Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Oh Sion believes that facts are the foundation of life. The sky is blue, the grass is green, the sun is a star. The fundamental reasons for existence and the basis of daily routine rely on the establishment of facts. We need oxygen to breathe, your heart needs to pump in order to stay alive. 

Sion thinks that people operate the same way: a person's life is defined by facts - about themselves, about how they perceive the world, and how they react to the people around them. Sion has lived in the same town, on the same street, in the same house, since he was 2 years old. He's gone to the same school his entire life and has been surrounded by the same cohort of people since he knew how to walk. Sion is smarter than other kids, he learns his prayers faster, reads his books quicker, and succeeds in academics to a degree that garners him multiple medals and trophies that sit on a shelf in their living room. 

There's an oak tree on his front lawn that's been steadily growing since his family arrived 16 years ago, dead leaves falling in hues of orange and yellow, signifying the changing of the seasons, the start of a new school year. He has a younger sister, Yeon, who was born when he was 2 years old. She treats him kindly and smiles whenever she gets to hang around Sion and the older kids at community functions, or at least she used to (Sion attributes the sudden change in attitude to teenage girl syndrome, or something of the sorts). 

Sion, for the most part, is like every other boy his age. He does his homework when he comes home, more often last minute than not. He plays football on the community pitch until the sun starts to set. He watches the same shows, plays the same games, listens to the same songs. Sion is like every other boy, for the most part.

When he was younger, Sion would watch cartoons on the grainy CRT TV they kept in the kitchen (Yeon would scream and whine if she couldn't eat without a screen). He'd see stories, a knight in shining armor saving a princess, a superhero catching his damsel in distress as she fell out of a building. 

He'd imagine himself in both scenarios, thinking wanting both was simply the norm. Sion would dream of finding his one true love, a princess with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, he'd sit too close to the TV and stare at the pretty boys, wondering if somebody would ever love him enough to save him from eternal slumber. 

Sion was 9 when he learned that not everyone thought the same way, that most boys his age would only think of what it would feel like to be prince charming, not to be rescued by him. Sion's first day of school was approaching, nerves starting to bubble in his stomach. Tomorrow marked the start of a new school year, Sion would see Wonbin after being apart all summer. Wonbin, Sion's best friend, had been away on vacation in Korea for the summer. Wonbin was pretty, like the boys he saw on TV. He had long black hair and a toothy smile. Sion knew what crushes were, had overheard some of the older boys talk about which girls struck up their fancy. He saw boys give girls flowers picked from the school bushes on valentine's day, and had seen them peck each others’ cheeks before stepping on the bus to go home. He had a crush on Wonbin, fact. He was nervous about seeing him tomorrow, fact. 

Sion tiptoed through the hallway, hoping to find solace in the kitchen via a glass of warm milk and a cookie he most definitely was not allowed to eat. He stopped short of the entry, back to the wall, ear adjacent to the door frame. His parents were chatting over coffee, Sion could smell it from the hall. 

“Oh, and you know what else? My sister just told me her son came out, he's gay, or queer, something like that,” Sion's mother started, “brought his boyfriend to the family function, formal introductions, all that stuff.”

Sion's father replied, “Which son? Mark?” His mother responded with a hum. “Ah, that's a shame. He's handsome, smart too. I feel like he'd find a willing woman anywhere.” 

They returned to talking about more pertinent adult things, like what to cook for breakfast tomorrow, his dad's work schedule for the week, Yeon outgrowing her uniform. In the 30 seconds he'd overheard his parents talk about his cousin, he'd learnt what it meant to be a boy who liked other boys, and how what he'd always thought was just a fact about himself, something normal, was seen by others as a shame, a waste, a pity. 

And so, Sion decides to keep his crush on Wonbin to himself. Locks the thoughts of holding hands and exchanging sweet kisses in a box at the back of his mind. When his classmates ask him who the prettiest person in class is, he picks the pretty popular girl in front, sees the way she blushes red, and pretends he isn't secretly thinking of Wonbin and his toothy smile. 

When Sion was 11, Wonbin told him his family was moving back to Korea, something about his dad getting a better job. They held a going away party on his final day. On the way over to Wonbin's house, Sion had thought about saying something, had thought maybe now was the time to tell Wonbin everything. They were best friends, and Sion knew that meant they kept no secrets. He planned to tell him, to tell Wonbin how he wished they held hands more before he left, how much he liked hearing Wonbin laugh, how much he liked seeing Wonbin smile, and how often he thought about kissing his cheek before the bus ride home. 

Sion found Wonbin on the floor of his empty bedroom, knees held tight, eyes swollen from crying after all the goodbyes. He sat next to Wonbin on the tile.

“I don't want to leave Sion,” Wonbin said. “I don't know Korean, I don't know anybody in Korea.” Sion let Wonbin take his time, he sat patiently through the short breaths he took between sentences. 

He continued, “We'll always be friends, right Sion? You'll call me all the time and we can still play games over the phone, right?” 

Sion nodded, “I'll always be your friend, I'll always think of you.” Wonbin smiled. They sat in silence for a while, the hum of goodbyes from the front room muffled by the concrete of the walls. 

“Binnie, I need to tell you something before you go.” 

Wonbin looked up at Sion, “What is it Sion?” “I've always l-” Sion is interrupted by Wonbin's mother, “Bin-ah, the taxi is here. Sion, your mother is looking for you outside.” 

Wonbin stood slowly, hand extended out for Sion to reach. Ah, he thought, maybe it was something I was never meant to share. Sion felt the opportunity slip out from beneath him. 

He followed Wonbin out the door, watched him share hugs with the rest of his friends, and finally, Sion. “Call me whenever, okay?” Sion said. “What did you want to tell me earlier?” Wonbin had replied. “Nothing important, stay safe at the airport Bin.” Sion watched as the taxi drove away, the box at the back of his mind locked away, maybe just for now, maybe for forever. 

Like all things, the changes occur slowly. He talks with Wonbin less, going from once a week, to once a month, to the occasional story reply on instagram. He watches as Wonbin morphs into a person far from who he ever thought he'd be, watches as the text in his stories shifts from English to broken Korean to fluency. He watches Wonbin change his hair, find new friends, a girlfriend even. On his private account, Sion hears Wonbin and his friends spurt jokes about people like him, “That's gay Sungchan,” “What are you? Gay?”, “Don't be gay Eunseok.”

Part of him wants to reply, to tell Wonbin it isn't nice to be mean about things people can't change. The other part laughs, and then all of him laughs. Sion realises that in this scenario, all you can really do is laugh. All you can do when you see a boy ridicule people like you for being who they are is laugh. Oh Sion believes in facts, Wonbin is straight being one of them. 

He thinks of the box at the back of his mind, the one he locked when he was 11, and thinks it was probably for the best that his mother had called for them before he said what he did. 

༺♰༻

Oh Sion believes in facts. Rarely one to make exceptions, a man of his word, headstrong, stubborn (Yeon would agree). He believes in the importance of describing and establishing reality, and yet, he finds an exception when it comes to God, he doesn't know why. 

Part of Sion thinks it’s just cultural conformity, his parents believe, and so he was raised to believe. For as long as he can remember, his parents had told him to be grateful to God. A good thing happens, thank God, a bad thing happens, God has sent you a trial to overcome, his mother had told him once, “Whenever you’re lost for answers, pray and the light will shine through.”

He holds on to that last part in particular, pray and the light will shine through. Sion thinks he prays more than anyone, albeit the prayers are empty and non-specific, but he still thinks they should count for something. If God is so all-knowing, Sion thinks he shouldn’t need to say anything at all.

The other, significantly smaller part of Sion he tries to ignore tells him it’s because it excuses his differences. That the reason he looks at boys how boys are supposed to look at girls is because he’s being tested, and he needs to overcome it. That at the end of this horrible suffering is salvation, a reward for being good, for ignoring the urges, for existing in the image of the Lord. 

Saturday mornings are for church with his mother, and the occasional Sunday evenings are for mass with his father, a routine that's been built into his schedule for as long as he can remember. 

On important Sundays, Sion and Yeon go to church with their father. By the time he was 9, Sion had learned how to fake his way through mass. He could recite his Hail Marys without reading them off of the screen, smart they would always say. He knew when to descend upon the foam of the pew, how to place his hands out for communion, when to wish peace upon the people around him.

Sion didn't really know what any of it meant, wasn't really invested in the ritualistic aspects of most things. He spent most of his time in church on Sundays in awe of the beauty of it all - the stained glass windows, the carvings on the load-bearing pillars, the lace trim on the edge of the veils, and the looming Jesus figure situated above the priest on the wall. 

On days when Sion's urges got to him, like the days he'd dream about interlocking pinkies with Wonbin, he'd stare up at the cross, up at the nails pinned through each hand, to the crown of thorns adorned around His forehead. He'd hoped that, maybe, if he stared longer, kneeled harder, clasped his hands tighter, God would grant mercy on him, make it easier for him to move on, to be normal like the other boys.

On Saturdays, his father drops them off for Sabbath service. Sion sits on the right, Yeon in the middle, his mother on the end. He sings hymns, listens (generous) to sermons, stands when instructed, and kneels when appropriate. His mother hands Yeon a small white envelope, their collective tithe, and like clockwork, Sion receives the offertory bag, angles the opening towards Yeon, and passes the handle to his mother for return to the end of the line. 

Before Wonbin left, he'd always sit in front of Sion. What started as something innocent morphed slowly into a test of faith. Sion's mind would wander, his ears would switch off, thoughts drifting further and further away from the morning sermon. He'd stare at the back of Wonbin's head and think of all the things he'd want to tell him, like how pretty his smile was even when his tooth fell out, how he had nice hands that Sion wanted to hold. 

Initially, Sion thought of Wonbin's departure as a punishment for failing his test of faith, “When a bad thing happens, it is a trial sent from God to overcome.” He'd thought God wanted to punish him for not listening, for indulging in sinful fantasies at a place of worship, even though he'd spotted the other boys his age not-so-secretly playing games on their phones or reading weird hentai panels near the church fountain. There was no logical reason to think that the world revolved around him, that God had punished him specifically in this cruel way by somehow lining up all of the stars to make it so that Wonbin would be unreachable, unattainable. 

Sion wanted forgiveness more than anything, even if he didn't really know why. So, he trekked through the sermons, ears and eyes locked onto the pastor at the front. When he felt Yeon's head fall onto his shoulder, heard her yawn when the service extended too long, when his own mother, a Christian as devout as they come, would start dozing off, he still listened. 

Whether they spoke about love or family or spiritual growth or the second coming, Sion would listen in hopes of finding the answers as to why he longed so much to be forgiven, what it would look like, and how it would feel to finally belong.

The seat in front of him stays vacant for 4 months, at some point Sion thinks he starts to hallucinate the shape of Wonbin's head floating in front of him, only for his mother to tell him that a new family had moved in where Wonbin's family used to live. 

“They have two sons, one of them is your age. Make friends with them, they're from Korea too.”

At the end of the service, Sion's mother finds Mrs. Kim, Sion and Yeon in tow.

“You must be Sion! I've heard so much about you!” Mrs. Kim turns to acknowledge the two boys clinging to her legs, one evidently taller than the other.

“These are my boys,” she moves her hands forward, gesturing to them to step forward. “Jisung,” the boy on her left, “and Daeyoung,” the boy on her right.

“They'll be starting school next week in time for the new semester. I hope it's not too much to ask of you Sion-ie, but I'd love it if you could show Jisung around for the first few weeks. He's usually slow to make friends and his English is a work in progress at best.” 

Sion's mother answers for him, “I'm sure he'd love to! Maybe it’d be best to set up a play date or something of the sorts so they can get acquainted before the semester starts.”

Jisung's mother agrees, prompting a discussion of schedules and free time and who's house and when. Sion takes this time to look at the both of them. 

Jisung is taller, with thick black hair in a bowl cut, one evidently cut at home judging by how jagged and uneven the edges are. Daeyoung is shorter, his cheeks are rounder and his hair sticks up in spikey, irregular tufts, almost as if somebody had cut pieces off by accident. He's almost fully hidden behind his mother's legs. Daeyoung's eyes are rounder than Jisung's, expressive in a way that reveals everything and nothing all at once. Sion can't tell if Daeyoung is staring in fear or curiosity, maybe a combination of both. His observation is cut short by Jisung’s introduction.

“Hi,” he starts. “I’m Jisung.” The accent is heavy still, and he knows his Korean is barely conversational at best, but he tries. Sion knows what it’s like to be surrounded by people who exclude you, who make you feel like you shouldn't belong.

“We can speak in Korean if it’s easier.” 

“It’s okay, eomma says we need to practice English before going to school. Daeyoung, say hi.” 

Sion watches as Daeyoung slips out from his hiding place behind his mother, cheeks red, green dress shirt soaked in sweat. 

“He’s 3 years younger than us. He’s shy.” 

Sion offers Daeyoung a polite wave. He sees the tips of Daeyoung’s ears start to stain red as he returns the gesture and hums in acknowledgment. 

“Sion, tell eomma I’m going to get a popsicle.” Yeon leans forward, bridging the gap between herself and Daeyoung. 

“New friend! I’m Yeon, you have to call me noona. Yeon noona, okay? Come with me, I know the other kids. I’m a big kid, if I tell them to be nice to you they’ll listen.” Yeon reaches for Daeyoung’s hand, dragging him to the cart across the way.

Sion’s eyes follow them, he reasons with himself that it’s so he can check if Yeon crossed the road properly. Jisung follows suit, watching as Yeon skips to the hoard of kids on the other side of the street, Daeyoung tumbling close behind. They converse lightly, exchanging invitations to play games or ride bikes sometime later. 

Sion can hear Yeon’s voice echo, she’s always been a loud kid. He can hear her announcements, her proclamations, “Daeyoung is my friend! Be nice to him now!”  

“Sorry about my sister,” Sion sighs.

“It’s okay. Eomma tells him all the time that he needs to get used to being around people more.” 

Daeyoung is timid next to Yeon, most people are when all she does is run her mouth a thousand miles a minute. She hands him a popsicle and he accepts with polite hands and a deep bow. Sion catches his gaze shifting, eyes settling on Daeyoung, only to find that the younger boy is already looking back at him, cherry popsicle dripping down his fingers. 

Sion’s mother calls out, “Yeon! Your father’s here!”

She bids her friends goodbye, opting to grab Daeyoung by the sleeve instead of grabbing his hands. She looks left, then right, and then left again before crossing.

“It was so nice meeting you! It looks like everyone’s getting along well.”

Sion and Jisung turn back to their mothers, watching as they exchange numbers and hugs. 

“Jisung, can I call you Jisung? I don’t say oppa to Sion unless it’s something super important and you’re the same age so I just figured it was okay.” 

“Daeyoung has to call you noona but you can’t call me oppa?” Yeon’s brows furrow in the middle, her lips form a pout Sion is all too familiar with and she starts to go off on a rant about her version of Korean etiquette. She argues back when Jisung explains her own logic back to her, going in this circle back-and-forth about honorifics and respect and what constitutes a “super important” situation.

Sion looks to his left to see Daeyoung’s popsicle is long gone, fingers still stained and sticky. He’s still quiet, Sion thinks over the whole interaction briefly and realises he hasn’t seen Daeyoung’s mouth move once. Sion takes the small, purple handkerchief out of his pocket and reaches out to grab Daeyoung’s hands. “Sticky fingers?” Sion asks, wiping diligently at the digits. He doesn’t respond, just stares. 

“We’ll be going!” 

Sion places the fabric in Daeyoung’s hands, “Just give it back when you come over.” 

Yeon grabs his hand and follows as their mother leads them to the car, she jumps over the cracks and counts the sprinklers in the grass next to the sidewalk. It’s faint, but Sion swears he hears it as soon as he turns around. A small, heavy whisper that utters the words into his back - sticky fingers.

༺♰༻

The older Sion gets, the easier it becomes to hide his… thoughts. He sees pretty boys on the street and does nothing but the occasional once over and bow if the person he’s ogling at is someone familiar. Sion picks up football, a hobby he turns into a measurable achievement seen in medals and multiple MVP trophies. 

He learns how to play along, how to play pretend. Before he goes onto the pitch, Sion does a once over at the crowd to look for an area with a dense population of conventionally attractive girls. He winks over whenever he shoots goals and sends waves over during half-time; the team praises him afterwards for being so good with the ladies.

Sion picks up locker room talk quickly, learns what a good cover it can be for survival. He laughs when his friends call each other gay, and will join in occasionally if it means being accepted. Sometimes, Sion feels himself laugh a bit too loudly; he denies all accusations a beat too quickly, overthinks all his interactions on the way home, and replays his responses in his mind to see if anyone caught onto his fear. The answer is always no, but the paranoia that comes with hiding doesn’t go away, and Sion thinks it never will.

Jisung becomes a steady constant in Sion’s life. They bond over sports, over the team. They do their homework together after practice on Tuesdays and spend time playing games at each others’ houses after church potluck on Saturdays. Daeyoung trails behind too, always quiet but there. Jisung apologises for bringing him at first, “Eomma wouldn’t let me come if I didn’t bring Daeyoung with me.” Sion says it’s okay and by the fifth time they come over Jisung stops saying it.

Daeyoung’s mandatory visits become less frequent the older they get. Sion learns through Jisung that he joined choir recently, how Daeyoung doesn’t really care for sports the way that the two of them do. 

“He doesn’t understand the cultural significance of Santos v Flamengo, Sion. I mentioned it over dinner and he asked if I was talking about a flamingo, a fucking flamingo!” Jisung is slouched over a brown bean bag chair in their living room. The two of them are sitting next to each other, Happy Feet blasting on the TV. Jisung loves this movie for reasons unbeknownst to Sion and refuses to stop halfway once it’s already started. Their cleats are tossed on the side of the rug, bags tangled together in a pile by the door.

“Who taught you how to say cultural significance?” Sion snickers.

“You underestimate the power of ESL, brother.”

“ESL? The class you have with that one girl? The tall blonde who comes to matches.”

Jisung kicks off into a spiel about how tall blonde actually goes by Katarina and how Sion should know this by now because Jisung is going to ask her out on a date. Sion knows ‘asking her out on a date’ means staring at the back of her head in class until she somehow telepathically understands Jisung is trying to communicate with her. 

“She’s always in that crowd of girls you wink at, think you could squeeze in a good word for me?”

“You could always just talk to her on your own, Jisung.”

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of keychains jingling outside. The handle still does the weird thing it did when Wonbin lived here - Sion thinks back to a time when Wonbin thought he was locked out forever until he remembered you had to lift the handle up first before walking inside.

“Daeyoung, up first,” Jisung shouts. 

Daeyoung yells out a ‘what?’ that gets muffled through the door.

“You have to push the handle up first before you come in.”

Sion watches as the door handle jiggles, Daeyoung is clearly not listening to instructions. The door handle swivels from side-to-side, never going up the way Jisung is screaming at him to do.

“Dude, just figure it out yourself if you aren’t going to listen to me.”

“I’d listen to you if l could hear over the sound of the TV, is that happy feet again?”

“If all you’re going to do is judge me I’m not letting you into the house.”

Sion stands up amidst their back-and-forth to head towards the door, ignoring Jisung’s protest to let Daeyoung be. He turns the lock, lifts the handle up slightly before pressing it all the way down, and the door swings open. Daeyoung is standing up, and it’s now that Sion realises he’s grown so much since the first time they met. 

Daeyoung is only slightly shorter than him now despite the age gap. Every time Sion stands next to him he realises the distance between their eyes lessens, he looks down less each time. His cheek fat is starting to melt away slowly, and Sion sees the resemblance between him and Jisung is becoming clearer and clearer every day. Sion’s never really been this close to Daeyoung before, so he’s noticing the moles littered across his face for the first time today. His eyes are still the same, though - those big doe-like eyes that used to stare up at Sion in silence when Daeyoung was younger. He never really knew what he was thinking back then, still doesn’t really know. 

“Thanks hyung,” Daeyoung smiles.

“Yeah, no worries.”

Jisung whines from the bean bag chair, legs flailing in the air akin to the image of a baby when their favourite toy is being snatched out of their grip. Daeyoung rolls his eyes, settling on the futon next to the leather bean bags to take his shoes off.

“Where’d you come from?” Sion asks.

“I had choir today hyung,” Daeyoung replies. Daeyoung always replies with a smile, one that’s polite and warm, one that melts the hearts of all the aunties their moms are friends with from church. 

“Why do you call Sion hyung and not me?” Jisung sulks. “I’m older than him so by that principle you should be calling me hyung too.” 

For as long as Sion’s known the two of them, he’s probably heard Daeyoung call Jisung ‘hyung’ enough times to count on a single hand. When they had still arrived, Daeyoung was so shy he barely even spoke above a whisper in front of other people; back when he was much smaller and still this timid little kid who’d moved half way across the world to a place where he didn’t know anyone, couldn’t communicate with anyone either. Back then, Daeyoung would hide behind Jisung’s back, clinging to his shirt, tugging the fabric at the edge to get his attention. 

Sion loves Jisung, but even he can admit he’s a bit… lacking in the spatial awareness department, always tripping over the pavement or his feet or the air. Sion would watch Daeyoung tug and tug only for Jisung to be staring up at the sky or running off to go chase a dog. Slowly, Sion would ask if Daeyoung needed help, he’d bend to eye level and tell him in broken Korean: “Daeyoung-ah, do you need help? Hyung can help you.” Slowly, in return, Sion would find Daeyoung clinging to his back, tugging on his shirt instead. 

“He’s earned it Jisung, can’t really say the same about you.”

Jisung feigns annoyance, brows furrowing together, hand clutched to his chest, an overdramatic gasp in accompaniment. 

“My own brother, ditching me for my best friend!”

Daeyoung’s standing up now, shoes in hand, making his way to the hallway that leads to their rooms.

“If you love him so much maybe Sion should be your brother instead,” Jisung exclaims. He uses a familiar, jokey tone, one they both know means he’s kidding. Yet, Sion catches it. He sees Daeyoung freeze ever so slightly, the hiccup in his pace only noticeable if you’re looking at how his feet stop mid step. He can’t see his face, but Sion hears his breath hitch slightly. It’s only a few seconds, and maybe he’s projecting, but he knows something is off with the way it affects him so much.

“Just watch the stupid movie, Jisung. Bye, hyung.”

Jisung groans before starting another long discussion (with nobody) about the genius that is Happy Feet, Sion is only half listening. He decides to ignore whatever it was he saw, pushing it to the back of his mind to unpack for another day. 

༺♰༻

By the time Sion is 16, life becomes a steady routine of council meetings, football practice, hanging out with Jisung, and church. As always, Oh Sion fulfills his role as diligent eldest son. Sion would never admit it out loud, but he loves the praise, loves the adoration that comes with being perfect to the naked eye. Is it over compensation? Maybe. For what exactly? Sion doesn’t know, or rather, he pretends not to. Ignoring it makes Sion think that one day he’ll find a way to let go of the bad parts of him forever. Until then, he can only hope that the sense of achievement will keep him satisfied (it doesn’t, but he can trick himself into believing it does). 

His parents get him a car for his 16th birthday, one that’s very clearly second hand and broken down but he loves it nonetheless, loves the false sense of independence it gives him. The morning seating arrangement is always the same: Yeon in the front seat (Jisung says that since he’s older he should be getting the privilege, Yeon doesn’t care and tells him to walk if he keeps on complaining), Jisung in the back behind the passenger, and Daeyoung in the back behind the driver, behind sion.

It’s only been a few weeks since the Happy Feet fiasco. At first, Sion thought he was just imagining things, thinking that maybe Daeyoung had just coincidentally tripped over himself at that moment. But then, Sion notices the change in his behavior around him. It’s only a slight shift, but it’s enough that Sion notices how Daeyoung is becoming coy around him. He’s always been shy, sure, but he thought they were making progress. 

Sion knows what it means to be calculated, to perform all of your actions in a sequenced and orderly fashion. He watches how Daeyoung tenses around him ever so slightly, how Daeyoung lets Sion dote on him a little bit more than usual, how Daeyoung thinks a bit longer before speaking to Sion. Usually, Daeyoung lingers in the living room for a bit whenever Jisung and Sion are occupying the space, but now he just bows, says hello, and leaves. When Jisung and Sion are in their shared room, Daeyoung takes a peak in, takes all of his books from the drawer next to his desk, and does his homework in the study.

Sion is a responsible driver. He checks his side mirrors, his blind spots, and, most importantly, the rearview mirror. It’s not his fault the seating arrangement has Daeyoung right behind him, and it isn’t his fault that Daeyoung is always staring back whenever Sion decides to check the back window before merging lanes. Sion sees how the tips of his ears go a light shade of red whenever he looks back, Daeyoung’s stare never falters, though, persistent through it all like he wants to make a point to Sion, like he wants Sion to know he’s always going to be looking back. 

Like all previous instances, Sion only notices, never thinks past noticing. He sees, categorises, and moves on. There are implications to this behavior that he doesn’t want to linger on. It's just idolization, Sion thinks. He’ll get over it soon. 

“Sion, hello, earth to Sion.” Yeon’s hand is snapping near his ear, and he realises the light in front has turned green. “Are you okay to drive?”

Sion gulps, takes a deep breath, places his foot on the accelerator and drives. “Yeah, I’m fine Yeon, sorry.”

“You know, I could drive if you’re feeling out of it dude,” Jisung says.

Sion nods his head. “No, it’s fine, we’re like 2 minutes away. I can handle it.”

“If you say so.”

They get to campus quickly, Sion drops everybody off at the gate before parking the car. One by one they file out, Jisung and Yeon are arguing about something, Sion doesn’t care to listen, but he laughs anyways when he catches Jisung tripping out of the car. 

“Thanks for the ride, hyung.” Daeyoung’s head is peeking in through the car door, looking at Sion through the rearview mirror. He doesn’t look back, just nods. Sion lingers in the drop off zone, watches as Daeyoung skips to go meet with his friends. He looks back to Sion, surprised to see he’s looking. A car horn beeps behind him, followed by a muffled string of ‘move’ and ‘get out the way’ from the driver behind him. 

Sion notices the way Daeyoung’s ears turn that same shade of red. He only notices. He categorises. He moves on.

-

Football after class includes frequent scrimmages with teams from the neighbouring schools. Sion doesn’t care for any school in particular, he plays with the same ferocity against any team, against any player. Jisung always tells him to save his stronger plays for games, he only smiles and says a half-hearted ‘sure’. 

Football is one of the only times Sion gets to clear his head. He chases after the ball like the ground under his feet is on fire, like staying still will get his thoughts to start rising to the top of his head, slowly consuming him until he starts scratching at the hazy image of himself in his mind’s eye. Sion kicks the ball with the force of all of his unanswered questions, why did you make me this way? Why can’t I be normal like the other boys? Why do I have to pretend so hard? Why is the better version of me the one I hate the most? 

Sion tackles, dribbles, and plays like he’ll die if he doesn’t win. To his teammates, Sion’s grit and determination are attributed to a love of the game, a skill he was born with that he trained to reach this point of perfection. To Sion, this is survival, another way to seem like one of the boys, another skin to put on so that he feels normal.

Football is salvation until a wolf in sheep’s clothing shows up on the field in cerulean blue. Football is salvation until he meets Matthew. At first, Sion ignores the simmering pit in his stomach whenever he looks at him. Sion kicks the ball into the goal at what feels like lightning speed, he watches as Matthew falls backwards, watches how the ball knocks into his chest like a bomb. 

For other goalies, Sion’s kicks are hell on earth. He’s seen boys from other teams come off the field with bruises on their chests, and although Sion apologises, part of him enjoys seeing how much force he really puts out. If I hurt, you hurt too. Matthew, however, takes Sion’s strikes with a smile. He tumbles, even misses the first few, but he never hurts, or at least he doesn’t show it. As is tradition after every scrimmage, they line up at midfield to shake hands. Matthew is always last, and he always makes an effort to tell Sion it’s okay.

“I’m sorry I kick too hard,” Sion says coyly. 

Matthew smiles, it’s always kind, always genuine. “It’s okay, if anything it helps me get better.”

Sion laughs, “You’re gonna need a lot more training if you want to stop me during the season.”

“I’ll practice, watch me.”

Sion tries his best to ignore him, and at first, it’s easy. They’re from different schools, different teams, different areas. It’s easy, until one day Sion and Jisung are outside on the steps after church and Jisung screams “Matthew!” into the crowd. Fuck, Sion thinks. He turns to see Matthew weave through the people out front, watches as Jisung pulls him into a brief hug. 

“Hey! Nice seeing you guys!” Matthew is here and he isn’t in uniform and all Sion can think of is how incredibly screwed he is. 

He’s in a dusty blue button down tucked neatly into navy blue slacks, a tie hanging around his neck. His hair is slicked back into a neat comb over, different to the floppy mess of hair that’s usually pushed back with sweat or in a headband during scrimmages. They usually meet on the field at night, the only light shining down being the floodlights from above. Sion notices that Matthew’s hair is a light shade of brown. He looks good, so fucking good and Sion realises he’s dwelling and thinking instead of categorising. He wants to move on but he just can’t, almost like staring straight at the sun. Sion doesn’t realise he’s staring until Jisung nudges him with his elbow.

“Sorry, what?” They laugh, Sion isn’t sure if it’s at him or with him.

“I asked if you’d be okay with Matthew coming over today, he lives nearby.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. That’s fine.” 

Matthew and Jisung continue talking, Sion feels like the floor below is consuming him whole. It’s too much. All of a sudden he’s 9 years old again, listening by the kitchen door, listening to his parents talk about the shame of his cousin being gay, or queer, or whatever. Sion feels lightheaded, he wants to run or kick a ball or throw his head through the wall, anything to get his thoughts to slow down. 

“Hyung, are you alright?” Sion snaps out of it to see Daeyoung tugging on the end of his shirt. He’s looking up at him, still, and Sion blinks a few times before swallowing down what he thinks is vomit and responding with a nod and a few yeahs and okays. He knows Daeyoung doesn’t believe him, big round eyes staring at him with subtle disbelief. But Daeyoung doesn’t prod, doesn’t push, he simply accepts it, and moves on. 

Yeon goes home with his mother, Jisung calls dibs on the passenger seat. Sion engages in polite conversation and learns that Matthew’s house is only a 10 minute drive away from Jisung’s. Matthew’s family switched churches recently, he has an older sister, he’s Korean the same way Sion is, through blood rather than through culture. Sion learns that Matthew has a beautiful laugh, one that sounds like caramel: sweet, sticky, and dangerous in large amounts. He learns that Matthew is kind, that off of the pitch his voice is warm, his smile is toothy, similar to how Wonbin’s was when they were kids. 

Daeyoung is trailing behind them, Sion only remembers because he hears how his feet are shuffling instead of walking. He’s sulking. Sion knows this, knows Daeyoung likes to make his feelings obvious in ways you’d only know if you really paid attention to him. He doesn’t know why, or at least pretends he doesn’t know why. Because if Daeyoung knew, if Daeyoung of all people could see what it was he was trying so hard to bury, what was stopping someone else from noticing too.

They get to Sion’s car, Jisung sliding into the passenger’s seat. Daeyoung reaches for the handle of the seat behind Sion’s only for Matthew to interject. His eyes go wide, he stumbles backwards. Daeyoung mutters a quick sorry before bowing and heading to the other seat. Sion notes how he omits hyung for him too.

When they get to Jisung’s house, Daeyoung heads straight for the study. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t announce his exit like he usually does, just leaves. They make their way to Jisung’s room and sit crisscrossed next to each other on the floor. Matthew’s knee is on Sion’s own and he ignores the way his heart starts speeding up when he notices. He’ll get through this, he’ll lock this feeling in the back of his mind like he’s done time and time before. Not because he wants to, but because he has to.

-

Matthew becomes a constant in their lives after that day. He comes over after church, after scrimmages, on the weekends. He inserts his way into Sion’s carefully crafted schedule. What once was two laughs becomes three, Matthew brings around his extra controller and sits on the console next to the ones Sion, Jisung, and Daeyoung picked out after Daeyoung’s 11th birthday. There’s a stain on the carpet in Sion and Yeon’s room from when Matthew spilled spaghetti sauce on it trying to recreate Gordon Banks’ save against Pelé. Yeon was mad, but it was worth it if it meant seeing Matthew grin ear to ear on his floor. 

Jisung always comments about how nice it is to have another Korean friend around, how it helps him when he misses home a bit too much. He never gets too sappy though, and always stops whenever Sion and Matthew start making kissy faces in his space. The physical boundary they’ve established allows him to be close to Matthew in different ways. They tackle each other, they wrestle over pizza on the couch, they hug each other (not directly, Sion will note, only if it’s at the expense of Jisung’s misery). 

The proximity is good for building friendships, but it does absolutely fuck all for Sion and the boiling feeling in his stomach whenever Matthew gets too close. Matthew is overly physically affectionate, he hugs his friends by the waist, puts his shoulders around his peers, and joyfully swings hands with Sion whenever they’re on the walk to his car after practice. He’s flying too close to the sun and he knows it, knows that the longer this goes on, the longer he flies, the further he’ll fall when he burns and it’s over. Matthew is oblivious to Sion’s inner turmoil, so he feels as though blaming him entirely is unwarranted. Instead, he plays along and accepts what he can get, opting to ignore the guilty feeling and his mother’s voice echoing at the back of his mind telling him this is wrong.

They’re done with another scrimmage, in line to shake hands again. Matthew shakes his hand last, as it’s always been, only this time he pulls Sion in and walks with him over to where the opposing team has their bags set down, hand on the small of his back. Sion knows his face is heating up, can feel the blood start rushing to his ears. 

“Sion, are you okay?” Jisung asks.

“What? Yeah I’m fine, why?”

“Oh, nothing, you just look like really fucking red. Like more than usual.”

Fuck, Sion thinks. How do I divert this? Do I laugh? Do I push him over? Do I tell Jisung to shut the fuck up and make it awkward for everyone? 

Sion’s personal unrest is interrupted.

“It’s because he’s actually having to try to get the ball into the goal now.” Matthew starts kick-boxing the air, he looks like an idiot. Sion is grinning and can feel his teeth stretch into his ears. He’s fucked.

“Don’t get too excited, we still won and you only saved two of my kicks.”

“Two is better than none, Oh Sion. Didn’t I tell you I’d practice?” Matthew has his hands on his hips, Jisung goes into reporter mode, fingers pressing on his fake in-ear, hands gripping the base of a microphone. Sion takes this as his cue to go into position, fake camera in his hands.

“Matthew Seok, what does it feel like to beat the living shit out of Sion Oh on the field?” Sion rolls his eyes at this, tries to retaliate only for Jisung to shush him.

“It feels great actually! I didn’t know I had it in me. I guess taking multiple cannons to the chest every week amounts to something.” They all laugh at the statement, Sion is still holding his fake camera, lens on Matthew’s face. They make eye contact and Sion sees it, sees Matthew’s eyes soften as he continues to answer Jisung’s slew of fake questions.

“I’m just kidding. Sion is too good for me, for anyone actually. He’s a great guy, better off the pitch than when he’s on it, if that’s possible.” 

Something in the air shifts after Matthew’s sudden earnest declaration. Sion and Matthew are eye-to-eye now, ignorant to Jisung’s back-and-forth and brow that’s raised in confusion.

“Okay pack it up ladies, save the gay shit for the wedding or whatever.” Matthew chuckles, it’s smooth and easy and simple. Sion feels like honey melting in a warm tea cup, stirring emotions making him feel like he wants to collapse. He laughs too, more so for protection than out of actual enjoyment. His facade is slipping, and he doesn’t know if he’s the one letting go or if a certain someone is finding ways to dive beneath the surface through cracks in Sion’s skin that not even he can see.

-

Sion, ever the believer in facts, knows that the following things are true. Something about the way Matthew treats him is different from how he is with Jisung, and how he is with their other mutual acquaintances. For one, his stares start to linger longer. He catches his eyes in the rearview mirror the way he does with Daeyoung on the way to school. He watches as Matthew’s eyes fill with an emotion Sion is afraid to name. He feels his touches linger, how his hand is always on the small of his back when they walk next to each other, how he draws patterns on his knees whenever they’re strewn over Sion’s couch watching a movie. 

Another thing Sion knows is that Matthew is straight. He’s mentioned multiple ex-girlfriends, even making out with a girl behind his house on the porch only for his sister to catch him. Matthew, like Sion, rejects any insinuation that he likes boys, or that he’s queer, or that he’s different from everyone else. He doesn’t skip a beat the way Sion does, he doesn’t doubt or get nervous whenever questioned on the spot. Jisung asks him once after practice if there’s someone on his mind and he says yes. Matthew doesn’t say who, but he gives a vague description about a girl in his history class that sits next to him at lunch. 

Sion thinks this should be enough to get him to move on. He likes girls, of course he likes girls, why wouldn’t he like girls. Unfortunately, it isn’t. It only makes him angrier, the questions inside him increase as the days pass by. Why does it affect me so much that he’ll never like someone like me? Why does this make me sad? Why am I jealous of someone I’ve never even met, someone I don’t even know? 

The box at the back of his mind, the one filled with Wonbin and his toothy smile and hearty laugh and all the things Sion regrets never saying, starts to move forward inch by inch. Every touch, every secret shared when Jisung is passed out on the couch or getting drinks in the kitchen, every interaction moves the box closer and closer to the front of Sion’s mind until one day, they’re face to face on Jisung’s bed.

They’re watching Happy Feet, again. Matthew mentioned never seeing it at practice and it sent Jisung into a spiral. Sion regrets letting Jisung borrow his CD. What was originally intended to help Jisung and Daeyoung learn English became a strange adoration for CGI penguins and the jukebox musical soundtrack. The entire ride home, he talked about how much Matthew was missing out on by not having seen the best animated movie of all time. They sit down shoulder to shoulder on Jisung’s bed after he puts the CD in, a blanket draped over their legs. Jisung is in the middle, as the ‘Happy Feet Connoisseur’, the middle allows him to pause, play, and give large amounts of incredibly unnecessary commentary. Daeyoung pops in to get his things off of the desk, offering a silent greeting and a bow on his way out. Sion doesn’t miss the way his eyes drift to Matthew and sharpen ever so slightly.

They’re half-way through the movie now, Jisung excusing himself to go get drinks because he’s thirsty and a heathen who can’t watch a movie without a large beverage to nurse. He leaves the door ajar so they can hear him call down from the kitchen. Sion is hyperware of everything in this moment. He fidgets with the blanket, eyes glued to the screen, suddenly this ‘take the fish’ scene he’s seen over a hundred times is the most interesting thing in the world right now. He tries his best to ignore Matthew in his peripheral vision, to ignore how he tries to shuffle across the space Jisung left behind, how his head is looking straight into Sion’s skull like if he stares for long enough it’ll crack open and all of Sion’s thoughts will pour out. 

Sion coughs, hoping to break the tension in the room, but the silence continues. The closer Matthew gets, the smaller Sion feels. This bubble he’s spent years trying to keep up, his second skin he’s spent so long tirelessly maintaining is slowly peeling away and he doesn’t know how to make it stop. He feels like an idiot, he feels vulnerable. Just like that, Sion feels it again. Sion feels like he’s 11 years old on the way to his best friend’s house to wish him well, to confess, to tell him that he wants more than hand holding, that he wishes he kissed Wonbin before he left and became nothing but the shell of a person Sion once knew. 

This would be so much easier if you were a girl, why aren’t you a girl. Why are you moving closer to me? I’m not a girl, I’ll never be a girl. You can’t like me the way you like girls. Sion’s thoughts are going a mile a minute, a storm is brewing in his chest and he can feel his breathing start to quicken.

Matthew’s close enough now that their knees are brushing together. Sion starts to fiddle with his hands in his lap. 

“So… penguins.”

“What?” Sion turns his head to face Matthew, only to find that he’s already dangerously close.

“They’re birds, right? Penguins? They… they, um, have wings."

Sion shoots Matthew a confused look. “I don’t really know what you’re getting at here.”

“Chickens are birds too.”

“Right.”

“And, you… um…”

Sion watches as Matthew’s cheeks become a dusty pink color, he goes from confidently holding eye contact with Sion to floating around the room, going from object to object, ignoring him entirely.

“Matt, are you alright?”

“No, I mean yes, I mean- I'm trying to bring something up without making it obvious I was already looking but at the same time I don't know how to ask without sounding weird.”

“You can just ask. We’re friends, right? I’ll answer anything you need me to, it’s fine.”

Sion can only stare. He doesn’t know what to expect next, but it certainly isn’t this: “Sion, do you like… do you like boys?”

Sion’s eyes go so wide he feels like they popped out of his head. Fuck fuck fuck what do I do. He’s thinking over his options now. Sion believes in facts and one of those is that he absolutely cannot lie for shit. He’ll say no and his voice will waver and he’ll feel the tears start to well up in his eyes because he knows lying is a sin, ‘the lord detests lying lips’ screaming at him in his brain. Sure, he’s been lying to himself all this time about who he is and what he’s like, but he figures this courtesy only extends when you lie to other people. Sion can say no and things will be alright but then Matthew will become another Wonbin, another skeleton in the box at the back of his mind that fills up with regrets, that gets covered in dust and mold and all the bad things that crawl around in there. 

Sion could say yes, but he knows he really can’t. Sion knows he likes boys, has known this for as long as he’s had a functioning conscience, but he’s never said it out loud before. He’s never acknowledged it, simply noticed, categorised, and moved on. Sion knows he can’t like boys, he’s supposed to be the perfect immigrant son. He’s supposed to find a respectable christian girl, have two kids, get a boring job, and live life the way his parents would want him to as a token of gratitude for all the horrible shit they had to endure to get him here. Sion knows saying yes means acting on his urges, and acting on his urges is a sin. 

Sion knows Matthew feels the same way. They go to the same church, listen to the same sermons about how men can’t lie with men. Sion knows Matthew has Leviticus memorised down to the number, knows that saying yes means doing something against what is natural, what is written, what is intended to be.

He’s stuck between a rock and a hard place, his own personal purgatory (though, Sion would argue he feels closer to hell than heaven). He hasn’t spoken but his mouth is hung agape and he can feel it start to dry, maybe he can die this way. His silence is already enough of an answer and he’s terrified for what happens next. Matthew opens his mouth and Sion gets ready to flinch, to move away, to hear him make a remark about how it’s weird, how he’s weird, how he doesn’t want to be friends anymore.

“Wait, I'm not asking in like a mean way like if you said yes I wouldn't judge you in fact I think it'd open up a whole new line of questions but- I just- I noticed that you look at me the way I look at you and I didn’t want to make things weird by bringing it up.”

Sion responds, confused. “The way I look at you?”

Matthew is shy. His face is fully red now, Sion can tell even with the lights off. He doesn’t know when it happened but their hands are linked together and Sion can feel the sweat pour out of Matthew’s palms. 

“Yeah, you stare a lot, Sion. At first I thought you did it to everyone, but then sometimes I catch you looking at me and I see your eyes go soft and you’re not just brooding the way you usually do but you look… fond.” 

Sion doesn’t know what to say. He wants to move, wants to reach out and ask Matthew ‘what do you mean I look at you the way you look at me, what way is that?’. He hears it echo in his mind, Wonbin’s mother coming up the stairs to tell them to say goodbye. He’s going to regret being frozen at this moment. Maybe it’s punishment. Maybe God has chains around his arms to hold him down, his sin is weighing heavy on him and it feels like maybe he’s being anchored down to hell. Sion wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to claw his way up and ask for forgiveness but in this moment he’s just there. There’s a cross at the top of Daeyoung’s twin bed. Sion stares at it and hopes that even with his hands unclasped, God knows he’s trying to reach out, trying to pray.

Why does being me have to hurt so much? Please, any punishment but this. Please, Lord, just let me have this one thing. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good. I just want to tell him, let me tell him, let me touch. I won’t do it again. I won’t be bad anymore. I’ll ignore it all and start over, just please, let me try this one time.

Matthew’s expectant stare is firm and adds to the weight that’s already dragging him so far down. 

“Sorry, I made this weird. I'm sorry.” Matthew lets go of his hand to wipe the sweat off onto Jisung’s blanket. Sion misses the warmth. The sweat was getting uncomfortable, but it was a reminder that he was still here, that they were connected somehow, that he had the option to respond.

“I just needed to know before I did something stupid,” Matthew murmurs.

“Something stupid?” Sion speaks, finally. The chains around his arms are still there, still heavy, but he moves. He leans forward into Matthew’s space and the latter reciprocates. They’re close now, he can feel Matthew’s hair brush onto his forehead, he can see all the moles that dot his face. Sion thinks he could count Matthew’s lashes if they stayed this close. He brings a hand to Matthew’s chin, watches as he leans into Sion’s touch. Sion can’t tell if he’s sinking deeper down or floating higher up, all he knows is that wherever he’s going he’s taking Matthew with him.

They’re so close now, breaths mingling in the middle, forming their own purgatory. Sion watches Matthew close his eyes and does the same. Their lips are brushing now, so close to understanding this unspoken thing between them that they both already know but won’t say out loud. Sion’s hand starts trembling, Matthew reaches up to steady his grip. Sion starts to press in, nobody hesitates.

“Matt, do you want sweet or savory popcorn?” Jisung yells from the kitchen. 

They break away so fast Sion almost gets whiplash. Matthew starts blinking, almost like he’s trying to convince himself to snap out of a trance. He stares forward, doesn’t look at Sion, and replies with “uh, savoury’s good!”

They sit there, nobody says anything. Sion stares at the cross above Daeyoung’s bed and his head clears. He looks at the crack through the door and sees, fuck, Daeyoung. He’s staring right at Sion, again with those big eyes. Daeyoung, for the first time in a long time, falters. He looks down at his feet, coughs, and walks away. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Jisung comes back, unaware of the wreckage that transpired during his absence. He has a bag of caramel popcorn in his mouth, 2 large diet cokes, and a few bottles of water cradled in his arms. The space where he sat is back, but it’s overflowing with things left unsaid.

“Are you guys okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something. Tell me the movie isn’t that bad.” 

It takes only a second, but to Sion it feels like hours. He thinks about his second skin, the one that’s practically slipped off onto the floor. He thinks about his back, how if God had given him wings, they’d be cut off, he’d have ugly scars on his scapula where bright white wings of a little boy who didn’t know any better used to belong. He’s fallen, Sion knows that much. He can beg for forgiveness but it will never change the fact that he’s different and always has been. And so, Sion does what he knows best. He picks the skin off from the floor, steps into it, stitches it together until it covers him up, until it veils away all his faults and wrong doings.

He laughs. “Dude I’ve seen this shit a million times and every single time I’ll tell you that somebody to love is not the cinematic masterpiece you claim it to be.” 

Jisung fake gasps before wiggling his way back in between them, Sion hears Matthew but he doesn’t have the heart to look at him. He makes some silly remark about how Jisung is crazy for seeing this movie as many times as he has, and they continue to watch. They make jokes when appropriate, laugh when they can. The air is the same but to the two of them and the two of them only, know something has shifted that can no longer be put back into place ever again. 

-

Sion doesn’t call. Matthew doesn’t text. They don’t talk outside of their shared group chat with Jisung the way they used to. No random shitposts or oddly sentimental 3am vines to fill the space. Just silence. 

The next time Sion sees Matthew is at the first game of the season the next week. There are girls in the bleachers, which isn’t abnormal, if not for the fact that one of them has a bright cerulean blue jersey on, 24 bedazzled on the back, and a sign that says Matthew saves my heart. Sion notices her as soon as he steps on the field, she’s in the same bundle of pretty girls Katarina usually stands in. 

“Who’s that?” he asks Jisung, already half-knowing and half-dreading the answer.

“Natalie? Matt’s girlfriend, the one from history class.” 

Oh. Oh. Sion is in disbelief, but part of him also expected this. He tries to be cool, tries to play it off as being playful, but he feels his throat quiver, feels his eyes start to swell up.

“Since when?” he asks.

“Since like last week? After the scrimmage.” 

Sion hums in response, okay.

“He didn’t tell you?"

“No, must’ve slipped his mind or something.”

There it is, Sion thinks. He wants to feel hurt, wants it to sting so bad that it forces him to get over it, get over him. Instead, all that exists is a dull ache. He didn’t even get the chance, he was so close, was so willing to crawl over the edge, to bridge the gap. He wants to scream, wants to cry, wants to run over to the opponent’s side of the pitch and grab Matthew by the collar. He doesn’t know if he wants to kiss him to prove a point or punch him so hard across the face he bleeds.

Sion plays the best he’s ever played. He’s a machine, a monster, a force to be reckoned with. He dodges and dribbles, tackles past his position. He’s practically the only player on his half of the field. He scores his goals differently. Usually, he’s aiming for the empty spaces, the ones that are impossible to reach even when a competent goalie is in play. But he knows Matthew, knows he can leap from end to end with no problem, so his strategy changes. He aims straight at him, straight at his chest. 

He kicks with all the unanswered questions, why would you string me along to leave me to fall on my own? How do you still have your wings? How can you soar and fly and be normal and leave me down here to burn in the mess you created? 

Sion wants him to bruise, wants to see Matthew grip his chest by the end of the game in pain. If I hurt, you hurt too. Matthew was different to him, but now he sees him as one of them. The worst part, Sion can’t fault him. It’s what he would’ve done. He knows that pressure, the one to be the perfect son, is heavy on Matthew too.

If Matthew had kissed him that day, Sion knew he’d find ways to overcompensate, to pull his skin on so tight that it was practically see through. He’d call up one of the girls from church and ask her out on a date somewhere so public everyone would know within minutes. It’s petty, he’s being petty and he knows it. But he doesn’t care. Sion has fallen so far deep into his own personal hell that he’ll take it out on anyone that didn’t fall with him. 

I prayed for you to stop, for you to change your mind. Not like this, not right now. By the end of the first half, Sion is seething. His adrenaline is soaring and his coach’s praise is falling on deaf ears. He isn’t doing this for them, he’s doing it for him. 

Sion makes one goal towards the last minute of the game, and it makes a loud thud as it sends Matthew flying through the goal post. Sion knew he’d try to jump, so he kicked as hard as he could. Matthew is clutching his chest, the referee blows the whistle, match over.

His girlfriend, Natalie, runs out into the field. She holds his hand as the stretcher takes him over, Sion watches as the space between them only grows, filled up with things that make it so they can never go back to how they were again.

Matthew is okay, he walks it off, but Sion doesn’t miss the spread of purple that fills his chest. His team is victorious, practically beaming when they line up to shake hands. He gets to the end of the line, to him.

“Good game,” Sion says.

“Yeah, good game,” Matthew replies, no emotion, no eye contact. Just a shake of the hand and a goodbye. 

Jisung is consoling him, he can hear the way they laugh and joke like nothing happened. He calls Sion over, but Sion catches the apprehension form on Matthew’s face, the way it twists into regret and disgust and a plea to forget what happened. His hand is wrapped around his girlfriend’s waist. Pretty, of course she’s pretty. She’s pretty and she's blonde and has blue eyes and looks nothing like me. Sion calls out something about having a headache, Jisung waves him off and tells him to drive safe. Matthew’s stare doesn’t linger anymore.

Sion leaves, watches as the people file out of the bleachers. He packs his bag and looks up to see the space practically empty, the only person remaining is Daeyoung. Fuck, he saw, he’ll tell. It’s almost as if Daeyoung senses Sion and his boundless worries, he starts to make his way down. They walk to his car, the only noise being the sound of the cicadas hiding in the bushes at the end of the field. They drive home in silence.

By the time they’re outside Daeyoung’s house, he’s thinking about what to say. I don’t know how much you saw but please, don’t tell. I’ll do whatever you want just please don’t tell.

“Hyung, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

Sion’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Daeyoung-ah, how much did you see?”

“That isn’t important, hyung. Just know this doesn’t change how I see you.”

“How do you see me?”

Daeyoung chuckles, “You’ll find out eventually.”

Daeyoung shuffles out of the car, turns back only to bow and say goodnight hyung before retiring into his room for the night.

Sion goes home after the game and waits for Yeon to fall asleep before leaving his room to go to the altar in the living room. Its his dad’s, his mom hates the saints and statues. He kneels, and that’s it. He doesn’t have it in him to conjure up a prayer for forgiveness. You know what I’ve done, he isn’t mine anymore, he never was. Sion kneels until the sun comes up, no punishment will be enough. 

He goes with his father to mass the Sunday after, like the frequency at which he goes up his chances at feeling better. It doesn’t, he won’t pretend it does. He goes to confession but says nothing of the sins he committed, you already know, you were there. Instead, he simply says he wants to be better, wants to be good. Sion receives his penance, three Hail Marys, and his sins are absolved. 

Matthew’s visits become less frequent, Jisung says it’s because his girlfriend keeps him busy. They don’t speak after scrimmages anymore. Sion forces the box in his mind back open, fingers bleeding as he rips the lid off. He puts Matthew, what could’ve been, next to Wonbin, what never was, and shuts it. Pushes it off the cliff in his mind, watches as it falls so far down he’s sure everything, all his feelings, all his thoughts, all his urges burn with it.

༺♰༻

Oh Sion is 18 years old when he accepts that he's gay. At first, Sion tries his hardest to ignore the voice clawing its way out of his throat when he tells a girl she's pretty (you're lying Sion, it's not good to lie). He goes out on all the dates his mother sets up with girls from bible study. They go out to the diner, or the movie theatre, or wherever, it isn’t important. He holds their hands and tells them they have nice eyes and thinks he could pretend, think he would pretend if it meant he could still have his family, still be normal. 

But then, he'll see glimpses of all the people he's ever really cared for in the girls that sit in front of him and he realises that they deserve better than a boy who's too scared to confront the truth. 

The girls are nice, they dream of white picket fences and kids and a husband with a job that sustains them all. They dream of going to church on Saturdays, of potlucks, of christmas cards and living in the image of the Lord. Sion dreams of boys with toothy grins and fox eyes, he dreams of kisses he'll never get to have, of love he'll never get to experience, and he realises that they could never be the same.

He kisses them when they kiss back, nothing happens. He tries not to, but his mind always drifts back to Jisung's room, to being 16 and thinking that the world was about to end and start all at once, like he was dying but being reborn at the same time. Sion was willing to throw away his faith to kiss a boy back then, and was willing to crawl his way out of hell if it meant he could offer his hand to him. Maybe they'd run away together, maybe they'd be different, maybe they'd have to hide forever. Everything about Matthew exists as maybes that will stay that way. 

He watches how the girls blush under the porch lights when he drops them off and it reminds him of how his face has always been so pale and cold. Sion thinks about how long it's been since he's felt blood rush to his cheeks and decides it's not worth dwelling on.

If there was an award for best at overcompensating, it would go to the one and only Sion Oh. The ball he sent flying to Matthew's chest left a bruise that turned into persistent chest pain. Eventually, it got so bad he opted to sit out the whole season because he could barely breathe without it hurting. 

At first, Sion feels awful. He goes to confession the Sunday after that game. Like always, he doesn't really share, just says he feels guilty for being a bad friend, a bad person. He receives his penance and goes on his way. Sion opens Matthew's chat and types out this long paragraph that he edits over and over again, ‘I'm sorry I took it out on you that way, I understand why you're doing what you're doing, maybe if we weren't us it could be different’. The last text Matthew sent him stares back at him, ‘I'll always be there for you sionnie!!!!’. Sion never says sorry, and never hits send.

He thrusts himself into practically every extracurricular possible. By the time Sion is a senior, he's vice president of the student committee, he's secretary of the church youth committee, he racks up multiple academic accolades, he's on the debate team, he plays flute in the school orchestra, he's part of the voluntary service organization at the community center, even captain of their football team. Sion has multiple interviews lined up from top rank colleges, there's a pile on their kitchen counter of envelopes containing scholarship offers, some merely a drive way, others entire time zones apart.

In the mornings when they get ready to leave for school, Sion will stare at himself in the mirror of Yeon's vanity (she's mad they still share a room but never takes the initiative to move out of it into the spare room across the hall). Sion sees the version of him that's perfect, the one everyone expects him to be. He's the ideal son, a product of his parent's hard work and grit. Proof that leaving Korea with a newborn and a 2 year old is worth having to relearn every aspect of your life to fit in. 

Sion sees the boy he always thought he'd end up being. He's tall, handsome, and smart. He's got great college prospects, he makes his parents proud. They brag about Sion Oh, how they raised him to be this God-fearing, filial son. Hypothetically speaking, Sion has everything anyone could ever ask for. If he stares long, however, he sees something in his eyes only he can identify. Underneath the facade of golden boy Sion Oh is a scared little Oh Sion. 

Sion is unravelling slowly, he's pulling his second skin so taut, so thin. He has dreams of that day with Matthew often, even years after it happens he's still scared of feeling like that again, that feeling of drowning, of falling after flying too close to the sun. In his dreams, Sion sticks prongs that hold up fake wings into the scars on his back. For every good thing he does, his wings grow bigger. The weight of it all, though, is bad for the scars. They never heal, they stay open and bleed and stain the white feathers with reminders that no matter how much he tries, how badly he wants to be normal again, he'll always be fallen, he'll never be good. 

Sometimes, he wakes up in a pool of his own sweat, the glare of moonlight peeking in through his curtains. He stares at the ceramic angel that sits on the bedside table between his bed and Yeon's until he's tired and falling back to sleep. Other nights, Yeon will shake him awake and tell him he was wailing. He'll sit up to feel his face, finger pads gliding over the damp skin where tears and sweat mix together. Yeon doesn't call him oppa anymore, only does it when things are serious and she wants him to know that despite the push and pull that comes with being siblings, she cares.

“Oppa, are you okay? That's the third time this week.” 

On this night in particular, Sion is exhausted. It's Sunday, he had barely any sleep last week - leave it to Sion Oh to push himself to the brink of death if it means making other people satisfied. He won the debate on Tuesday, won his match on Thursday, had committee meeting after committee meeting; all of these things and still, he feels empty. The lamp on the bedside table is on, and Sion can see the worry in Yeon's face. 

“Sorry Yeon-ah, I'm fine. Just… tired.” Yeon doesn't buy it, Sion can tell. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it again immediately after. She's on the edge of her bed, fingers bouncing in a rhythmic motion on her sheets. They sit there in silence for a few minutes, Sion is swaying back and forth, eyelids drooping, heavy with the weight of sleep deprivation and something else Sion doesn't want to acknowledge.

“Move over Sion.” 

“What?"

“Oppa just move over, please.”

Sion complies, shuffling towards the foot of his bed. Yeon slides onto his mattress through the space between Sion and his headboard. She fluffs the pillows up before propping herself onto the wall.

“Do you remember how hard it used to rain when we were little?”

Sion turns to look at his sister, “Yeah, you used to complain about how loud it got when the rain hit the windows.”

“I was scared to sleep with the light off, eomma used to get mad because the electricity bill would skyrocket during the rainy season.”

They laugh together, a quiet thing. Yeon clears her throat.

“You used to sit on my bed, like this. You'd tell me to lie down in your lap and you'd say ‘don't worry Yeon-ah, oppa will protect you from all the bad hiding in the rain.” 

Sion nods his head, signalling for Yeon to continue. She switches to Korean.

“Oppa, I know you handle everything on your own, but I can see. I see how tired you look these days. You've gotten skinny, like skinnier than usual. I know we fight and I know telling your little sister you're having problems isn't something you'd ever do, but I hope you know you can rely on me too.” 

When did you get so wise, Yeon-ah?  Sion is looking at the young woman his little sister is growing up to be. In his eyes, Yeon had stopped aging at 7. She's 16 now, doesn't wear her hair in pigtails with matching hair ties. She's taller now, too - Sion remembers her head barely reaching the top of his headboard when they were younger. She has a look in her eyes he’s never seen before, one that's practically begging him to tell her what's going on. But Sion knows Yeon respects him, she's one of the only people left in his life that never expects Sion to give, and is thankful for whatever he shares with her as his little sister.

“You don't have to tell me everything, you don't have to tell me anything at all oppa. Just… just lie down and get some sleep, please.”

“Yeon this is sweet but I'm not lying down in your l-”

“Oppa please, let go of your pride for tonight. Let's sleep.”

Sion looks at his sister, listens to how she speaks with conviction and determination. 

“Okay.”

He moves silently, lies down on Yeon's lap the way she used to rest in his when they were younger. On instinct, Sion curls up, balls himself up like if he keeps going he'll disappear and all of his pain will just go away. He feels a hand brush through his hair, hears the faint sound of humming coming from his sister above him. It's a hymn, Sion recognises it: blessed be the tie that binds. 

Sion sleeps like a baby that night, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he sleeps and it's silent. No Matthew, no crushing weight, no wings, just emptiness, just nothing.

When he wakes up in the morning, he's still curled up in Yeon's lap. Her hand is limp in his hair, and she's still sitting up on the headboard. The lamp in the middle is still on, their mother will complain at the end of the month that the bill is slightly higher than usual. Sion gets up slowly, Yeon stirs in response to the movement. 

“Yeon-ah, Sion-ie, breakfast!” 

Sion turns to the clock, 6:30. He shakes Yeon awake and they wipe the sleep away on the walk down to the kitchen. They move like normal, have breakfast, they bicker and joke and tug at each other the way they always do, but Sion sees that Yeon is kinder to him today. 

They bid their mother goodbye and head to Jisung's house.

“Thanks for last night, I needed it.”

“Don't thank me Sion, it's fine.”

He nods his head and they drive in silence towards the driveway of Jisung’s house, the day continuing as it usually does. 

-

Jisung and Sion are best friends, inseparable, practically joined at the hip. There's rarely a time when Jisung is just Jisung without Sion, it's always been Sion and Jisung. They're on committee together, Jisung is Sion's right hand man on the football team, and he's the second chair to Sion in orchestra. They're together so much people accuse them of dating; Sion laughs and Jisung gags at the thought. Sion may be gay (though unknown to others), but the thought of dating Jisung makes him want to spiral into a hole.

They file college applications together, even though they want to go to different places. Sion will remind Jisung of deadlines for submission, and Jisung will let Sion freeload on their family printer. Sion applies to the University of Warwick quietly after getting a brochure at a college fair. Their booth was further in the back, and, in all honesty, Sion only wanted to use the bathroom. The lady manning the booth tells him about international scholarships and acceptance rates. Sion asks about clubs and she mentions football and theology, but what drags him in is the location: Warwick, England, somewhere far away. He sends his application off with little-to-no expectation of a reply.

They open applications for each other and jump when they get accepted into their college of choice. Sion accepts a scholarship offer to study statistics at the University of Warwick - Jisung nearly cracks his head open jumping off of the bed to yell at Sion.

“Dude! Shit! you got in! Sion you motherfucker you got in!”

Jisung gets accepted to Seoul National for physical education. Sion smacks him on the back of his head and shakes his shoulders in excitement. They make their announcements at a joint family dinner later that week. 

“Congrats hyung,” Daeyoung says.

“Thanks Daeyoung-ah,” Sion replies.

Yeon tells Jisung he bribed the admissions department, they bicker and Daeyoung will laugh as his brother gets his ass handed to him by a girl barely half his height. Their parents talk on the side about how the kids are getting older. Sion feels light for the first time in a long time.

-

The end of their last semester in high school rolls by fast. Sion is basically floating through the motions. In true Sion fashion, he submitted all his assignments a month in advance, his final grades are all lined up. At this point, Sion is just waiting to graduate. He uses this time to hang out with friends, wrap up committee work, and enjoy his last few weeks before summer rolls around and he has to start packing for Warwick.

He frequents the Kim house when he's bored, even when Jisung isn't home. Sion knows where they keep the extra key (under the paw of the cat statue on the porch), and knows that you hoist the handle up before pushing it down all the way. Most days, Sion will lounge around the house. Jisung's parents are usually out late or away on business, leaving the space to him and Daeyoung. He steals Jisung's switch to play minecraft, reads through books in his collection, even eats dinner there sometimes when he's too lazy to go home. 

He'll hang out in Jisung's room. Sometimes, he thinks of Matthew and how they were on this bed all those years ago. Sion thinks that he dreamt it up, but then he remembers he hasn't spoken to Matthew since they were 16 and suddenly everything is too real and too much. He naps on days when it gets too much and wakes up to the sight of Daeyoung slouched over his table studying, lamp light bouncing off of his white table, illuminating the rest of the room.

Daeyoung never turns on the big light when Sion is asleep, and Sion notices that Daeyoung tiptoes around the room when he's knocked out on Jisung's bed. 

Daeyoung is taller now, he's Sion's height. Over the years, Daeyoung blossomed into a social butterfly. He looks so much like Jisung now that his cheeks are gone, and Sion watches as his posture starts to straighten out. He doesn't slouch inwards on himself like he did when they were younger. Instead, he walks with his head held high on his shoulders, a kind smile offered as a greeting to all the aunties that dote on him and talk about how he was so cute when he was younger.

Like Sion, Daeyoung is the picture perfect example of the ideal son. Daeyoung is only 15, but he's vice chair of the school choir. He tutors younger kids at the community center, plays piano at the old folks home on Sunday afternoons, and volunteers at the daycare during semester breaks. He cleans the house more often than not, both of them know Jisung should never be allowed to do laundry or touch a stove top. Unlike Sion, Daeyoung fills the role rather than playing it. In that way, Sion thinks he looks up to Daeyoung too.

Daeyoung is authentic in his kindness and gentle efforts. Sion tries to convince himself that he has good intentions, but he knows half of the time he does these things for his sake rather than for the benefit of anyone else. Daeyoung does these things because he's that type of person, one who sacrifices himself for others. Sion does these things as penance almost, hopes that he can balance out the one thing he can never change with all of these good efforts. Daeyoung's wings are a pure white that come out of his back, fluttering in the wind as he flies up to heaven. Sion's wings are fake imitations where real ones used to sit, they help him keep his feet from dangling over hell. 

They never talk about the thing. Daeyoung doesn't push and Sion is grateful, but it doesn't erase the mild anxiety at the back of Sion's mind whenever they're left alone together. Sion knows he got caught, knows Daeyoung saw, and knows he never told. Secrets spread fast in a town as small as theirs, so if anyone knew everyone knew. But nobody, not even Jisung, brings it up to him.

Daeyoung's behavior around Sion simmers down the older they get but the traces of it remain. His ears are the most telling. Sion will put an arm around him, will compliment him and tell him he's doing such a great job, how he's such a reliable dongsaeng. When they were younger, Daeyoung would always duck his head and nod in disagreement, 'no hyung, it's just you who thinks that’. Now, he smiles back. Daeyoung's smile is crooked, the combination of a  snaggle tooth and overbite that have yet to be fixed by braces makes Sion think he looks like a little dog. Daeyoung smiles, bows his head, and says thank you, Sion doesn't miss how his ears turn the same shade of rosy pink.

Sion thought Daeyoung would grow out of it, that the staring and open idolisation would fade slowly as he learned about what kind of person he wanted to be. After that incident with Matthew, Sion thought Daeyoung would want nothing to do with him. Who would want to be like me? Who would see me do something so stupid and think they'd want to end up like that? Instead, he's met with stares that hold a clear purpose, and intentional acts of service that make Sion question if he's the only one that sees what's going on. Daeyoung still calls him hyung, still trips over his feet whenever Sion's compliments are a bit too much. Sion stays neutral about it like he always does notices, categorises, moves on. 

-

It's Tuesday now, Sion doesn't know how far away from graduation it is, but he's in his usual hiding spot: Jisung's bed. The house was empty when he let himself in earlier. Daeyoung is at choir practice, Jisung is… somewhere, and their parents are off on business until Friday. He steals a few bites of a cake Jisung bought and stored at the back of the fridge, and downs some milk straight from the carton (Daeyoung hates when they do it but doesn't stop them). Sion feels sweat start to prickle at the back of his neck, his head starts to spin but he doesn't think much of it. It's summer after all, and the combination of the heat and humidity after rain leaves most people feeling out of it for the entire day. 

Sion makes his way up to Jisung's bed to take a nap. He doesn't have anywhere to be until Thursday anyways, what bad will a nap do him? He wakes up hours later with the blankets kicked down to his ankles and the sheets in disarray. Sion is disoriented at first, has no idea where he is or what he's doing until he looks towards the glint of light coming from his right. Daeyoung is slouched over in his desk with his headphones on. Sion looks at the time, 8:30. Fuck, he definitely overstayed his welcome.

Sion tries to get up only to tumble straight onto the floor, his knees give out underneath him and his joints feel like they're on fire. It's only now that Sion realises his shirt is drenched in sweat. His vision is going hazy and his body can't tell if it's supposed to be shivering or sweating. Daeyoung's head follows the sound of Sion's body falling to the ground, sliding his headphones off as he gets up from his desk.

“Sion hyung, are you okay?” He puts his hands under Sion's elbows to help him up onto the bed. Daeyoung places his hand on Sion's forehead.

“Hyung, you're really hot.”

Sion doesn't know what possesses him to say it, but he replies with “Yeah, I know.”

“No, hyung, like you're burning up. I think you have a fever. Let me get the thermometer downstairs.”

Daeyoung ignores Sion's half-assed pleas to stop, that he's fine and he can drive himself home. He comes back and instructs Sion to lift his arm so he can place the thermometer underneath.

“Daengie, where's Jisung?”

Daengie. Sion hasn't called Daeyoung by that name in years and can tell Daeyoung is equally as shocked because his eyes are bugging out of his head in Sion's peripheral vision. 

“Uh, he's staying over at Jeno's house for the week. Something about an end term paper for econ.”

“We got that assignment in January.” Sion lets a laugh leave his lips, though in his current state it sounds more like a huff. 

“You've known Jisung for, what, 7 years? You know what he's like.”

The thermometer beeps, an obnoxious sound that only makes Sion’s head hurt even more. 

“Shit, Sion hyung, you need to lie down.”

“How bad is it?” 

“38.8.”

Sion should go home. He can walk home and leave the car in the Kim's driveway, even in his half-brained state, Sion knows driving with this headache could kill him. 

“No, hyung, it's okay. Just stay here, Jisung won't be home until Friday.”

He should resist. Sion knows better, he knows it's not great to take advantage of your best friend's little brother who looks at you with a bit too much emotion in his eyes. But he's hurting all over and can barely stand without wobbling. So he stays. Sion doesn't verbalise it, just grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucks himself in.

“There's gukbap in the fridge, hyung. I'll be back, do you need anything?”

Sion shakes his head, wraps the covers around him tighter, and watches as Daeyoung leaves to go downstairs. What kind of idiot gets a fever in the summer? He's more annoyed than he is angry, Sion thinks of his plans for the rest of the week and how he'll need to raincheck until he doesn't feel like fainting every time he sits up.

Daeyoung comes back with a wooden tray that holds gukbap, a bottle of water, a small dish with a washcloth in it, and some cold meds. Sion hoists himself up, only to be met with a sting that penetrates through his forehead like a spear. Holy shit, I'm going to die. Dramatic, he knows, but Sion hasn't felt this wrung out by a fever in years.

“Hyung, sit down. I'll feed you.”

“Daeyoung-ah, it's fine. I can handle mysel-”

“Please,” Daeyoung cuts in.

“Okay.” 

Sion leans his head on the headboard, pillows stacked up for support. He's imprisoned Jisung’s football cushion in between his arms to keep him warm as Daeyoung spoonfeeds him gukbap. Sion watches: he holds the spoon up to his lips, blows, and checks the temperature before holding Sion's chin up and asking him to say ah. Daeyoung waits for Sion to finish chewing, which takes an incredible amount of energy on his part.

Sion should be tired, he is tired, but he's also curious. 

“Daeyoung-ah, I have a question,” Sion says, mouth full of half-chewed gukbap.

“Go ahead, hyung.”

Sion sits up slightly. “There! Hyung, why do you call me hyung?”

“Because you're older than me?” Daeyoung questions rather than answers. He's trying to say it in this matter-of-fact tone, but Sion can hear the hesitation in his voice when he responds.

“No, that's not what I meant. You know what I mean,” Daeyoung is being purposefully obtuse, Sion can tell, but he continues to explain anyways.

“You don't call Jeno hyung, you didn't say it when Matthew used to come over. I don't think I've ever heard you call anyone else hyung, Daeyoung-ah. Not even Jisung, and he's your brother. Is it because we aren't friends, Daeyoung-ie? Do you not want to be friends with hyung?”

Daeyoung takes an audible gulp, Sion watches as his mouth opens and closes, only for no answer to come out. The cogs in Daeyoung's brain are turning so loudly and Sion thinks he's overstepped, he's broken the poor kid after taking advantage of the spoon feeding and the gukbap. 

“It's okay if you don't want to answer Daengie, I'm just curious.” Daeyoung feeds Sion one final spoon of soup before he puts down the bowl on the tray and hands him water. Sion hears him fiddle with the foil packaging of the cold meds he brought up, and places his hand out so Daeyoung can drop 2 small white tablets on to Sion's hand.

“No, it's okay hyung. I'll tell you.” He takes the empty glass from Sion's hands and places it onto the tray, positioning himself so he's facing towards the door instead of directly at Sion.

“Jisung is my brother. When we were younger and in Korea, he was like superman to me. He would pick me up from school, he taught me how to tie my shoes in the hyeongwan. He was older and smarter and he felt so… grown up.”

Sion fiddles with the pillows a bit, a cramp in his neck starting to form. Daeyoung waits until Sion gives him the signal to continue.

“When we came here, it put us on the same level, you know? We were in a new country so far from home where nobody spoke the language and it was like we started at 0 again together. Eomma used to tell us to speak English so we could learn quicker, and Jisung would always tell me ‘you can drop the hyung if you want’.”

Daeyoung turns to Sion now, staring at Sion's hands that are placed neatly over the blanket. He's fiddling with his own fingers now, a habit Sion knows only comes out when he's nervous.

“I wanted to fit in too, you know? So I stopped and I got used to seeing us on the same level. I was scared though, and I wanted someone to look up to. Jisung wouldn't say it out loud but he probably felt the same way. And then, one day, you knelt down in front of me and you said hyung can help you.”

Daeyoung pauses to look up at Sion, there are tears in his eyes that are on the edge of spilling over.

“I wanted to be like you, hyung. I wanted you to… like me, to be proud of me. So, no, hyung, we're not friends.” 

Daeyoung turns to grab the tray behind him.

“It's not because I don't want to be your friend. More like… more like I respect you a lot, I could never see us as equals I guess, because I spent so long looking up to you. Still do.” 

The tray is in Daeyoung's lap now, and Sion is watching as he gets up to return it downstairs. The air in the room has shifted, almost as if it's trapped the two of them in this bubble of vulnerability. Sion hasn't said anything yet, doesn't know if it's the fever that's making him incapable of saying something coherent or if this weirdly honest declaration of admiration has rendered him shell-shocked.

Daeyoung clears his throat and stands up, only for Sion to lunge forward and grab his arm.

“Wait, Daeyoung,” Sion leads him back down onto the bed.

“Can we… talk… about the thing? I know it's been years and we pretend like nothing really happened but I know you saw something that night and I just… I feel like if you're being honest with me like this then it's only right for me to say something too.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Daeyoung, please.”

Daeyoung exhales a sigh of defeat, eyes locked onto his slippers by the edge of his bed. 

“I wasn't eavesdropping or anything, I was just… I wanted to come get my stuff, but I saw you through the door and I could see how much you wanted it. That moment. I didn't want to go in, but I couldn't look away either. And then Jisung called you and it was over.”

“You probably think I'm weird, right?” Sion scoffs. He won't accept you, he'll look at you and talk about how disappointed he is that his hyung grew up to be someone with a sick perversion. He'll say you're different and he'll ask you to leave and you'll drift apart because that's the way it always has to be. “I don't know… maybe there's something wrong with me that I wanted it to happen, or something like that. I don't know.”

Sion is the one avoiding eye contact now, and can barely lift his head to look at Daeyoung.

“Hyung, didn't I tell you it wouldn't change the way I thought of you? I meant that.”

Sion looks up to the cross at the top of Daeyoung's bed. Daeyoung slips the tray back onto the bed, reaching out with the damp wash cloth to wipe the sweat off of Sion’s forehead. 

“There's nothing wrong with it, hyung… being that way.”

“You don't have to lie.”

“I'm not lying.”

Daeyoung is holding Sion's jaw now, dragging the cloth down from his hair to the base of his neck. Sion swallows and Daeyoung follows the lump as it goes down his throat.

“I like boys, Daeyoung.”

Daeyoung doesn't falter, doesn't react, just hums and asks “Since when?” 

Sion doesn't expect it, the gentleness of it. He never imagined coming out at all, let alone to his best friend's little brother. And yet, here he is. Sion doesn't label it, doesn’t say that he’s gay or queer or anything else. He says it out loud like a fact that's always been, like something that will never be changed, something that will always be true. Sion expects shame and guilt and contempt, instead he's being wiped down with a touch so delicate it reminds him of what his mother used to do when he was younger.

“I've always known, I guess. Just that I looked at boys the way you were supposed to look at girls and thought it was normal.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Daeyoung wrings the towel out into the small bowl, he helps Sion down from his pillows and takes his temperature one last time before leaving.

“It's going down, hyung. Go to bed, Jisung won't be coming home anyways.”

Sion does what he knows best and follows instructions, eyelids growing heavy. He feels Daeyoung stand up with the tray, the weight coming off of the bed.

“I'll tell your mom you're staying over.”

The door creaks open, but before it closes, Daeyoung calls out, “and Sion hyung?”

Sion doesn't respond, too tired to open his mouth. He hears Daeyoung continue.

“I'm like that, too. I'm like you, hyung.”

Daeyoung sighs when Sion stays silent, taking his exit. Sion hears the faint sound of plates being washed downstairs and wonders if he's awake or if he's dreaming.

༺♰༻

Sion and Jisung graduate in July. Both of them receive special awards for their contribution to the football team, Sion gives a speech as class valedictorian, and Daeyoung performs with Yeon in the choir as part of a tribute to the seniors, bidding them goodbye and farewell on their journeys out into the adult world.

Sion spends the rest of his summer packing for Warwick. He buys a few more jackets, googles what the weather is like in the spring. He's nervous, of course, moving half way across the world to a place you've never been will do that to you. He's also excited, Sion is going somewhere nobody knows him, a place where he can start his life back at zero. He'll find a nice girl to marry, he'll finish his degree and they can get married and live in a little cottage at the edge of the city. Sion doesn't know if they have cottages in Warwick, but if it means he gets to be perfect for a little longer, he'll build one up with his bare hands.

The night before Sion leaves for England, his parents hold a going away party. His mother said it would only be something small, but Sion knows his mother, he knows that something small means inviting almost half the church over for a potluck and a prayer for his health and safety. 

Jisung and Daeyoung come over, because obviously they do. Jisung is sending him off tonight, his flight for Seoul leaves a week after Sion's. They don't say goodbye because there's no need for one. Jisung will threaten to kill Sion from oceans away if he doesn't answer his calls. There's an unspoken thread between them that ties them together for eternity, even if they'll never say anything about it.

The house is warm and lively, there's a generous spread of food on the table, including lots of desserts and a strawberry cake from the bakery Sion likes going to. People come up to congratulate him, to tell him about how much he's grown since he was a baby. The aunties ask him about his college degree, ‘I'm doing mathematics with a focus in statistics’, and they ask why he's chosen to go somewhere far away. He tells them some half-baked truth about wanting a fresh start somewhere new. 

Sion loves the attention, loves the feeling of his efforts being acknowledged. He feels like he's flying, like the wings on his back are real and they're carrying him closer and closer to the heaven he's always wanted, the place he tries his hardest to belong. And then, he's in the living room and standing in front of his father's altar. There's a small purple pillow on the floor, one that Sion knows well. He thinks of the version of him nobody in this room has ever met, the version of him that will die in silence. The one that kneels at night and begs for forgiveness. They will never know about the Oh Sion that wants to kiss boys, the one that could never like a girl no matter how hard he looked, no matter how hard he tried.

Sion looks at the people in his house and how it'd be empty if they knew about the real him. If they knew I was gay, if they knew I liked boys, this house would be empty. Not even my parents would be here. He thinks about how much of his self-acceptance he's given up to satisfy the people around him, and it's starting to feel like too much. His throat is closing in and he's feeling overwhelmed. Sion makes eye contact with the infant Jesus in the center of the shrine, you're lying, Sion. You're lying, to yourself, to your parents, to all these people. He feels his breath start to quicken. Sion stands up to excuse himself, half-sprinting towards the staircase up to his room.

Sion is on the brink of a panic attack. He's embarrassed and angry and he wants to slam his head into the wall. He takes a seat in front of Yeon's vanity to stare at himself in the mirror, only to hate the version of him looking back. Sion sees the emptiness in his stare, he feels cold, feels like no amount of love will make him feel like he deserves this. 

The door opens slowly, Sion is ready to yell or scream at whoever followed him up here, until he sees that it's Daeyoung.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

“I'm- I'm fine, I'll be fine Daeyoung-ah I just need to breathe.”

Daeyoung kneels by Sion's feet, a hand on the small of his back. 

“It's okay hyung, take your time. Inhale, exhale.”

Sion listens and almost instantly feels the weight on his shoulders lift. Daeyoung is looking at him and from this angle, he looks like he's praying. His hands are hanging by his sides, and Sion spots the paperbag by his legs. An offering, almost. 

“Thanks, Daeyoung-ah. Sorry, I was just… it was a lot, being down there.”

"It's alright hyung.”

They stay in this position for sometime, Sion knows Daeyoung's legs must be hurting. He doesn't move, doesn't even adjust, just waits patiently and stares as Sion waits for his breathing to even out. 

“What's that?” Sion asks, head gesturing to the paperbag.

“This? Just a gift.”

“Again? The others were more than enough.” Jisung and Daeyoung had already given Sion a few going away presents during dinner after graduation a few weeks prior. 

“These ones are from me, just me. Not Jisung or anyone. I wanted to give you a few things to wish you well.”

Sion takes the bag Daeyoung is hoisting up onto his lap and places it onto the counter of the vanity. It's heavy is the first thing Sion notices. He shakes the bag jokingly, trying to guess what's inside. Daeyoung laughs and tells Sion to get on with it already. The first thing he pulls out is a leather jacket.

“I googled Warwick, it gets cold in the winter. I thought it'd be useful.”

The jacket is beautiful, just what Sion would wear. There's a buckle at the front near the collar, it's this really nice shade of deep gray, and it feels expensive.

“Daeyoung-ah, this is… when did you get this? How'd you afford something like this?”

“I saved up some money from volunteering.” Sion puts the jacket on and stands up to look at himself in the mirror, it fits perfectly, like it was made for Sion and Sion only.

“Do you like it, hyung?” Daeyoung is still on the floor, still kneeling, still looking up like Sion came down from the heavens, like he's Moses holding the 10 commandments, like he's Gabriel descending to speak with Daniel. 

“Are you kidding? This is insane. I love it, thanks Daeyoung.”

“There's a few more things in the bag, hyung.” 

“Right, right, sorry.” Sion heads back to the seat, arms reaching into the bag to feel a small, velvet jewellery box at the bottom. He takes it out and places it in the palm of his hands, scared to see what's inside. Sion turns to Daeyoung, who urges him to open and take a look. Inside is a silver chain with a pendant attached, a circular pendant with a moon carved onto the front.

“It's beautiful, Daeyoung-ah. Thank you.”

“Flip it over hyung, there's something engraved on the back.” Sion complies, he takes the necklace from out the box to flip it around and see 1 Corinthians 13:4–7. Sion knows what the verse is, remembers it like it's carved onto his spine. Still, he asks Daeyoung to read it to him.

“Hyung, you know what it is.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don't. What if there's some misunderstanding between us and I think you're telling me to, I don't know burn in hell or something.” 

It's a joke made in poor taste, Sion knows, but he's scared of being honest. He's suddenly hyper aware of all the religious paraphernalia in his and Yeon's shared room. 

The ceramic angel on the nightstand, the cross above the door, the cross above his bed. Yeon's bedsheets have cherubs on them. Their bibles are stacked neatly on the shelf, a pink for Yeon and a blue one for Sion. Bible verses up on the bulletin board, pictures of them at church camp on the walls. He's watching us. He's always watching but now he's watching as I ruin you. 

Sion's spiraling is cut short by the sound of Daeyoung taking a deep breath in before he starts. 

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” 

Daeyoung's eyes are closed, and now he really looks like he's praying. He's up on his knees now instead of just resting his thighs against the back of his calves. His forehead is pressed against Sion's thigh, hands clasped tight. They sit together, draped in stillness and words left unsaid, the only thing anchoring them to the ground right now is the sound of the party downstairs, guests oblivious to the world opening up above them. 

Daeyoung doesn't lift his head, Sion feels his jeans start to dampen and oh, Daeyoung is sniffling and Sion realises that he's crying and now he feels like an idiot because what do you do when a boy you've known for almost a decade is crying into your lap? What do you do in a moment that feels frozen but also like it’s moving too fast for you to make any rational decisions? 

Sion thinks back to bible study, thinks about what he does when there are kids who feel things a bit too much that come to cling onto his legs. Daeyoung was one of those kids once, back when he couldn't speak English well and all he would do was hide and cry. 

Nothing's changed, really. They're still the same Sion and Daeyoung they were back then. Sion thinks this entire time he's been focused on how different he and Daeyoung are. Now, in this moment, he focuses on the parts (or rather part) of them that are the same. Sion used to look at Daeyoung like he was some saint, the version of him that wasn't ruined or tainted. They're the same, a mirror image, and where Sion thought he was once staring up, he now realises he's staring straight ahead, that they exist on the same ground, in the same state of internal purgatory. 

And so, like he did when he was younger, Sion pats Daeyoung's back and asks: “Daeyoung-ah, what can you say about this verse and how it makes you feel?”

Maybe it comes off as condescending, maybe Daeyoung feels like Sion is trying to gentle parent him into speaking, but he replies anyway. 

“I don't know many people like us, hyung. People who do the right things all the time only for everything to be meaningless when there's one part about you you can't change that's wrong.” 

Daeyoung is hiccuping through his sentence, Sion keeps his hand on his back - a grounding presence that reminds him he isn't alone.

“I'm sure you'll find people out there who are like us too, but I'll be here and the only person I know that I can trust is you, hyung. I guess… I want to tell you that even if the whole world is against you, even when you're against you, I won't be.”

Daeyoung looks up at Sion, his eyes are red and bloodshot, cheeks tear stained. He looks like the portrait of the Crying Virgin Mary that's framed in Sion's hallway. Solidarity with the marginalized, a shared compassion. 

“I know your truth, hyung, and you know mine. Despite all that, all this, you care for me the way you always have. In return, I hope you know I'll always care for you too, even when you're far away.”

Sion doesn't deserve this, this unusually intimate form of pseudoworship Daeyoung is giving him. For years he's told himself he's different and that the difference can be made up by over compensating, by being the best, by giving until there is nothing left to give. Time and time again he'll be hit with reminders that once people see the real him they'll flee. In Matthew, in Wonbin, in the girls that kiss him under porch lights who can tell he isn't being sincere.

They'll see the blood pouring out and they'll run. But here, on the floor, is a boy who looks at Sion like he holds the key to the gates of heaven, like his only salvation is here in this room. He sees the scars, sees the bruises and burns on Sion's skin that make him feel like he's destined to a life where all he can do is pretend. He doesn't flee, he stays. He stays and looks up and tells him that they're the same. 

“Thank you, Daeyoung-ah. I love it, really.”

“I wrote you a letter, hyung.” 

Sion reaches into the bag one last time, only for Daeyoung to grab him by the arm and pull him back down. 

“Don't- don't read it until I tell you to.”

“Okay.”

The veil is torn when Sion hears Yeon call him from below the stairs.

“Sion! Eomma wants you to cut the cake!”

Sion stands up, the feet of the chair scraping against the floor. The cross above his bed slips behind the headboard at the vibration, Sion doesn't think about what it means. He offers a hand to Daeyoung and hauls him up. Before they leave, he turns to check if the light is off. Daeyoung looks at him, walks past, and whispers a faint amen into Sion's ear.

-

Sion's parents drop him off the next day at the airport. Yeon gives Sion a hug so tight he feels like she's trying to purposefully suffocate him so he won't leave. 

“Yeon-ah, Sion needs to check in.” 

“I know, give me a second.” 

Yeon pulls away and leaves tear stains on the front of Sion's shirt. She points at the marks and laughs, ‘now you'll never get rid of me’. She asks him to text when he lands so she can start selling his stuff. Sion knows she's joking and agrees anyway.

His parents wish him well, he's got a whole luggage filled with homemade meals to last him his first 2 weeks at Warwick. They tell him to be safe, to always call, to tell them if it gets too much and he wants to come home. He promises them he will even though he knows he'd rather burn than admit he couldn't handle things on his own.

He waves them goodbye and makes his way through immigration, sending Jisung a selfie of him at the duty-free next to a stand with the green M&M on it. ‘Hot’ Jisung replies, ‘didn't know u were horny for the green mnm dude…’

He's at the gate now, ready to board, when he receives a text from Daeyoung:

fly safe hyung!!! dont miss me too much 

england looks super boring lol

thanks youngie!!

 can u not... i just committed to 4 years at a college in the middle of WARWICK.

okay okay i'll stop so u can enjoy the magic a little longer

btw hyung

did u read the letter

no lol i can wait trust 🤑🔥💯

😐 

gross

anw thats good

dont read it until i tell u tooooooooo

okay bye hyung!!!

Sion steps onto the plane, leather jacket draped over his carry on. A sliver of silver peaks out from his shirt collar. The locket rests on his heart next to the golden cross his mother had given him when he was younger, engraved with Joshua 1:9.

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go"