Or can I throw it out?

Joshua Hong: Donate it. 

Byeonggi Jeon: You don’t get to tell me what to do any more, Joshua. I’ll toss it if you’re not back by the end of the week. 

Joshua Hong: Wow. Very mature, Byeonggi. 

Byeonggi Jeon: Says the one that walked out without discussing things. 

Joshua Hong: There’s nothing to discuss. 

Byeonggi Jeon: It’s not like we’re just dating, Josh. We’re engaged to be married. That’s not something you just give up on. 

Joshua Hong: That’s crazy, because that’s exactly what I’m doing. 

Byeonggi Jeon: You’re a child. 

Byeonggi Jeon: I want the ring back. 

Joshua Hong: A crow has it. 

This user is blocked.

Joshua Hong: Hey, are you still at the same address? 

This user has you blocked. 

Joshua is, in the most unfortunate turn of events, the exact type of person he swore he’d never become. 

Ages ago, when he and Jeonghan were college roommates, sharing one extra-long twin bed and huddling up under the covers into the wee hours of the night, they’d talk about things like this. Jeonghan’s sister stayed with a man that treated her poorly— isolated her from her family and friends. Jeonghan swore up and down that he’d never deal with it again, and Joshua swore he’d never make him. 

Byeonggi seemed different. Joshua thought he had a handle on it. He thought the leash was tight enough that he wouldn’t let himself slip. By the time he had siphoned off the important parts of himself, it was too late. Jeonghan blocked Joshua’s number when he moved to California, after Joshua ignored Jeonghan’s one last ditch attempt to get him to come to his senses. 

“If you leave, I’m not coming after you, and I won’t be here unless you come back without him,” Jeonghan said. 

Joshua hates feeling like a child. He hates feeling stupid. He said, “I’m engaged, Jeonghan. I’m going to be married to him. If you can’t get over that, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

Jeonghan hung up the phone, and Joshua never called back. 

Now— later— without him— Joshua doesn’t know what he’s meant to do. 

What will he do when he goes home? Where will he go? He’s not sure he even maintains the right to call New York home anymore. He’s sure that if he could get ahold of Jeonghan, Jeonghan would tell him the same. He’s always been particularly pretentious about that sort of thing. Joshua liked entertaining him when he belonged. Now he doesn’t recognize himself, and his text messages are undelivered, and his companion is half-Byeonggi, by some twist of fate. 

Joshua sits near the edge of a large slab of rock, feet on either side of a puddle left by this morning’s rain. His reflection in the surface wavers, wind causing the water to ripple. The shadows on his face are darker than they should be, distorting his features into something unknowable. 

He can taste stale cigarettes on his tongue— the slight twang of powdered coffee. He’d had both for breakfast, sitting in the passenger seat of Wonwoo’s car as they drove to the park. Rock bottom— ironically, given his physical location. 

In a few days, when he and Wonwoo get back to New York, Joshua will tell Wonwoo to drop him off where Jeonghan used to live. Where, hopefully, he still does. Joshua will knock on Jeonghan’s door, and say, Sorry I didn’t listen to you, you were right. 

He’s banking on the fact that Jeonghan will still love being conceded to. That he still gets a high off of knowing he’s won. 

Realistically, it’s Joshua’s only chance. If Jeonghan has, somehow, grown a distaste for being told he’s right, Joshua doesn’t know what he’ll do. Get a hotel and figure out a way to open the window wide enough to jump, maybe. 

Joshua’s reflection shatters in the puddle, one worn loafer falling directly in the middle of the water. Why Wonwoo didn’t pack different shoes to visit the country’s most beautiful parks, Joshua doesn’t know. 

“What are you thinking about?” Wonwoo asks. 

Joshua looks up at him, frown pulling at his lips. “Killing myself.” 

Wonwoo closes one eye, lip curling like he’s trying to decide if Joshua means it. “Seriously?” 

Joshua shrugs. “I’m not married to the idea.” 

“Well,” Wonwoo monotones. “That’s good.” 

“You’re obsessed with me.” 

“Not really, I’m just not keen on you dying.” 

“Same difference.” 

“Okay.” 

Joshua stares up at Wonwoo. The sun backlights his head, flyaway hairs glowing, shadows darkening his face. He has a tiny wrinkle between his brows. 

Right then, Joshua has the horribly uncomfortable urge to be honest. To open his mouth and tell Wonwoo that he knows his secrets. That he can see straight through him. 

I read your book the week before it came out. Remember how you sent Byeonggi a copy in the mail? He didn’t, but I did. I’ve read it twice since. 

He saves them both the humiliation. Keeps his mouth shut. Asks, “Are you going to help me up?” instead. 

Wonwoo extends a hand, smooth fingers curling around Joshua’s palm. An artist’s hands. They’re a little dry, actually, once Joshua holds him back. Wonwoo pulls Joshua to his feet, puddle splashing up enough to leave a few drops of water rolling down Joshua’s shin. 

They’re chest to chest when Joshua is standing. Wonwoo doesn’t drop Joshua’s hand right away, so Joshua doesn’t drop Wonwoo’s. A challenge. Why Joshua feels the need to make everything a challenge, he doesn’t know. It’s the only way he can win lately.

“We lost the tour guide,” Wonwoo says. He drops Joshua’s hand all at once, but doesn’t back up. 

“Well, you’re the one that wanted to look at those rocks.” Joshua pulls his sunglasses out of the neck of his shirt and slides them over his face. It’s not even dark enough to necessitate shade, but Joshua prefers it to looking Wonwoo straight in the eye. 

“It’s cool.” 

“Mhm,” Joshua nods. He reaches out and pats Wonwoo’s cheek before turning around and starting the trek further down the path, towards the end of where their tour group is. 

Apparently, they were meant to book tickets in advance. But, Wonwoo is charming. He smiled at the girl at the counter and batted his eyelashes. Made up some story about how they’re on their honeymoon. Their flights got cancelled, so the road trip was impromptu. She folded easily enough. 

Joshua has made friends with an older woman named Aida. She walked up to him and told him he’s a very handsome man, and that was enough to win Joshua over. Aida is seventy-two. Her husband of forty-five years passed away last spring, and she’s made it her mission to visit every national park she can so she doesn’t let the rest of her life waste away. She told him her whole life story on their hike down to the Cliff Palace. The largest cliff dwelling in North America.

“It’s crazy that people lived here,” Joshua says. 

“Mm,” Wonwoo hums thoughtfully. He looks at Joshua in an annoyingly curious way that makes Joshua want to crawl out of his skin. 

“They’re so far from the grocery store,” Joshua adds, to negate any vulnerability Wonwoo was considering latching onto. 

Wonwoo huffs. Shakes his head. “Working on the concept of reality, then?” He’s smiling a little bit. 

“You wish,” Joshua retorts lamely. He picks up his pace, getting a little further ahead of Wonwoo. 

The dinosaurs were one thing, humans are another. If Joshua thinks too hard about it he starts feeling some sort of existential dread about the fate of life and everything he knows. It’s easier to package it up and set it aside. A story told to him, where everything feels a little too far out of his grasp. 

His shoes squish in dirt as they approach the pueblos. Joshua is a few yards in front of Wonwoo again. Wonwoo bought a disposable camera at the last gas station they stopped at, and he’s making damn good use of it. Lingering. Joshua sighs as he rejoins the group, squeezing back in next to Aida. He gives the ranger a wave in apology. 

Aida makes a point of turning to look over her shoulder towards Wonwoo, chuckling like something is funny. “That boy of yours is lost in the stars, hm?” she whispers to Joshua conspiratorily. 

Joshua huffs a laugh, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “He’s…” Joshua turns, watching Wonwoo squat down to run his thumb over the side of a rock. He takes a breath, swallowing back whatever he was going to say about Wonwoo not being his anything. What use is there in saying that? It’ll make them both feel awkward. “An artist,” Joshua settles on. 

“Oh, really?” Aida’s eyebrows raise. 

“An author. His debut novel is great. If you give me your address, I’ll send you a copy when we get home.” Joshua pauses. “Sorry— was that weird? I probably shouldn’t be asking for strangers' addresses.”  

“No, no— I would love that.” Aida grins. She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. She slides her wallet out of her pocket and opens it to a perfectly kept pad of sticky notes, procuring a pen from another pocket. She scribbles down the address, handing it to Joshua. “I can’t believe they try to tell me all you kids are the same. There’s artists and lovers out there still, hm?” 

“As long as humanity exists, I suppose.” Joshua tucks the note into his breast pocket, buttoning it so he doesn’t lose track of it. “Or, I’d hope.” 

The ranger starts up again, launching into a speech about the next stop on their tour. He keeps talking for a good while, eventually letting everyone break to take a look around on their own. 

Wonwoo comes up behind Joshua and pokes him in his side. 

“Quit it, weirdo,” Joshua scoffs, smacking his hand away. 

“Go stand over there, Shua.” Wonwoo ignores him, poking him again and then nodding towards an empty spot along the ridge they’re on. 

Joshua frowns. “Huh?” 

“Go stand over there,” Wonwoo encourages. “I’ll take your picture.” 

“That’s really not necessary.” Joshua squints one eye closed, crossing his arms over his stomach. 

“Come on,” Wonwoo pleads. He pokes Joshua again. “Humor me. When are you ever going to be back here?” 

“Me?” Joshua looks around. “I was planning to come back next year. And the year after that.”  

“Go stand over there, Shua,” Wonwoo changes his tune, more demanding. He waves his hand in the direction of the spot he’s insisting on. “I’ll take your picture.” 

Joshua makes a big show of sighing. Running his hand through his hair before shuffling over. Pushing up his sunglasses. Putting them back down. He hasn’t had his picture taken in years. Not since he left New York, probably. Jeonghan used to take photos of him all the time, between ordinary tasks, or while they were doing something. 

He plants himself in the spot Wonwoo wants him to be, spreading his arms as if to say now what? 

“Okay. Smile.” 

Joshua rolls his eyes, plastering on the biggest goddamn smile he can manage. He probably looks crazy. Wonwoo has made him this way. 

“Wow, look at you, superstar,” Wonwoo snorts. Joshua sticks up his middle finger. Wonwoo takes a few shots of that, too, his own grin rivaling Joshua’s. 

They’re both too distracted to notice Aida creeping up. But then she’s there, and she’s motioning for Wonwoo to give her the camera. “I’ll take one of the two of you! This is such a nice spot!” 

Joshua opens his mouth but closes it quickly when he sees how happy Aida is. She’s gone through so much in her life, she’s just trying to help. 

“Oh, no— that’s not really—” Wonwoo stutters, his cheeks burning red. 

Aida doesn’t pay him any mind. “Come on, boys! You only live once. Show me how, I’ll get a good one, I promise.” She winks at Wonwoo theatrically. 

Wonwoo makes a small noise of protest in the back of his throat. He looks to Joshua for help, but finds nothing worthwhile. Motions between himself and Joshua. “We’re not really—” 

“I don’t care if you fought like cats and dogs this morning, right now, you’re going to take a photo together!” Aida doesn’t let him attempt to explain. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” She raises her eyebrows at Wonwoo, a classic motherly move. Joshua isn’t sure Wonwoo ever had motherhood weaponized against him in a caring way like that, but he seems to fold regardless. A natural instinct. 

“Just give her the camera, Wonwoo,” Joshua says. He can’t help but think of Aida’s husband. A person that’s no longer a person— or not in the way he was. No longer living, unable to do much but exist through memory. It means something, but it’s so far removed. Just like the dinosaurs. It makes Joshua feel nauseous. 

Wonwoo opens his mouth to argue but stops himself. He gives in almost immediately. Hands the camera to Aida and awkwardly walks over to where Joshua is standing. Joshua opens his arm to welcome Wonwoo in. He hears a little huff on Wonwoo’s lips as he gets closer. He’s stiff as he folds himself into Joshua’s arm. Lifts his own arm to put it around Joshua’s shoulders. 

“Act like you like me, you idiot,” Joshua hisses. 

“I don’t need to act, I’m just like this,” Wonwoo hisses back. 

“Awkward?” 

“Incredibly!” 

“Smile you two!” Aida calls, lifting the camera to her face. 

Joshua pinches Wonwoo’s side, forcing him a bit closer. He forces the same smile he was giving Wonwoo, big and bright. He hopes Wonwoo is trying a little bit. 

“Oh, how precious!” Aida gushes. “You two are so good looking!” 

“Ha-ha,” Wonwoo barks out an incredibly false laugh. “Thank you.” 

“You should treasure the time you have together,” Aida says sagely. “It’s never going to come back.” 

Her sad smile sets off an atom bomb between Joshua’s ribs. Carefully constructed scaffolding collapsing in on itself, giving way to the impossible black hole of mortality. Whatever came before, and whatever comes next. Dinosaurs, people living in the face of a cliff, two years of Joshua’s life, wasted. All of it is a blip. 

“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, fingers skimming Joshua’s elbow. His camera has been returned. Aida’s address is burning a hole in Joshua’s pocket. 

“Fine,” Joshua says. “Just thinking about the people that used to live here.” 

Wonwoo pinches one eye shut, but doesn’t pry. 

He spends the rest of the tour lingering a bit closer to Joshua’s side. 

“Remember when Grimes used to be good?” 

After a solid twenty minutes in dead silence, driving away from Mesa Verde, Wonwoo asks the most inconsequential question in the world to break the tension. Remember when Grimes used to be good? As he taps his fingers on his steering wheel to the din of Oblivion playing through the speakers. 

Joshua turns his head to glare at Wonwoo. Lifts his sunglasses up, too, just so Wonwoo can tell that he is actually glaring. His tongue rolls over the inside of his cheek. “No, Wonwoo, I never listened to Grimes.” 

“Really?” Wonwoo ignores the way Joshua is looking at him. He turns the music up a few clicks. “Her old shit is, like, really good. I got super into her in college, but, y’know…” he trails off. 

“I really don’t,” Joshua says. He doesn’t bother to put his sunglasses back on when he turns back to face the road. He shoves his hands between his thighs, feeling suddenly cold. 

“What’s the best concert you’ve ever seen?” Wonwoo pushes. He’s so goddamn peppy, even after walking around all morning. Joshua can’t decide what his damage is. 

“I don’t know.” 

“I saw LCD Soundsystem a couple times— the crowd was fucking insane. It was so fucking fun. You ever been around that many ecstatic, middle-aged white people? It’s electric. I swear to god.” 

That gets the tiniest smile out of Joshua. He twists his lips up to the right to try to force it away. Forces all the air out of his lungs in a long sigh. “I saw Third Eye Blind once.” 

“No fucking way.” Wonwoo grins. Lopsided and perfect. He looks over at Joshua, all messy hair and crooked glasses. It hurts Joshua’s chest. 

“Yes fucking way,” Joshua mocks. “It was fucking horrible. Did you know most of their discography is about, like, meth?” 

“Hell no, I only know Semi-Charmed Life.” 

“Me too! I went to see Semi-Charmed Life, and then the lead singer was like, this is a deep cut show for real fans. Like, fuck you, dude, who’s a real fan of Third Eye Blind?” 

Wonwoo laughs a particularly contagious laugh. 

“Whatever,” Joshua sighs. “I didn’t even stay. I left early. And then I felt really vindicated when it turned out he’s a bad person anyway. Stupid fucking concert. I paid money for that concert.” 

Another laugh. This one gets Joshua to crack a smile. 

“Okay, so that’s the worst concert,” Wonwoo says. “But I asked for the best.” 

“That wasn’t even the worst— at the worst one, I got so high I passed out on the floor of a bar in my college town.” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

“I know how to have fun, Wonwoo.” 

“Clearly. That’s why you spiraled into a pit of doom and despair at the fucking Cliff Palace.” 

Joshua stares at him, unblinking, trying to express his disappointment at Wonwoo for stating the obvious. 

Wonwoo clears his throat. “Sorry,” he says. Then, like he knows Joshua is going to be a bitch about it, “For stating the obvious. Not for being right.” 

It’s enough to render Joshua speechless. He sticks out his tongue instead. Wonwoo seems delighted by that, with his stupid, painfully charming lopsided smile that Joshua is coming to detest. Not because it’s horrible to look at, but because it shifts things around inside his chest all too easily. 

“By the way, I should have asked earlier,” Wonwoo says, all faux casual. He tries to sling his arm over the back of Joshua’s seat, but it’s too far, so he ends up awkwardly laying it over the console. He laughs lightly. “Is Shua okay? Did he ever call you Shua?” 

It takes Joshua a few seconds to even understand what Wonwoo is asking. He doesn’t know how he feels about it. Why Wonwoo can’t just use Joshua. But Wonwoo seems eager. Somehow. “No one has ever called me Shua.” 

“Okay, great,” Wonwoo’s stupid smile is back. “I’ll make sure not to get engaged to you and then cheat on you, so I can continue calling you Shua.” 

Joshua doesn’t dignify him with a response. 

They drive until neither of them can take it anymore. Stop somewhere in Kansas. Wonwoo takes a call from his agent, standing far enough away that Joshua can’t hear him talk. He looks flustered, waving his hand around, cigarette wasting away between his fingers as he talks rapidly, glasses sliding down his nose. 

Wonwoo is unlaced in a way that Joshua is unaccustomed to. When they stopped at a gas station a few hours ago, Wonwoo spilled hot coffee on his foot. He blew off a string of expletives tied together in such a creative manner that Joshua was struck by how Wonwoo really must be a writer. After he finished jumping around, he caught the judgemental look of an old crone standing nearby, and he gave her a polite, apologetic smile. She wasn’t amused. After she left, Wonwoo turned to Joshua and said, “Some people are so unfortunate.” 

He’s unlike anyone Joshua has ever met before, while also feeling familiar. Joshua doesn’t think it’s the brother thing. He’d be more bothered by it if it were the brother thing. He just feels relaxed existing in Wonwoo’s vicinity. They don’t have trouble with silence. Neither of them are trying to make this anything it’s not. Wonwoo, very clearly, is used to apologizing for taking up space. But, after that first night together, he quit it while they’re alone, and now he’s unlike anyone Joshua has ever met before. 

He’s handsome in a way that eludes Joshua’s sensibilities. He’s wearing open-toed sandals, and yelling at his agent— and only friend— over the phone, and his old, polo shirt is at least two sizes too big for him. His hair is longer than he’d ever be allowed at an office job. He’s thin, but obviously harboring some muscle beneath the fabric he drapes over himself. Where Byeonggi is soft in the cheeks, Wonwoo is sharp. Though, maybe it’s just the filler Byeonggi was a little too fond of. Wonwoo can’t see anything without his glasses. He tripped over his own feet when he got out of the shower last night. But, then again, he trips over his own feet when he has his glasses on, too. 

All things considered, Joshua shouldn’t be attracted to him. The first night they met— sure— of course— it was only natural. Wonwoo was cleaned up, and trying his best to impress Joshua. But, the more Joshua learns, the attraction should lessen, given everything he’s seeing, and learning. Sandals, polo, hair, glasses. And, yet…

When they finally retire for the night, Wonwoo lets Joshua shower first. Joshua sits on the bed afterwards, toweling dry his hair. He made Wonwoo pull out half of the bags in the back of the car to get to the suitcase that contained all his skincare. Wonwoo didn’t even complain. Not out loud, anyway. He just made a face, and then got to work. Handed a beaming Joshua the suitcase he’d asked for, and got back to stacking everything into the trunk. 

Joshua knows that none of this matters. The goos and slop he spreads over his face. Not really, anyway, when he’s living like this, now. Motel bathrooms, and instant coffee for breakfast. Cigarettes for lunch. He just wants to feel a bit more like a person again. Human enough to remember that people used to live in the faces of cliffs. That dinosaurs were real. 

Wonwoo opens the door when he’s finished showering, muttering some excuse about how there’s no working fan. Joshua knows he’s telling the truth. That he doesn’t do things with the intention of driving Joshua mad. But, he seems good at doing it anyway. 

Steam wafts out of the door, all the humidity from Joshua’s shower making Wonwoo’s even foggier. Wonwoo stands at the sink, no glasses on, shirtless, leaning over to do something in the mirror. His pants hang low on his hips, soft flesh bitten into ever so slightly by the way he tied the string. His waist is narrow, and his shoulders are wide. He has a layer of fat on him. Healthy. Clearly strong. Joshua’s teeth ache to the root, as if he’s been denied permission to bite. 

He hasn’t asked, but he’s almost certain that the denial of permission is implied in the nature of their relationship. 

Joshua is just lonely. He gets this way without a warm body to attach himself to. That’s what he’s telling himself, anyway. 

This morning, when Wonwoo said he’s not keen on Joshua dying, it was the most romantic thing anyone has said to Joshua in a long time. He knows if he were to tell Wonwoo so, Wonwoo would make a deal of it. He’d twist his face up, and complain, and act like he’s so put out at the mere concept. Huffing and puffing and having some sort of unearned existential crisis about the reality of his brother, and the humanity of Joshua, and how it all comes together. 

Artists think that way. Joshua used to date them in college. 

Joshua sighs. He caps up his bottles of goos and slop, and tucks them into his suitcase. He makes sure he’s laying down, back to Wonwoo’s bed, when Wonwoo finally comes to sleep. 

The road between Kansas and Illinois is a road. There are more hills than Joshua expected, though he wasn’t expecting much at all of middle-America. He’s a coastal elite, after all. 

They stop at the corner of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, where Missouri meets Illinois meets Kentucky. It’s largely underwhelming. Wonwoo seems much too impressed. 

He stands at the peak of the peninsula in Cairo, Illinois, hands on his hips, staring into the water while Joshua hangs behind, seated at a weathered picnic table. Wonwoo keeps taking deep breaths and letting them out. Shaking his head like he’s amazed. 

“It’s a river, Wonwoo,” Joshua says lamely. He knows he shouldn’t dull Wonwoo’s sparkle, but Wonwoo is such an easy target with his giant head. 

“Well, yeah, but— it’s the second longest river in the country, and it’s meeting up with another river at the intersection of three states,” he explains, turning at the waist, arms extended as he talks. “It’s just— cool how natural borders form, and people assimilate to the world as they’ve found it.” 

“I could say something about colonization right now.” 

Wonwoo sighs, put out. “But, you won’t, because I’m enjoying myself.” 

“But, I won’t,” Joshua agrees. He blows air into his cheeks and holds it there, tapping his fingers on the picnic table as he stares at Wonwoo’s back. 

He has a headache, probably from the instant coffee and cigarettes. He’s breaking out on his chin, despite the goo and slop he put on last night. His sunglasses aren’t doing anything to stop him from squinting. Jeonghan hasn’t answered his texts, because he has Joshua’s number blocked, and Joshua doesn’t know what he’s going to do if Jeonghan moved. He should be considering jumping into the river. He did consider it, very briefly, and vaguely, but then he figured that Wonwoo would jump in after him, and he looks like he can’t swim. 

“Hey, can you swim?” he calls. 

Wonwoo shoots him a nasty look over his shoulder. “Are you going to push me into the river?” 

“I’m just wondering.” 

“I can swim, Shua.” 

“Okay.” Joshua doesn’t know if he believes him. Men like to embellish to make themselves seem better than they are. Byeonggi is particularly fond of that trick. Joshua swallows the spit pooling in his mouth. “Are you lying to me?” he asks, much too long after the conversation has lapsed. 

Wonwoo fully turns around this time. His hands are still on his hips. He cocks his head. “Why would I lie about being able to swim? That’s stupid.” 

“Are you going to offer to prove it to me?” Joshua nods towards the river. 

“What?” Wonwoo’s face screws up. “What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t give a shit if you don’t think I can swim. I’m not jumping into the Mississippi river because you think I’m lying about being able to swim.” 

“The Mississippi and Ohio, actually,” Joshua corrects. 

Wonwoo opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but he shuts it before he does. He turns around. 

Joshua hauls himself up, meandering over, arms folded across his chest. He stops when he’s side by side with Wonwoo. Takes a deep breath. The air smells like dead fish. “It would’ve been a lot easier for them to create the borders of states if there were just a bunch of rivers. Though, then they’d have to build a lot more bridges.” 

“I was thinking the same thing!” Wonwoo lights up. It’s almost stupid how much he lights up. His face falls when he catches Joshua’s smirk. “You’re making fun of me.” 

“I’m making fun of you,” Joshua confirms. He takes a step closer to Wonwoo, tipping his head to the side to lean on Wonwoo’s shoulder. Wonwoo steps out of the way at the last second, laughing at Joshua’s offended expression. 

“Bullies are disallowed to lie on my limb or by my side,” Wonwoo announces like some sort of feudal lord. 

Joshua waits to smile until Wonwoo’s back is turned. He can’t have it going to Wonwoo’s already giant head. 

“What did you say about lying by your side?” Joshua asks, both of them standing in the doorway of their newest hotel room. The only one left. One queen-sized bed in the middle of the room. “I guess you’ll have to stay on the floor.” 

“Well,” Wonwoo huffs. “You haven’t bullied me since we were in Cairo, so I think it’ll be fine.” 

“I better start trying harder,” Joshua says, tossing his bag on the bed. 

They have sort of a routine by now. Wonwoo will find something for them to eat. They’ll go sit down at a restaurant, or bring food back to the car or motel room, and sit quietly while they eat. Eventually, Joshua will turn on the news and listen to all the horrible things happening in the world, and feel a little bit better about his own shitty situation. Wonwoo will complain. One of them will shower, and then the other, and Wonwoo will have a cigarette before bed, which Joshua finds to be psychotic. 

Usually, there’s more than one bed. They’re not so close together. Joshua can’t see the shape of Wonwoo’s muscles through the back of his shirt. 

Approximately four days since his life ended, and Joshua is already wanting something he can’t have. That’s his problem, after all. He’s always wanted things he can’t have, and when he got something he couldn’t have in Byeonggi, he made it count. 

Skirting the rules. Joshua is good at that. 

He and Wonwoo have been pretending that they didn’t happen. That tiny blip a few years ago. A spark that failed to catch, but so easily could have. Neither of them talk about it. Joshua avoids thinking about it. Wonwoo wrote about it, but he seems adverse to acknowledging it. But, now, when the sun is down, and they’re sharing a queen bed, everything narrows in. The curtains won’t close all the way, and the radio doesn’t work. The silence is suffocating, and Wonwoo is pretending to sleep. Joshua can’t quit staring.

There’s no introduction to it. Joshua just breaks into the silence, voice too loud against his own ringing ears, “The night we met, do you ever think about what would have happened in Byeonggi was late?” 

For a second, Wonwoo doesn't move. Maybe considering if he should continue pretending to sleep. But then his shoulders deflate, and he swears under his breath. He turns, laying on his back, letting his head drop so he’s facing Joshua, cheek smushed against his pillow. He doesn’t have his glasses on, but Joshua is pretty sure he’s close enough to be seen. 

Wonwoo makes a conflicted sound in his throat. “He was late.” 

“Later,” Joshua corrects. If Wonwoo wants to play semantics. 

“Shua,” Wonwoo breathes. He looks away, but then comes right back. More emotionally sober. “Sure. It’s only natural.” 

Joshua’s fingers itch to reach out. He’s lonely, and Wonwoo is close enough, but still too far. He squeezes his hands between his thighs under the blankets. Holding back. “I was thinking about breaking up with him back then,” he admits quietly. “And when you came up to me, and let me touch your knee, I thought that was it. The sign I needed to pull the trigger.” 

Silence stretches between them, Wonwoo’s throat moving when he swallows, his cheek catching a sliver of light from between the curtains. 

“But he wasn’t later,” Wonwoo says carefully. 

“No,” Joshua agrees. “He wasn’t.” 

The unsaid, Don’t you wish he was? Hangs between them. Neither of them willing to bite. 

What does it matter, anyway? Byeonggi wasn’t later. What’s done is done. Then was then, and now is now, and they’re in between something bad and something worse, and Joshua doesn’t know how much more of his life he can spend regretting what he didn’t do. His pride is strung up and beaten raw. 

“Goodnight, Wonwoo,” Joshua decides for both of them. 

Wonwoo’s face pinches for a second, but he lets it go easily enough. “Goodnight, Shua. Sweet dreams.” 

Metropolis, Illinois

Wonwoo needs a cigarette. 

He thinks, maybe, that he should examine the psychological implications of waking up in bed with someone like Joshua Hong, only to fold to the immediate, overwhelming need for a cigarette. But, Wonwoo doesn’t care to dissect that yet. Or ever. 

Sometime in the night, he kicked off the blankets covering him, legs splayed across his side of the bed. He and Joshua have drifted closer while asleep. Joshua is pressed up against Wonwoo’s back, arms tucked up against his chest, right under his chin. He’s basically in a fetal position against Wonwoo’s back, like he’s trying to siphon warmth from him without actually reaching to take. 

Wonwoo feels too stiff. Obviously, Joshua is a deep enough sleeper that he can bear a bit of movement, but now that Wonwoo is aware that he’s a crucial part of the equation here, he goes robotic. He really needs a cigarette. He might as well leave before Joshua wakes up. If he stays, and Joshua realizes he’s been too close, he’ll cave inward again, like he did a couple of days ago at Mesa Verde. Some existential thing. Coping with wants and needs, or something. Wonwoo doesn’t know. 

What he knows is that he needs a cigarette. 

He removes himself from Joshua’s vicinity carefully. One leg at a time landing on the floor. He pushes his glasses onto his face, pocketing his phone, and his lighter. Grabs the room key and his pack of cigarettes on his way out the door. 

Metropolis, Illinois is a tiny town tucked into one of the bends of the Ohio river, just across from Kentucky. It’s underwhelming, and rundown, and holds multiple tourist gimmicks relating to Superman, because of the name. 

Wonwoo isn’t ever going to be in Metropolis, Illinois again. He just intrinsically knows that about himself. So, he walks to the damn Superman statue to smoke his cigarette. The World’s Largest, it boasts. 

He stands at the peak in the fence in front of Superman’s feet, staring up at the monstrosity, clicking his lighter on. 

Superman is boring. Wonwoo can’t blame him. He was the first, after all. Maybe. Wonwoo was never into comics like that. Superman just seems like a really lazy, first shot at something great. Imagine a guy that’s big, and strong, and all the women want him. The kryptonite thing is stupid. If Superman existed in real life, the United States government would find a way to mass produce kryptonite and construct him a special kryptonite prison to neutralize the threat. Maybe that happened in a Superman movie. Wonwoo doesn’t know. He finds Superman boring. 

Wonwoo exhales, smoke floating off his lips. He makes eye contact with Superman as best as he can from down below. 

It’s not like Wonwoo has room to talk about Superman, or perfect men. He’s wearing pajamas, and smoking a cigarette at seven thirty in the morning. He didn’t even brush his hair before he came out. He couldn’t turn around to look at Joshua before he left the room, because he was terrified that he’d see something he liked. That he wanted. 

Byeonggi has always been insufferably boring. He’s also a dickhead, but that’s besides the point. He’s boring, and straight-laced, and he does exactly what he’s supposed to in terms of his life. He went to school for fiance, got a job, found a perfect boyfriend. He cheated on the perfect boyfriend, which Wonwoo thinks is in line with the rest of that path, but Wonwoo is also a pessimist. Byeonggi is charming in an obnoxious way, and he knows what words to say to make people do what he wants. And, Wonwoo is sure that there is absolutely no way to take down a man like that. 

Sure, Joshua left him, but he won’t care. He’ll pretend to care, but he’ll be over it by the end of the business quarter. He’ll keep seeing his mistress until he gets bored, and then he’ll cheat on her, too. His next fiance will be just as perfect as Joshua, but a little less mouthy. A little more demure. They won’t pitch a fit when they find out he’s unfaithful. They’ll keep their mouth shut and stick it out for the promise of the life Byeonggi can give them. Wonwoo will have to see them at whatever family function he’s guilted into attending, even though he keeps saying he’s going to cut everyone off. He’ll sit on his side of the table, completely alone, while his parents act like Joshua never existed. There’s no kryptonite to mass produce, and no neutralization, because that’s just how life is. Byeonggi exists, and Wonwoo stands in his shadow, feeling like the only sane person in the room. 

Wonwoo follows the rules. That’s one of the most frustrating parts of it all. He shows up, and dresses how he’s meant to, and he attempts to keep some form of relationship. He makes enough money to support himself, and he works. He doesn’t touch his trust fund, and he went to college. None of it matters, of course, because he’s not following the rules the right way. 

But, he’s followed the rules. He doesn’t make a pass at his brother’s fiance, because that’s against the fucking rules. Wanting Joshua has always been against the rules. Acting on it has been impossible to comprehend. 

None of it matters, of course. 

For a moment, he allows himself to picture a reality where he doesn’t follow the rules. Where he makes a pass at his brother’s fiance. Ex fiance. Where he shows up to the family event that he’s been guilted into with Joshua, because that’s all he’s ever wanted anyway. Where he and Joshua sit across the table from Byeonggi and Byeonggi’s new, less-mouthy partner. Where Wonwoo draws all the attention on purpose, and makes himself everyone’s problem. Where Joshua indulges him and lets him do just that. 

Maybe they’d sneak away during dinner. Wonwoo would press Joshua up against the wall just outside of the kitchen, swallowing whatever noise he’d make. They’d end up in the closest bedroom— Byeonggi’s, ironically— and fuck in his bed. 

Wonwoo blinks, his eyes dry and aching. Superman doesn’t blink. Wonwoo’s cigarette is almost out. 

Truth — Justice — The American Way, the plaque at Superman’s feet reads. Wonwoo looks back up to his head. Snorts. He drops the butt of his cigarette on the ground and scuffs it out with his shoe. Spits on the ground, just because he can. 

Fuck Superman. 

Wonwoo thinks, maybe, that he should examine the psychological implications of purposefully going to see the world’s largest Superman statue, only to fold to the immediate, overwhelming need to daydream about fucking his brother’s ex-fiance. But, Wonwoo doesn’t care to dissect that yet. 

There’s a Lois Lane statue a few blocks away from Superman, but Wonwoo doesn’t care to make the trek. She’s not even the world’s largest, according to Google maps. What’s the fucking point? She’ll just serve to make him even more depressed about the state of the Superman universe— because of the sexism of it all. 

He checks his texts. 

Chan Kwon-Lee: Word count?

Chan Kwon-Lee: Please tell me you’ve got at least 10k.

Soonyoung Kwon-Lee: please tell chan you’ve got at least 10k.

Soonyoung Kwon-Lee: even if its a lie

Decides not to bother. 

Somehow, on his way back, Wonwoo smokes a second cigarette. He finishes standing outside the hotel, and then forces himself to breathe some fresh air before going back inside. 

The door beeps under the keycard. He pushes inside. Joshua is standing, awake now, in nothing but his underwear. Wonwoo’s mouth falls open, trying to conjure up the appropriate words. He doesn’t look away as quickly as he should— a bit too stuck on the ratio of shoulder to waist Joshua is managing. The smooth expanse of his back. 

“Shit, sorry,” Wonwoo finally blurts. He brings up a hand to cover his eyes, because there’s not really anywhere else to go. 

Joshua snorts at him. Wonwoo can hear his footsteps on the carpet. A cold hand curling around his wrist. He doesn’t resist when Joshua pulls his hand from his face. He swallows thickly. Lets it happen. Joshua smiles softly, almost unsettling. 

“It’s fine,” he says airily. “I didn’t look away last night.” His eyes drop to Wonwoo’s chest, and then he turns and walks back to the bed. 

Wonwoo makes an embarrassing noise in the back of his throat. He forces his gaze to head-level as Joshua starts pulling on a pair of slacks. He has no idea what Joshua is saying. “Huh?” he asks idiotically. 

Joshua looks over his shoulder just to roll his eyes like Wonwoo is stupid, buttoning his pants. And, Wonwoo is stupid. His mouth feels dry, but maybe it’s just the cigarettes. Maybe not, though. There’s lots of maybes in his life lately. 

“If you show up to a national park wearing that, I’m pretty sure the rangers will shoot you point blank in the head.” 

Wonwoo snorts. “On what grounds?” 

“Don’t our country’s most beautiful sights deserve some goddamn respect, Wonu?” The words drip off of Joshua’s tongue, coated in heavy sarcasm. 

Still, Wonwoo clears his throat, moving towards his own bag to find something acceptable to wear. He doesn’t look at Joshua as he gets ready. Acutely aware of exactly how long Joshua goes without putting on his shirt. 

On their way out, Wonwoo holds the door to the room so Joshua can leave first. Joshua gives him a look. 

He gives him another when Wonwoo opens the car door for him. Wonwoo doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“To Mammoth Cave we go,” he says. 

“Thrilling,” Joshua deadpans, ducking under Wonwoo’s arm to get in the car. Wonwoo exhales, closing the door behind him. 

Silver Springs is playing over the stereo. Windows down, warm enough that the breeze feels like a reprieve. Joshua has sunglasses on, elbow crooked and resting against the car door. The sun is angled behind his head, so every time Wonwoo attempts to steal a glance, he’s nearly blinded. 

Joshua is the type of beautiful that thrives in the outdoors. He’s meant to be framed by blue sky, perched on a cobblestone balcony overlooking a cerulean sea, sun warming his skin. 

Or, alternatively, Wonwoo is delusional. 

Silver Springs is playing over the stereo. A little too on the nose, Wonwoo thinks. He’s blinded when he tries to chance a look at Joshua to see if he’s bothered by it, so he reaches to skip the song. The button sticks when he hits it, and nothing changes at all. 

Before he can try again, Joshua speaks up. “I haven’t had sex in six months.” 

Wonwoo’s arm jerks, nearly sending them off the road. He straightens the car out, someone coming down the other way laying on their horn. 

“Holy shit—” Wonwoo’s ears ring, heart rattling against his ribs. “Seriously?” 

Joshua doesn’t even flinch. Fleetwood Mac plays loud and clear over the stereo. The windows are still open, but the sun has dipped behind a cloud. “Yes, seriously.” 

“Okay. Cool,” Wonwoo blinks too hard, vision swimming with black spots. He’s afraid if he focuses on it for too long, he’s going to do something stupid. Drive off the road for real. On purpose. Stop the car and ask Joshua to kiss him. One or the other. Neither sounds like it will end with him walking away safe or healthy. So, he diverts. “What do you think about Superman? Truth, justice, the American way—” Wonwoo trails off, aware of how idiotic he sounds. 

“Seriously?” Joshua mimics Wonwoo’s delivery of the word. 

“Yes, seriously,” Wonwoo gives it back to him. “I went to see him this morning.” 

“You went to see Superman?” 

“Yes. We were in Metropolis. It’s, like, a thing.” 

Joshua sighs. The sun comes back out, and he sticks his hand out the window, catching air between his fingers. Wonwoo’s mom always used to say he’d get his hand cut off if they drove by anything when he tried to do that. Wonwoo bites his tongue so he doesn’t end up warning Joshua of the same. 

“I think he’s full of shit,” Joshua says eventually. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

“Besides, Wonwoo, you’re the real superhero for trying to skip this song,” Joshua teases, reaching over to pinch Wonwoo’s cheeks between the knuckles of his middle and index finger. Wonwoo swats him away. “Even if you failed,” he finishes. 

“Sorry about that,” Wonwoo says blandly. 

“I forgive you.” 

“Well, thank god for that.” 

Joshua reaches over and snatches Wonwoo’s current disposable camera from the console. Probably his fifth or sixth so far. After the first he kept buying them when he ran out of film. By now, his disposable cameras must be filled with pictures of Joshua. Joshua standing next to a Big Boy statue outside of the restaurant when they stopped for lunch yesterday. Joshua at parks, and in the car. Joshua when he doesn’t know Wonwoo is looking at him at all. 

He holds up the camera, and clicks a picture of Wonwoo driving. Wonwoo flips him off. He spins the wheel on top and takes another picture. Laughs, and gives Wonwoo a deceptively sweet smile, keeping his eyes locked on Wonwoo across the cab, still shaded by sunglasses. 

Wonwoo is used to it by now. He barely flinches. 

The thing about caves is that Wonwoo fucking hates them. He feels claustrophobic and trapped. Thinks of all those movies where people get stuck with only a video camera and half a bottle of water, legs and arms getting squeezed off. Elevators getting trapped in mine shafts and rockslides covering entrances. 

He and Joshua opted for a self-guided tour rather than the ranger-led because Wonwoo is scared of caves. He thinks too hard. He doesn’t need to venture further than the largest caverns. Close to the surface is fine. He lacks a sense of adventure down or up. He’d rather go straight across the top of the Earth, like humans were meant to. Joshua looked at him a little funny, but didn’t argue.

Wonwoo kind of thought that visiting the world’s longest cave system would spark fear, which would spark inspiration, but when he lays it out like that it feels stupid. 

On their way down the stairs into the mouth of the beast, Wonwoo said, “Do you think anyone has ever died in here?” and Joshua pulled out his phone to Google it before he lost service. 

“Yeah,” he said casually. “One hundred years ago, some asshole got trapped and died. They were talking to him for two weeks through the rock until he finally got too tired. Bad luck.” Joshua pushed his sunglasses up into his hair and put his phone away, unbothered. “Maybe he’s a ghost down here now.” 

“Don’t say that,” Wonwoo snapped. 

Joshua laughed. “Ghosts and caves? Your list of fears is out of a Goosebumps novel. Maybe you should pivot for your next book.” He shouldered past Wonwoo and took the lead down the stairs, Wonwoo trailing behind like a lost puppy. 

The actual cave is well lit, but Wonwoo is all too aware that it’s not meant to be. There are some things he’s not meant to see. He leans over a railing, staring into a maw of stalagmites, letting Joshua wander ahead, hands in his pockets. 

It’s cold underground. Wet. Wonwoo feels out of place. 

He’s spent most of his life feeling out of place, and then feeling guilty about it. Luckily, he’s devoid of the guilt today— existentialism taking its place. How much he doesn’t know, and how much he never will. His palms are sweating. Itchy. His t-shirt feels too tight to his body, even though it gapes around his stomach. 

He keeps thinking about his tenth grade AP Language and Composition teacher. She was the first person to tell Wonwoo his writing lacked a voice. He’d spent his elementary years coasting on being a better writer than everyone else, only to be knocked down flat on his back. Sixteen years old and without an idea of who he was, or what he was doing. He liked the way reading satire made him feel— smart— and he liked the way stream of consciousness rearranged his feelings into something vulnerable. He hated Shakespeare, and had to Sparknotes Heart of Darkness, and he read on his own time, but mostly graphic novels. Pieces adding up to nothing. 

It took him until junior year of college to discern who he is, and even then, he wasn’t sure he liked it. Still isn’t sure ten years later. 

Missed opportunities, and vicious cycles, and every mistake he’s ever made, and ever will make. 

Wonwoo lost his virginity when he was seventeen. He had no idea what he was doing. His girlfriend was older than him, and liked that he didn’t know anything, and he came to resent it after the fact. He didn’t have sex again until years later, attempting to balm the ache on his psyche, drunk at a college party. 

He’s better now. He’s fine. He’s had a couple of relationships that weren’t serious, but they did him well by way of figuring out what he wants and needs. His style of companionship. He’s slept with plenty of people, figuring out what he likes. 

If Byeonggi were later, back in that bar the night he and Joshua met, Wonwoo doesn’t know what would have happened. 

Sure, maybe they’d go home together. Joshua would leave Byeonggi, which would be better for him in the long run, but Wonwoo is almost positive he would have fucked it up. There’s no universe in which a fuck-up like Wonwoo Jeon doesn’t fuck things up with someone like Joshua Hong— there are only universes where Joshua Hong decides to forgive him for fucking up. Joshua Hong is something out of Wonwoo Jeon’s reach, innately. He’s beautiful, and headstrong, and smart. He’s put together, and he deserves better than his fuck-up fiance’s fuck-up brother. 

Wonwoo has always been a little selfish. A dangerous combination with his crippling insecurity. In tenth grade, his writing had no voice. He became a writer regardless, because he wanted to, even though he held onto all the reasons he shouldn’t. His lack of voice is one of the reasons he’s struggling to find an idea for his second novel. Nothing feels quite real enough. 

The last time Wonwoo slept with someone must’ve been eight months ago, at least. Before he isolated himself in a sad attempt to drum up some sort of creativity. He remembers the guy not by his face, but by his hands. He had pretty hands. It was unmemorable besides that. Wonwoo smoked a cigarette after, and went home and drank instant coffee as some twisted way to punish himself. 

Everything he’s ever seen and done could have been witnessed by these stalagmites. They were only sitting here waiting for him to come around. Nothing’s changed, but everything’s changed. Wonwoo is a milksop, and he will be forever, and that’s why he can’t have his brother’s fiance. 

He jumps when cold fingers press into his flank. Exhaling when he realizes it’s just Joshua. He slides over on the railing, making room for Joshua to rest next to him. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Joshua asks. His nose is pink at the tip from the cool air. 

“They stopped making pennies,” Wonwoo says, because he is, and always will be, a milksop. 

“Whatever.” 

Wonwoo has a dangerous combination of selfishness and crippling insecurity. It makes him feel like he has nothing to lose. Maybe he doesn’t. Impossible to tell underground— there’s no sunlight. “I haven’t had sex in six months either,” he says eventually. A drop of water plinks down from the ceiling onto the floor of the cave. 

When Wonwoo looks over, Joshua is staring into the maw of stalagmites, eyes unfocused. He tips his chin towards Wonwoo. Says, “So what?” 

Well. So what? Wonwoo doesn’t know. He doesn't have an answer, so he doesn’t give one. He knows Joshua is challenging him to say something actionable. With an end goal. But Wonwoo doesn’t have any of that. He has a fear of caves and he kind of believes in ghosts. 

“Did you meet the ghost?” he asks instead. 

“Yeah. He was cool,” Joshua shrugs, shifting his weight to one hip. “He sucked my dick.” 

“Should you speak of the dead like that?”

Joshua looks him up and down with surveying eyes, taking his time. “I don’t care about what I should do, Wonwoo. I’m selfish.” 

“Right.” Wonwoo stands up, relinquishing his hold on the railing. “I think I need to get out of this cave. I’m sea sick.” 

“That’s impossible.” 

Wonwoo nods to the floor of the cave. “Aren’t we below sea level?” He raises his eyebrows like he’s made a good point, shoving his hands into his pockets to begin his trek back towards the real world. 

“You’re an idiot,” Joshua calls after him. 

“I need a cigarette!” Wonwoo calls back, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cavern. 

Joshua’s laugh sounds just as sweet when it’s echoing around Wonwoo, hundreds of feet underground.  

They don’t speak more than ten words to each other on their way to Lexington. A thank you a few times. No, when Wonwoo holds out his soda to see if Joshua wants a sip. Joshua sits in the passenger’s seat of Wonwoo’s car and bobs his head along to Wonwoo’s music. 

“Lexington?” Wonwoo suggests when he gets tired of driving. 

“Fine,” Joshua agrees. 

And then they’re sitting in their hotel room, not talking, and restless, something dangerous hanging between them. Wonwoo jumpy, Joshua painfully calm. 

“Let’s go out for dinner,” Wonwoo says eventually. “Someplace stupid and kitschy. I’ve never been to Kentucky.” 

“We’ve been in Kentucky all day,” Joshua replies, but he’s already getting up to put his shoes back on. “You’ve literally been in Kentucky. We were underground. Inside of Kentucky.” He makes a circle with one arm, and shoves the other through in a crude reenactment. 

“Okay, I’m going to dinner. You’re welcome to come.” 

“I’m literally coming. I just put my shoes on.” Joshua motions to his feet. 

Wonwoo holds the door open for him, and locks it behind him, too. They walk to the heart of the city and stop at the first bar Wonwoo deems appropriate. Sit outside so Wonwoo can smoke a cigarette, live music thumping through the open garage door separating the inside and out. It’s exactly what Wonwoo was looking for. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, and lets it out. 

“People watching is better for my creativity, I think,” he says, picking up the glass of whiskey he ordered and taking a slow drink. 

Joshua’s mouth quirks up at the corner, leaning back in his chair. “So you decided to spend all your creative time in national parks by yourself?” 

“I wasn’t by myself, you were there.” 

“But what if I wasn't?" 

“But you were.” Wonwoo pulls a cigarette out of his pack and sticks it in his mouth. “No use thinking about it if you weren’t.” He cups his hand around his mouth as he lights his cigarette, first drag warming his chest. 

Joshua looks at him for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. He moves forward all at once, elbows on the table, setting his chin in his hands. He nods towards Wonwoo. “Can I have that cigarette?” he asks sweetly. 

“Uh, Yeah, I guess,” Wonwoo pulls it out from between his lips and holds it out for Joshua, hand already moving to his pocket to grab another. Joshua smiles brightly as he plucks it from Wonwoo’s fingers, and then immediately drops it on the ground, snuffing it with the toe of his shoe. “Hey! What the fuck, Shua!?” Wonwoo gawks at him. 

“Smoking is unhealthy,” Joshua says simply. “I get that the further you’re stuck in your own head the more you smoke, but the further we get into this trip, the more I resent the smell.” 

Wonwoo makes a pathetic noise, trying to think of anything appropriate to say. He comes up blank. “Well, why the fuck did we sit outside, then?” he asks lamely. 

Joshua laughs. “You’ll quit that easily? If I asked you to?” 

“I mean— like— if it really bothered you that much, sure, I’d quit— but—” 

“Hm.” Joshua reaches out and picks up Wonwoo’s drink. He swallows the rest of it with one extended tilt of his head, throat bobbing as he drinks. Wonwoo watches it happen, making no move to stop him. He can always get another drink. Whatever. “What if I don’t like what I ordered, and I only want to eat yours?” Joshua presses. 

“What is this, the SATs?” Wonwoo barks out a laugh. He follows the trail of Joshua’s hand as he sets down the empty whiskey glass. 

“Did they ask you questions like this on your SAT?” Joshua picks up his own drink and takes a sip. 

Wonwoo blinks. “I took the ACT.” 

“Answer my question. I’ll decide your score afterwards. I bet you like to do well at tests.” 

“Could you try a little harder to ask me things that don’t have a clear answer,” Wonwoo deadpans. “I’d like to be tricked into seeing if I’m comparable to my brother rather than walking right into it.” 

“Okay,” Joshua twirls the cocktail straw in his drink between two fingers, eyes locked on Wonwoo. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Green,” Wonwoo answers. 

Joshua sucks his teeth. “That’s Byeonggi’s favorite color. It’s not looking good.” 

“I’m surprised Byeonggi even has a favorite color at all,” Wonwoo snorts. 

“You’re right, he says he doesn’t. I’m just making an assumption based on what he’s drawn to. He always picks green if he’s buying something for himself.” Joshua breaks eye contact, looking down into his drink. He frowns a little bit. 

For the last four days, Wonwoo has been struck by how sad it is. That Joshua ruined his own life for a man like Byeonggi. That Byeonggi treated him horribly, and forced him to move across the country, and didn’t have sex with him, apparently. That Joshua looks at himself and thinks poorly of what’s left. Selfish, he said earlier. He’s selfish. He thinks he’s selfish for wanting love, and chasing it, and desperately wanting things to work out. 

Wonwoo doesn’t know how much of what Joshua says he actually believes, and how much is just a well crafted defense mechanism. Trying to put distance between himself and what’s happening to him— what has already happened. 

“I don’t think you are,” Wonwoo says, too loud and poorly timed. Their waitress brings food just as the words are out, setting down their plates and asking if they need more drinks. 

Joshua smiles, and orders Wonwoo another drink. He smiles politely for the both of them, because Wonwoo is all out of sorts. And, then, when they’re alone once more, he looks at Wonwoo. “Are what, Wonu?” 

Wonwoo swallows the growing lump in his throat. “Selfish.”

“Been sitting on that one for eight hours?” Joshua asks, grabbing the ketchup off the center of the table and pouring it haphazardly across his fries. It’s a completely ineffective way to use ketchup. Wonwoo doesn’t think Joshua gives a shit. He just picks up a couple of fries and shoves them into his mouth, a small smear of ketchup left on the corner of his lips. Wonwoo’s eyes lock onto the spot. 

“I was thinking about it,” he says, managing to find his train of thought. He licks over his bottom lip. “You have ketchup on your mouth already.” 

“Get it for me,” Joshua says easily, another few fries lifted to his mouth. 

He makes Wonwoo work for it, leaning across the table, arm extended, catching his chin in the curl of his fingers, pad of his thumb wiping away the sauce. Joshua looks at him intently the entire time, chewing slowly. 

Wonwoo sits back in his chair, wiping his thumb on his napkin. 

“Would have been hot if you licked it,” Joshua says. 

“Off your face?” 

“No, idiot, off your thumb.” 

Wonwoo snorts. His next drink arrives.  

“Do you want this one? I’ll get another,” he offers. 

Joshua wrinkles his nose. “I have my own drink. Are you trying to get me drunk?” 

“Yes,” Wonwoo deadpans. “Is it working?” 

One eye squeezing shut, Joshua takes another drink of his own cocktail. He smiles brightly at Wonwoo after. Pleased. “Sixteen hundred.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

“Google it.” 

“You want me to Google the number sixteen hundred? I don’t think that’s going to give me anything useful to go off of.” 

Joshua shrugs. “The year sixteen hundred was a leap year.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I Googled it.” 

“Liar.” 

Joshua smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile— it hits Wonwoo straight in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him, his own smile almost unbearable in its ferocity. 

Joshua gets piss drunk. Wobbling on his feet drunk. Wonwoo has to hold him by the waist to get him back to the hotel drunk. 

He keeps telling Wonwoo that he hasn’t been so drunk in a long time, and Wonwoo doesn’t understand. He doesn’t elaborate on why that’s such a big deal. Wonwoo doesn’t ask. He knows it has something to do with his brother, and he’d like to maintain his sanity as best he can when Joshua Hong is clinging to him like his life depends on it. 

When they make it back to the hotel, Joshua sits on the bed while Wonwoo unlaces his shoes. It feels too vulnerable. Wonwoo on his knees between Joshua’s legs, looking up at him for approval. Joshua looks down at him with shiny eyes, tongue loose. “Thirty-six,” he whispers. 

“Thirty-six,” Wonwoo repeats, tossing Joshua’s shoes away. He lets himself sit on the ground for a second, maintaining eye contact. Joshua’s hands are planted on the mattress on either side of himself, managing to hold his weight for now. 

“Google it,” Joshua says. 

Wonwoo doesn’t need to Google it. He gets it. He got a thirty-five on his ACT, which has to be close to a fifteen-fifty-ish on the SAT, if his mental math is correct. Just short of a perfect score. 

Lexington, Kentucky

Joshua Hong is, and always has been, hopelessly and abysmally afraid of falling in love. 

There’s certain requirements that love demands. Vulnerability. Weakness. Humility. Grace. Joshua isn’t sure he’s capable of allowing himself those things, much less anyone else. Much less the only man he’s ever felt anything close to love at first sight with. His fiance’s brother. It’s all wrong, and none of it is right, and Joshua is having a hard time remembering why he’s worrying about it at all. His life is a cosmic joke. 

He’s five days into a road trip with the only man he’s ever felt anything close to love at first sight for— his fiance’s brother— and he’s considering love as a viable option. He’s scared, because it feels like a viable option. 

When he woke up thirty minutes ago, he was hungover, brain pounding against his skull. He sat up and downed the entirety of the water bottle he assumes Wonwoo left on the nightstand for him, and then forces himself to get up. He rummaged around in Wonwoo’s pants pockets until he found a few quarters, and then stole Wonwoo’s sweater, throwing it over his head. 

Jeonghan can’t block a payphone in Lexington, Kentucky from cold calling him. 

Joshua taps his shoe against the pavement, leaning against the side of the phone module. He knows Jeonghan’s number by heart— he’s had the same one forever. He’d never change it, because it’s incredibly satisfying as far as repeated digits are concerned. When Joshua moved to California, he continued to write Jeonghan down as his emergency contact. Never Byeonggi. Always Jeonghan. 

He answers one ring short of Joshua being sent to voicemail. 

“Hello?”

Joshua exhales, pressing his forehead to cold glass. Definitely not sanitary. He doesn’t care. “Hey, it’s me,” he says. 

“Sorry?” 

“It’s Joshua.” 

“Yeah, I got that. I just don’t know why you’d be calling me,” Jeonghan says shortly. His voice sounds exactly the same. Of course it does. Everything has changed, but nothing has changed. 

“I don’t have much time, Jeonghan— I’m at a fucking payphone in Kentucky, and Wonwoo only had three quarters.” 

“That’s really not my problem. I couldn’t even locate Kentucky on a map.” 

“Are you still at the same address?” 

Jeonghan laughs. “You left him,” he says. “Wow. I thought you’d ride your stubbornness to the grave, Joshuji. You were halfway there when you left. I was checking obits.” 

“Hannie—” 

“I’d say I told you so, but we both knew that a long time ago, right? That I was always right?” 

Joshua almost laughs in return. He’s banking on the fact that Jeonghan will still love being conceded to. That he still gets a high off of knowing he’s won. But it still hurts.  “Jeonghan, please—” 

“Please what?” 

“Can you please— just— are you at the same address? I’m going to be back in the city tomorrow, and I don’t know what to do. I’m so fucked up. And Byeonggi’s brother is driving me there— and I can’t ask to stay with him, because I think I’ll fall in love with him.” 

“Holy shit.” 

“I know, holy shit, so can you please— I’m running out of time.” 

Jeonghan clicks his tongue. There’s a few, painful seconds of silence before he speaks again, like he’s testing the strength of the American quarter dollar. “I might not let you in,” he drawls eventually.  

Joshua exhales, body sagging against the phone. “That’s okay. Seungcheol will. He’s a good dog.” 

“He’s not around anymore,” Jeonghan says cooly. 

“What?” Joshua’s heart drops out of his ass. He can feel his heart skip a beat or two. “Are you fucking serious?” 

A snort, and Joshua immediately understands that he’s being played with. “No. I’m lying. He’d definitely let you in.” 

Joshua doesn’t think that Jeonghan and Seungcheol will ever split up, but if they did, and Joshua wasn’t around for it, he’d never forgive himself. There’s no way Jeonghan would be able to handle the fallout. 

“Shit— Don’t scare me like that—” he exhales. 

“Don’t scare you? You’re in fucking Kentucky. Are you safe?” Jeonghan’s voice is tinny and sour through the phone. A sliver of the Jeonghan Joshua used to know. Joshua sucks it up greedily, letting it settle into the marrow of his bones. He’s starved for it. Genuine human connection. Friendship. Love. 

He laughs, and it comes out half-wrecked. “Yes! I’m fine—” The line cuts off rather abruptly, a robotic voice telling him to insert more money for more time. He shoves his hands into his pockets, even though he knows there’s nothing there. Bumps his forehead against the phone module, shoving the receiver back on the hook. 

Joshua’s hands shake. Palms sweating. As if a syringe of adrenaline was plunged straight into his heart. He’s wired. His head clearer. He barely feels hungover anymore. There’s a bounce in his step as he power walks back to the hotel room, buzzing himself into the door. 

He’s out of breath, the arms of Wonwoo’s sweater too long, grazing his palms. The door clicks shut behind him, breath coming hard and fast. 

Wonwoo stands hunched over the dresser, pouring instant coffee into a cup of hot water that he’s clearly gotten out of the sink. He’s freshly showered, shirt off, jeans snug at his hips. There’s still a few drops of water clinging to his skin. One rolling down one inked arm. He looks over his shoulder when Joshua walks in, raising his eyebrows. “How hungover are you?” 

Joshua ignores him. He’s not interested in his hangover. He licks over his bottom lip. “Why are you drinking that? Are you trying to punish yourself?” 

He’s almost positive Wonwoo is trying to punish himself. 

“I like it,” Wonwoo says, voice lifting too much to be honest. He moves his arm and Joshua’s gaze follows. Bicep flexing. Muscles in his back shifting. Joshua aches somewhere deep in his chest. 

“Liar,” he says. He takes a step closer, toeing off his shoes. “Where’s your shirt?” 

Wonwoo laughs lightly, standing upright and bringing his shitty coffee to his lips and taking a drink that he winces at. He motions to Joshua helplessly, sweater still hanging off his body like it belongs there. 

“Oh, right.” Joshua chews on his bottom lip, taking two more steps. Wonwoo looks confused. He looks stupid when he’s confused. Forehead creasing between his eyebrows, arms naturally coming up to protect his stomach, as if Joshua is going to go for his gut. Joshua’s tongue runs over the undersides of his top set of teeth. He inhales through his nose, watching another stray drop of water roll down Wonwoo’s chest, just left of his sternum. He can’t take it. “Hey, fuck you,” he says, confident enough for the both of them. 

“Excuse me?” Wonwoo stutters, jaw moving unpredictably. 

“Fuck you,” Joshua repeats. 

Wonwoo laughs incredulously. He turns enough to set down his shitty fucking coffee on the dresser, mouth pulling into a frown. “Fuck me for what?” 

Fuck him for what? Joshua wants to laugh. Fuck him for being kind, and soft, and easy to spend time with. Fuck him for being infuriating, and gorgeous, and inane. For being the only person that has ever made Joshua think love at first sight might be real— and for being Joshua’s fiance’s brother, of all things. Fuck Wonwoo, really. 

“Fuck you, Wonwoo.” They’re nearly chest to chest. Wonwoo won’t back down. He’s too stubborn. Joshua is even worse. 

“Got that— you’re still not telling me why you—” his words morph into a pathetic little whine when Joshua kisses him. 

It happens hard and fast, because Joshua isn’t wasting the moment. He grabs Wonwoo by the back of the neck, and pulls him in, and kisses him, shoving his glasses up into his hair with his free hand. He can feel Wonwoo’s surprised noise vibrating against his lips. There’s a few, horrible seconds where Wonwoo has yet to catch up, hands idling in the air, painfully still under Joshua’s mouth. Joshua is about to pull away. Grab his things and tell Wonwoo to have the rest of his bags delivered to Jeonghan’s place tomorrow— that he’ll find his own way home. That’s the only option if this doesn’t work. Joshua doesn’t do well with humiliation. That’s why he’s here, after all. 

Wonwoo moves slowly, and then all at once. His brain must click back on, gears turning. Joshua can practically hear them whizzing through his ears as he closes his hands around Joshua’s waist and goes pliant underneath him. Wonwoo kisses him back with as much fervor as Joshua knew he could muster if he put his mind to it. His lips are chapped, and he tastes like shitty, instant coffee and the cigarette he probably smoked while Joshua was gone. 

Joshua’s fingers trail down Wonwoo’s bare chest, greedily sinking into flesh, testing the waters. He tries to get closer, and Wonwoo loses his balance, tipping backwards into the dresser. He makes a noise of discontent when his back hits the edge of the thing, but he doesn’t stop. Like he’s a starved man and Joshua is the first food he’s been offered in a week. Two of his fingers end up beneath Joshua’s sweater. Wonwoo’s sweater that Joshua is wearing. Joshua bears his weight forward, hips shifting against Wonwoo’s, opening his mouth in benefaction. 

Graciously, Wonwoo takes, and takes, and takes. He shivers when he dips his tongue into Joshua’s mouth, as if he’s not the one that’s made the move. His palm splays across Joshua’s lower back, fully committed now, skin to skin, wandering underneath Joshua’s clothes. 

It’s a good lesson in wants versus needs. Joshua wants to keep going. He never wants to stop. He needs to come to terms with what he’s doing. What he’s inviting in. He needs a fucking shower. Wonwoo is kissing him as if he’s brushed his teeth, when he hasn’t done anything close since before they went out for dinner last night. 

He can feel Wonwoo’s heart beating, strong and quick, under his hand. He bites down on Wonwoo’s bottom lip, and relishes in the noise he makes. Licks over the spot afterwards. 

When he pushes Wonwoo away, it’s with both hands on Wonwoo’s chest, nails digging into his skin. Wonwoo is breathing heavily, glasses askew on top of his head. His lips are pink and swollen, shiny with spit. Joshua glances down and realizes that they’ve knocked over Wonwoo’s instant coffee that was sitting on the dresser. It soaked a large wet spot into Wonwoo’s pants, but he didn’t say a word. He just let Joshua kiss him. 

Joshua laughs lightly. He reaches up and plucks Wonwoo’s glasses off his head, sliding them back into place. Wonwoo’s throat bobs, mouth clicking wetly when he swallows. 

“Shua—” he croaks, embarrassingly undone. 

“I’m going to shower and get dressed,” Joshua says softly. He pats Wonwoo’s chest once more, stepping back until Wonwoo is forced to let him go. “The next park is six hours away.” He wipes the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, and then peels off Wonwoo’s sweater and tosses it at his head. Wonwoo scrambles to pull it off, staring at Joshua in awe.“Go make yourself some real coffee,” Joshua suggests. “I know that shit makes you sick.” 

A twisted noise leaves Wonwoo’s mouth, but he doesn’t argue. His hands flex into the fabric of his sweater. Joshua can feel the weight of his eyes as he walks to the bathroom. 

In the car to Shenandoah, the air between them feels fresh. Wonwoo cranks open his window and sticks his hand out. He laughs at Joshua when Joshua tells him he’s going to lose an arm. Turns up the radio and starts singing along to an old Korean folk song that Joshua hasn’t heard since he was a young child— something from the eighties that his mom used to play while she cleaned. 

When Joshua rolls his eyes, there’s no heat behind it. He leans his head back against the headrest, and sticks his own arm out the window. 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything about the kiss. He’s steadfast in his aversion to talking about whatever is happening between them, apparently. Just as Joshua guessed he would be. 

That’s why Joshua did it the way he did. He’s flighty. He likes trial periods. Sometimes he lets them lapse into a subscription, but most of the time he cancels before he’s charged. He knew that if he kissed Wonwoo this morning, and didn’t mention it all day, Wonwoo would give him time and space to think. Wonwoo will let him decide. 

Selfishly, Joshua wishes he had more time. Two weeks. Three. A whole month. That he could let himself indulge in this game of pretend. It wouldn’t be fair to Wonwoo, but Joshua doesn’t care. His fantasies don’t have to be fair. He and Wonwoo would drive around America, and share hotel beds. Kiss, and hold hands, and fuck. Pretend that they’re real. Married, even, like they did at Mesa Verde. A bubble that can’t be broken. Just trying it out for a bit, until they have to go back to real life, where they’re two people that aren’t meant to be. 

Two children huddled in a treehouse, pretending to be grownups. Married. Mom and dad, probably. Joshua would always ask to be the mom when he was young. He’s sure Wonwoo would, too. If he asked, he’s sure Wonwoo would admit it immediately. 

They stop for lunch, and then keep driving. Joshua has become familiar with the inside of Wonwoo’s shitty old station wagon. He doesn’t mind it. Nineteen-eighty-nine Chevrolet Caprice, to be exact. He’s heard Wonwoo tell enough middle-aged dads along the way. One man in the middle of Kansas was particularly excited, a couple of kids hanging off his legs like sugargliders. He and Wonwoo talked shop for a good half an hour while Joshua kicked a rock around with the man’s oldest daughter— a ten year old that was sick of cars, but your boyfriend’s is cool, I guess. Joshua told her he’s sick of cars, too. Now he’s come around. 

He appreciates how well-maintained it is. He figures that cars shouldn’t work after a certain age— or at least not as well— but they’ve had no issues. Wonwoo takes pride in his car. He rents a garage for it in the city. It’s good that he cares about something tangible. 

Joshua’s list of pros and cons is beginning to look inconsequential like that. 

Pros: Wonwoo cares about something. Something tangible. He’s a good kisser. He’s hot. He’s kind. He’s good at driving. He lives in New York. He’s an artist. He’s good at listening to directions (when he wants to). Joshua wants to. 

Cons: Wonwoo is related to Byeonggi. He’s Byeonggi’s brother. He’s cripplingly insecure, despite having some sort of an ego (artists tend to be like that). He only has two friends, his agent, and his agent’s husband. Rebounds are bullshit. He’s Byeonggi’s brother. He’s Byeonggi’s brother. He’s Byeonggi’s brother (three times for emphasis). Joshua doesn’t need to. 

“We’re here,” Wonwoo announces with a flourish of his hand. “Do you want to take a picture with the sign?” 

He’s already jetting past the sign as he asks, because he knows Joshua will say no. A few days ago, Joshua might have said yes, just to make Wonwoo turn around, but he’s feeling tender today, so he says, “No thank you.” 

“Good, I already passed the sign.” 

Joshua rolls his eyes, hugging himself over his seatbelt. 

There are sixteen overlooks along the road he and Wonwoo have decided to take through Shenandoah. Wonwoo keeps saying they’ll just stop at the ones that look nice. Joshua is pretty sure they’re all going to look nice, but it’s not like he has anything better to do. 

At the first overlook, Wonwoo sighs, putting his hands on his hips and looking over the mountains. “God. Imagine being in the olden times and seeing this. Imagine how much nicer it looked before pollution, too.” 

Joshua has barely looked in front of him, too busy staring at Wonwoo. “Are you fantasizing about being a colonizer?” 

“You’re putting that on me in bad faith,” Wonwoo tsks. “I could be anyone. Maybe I took a time machine.” 

“And you’re not going to do anything about colonization?” Joshua clicks his tongue. “You’re going to get cancelled. They’ll destroy your time machine and put you in prison. Magic man.”

Wonwoo glances at him, all faux offense. “You’re insufferable.” 

“I think you like it,” Joshua snips. He turns away then, finally looking at the view. It’s pretty. Trees and mountains, valleys and streams. Wonwoo doesn’t contest his claim. Joshua knows he’s right, as he so often is. 

Wonwoo stops in a small parking lot about 15 miles into the forest. When Joshua asks what he’s doing, he says, “Have you ever heard of a waterfall?” 

It strikes Joshua, as he and Wonwoo are hiking over slippery rocks to get to Dark Hollow Falls— the most ominously named waterfall in the contiguous United States, Joshua assumes— that he and Byeonggi never went on vacation. Not once. Byeonggi would go on trips with his friends sometimes. To Vegas, mostly, to gamble, but Joshua was never invited. It didn’t bother him, because he was happy to get some time to himself. A respite from Byeonggi’s suffocating presence in their apartment. Now it feels pathetic. 

In retrospect, everything was wrong. He understands now, as his foot slips, and Wonwoo catches him by the waist, breath hot against his neck, that it’s easy to imagine a different life. Breakfast together in the morning and dinner together at night. Spend a week in the winter in Tahoe, and a week in the summer somewhere tropical. Maybe another road trip or two, because he knows he can handle it, now. Ignoring family obligations, because the invites stopped coming, and creating a new form just of their own. 

“Well?” Wonwoo asks when they reach the waterfall. 

Joshua shrugs. It’s fine, but it’s nothing magnificent. Pretty, sure, but there’s not much besides that. “I’ve been to Niagra.” 

“Come on,” Wonwoo huffs. 

“What? I have! It’s hard to compare!” 

“Just enjoy the beauty of it, Shua. The serenity.” 

Joshua stands quietly for a second. Takes a deep breath in through his nose. It smells like wet leaves and dirt. “Okay.” 

“Good. Now go stand over there and let me take your picture.” Wonwoo urges him with a gentle hand at his back. 

By now, his disposable cameras must be filled with pictures of Joshua. He takes pictures of Joshua when they’re doing notable things, or doing nothing notable at all. Joshua caught him taking a photo in the middle of the grocery store dairy aisle yesterday. While he was surveying which small bottle of milk to buy. Wonwoo slid the camera into his pocket, and pretended to be incredibly interested in yogurt afterwards, his cheeks pink. 

In the last two years, Joshua must have had his photo taken on a total of two instances. Once for his and Byeonggi’s engagement shoot, and once at some party he didn’t want to be at. If he searches for evidence that the last two years even happened, he’d be hard pressed to find any. He abandoned his Instagram when he left New York. Stopped journaling. He used Byeonggi’s cards to buy things. 

Somehow, the last five days hold more water than anything in the last however many months. A trace of life. Putting Joshua back on the map. Forcing him there, really. A ping of life after tears of silence. 

He stands in front of the waterfall with a blank face. Wonwoo takes a picture. He holds up his hand like he’s holding the waterfall in his hand. Wonwoo laughs. Takes a picture. 

“Is that enough?” he calls. 

“Maybe a smile,” Wonwoo calls back. 

He smiles. Click. He closes one eye, stepping carefully over the rocks to get back to Wonwoo. Click. 

“You’re going to waste your film,” Joshua says, pushing the camera down with one outstretched hand. 

“I have another one in the car,” Wonwoo counters. He lifts the camera again and takes one more. Joshua kind of hopes he won’t be around to see them developed. The idea of it is terrifying. Seeing himself through Wonwoo’s eyes. He doesn’t know if he’d survive it. 

They spend most of the day driving and stopping. Looking over mountains, and trees. It’s mostly all the same to Joshua, but Wonwoo seems to enjoy it a lot. He gets almost giddy whenever he sees a colorful bird. Points them all out to Joshua. “Shua, look at that one!” 

Joshua always looks. 

At the last outlook, Joshua hangs back. He traces Wonwoo’s outline against the slowly coloring sky with his eyes. It’s just about golden hour. Beautiful. 

He acts just the same as he did at the river, despite the inequity in experience. Wonwoo is always able to pull out the good in everything. Find the meaning. The writer’s block must be killing him. He still hasn’t been able to get any words down. 

Joshua’s head feels a little fuzzy, like an untuned radio, or a TV between channels. His legs are stiff from being in the car all day. He wants a cigarette. His pros and cons list is getting stripped back line by line, to the basics. 

Con: Wonwoo is Byeonggi’s brother. 

Pro: Wonwoo is not Byeonggi. 

Con: Joshua only has twenty-four hours left before life becomes real again. 

Pro: Joshua has twenty-four hours left to pretend. 

The wind stings Joshua’s cheek. Wonwoo gasps, pointing up at a tree. “Shua— a cardinal. Woah— I’ve never seen one so red.” 

Joshua looks, of course. And when he looks back to Wonwoo, and sees Wonwoo smiling at him, so genuine and earnest, he decides that he’s willing to ruin everything a little bit more, just for a chance. 

“Ah, shit,” he whispers to himself. 

“Come see the view before we go. Who knows when we’ll be back.” Wonwoo waves him over. 

Who knows when we’ll be back. 

Joshua sighs, getting to his feet. He shuffles across the dirt, stationing himself a little too close to Wonwoo’s shoulder. He takes another breath. Drops his head to Wonwoo’s shoulder. “You’re going to get me a nice hotel and take me to a nice dinner tonight, right?” he asks. 

If Wonwoo is surprised, he overcomes it easily. “Sure. The finest Fairfax, Virginia has on short notice.” 

“Really pulling out the stops for our last night of vacation,” Joshua hums. His fingers itch to curl around Wonwoo’s forearm, but he holds back. 

His shoulder shifts under Joshua’s head when he laughs softly. “Is that what we’re calling this now? Vacation?” 

“What else would it be?” 

“Well—” Wonwoo starts, but he doesn’t finish. His palm slides to the small of Joshua’s back, keeping their balance as Joshua lets himself lean. They’re both well aware of what this is, and why this is. There’s no use thinking too hard about it. “Good point,” he finishes. 

Joshua exhales through his nose, allowing his hand to close around Wonwoo’s wrist, a compromise with himself. He looks out over Shenandoah, trees and mountains and birds, and lets himself breathe. “I know.”  

The hotel is very nice. The finest Fairfax, Virginia has to offer. Wonwoo offered to keep driving so they could stay at Watergate, but Joshua declined. He’s hoping for something a little softer than obstruction of justice. The Marriott will do. 

They sit down for dinner in the restaurant off the lobby. Wonwoo changes his clothes first. He has his shirt tucked in. Joshua tries not to make a big deal out of it in his head. He doesn’t want to grow sour on Wonwoo before they’ve begun. It’s not fair. He just doesn’t like when men expect things from him. 

“Why are you wearing that?” Joshua asks over his steak. The most expensive item on the menu— not because he likes steak that much, but just because he could. 

Wonwoo looks down at himself. “I told you I’d put in effort tonight. It’s the last night of vacation.” 

“This is effort?” Joshua chews slowly. “A cheap button-up and brown slacks?” 

“I didn’t exactly pack my tuxedo to drive across the country, believe it or not.” 

“But you own one.” 

“Chan made sure of it after I got published.” Wonwoo is eating pasta. He manages to drop his fork into his plate, a speck of sauce landing on his shirt. Joshua immediately hands him the napkin off his lap. Wonwoo wipes it away, passing Joshua back his own, unused napkin. It’s a useless exchange, but it matters to Joshua. 

“Good man,” Joshua hums.  

Wonwoo’s lip curls in mock disgust, a smile clearly sitting under the surface. “He’s fine.” 

Joshua sets his chin in his hand, narrowing his eyes as he studies Wonwoo. Wonwoo pushes his glasses up his nose, going back for more pasta. He used to flinch if Joshua stared at him too intently, but he seems to have gotten used to it. He continues going about eating, waiting for Joshua to say something more. 

The quiet still doesn’t feel too much, even as both of them get antsy at the end of the wire. 

“When you played house as a kid, would you be the mom, or dad?” Joshua asks eventually, after the clink of silverware against dishes has gone on for long enough. He’s only halfway through the drink he ordered. Wonwoo let Joshua order for both of them— he said that Joshua has better taste than him. 

“Mom. I’d fight with the girls about it, too. I’d make them be the dad,” Wonwoo says easily. “I always liked my mom better than my dad. Not that the bar is high.” 

Joshua’s smile feels more real than he’d like to recognize. A warm, budding thing in his chest accompanying it. He twirls his straw, the small bit of alcohol he had heating his cheeks. “And here I was thinking it’s because you’re gay.” 

Wonwoo scoffs. “I’m bisexual, Shua. Please. Don’t erase me.” 

“You’re so annoying.” Joshua picks up his fork just to chew on the prongs. Metal between his molars, a bad habit he’s never been able to drop. 

“I think you like it,” Wonwoo whispers, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculously greasy way. 

Joshua kicks his shin under the table. “Stop flirting with me. It’s unbecoming.” 

“You stop first.” 

“I’d never do that, you’re my fiance’s brother.” Joshua’s foot lingers between Wonwoo’s. He taps his shoe against the inside of Wonwoo’s ankle. Wonwoo doesn’t move away. 

“Ex-fiance,” Wonwoo corrects, but he avoids Joshua’s eyes. 

Joshua quits eating after that. He sets his fork and knife down on either side of his plate and sits back in his chair. Finishes off the drink he ordered, and watches Wonwoo carefully. Waits for the eye contact to come. 

It doesn’t come until Wonwoo is nearly finished. Taking one last drink of his cocktail. He looks at Joshua over his glasses, raising his eyebrows when he realizes Joshua is already staring at him. 

“Wonwoo?” Joshua asks. 

He sets down his glass, side clacking against his plate. “Hm?” 

“You’re going to fuck me tonight, right?” 

This time, Wonwoo doesn’t handle his surprise with grace. His face flickers through a slew of emotions. Confusion, guilt, and desire passing by in the shuffle. It’s good, Joshua thinks. Wonwoo wasn’t expecting anything. He didn’t want Wonwoo to feel entitled, or to expect a happy ending. 

It doesn’t matter if he decided to give it back at Shenandoah. Joshua is stubborn to a fault. He’s selfish. He wants Wonwoo to expect nothing and receive everything with grace. Just while they play pretend for one more night. 

“Yeah.” Wonwoo coughs like he’s choking, even though he finished swallowing too long ago. “Yes. If that’s what you want. Yes.” He nods so forcefully that his glasses slide down a bit. He pushes them back up. His face is already running red. 

“Good. I’ll see you upstairs.” Joshua stands abruptly, tossing his (Wonwoo’s) napkin onto his chair. “Take your time.” 

Wonwoo gawks at him a little bit, finally giving Joshua an understanding nod when Joshua prompts it with a wave of his hand. 

He doesn’t hang around. Adrenaline fuels him, walking quickly to the elevators.

Joshua has been rolling it over in his head. How he’d like this to go. What safeguards to put in place so that his heart doesn’t hemorrhage in the act. 

Leaving the dinner table early. Tucking away into the shower with the bottle of lube he bought at the last gas station they stopped at. Opening himself up over his fingers, face pressed against the cold tile of the shower wall, eyes shut. 

He dries his hair afterwards. Puts his clothes back on to give Wonwoo the illusion of control. Walks out of the bathroom just as Wonwoo is coming into the room. They slam into each other, Wonwoo’s hands closing around Joshua’s shoulders. 

“Shua—” he breathes, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

Joshua kisses him. He backs Wonwoo into the wall and presses their mouths together, greedy fingers untucking Wonwoo’s idiotic shirt. It’s more weighty than it was this morning. Headier. Joshua feels simultaneously more and less clear-headed, somehow. His body is on fire, his brain stuffed with cotton. 

“Shua—” Wonwoo repeats, trying to ease Joshua away from him. “We shouldn’t, right?” 

Pin pricks sting the backs of Joshua’s eyes. He knows Wonwoo is doing the responsible thing. Giving him the chance to think. But, Joshua doesn’t want it. He wants Wonwoo to want him so viscerally that he takes. 

“How long have you wanted me?” Joshua asks, hovering a few inches from Wonwoo’s mouth. 

“I— don’t know—” 

“You know.” 

Wonwoo’s next breath is shaky. He closes his eyes, glasses fogging from the bottom rim up. “Since the night we met.” 

“Good.” Joshua lets his thumb wander to the divot of Wonwoo’s clavicle, on a path up to his throat. Over Wonwoo’s Adam’s apple, sinking into the soft part of his chin under his jaw. “So, why shouldn’t we do this?” 

For a brief second, Wonwoo hesitates. His lips press together, and he inhales. His eyebrows pull together, and then relax. He never lets go of Joshua’s waist. “I want to do this,” he says eventually, almost shy in his delivery. 

“I’ve wanted you just as long,” Joshua promises, throat raw from the sharp edges of honesty. 

Wonwoo’s hand cradles the back of his skull. He looks at Joshua like he’s revered, and cherished, and everything that comes along with it. Like he’d get down on his knees and pray, if that’s what was required of him. Joshua might make him, if he wasn’t so desperate to be kissed. 

He’s so desperate to be kissed. It’s been so long since he was kissed like Wonwoo kisses him. 

When Wonwoo pulls him in, it’s more insistent. Heady. Wonwoo is all breath, and spit, and he’s not trying to be prim. He pushes off the wall and walks Joshua towards the bed. Moves his arms when Joshua gets far enough along to rid him of his shirt, and then immediately bears down again. 

Joshua goes for Wonwoo’s belt— impatient. Wonwoo hisses when he accidentally pinches skin. “Gentle,” he murmurs.  

“We’re running out of time,” Joshua says, a little too unhinged. 

“No we’re not.” Wonwoo steadies Joshua, running his hands down his arms. “We have all night.” 

Joshua looks at Wonwoo. His stupid, messy hair, and nerdy glasses, and the evidence of Joshua on his lips. He pulls back, and lifts his arms above his head, swallowing back his latent anxiety. Wonwoo fills the gaps, hooking his fingers under the hem of Joshua’s shirt, sliding it over his head. 

“Fuck,” he says afterwards, palms skimming down Joshua’s flank. And then again, “Fuck—” more to himself. Joshua doesn’t have time to make a snide remark, because Wonwoo is kissing him again. Undoing his pants, and letting them fall to his ankles. Joshua kicks them away, bringing Wonwoo with him as he sits on the edge of the bed. 

He reaches out to palm Wonwoo through his briefs, and Wonwoo melts. Mouth open, doing nothing but breathing and whimpering as Joshua works him to hardness. He scrapes his nails over the nape of Wonwoo’s neck. Kisses down his jaw. 

Wonwoo drops to his knees when Joshua unhands him. He looks up at Joshua through foggy glasses, and mouths along the insides of his thighs. Joshua shivers. He can’t take too much. This is why he couldn’t have Wonwoo fingering him. It’s unbearable. The intimacy of it. 

“I’m ready for you,” Joshua breathes, running his hand through Wonwoo’s hair. 

“Mm?” Wonwoo hums against his knee. 

“I want you to fuck me now,” Joshua rephrases. “I got ready before you came back.” 

“Shit— the goddamn waiter took so long—” Wonwoo mumbles. His throat bobs when he swallows. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” Joshua doesn’t tell him that it was by design. It doesn’t feel helpful. He just scoots back on the bed, directing Wonwoo to retrieve the lube. A condom. While Wonwoo is in the bathroom, he rolls onto his stomach, allowing his eyes to fall shut, blood rushing to his head. 

He can hear Wonwoo’s feet on the carpet. The bottle hitting the bed. Cold fingers against his ankle. “Like this?” Wonwoo asks carefully. 

“Mhm,” Joshua confirms. 

Wonwoo takes his sweet time. The patience of someone taking the long way back across the country, just because he can. He kisses each knob of Joshua’s spine as he slides off his underwear. He sucks a mark into Joshua’s shoulderblade as he lifts him up to his knees. Joshua doesn’t go without Wonwoo’s skin on him for more than half a second as Wonwoo gets ready. Rolling the condom on and slicking himself up. He runs a deceptively coy hand up the length of Joshua’s thigh as he positions himself. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

“Please,” Joshua begs, voice tight and high. 

He feels the blunt head of Wonwoo’s cock press against him. Wonwoo is big, but nothing Joshua can’t handle. He’s perfect. Joshua is afraid to look for too long. He breathes in the scent of hotel fabric softener instead. Focuses on relaxing as Wonwoo pushes into him. 

Joshua hasn’t had sex in six months. Give or take a few weeks. He hasn’t had good sex in longer. Much longer. He’s loyal— Jeonghan would always say to a fault, when it came to Byeonggi— but Joshua never stepped out. He wouldn’t. He made his bed, and he lie in it, untouched and uncared for. 

Wonwoo bottoms out, and exhales. Joshua bites his lip through the stretch. Rocks back to encourage Wonwoo to move. He thinks he hears Wonwoo swear. He sees Wonwoo’s glasses hit the bed next to him, and then Wonwoo starts fucking him. 

He starts slow, grip on Joshua’s hips intensifying as he gets further along. He tries to get closer, hand against Joshua’s sternum, lifting him up so he can mouth at his neck. Whisper into his ear. Their skin sticks together— Joshua is sweating, his ears are ringing the closer he gets to orgasm. 

Of course Wonwoo is good at this, too. Rolling Joshua’s nipples under the pads of his fingers as he breathes hot against his ear. Stuffed so far into Joshua that he swears he can feel his stomach expanding. 

Right before Joshua is about to beg Wonwoo to touch him, Wonwoo opens his mouth. 

“Can I look at you?” he asks, achingly vulnerable. 

And Joshua shouldn’t. He took so much care to make sure this wouldn’t get too real— but— “Okay. Alright—” 

Wonwoo doesn’t waste time. He pulls out, flipping Joshua over and dragging him closer by the undersides of his knees. Slides back in without hesitation, hands traversing Joshua’s stomach, up to his arms. He gets close. Maybe because he can’t see. Joshua nearly laughs at the thought, but he’s too taken off guard by Wonwoo’s hand curling around his cock. 

“Shua,” Wonwoo says when he starts fucking him again. Then again, softer, “Shua.” 

Joshua holds Wonwoo’s face, because he doesn’t know what else to do as he comes apart. He feels a painful lump forming in his throat, but he doesn’t let Wonwoo go, fingers twisting into his hair. He lets himself come apart like that, head tipped back and air wrung from his lungs. His heels dig into Wonwoo’s back, forcing him closer as he follows suit, spilling into the condom. 

Wonwoo kisses another breath of Joshua’s name into his mouth, hips stuttering helplessly. 

It’s good. It’s great. More than. Joshua can’t spend too much time dwelling on it, or he’ll cry, probably. 

He just lets himself breathe in the aftermath, limp against the bed as Wonwoo cleans them up. As Wonwoo leans down over him, thumb caressing his cheekbone. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m good,” Joshua confirms. He swallows. “More than good.” 

Wonwoo kisses him so tenderly then, that Joshua almost cries anyway. 

Joshua thinks, while he’s in the fuzzy place between wake and sleep, that maybe meant to be isn’t all that straightforward. That he could bend the rules, mold to Wonwoo’s shape. Make it count for real. Try not to fuck it up. Meant to be in the way that they both keep trying to make it so, and therefore it is. 

But, maybe Wonwoo is just his fiance’s brother. A warm body for Joshua to cling to while everything else falls apart. 

There’s not enough time in the day to be certain, so Joshua goes to sleep. 

Fairfax, Virginia

When Wonwoo finishes showering, Joshua is fast asleep in one of the two beds in the hotel room. On his side, knees crooked up like he’s curling in on himself. 

Wonwoo stands still at the foot of the mattress, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest. Memorizing the look and feel of what he’s experiencing. Then, he goes to his bag and pulls out his laptop. 

It takes a while for it to boot up. It’s been a long time. He swears he can hear his documents sigh in relief when he clicks open the application and sets the formatting to how he likes for drafting. 

He writes, for the first time in months, until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open. It must be close to four in the morning when he gives out. Drags himself across the room and folds himself around Joshua’s back, nose to the top of his spine. 

Selfishly, Wonwoo thinks it could be real. His insecurity reassures him that he’s on his last legs. 

There’s not enough time in the day to be certain, so Wonwoo goes to sleep. 

In the morning, everything feels clinical. 

If Joshua notices Wonwoo’s laptop sitting out, lid still open, he doesn’t mention it. 

Wonwoo can see their remaining time fracturing into slices in his head. A clock breaking away piece by piece. 

Twenty minutes making shitty, instant coffee and sharing a cigarette on the hotel balcony. The hotel has nice, expensive coffee, but Joshua insists on this. He stands across from Wonwoo, and stares at him like he’s drinking him in. Neither of them say much. Joshua begs Wonwoo to let him feel. 

One hour getting ready. Joshua showers. He packs his things. Wonwoo writes while he waits, typing so fast his joints ache. 

Four hours back to the city, with one fifteen minute bathroom break at a rest stop in Jersey. They share another cigarette there, and there’s nothing else to say. 

Two and a half minutes for Joshua to punch in the address he wants Wonwoo to take him to. 

Ten minutes to get Joshua’s bags safely into the building lobby with the doorman, and then Wonwoo and Joshua are standing on the sidewalk, at the end of the line, face to face, chest to chest. 

“So—” Wonwoo starts, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He puts his hand in his pocket. Takes it out. Joshua doesn’t look away from his eyes. Straight back, and pink cheeks. Wonwoo wants to kiss him again. 

Joshua sniffs once. Asks, “Is your first book about me?” 

Wonwoo had, vaguely, in the back of his mind, realized that this could be a possibility at some point. He knew when Chan read the manuscript before publishing, and he said, “What are you going to do when your brother finds out this is about his fiance?” and Wonwoo replied, “He’s never going to read it.” 

And Byeonggi didn’t. As far as Wonwoo knows. 

As far as Wonwoo knows, Joshua didn’t either. Though, he was never as scared of Joshua finding out. He’s selfish in that way. 

“Did you read it?” he asks, voice surprisingly steady. 

Joshua puts his hands in his pockets. Takes them out. Shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I read it before it came out. That copy you sent us.” 

Wonwoo should have known. Of course Joshua read it. It feels like it was inevitable. They were, in some way, inevitable. 

“Does it matter who it's about?” Wonwoo puts his hands back into his pockets, this time for good. 

Joshua thinks for a second, eyes clicking over Wonwoo’s face. His tongue rolls along the inside of his bottom lip. “No. Not really. I’m just selfish.” 

“Okay.” Wonwoo nods. “Well, I’m, selfishly, going to tell you that I decline to answer.” 

“Alright.” 

They both know. Wonwoo knows they both know. But saying it out loud would feel like something else entirely. Wonwoo can’t spend too much time dwelling on it, or he’ll cry, probably. 

“Thanks for the ride, Wonu,” Joshua says. He takes half a step forward, tips his chin up the half an inch it takes to look Wonwoo in the eye from up close. “I had fun. I needed this.” 

“Anything.” Wonwoo nods. 

Joshua steps forward again, tentatively. He brings his hands to Wonwoo’s chest, and runs them over Wonwoo’s already flat t-shirt. He kisses Wonwoo gently. Like he’s letting him down easy. His fingers curl into Wonwoo’s shirt, and Wonwoo’s hands exit his pockets to hover over Joshua’s hips, unsure if he’s allowed to touch him like he wants. 

It lasts longer than a kiss between two people that aren’t anything should. Joshua goes back for two pecks after the fact. His eyes seem wet, but he puts on a smile anyway. Gives Wonwoo a little wave. 

If Wonwoo weren’t a coward, maybe, he’d stop him. Grab his arm and tell him that they should get drinks. Now or later, he doesn’t care. Whenever. That he wants this— them— for real. Even though he might fuck it up. That he probably will fuck it up. That he’s never felt so close to love at first sight as he did when he saw Joshua for the first time. That he’s never felt so close to love as he does right now. In this moment. 

But, Wonwoo is a coward. A milksop, more accurately. 

He watches Joshua’s back disappear into the apartment building. Waits a few seconds, because he’s not sure he can be trusted on his own feet. 

When he gets in his car, he drops his head to the steering wheel, letting out a long, shaky breath. The engine stutters when he turns the key. He laughs out loud. Of course it would— after all this time. 

He only realizes, when the breeze through his open window hits his cheeks, that they’re wet. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away. He doesn’t know if he deserves to. 

New York, New York
Three Months Later

“Yeah, yeah, I know—” Wonwoo says mindlessly, phone clamped between his shoulder and ear as he organizes the things on his counter. A lighter. His cigarettes. A stack of mail he hasn’t looked through in nearly three weeks. A candle with a completely wasted wick. Utensils from the many, many takeout meals he’s eaten in the last three months. 

“Don’t talk to me like that, you motherfucker. I own you,” Chan says, missing the mark on threatening by a mile and a half, at least. 

Wonwoo snorts. “You own nothing. I could fire you right now and there’s nothing you could do about it.” 

“If you fired me, Soonyoung would show up at your place with a gun.” 

“And do what with it?” Wonwoo counters. He switches the side his phone is on, his right shoulder cramping. 

“Shoot you!” Chan exclaims. Sometimes, it’s painfully obvious that he has a performing arts degree. 

“The FedEx man is literally on his way to pick up my manuscript, please don’t send your husband to shoot me.” 

“Whatever,” Chan groans. 

If Wonwoo were in the same room as him, he’d flip him off. Stick his tongue out. Something equally childish. 

Wonwoo has been surprisingly normal the past few months. Happy, even. Satisfied with himself and his life. Mostly. He’s been writing a lot, but he doesn’t feel as desperately empty after finishing this time. He feels kind of… proud? Satisfied? Some mix of emotions he’s never quite felt about his work. 

He is slightly terrified about what comes next. 

“What are you listening to? I can hear it through the phone,” Chan asks, apparently finished with being violent. 

Wonwoo glances over at his ancient CD player. The disk spinning in the top. The volume is cranked all the way up, because he was trying to clean when Chan called. He considers lying. Chan knows way too much about Wonwoo’s music listening habits. It’s a little scary. But, he can’t think of anything quickly enough, and if he hesitates too long, Chan is going to run with it anyway— “Jeff Buckley.” 

“God, is it still that bad?” Chan snorts. Then, in a softer tone, like Wonwoo is going to get spooked if he’s not careful, “How are you doing?” 

“What?” Wonwoo laughs. He knows it doesn’t sound all that convincing. “Fine. Fantastic. I finished writing. I’m great.” 

Chan sighs like he’s incredibly put out. “You know what I mean, Wonwoo.” 

Wonwoo does. But he’s been stubborn lately. “Enlighten me,” he deadpans. 

“Well, hm…” Chan says sarcastically. “Did you call him?” 

Chan has been on Wonwoo’s ass since he read the first three chapters of the novel. “What happened on your roadtrip?” he asked. And Wonwoo was a little drunk, so he spilled. Told Chan everything. Admitted that he does have Joshua’s phone number, but he’s not going to do anything with it. He hasn’t changed his mind about that. Chan is just a hopeless romantic, that’s why he’s so insistent. Wonwoo isn’t like that. 

“No,” he says. 

“Wonu—” 

“It’s fine, Chan. If he wanted to see me, he’d have reached out. I’m sure he has shit going on. He ended his engagement. To my brother. That’s not exactly a stellar foundation for something tangible.” 

Chan makes a noise of protest in the back of his throat, but eventually drops it. “Fine,” he says. “But stop listening to Jeff Buckley, it’s making it worse.” 

“Track seven is my favorite.” 

“Stop listening to Jeff Buckley after track seven.” 

“Fine.” 

A sharp knock at the door startles Wonwoo from his half-assed organizing. He looks over his shoulder. 

“Oh, someone’s at my door. Is Soonyoung here with his gun already?” Wonwoo teases. He grabs his FedEx-ready package off the counter. 

“No, he’s asleep on the couch.” 

“Must be FedEx, then.” Wonwoo sticks the box under his arm, crossing the apartment in a few long strides. “Talk later, Kwon.” 

“It’s Kwon-Lee—” 

Wonwoo hangs up the phone, shoving it in his pocket as he reaches for the door with his other hand. 

“Hey—” he starts, but he quickly shuts up when he realizes that the FedEx man is not on the other side of his door. 

Instead, it’s Joshua Hong. 

A winded, pink-cheeked, slightly angry looking Joshua Hong, holding a padded envelope in his hand. 

“Shua,” Wonwoo blurts idiotically. He drops his FedEx package on the ground. Kicks it to the side, which ends up being more awkward than if he had just picked it up. “I’m glad you got the photos.” 

Last week, Wonwoo found the bag that he’d been keeping all his undeveloped, disposable cameras in. There were about ten of them. Of all the pictures he took, two thirds were of Joshua. When he finally got them developed, the man at the photo counter looked at him like he was crazy. “What year is it, man?” he said. “Do you know how much this will cost?” 

Wonwoo brought the photos home, and spent a while thumbing through them. He separated the ones of Joshua. Put all of them into an orange, padded envelope, and mailed them to the address he dropped him off at three months ago. It didn’t feel like they belonged to him. Not rightfully, at least, and Joshua is always on about colonization— 

“You know, your stupid, giant thumb rubbed off half of the apartment number in your return address?” Joshua seethes, stepping straight into Wonwoo’s apartment to jab his index finger into Wonwoo’s chest. He effectively pushes Wonwoo back into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him. “I knocked on five doors before I found you! One guy threatened to call the police on me. Also, why do none of your neighbors know your name? Are you that much of a shut in? That’s weird, Wonwoo. You’re weird.” 

“I—” Wonwoo opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s a little caught off guard. A lot caught off guard, actually. 

“I had to make Seungcheol drive me over here, and he’s waiting outside just in case I couldn’t find you at all, and what is wrong with you?” Joshua finally stops, standing upright, face flushed. His hair is longer than it was before, a lighter shade of brown. He looks just as beautiful as he did when Wonwoo left him. More, maybe. He looks healthier. 

“I just thought that you deserved the photos,” Wonwoo manages eventually. 

“Oh, really? You thought I deserved the photos?” Joshua cocks his head. “Fuck you.” 

“I mean— I kept a few of them— it’s not like I gave you all of them—” Wonwoo stumbles over his own words. It’s true. He kept about five photos of Joshua for himself. Selfish. He didn’t want to forget. 

“There are over a hundred photos of me in this envelope, Wonwoo.” Joshua holds it up like he’s making a point. 

“Sure— But—” 

Joshua interrupts him again, “Byeonggi never took a photo of me. Not one.” 

“Well—” Wonwoo shuts his mouth. He feels dizzy. Every new tidbit about Joshua and Byeonggi’s relationship he learns sends him reeling. 

“You made me a fucking mixtape, Wonwoo,” Joshua soldiers on. He shakes the envelope. 

Wonwoo winces like he’s been slapped. It was one thing to mail Joshua the photos without telling anyone, but the mixtape was— well— Wonwoo pushed it out of his head. It was unlabeled. A tape. He was coming off an all-night writing session when he made it. He wasn’t going to put it in the envelope, but then he did anyway— “Oh. Right. I kind of forgot about that,” he mutters.  

Joshua steps closer. “You forgot about it?” 

“I mean—” Wonwoo rubs the back of his neck. His ears burn. “I didn’t think you’d have anything to play a tape on.” 

“You’re not the only fucking idiot in New York that drives a shitty, old station wagon, Wonwoo Jeon!” Joshua whacks him in the chest with the envelope. It’s weighty enough that the pictures must still be inside. 

Wonwoo doesn’t back off. He squeezes his eyes shut to brace for impact when Joshua whacks him again. “Sorry!” he blurts. 

“Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls, I Just Threw Out the Love of My Life by Weezer?” Joshua whacks him once for every song. “Iris by the GooGoo Dolls, Wonwoo? Really?” 

“It’s I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams, actually—” 

Joshua whacks Wonwoo’s chest five times in a row. Wonwoo stands and takes it. It’s nothing violent. It’s more of an energy release. 

When Joshua is done, he’s breathing heavily. Frowning, the corners of his mouth turned down. He swallows, and his throat bobs. His eyelashes are dark, and long, and god, Wonwoo missed him so much. 

“You never called me,” he says quietly. “I was waiting for you to call me.” 

Wonwoo makes a distressed noise. “I thought you wouldn’t want me to.” 

Joshua nods shortly. He brings his hands to Wonwoo’s chest, and brushes out some invisible wrinkles on his t-shirt. Nods again, like he’s making a decision. He picks a fuzz off of Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We’re going to have to get better at communicating if we’re going to make this work,” he says resolutely. 

“Make this work—” Wonwoo repeats, not processing what’s happening to him. 

“Yes.” Joshua nods again. “Obviously we’re going to make this work. You’re in love with me.” 

“I—” Wonwoo blinks once. Twice. Three times. 

He looks at Joshua, and sees straight through him. The raw vulnerability in his eyes. Seeking approval. He’s being brave. Asking for what he wants. He’s framing it like it’s not, because he’s tender, and scared, and he wants Wonwoo to meet him halfway. 

“I am,” he admits. “I am in love with you.” 

A small smile pulls at Joshua’s lips. “I know,” he breathes. “So, do something about it.” 

Wonwoo has never had qualms about following Joshua Hong’s instructions. He’s happy to do it. He’d get to his knees and kiss Joshua’s feet if that’s what Joshua wanted. He’d lay himself down and bear his body and mind, and he’d give up on what little insecurity he had left regarding whatever they are— because he’s never wanted anyone like this. A once in a lifetime thing. Or, maybe, at this point, it’s thrice in a lifetime. 

He’s going to take it. 

He takes Joshua by the back of the neck and kisses him like he means it. Like he’s trying to prove his commitment to forever. 

Joshua’s hands slide up around his neck, taking a pitstop to push Wonwoo’s glasses up, and then settling, winding into Wonwoo’s hair. He makes a soft, satisfied noise, and opens his mouth. Bows into Wonwoo, letting Wonwoo take care of the rest. He tastes like cigarettes. Good coffee, not the shitty kind. Wonwoo loves him. 

“I love you too,” Joshua deposits onto Wonwoo’s tongue. “I love you.” 

Wonwoo’s hand drags down Joshua’s spine, settling at the small of his back. He pulls them together until he can’t tell where one of them stops and the other begins. 

“I hate Weezer,” Joshua sighs, tilting his head back to let Wonwoo kiss down his jaw. 

“No you don’t,” Wonwoo murmurs. 

“I do.” 

“I don’t know if this is going to work out,” Wonwoo says. 

Joshua whacks him again, this time on the back of the head. Wonwoo laughs, right into the crook of Joshua’s neck. 

Somehow, their kiss mutates into a hug. Wonwoo wrapped around him, face against Joshua’s throat. Joshua’s arms folded around Wonwoo’s head. 

“I’m afraid I’ll fuck up,” Wonwoo admits, words muffled by Joshua’s jacket. 

“I’ve become very forgiving over the past few months. I’ve been reading all of Jeonghan’s self help books.” 

“Who is Jeonghan?” 

Joshua takes a deep breath. He pats Wonwoo’s head, but doesn’t elaborate. 

They only part when a knock sounds at the door. Wonwoo scrambles to get it, picking up his FedEx package on his way. He’s sure he looks destroyed. Messy hair and blushing. The FedEx guy doesn’t flinch, though. He takes Wonwoo’s package and keeps moving. 

Wonwoo shuts the door behind him, turning around and sliding to the floor, letting out a long breath. 

“What was that?” Joshua asks. He’s taking his jacket off. Hanging it up like he’s going to stay. Wonwoo hopes he stays. 

“My manuscript.” 

“Mm.” Joshua nods. He taps his fingers on Wonwoo’s counter. Looks back sharply. “Is that one about me, too?” 

Wonwoo lets out a weak laugh. “Of course it is, Shua. They both are. There’s nothing else.” 

“Wow,” Joshua says. He does a terrible job at hiding the pleased look on his face. “You would have been fucked if I didn’t make you drive me across the country.” 

“Insurmountably fucked,” Wonwoo agrees. 

Joshua smiles. It’s a real, genuine smile— it hits Wonwoo straight in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of him, his own smile almost unbearable in its ferocity. 

Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado
Two Years Later

Joshua is, in the most fortunate turn of events, the exact type of person he always wanted to become. That is, a high-maintenance, well-dressed, East-coast trophy husband. 

If anyone asked Wonwoo, Wonwoo would insist that Joshua is nothing of the sort. A husband, sure— high-maintenance and well-dressed, absolutely— but trophy implies something negative. That’s what he keeps telling Joshua, anyway. He likes to bring up his brother when he’s arguing with Joshua about it. Say that Joshua isn’t just what he wanted to be, he’s more, because Byeonggi isn’t stifling him. 

By now, it’s been a while since they cut off Wonwoo’s family. 

They did dinner once, shortly after they made things official, because they’re both stubborn, and selfish, and they wanted to see Byeonggi’s face when it happened. Wonwoo told everyone he had a new boyfriend, and nothing else. They showed up hand in hand, and were refused at the door. They didn’t even get to fuck in Byeonggi’s bed. They laughed so hard they cried on their way home. 

Joshua still gets a thrill whenever he gets to tell new people about how he and Wonwoo met. It’s a game. Trying to beat Wonwoo to the punch. “I was his brother’s fiance,” he’ll say at the same time Wonwoo says, “At a bar.” Wonwoo hates the horrified looks they get when Joshua drops that bomb. Joshua finds it exhilarating.  

He finds Mesa Verde, on the other hand, to be just as it was when they left it. Less cloudy, maybe. 

They booked tickets for this tour in advance, because Wonwoo has gotten considerably worse at lying since he tied himself to Joshua forever. It’s a character flaw, really. 

Joshua stares up at Wonwoo from where he’s sitting on a rock. The sun backlights Wonwoo’s head, flyaway hairs glowing, shadows darkening his face. He has a tiny wrinkle between his brows. “Let’s go,” he says. “They’re getting away.” He offers a hand. Joshua takes it. He gives Wonwoo a kiss when he’s on his feet. 

“Remember when we were here last time, and you told me not to kill myself?” he asks cheerfully. 

Wonwoo sighs. “I can’t say I remember that specifically.” 

“Shame,” Joshua pats his cheek. “It was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard at the time.” 

“That’s sad, Shua.” 

Joshua shrugs, walking off without checking if Wonwoo is coming with him. He swears he can hear the click of Wonwoo’s camera behind him as he goes. 

“What did we miss?” Joshua asks when he catches up to the group. Soonyoung turns around, the brim of his floppy hat wiggling ridiculously every time he moves his head. “People used to live here,” he says confidently. “Which is crazy, because it’s so far from the grocery store.”

“Sweet.” Joshua nods. 

“Hey, Shua, do you happen to have a copy of Wonwoo’s book?” Chan calls from a little ways away. He’s been chatting up an older woman, making friends with her. “I told Beth that she just absolutely has to read it.” 

Joshua turns on the charm. He swings his backpack off his shoulder. “I always do!” He pulls out the last copy he has on him. There’s more in the car, but he didn’t expect to give away more than two in the bottom of this canyon. 

Beth is endlessly gracious. She promises to write Chan to let him know how she likes it. Chan tells her that Wonwoo is currently working on his third book. That’s why they’re here, anyway. Or, that’s the excuse they’re using. 

Wonwoo blushes and acts embarrassed when he catches up and Chan pulls him into the conversation, too. Ever the humble artist. Joshua spends more time looking at Wonwoo than the park. A habit. 

When they regain cell service, Joshua texts Aida a photo of him and Wonwoo in front of the pueblos. 

Aida Brown: You boys are so handsome!!!!! 

Aida Brown: I’m going to have someone print this for my fridge. 

Aida Brown: Come visit soon!!!!!! 

Joshua Hong: We’ll be in California next month for Wonwoo’s tour, I’ll call you when we’re back in New York with the details ;) 

Aida Brown: You kids are too good to me.

“What’d she say?” Wonwoo asks, reaching over the console of the car and laying his hand on Joshua’s knee. 

“Same old.” 

“Same old,” Wonwoo repeats, mimicking Joshua’s voice. 

Joshua sticks out his tongue. 

Wonwoo sticks out his tongue back, but it dissolves into a smile easily enough. 

It sets off an atom bomb between Joshua’s ribs. Carefully constructed scaffolding shaking from the impact. The impossible, aching pull of desire that Wonwoo Jeon sets off in him. Whatever came before, and whatever comes next. Dinosaurs, people living in the face of a cliff, the next two years of Joshua’s life. All of it is meant to be.