Archive of Our Own

Gyuvin knows Ricky tends to be impulsive.

It grates on him, honestly. The way Ricky would announce, I think I’m bored, and then vanish. A week later, he’d call Gyuvin from Venice. “Why Venice?” Gyuvin would ask, because he was long past the time of asking why at all? Ricky would say, “It’s romantic. You should’ve come.”

“Then why didn’t you invite me?”

“Because,” Ricky would sigh, as if it were obvious. “Because I knew you’d say no.”

Gyuvin probably would. He doesn’t lose sleep over it- Ricky knows him well enough to predict his refusals. Mostly, it was because Gyuvin didn’t need him, not really. Knew that Ricky could live perfectly well without him. But if Ricky had asked, however- he would go to the ends of the world.

Ricky never asks.

It grates on him.

Gyuvin is different on that point. He needs to think things through, carefully. Consider all options. It’s the only way he stays sane. Gyuvin is calm, and cool-headed. Ricky makes decisions fleeting and decisive.

Impulse nights out with Hao, tangled around each other at some bar. For Hao, it’s some weird kind of jealousy foreplay whilst Hanbin scowls in the corner. For Ricky, it’s a prelude to another impulse- hookups.

Gyuvin hates those the most. It’s beyond grating. It’s clawing, like his heart is being dragged bloody across shattered glass. He doesn’t know how to put that into words, exactly. If Ricky asked, he’s sure he could find a way.

Ricky never asks.

It grates on him.

𔓐𑇓

Ricky likes to sprawl on Gyuvin’s bed. Filling the sheets with his strawberry candy scent, the kind he gets in white boxes from Shanghai. Gyuvin’s sheets are always faintly glittery afterwards. “It’s comfortable,” Ricky always says. Then, “Join me.”

Gyuvin just- can’t.

A video call request from Hao blares on Ricky’s phone, propped up on Gyuvin’s desk drawer.

“Well?” Ricky says, not moving. “Answer it.”

Gyuvin scoffs. “Did I hear a please? A thank you?”

Ricky huffs out a laugh. He pouts his lips, then blows him a kiss. “Qubing, please.” Fuck. The voice of the devil if Gyuvin’s ever heard it. Luring people to doom, and bad, bad thoughts. Then, because Ricky always turns things lewd- “You can have your thank you later.”

Gyuvin rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. Jerks away as Ricky stretches out a hand for him, and picks up the call.

“What took you so long?” Hao demands, before the video fully connects.

“Hi, Hao,” Gyuvin says. “It’s me.”

“I know that,” Hao says. “You’re always fucking together. Especially at night, ugh.” Gyuvin stares. Hao loves double entendres. “I wanted to ask Ricky how his ankle’s doing.”

“Ankle?” Gyuvin twists around, and Ricky groans.

“Why’d you have to say?” Ricky’s frowning, but he’s too pretty to ever look truly angry. “Now he’ll worry.”

“Ankle?” Gyuvin repeats, voice tight.

“It’s nothing!” Ricky yells over Hao. “Maybe a week ago. When I was out with Hao. Some bastard tripped me.”

Gyuvin presses his lips together. He’s not the impulsive one. That’s why he doesn’t start demanding: Who? Where? What did he look like? Did he fuck you later? Ricky’s always been drawn to that kind of thing. Hair-pulling, harsh words, friction that sparks. Hate to love. It’s why Gyuvin never stood a fucking chance, because for him, that has never been a choice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you’d worry.” Ricky pouts, stretching and lifting a leg. Gyuvin carefully avoids eye contact with the newly exposed skin at his thighs. Ricky’s pointing his toes. It looks instinctive. Gyuvin will probably find out that he took ballet some years ago, and dropped it again. Just another impulse. “Look. All fine. It’s been a week, anyway.”

A week. That’s Ricky’s benchmark. Boyfriends, hobbies, impulse trips. He always circles back within a week.

Gyuvin reaches out, carefully taking Ricky’s left foot in his hand. Ricky lets out a strangled gasp, which Gyuvin decides to ignore. “It’s kind of purple, Ricky.”

“So? That’s why I haven’t gone out lately.” Ricky presses his lips together, that way he does when he’s lying. They both define go out very differently.

“Did you get it checked?” Gyuvin asks, prodding gently at the arch. The delicate bone that connects the back of his ankle. “What if it’s broken?”

Ricky hisses, jerking. “Don’t poke it, for fuck’s sake. I’m fine.”

“Okay, Kim Ricky.” Gyuvin releases his ankle, tamping down the swirl in his gut. “What a brat.”

“God, what is this foreplay?” Hao whines from the phone.

“It’s not,” Gyuvin grits. “Foreplay.” Hao has always said that. Everyone’s always said that. Ricky laughs, plays along, and so does Gyuvin, even though it makes something inside him scream. Can’t they see that if it was meant to be, it would’ve happened already?

“Yah.” Hanbin’s face appears behind Hao’s. “I have a question.”

“Yah!” Gyuvin yells. “Hyung- what are you doing there?”

Hanbin scoffs. “What do you think I’m doing?”

Gyuvin holds the phone at arm’s length. “Okay, fuck. Okay. What is it?”

Hanbin rolls his eyes, but asks. “Why do you call him Kim Ricky, Gyuvin? Are you two like, dating or something?”

Gut punch. Hanbin’s always been able to pry things loose from Gyuvin, in a different way from Hao. Hao uses wheedling and sharp questions that slice the secret free. Hanbin’s words are like blows- blunt, direct hits.

“What kind of question is that?”

Hanbin smiles smugly, like he’d done something. “That’s not an answer.”

Gyuvin scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Prepares to demolish it- the idea that Ricky can ever be his.

“We are.”

What the fuck?

Hanbin’s head swivels towards Ricky. So does Gyuvin’s.

Ricky’s pushed himself up. Tilted his head, like when he needs to get his hair out of his eyes. Fox-like eyes, pretty smirk. He’s gazing right at Gyuvin. On his bed. In sinfully short shorts.

Hao shoves his way onto the screen. “What?” he yells, appalled. “What- when- how long?”

Was he actually believing it?

“Three days,” Ricky says. “After Kangmin broke up with me.”

This is the first time Gyuvin’s hearing some Kangmin. “Excuse-”

Ricky wraps his arms around Gyuvin’s neck, pressing his hand to his mouth. He attempts to twist around, but Ricky tightens his hold.

Gyuvin stares at him on the screen instead. Ricky raises an eyebrow.

“Oh my god, Rick!” Hao whines. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was an impulse thing,” Ricky says. Stroking his hair, so gentle that Gyuvin fights harder. “Gyuvin crept up on me.”

“I can’t believe it,” Hanbin says, dumbfounded.

“I knew it,” Hao crows triumphantly. “I fucking knew it. Gyuvin’s always been so far gone for you-”

“Mmph!” Gyuvin protests. Ricky pushes his hand harder. His skin tastes of salt. Strawberry tanghulu, like he’s eaten it and licked the syrup off his fingers.

“I know, right?” Ricky says. “Gyuvin’s so silly. Never asks for what he wants.” He smirks at him in the screen of the call. “At least we got there in the end.”

“Fuck you.” It comes out a garbled sound.

“I think he’s getting antsy,” Ricky says, and he’s grinning fondly. “I’ll have to call back, Hao. I won’t be too long.”

“Take all the time you need,” Hao says.

Hanbin’s still gaping when Ricky leans forward and ends the call.

Gyuvin shoves, hard. Ricky lets go, but yanks his arm as he goes down, pulling him down onto the bed. Gyuvin catches himself to avoid crushing him, and hastily rolls aside.

“What the fuck was that?” Gyuvin snaps. He gets sharp and cold, edged when he’s angry. Sometimes, it makes Ricky grin, and sometimes, it makes him press his lips together and look at the ground. This time, Ricky widens his eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“No. No, no, no. You can’t what do you mean out of this. You told them we’re dating!”

“Why, is that such a problem?” Ricky asks. Eyebrows furrowed. Too pretty to look angry, but Gyuvin doesn’t know why he’d be angry. “We have the opportunity to do something very funny here.”

“Funny?”

“Yes,” Ricky says. “Don’t you think it is? And they believed it, too.” He makes a face- raising his eyebrows, a half-scoff on his lips. Like, can you believe it?

Gyuvin aches. Masks it with a scowl. “So what are you trying to do here, Rick?”

Ricky crawls over, caging him in. Pushing a knee between Gyuvin’s thighs. His eyes are alight, fox-like. “What if we pretended? Just for- hmm, a week. To see if anyone notices. It would be fun.” His voice drops to a coaxing whisper. “A game.”

Their noses brush. Ricky has always liked physical touch. Almost as much as he likes adrenaline. The thrill of getting caught.

Gyuvin narrows his eyes, refusing to let anything show. Ricky’s gaze is a laser beam. “What do I get?” He’s so fucking selfish.

“Me,” Ricky says. “For a week. Every part of me.”

Gyuvin’s chest constricts, and he scoffs. “You’re just saying that.”

Ricky laughs, soft. Leans down, and presses his lips against Gyuvin’s cheek. “Qubing, I’m never just saying.”

𔓐𑇓

Ricky holds his hand walking to the coffee shop.

It’s a slow process. Ricky leaning into him, letting out a sharp sound between his teeth as he stumbles on his bad ankle. His fingertips pinching the hem of Gyuvin’s sleeve for balance, then brushing the back of his hand. And, suddenly- Ricky is lacing their fingers together.

He crept up on Gyuvin. He never had a chance.

“Ricky.” Gyuvin’s voice is tight, low. He’s never been so crazy about physical affection as Ricky is. Never even held a boy’s hand. Ice isn’t meant to touch fire, it’ll melt. “I think you made a mistake.”

Ricky doesn’t even glance over. His mouth twitches. “What?”

“You’re holding my hand.”

Ricky stares, then laughs. Gyuvin can’t tell if the colour on his lips is gloss or the strawberry candy he loves to eat. “That’s not a mistake. God, you’re such a virgin.”

Gyuvin looks away. “Shut up. You don’t know anything.”

Ricky presses his lips together, tugging Gyuvin to a halt. “Are you not?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Yes, you do.” Ricky’s hold turns punishingly tight. “As my boyfriend, you do. Answer.”

 “I’m not,” Gyuvin lies, spiteful. It’s not for lack of opportunity. He’s just never felt the… urge the way Ricky seems to. It’s fine. Just another way they are different.

It grates on Gyuvin.

“Oh.” Ricky’s eyebrows draw together. “Who?”

“Why should I tell you?” Gyuvin deflects. He wants to say, can you list all of yours? But it feels cruel.

Ricky makes a faint noise. A small, sharp sound, like he’s been slapped. Then, he shakes his head slightly, and starts walking again, still holding Gyuvin’s hand. Manicured nails digging into his palms, just shy of drawing blood. Gyuvin never wants it to end.

“I just always figured it would be me, you know?” Ricky says.

The world ended with a whimper, not a bang.

Gyuvin’s voice is sharp. “What?”

“Your first. Hao was mine. He made it good for me. I could make it fun for you.” Ricky glances over. “We always have fun together.”

Apparently, not like how Ricky and Hao have fun together. Had.

Maybe Gyuvin’s got a problem, if he’s becoming possessive over a not-boyfriend.

“Whatever you say,” he says to stall. Ricky presses his lips together and looks at the ground. “Who’s Kangmin, by the way?”

Ricky’s eyebrows draw together. “Just someone. No one special.” He smiles suddenly, pleased. Radiant. “Jealous, Qubing?” He’s saying it lightly, because he’s not even asking. Because Ricky has always assumed he knows what Gyuvin is thinking. He used to say that if he was Achilles, Gyuvin was Patroclus.

Gyuvin always thought Patroclus was in love with him.

“Hardly,” Gyuvin says coolly, because he can pretend.

“You are special, baby,” Ricky says. Says ‘baby’ in Chinese. It makes it feel more intimate that it’s meant to be.

“To you?” Gyuvin says sardonically.

“Hmm. Just special. That’s better.”

Gyuvin doesn’t agree. “What’s that supposed to mean, you jerk,” he says. Not asking, because he has always known what Ricky is thinking.

Ricky just smiles. Pulls him sideways, into the coffee shop.

Hao hollers at them from their regular table- a round one, tucked into the corner of the shop. Round, so they can pull up extra chairs when everyone arrives.

“Look at them,” Taerae sneers, already seated at his usual place near the window. “Lovebirds. Holding hands. Would’ve never thought you’d stoop that low, Rick.” He means the hand-holding. Taerae has always liked Gyuvin more.

“And why can’t I hold my boyfriend’s hand?” Ricky scoffs. Gyuvin tries to shake his hand off, and Ricky’s grip becomes numbing. Gyuvin will find out he boxed or something. Knocked out the tooth of a guy who tried to take advantage of him in the alleyway when he was nineteen.

Matthew leans forwards. He’s sat on Jiwoong’s lap, holding his arms around his waist. “Tell me,” he says. “Everything.”

Ricky tells. Says that after Kangmin broke up with him- Gyuvin still doesn’t fucking know who Kangmin is- that Gyuvin came to pick him up in his car. That ‘Strawberry Moon’ by IU was playing, and Ricky was feeling a bit fucking romantic. So he leaned over the dashboard, and wrapped his arms around Gyuvin’s neck, and kissed him. And Gyuvin kissed back.

It doesn’t sound so far from the truth. Gyuvin would always leave the first move to Ricky.

“That’s so romantic,” Matthew sighs. “Jiwoong first kissed me in spin the bottle, you know.”

They all know. Gyuvin and Yujin weren’t there to see it, but it’s been retold again and again. They were strangers, but Jiwoong knew a good thing when he saw- kissed- one. He asked Matthew out that night. Took him out the next day, then into his home, and Matthew never left.

Gyuvin wishes it could ever be that simple.

He and Ricky share an apartment. But Ricky doesn’t come home some nights, and he doesn’t tell Gyuvin. He has men over, and he cries being fucked into the mattress, and he doesn’t tell Gyuvin. He has boyfriend, and he laughs breaking up with them, and he doesn’t tell Gyuvin. He’s just impulsive.

It’s just Ricky.

“So what did you do on your first date, Gyuvin?” Hanbin asks.

Gyuvin’s stomach drops. “I- uh-”

“I haven’t taken him on one yet,” Ricky says. “Where should I?”

“Cat café,” Taerae says. Gyuvin is allergic to cats.

“Fuck you.” Gyuvin makes an obnoxious hand movement.

“Oh, save it for Ricky.”

“Actually,” Yujin says. Gyuvin gives him a you’re dead glare, but Yujin continues. “Actually, I think Gyuvin would bottom. I manifest it.”

“Do you know what that means, you brat?” Gyuvin says icily.

“Yes,” Yujin sniffs, “but you don’t need it.”

There are layers to Yujin’s insults.

“You should take him to a scary movie,” Gunwook says.

Gyuvin stares. “I hate scary movies.”

“Scary movies are the best for first dates,” Gunwook says. “Makes the other person cling to you. It’s funny.”

Yujin starts cackling, like he’s about to make an unfunny your mom joke. Gyuvin interrupts quickly. “Ricky’s not taking me to a scary movie. Because he loves me, and he doesn’t want me to get a heart attack.” He says it all with heavy sarcasm, so Ricky will know he’s joking, but when he does glance at Ricky, his face has fallen.

“You would die hugging me, at least,” Ricky says. “You never hug me.”

It takes Gyuvin a few seconds to catch the edge in his tone. Ricky’s staring at him- deep, consuming.

Most of the time, Ricky is lax and uncaring, which makes these moments- moments when he stares, intense, like nothing else could distract him- stick.

Gyuvin would hug him, if Ricky asked, if he thought Ricky really needed it. Ricky is so free with touch. And that’s… what stops Gyuvin. Because Ricky has never asked. Because Gyuvin doesn’t want to be just another touch. Just another impulse.

“Lover’s tiff,” Yujin says.

“Shut up,” Gyuvin and Ricky say together.

“That’s how Hao-hyung and Hanbin-hyung act when Hao dances with other men,” Yujin says.

“You took Yujin to bars?” Gyuvin hisses at Hao.

“You didn’t take me?” Ricky says.

𔓐𑇓

Ricky covers Gyuvin’s eyes with a blindfold as he searches for a movie on some pirated site recommended to him on another sketchy site.

“Is this necessary?” Gyuvin says. “Why the fuck do you have blindfolds?”

Ricky laughs, so low that Gyuvin’s skin tingles. “Maybe you’ll find out.” He grips Gyuvin’s shoulders. “Okay, I’m done.”

Gyuvin scrunches up his eyes as the blindfold is being taken off. Then shrieks, because the intro to the movie is a dark, gothic landscape, and it’s definitely not the romantic comedy Ricky promised.

“Fuck no.”

Ricky grabs Gyuvin’s wrist as he tries to bolt. Gyuvin struggles. “Qubing.” Gyuvin freezes. Ricky does that sometimes. Says his name like an order- compelling, commanding- and Gyuvin can’t ignore him. “Stay. Please?” Ricky licks his lips. If Gyuvin didn’t know him so well, he’d think he’s nervous. “I searched for ages. I wanted to make it a surprise.”

Gyuvin stares at him. The strawberry shine of his lips in the dark. “Fuck you, Kim Ricky.”

“Kim,” Ricky repeats, almost dreamily, which seems to be the only thing he’s noted. He pulls again, just lightly, and Gyuvin grits his teeth, allowing himself to be pulled back onto the couch. “Why won’t you be Shen Gyuvin?”

Because you never called me that. Because I never asked.

Gyuvin holds his breath as the first scene plays- now inside the haunted house, following some guy who decided to fuck with the monster(allegedly) in the basement. At the first jumpscare, he flinches, and looks away. Who was he kidding? He fucking hates scary movies.

His eyes latch on Ricky. Magnetic, North to South.

Ricky’s still staring at the film, intent. His lips are parted slightly. Begging to be kissed, but Shen Ricky doesn’t beg. Without looking around, he says, “I put this shit movie on to make you hug me.”

“Huh,” Gyuvin says. “I’m not hugging you. You’ll have to try harder.”

“Tsundere.” Gyuvin doesn’t know the word, but he can guess. Ricky usually likes hard to get, so Gyuvin doesn’t know why he looks so displeased.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Cold, Gyuvin. You’re so cold.”

“No, I’m not.” All Gyuvin has ever felt for Ricky has been fire, fire, fire. Grating on his insides.

𔓐𑇓

“I want to go out,” Ricky says.

Gyuvin sighs. Grits his teeth. Ricky was sat back on his spinning desk chair, feet propped on his table, pulling off a strawberry from a stick of tanghulu with his teeth. “Then go out,” he says. “I’m not stopping you.”

Ricky’s nose wrinkles. “Come with me,” he says finally.

“Why?” Gyuvin knows immediately he should’ve said no.

“Because,” Ricky says, and his eyes are glittering, vulpine. “You’re my boyfriend.”

Gyuvin sighs. “That’s unfair.”

Ricky stands up. Yelps, stumbling on his bad ankle. Gyuvin’s tearing forwards before he can stop himself- arm around his waist, hand cradling the back of his neck.

Ricky’s eyes go wide, then turn sharp again. He clutches at Gyuvin’s sleeve. “You fucking romantic.”

Gyuvin sighs. He wants to let go. Drop Ricky, cast him another imperious, disgusted look- like old times- but he can’t shake the stupid fear of Ricky falling again, hurting. Ricky has always done this. Destroyed his cautiousness, reduced him to a bare impulse.

“Why do you want to go?”

Ricky presses his lips together into a perfect pout. There’s tanghulu syrup on his bottom lip. Strawberry candy, imported from Shanghai, on his breath. Gyuvin asks him for some sometimes, just to see what the inside of Ricky’s mouth tastes like.

“Because,” he says. “I want to go on a date.”

Gyuvin’s muscles lock. “A date. Why.” Why the fuck?

Ricky’s arms come up, wrapping around Gyuvin’s neck, pulling himself upright. “I think we’d have fun together,” he says, trailing his fingers along the back of his neck. “And I haven’t been on a date in a long time.”

A long time. To Ricky, a week is a long time.

“Where do you want to go?” Gyuvin asks finally.

Ricky brightens. “Bar,” he says. “Please.”

“Really.” Gyuvin’s not amused. “I’m not taking my boyfriend to a fucking bar.”

Ricky’s eyebrows raise, and he grins. He’s so pretty. “Why not?”

Gyuvin- can’t.

“Fine,” Gyuvin says, expressionless as he can. “We’ll go.”

For some reason, Ricky’s face falls. He lets go of Gyuvin’s neck to wrap his arms around himself. “Oh. Are you sure?”

Gyuvin can’t understand him sometimes. How quickly his mood changes. Push and pull. Ricky is chaos. Ricky is everything. “Are you?”

Ricky stares at him. “Yes. Take me.”

𔓐𑇓

The bar is warm. Strobing lights in different tones of blue, shading in the sharp, elegant angles of Ricky’s face. The points of his eyes, his nose, the softness in his lips.

He perches on the bar stool with the familiarity of an action done a hundred times, and asks the bartender for a strawberry martini. Plucks a straw from a stack whilst he waits, tapping his foot, running his eyes over the dancefloor.

“I think I can dance,” Ricky says, as the drink arrives. He nods at the bartender, gives him a sweet smile in lieu of thanks. The bartender- young, older than them both- flushes. “If you’d like to save me one.”

“No,” Gyuvin says. “You can’t dance. Your ankle.”

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

Ricky flushes. “You don’t know how it feels. How would you know if I can or not?”

You were walking strange. You stumbled twice on the way here.

If you go on the dancefloor, someone else might take you, and I might not be able to stop it.

“You just can’t.”

Ricky’s gaze hardens. He looks down at the strawberry drink, stirring it idly with the straw, before drinking again.

 Gyuvin swears he’s doing it on purpose. Leaving some of the drink on his tongue so when he licks his lips, they gleam. Maybe Ricky worked in fashion, or makeup. Some kind of profession that taught how to draw eyes to him. Make him shine.

“Do you want some?” Ricky asks. His lips are slightly parted.

Gyuvin considers, then reaches for another straw.

“Use mine.” Gyuvin stares. Ricky’s eyes are bright, fervent. “They’re plastic. It’ll be bad for the environment to take another.”

Ricky has never expressed an interest in saving the environment. It feels suspicious. Maybe he drugged the straw, something in it to make Gyuvin more dangerous, the kind of Gyuvin that would let Ricky dance with a bad foot, the kind of Gyuvin that Ricky would let fuck him into the bed until he cried.

And Gyuvin would, but he- can’t.

“No,” Gyuvin says. “You drink it.”

Ricky’s face scrunches up, but he quickly looks back down to his drink, curling a hand around the glass. His other hand rests on his lap, fiddling with the edge of his skirt. Twisting in the fabric until Gyuvin wants to grab his wrist and yank it away, because he’s going to flash someone, and Gyuvin wouldn’t look but someone else would.

He doesn’t. He can’t.

Ricky finishes his drink. Orders another. Gyuvin gives him a warning look, and he ignores it.

It happens again. A third drink. Ricky only speaks to ask Gyuvin if he wants anything- his treat. His voice is slurred, the sharp edges blurring into each other, and Gyuvin makes a mental note to stop him from getting a fourth.

Gyuvin says no to the drink again. Ricky blows out the air from his cheeks and looks away.

When Ricky is about halfway through, a man slides into the seat next to him. He looks older than Gyuvin by maybe five years. Ricky’s always preferred older, though.

“You sitting alone?” he says to Ricky.

Ricky glances up. Gyuvin catches the reflection of his smile- bright and golden in the strobing lights, like it always is. But then he says, “No.”

Gyuvin senses the man’s eyes, but doesn’t look to meet them. He’s fucking angry. “That your friend? He doesn’t seem to be having too much fun.”

“He isn’t,” Ricky says. Gyuvin doesn’t know which he means. Isn’t my friend. Isn’t having fun.

Gyuvin takes it as the second. So does the man. “Can I have your number?”

Fire. Burning Gyuvin up, spitting him out, until he can barely think beyond the flames. He wants to punch the guy. Break his nose, pound him into the ground. He’s never been in a fight in his fucking life.

It takes him a second to realise that Ricky is staring at him, too- the soft, drink-hazed edges in his expression suddenly turned sharp. A questioning kind of look.

Of course. He wants to go out with the guy, but he feels bad. Because Gyuvin is his ‘boyfriend’ of about five days now.

Gyuvin turns away, barely holding back a bitter sound. Focuses on the woodgrain of the table, until it blurs.

It’s a few minutes later that Ricky taps his arm. The strawberry drink is finished, paid for- probably not with Ricky’s own money. The man is gone.

“Can we go home?” Ricky asks. His voice is quiet.

Gyuvin wants to spit flames. Ask him if he wants to go home with the other man, instead. He just makes a noncommittal noise, and stands up. Ricky leads him out, into Gyuvin’s waiting car. Settles in the shotgun seat, tipping his head back.

Gyuvin starts the car, and soft music plays automatically. Ricky’s playlist. IU’s Good Day. Lilac.

Ricky speaks. “Why are you so hard to read?”

Gyuvin swerves to avoid a motorcycle. “Me?” Hard to read? Never.

“Yes, you.” Ricky’s words slur together. He’s curling his fingers underneath his skirt again, scraping his nails lightly against the insides of his thighs, like he’s trying to feel something.

“Stop that.” Gyuvin’s voice is stretched to breaking.

Ricky stops. Gyuvin can see him frowning in his periphery. “I don’t-” he swallows, audible. “I don’t wanna- I didn’t wanna go home with that guy, Gyub…”

Gyuvin waits, before realising Ricky wants an answer to that. “Well. Good. You’re too drunk. You could be taken advantage of.”

Ricky’s breathing turns shaky. “You don’t understand.”

Gyuvin glances round. The last bars of Love Wins All are playing. He can see the apartment block approaching, yellow lights of their shared place; they forgot to close them. “Then tell me.”

“I didn’t-” Ricky lets out a frustrated sound. It’s soft, not like it would be in daylight, when he’s sober. It sounds almost vulnerable. “I didn’t get his number.”

The car pulls into the parking lot. Gyuvin’s head is spinning. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You seriously- you seriously don’t know?”

Gyuvin reverses into a space, careful. When he pulls out the keys, Ricky grabs his wrist. His touch is flimsy. Gyuvin could shake him off easily.

He doesn’t.

Love Wins All has long faded, replaced with something more cheerful. A sweet, catchy tune. Gyuvin doesn’t recognise it. Ricky is the one who makes the playlist.

Ricky is staring at him. Eyes wide. He grips Gyuvin’s shoulders. “Help me.”

“Help you wha-” Gyuvin’s hands seize Ricky’s waist as he lifts himself up. Pushes himself into the driver’s seat, on top of Gyuvin. His weight solid and warm on his legs. Gyuvin is going to die before he reaches thirty.

Ricky’s manicured nails dig into Gyuvin’s shoulders. One hand comes up, trailing along his neck, almost languid, before resting over Gyuvin’s lips. Ricky presses, hard. Dragging his bottom lip down.

Gyuvin stays still. Hands frozen on Ricky’s waist, Ricky’s fingers on his lips. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils grown to turn his eyes dark and wanting. His lips are slightly parted, like he’s mirroring Gyuvin.

“You’re so cute,” Ricky says. He almost sounds disbelieving.

There is something stuck in Gyuvin’s throat. A million things, making it impossible to breathe. Grating on him. “Shen Ricky,” he manages, cold.

“No,” Ricky says. “Try again.”

Gyuvin stares at him. The moon is high behind him, casting a pale glow over his features. He’s honestly unreal. “Kim Ricky.”

Ricky smiles slightly. “Do you understand?” he says. And then, “I’m feeling romantic.”

And then he leans in.

Panic. Sharp and acrid, like metal. Gyuvin jerks back violently, releasing Ricky’s waist. Shoving onto the passenger seat. Ricky lets out a sound like he’s been slapped.

“No.” Gyuvin’s blood pounds in his ears like a war drum. I’m feeling romantic. Just a feeling, another impulse. When for Gyuvin, Ricky is everything. “You’re so fucking drunk, Ricky.”

“I’m-” Ricky’s gasping. Maybe he’s crying. Gyuvin doesn’t know when it started. He can’t even see Ricky’s face clearly in the darkness, not when his own eyes are stinging. “I’m not, I-” He swallows. “I am, but I still-”

“Stop. Now.” Gyuvin gets sharp and cold, edged when he’s angry. Sometimes, it makes Ricky grin, and sometimes, it makes him press his lips together and look at the ground. This time, Ricky falls silent, eyes wide and glistening. “Can we- can we not, please? You’re not going to remember this in the morning, Rick.”

“I will,” Ricky murmurs. “You don’t understand.” He curls up into a foetal position, on the passenger seat. Closes his eyes. His lips move again, slower. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me.”

Ricky says nothing, for so long that Gyuvin feels dizzy with anticipation. Then, he notices the steady rise and fall of his chest. The looseness in his limbs.

He’s fallen asleep.

𔓐𑇓

Gyuvin is making breakfast when Ricky comes downstairs.

Unfairly, horribly, Ricky always looks the prettiest the day after nights out. His hair damp from the morning showers he never skips, skin clear and bright in the afterglow. Sex, usually. The men never stay over, but he’s still smiling the next day. Just for himself.

Ricky showered this morning. Gyuvin heard him, then he saw him in the oven’s reflection. Shorts short enough to be coy, short enough to grate Gyuvin’s heart, blood spilling from open wounds.

Hanbin is different. He likes to show Hao off to the world- and Hao technically could have the world if he wanted. But he always returns, and he never fucks anyone but Hanbin. Hanbin says he likes to make Hao jealous in silly ways, not anything real, because when Hao is jealous he cries, and Hanbin can’t handle seeing him cry, especially if it’s his fault.

So what Gyuvin is feeling can’t be love, because he wants to lock Ricky up. Keep him all to himself.

Arms wrap around his waist from behind. Gyuvin grits his teeth, ignores, even when Ricky drops a kiss on his shoulder, feather-light. He does things like this constantly- touch, taste, retreat. Gyuvin’s always told himself it means nothing. Ricky needs contact the way others need air.

“Are you upset?” Ricky murmurs against his shoulder blade. His hair is just dried, fragrant from the shampoo he imports from Shanghai with the strawberry candy. “Why?”

 “No reason,” Gyuvin says. He laughs as Ricky stumbles to follow him. “Kim Ricky, I told you not to drink so much.”

“Really?” Ricky snorts elegantly. “I don’t remember.”

Gyuvin didn’t expect him to, but it still makes his chest clench savagely. If it were different- if the roles were switched- Gyuvin would never forget. He’d have to be dead. Maybe not even then.

It’s fine. It’s just Ricky.

“Go out with me,” Ricky says suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Today.” Ricky’s suddenly looking at him in that way- intense, so different to how Gyuvin imagined him looking at him- like a butterfly searching for the next brightest flower. Like he sees Gyuvin, in all his cold edges, and wants to land anyway. “Please.”

𔓐𑇓

Ricky leads like a crown prince claiming territory. Like he knows exactly where he’s going. Gyuvin can see the diamond curve of his smile, polished even in the dirty darkness. His touch is like fire, and Gyuvin’s going to melt, and he doesn’t really care.

Ricky takes Gyuvin through the market. He stops every few metres, makes Gyuvin choose a stall to buy something from. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Grinning. “Treat my boyfriend. Anything he wants. Everything, if he wants it.”

Gyuvin still doesn’t know how he’s so rich. Ricky’s coy about it. Familial wealth is the gist of it- probably something glamorous, something utterly Ricky. Maybe Gyuvin will find out that he is descended from a long line of Chinese princes. Each with voices like silk that bought them into this kind of life.

Ricky buys himself orange tanghulu, and he buys Gyuvin strawberry. He bites into his before they’ve started moving again- juice on his lips. Gyuvin wants to kiss it off. Wants to take him home. Doesn’t know why he came out when he already has everything.

“Thought you liked strawberry more,” Gyuvin says when Ricky stares pointedly. In all honesty, orange is Gyuvin’s favourite. Ricky knows that.

Ricky grabs his wrist easily. “Half each.” He has the same look in his eyes that he did when he said please. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” he says. Grins again. “Share tanghulu. With my boyfriend.”

Gyuvin knows Ricky wants to kill him, he just can’t prove it.

He bites down on a strawberry, pulling it off with his teeth. It tastes how Gyuvin imagines kissing Ricky would be. Strawberry wine, fizzing candy- sharp and sweet. Too much would probably kill him.

Ricky pulls an orange segment from his stick, lifting it up expectantly. Gyuvin leans in, and Ricky brushes his fingertips against his mouth before pushing it between his lips.

“Pretty,” Ricky breathes, like he means it.

“Shut up.” It comes automatically.

Ricky smiles. It makes Gyuvin want to kneel down at his feet. Offer his mind, body, soul. Or something equally stupid. Ricky is addictive. He must know the effect he has on people. Or maybe he doesn’t, because why would he keep doing it?

“Qubing.” Ricky’s hand traces up Gyuvin’s face, brushing the hair from his eyes. “What are you thinking?”

Gyuvin stills, then jerks back. Working against his impulses. Ricky would never understand. It feels unfair to think. “Nothing.”

Ricky smiles, close-mouthed. Gyuvin has seen his smile a million different times. Traced it with his eyes in the dark. He leans in, lips to Gyuvin’s ear. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

“What?” Gyuvin breathes.

“See the Han River,” Ricky says. Gyuvin’s about to point out that they did go- once, all nine of them, and Yujin cried when he got sunburnt and Jiwoong jumped after Matthew when Taerae pushed him into the water. But Ricky says, “Under the moon. I won’t be able to do it any other time.”

More romantic. Ricky’s like that. Gyuvin gets the hidden meaning: with my boyfriend. The other hidden meaning: before this ends. And the last implication: that Ricky won’t get a boyfriend.

Ridiculous.

Gyuvin says yes anyway.

𔓐𑇓

Gyuvin drives. One hour there, and it will be one hour back. He’s so stupidly in love.

Ricky’s eyes, usually sharp in daylight, have softened in the night. He tugs Gyuvin’s hand before running down to the bank himself. He doesn’t skid, not even on the mud and stones, because it’s Ricky and he always lands on his feet, and it grates on Gyuvin but he keeps coming back for more.

Gyuvin follows.

Ricky points at the sky without checking to see if Gyuvin is there. “Look.”

Gyuvin looks. Black emptiness. “What?”

“What do you see?”

“Air pollution.”

Ricky smacks his shoulder. “Be serious.”

“I’m always serious, Kim Ricky.” Gyuvin’s feeling lighthearted, which never happens. He composes himself. There was definitely something in the tanghulu. “The sky. It’s black. Clear. By clear, I mean, no stars. So, actually cloudy.”

“What else?”

“The moon,” Gyuvin says. “I see the moon.”

Ricky presses closer to his side. Blonde hair, silver in the moonlight. “Don’t you think it looks almost pink?”

Gyuvin raises his eyebrows. “No. Not really.”

Ricky sighs. “I think it does, a little.” He’s unbearably warm, but also shivering. Gyuvin wants to put an arm around him. He leaves it at that: just wanting. “It’s supposed to be, anyway. To mark the start of the strawberry season. A strawberry moon.”

Gyuvin is a cynic. Ricky has always made fun of him for it. “That sounds like a myth.”

Ricky pouts. “It’s real. You should go up there and paint the moon for me.”

“Whatever you want, Kim Ricky.”

Ricky glances back at him from the corner of his eyes. His lips are twitching, like when he’s trying to decide if to smirk or not. “You seem… more at ease.”

“It’s the sugar.”

“I think it’s me.” Ricky turns suddenly, until they are face to face- dangerously close. He grips Gyuvin’s hands, laces the fingers, pressing their wrists together. Gyuvin knows he can feel the pulse there, because he can hear it himself. All around, echoing into the air. Maybe it can shake stone, if Ricky comes close enough.

Ricky is dangerous. He can cause earthquakes. Maybe he was descended from one. Cracked out of stone, sent straight from the heavens.

“What are you doing?” Gyuvin’s voice is suddenly abrasive. It hurts coming up and out.

Ricky smiles again, this time distinctly sad. His grip turns cold, then loosens until it’s barely there. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

“What?”

“Date you.” Ricky stares, hands laced, horribly certain. “I’ve always wanted to date you, Shen Gyuvin.”

“Be serious.”

“I am, always.”

“Not always.”

“I am now.”

Ricky is still looking at him when Gyuvin opens his eyes. Terribly sincere. Ricky doesn’t beg, but it looks like he’s begging then. Eyes wide and watchful. Still. Holding his breath.

“I don’t want to be another vice. I don’t want to be another thing.” Gyuvin’s voice is small and unnecessary. Prolonging fate with excuses.

Ricky has always been able to see straight through him. “You already know you aren’t.”

“After one week-”

“I’ll feel the same.” Ricky trails his hand up Gyuvin’s forearm. “And another, and another. And all the rest of the weeks.”

Gyuvin squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re just feeling romantic.”

Ricky laughs lightly. “That was a terrible thing to say. I’m sorry.”

“You remember?”

Ricky sounds rueful. “I would never forget. I’d have to be dead. Maybe not even then.”

It really doesn’t sound a lot like an impulse.

Gyuvin thinks things through. Carefully. Consider all options, even though there’s only been one, when it comes to Ricky. “Let me think,” he says. “In the car. I don’t want it to be too late when we get home.”

“Okay.” Ricky presses his lips together, that way he does when he’s lying. They both define okay very differently.

𔓐𑇓

The car. Clean leather, night-blooming flowers, Gyuvin’s honey handwash Ricky gifted to him. Shipped from Shanghai with Ricky’s shampoo and strawberry candies. Ricky puts a strawberry candy on his tongue, lets it melt, lets the sizzle of it turn the air sweet.

One hour back. Plenty of time for Gyuvin to think. Somewhere in it, the radio turns on, connected to Ricky’s playlist. IU’s Good Day. Lilac.

As he’s is pulling into the parking lot, it’s Strawberry Moon. Gyuvin finally knows the name.

He turns to Ricky. Ricky seems half-asleep. Fingers splayed on his knees, cheek pressed against the window. As Gyuvin watches, Ricky opens his eyes.

“Thank you, Gyuvin.” His eyes are downcast. Too pretty to be angry. But maybe he’s just sad. He reaches out, and Gyuvin thinks he might’ve wanted to take his hand. Might’ve wanted to pull the keys out of the door. Might’ve wanted to slap him in the face, but Gyuvin would’ve know.

Because Gyuvin’s feeling a little impulsive. A bit fucking romantic.

He leans over the dashboard, wrapping his arms around Ricky’s neck. And kisses him.

Ricky tastes of the first day of summer. The Chinese strawberry candy Gyuvin always asks him to buy. If the word ended a whimper, Gyuvin wonders if this is how it started. A bang, then everything, all at once.

When Gyuvin pulls away, Ricky’s face is scrunched up, and he’s shaking. Gyuvin’s arms tighten around his neck. “You, too?” Ricky says.

“Don’t be stupid.”

Gyuvin swallows the next sob from Ricky’s mouth, then his laughter. Again, and again. Ricky trails his hands up Gyuvin’s back to wind in his hair. Tugging his head backwards to bite his neck.

𔓐𑇓

When it happens, it’s careful. Slow. Ricky unfurls like a flower, warm and breathless. Gyuvin can feel every gasp he makes, every single movement. The way Ricky’s fingers curl into his shoulders, the way his back arches off the sheets. Gyuvin’s sheets, glittery from weeks of Ricky sprawling there.

Ricky’s hands twist in his hair. Tugging, guiding him into the space between his legs where he’s wanted. Where he’s apparently been wanted all this time.

Gyuvin kisses him. Like Ricky is air. Every moment of restraint, every time he bit his tongue instead of saying stay, please stay, stay with me.

Ricky arches into him. Whispers things in Mandarin Gyuvin doesn’t understand but feels in his bones. Wraps his legs around Gyuvin’s waist, holding on like he’s afraid he might disappear. Gentle. Nothing like the sharp-edged desire Gyuvin’s watched him give to strangers at bars.

Gyuvin doesn’t want to see him give them anything. Ever again.

“Ricky,” Gyuvin breathes.

Ricky’s face does something complicated. Starts to close off. It grates on Gyuvin.

“What?” Cautious.

“Marry me.”

Ricky’s face brightens. He wraps his arms around Gyuvin’s neck. “Really?” he breathes. “You promise?”

Maybe Gyuvin’s always been a bit fucking impulsive.