Chapter Text
VII
Yunjin wondered if she’d summoned Dr Kim from the depths of her imagination when he walked into the 7-Eleven that evening. She had been thinking about him intently for the past twenty minutes, after all.
This was because Jelly Bean had come in to eat instant noodles a little earlier. After buying the seafood flavoured ramyeon, a cheese stick, and a soy-marinated egg, Jelly Bean used their food prep station to fix his dinner and sat down at one of the tables. Jelly Bean scrolled on his phone as he slurped on the noodles, deep in thought.
Yunjin had newly written notes on Jelly Bean – and, well, on many of her regulars.
The realisation that gay people were prevalent amongst her regulars had changed her perspective. She had assumed everyone to be straight unless proven otherwise – Jelly Bean, at least, had given her pause to think when chatting over the phone about cute boys.
Not everyone would give her such obvious confirmation, however. That girl who worked in marketing for an imported goods company? Perhaps gay! How could Yunjin know? She had to keep an open mind if she was to find good matches for all of these people. She had to stop being so very, very heteronormative (a word she’d picked up from a gay rights organisation’s blog – she had been educating herself).
And so even Jelly Bean had multiple male candidates these days, and, yes, still a few women. Perhaps he was bi – keep an open mind! Of course Dr Kim was at the top of this list with a ‘C’ for ‘confirmed’, and Yunjin wasn’t sure who could compete with him when he was such a catch.
Still, on the list Dr Kim was followed by that gorgeous medical student who had the body of a god, and then the somewhat uptight corporate salaryman who Yunjin estimated would be a good balance to Jelly Bean’s bright personality.
Which of these men suited Jelly Bean best? Was it still Dr Kim?
And then Dr Kim arrived, and Yunjin became overly alert like a freshly activated sleeper cell. The hot neighbourhood couple!
Dr Kim nodded a hello to her and was making his way to the wall cooler – kimbap and chicken breast for dinner, most likely – when he spotted Jelly Bean, who had his eyes glued to the phone.
For weeks and weeks Yunjin had been wondering what was happening with the two men. She had seen them independently of each other, buying snacks, meals – condoms, lube… Ahem.
She expected Dr Kim to rush to Jelly Bean and sweep him up in his arms and carry him out bridal style or something else sweet and romantic. (Oh no, was that a heteronormative thought? Well, carry him out groom style. No, wait, walk out hand in hand as equals…? Aish, she was still working on this!)
Dr Kim, however, hesitated.
Yunjin frowned. Why would he?
Then, like an engine starting after a few tries, Dr Kim rigidly approached Jelly Bean.
Yunjin was too far away; she wouldn’t hear anything of their conversation! Yet it was immoral to eavesdrop, and an old gentleman was just coming to the counter to buy a red bean bun.
She sold him the bun, eyes darting to where Dr Kim and Jelly Bean were now talking. No laughter, no smiles. Both men tensed up.
Yunjin’s heart sank.
Damn it, she had to know!
She grabbed a handful of protein bars from the counter and moved to the crackers and snacks aisle close to Jelly Bean’s table, busying herself with organising the shelves with her back to the men.
“—than happy to read anything, of course,” Dr Kim said.
“My supervisor’s reading through the latest draft, so I don’t need any help – but thanks,” Jelly Bean answered.
“Sure. Fine. Well…”
An awkward silence.
What’d happened to the two men canoodling? Had they fought? If so, apologise immediately!
“So, how are things with the boyfriend?” Jelly Bean said.
Yunjin froze up.
What. The. Actual.
Dr Kim did not reply instantly, but his tone was cool when he said, “Good, fine. He teaches at a linguistics focused university.”
“Teaches what?”
“Azerbaijani.”
“Bless you. Is it monogamous?”
Yunjin’s mind reeled. Jelly Bean was so bold! That was such a personal question!
Had Dr Kim dumped Jelly Bean for another man or had Jelly Bean dumped him? Yunjin couldn’t tell. What fools either way!
“Well, we haven’t been seeing each other for very long yet, so…”
“So no.”
“So we haven’t had that talk yet.” Dr Kim cleared his throat. He didn’t like Jelly Bean’s line of enquiry. “Well. I’m glad you’re getting on with your studies. I guess I worried that you’d lose interest.”
“Me, lose interest? What, did you think I was finishing off my degree for you?”
“No, but—”
“I’m doing it for myself.” The chair scraped the floor as Jelly Bean stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me – I’ve got someone coming over.”
Jelly Bean binned the emptied noodle cup and left the store, visibly irate. Dr Kim looked after him, shoulders drawn tight and jaw clenched, but then he headed to the wall cooler.
Yunjin loitering in the men’s vicinity had barely registered, which should have been offensive except that Yunjin had gotten used to it. Many customers barely saw her, even when she was right before their eyes.
Her heart was racing, and she pressed a hand to her chest.
Dr Kim and Jelly Bean had been her favourite match. They’d been so… so happy and smitten and, well, into each other just a few months back, and she’d thought it so refreshing because they hadn’t been a typical couple. Yin and yang, and all that.
And now Jelly Bean had other men to meet, and Dr Kim had a boyfriend, and the two were engaged in taking sharp jabs at each other’s private affairs?!
What on earth had gone wrong?
Yunjin sulked on her way to the counter to sell dried apple slices to a girl she vaguely recognised. After this, Dr Kim bought a kimbap roll and a vacuum-packed chicken breast.
“That’ll be five thousand two hundred,” she said, but she wanted to say much more than this. What idiots! What fools! Jelly Bean had never done a single thing wrong in his life, she was sure of it – not with that angelic face of his. Yes, this must be Dr Kim’s fault! But no, he was so handsome with such kind, warm eyes. Surely he’d never hurt Jelly Bean?
“Have a good night,” Dr Kim said, and Yunjin almost called after him but held back. What on earth could she say? Dr Kim looked humourless and tired. Yunjin felt this deep in her bones.
She studied the matchmaking notes on her phone after Dr Kim had left. Rationally, she should remove Dr Kim and Jelly Bean as each other’s top matches – upgrade the medical student who she thought would make a cute couple with Jelly Bean.
Her finger hovered over the screen but retreated.
No. She refused to change this just yet.
The neighbourhood’s most promising couple had parted ways, but they were on talking terms. Bickering terms. Scorned lovers terms.
Dr Kim and Jelly Bean cared, whether they admitted it or not.
A customer walking up to the till snapped her out of her musings. “Ah, Caretaker Park,” she said, smiling at the old man. “How are you this evening?”
* * *
Seokjin picked up Youngsoo and his friend from the gates of Riverside Complex, showing them the way to his apartment.
“Hope you’re ready for a long night,” Youngsoo smirked, and Seokjin assured him that he was – he’d been getting ready all day.
It was Seokjin who had slipped into Youngsoo’s DMs with a ‘hey remember me?’ message. Youngsoo of course did – who could forget Seokjin? It took a few weeks for them to arrange to meet, but they kept chatting throughout, with Seokjin sending pictures to whet Youngsoo’s appetite.
Needless to say, Youngsoo was ready to go.
Youngsoo’s friend he knew by name – they had met before, but Seokjin didn’t remember him.
“Well, I used to look different. I’ve had a bit of work done,” Cholho explained.
“Oh, the nose? It’s so well-shaped.”
“Yes, you’re right! And then, well, I didn’t do much. Just the eyes and the jaw and the lips.”
Cholho looked handsome, but also a little generic – that was the risk with plastic surgery. Seokjin thought that since he didn’t remember the man pre-surgery either, Cholho had likely never looked very memorable.
Cholho introduced himself as a photographer, and this at least was interesting. He was due to go photograph a band playing nearby but he had a few hours to kill first, and so had asked to tag along. Well, the more the merrier, right?
“Say, you ever done modelling work?” Cholho asked him. “I mean, you’ve got such a face for it. And body, too.”
“Never have, although you’re not the first to ask me that,” he said, flashing Cholho a quick smile.
“Would you want to model for me sometime?”
At least he was young and hot – Cholho could appreciate that, even if Namjoon couldn’t.
“That could be fun,” he said, and Cholho gave him a bright, winning smile. A little too pleased by his answer.
Seokjin would have to look up this Cholho guy when he got a minute.
Whether he was bringing new guests to his home or not, Namjoon’s presence next door haunted him.
Of course he knew that Namjoon was dating Pickleball Man now. He had heard laughter from next door a few times and once also sex. It’d sounded like good sex, too, and he’d been jealous and sickened. Was this his life now? Lying in bed with a hard-on while Namjoon pleasured a man who was not him?
Damn it all to hell.
He had done his best to avoid Namjoon, apart from one run-in at the convenience store. This, surely, would make Namjoon apologise profusely for the biggest mistake of his life.
Namjoon had not apologised.
In fact, Namjoon hadn’t protested his decision to end things at all. He’d expected Namjoon to at least try and win his favour again. Try and persuade him, try and charm him. Instead Namjoon had transitioned smoothly into Dating, with a capital D, this Pickleball Man, without even a single call or text or knock on his door.
And for a while there Seokjin had thought that they…
“We’ll just get the lift up,” he said to Youngsoo and Cholho in the lobby of 104, pressing the lift call button.
The doors opened immediately like magic, and the three of them came face to face with Namjoon.
Seokjin’s world slowed down.
Namjoon was in athletic shorts and a matching, loose t-shirt, looking amazing from the muscular calves to the broad chest. Just his presence, his proximity, made Seokjin’s heart race and his palms sweat. The same had happened at the convenience store.
He noticed belatedly that Namjoon was not alone – his boyfriend was with him.
Dr Pickleball was handsome with a strong jaw and intelligent eyes, and he seemed intimidatingly mature. This sense of maturity was intangible; the man simply carried himself with a calm confidence, looking very has-a-pension-plan and very paid-his-taxes. He was older than Namjoon if he had to guess.
Here, at last, was his nemesis in the flesh.
New Boyfriend was also in sportswear and was carrying a paddle bag. They nearly walked into Youngsoo because they were so deep in conversation and laughing in low middle-aged man tones that they weren’t looking ahead of themselves.
It wasn’t the Namjoon he knew.
“Oh, sorry!” Youngsoo said, stepping out of the men’s way. “Ah, are you off to play pickleball? I love pickleball.”
Of course Youngsoo did – he was thirty. Cholho, for his part, looked around the same age.
“Ah, yes,” Pickleball Boyfriend said, a little taken aback that strangers were talking to him but still polite, lifting the paddle bag.
New Boyfriend looked at Youngsoo with curiosity, just like any gay man did when running into a hot guy. Youngsoo had a ‘sexy hunk who hits the gym thrice a week’ vibe to him. Youngsoo often posted pictures of his gym routine, too – shirtless. What a sight… Cholco was a little leaner, but not bad looking either, even if a little Gangnam plasticky in the face.
Seokjin ignored all of these men and looked at Namjoon steadily. The yearning that he felt constantly was so much more acute with Namjoon right in front of him. God, he missed having Namjoon inside him.
Namjoon looked at him, gaze dark, then at Youngsoo and Cholho, then at him again. His expression was neutral, but his eyes were knowing.
Seokjin’s insides felt hot.
Seokjin was bringing not only a man, but two men home. Namjoon didn’t need a maths degree to figure that one out. Besides, everyone had been in a few threesomes in their life, surely – especially those who visited bathhouses, where invitations to join were common.
Please let him be jealous. Let his day, week and month be ruined. Let him be tormented by the thought of Youngsoo and Cholho and me.
Namjoon’s eyes briefly moved down Seokjin’s body, then back to his face again. His expression was closed off, lips pursed. He looked like he wanted to say something but was holding it back.
God, why couldn’t he just forget about Namjoon already? Forget all of his wonderful traits and quirks and how he tasted and smelled, and the way Namjoon made him feel like he’d ascended, become someone better and happier?
Cholho was holding the lift doors open. “Which floor is it?”
“Five,” he said automatically, finally moving past his neighbour. They were close enough to touch. Close enough to grab each other’s wrist.
Neither of them did.
“Well, see you later,” Seokjin told the pair, feeling Pickle Boyfriend’s eyes roam on him too. Should he seduce the boyfriend? Show Namjoon that he was the ultimate prize? But the thought of giving his nemesis any pleasure, let alone sexual, irked him.
He and Namjoon took each other in one last time, and he felt the weight of what neither of them could say.
“See you later,” Pickleball said politely, and Seokjin wanted to flip the guy off.
As the lift doors were closing, he called out, “Oh, and don’t exert yourself, ahjussi – it’s really hot out today!”
At this, Pickleball shot a startled, dismayed look his way.
He smirked – a small victory was a victory nevertheless.
* * *
Namjoon found a new job as a fixed-term lecturer at an arts college outside of Seoul.
The college did not have a noted reputation of any kind, and he had been warned there’d be a lot of admin and plenty of teaching. In other words, he would not be paid for research, and he likely would not have much time for it either. In other words, career suicide. The commute to Yongin would take two hours each way.
He accepted the downgrade.
“This is just a step on your way to something better,” Hoseok, ever the hype man, told him.
Yet the feeling of failure lingered. What was his plan B? For his career, the rest of his life…? Maybe he’d retrain as a baker. A florist.
Jeongwoon had been a big help to him, in truth, and a great motivator. “Start putting a big grant proposal together – come next spring you’ll jet off to an Italian university with funding spilling out of your pockets. You’ll take me with you, of course – I’ll make a great Italian house husband. Make pasta from scratch every morning and all that.”
That was another career option – a pasta connoisseur?
Namjoon was grateful that Jeongwoon understood the academic struggle, and if anything they had grown close fast because of Namjoon’s professional ordeals.
So he had sorted out his immediate future, and yet something kept bothering him, pulling his attention away from these more pressing matters. Something, someone – a set of dark, inviting eyes that he hoped to see whenever he went to Steam Box.
Sex helped him to not think, his mind quieting as physical pleasure took over, and as such he’d been over frequently as of late. The sex he had with Jeongwoon was good, but he had to be more present with him – and, sometimes, he just wanted not to be present at all.
Jeongwoon became aware of Seokjin quickly, too, leaving Namjoon tongue-tied.
“Hey,” Jeongwoon said as he arrived one evening – fried chicken and stiff co*ck was on the menu – leaving his sandals in the entryway. “I ran into that kid again – the one who called me ahjussi.”
Jeongwoon had had a mini-midlife crisis over this, which was likely exactly what Seokjin had intended. The Demon of 510 was living up to his name.
Namjoon made sure to just brush this off, however. “Ah, that’s Seokjinnie. He lives next door.”
“He does?” Jeongwoon asked, eyebrows rising.
He nodded, pressing a kiss to Jeongwoon’s mouth in greeting. “Hope he said nothing untoward this time?”
He held his breath – Seokjin, in truth, could say anything.
“No, he was incredibly polite. Wished me a good summer and said all lecturers deserve a break from all the hard work. How does he know what I do, anyway?”
“I must have mentioned it,” he said, leading Jeongwoon to the kitchen. He saw Jeongwoon grow confused but curious, so he added, “I’ve helped him out with his studies a little. He’s a dongsaeng, you know. Was he, er, by himself?”
“Oh, I see,” Jeongwoon said, placing down the bags of food he’d brought with him. “No, he was with that bulky guy again.”
Namjoon got out plates, nodding. The good-looking guy – hook up of the week or, well, one of them if you counted the guy who’d had work done too. Was Seokjin seeing one or both of them?
He hoped they were done with the topic, but Jeongwoon said, “I’d be careful with that.”
He busied himself with getting beer out of the fridge. “Careful with what?”
“The boy next door,” Jeongwoon said like it was self-explanatory, and it was. Of course it was. Any gay man their age understood the inherent danger of someone like Seokjin: his looks, his vivacity, his charms, his youth. Top of the food chain – a half-deity. “You wouldn’t want to make a fool of yourself.”
“Me, make a fool of myself?” he asked in an exaggerated tone. “Unprecedented.”
Jeongwoon laughed, and Namjoon swallowed down the truth.
Why not just admit that he’d already had Seokjin? Brag about it. Boast about it. Tell Jeongwoon how passionate it had been, how much Seokjin had wanted him. Yes, him.
But Jeongwoon would question this affair, and Namjoon wasn’t sure what the answers were.
Besides, it seemed like Seokjin had swiftly moved on to other men – plural. He did his best not to imagine what Seokjin was getting up to with them. It was too much.
They had dinner, watched a movie, had a good and meaningful discussion about post-Brechtian theatre, and f*cked. It was a Friday night – Seokjin would not be home to hear them.
“I could get used to you, I think,” Jeongwoon said as they lay in bed afterwards.
“Me too,” he said and meant it. Jeongwoon felt solid; he was funny and interesting and handsome, and he knew everything from Spanish winemaking to every phase of Uhm Jungwha’s career. “It’s a shame you won’t be here this summer.”
“Well, I have to give you a chance to miss me too, right?” Jeongwoon said and kissed him.
They’d clean up nice, he thought. He could see them at wine receptions, well-dressed and deeply engaged in meaningful conversations with their academic peers.
They could be that kind of a gay couple – spotless, polished. Acceptable.
They could be.
* * *
When Youngsoo came by again the following week, he asked to use the bathroom before their session. Seokjin showed his guest the way.
In the living room, he sat down on the couch, psyching himself up what was to come.
Youngsoo had a reputation in their circles, and so far he had lived up to it. There would certainly be no sleep for them that night, and Youngsoo went hard on all of his partners.
Before another marathon session, however, he placed his laptop on his lap and continued his search of Namjoon’s boyfriend – the annoyingly handsome pickleball enthusiast who he’d run into again the day before. The guy couldn’t be a model or anything, but he took care of himself and had his eyebrows done professionally. Perhaps a seven out of ten in gay rankings. He’d have to see the man naked to see whether that’d push him to eight or six.
The man was easy enough to find amongst the staff profiles of his university – not many people teaching Azerbaijani around these parts. He found a pdf of the man’s CV and downloaded it, reading through the many fellowships and teaching posts, all of his publications, and all of his degrees.
Nausea swelled in him.
He did some basic maths – if the man had graduated that year, then he must have been born in or around… Wait. The guy was very likely exactly twenty years older than him.
His throat felt tight, the man’s long list of accolades filling his mind. He would submit his final research paper soon and then wait for the winter graduation ceremonies to get his BSc. And, even then, it was only a BSc.
It wasn’t fair, goddammit. He hadn’t been given an extra twenty years to gain accomplishments, to make himself impressive. How could he ever hope to win Namjoon’s attention when this was what he was up against?
Youngsoo walked into the living room, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, I’m ready. Same deal as last time, right?”
He held back a smile, nodding. “Works for me.”
“Yeah? Because it got kind of intense last time.”
“Please – it was a great time.”
Youngsoo hesitated. “You sure?”
Seokjin closed the university staff profiles and opened up his calculations. “I’m super sure. Now, like I was telling you last time, this attempt at MIT from 1983 keeps giving me a headache – I can’t figure out at what point they went wrong.”
“Let me take a look!” Youngsoo said, practically rushing to him. “Oh, this sh*t is interesting.”
Youngsoo had won every mathematics prize at SNU and been the sunbaenim that they all admired. Youngsoo had been doing some teaching on the side back then, but these days he worked as a financial planning analyst at a notable investment firm. Youngsoo had also had a crack at the Weissmann Conjecture during his reckless and wild undergraduate days and had been enthused when Seokjin DM’ed him about his final assessment that focused on recounting why past attempts at solving the conjecture had failed. Youngsoo had replied instantly – a nerd through and through. Seokjin’s screenshots of his paper had riled Youngsoo up even further.
They started making some progress, but eventually stopped to order some food.
As they waited for their noodles to arrive, Youngsoo said, “I’m glad you’re finalising this project. Professor Kang was pleased you’re doing this too.”
Professor Kang was the most noted mathematician at the department and was acting as Seokjin’s supervisor. Back in the day, she had been Youngsoo’s supervisor too – one of the students who had been granted into her inner circle.
“I’m glad to be finalising this too,” he admitted.
Youngsoo kept scrolling down the MIT calculations even as he sipped on iced tea. “She said it took a lot of wrangling to get you back in.”
“What, really?”
Professor Kang had said nothing about that to him. He’d simply received the extension letter and assumed that Namjoon had said something so persuasive or pitiful about his hospitalisation that the request had been accepted.
“Yeah, apparently it went all the way to the vice chancellor.”
Seokjin frowned. “The vice chancellor of SNU stepped in?”
“Yeah – you didn’t know?”
He shook his head, checking his phone when it binged, but instead of an update on their delivery, Cholho had messaged him. “It’s Cholho. Did I tell you I agreed to model for him?”
“Yeah? He wants every hot guy he meets to model for him. Not to make you feel less special or anything.”
“Don’t worry, I figured as much,” he smirked, eyes refocusing on the formulae Youngsoo had gotten up on the screen. He put his phone down, refocusing. “Right, where were we?”
As expected, they stayed up all night.
* * *
On Tuesday Namjoon went to Steam Box when he knew Seokjin wasn’t working.
Perhaps Seokjin would be there.
Perhaps they’d cross paths.
He hadn’t lied to Seokjin: he and Jeongwoon hadn’t had the talk of ‘what are we’ and ‘what are the rules’. They were still figuring each other out, determining if they had enough here for a serious relationship.
And so he went to Steam Box because he could. Because he’d never promised any kind of fidelity and, amongst gay men, it was rarely instantly assumed.
And because maybe he and Seokjin could excuse it there. Bury the hatchet, accept that these were exceptional circ*mstances. Maybe it’d be fun for Seokjin again. Maybe he’d let Namjoon back close, back in, back inside, skin to skin, and they could lose themselves in that whirlpool of pleasure and familiarity.
But Seokjin was not at Steam Box when he visited that day – or the day after that.
Instead he heard the door of 510 open and close – heard, a few times, Seokjin having sex next door, although whether that was with just one man or two or more, he could not say. He saw, sometimes, Seokjin in the building or on the complex grounds. Alone or with another man.
There and not there.
Close and yet not close enough.
He had other things to worry about. Other men to satisfy him.
And yet each night he lay in bed asking himself a question: is tonight finally the night?
The night when I get up and go knock on his door. Ask to be let inside. Cup his cheek and ask for forgiveness. Ask what I can do to make it better. Ask him if he’s sure – if he meant it. Tell him that maybe I need an explanation after all. Why did you end it? Even if I’m seeing someone, surely we can still meet? And talk. And laugh. And f*ck. And lie in bed afterwards in the sweet afterglow. Talking and laughing some more.
Let’s do all of that again.
Let me get lost in you again.
Is it tonight?
No?
Then maybe tomorrow.
* * *
When Seokjin went to Cholho’s studio in Seochon, he decided to bring up the vice chancellor of SNU. The remarks had kept bothering him – the whole thing sounded odd – and Cholho had studied in the arts faculty, where the vice chancellor had been a professor once.
While he didn’t quite understand the intricacies of university administration, the affair was akin to a prime minister dropping by to fix a pothole in a small, low-income neighbourhood: incredibly below their paygrade.
Cholho’s studio was on the top floor of a three-storey house nestled deep in the neighbourhood; a mix of residential houses and cool, trendy brunch cafes. The studio was a relatively small but bright space that Cholho shared with a few other artists. They had a rota for it, and Cholco got the place on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
Cholho welcomed him with a confident and knowing look on his face, even giving him a tight hug.
Seokjin wasn’t dumb – Cholho clearly wanted to sleep with him, and Seokjin was half-considering it. Cholho was pretty good-looking, especially after all that work he’d had done. Still, the ‘model for me’ ruse seemed unnecessary, like Cholho was trying to appeal to his vanity as a mode of seduction. Seokjin would rather Cholho admit straight up he wanted to f*ck him. Not only was that more honest, but also more erotic.
Namjoon had excelled at that. Whispering in his ear what he wanted to do to him – messaging, a few times, what he had in mind. God, it’d riled Seokjin up each time.
Perhaps because he didn’t like Cholho’s attempts at being sly, he decided not to sleep with him but rather pose for him only. Sensually, seductively, as per Cholho’s wishes.
“I’m a little nervous, to be honest,” he said. He photographed well but he’d never posed professionally.
“Don’t be – these will turn out great,” Cholho said.
He sat on a black stool in denim jeans and a white t-shirt, against a simple white backdrop. He’d been taking killer selcas for years so knew a little how to pose, but Cholho also guided him in ways that better suited the camera’s perspective.
“Amazing! Incredible! My god, you’re sexy!”
Seokjin liked this – he’d needed a goddamn confidence boost after Namjoon’s rejection and Cholho’s offer had seemed like the perfect remedy. He was a little flushed, but he was forcing down the shyness.
Cholho paused to reposition the light boxes. “How do you feel about showing a little more skin? Up to you, of course, but most guys say yes. We’ll never be as beautiful as we are today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, what? Shirtless?”
“I mean, for a start,” Cholho said and winked at him.
Nudes.
Well, Seokjin should have seen that coming.
He visualised erotic nudes of himself, tastefully in black and white – the contrast of his skin and his dark pubic hair, the roundness of his nipples and the contours of his muscles. God, he would look so f*cking hot.
“Well?” Cholho said, holding the camera.
He felt exposed already – all this attention was on him, and it felt intense. Yet he pulled the t-shirt over his head.
Cholho smiled. “That’s the good stuff.”
Once he got home, he realised he had forgotten to ask about the vice chancellor rumours – he’d been too caught up in modelling. First shirtless, then undoing the buttons of the jeans, underwear showing. The atmosphere had changed to sexually charged; Cholho had obviously wanted him.
these pictures turned out so good… so sexy, so hot…. Cholho messaged him that evening. i feel so inspired by your beauty. please tell me you’re coming back for a second shoot because i think this is the start of a sensual artistic journey we can take together
Seokjin snorted – just say you want to film us f*cking and be done with it – but Cholho sent him one shot from that afternoon: of him in nothing but the jeans, leaning back on the stool and staring straight into the camera. Bedroom eyes, hair a little messy, lips parted like an invitation, neck elongated. Erect nipples, chest smooth – toned with firm muscle. God, even he wanted to f*ck himself.
See? He was f*cking sexy. So many men wanted him. Why the f*ck couldn’t Kim Namjoon be one of them?
He stopped his narcissistic admiration of himself, putting the phone down and refocusing on the SNU website where he was finally looking up the vice chancellor properly. Had Youngsoo been right that his extension had gone that high up the food chain? Why?
He found an interview with the vice chancellor, both in transcript and video, intended to make the senior university executives feel like Real People instead of Soulless Overlords.
Vice Chancellor Hong Youngpil was sitting in a grandiose office, exuding calm, quiet power in his exquisitely tailored black suit. Seokjin determined he’d never met the man. What was one student’s extension to Professor Hong in a university of thousands?
Something, however, stirred him. He studied the sixty-something aged man carefully. The tone of his voice. The microgestures. There was just a little something… queer about him.
He jerked.
Had they f*cked?!
When?!
Maybe at last year’s pride when he’d gone to that sex party…? He’d made some reckless decisions that night.
No. This man wasn’t his type.
A secret admirer…? If so, why not just call Seokjin up to his office and demand a blowj*b in return for the extension like any old creep with too much power?
The interview ended with Professor Hong Youngpil talking about his background as a medieval historian specialising in thirteenth century harp music. He had even released an album in his name.
God, what a nerd.
A gay music nerd working in academia.
Seokjin stilled. That was a very specific profile.
Instinctively, he gazed towards the direction of Unit 511. No. Unlikely. Namjoon clearly didn’t give a sh*t about him – hadn’t then and didn’t now.
Yet he grew restless and spent the next half an hour researching Hong Youngpil further, but he found nothing alarming and most importantly no connections to him whatsoever. The man’s nerd music album was on YouTube, however, and it sounded as weird as one might expect.
He chewed on the edge of his fingernail, pondering.
* * *
Jungkook stood outside Dr Kim’s office, listening to him and Dr Min talking. The building was otherwise quiet; the summer break had started, and no classes were being held.
Inside the office Dr Min was trying to convince Dr Kim to apply for a senior researcher role at KHU, but Dr Kim said it’d be a waste of his time. It seemed to be because this vacancy was at a politics department, and Namjoon didn’t think his work fit there.
Jungkook had also heard, as had many students, that Dr Kim had a new role in a small college somewhere.
He was worried about how Seokjin would take this. Was Dr Kim moving? But perhaps it’d be good if the man didn’t live next to Seokjin anymore, especially after his audacity to dump Seokjin for someone else.
Okay, fine, Dr Kim hadn’t dumped Seokjin exactly – the two hadn’t been dating. And yes, technically it was Seokjin who had called off their f*ck buddies agreement. Still, Jungkook had plenty of reasons to be angry with Dr Kim, and yet… yet he felt sorry to lose him as a potential mentor.
“So you are coming to dinner at our place, right?” Dr Min asked, and Jungkook silently moved away from the ajar door, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping.
Dr Min soon walked out and turned towards his office, not noticing Jungkook further down the hall. The door was left ajar.
Jungkook chewed on the inside of his cheek, feeling nervous.
Seokjin had told him not to get involved, and he hadn’t. He had perhaps thought that Seokjin would recover quickly – his friend had a propensity for exaggeration, this supposed heartbreak included. Seokjin was infatuated with Dr Kim, and Jungkook frankly understood why, but perhaps it would fizzle out quickly and Seokjin would find a new man to obsess over. Right?
Seokjin had not, however, forgotten about Dr Kim Namjoon quickly at all. Seokjin was putting on a brave face, that was clear, but he was still upset over it. A while ago Seokjin had called them all when he’d discovered that Dr Kim’s new boyfriend was twenty years older than him.
“Twenty years older!” Seokjin had all but shouted during the four-way video call. “If I’d known he wanted to f*ck a corpse I would have thrown myself off a bridge!”
“Yeah, but for your Dr Kim that guy is only a handful of years older,” Taehyung had said, incurring Seokjin’s wrath.
“I can count, thank you,” Seokjin had snapped. “I can’t understand them dating at all. What if it’s a forced marriage? Or financial debt – or blackmail?”
“What if you’re so jealous you’re malfunctioning?” Jimin had asked, which had prompted Seokjin to end the call, telling them not to get in touch if they weren’t going to be nice to him.
Jimin had taken Seokjin out for drinks that night and reported that Seokjin had eventually gone home with some hot guy. Problem solved? No. The next day Seokjin texted them: twenty!! years!!
A little later, Seokjin had informed them he’d done an erotic, semi-naked photoshoot with some friend of a friend who claimed to be a photographer.
You know, normal Seokjin things.
Jungkook remembered how upset Seokjin had been about his little arrangement with Dr Kim coming to an end. Seokjin had told Jungkook about his true feelings but hadn’t confessed these to Jimin and Taehyung. Their two older friends could be excused, then, for not quite understanding the extent of Seokjin’s upset.
Jungkook increasingly felt that he had to interfere before Seokjin eloped with a leather daddy who belonged to a motorcycle club or some sh*t.
And so he knocked on Dr Kim’s door, entering a room stripped nearly bare. All bookshelves stood empty, and only a few boxes were on the large desk. His stomach sank. Dr Kim was really leaving – would never return.
Dr Kim was standing by his desk in navy shorts and a loose, white t-shirt, a very casual off duty look that surprised him. “Oh, Jungkook-ssi – come on in,” Dr Kim said, greeting him with warmth like always. “Sorry about the mess – or, well, the lack of it.”
“You’re really leaving,” he said, his chest feeling pained.
Dr Kim gave him a half-smile, placing a few more books into one of the boxes before motioning for him to take a seat. He did.
Dr Kim moved to the front of the desk and leaned back to sit on the edge, adjusting his black glasses. His thighs were huge. So girthy. So meaty.
Jungkook made sure to snap his eyes up. Mingyu’s thighs were just as beautiful!
“Well, what can I help you with? Your summer research plans?” Dr Kim asked, crossing his arms. Also meaty. Also girthy.
Contract-wise, Jungkook was quite sure Dr Kim no longer was obliged to help him with anything, and yet he was offering his expertise. It was hard for him to merge this man with the person who’d been involved with Seokjin all spring – and yet he got it. God, he really got it.
“Nothing about my studies. I came here on a personal matter.”
Dr Kim looked surprised but willing to listen.
Jungkook’s palms started to sweat. “Well, uh. The thing is that… Uh…”
Just spit it out! Was there anything else to it?
“That Seokjin is my best friend. Actually. ”
Dr Kim did not react at first. He only became very still, and the only indication that he’d heard Jungkook was his friendly smile diminishing and his eyes widening. At length, he cleared his throat and rubbed over his Adam’s apple. “Ahem. Well. I, ah. Had no idea.”
“I didn’t either,” he hurried to say. “Or, I mean, I knew that a Dr Kim lived next door to him, but not that it was… you.”
Dr Kim started coughing, beating his fist to his chest a few times, then motioning for Jungkook to remain seated. “I’m fine, it’s alright. I just got something in my throat there. Ahem. Okay.”
Dr Kim took a few deep breaths, but he was visibly rattled. The benign warmth had vanished. Jungkook flinched. He was being scrutinised, but he was unsure why. Dr Kim finally nodded with an air of finality. “Fine. Alright. So we both, then, know Seokjin well.”
“Yes.”
“And I suppose now we have the talk.”
“The talk?”
“That’s why you came, didn’t you?”
“I mean, yes, I did,” he said, blood rushing, heart pumping. The talk! He was ready. How dare you hurt my precious friend – stop being a jerk! You don’t get a free pass just because you’re handsome and smart and cool and sexy! Yes, he had the talk ready. That’d show Dr Kim!
Dr Kim looked grave. “So, let’s get straight to it. How long have you been in love with him?”
Jungkook jerked. “What?”
“How long have you been in love with him? That’s why you’re here, correct? Because you’ve secretly been in love with him all this time, but now you found out that he and I were involved.”
He had never felt so confused. “What, no, I— I have a boyfriend! Mingyu. He’s the one I’m in love with, not Seokjin!”
“Oh?”
Heat was creeping up his cheeks. “You’ve met Mingyu. Well, briefly, I think. We, uh, celebrated our anniversary at Seokjin’s apartment last month. Back when I didn’t know you lived next door.”
Dr Kim had a searching expression on his face before his eyes widened. Their passionate sex noises resurfaced in Jungkook’s mind like nearby gongs – he wished they’d kept it quieter, been at least a little bashful. They had not been.
A new life on the plains of Bayankhongor had never sounded so tempting.
If it was of any comfort, Dr Kim looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth right then. “Ahem. Alright. Uh. Seems to me, Jungkook-ssi, that we know an uncomfortable amount about each other’s sex lives.”
“Yeah, you could… say that.”
Despite the emptiness of the office, the place felt uncomfortably small. They both squirmed and avoided looking at each other.
Dr Kim carded his hair back restlessly. Wow, arms. “So you’re just friends. You’re not in love with him?”
He didn’t understand why Dr Kim seemed so sceptical of this, but he shook his head. “He’s been one of my closest friends for years. And I knew that he was, uh, involved with his neighbour… But to be honest, he has a lot of men, so I didn’t think much of it at first. But now I think I have to ask about it.”
Dr Kim cleared his throat again and stood up fully, grabbing one of the books still on the desk, firmly avoiding looking at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t discuss my private affairs with students,” he said, resuming his packing.
“But I’m not one of your students anymore,” he pointed out in a rush. He had come to confront Dr Kim for a reason – someone had to give it to him straight, and he didn’t think anyone would. “I need you to apologise to him.”
Dr Kim stilled, turning to him again. “Sorry?”
“You need to apologise to him,” he repeated, articulating clearly. Dr Kim looked like this had never even occurred to him. How could he be so thoughtless?! Emboldened, he said, “I know you have a new boyfriend now and all that, but Seokjin, he– he’s really sensitive. Even if he doesn’t show it. And he liked you. A lot. More than a lot.”
Dr Kim looked too surprised to respond to this.
He stood up, relief filling him that he’d said what he’d come to say. “Well, that was all. So, uh. Thanks.” At the door, he stopped. “Oh, and Dr Kim?”
Dr Kim was standing in the middle of the gutted office, holding a biography of Tupac. What was the university thinking, letting him go?
Namjoon stirred, as if awakening from a haze. “Yes, Jungkook-ssi?”
He held his breath. Curled his hands into fists. “If you hurt him again, I will break your nose. Respectfully.”
Dr Kim raised one eyebrow, and for a moment they studied each other. Estimated each other’s strength. They both worked out. Both lifted weights. Who’d win?
“...Noted,” Dr Kim said at length, in a tone that indicated he respected this threat to have weight to it.
Jungkook nodded, his heart squeezing unpleasantly. It was no fun at all to threaten Dr Kim with slight violence, but if you made Seokjin cry? Be ready to deal with his wrath. Only he was allowed to make Seokjin cry, and then usually only because he’d accidentally kneed his friend’s balls in a scuffle.
Once he was outside the building, he exhaled, feeling dizzy. He’d done it! Confronted Dr Kim!
He called Jimin immediately. “I did it – I confronted him! And he thought I was in love with Seokjin, can you believe that?”
“That’s so juicy,” Jimin gasped. “Was he surprised? Relieved? Angry?”
He thought about this as he walked away from the Department of Music with quick, slightly nervous steps. “I don’t know what he thought. He seemed a bit defensive, to be honest? Wait, not that. Something else – I can’t place it.”
Jimin’s question stayed with him, and something haunted him for the remainder of the day. It was only that evening that it hit him: Dr Kim had seemed upset. Yes, that was it.
Not angry at being challenged, although it was a little similar.
No, Dr Kim had thought Jungkook was in love with Seokjin and been upset about it.
At the realisation, his indignation mellowed. Although Seokjin claimed that Namjoon had cared very little about him, that didn’t seem to be exactly true.
What on earth had happened between those two?
* * *
Namjoon got ready for dinner with Jeongwoon and a few of their friends – Hoseok and Yoongi, of course, but also a few friends of Jeongwoon’s that he had not met before. This, too, was a test: will you get along well with my friends?
The dinner was also their last before Jeongwoon headed to Azerbaijan for the second half of the summer. Namjoon would not return home until the next day, intending to spend one last night at Jeongwoon’s apartment.
As he got ready, he was overly aware of the faint sound of music from next door.
Did Seokjin have someone over?
He’d told no one about being admonished by Jungkook. It was a certain kind of humiliation to get checked by a student – fine, a former student. He knew that him and Seokjin calling things off hadn’t gone smoothly but also that Seokjin, for the most part, had only gotten his pride wounded.
Not his heart.
Jungkook claimed otherwise.
He’d remembered afterwards that he’d seen a Jungkook calling Seokjin’s phone – this being Jeon Jungkook from the music department had, of course, never crossed his mind. Yet it made sense: Jungkook was goddamn gorgeous and, as he now knew, gay. Seokjin likely knew all the gorgeous gays of Seoul. Therefore, Jungkook and Seokjin knew each other.
This made him restless. He moved around the apartment, all ready to go but it was still too early to leave. Needing distractions, he started going through the stack of mail that had accumulated on his dining room table.
He paused on a thick envelope with the KHU logo – a very good university, one of the best in the country. He had a half-finished job application on his laptop to that very university. The job was amazing: KHU had secured a very comfortable lump sum to establish a political science research centre and now they were hiring everyone from the senior researchers to the junior researchers and PhD students.
Namjoon knew, however, how slim his chances were – the application alone with a 12-page research plan to become a senior researcher was a hell of a lot of work for a job he would likely never be interviewed for. His research was too bizarre – too humanities based for something like this.
The mail from KHU had nothing to do with this application, however; rather it was a brochure for their Masters degrees. He’d ordered this for Seokjin some weeks back when they’d been talking about Seokjin’s future plans.
“I’ll order you a brochure,” he’d said, and Seokjin had looked at him like he was mad. Order a brochure? What, like a paper copy? Why?! Seokjin could get the pdf online!
Now the brochure Seokjin had never wanted had arrived, and Namjoon studied the cover showing happy, laughing students walking on the university campus on a sunny day – typical PR, with one white girl thrown in for diversity.
Ever since Jungkook’s surprise visit, he’d been looking for an excuse to knock on Seokjin’s door. Finally, he had it.
Anticipation filled him and he hurried out of his apartment.
Clearing his throat, he pressed the bell of 510, unease curling up in his stomach.
Seokjin clearly checked who was at the door because it took a while for him to open it, and his expression was reserved as he did so. Considering they had been in each other’s company nearly constantly for a while there, this reunion felt off. They could see each other whenever they wanted – reach each other in seconds.
But for weeks now neither of them had been making use of this.
Namjoon didn’t want to read into him crossing the distance first.
“Hey. Can I come in?” he asked, willing to accept a refusal.
Seokjin looked suspicious but nodded, and so once more he slipped into 510. A tightness settled across his chest, in his guts.
The door closed behind them.
How unnatural it felt not to be kissing Seokjin right then – to not be pinning him against the wall and removing his clothes, just like they once had done.
Seokjin led them into the living room, glancing over his shoulder. “So what do you want?”
A small holdall was on the couch, stuffed full. “Just brought you this. You going somewhere?”
“Pohang for the open day. Ah, is this for KHU? I can’t believe you ordered this.”
“KHU is as good as POSTECH,” he said instantly, guessing easily what open day in Pohang Seokjin was heading to. When it came to Seokjin’s discipline, there were excellent options outside of Seoul, too.
He realised for the first time that Seokjin might leave Seoul. Might leave Riverside Complex. Might cease to be the Demon of 510.
Why? Because he had actually hurt Seokjin? Was living here painful now?
The tightness across his chest felt more uncomfortable.
Seokjin leafed through the KHU brochure, looking more beautiful than he had let himself remember. The men of Pohang were woefully unprepared.
Seokjin glanced at him, and his stomach dropped.
He can’t leave.
Seokjin closed the brochure. “So I heard you have a new job. Congrats.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”
“But I also heard that you’re applying for another job at KHU, except that you don’t think a department of politics would hire you.”
“Care to tell me how you know all that?”
Seokjin shrugged, faux modest as he crossed his arms. “Jungkook told me. He said that you guys talked.”
“Right. We did, although not about my job,” he said, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. At least this meant Seokjin wasn’t eerily clairvoyant – the students at the department were savvy, often knowing all the corridor talk. “So he’s a friend of yours.”
“Yeah. Who could’ve guessed, right?” Seokjin said, sounding a little evasive. Did Seokjin know Jungkook had threatened to punch him, too?
He still wasn’t quite convinced that Jungkook wasn’t in love with Seokjin, boyfriend or not. If anything, didn’t Jungkook’s anger suggest that he was in love with Seokjin?
“Did Jungkook tell you what we talked about?”
“Not particularly.”
He glanced at his watch. He had to leave for dinner soon. “Well, he told me I owe you an apology, and that’s why I dropped by. I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Seokjin’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. How heartfelt. Is that the best you have, really?”
“He helped me realise I might have been tactless.”
“You were tactless,” Seokjin said, and Namjoon flinched. He’d been too caught up in his own head.
“I’m sorry,” he said and meant it. Seokjin hadn’t known about Jeongwoon – fine, alright, he understood that Seokjin had been blindsided. Technically, of course, the two of them had only been having casual sex and, to Seokjin, he had only been one lover out of many. From that perspective, Namjoon dating someone really wasn’t Seokjin’s business.
Be that as it may, he’d handled it badly. He had never thought Seokjin would particularly care, dragging multiple attractive men to his apartment on a regular basis.
But Seokjin had cared. This left Namjoon trying to decipher the man in front of him. His chest felt so tight that it was starting to ache.
He glanced at his watch again.
Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your rush?”
“What? Nothing. Just meeting friends for dinner.”
“Including Pickleball?”
“He has a name, but yes.”
Seokjin held the rolled up brochure tightly in his fist. Namjoon first took this stance for arrogant pride – a stand-off position – but to his surprise realised it was defensive rather than offensive. Seokjin mentioned Jeongwoon not with mockery, despite the nickname, but with a certain disquiet.
Seokjin hesitated. “I’ve never been in a relationship. Is it nice?”
The question caught him off-guard. He detected no sarcasm in Seokjin’s tone at all – Seokjin was being sincere.
“It can be,” he said.
“What’s nice about it?”
He sometimes thought Seokjin was painfully twenty-three: the arrogance, the recklessness, the lack of self-awareness. At other times he thought Seokjin was wise beyond his years: the observation skills, the lateral thinking, the self-assuredness.
This was a new kind of twenty-threeness: inexperience. It wasn’t something he had seen on Seokjin before.
He thought about the matter before answering, trying to match the sincerity of the question. “Many things are great about relationships. The best ones are having someone to love. Having someone by your side. Sharing your life with them.”
Seokjin took this in with reddening ears, then turned away from him, putting the brochure down on the coffee table by the usual stack of notebooks. “That sounds nice.”
“It can be,” he said, again and softly.
That was what his affair with Seokjin had taught him: how nice it could be. How, after all this time, that closeness was what he wanted. He ached so deep that it felt more than an ache.
Seokjin had never sought out a relationship – why tie yourself down to someone at that age?
At the same time he couldn’t understand Seokjin being twenty-three without anyone ever having loved him like that – in the ‘I want to kiss you in the morning and kiss you at night’ way; the ‘I will rebuild my world around you’ way. Because that seemed so easy to him; loving Seokjin like that would be so incredibly easy. How had no one done it yet?
He was about to say all of this when his eyes landed on a stack of photographs next to Seokjin’s notebooks. They were of Seokjin – recently taken and professional looking, nicely glossy. Seokjin was looking at the camera with perfect ‘f*ck me’ eyes, a hand in his hair – shirtless, wearing tight jeans that had filled out at the front.
They were stunning and perfectly obscene.
He felt winded, moving to pick them up. “What are these?”
Seokjin had seven of these pictures, each a work of art. Three of him wearing a t-shirt, two of him shirtless, and the last two of him shirtless and the jeans undone. In the very last one Seokjin had his hand down the front of his underwear, eyes intent on the camera.
The tightness around his chest stirred. Arousal seeped in.
“Who took these?” he asked, looking at one after the next. If Seokjin said ‘oh my good platonic friend Jungkook took them’, Namjoon’s entire world might collapse.
Seokjin shrugged. “This guy I modelled for.”
“Guy? What guy?”
“This photographer. A friend of a friend,” Seokjin said, none of which put Namjoon at ease. The guy had seen with precision all of Seokjin’s best features, found the best, most alluring angles. Each shot felt sexually charged. Namjoon wanted to examine each picture in detail even as he wanted to hide these pictures somewhere where no one could ogle at them.
They could be from a softcore p*rn magazine, had they still made those.
Seokjin was so attractive that his throat felt dry.
Seokjin stood next to him, gazing at the shots. “I guess they can commemorate me before the inevitable twink death.”
“Is that why you had these done?” he asked, incredulous.
Seokjin ignored this. “He wants to do a second session – said I was a natural.”
“What’s his name? Where does he work? Did he pay you? Or did you pay him?”
“It wasn’t about money. He said I inspired him.”
He looked at the picture of Seokjin staring at the camera with parted lips, dark eyes, and a hand plunged into his underwear, touching himself. The photographer had had this same view. Had been in the room. Had been the person Seokjin was gazing at.
“Was this all? Just some pictures?”
Seokjin’s eyes narrowed. “That’s none of your f*cking business.”
“Sure. But is he a photographer or a p*rnographer? Do you even know?”
Seokjin snatched the pictures from him while Namjoon thought of this man, whoever he was, taking such intimate and arousing pictures of Seokjin. Oh the guy felt inspired? Sure. Of course he did.
“You must think I was born yesterday,” Seokjin snapped.
“Must I remind you of that time one of your tricks tried robbing you?”
“Okay, fine, my track record isn’t perfect. But if you think I went to this guy’s studio without asking around if he was legit or not, then you really must think I’m an idiot.”
He held his breath. How were they fighting again?
“I think you’re damned smart, actually,” he corrected. Smart, but impulsive.
Seokjin wasn’t appeased. “How about you focus on your own issues.”
He hesitated. “My issues?”
Seokjin’s eyes flashed with anger. “Yeah, your own ridiculous drama – like oh, I can’t apply for this vacancy because I have this set, fixed idea of myself and god forbid anyone challenges me on it. God forbid I step out of my comfort zone even a little! Or god forbid I am seen with a man who isn’t the most average, middle aged gay to have ever existed.”
“You don’t get to talk about Jeongwoon like that.”
“Oh, I don’t?”
“And I step out of my comfort–!”
“No, you don’t. Besides, all of your work examines the intersection of modern politics and music. You teach a module on the modern protest song, for f*ck’s sake! And what, you think you can’t work for a political research cluster or whatever the hell it is? Of course you can! You can’t let your preconceptions of yourself limit how you live your life! And f*ck what others think your place is, and f*ck what you think your place is. And f*ck what you think I should do, too – you don’t see me. I’m right in front of you, and you don’t see me!”
“Of course I do, I’m looking right at you!”
“That’s not what I mean!” Seokjin snapped, and an unfamiliar panic rose up in him. What did Seokjin mean? “And then you come here and complain about me posing for—”
“Don’t pose nude for this man, you hear me?”
Seokjin glared at him. “You don’t get to control my sexuality just because we’ve f*cked around!”
“Oh for god’s sake, I’m not trying to control your–” He stopped to take in a calming breath. “I just want you safe, Seokjin-ah. Don’t you know it’d kill me if something happened to you?”
“Strangers jerking off to my nudes would hardly be the end of the world. Besides, masking controlling behaviour with faux protection is, like, red flag 101.”
He gave up. “Fine, alright. Go make p*rnos then if that’s what you want. Move to Pohang, star in a p*rn film! Be too stubborn to take any advice!”
“At least I put myself out there! Whereas you give up the second it gets hard, or too unfamiliar, or too intense, and you retreat into your boring little box. Into your neat little boxes!”
Namjoon bit his tongue to hold back another remark, taking in Seokjin’s fiery eyes and flushed cheeks. He wanted Seokjin. Still.
Startled and conflicted, he turned around and left the apartment. Goddamn demon – goddamn him! Who was he to read Namjoon like that or to accuse him of unwanted interference when all he wanted was to make sure Seokjin was okay?
He showed up to the final dinner more than fashionably late and was in an awful mood all night. Jeongwoon’s friends were not impressed.
* * *
There were two customers in the small vintage shop on the narrow side street when Hoseok walked in. The women were being assisted by Namjoon’s infamous neighbour, whom he recognised instantly.
He remembered that this had been a man of exceptional good looks, but his memories had not done Seokjin much justice. The man’s glossy and silky black hair was styled in one of those trendy it-boy cuts and his jawline was even better than his own (he was proud of his could-cut-glass jawline, especially at forty). Seokjin had beautiful dark eyes and plump, pinkish lips, and a tall, lean frame with long legs, broad shoulders, and a slender waist. A cute boyish butt, too, and a charming, room-brightening smile.
Well. Namjoon had never stood a chance, had he?
Hoseok busied himself examining the jewellery section – professional hazard – but listened to Seokjin help the women choose a dress for a summer party over the sound of rather unusual harp music playing from the speakers.
Jeongwoon had flown out to Azerbaijan that week and would not return until the end of summer. At Jeongwoon’s unofficial leaving do at a trendy Manchurian restaurant, Hoseok had tried probing, gently, where Jeongwoon and Namjoon were leaving things off, but the answer appeared inconclusive.
“We’ll just carry on once he’s back,” Namjoon had told him distractedly. Namjoon had shown up late and been in a terrible mood, although he had done his best to hide this.
“But what a shame that he’s off to do research right when you’re still getting to know each other,” he’d said.
“There’ll be time,” Namjoon had assured him, without any of the heated restlessness of a besotted lover.
When Jeongwoon went to the bathroom and the others were distracted, he leaned in close to Namjoon. “But you like him, right?”
“Oh definitely, a lot. We’ve got so much in common.”
Namjoon and Jeongwoon spent the rest of the evening being appropriately close, with Namjoon keeping an arm around the back of Jeongwoon’s chair – no PDA otherwise. The two left together, too, finally holding hands as Jeongwoon led Namjoon to the taxi. They made a handsome couple, he thought.
As for Jeongwoon, his report over the phone the next day had been, “I think the distance will give us a good chance to assess how we feel about each other at this stage. I’ll do a ten-day silent retreat at the end of the trip – trust me, I’ll have time to reflect on it.”
“But you like him, right?” he’d pestered him too.
“A lot, of course. We’ve got so much in common. Anyway, I have to go – my taxi is almost here.”
So the two men liked each other ‘a lot’ and had ‘so much in common’. This, however, left Hoseok the Matchmaker underwhelmed. A head-over-heels Namjoon would have flown halfway around the world to join Jeongwoon in the monastery, and no, they were not too old for those kinds of grand, romantic gestures. If anything they meant more at their age, when the time of youthful infatuation had passed.
Take Yoongi as an example – like the time he’d surprised Hoseok with a candlelit dinner some months into their messy friends-with-benefits-wait-is-this-happening-what-are-we-ship, and Hoseok had felt the carpet being pulled under his feet.
“I thought you might be hungry after a long day,” Yoongi had said as if that accounted for the home cooked three-course meal with wine pairings, the bouquet of roses, and the lit candles in Yoongi’s kitchen.
Yoongi didn’t know how to say what he felt, but he was trying to show it.
They’d made love all night.
Was Namjoon going to cook Jeongwoon that meal upon the man’s return?
Hoseok just didn’t think so.
And he thought this was because of the man now ringing up the green floral dress and telling the women to come back again. This man who, out of nowhere, had persuaded Namjoon to apply for a prestigious role in one of the country’s top universities.
“He kept saying that I was limiting myself to a fixed little box,” Namjoon said as a bitter throwaway comment to explain having applied to KHU after all. Hoseok in fact thought this was an astute observation showing developed understanding of Namjoon’s psyche. Why had Namjoon listened to this man when he’d refused to listen to the rest of them?
After the women left the store, Seokjin approached him at the jewellery display. “May I help you?”
“Ah, yes. I’m trying to find something for my husband-in-all-but-law. Maybe a ring.”
“Something special?”
“Yes, ideally.”
“Hmm, we’ve got some higher quality rings at the counter. Would you like to see them?”
He followed Seokjin to the cash desk, taking in the small stack of university brochures there advertising graduate school programs in mathematical science. There was SNU, Yonsei – clearly Seokjin was aiming high – also KAIST in Daejeon and POSTECH in Pohang.
He recalled the stacks of papers at Namjoon’s apartment, full of some kind of mathematical formulae none of them could understand.
Not just a pretty face, then.
But, then again, Namjoon would never fall for someone who was only a pretty face. Nor could a pretty face make someone stubborn like Namjoon go for the KHU job that he, as a defeatist, was convinced he’d never even be interviewed for.
Why did Seokjin even care where Namjoon worked? What was in it for him?
He estimated Seokjin carefully. Could this man be it for Namjoon – this young, talented youth? Did he have it in him?
Seokjin placed a tray of gold and silver rings on the counter between them, pointing out which ones were for men or were unisex. “I mean rings really don’t care about gender, but I guess we want to make sure the ring is big enough for your husband-in-all-but-law.”
“Ha, very true,” he said, picking up a beautiful gold band with a small, embedded emerald (or a cheap piece of glass, his keen eye detected). For Yoongi’s pinkie? Was it cute or a bit too extra? “So, are you moving to Pohang?”
“What?”
He motioned at the top brochure. “Pohang.”
“Oh. Well, they gave me that at their open day. I’m applying for grad schools right now,” Seokjin said with a quick, professional smile shot his way.
“Pohang would feel like a backwater after Seoul, I’d imagine,” he said, although he’d been to Pohang and thought it quite lovely, actually. But Seokjin was not allowed to move out of Riverside Complex – Hoseok did not want to deal with a moping, pretending-to-be-fine-and-unaffected Namjoon that coming winter.
He held out his hand with the ring on his pinkie. “What do you think? Would you, ah, give this to the man you love?”
Seokjin gave the ring an evaluating gaze and shook his head. “No, I’d give him this.”
Seokjin picked up a beautifully engraved silver band. A lot less flashy, and a little outdated in style – mid-nineties, he estimated – but beautiful, and without fake gemstones.
“That’s really beautiful, actually. Maybe, ah, you should keep that ring, though. And give it to the man you love,” he said, waiting for a reaction. Well?! Spit it out, young man! Are you passionately in love with my best friend or not?
Seokjin frowned, eyes lifting from the ring. He looked at Hoseok anew, tilting his head. “I’m sorry, have we met before?”
“Oh. Well, er, I’ve been in this shop before,” he said, getting nervous.
Seokjin’s frown deepened but then he laughed, putting the ring down. “Right, I got it. You’ve come to ask me out.”
“What? No, I—”
“I’m flattered. You’re very attractive.”
“Oh? Am I? Really? Well, thank you, I put on this snail serum night cream every— Ah, I’m Hoseok, Namjoon’s friend.”
What an interrogator Seokjin was! He had practically gouged the information out of him!
Seokjin’s entire demeanour changed, eyes widening, looking him up and down. “Wait. You’re the guy from The Provincial Clan?”
“Yes, that’s me! Wow, Namjoonie’s even told you about our group?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t recognise you without the fake ice.”
“But otherwise I’ve barely aged, right? It’s that collagen rich snail serum,” he said boastfully, smiling at Seokjin to indicate that he meant no harm.
So Namjoon had told Seokjin of their band, even? Ha! That whole neighbours-with-benefits arrangement seemed more ridiculous the more he learned about it. The two men seemed incredibly involved in each other’s lives despite these absurd claims that they’d just been having casual sex.
Casual his ass.
“I’ll buy the ring. For my husband-in-all-but-law.”
Seokjin cast a suspicious look at him but started ringing up the purchase. Hoseok flinched at the price – he hadn’t even asked what it was.
Seokjin moved restlessly as he searched for a ring box. “I think Namjoon-hyung’s mentioned you a few times.”
“He’s mentioned you a few times, too. Often actually,” he returned, even if it was a lie because Namjoon had been damned secretive about Seokjin. “You live next door to him, right? You were quite close even, at one point.”
Seokjin glanced at him, estimating. “Yeah. You could say that.”
It was obvious that Hoseok knew about the two’s affair, and that Seokjin knew that he knew.
He wanted to say that he didn’t know precisely what had happened between them, but Seokjin had come damned close to breaking through to Namjoon. The only person who had!
So don’t give up now! Don’t let him go so easily. Keep fighting! He’ll be worth it, I promise – yes, he’s a little obtuse and stubborn and clueless, but he’s so worthy of love. And god, he’d love you back so deeply that it will leave you breathless! I just know it!
He'd sound crazy saying any of this, so he held his tongue and paid for the ring.
He had to be blunt. “Well, maybe I’ll see you at Riverside Complex sometime. Yoongi and I drop by Namjoon’s place every now and then – and more now, probably, what with Jeongwoon being away all summer. Oh, he’s the—”
“I know who he is,” Seokjin said, still full of suspicion but a sudden gleam had entered his eyes. Seokjin was pleased to hear Jeongwoon was out of town.
Hoseok felt horrible. He’d met Jeongwoon through Yoongi, and they had bonded over a love of dance. For him, that was street dance; for Jeongwoon, it was the traditional dances of the Caucasus. Still, Jeongwoon had always been pleasant, interesting, and funny – it was a ‘dinner twice a year’ kind of friendship between the three of them.
He’d thought Namjoon and Jeongwoon might hit it off. And they had – they were f*cking each other, for goodness sake.
Just not very enthusiastically, and you wanted it to be enthusiastic. If it wasn’t, why f*ck at all?
He put away his phone after paying with it, clearing his throat. “Although maybe Namjoon will be busy getting ready for an interview at KHU.”
Seokjin’s eyes gleamed again. “For that new research centre? He applied for it?”
“Oh, you know about that?”
“Well, I mean, he mentioned it in passing once, I think,” Seokjin said quickly. This man was so interested in Namjoon’s affairs, even now when the two had supposedly parted ways.
He took the small paper bag that the ring box was in. “Sure, well anyway, thanks for the ring. And nice music.” In truth, the old-timey harp music sounded horrendously out of place. “You know Namjoon worked on an album of this genre once? Way back when he did audio engineering.”
“He did audio engineering?” Seokjin asked. Aha, at last something the boy didn’t know about Namjoon!
Hoseok nodded. “Oh yeah! Part-time to support his studies. Very multi-talented, our Namjoonie.”
He was the wingman of the year!
Seokjin rubbed at his brow. “The, uh. Was he working with the harpist Hong Youngpil by any chance?”
Hoseok tilted his head. “Hong Youngpil? The name does ring a bell – you know what, I think it was him, you’re right! Wow, you must know your harp music well?”
So full of surprises. Maybe the kids were the future!
“Well, thanks for the ring!” he said and turned to leave, then quickly turned back to the desk, making Seokjin flinch. “Seokjin-ssi. Don’t give up! Do you understand? Fighting!”
He held up his fist to convey all that he could not say, hoping the boy was smart enough to get it. Seokjin blinked at him rapidly, cheeks turning red. Good lord, he was beautiful.
Hoseok exited the store after his little pep talk, pleased.
This would be a nice story to tell at Namjoon and Seokjin’s commitment ceremony.
* * *
Sweetie had no grand expectations of Steam Box that evening. He, of course, hoped to come across someone attractive – someone with a pretty smile and a generous co*ck. He’d been rejected by a very hot guy the last time he’d visited, and so it’d taken him a while to recover and return.
He decided on a different tactic for this visit. Upon entering the spa area, he did not go to the sauna or one of the pools to check who was there, which was how he usually started cruising.
But no – this time he’d lure men to him rather than put himself out there. (Fine, the rejection from last time still hurt.)
He decided to go for the Sleeping Beauty technique. Not many of the playrooms were in use yet, and he was able to find a vacant one with ease.
He adjusted the lights to dim, debated whether to keep his towel on or off, but then decided he’d remove the towel if it didn’t seem like he was getting much interest. ‘You’re a capable, handsome young man!’ his grandmother had always told him, and he kept her encouragement in mind in the dog-eat-dog world of Steam Box. He had this!
With the door left open, he lay down on his stomach on the bed – the only piece of furniture in the small room.
Muted pop played from the common area, mixed with the sounds of men f*cking nearby. Steam Box always brought with it a charged, sexual excitement, and Sweetie hoped that he’d get lucky.
He closed his eyes. Listened to the sound of men walking past the playroom. Stopping to look in. Assessing him on the bed, waiting for company.
He lay still, giving the illusion of being asleep. Of course he wasn’t – he was waiting for someone to enter the room and approach him.
When he sensed he was being watched, he opened one eye and saw the darkened silhouette of a tall and skinny man. Locker key? On his right wrist, so a top. But no – not attractive. Too skinny, nothing special.
He turned his head away, rejecting the man without needing to say a word.
The man huffed but moved on.
He hadn’t been there very long yet. Come on, surely he could do better than that guy! He’d been going to the gym a lot to work on his glutes. His butt had grown, it really had! Even Hyukjin thought so!
Speaking of whom, his dear friend Hyukjin had tested positive for three separate STIs that week. Not surprising in Sweetie’s opinion. Hyukjin was gorgeous – a part-time model (and part-time lift repairman), as they all knew – but not very responsible.
His hole was nicely STI-free, thank you, and he took PrEP like a good boy – most people who enjoyed casual sex in gay saunas did. He was prime quality ass! He was capable and he was handsome!
He stilled – a new figure at the door. He glanced at the man. Tall. Broad. Big in all the right ways. God, so perfectly muscular and—
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. It was The Dragon. Puff up, buttocks! Be enticing! Call him to you! What have I been doing Bulgarian split squats for?!
The Dragon stepped in. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god, oh—
“Hi,” The Dragon said.
Be chill, be chill, be chill, be—
“Hey,” he said, voice low and alluring.
The Dragon closed the door, leaving them in the dimly lit playroom. Oh dear Lord, oh magnificent, patient Buddha, oh my god he is taking off his towel, oh my god, that perfect, perfect co*ck, thank you universe for making me gay, thank you when men like him exist, oh god it’s finally happening, he’s finally chosen me, he’s—
The Dragon got on the bed platform behind him, keeping him down with a simple command of, “Just stay where you are.”
He was being hypnotised.
The Dragon pulled the white cotton towel off of him, kneaded his buttocks, and let out an appreciative hum. Reached for the condom and lube dispensers.
Sweetie was about to d word.
Soon The Dragon was working in that big co*ck of his and then he started to f*ck him all hot and precise and tight. The Dragon located his prostate in two strokes, made him whimper and beg, left him feeling just the right kind of used.
“Ugh, god, f*ck that ass,” he moaned out – asking, begging. The Dragon f*cked him harder and faster, yes, yes, yes, yes, this was it, the best night of his life! He had peaked! “Oh, I’m gonna come,” he moaned a few minutes in, body trembling, hips grinding, thighs quivering, hole clenching.
“Go ahead, but I’m not done yet,” The Dragon said, teeth scraping his shoulder.
That alone was enough to make him come. Oh god, make me your cum bitch – he managed not to moan this aloud, but he certainly thought it.
The Dragon guided him to his hands and knees, and then kept f*cking him, bringing him to climax a second time. A second! Time!
His hole was sore from how girthy The Dragon was, and his dick was chafed from how hard he’d fisted on it. Oh my f*cking—
The Dragon pulled on his hair, one hand gripping his waist. Hard thrusts were accompanied by deepened, needy groans. That’s it, that’s it – he worked his hips, offered his hole, focused on taking the big co*ck, and— Ah, there. The Dragon climaxed with deep, satisfied groans.
Sweetie felt deranged. Oh, he’d been f*cked so good. He’d seen heaven, reached nirvana. Please take me home to be your domestic sex servant, honestly we can figure out the rules later (he, again, managed not to say).
He panted against the thin, PVC mattress beneath them with The Dragon pressed tight against his back and buttocks. They were heaving and covered in sweat. He suppressed a whimper as The Dragon pulled out. That had been amazing. Incredible. What a day to be alive and get f*cked.
The Dragon was up on his feet, depositing the condom in the small bin by the door. Sweetie rolled over, catching his breath and trying to avoid the spot slick with cum. The Dragon pulled tissues out of the wall dispenser and handed him some. So thoughtful.
“Thanks,” he said, sitting up to wipe himself and the thin, plastic mattress clean. He was glistening with sweat and was only slowly regaining his senses.
The Dragon was cleaning himself up with the tissues. He had such a beautiful body – and now a part of that body had been inside his. Did he want to get married, maybe?
“I’ve seen you around before, right?” The Dragon asked.
He remembers me!
“Yeah,” he said. I come here often. I’ve fantasised about you for a year at least. You’re in my Top 3 of Guys I Hope Will f*ck Me list. “I come by pretty regularly.”
“Me too.”
He hesitated, nerves filling him. “So, uh, why tonight?”
“Sorry?”
“Why tonight? Just, you know, what was different now? We’ve seen each other here plenty and never hooked up,” he said, hoping this didn’t sound whiny. “Was it my bubbly personality that impressed you? Or my endless charms of lying still on this bed like a dead fish to lure you in?”
The Dragon chuckled, dimples appearing. God, what a beautiful man.
“You’re funny. And sweet.”
“That’s what they all say,” he said, fighting back a smile.
The Dragon looked thoughtful, as if to show he was genuinely thinking things over. “Well, tonight I thought you have a really cute ass.”
Sweetie’s heart soared. He had a really cute ass! Those Bulgarian split squats!
“Thank you,” he said.
The Dragon smiled at him, then pushed back his hair. Sweetie paused to admire the dark dusting of armpit hair. Would The Dragon let him lick his pits, maybe?
“So you probably recognise plenty of the other regulars,” The Dragon said.
“Sure,” he said, unsure where The Dragon was going with this.
The Dragon was now adjusting the towel back around his waist but didn’t seem in an instant hurry to leave. “There’s this guy. Around your age. Small face, dark hair and eyes, pink lips. Long neck and these strong, broad shoulders. A little boney, a slim build, but muscular. Slightly crooked fingers—”
“I know him.”
He’d known it was The Swan the second The Dragon had started speaking. Some of the warmth in him evaporated.
The Dragon stopped adjusting the towel and looked at him keenly. “Yeah?”
“Everyone knows him. Did you know he hooked up with Donggil, the go-go boy?”
“I… do not know who that is.”
Sweetie didn’t suppress his gasp. Everyone knew Donggil the go-go boy! The most lusted after man in all of Hongdae!
“You should follow him on Instagram,” he told The Dragon earnestly, wishing he had his phone on him to show The Dragon the goods.
The Dragon didn’t seem interested in this.
“So has he been around lately? That guy, I mean. At the sauna. Have you seen him here?”
“Sometimes, but not often,” he granted, the realisation sinking that The Dragon hadn’t wanted him in particular, cute ass or not. They’d finally f*cked, and all the man wanted to know was The Swan’s whereabouts.
The sex had been good, but it hadn’t been like when Sweetie had watched The Dragon and The Swan f*cking. The Dragon hadn’t picked him up and f*cked him against the wall, kissing him wildly. Hadn’t bent him in half on the bed, legs on shoulders, and f*cked him like his life depended on it.
That had been months ago, but The Dragon was hung up on it. Sweetie felt chided, but also endeared. Who’d have thought The Dragon had such a soft side?
“Don’t take it personally,” he said.
The Dragon flinched. “What?”
“The guy you’re thinking of. He only f*cks men once.”
“Just once?”
“Everyone knows that. So even if he were here, he’d likely have rejected you. What? What’s funny about that?”
“Nothing, I just… He used to never get enough of me. That’s all.”
Sweetie’s jaw almost hit the floor. What? What?! Had The Swan – Seokjin, that was his name – actually slept with someone more than once? No! But it would be The Dragon, wouldn’t it? That only made sense; they were both so goddamned attractive.
But Seokjin had a reputation too. Was known for getting bored of you as quickly as he’d bedded you.
And here The Dragon was, telling him that he and The Swan had been actually involved.
“You dated?” he asked, just to confirm this.
“No. Well, not really. I mean maybe. Sort of. But it was casual.”
This sounded exactly like every situationship he’d ever been in.
No wonder The Dragon hadn’t f*cked him like that, like he was burning up with passion! Because he’d already spent it all on another man.
“And now you miss him,” he said softly, making The Dragon flinch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s poor manners, my grandmother would say.”
The Dragon’s jaw had clenched, his brows furrowed. “I cared for him. Or what I mean is that— that it was complicated.”
Sweetie nodded – it was always complicated.
“And now we just fight or argue or… He had some guy take these half-nudes of him and when I got concerned – like who is this guy? – he just accused me of controlling his sexuality which, I mean, is absurd. Him controlling his sexuality is the most erotic thing about him,” The Dragon said, sitting on the bed.
Sweetie nodded, reaching to the tissue dispenser to pull out a handful. This was not the first post-f*ck confessional he’d ever witnessed. He had to be ready for The Dragon to start sobbing about his childhood.
“So you didn’t break up because you were fighting over who’s sleeping with who? Because that’s usually how it goes.”
“Not at all,” The Dragon said, rubbing his brow. “Or, well, because I started dating this man, non-casually. But then we fell out over the dating, not the sex. Anyway…” The Dragon paused, holding his breath for an unnervingly long time before exhaling. “It’s not going to work out with me and that man I started dating. We’re not the right fit, and I… I’m thinking about someone else instead. About him. But I wonder if the damage has already been done. If I acted too hastily.”
How had The Swan not fallen madly in love with The Dragon? He seemed so soft-spoken, so thoughtful and gentle.
“He must be made of stone.”
“Sorry?”
“That guy who comes here. He must be cold-hearted for not having fallen in love with you when you were seeing each other.”
The Dragon shook his head. “No, he felt something. In truth we both did. I just didn’t see it or didn’t want to admit it. And he wouldn’t be so damned snappy with me if he hadn’t… And if I hadn’t… But it’s so… so big. Admitting something is more than just sex, especially in circles like these.”
Sweetie huffed, nodding, taking in the small playroom they were in, sitting on the bed they’d just f*cked on. Them – two strangers who didn’t know each other’s names. The Dragon was right: admitting that you wanted more than sex was seen as a weakness, not a strength.
“You’re in love with him,” he said, smiling at The Dragon encouragingly. Love, after all, was a beautiful thing.
The Dragon startled and stared at him with wide eyes. “…I am. Yes.”
“Not surprised. He’s the most beautiful out of us all, I think. From what you’re telling me, he’s likely in love with you too.”
“He might be leaving Seoul.”
“Even so.”
“He’s a lot younger than me.”
“Even so,” he shrugged, and they sat in the comforting, familiar sounds of men copulating in the rooms surrounding them.
The Dragon looked rattled and stood up. “Well, I just… thought you might know if he still comes around or not. That’s all.”
“Sure. No problem.”
The Dragon squinted at him. “Are you from Jeolla?”
He smiled widely. “Yeah. I’m Swee— Chan. Actually.”
“Namjoon.”
His smile broadened. He could fall in love with a man like Namjoon, he thought.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your night, Chan-ssi,” The Dragon said, leaving him with mixed emotions.
Typical, wasn’t it?
That amidst all these men who roamed the dark rooms of the bathhouse, someone always wanted the man who wanted someone else instead.
Tragic, nearly.
The Dragon hadn’t wanted him. He’d wanted The Swan.
Sweetie sat with that slight unease, even as his heart felt full – from the good sex and from the welcome reminder that love was real.
But it was damned hard to admit it here. The Dragon was right about that.
The Dragon had left the door open, and Sweetie hadn’t moved when a new man appeared there, checking him out. Oh? He was cute. Not particularly muscular – more of a barrel belly, but still firm and manly. And Sweetie had been f*cked open nicely… All he needed was to bend over and take it…
He leaned back, realising this was his lucky night. The Dragon and this handsome hottie?
“Hi,” he said.
Three men had f*cked him by the time he left the sauna that evening, including The Dragon who had easily been the most memorable. The other two had been fine, too.
He was floating – glowing. He was popular! In his prime!
Ah, those Bulgarian split squats!
