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Wooyoung remembered the first time they had sex. It was in March, right after Yunho’s birthday, when Jung met some cute guy named Choi San, a pretty and polite librarian. Librarian! He was a friend of Yunho, and it was kind of surprising they hadn’t met before, Wooyoung wished they did. The interest was there. They were staring at each other for the whole night long, talked for a few times. Do you like the music? How close you are with Yun? Hate such parties too, don’t you? Wooyoung didn’t even blame the alcohol. He just got really hooked by the man, by how charming his smile was. When he offered a ride home afterwards, finding him outside the house when the party was over, the younger one agreed without even thinking.
That was the hottest fuck in his life. With San, so gentle and harsh at the same time, caressing his body and moving roughly inside, Wooyoung could swear he met God at least three times a night. It happened in the younger one’s apartment, a cozy flat in the outskirts of Seoul. San stayed the night, too tired to drive to his niche house somewhere not far from the city center. He hugged Wooyoong, pressed against him, even making it hard to breathe. He was big, buff, and his body was too heavy for a small Wooyoung. Deep in his heart, there was a hope they’d wake up together, kiss, make breakfast, and maybe talk about going on dates. He’d like to. San seemed like someone who would take him to the library or the art gallery, talking about arts for hours. The boy had various thoughts in his mind, falling asleep with a smile. In the morning, however, his dreams crushed. Instead of waking up to San’s shy smile, Jung turned out to be alone in his bed, with the right side of it cold, with the house empty. With no number left on a napkin.
San left him. And it wouldn’t be that painful if Wooyoung hadn’t seen him almost everywhere now.
Wooyoung’s life’d turned into a mess. He didn’t cry when he found out he was just used, didn’t tell anyone about the situation. But he really felt like a huge fool because, God, wasn’t it stupid? It wasn’t surprising San had only sex in his mind, at their age. There couldn’t even be anything more than that. Still, Wooyoung, who had only had a boyfriend once and the experience wasn’t really pleasant, hoped. And again, got just left alone.
Sadly, they weren’t strangers now. And sadly, they lived in one city. Wooyoung almost lost his fucking mind once when he walked into the small library to work on his poorly-written novel and nearly bumped into San. It seemed like the man was surprised and confused, too. Nothing was said, though. Just a mere ‘sorry’ and ‘oh’. Not even, ‘sorry, I left after fucking you’ from San. Wooyoung didn’t stay at the library. Had to write in a park, but he actually just stared at the water of the deep river Han, not able to write a single word.
After that, they kept meeting almost everywhere. At the street, at the mall, even at the fucking uni where he teached, because San was a member of their book club, and fortunately, Wooyoung wasn’t. He was just a literature teacher, and lately his mind’d been hectic, making it harder to teach. Especially when the topic was foreign literature. Wooyoung couldn’t understand why he felt that way. Devastated, sad. Maybe because from that bump in the library San was smiling at him every time they met. Smiling, like nothing had happened. He nodded sometimes, like they were some mates. And they didn’t even have each other’s phone numbers.
Yunho noticed the changes first. Because of course he did, he was his best friend. He picked him up once, almost dragging him into the small cafeteria near the uni. Bought him americano, and the younger just stared at it for ten minutes straight.
“Are you gonna tell me?” he asked.
“Tell what?”
“What’s going on.”
“Nothing.”
“I know you too well.”
Yunho did. He could read everything from Woo’s eyes, from how lost and hollow they were. He’d always been bright and warm, like sunshine, and now all that left was just transparency. He was always bad at pretending.
“San is your friend, right?” he asked carefully.
“A good one, yeah. What’s with him?”
“Oh, nothing. I bet he’s feeling great.”
“Woo.”
Wooyoung set the cup down, sighing. No purpose in lying.
“He fucked me after we left the party. And then left in the morning. And now I see him everywhere, he’s smiling at me like nothing’s happened! He didn’t even say anything, left me like I was a cheap… whore.”
Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t try to protect his mate. Just listened, drinking his cappuccino and trying his best to do everything to make Wooyoung feel at least a little better. Suggested he’d talk to San. Wooyoung rejected the idea immediately.
Wooyoung now hated to go outside. Hated the libraries, his own university too. But Tuesday was supposed to be safe. He was only grading papers, sitting in his small lecture room and drinking a coffee. It was quite peaceful, sunny outside, he even had a great mood, felt like grabbing his favourite strawberry biscuits in a local cafe before heading home. But before that, he entered the university bookstore, walking through the rows with a clear goal to find a new edition of Madame Bovary. His old copy was a total mess, cracked beyond repair, and he didn’t want to say goodbye to his annotated copy, but the pages were falling out. So he was crouched by the bottom shelf, fingers trailing over the paperbacks. And when he got up, holding a book, he stumbled into San, who of course was there. Near him.
“You teach Flaubert?”
What a casual question to ask after everything! Wooyoung was a little stunned, blinking twice, trying to understand if that was really happening. Unfortunately, it was. San stood there with a smile, a copy of Maupassant’s ‘Bel-Ami’ in his hands. In Jung’s favourite translation, actually. He finished with Maupassant like three days ago, and it felt like San knew the program exactly.
“For the third years. Yes.”
San nodded. He was wearing glasses today, a black polo and trousers, looking so neat and polite, like a perfect librarian he was. He looked like everything Wooyoung wanted to have breakfast with. Like a dream.
“I like this precise translation. The older ones don’t have the same irony in the first chapter.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Sorry?” San blinked.
“I said okay. Sorry, tired of talking about literature already. Do this everyday.”
Something flickered across San’s face, and it looked like guilt. Or hurt. Which is ridiculous, because San didn’t get to be hurt. Wooyoung can bet he felt okay these days, like everything was pretty common.
“I just meant…” he tried again.
“I know what you meant. ‘Oh, that’s the guy I fucked and ignored, let’s talk about French literature like it’s nothing!’”
The man’s face turned a little red. His grip on the book tightened, and he didn’t know what to say to not worsen it. Wooyoung just sighed. Said something like ‘forget it’ and left, heart aching and beating at an abnormal pace. He just bought the book and left back, going to his house. Didn’t go to the cafe, didn’t buy the biscuits. Just went home and stared at his book. Not quite reading, not being present at all.
One week later, they met again. This time at the cafe, when Jung was finally working on his novel again, drinking hot tea instead of steamy coffee. Like it was the most casual thing, San suddenly sat in front of him. There were many free tables; he chose to sit with him, because of course he did. When Wooyoung faced him, he turned pale.
“You stalking me or what?”
“No, I just…”
“You’re everywhere. It pisses me the fuck off,” he rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee.
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Right.”
Wooyoung didn’t make him go, but didn’t talk to him either. They just sat in silence, drinking their coffee and trying so hard not to look at each other at all. When they went outside, it was a little cold. They stood too close, and San was warm.
“Look, it was nothing. Just sex,” Jung said, even though he wanted it so bad to be something more.
“Um, if you say so…”
Wooyoung kissed him first this time. Just leaned closer and crushed their lips together, and the kiss tasted like coffee, caramel, and regret. San answered immediately, his hands landing on the younger’s waist like they never left.
San’s apartment was closer. A nice place with a lot of space and books everywhere. Clean and organized, very much San. They made it to the bedroom, which was also spacious and aesthetic. A huge bed, bookshelves, paintings on the walls and a vinyl player. Choi pushed Wooyoung on the bed, towering over him, and looked at him for at least a couple of seconds. Then lowered himself, kissing now softly, with passion and desperate want. For a moment, the younger hoped this time’d be different.
They got undressed. San was just as handsome as he was, his body perfect, and his cock was already hard and leaking. He stroked himself once, twice, looking at Wooyoung who was still dressed. His t-shirt rid up, showing his belly. Feeling hot, the younger one undressed himself, throwing the clothes on the floor and baring himself completely for San to see. Parting his legs without shame, he let the man between his legs, crossing them behind his back.
They kissed messily, touched each other like they were trying to remember the shapes better. Spitting on his palm, San pushed a finger inside, feeling how tight he was now. A second one was added later, then the third. Both desperate, but he tried at least to make it feel good. It was, in fact. Wooyoung moaned when San’s long fingers found his prostate, hitting it once and twice.
“Put it in,” he begged soon.
And San did. Lined up, pushed in. He filled him so good, was literally perfect, and Wooyoung’s eyes rolled back, his head tossed back. His nails were leaving deep scratches on the man’s back, and he liked it so much, going even crazier. The thrusts were slow at first, then harder, then Wooyoung was almost screaming from intensity. And he loved every second of it. To be honest, he had never had such a great lover. San could satisfy him completely, and Wooyoung knew deep down that he wouldn’t be able to find someone better.
Wooyoung didn’t notice he was crying. From pleasure, maybe, he wasn’t sure. San noticed; his thumb caressed his cheek, removing the tears, and then he kissed the skin under his eye, then moving back to his lips. His thrusts became erratic, and with an exhale, San came, painting the insides of the boy with his come. The younger followed a bit later, arching his back, coming on his stomach and trembling from the mix of pleasure and regret.
For a moment, it felt like San would stay. They lied together, trying to calm their breathing. The man’s hand was on Wooyoung’s stomach, stroking the skin, and the younger one just looked at him, trying to memorize his face. San’s eyes were closed, but when he felt the stare, opened them and turned to look at Wooyoung. They fell asleep together, closely pressed.
In the morning, Wooyoung woke up alone again. And understood he still didn’t have his number. Of course.
It would be a reasonable decision not to get in contact with this man anymore. Too much suffering. Too many feelings for the younger’s poor heart to take. But they hooked up again. On Thursday, then on Saturday, on Tuesday, too, because now it was a cursed day, apparently. Jung tried to convince himself it was just sex. What the hell was it then if it wasn’t? San fucked him in his car, in his bedroom, again, in his kitchen, bending him over the counter. That felt amazing. Falling asleep together was amazing. Waking up alone wasn’t.
They didn’t even talk properly. Kept meeting outside, acting like they were complete strangers, like they weren’t having sex frequently now. Wooyoung thought the reason was him. Wasn’t he not good enough for San? Was he just a good fuckbuddy? They didn’t even have a chance to talk properly, because San was always leaving. And Jung wasn’t the one who would just pretend it was okay. It was clearly not, because his heart was constantly aching. And Yunho said that it was pretty obvious he was in an awful condition.
Something unexpected happened on Friday. That was a stressful day; Wooyoung had five lectures in a row, then graded the tests of his students, staying late in his cabinet. He was tired, sleep deprived, and the coffee was not helping. He dreamed about his warm bed, not about San walking into his workplace. That was so unexpected Wooyoung even thought he was hallucinating. But San was there, pretty real. He locked the door and slowly started to approach Wooyoung. Like he had the right to even be there.
Things were going south.
“What are you doing here? I’m working,” Wooyoung tried not to even look at him.
“I was at the book club meeting. Thought I’d stop by.”
“What do you want from me?”
San stopped near his desk. With glasses again, wearing a striped shirt. He looked at the papers Woo had there, trying to understand something from the messy handwriting.
“You work a lot. Don’t you need a break?”
He did need a break. From San, probably.
“San… Not there.”
“Why not? The door is locked.”
He couldn’t say no, so the next thing Jung remembered was him lying on his own desk, naked, with San towering him. The man didn’t undress fully, but removed all clothes from the younger one. Touched his white skin, leaving red marks from his fingers. They fucked hard, as usual, with messy kisses and again, Wooyoung cried. That felt so awful, so dirty: to be fucked in his own cabinet, on the desk, right on his student’s papers. He’d never planned to hook up with a random man, when all he ever wanted was true love. But San wasn’t a random man, right..? Still, he kept proving Wooyoung was just a stupid boy who couldn’t say no.
This time, San was wearing a condom. Came inside it, made a couple more thrusts, hitting the prostate and making the younger one come, too. Pulled out, throw the used condom into the bin. What a pleasant surprise for the cleaners who’d find this. San helped Wooyoung with cleaning up, picked his clothes up from the floor. Buttoned the buttons of his shirt.
“I can… give you a ride,” he suggested.
“I still have to finish work,” Wooyoung said, looking away.
San nodded. Turned to leave again, but this time he stopped. Turned back, looking at Wooyoung who looked pale again.
“Give me your phone.”
“What?”
“Please.”
He did. Unlocked it for the man, letting him take the phone. San typed something, and then handed it back. Wooyoung’s heart dropped when he saw what he did. He just left his phone number. After a couple of hook ups, he finally did. What a gentleman.
Wooyoung was in love, he could tell now. He kept thinking about San every time, not only about how hot he was during sex, but also about how cute his smile was, how their tastes in literature were quite common. He wanted to discuss so many things with him, and San was not leaving any chance to do this. It hurt like hell, but now that he had his number could at least ease the pain. Wooyoung didn’t text him, didn’t call, too proud. But at least San decided it was the time for them to at least keep in touch.
They acted like strangers in public. Didn’t even talk. Just nodded to each other, said something like ‘hi’ and moved on. It hurt like hell. San knew his body now better than any other person, and he was acting like he’d seen Wooyoung for the first time. This pretense was killing him.
And he was letting him fuck him anyway. They hooked up three more times. And after that, for his own sanity, Wooyoung started to avoid San.
They were in no touch for a whole week. Wooyoung didn’t leave him his number and didn’t call San. Chose different paths to his work, tried not to walk near the library. And this avoidance was successful. But it didn’t make him feel better. Only worse. He missed this man, hated himself for being this pathetic. But he was feeling bad, really, really bad. Sad, lost. And at the weekend, rotting in his own flat with a bottle of beer, he was sure he’s gonna just go insane. That was a stupid decision; he picked up his phone and called San. At two in the morning, on the verge of tears again.
The man answered almost right away.
“Woo?”
“Can you come over?”
San arrived in twenty minutes. He lived twenty minutes away, meaning he left the second Wooyoung asked him to come. Wooyoung’s heart ached at the thought, and he almost cried. Before that, he just surged forward and kissed San, desperately and longingly. This time, even the kiss was different. The older man put his hands on Wooyoung’s body, touching him carefully. He didn’t even plan to take this to the bedroom. It was the younger one who did, pushing the man on the sheets and straddling him.
It was the first time Wooyoung was on top of San. He took off his shirt, then San’s. Leaned in, kissing his neck, collarbones, biting the skin and leaving marks. They didn’t discuss the marks, but San’s eyes rolled when Wooyoung left a hickey on his neck now, and it was a sign to continue. He bit every piece of skin he could reach, and then froze, tracing the hem of the man’s jeans with his fingers. Unzipped it and removed the annoying piece of clothing from the man, getting rid of the boxers, too. Took the cock in his hand, stroking it and gathering the precome from the tip. Then undressed himself, which was a little uncomfortable because of the position, and when he was naked too, he grabbed their cocks in one palm, jerking off at his own pace.
“Woo…” San bit his lip, exhaling.
This time, the sex was completely different. Wooyoung was in control, he licked his fingers, putting two inside and feeling loose inside. Even after this pause, he was still ready to take San in. The man moaned when Jung put his cock inside of him. Sat on it completely, taking it fully with a practiced ease. He started fast, with passion and despair, hugging San’s neck and kissing him. Choi’s hands cupped his ass, but he didn’t dare to make him fasten the pace. Wooyoung took his cock like his life depended on it, but then he slowed down. Kisses became soft, deep, and Jung started to move slowly, swaying his hips and changing the angle. The tip hit his prostate so right, making him moan and whimper.
San kissed him too. Left marks, gripping his ass too tight, slapping him once.
“Stop leaving me,” Wooyoung whispered, pressing his forehead to the man’s shoulder.
He was close to coming. With deep thrusts, he was losing his mind, and when the cock hit his prostate a couple more times, he came, clenching around San and whining. There was no protection, they were feeling each other completely, and Choi came too. Filled him up to the brim, staying inside for some time. Perhaps this was the first time they were not fucking, but exchaning feelings. This time it was slow, deliberate. Like they were making up.
Breathing hard, they collapsed on the bed, hugging. Wooyoung pressed himself closer to the man, his cock still inside. They lied together in silence, staring at the ceiling. San played with his hair, while the younger one drew invisible patterns on his chest. He wanted to say so much. His heart was burning. He sniffled, moving even closer.
“Stay, just once,” he begged.
San looked at him. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between wanting and fear. Wooyoung had never seen him look scared before.
“It’s complicated. I can’t.”
“Why? We’ve been doing this for almost a month! You fuck me and then smile at me in public. Am I really just a fucktoy for you?”
“What? No. God, no.”
“Then what?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “Because from where I’m lying, it looks exactly like that. You come, you leave, you act like I’m a stranger.”
“I’m scared, Wooyoung. I want to stay so much. And it scares me. The first time, I told myself it was just one night. That I didn’t do relationships. That you deserved better than someone like me. I made up a thousand reasons, and they all sounded like excuses even inside my own head.”
Wooyoung stared at him. The tears he’d been holding back finally spilled over. “You smiled at me. Like nothing happened.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. I thought if I pretended it didn't matter, maybe it wouldn’t. But then I kept seeing you everywhere, and you looked so hurt, and I couldn’t…” San’s voice broke. He reached up, cupping Wooyoung’s face with both hands. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I closed my eyes, it was your face. I’m a fucking coward, Wooyoung, I’m so sorry.”
“You’re real fucking coward. And I hate myself for still wanting you.”
San’s breath hitched. He kept looking at the younger one, wiping the tears from his face. “You shouldn’t want me. I’ve done nothing but hurt you.”
“And yet here you are. Why did you come today? When I called?”
“You sounded… hollow. And I’ve been going insane without you. Didn’t think you’d call. I almost came to the university to find you.”
“We could’ve had a dozen dates by now if you hadn’t been that stupid.”
“I know, Wooyoung. I’m sorry.”
They pressed closer to each other. Wooyoung put his head on the man’s chest.
“When I wake up tomorrow,” he started. “Will you be there?”
San didn’t answer. Hugged the younger one tighter, kissed his temple. And then they were both asleep.
Wooyoung awoke alone. The bed was empty. Sure it was. He chuckled, feeling how his insides just twist inside of him. All these talking, kissing, for what? San was still a coward, who left him again. Fighting with tears, Wooyoung promised himself he wouldn’t call him again. Like, never. Looked at the ceiling, planning on not going to the university today. He felt like shit.
And then… He heard something from the kitchen. A kettle whistle. His heart dropped to the floor. He got up, dressed, putting on a large t-shirt and his boxers. With his hair messy and face swollen, he entered the kitchen, finding San there. He didn’t leave. Stayed. For the first time.
“Morning,” he smiled, looking at Wooyoung. “I’m very bad at cooking. The eggs might be very awful, but…”
“I don’t care.”
Wooyoung killed the distance between them, coming closer and kissing San. Tangled fingers in his hair.
“We have to eat,” Choi smiled. “And then, if you like it, I’m taking you to the date. I know a very good library…”
“Really? You’re taking me to the library?”
“I’m a librarian. You’re a professor. It’s our thing.”
“Well, okay. But then you’re buying me strawberry biscuits.”
“Deal.”
They hugged again. Real this time. And Wooyoung hoped for a moment that everything could change. No more pretending.