DENOUEMENT

the fears have long embedded themselves in his flesh. past skin, they have atrophied so thoroughly, spreading carcinogenic reveries. he cannot lie, the entire scheme has permeated into too many components of his being, to the point where living a fabricated life no longer felt as such. it comes so naturally with the passing years. all that he knows: the culture of opulence waiting to happen once the privileges once removed are to return. and for that, he was never ready. he’s always been adorning himself with the simple, humble honesty that even himself starts believing in them. he’s been living in them; it was comfortable, it was complacent. and when the chrysalis of comfort ruptures, nothing ever truly prepared him for it. it was supposedly seamless, the transition. typically, not many would object to the life in such luxe, falling into a state so despondent. it is not the case with jung uriel.

the gala attended last weekend was none other than a nightmare. the reinstallation of himself within the gilded circles he once departed from as a child, his name fading from their memories now replenished… he could not revert from it. he had known that his lover would be there too, their worlds now merging in ways that uriel wasn’t prepared for. there had been a myriad of forewarning flashing in his own mind, telling himself that the best way to go about it would be through the decent honesty towards his lover prior to this. he kept delaying, scared. he kept evading… and now that the day came and passed, he was left with the immersive laments, lacerating himself so deep he went home to the core of apgujeong again, hiding. seojung’s response during the party was underwhelming, almost, and that gnawed on uriel more than being confronted. the sarcasm lacing seojung’s words are now this threat for their nearly year-long relationship, carving worries… he wonders if seojung would be so wounded their breakup is pretty much tabled, so it takes him nearly a week before he can cease leaving seojung’s messages on read.

and those messages sitting on his kkt, they did not help sate his concerns, even when they’re beyond justified. seojung is arguably angered, or at the very least perplexed. a new friend, right. those messages needled into the nerves, for he did not know how to address those questions without speaking in person with his lover. and he promised himself he would in due time, when he is ready. today is the day of confronting all those latent dreads, the way seojung treating him like a stranger in the public expected, but detriment nonetheless. and he cannot even infer the meaning behind seojung’s questions from those texts either: is his name really jung uriel, is his lover really pak seojung? yes, and yes. but it matters naught, now. he cannot just confirm all those without elaborating on the background as to why it commenced to start with. for that, today’s date instills so much jitter within that uriel cannot help but shakes his legs in worries as he waits for seojung’s arrival.

in this private chamber rented based on the perks from… well, the ownership over the mother brand of this high-end restaurant, he cannot help but pursue and pervade his own trains of thoughts. it is a ring of fire, but if today is the end of their rather short-lived relationship in the case that seojung cannot accept such a colossal tessellate of lies, then so be it. uriel has braced for the worst at this point, the whole week of contemplation should suffice the mental breakdown. he doesn’t know how else to embrace the possibilities of sorrow, for this is all his fault. and for his fault, he is more than willing to make amend. but he doesn’t know how. doesn’t know what. he knows of what might cascade from the reinstatement, his father’s words final. and so, he can no longer hide behind the cloak of the simplicity. back to the world of spotlights, together with seojung, he knows it will complicate everything on top of their already veneered, fixated complexities.

clad in his expensive, personally tailored formal suit, now, he still feels out of place. he chose this place for the perks, still being somewhat reserved about his monetary decisions. the sense of belongingness absent, he’s constructed out of defense mechanism. everything that they had might crumble at any given moment. worst case scenarios carve imbibing fright, still, but there’s no backing off. when seojung comes, he doesn’t know how to smile, how to talk. greetings feel improper when he’s ignored seojung’s messages for the whole week. he’s ordered what seojung might like — the stacked knowledge on seojung’s impeccable taste in cuisines something that uriel did not manage to miss, the details of his beloved always of astonishing importance. “hi,” he awkwardly begins after seojung is seated. the room reserved for them, he ensures their privacy without a hitch. “sorry, i… took the liberty to order your food… and uh, sorry about the messages, too.”

under the table, his hands fidget. this reminds him of that stupor-ridden night again, inebriation a factor to determine their genesis, surprisingly so. now, he’s more than sober, exuding the charms that he should have since the beginning. he worries his lip between his teeth as he looks away from seojung, before compelling himself to look back at seojung. he cannot decipher seojung’s countenance at this point, mind clouded by his own doused panic. “just… to start with, i’ve… never lied about this relationship,” he swallows, finding how seojung’s eyes are now unsettling. “i truly do mean every single thing i have said to you, but… let me just… say that i’m sorry for lying so much… maybe too much.” he looks down, now. embarrassment creeps up his face, suffusing blood to his cheeks. “my name is still the same. my lover, too. i have not loved anyone this way as much as i do love you… so that, i promise you, is the truth.”

seojung is at a crossroad now. vanquished if he speaks, doomed if he doesn’t. the bestowal of another chance soothes him, but he did not expect the utterance to bring this much weight. he, too, wants desperately to move on from the bloodshed and the carnage, from every terrible thing that he has done to the three of them. he wants to start anew, love anew. wants them to abandon all worries that weigh them down and and succumb to the summons of their love. but things do not always go as planned, do they? he is naught but the coalescence of fears, collected year over year, amassed layer over layer. as much as they wish otherwise, no one can outrun the wraiths of their past. not uriel from the treachery by his former lover, nor seojung from the compulsion he’s been trained to accommodate all his life. something in him punctures from uriel’s spats, ones that cut like blades and flay his skin without clemency. yes, uriel is inebriated now, maybe he does not mean the pronouncements so cruelly phrased — but aren’t people more honest when they are intoxicated? their utterances unfiltered and uncensored, reckless in their ruthlessness. 

perhaps he deserves it for sabotaging a good thing — his only good thing.

“i’m not — ” scared, or is he? has he ever been anything but? has he been anything but a running, trembling thing? seojung’s gaze falls to his weary limbs and the tension hangs heavy and dark, suffocating. uriel is right — he is being a coward. but not for the reasons uriel is suspecting, nor in ways that he can explicate. tears cascade from his cheeks and he tightens his fists. loses hold of his elocution as his worries tesselate, not knowing where to begin and where this will end. “i’m not just scared for myself, uriel… this isn’t just about me.” the answer feels more veracious now yet it is still lacking somehow, missing its mark. how can he compress two decades of fears into one exposition? maybe he has lied far too long that truths are bound to feel like abnormalities now. “do you have any idea how much this can ruin us both if it gets out? so i can’t tell her. even if it’s the right thing to do.” is seojung so terrible now for having such fears? there are concrete reasons behind them, for he has witnessed the way his family evicted their own son and is seojung so risible for dreading the repetition of abandonment? “i’m not saying that i’ll be ashamed — of this, of us — if it does get out, but the world doesn’t give a fuck about people like us.”

“i’m saying that there are limitations to this given who i am, no matter how hard i try. no matter how much i wish things weren’t the way they are and i want you to know this upfront.” with the tabloids too keen on bringing the downfall of those at the top, they will not be able to continue this anywhere near broad daylight, not the way normal couples can afford to. seojung is not naive enough to think that love is all that matters in the end, for it is fragile and can shatter in seconds. so call it him being a coward, call it him being too afraid to take the plunge. he doesn’t know if his words make sense, only that he is compelled by the urge to clarify before uriel gets captured without knowing what this entails: a shrouded life with him. the omission appears selfish and if he means what he said when he uttered those three words, shouldn’t this revelation be justified, too? “i love you and i’ll try my best but it might still not be enough and i don’t want to… sugarcoat that. not anymore. i don’t — want to give you another reason to hate me.” he exhales sharply, nails digging into his flesh. “but i’m afraid you already do.” 

nursing the heavy of his head, he’s inscribed by the amalgamation of ire and grief. he does not know how to converse, convert. rationale feels like a farfetched privilege; the fractured thoughts are gashed so deep he believes the craters of this cusp too many calloused logics at once. he refrains himself from further soliloquies, comprehending that in the heat of the moment, he might revert back to his real self, his real form. to shed the layers and layers of skins donned so well all these years, teeth gritting the fabricated tales so well. he cannot ruin this now, the vexation a component worth noting but he isn’t divulging his true identity. not here, not now. forcing himself to bite his tongue, listening to seojung as he believes his emotional rhetorics are over. he has spoken his piece. there’s nothing else to compose within all these emptied halls of clattering contemplation. not that he had not spilled his guts here. all bark, no bite. he looks at seojung, eyes squinted as he tries to deal with the inebriated aftermath. this isn’t just about seojung, right. in other circumstances, removed from the substance that sloshes within, he would have been more considerate. other factors accounted into the deliberations, mayhap, but this is not the right timing. yes, he regrets the night’s decisive panacea with all those bottles cradled in his system, but still…

“i’m not—“ he swallows. now misunderstandings ripple into the peripheral vicinities of this discussion, if he can even call it as such. “i’m not telling you to tell her this. just… just—“ cannot find the eloquence, not even its furthest semblance. for that, uriel worries his lower lip between his teeth. “i know,” he succumbs. “of course.” and yes, that was the sole reasoning behind his opting for signing the mental contract with his own father. to evade the consequences. thoughts: running so far, fragmenting his ankles for love. thoughts: running with him, shivering in rapture from love. that is a risible notion, given the nature of the reality. could’ve escaped elsewhere, but his father has him at a tether. knows this, knows he’s the only one left to continue a corporate so massive, he was birth and raised for it. as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t desert his father when appa is the only family he has left. and it wasn’t disgust, just dismay upon meeting appa’s knowing eyes that night. he’d say it could be an emotional blackmail, but during his better days, he knows better than to fault the man that has taught him the best lessons in life, all of them found in the crux of struggles. and even after the split with junho, he’s not to resent the man for doing the best he can in accepting a son that is not… heteronormative. what seojung just expressed is synchronised with that, sure; he doesn’t expect a mirage. one of these days, even if they’re together, even holding hands is a taboo. knows this, he really does. the six years of relationship that eventually diminished to nothing but ashes… he swallows at the reminder.

this time, he stitches his mouth shut, intently proffering seojung the space to finish. this overture of extremities as he previously deciphered now evaporates. he blinks a stray tear away, before looking at his own open palms rested on his lap. “what is enough anymore?” he asks, finally looking up, looking at seojung. meeting the mirroring image. they wear heartaches so well on their faces. streaked with the soot stains, their smoked lungs forgetting how to breathe without hitching at this point. “i don’t mind the limits. i understand the limts,” he eventually relents to these. to the days so weary, traced backward. “let’s just… i’ve been there. six years.” opening up like this, it isn’t supposed to feel like undoing the filoselle. he closes his eyes again, this time trying to recompose himself as another breakdown is too much to stomach in a singular night. “if it’s about me… about my feelings, i don’t think you get a say on what’s enough or not enough for me. that’s on me. don’t strip that right away from me.”  enough… he’s never felt that either. junho did make him feel like that, almost being the operative word… at the end? this is hopeless, realistically speaking. —and… we’re not going to make it. better now than later. we cannot keep doing this… i don’t want to hurt you, but i also don’t want to keep hurting either. the echoes fresh in the mind, uriel has to restrain every inch of his being from being wrecked by another bout of weeping mess. “i don’t hate you,” this time, he ceases himself from averting his gaze. meeting seojung’s face, he wishes he could reach out, but the broken can’t mend the broken.

it is theft when his heart was never hers to begin with? that is a question that emerges in seojung’s cranium though it is not one that matters. as little he knows about everything, he knows this much. “i know… i’m sorry i put you in that position.” seojung apologises despite the awareness that his apologies cannot undo the damage, not even a little bit. but the truth is seojung did not foresee what’s to come either, the act of falling happened too swiftly for any of them to react with rationality. love in itself is a matter of chaos, it only worsens when meddled with fabrications and white lies. the truth is he never meant to harm anyone but his intentions pale next to the consequences of his actions. deliberate or not, the devastation is not his to deny or disregard. not when it is not his own heart that bled the most and bleeds still. 

seojung understands that the decision is not a light one to be made and confirmed in seconds. it takes remarkable valour ( or insanity ) to dive head first, back into a love that has brought so much euphoria, so much ruination. a love that is both the petals that enchant and the thorns that lacerate. it feels like hours have passed watching uriel deep in his thoughts, but in the end seojung is greeted by the soft kisses from the almost ex-lover, instead of more metallic words frigid enough to pierce. for that, seojung is relieved, grateful for this second chance that he does not deserve. but he means the promises he enunciates, that he will not let this be another regret, another thing that fills their mouths with crimson. for the first time in the night, seojung lets himself breathe as he leans closer to uriel, letting himself drown in the familiar scent that he has missed for so long. 

the disquietude makes its lamented return upon uriel’s artless proposition. he can feel his shoulders tensing again as he detangles from the embrace. seojung did cut the ties he should have long ago, but uriel’s not wrong either. more needs to be done for redemption. seojung isn’t in a position to ask for forgiveness, but coming clean is the least he can do after the dawning of chaos. but things are always easier said than done, aren’t they? “i did apologise, for not feeling i was supposed to.” he adds slowly, his mind scrambling to organise his next words without appearing like a coward. but that’s who he is, isn’t it? no matter how much he tries to run from the truth. it is simpler for things to remain this way, sheltered and sealed in the dark. safer for the both of them. he knows too well about how little it took for his family to turn their back on their own blood, now even his grandmother refuses to acknowledge his uncle’s existence by name at all. “but no one knows, uriel. about this…” his fingers entwine and he lets out a defeated sigh. “no one knows that i’m not exactly who they want me to be.”

“you do?” uriel’s divulgence sounds surreal despite the sincerity. how can uriel love someone like him after all that he’s done to the both of them? but love is never rational. it diverts as much as it sears, it lures and devours again. “i love you too… i do.” he murmurs back in the end, almost breathless as his hands reach out to hold uriel’s, his vision losing clarity from the resurge of emotions. he should feel in bliss right now, and he does, but the rapture is dampened by the contrition. he doesn’t know how long it’ll take for that to fade, doesn’t know if it’ll fade at all. “…but i don’t think i can give you everything you deserve.” doesn’t everyone deserve to love in broad daylight without the fear to be seen and ostracised? who is he to ask uriel to live in this lie with him too? his voice tremors and it feels like an ache, like letting go of something he just managed to grasp again. but isn’t this part of love, too? to be so bare, vulnerable even when it is against his raging greed? “what i’m trying to say is that you — this — it’s more than enough for me. more than what i’ll ever deserve. but you?” he blinks again and this time, the tears fall. “you deserve a lot more than the best i can give.”

he’s pulled apart. seam by seam. his haphazard suture undone, now; he did not even surmise the plunge, yet here he is, being the souse that clambers past his own promises. heavyweight as he is, he has to confess to the penance over losing count of the soju imbibed. the decadence naught if not ignominy, especially now that his tongue piteous in every component of his clauses. years of being alone was a form of common complacency; he was fine with the lonesomeness as long as he did not have to ache. and here he is, with seojung shattering each layer, rupturing each membrane. he’s the chrysalis that seojung managed to rip, but he refuses to become a victim, for he isn’t. will never be — mayhap this is a lesson learnt. bloodied, bruised, he never intended to make another mistake, misstep.

yet, here he is on the floor, thrashing the way his heart does. clipped wings, cut lips.

the cascade of apologies floods them with regrets. nothing can be undone, but uriel savors in the lament regardless. forgiveness is made of two. unstitched, still, but it alleviates the laceration, even when it’s by a minute. cauterising the wounds becomes almost normative, almost— he’s been here many, many times. a myriad too many, perhaps. been the one forgiving, forgiven. the circumstances were distinguished, however, the distance wedged between junho and himself was the catalyst, propelling towards ruins. meanwhile this… this hasn’t even commenced even if uriel would like to believe otherwise. and within the deluge is the clarity that it pains both of them nonetheless, seojung’s words rimmed with lachrymose in manners that leads uriel to the self-inquiries: if seojung didn’t regard him as much, he would not have bothered with apologies, at this figuratively grovelling in the casket that uriel almost insisted on burying. uriel parts his lips at the words, but he cannot pinpoint what he wants to enunciate for it cannot be that. cannot be the illusory, compulsory leniency, telling seojung that it is okay, for it isn’t. it never is. he cannot feign nonchalance in the face of infidelity.

however, even in the absence of remission, uriel leans his head against the tinted window, heavy after the dousing alcohol. he is the revenant in the confines, wishing to expose his heart in front of seojung to calligraph this love. they were bodies of light, once, complementing each other in the depth of nights like this. shared kisses, their melding tongues an antithesis to everything that uriel wanted to keep. prophylactic, almost, to prevent further damage to the already desolated temple. but in the crux of his crated chest is the man that now speaks of the anathema, ripening. he knows this. he knows this all too well… one of the reasons behind his very first and now was no longer last heartbreak. it was not like they did not constantly battle this: his lover, with uriel’s heart in the chest. to return. to reform. to reverb. it meant so much, too much, but the pressures for a soon-to-be doctor emitted the trepidation that those of their alignments know too well. engraved fears never leave, and for that, uriel listens. he listens intently because he understands where this is going, steered to a direction that he has always afraid of. poltergeists of the past the phantoms of syllabic wounds.

and here’s the conversation. did seojung not ask for a second chance? did seojung not run for a second time? this is him, running. escaping. excuses as embedded around the taboos. yes, uriel knows the implication well even when seojung tries to seal the talk in a façade so well-spoken. of course it’s seojung’s fault, or so he claims. not the society’s with all its fallacies in rationale. fuck this, really. uriel has had enough at this point, the pent-up frustration taking over. it escalates as seojung proffers further elaboration as to how he cannot provide uriel the best. when he barks a laugh after seojung’s words dangle in the empty, evaporating, it is almost a startling revelation even for himself. still, uriel refuses to cradle the pain again. it isn’t foreign.

“hmm, that seems to be a common downfall.” seojung jests, his tone doused in his distinct flair of arrogance, of assurance, however one prefers to call it. just like uriel, seojung has been showered in affection and adulations from the public and the press from the very beginning of his career, instantly crowned the photographer’s most doted darling with lens following wherever he goes, devouring him whole with an infinite appetite. having been raised in a household so rooted in lovelessness, it took seojung some time to get used to the adoring spotlight, but now he has more or less made peace with the reality of his almost unravelled recognition. but uriel is the only one who gets to see him like this, with the limelights extinguished and disguises discarded, who is allowed to love him like this, even at times when he is anything but loveable. for that, he is eternally grateful, and he knows better than to say there’s such a thing as being too enamoured by the other between them, knowing that there seems to be no threshold to their love. however intense it gets, it only seems to grow even more afire despite the years that have passed or because of them. 

“that’s what you thought when you’re watching me off stage? it’s a blessing that you’re such a marvellous actor.” seojung beams, satisfied by the affirmation when he knew full well prior to the performance that this one, more than the others, would be something that his lover would savour. perhaps a little too vehemently, a little too frantically. the things that they do each other on stage are sinister, deliberate, ones that only add to their insatiable hunger for the other that they shall remain forever captives to. a downfall with no escape, nor are they seeking one. not when this feels so good, not when uriel’s touches have felt nothing less than right for him. he returns uriel’s kiss with a complacent leer, their tongues meeting in slow yet impassioned touches, his ego swelling from uriel’s utterances of desires. his hand lowers from the curve of his lover’s chest to wrap around uriel’s hand, tugging the fabric that uriel pleads him to wear, intentionally skirting from touching the feverish swell. “come on now, be a good boy.” seojung teases, teeth grazing uriel’s lip lightly as he detaches momentarily from the fervent kiss. “say please.” 

and within that very moment is the undulating awareness that both of them are coveted by many, too many, but just like any other nights, uriel wants none in his bed but his lover. seojung, even with his scars. seojung, even with his fists. back then, they were so consoled by the knowledge that they might fall into different worlds, with seojung harbouring a dream polarising from uriel’s, whose path had always been clear to begin with. yet, here they are now, here he is now: witnessing the bloom of a boy whose knuckles constantly set ablaze as they collide with the walls. in those moments, sometimes uriel saw him differently, distinctly, but who would have guessed that now he is to be challenged by the visceral responses that can only be alleviated in the private space? the sight of seojung imbibed, uriel always has to keep his own features in check so as not to reveal the prevalence of libido surging within when seeing seojung perform like that, clothed like that.

“weren’t you?” seojung asks before he falters. his breath stills in his stifling lungs. an inhalation, followed by the fall of his gaze to his hands, still fidgeting from the same unease that’s haunted him for weeks. when he is awake, when he is tethered back to the same desk and leather chair but incapable of focusing on anything else, his eyes adrift to the man separated by the wall made of glass. “i was.” he divulges then, even though it’s not what was asked. his lips curl into a ghost of a smile then, soft yet stained with sorrows. “i was the happiest i’d ever been.” in ways that he never dared to dream of before — it’s an exquisite feeling, to fall head first into the unknown and have the bravery to be this naive, enough to believe both of them will come out unscathed. “and it’s all because of you.” even if they aren’t getting back together, even if the bridge is forever severed beyond reparation, seojung knows that he’ll keep the memories somewhere sheltered, somewhere safe, for he has an inkling that such sweet delirium doesn’t come by often — took him two decades just to feel this once, didn’t it? he fears that it will not happen again, but maybe that’s what he deserves. for being unapologetically reckless, for loving uriel into ruins. 

“it will be — just trust me one more time, please.” it feels shameless, to plead when he has no leverage at all, when he is naught but the deceiver denounced, all accusations proven true. but he has come this far, hasn’t he? he cannot walk away now. not without an answer, not without a fight. “and if i… if i fuck this up again, i won’t bother you again.” he will refrain from reaching out, he will force himself to stay out of uriel’s life forever despite how hard it’ll be. maybe he isn’t in the place to make promises, but these are ones he wants to keep. that this time, his hands will be enough to be the sanctuary of the heart, that he can put the same smile on uriel’s lips again and keep it there. uriel’s questions forces air out of his lungs once more, but he knows these are ones that he must answer before they can move on from this. “she’s my best friend.” he confesses quietly, knowing that the revelation only makes him seem even more terrible as a person. “the only friend i had left when i came back.” a sigh, his fingers entangling once more. “i didn’t know how to say no to her. so i… i guess that made her believe that what she felt was reciprocated. he wishes he can vanish then and there, but this is the first step. to remain unwavering, even in the face of repugnant truths. this is him open and bare, all disguises and veils discarded, his remorse and his ache. “awful, i know. but i’ll try to be better. i’m trying to be better.”

and he aches even more now, for the tears that are being shed because of him, for the tears that were shed. he does not deserve this second chance about to be bestowed, but he is voracious enough to take it anyway. this love has made him insatiable, the way uriel looked at him with so much hope, so much love — he’ll do anything to get it back. there is no atoning the carnage he’s brought upon them, the only thing can do is to not let this be another lament, another laceration too deep to be healed. “i won’t.” seojung whispers, his once vacillating hand returns to the familiar curvature of uriel’s cheek, wiping the tears away, wishing that they’ll cease to fall altogether. “and you’re not.” the only fool here is seojung, for letting this happen to the one good thing he’s held in his hands. his vision is growing blurred, but this is not a sight he will be able to forget, the guilt a bright scarlet even amidst the dark. “i’m so sorry.” he shakes his head, his voice a quiver as he pulls uriel into his arms, his woes besmirching his lover’s shirt. this is the graceless unfolding, this is the ache that burns, but he’d rather have this than to drown in his sea of lies again. “i won’t make you feel like this again. i swear — i won’t make you regret this.”

this is not unkind. unabridged, unbridled, but still gentle in the way it unleashes the ire. he knows he has every right to, the prerogatives as siphoned from all the hurt, all the ache… they are justified as they come. still, he grimaces slightly at the jabs spilling from his mouth. he has long shed the robes adorning the old him when the wealth used to shelter him from the cold, the rain. this is unlike him, so uncharacteristically so, that he wishes he could revert what was said, arsenic in their descends. even in this waking moment, with the aperture plastered in the betrayals, he cannot bring himself to judge, to hate seojung. eventually, there is the love. and is this love speaking, is this hurt speaking? because those two are complementary at this point, conjunctive. happiest. that is a strong claim that uriel cannot contest. he made junho the happiest too, once, didn’t he? but at the end of it, the road was forked nonetheless. they both took the paths previously not taken.

so, wonders, in the depth of his thought’s hurricane, which eye centred towards this cataclysm. it was because of him, but was it right, when the clauses were synchronised with someone else’s? he isn’t one to deceive when it comes to love; infidelity a brand he doesn’t touch. he worries his lower lip between his teeth. “i was happiest because of you, too,” he concedes. “but not at the cost of someone else’s pain.” he could not call it entirely as such. to love means to lie, sometimes, but this isn’t a battlefield of truths. he refuses to let the flumes rise into the skies halved with the perspicuity of exit wounds, the bullets coming from his smoked gun. “i’m not… meant to steal from someone else, hyung.” and the honorific slides from his tongue almost effortlessly, their relationship reverts to the scenes hidden from the night’s exposures. behind closed doors, drawn blinds. trying. he closes his eyes, letting more stray tears to coalesce with seojung’s agony. he wants to believe that deep, deep within, seojung isn’t a bad person. neither is uriel, but wouldn’t he be the one painted in the ashes of the crimes?

more promises. uriel asks himself if it’s even worth it, the cascade of trust. but he has always been weak, weakest in the face of love. staring at seojung now, as illuminated by the street light, the tincture of anguish doesn’t escape uriel. for that, he wants to believe this to be true. one more time. uriel can afford that, or so he wants to believe. again, make believe. play pretend; make believe. when the hand comes to wipe at the evidence of uriel’s heartache, he finds himself leaning towards it. the substance’s influence slowly dissipates in the engulfing feelings, leaving uriel half-dazed. still, he is more than aware of the fact that yes, he loves the man more than he hates the lies. in this measure, he blinks more tears, but he carefully kisses the heel of seojung’s palm. a sigh that fleets past his lips of relief. the fact that one moment he’s alone, and in another moment he’s embraced… it warms uriel. he nods as he buries a hand in seojung’s hair, reminiscent of when they kissed, sans the tugging that signified the hunger for the other. the… lover? now, uriel isn’t certain.

it feels strange to be like the villain in this story when his entire life is devoted to appeasement. his every act performed to gratify someone else with unattainable visions and hopes for him, his every desire puckered, flattened and shoved aside to make room for something greater, something more worthwhile for someone like him, whose name is carved and galvanised in golden glory far heavier than his own being. but who is pak seojung if not his amassment of veils and visors? but who is he if not the boy who has chosen to turn from his most violent wants? but this — this isn’t something he’s willing to let go of. he’s too selfish, his greed too arrant in its abundance. from the moment he acknowledges his sentiments for uriel, he has been selfish, his desires ravenous and destined to ruin.

and so he ruined, he ruined everything. every last scantling of credence, of affection, flaxen memories when it’s just the two of them on the dilapidated couch of uriel’s apartment fifteen blocks from here, blathering about everything and nothing against the backdrop woven by gloaming and the whistles of street cars. without forewarning, without permission, he‘s fallen for the man he’s not supposed to love, he’s lured uriel into trusting someone too disgraceful to be encumbered with an organ as delicate as the heart. someone with no tangible sense of identity, someone hidden beneath layers upon layers, someone who, up until now, has made up half a mind to persevere with the suppression. told himself he was content with the half-void that resided within him, for it’d stayed there for so long that it became a constant, an inexorable fraction of his being.

he’s so good at pretending, isn’t he? his posture straightened to perfection, his speech sugarcoated and tailored to please. polish the smile, keep up with the act. be vigilant with his words, make no enemies. if no one ever sees you, no harm can be done, no wound will be too severe for concealment. this is the only way to survive in the high society, where a slip is enough to beckon slander and for the once dearly adored to be forsaken. but things are not the same with uriel, the man with soft words and softer hands. uriel does not seem to care at all about things that people venerate about him: opulence, prestige, power. things that he thought were the only things worth loving about him. instead, uriel found something else, saw something redeemable in the prevaricator who grappled to sunder the real from the false. but maybe that, too, was an act. whatever loveable fragments uriel thought he’d unearthed in him — maybe they’re all pretence too. seojung doesn’t know anymore, he’s lived in lies long enough to be dissolved, donned disguises long enough they’ve coalesced with his skin.

even though it’s the best that he’s hoped for, seojung is astounded when uriel says it still matters. whatever they still are, whatever they still have, shivering in these bloodied palms. “i’ve never felt this way for anyone before and i know… i know you have every reason not to trust me, but i’ll do anything not to ruin this again.” seojung clarifies though he does not know if that, too, appears to be naught but another fabrication. after all, what are men like him if not notorious for tearing hearts asunder? the truth is he’s never felt something so devastating for anyone before, something that he’s so adamant to fight for. “please don’t say that.” his hand trembles and he almost wants to reach out for uriel’s, but he is still afraid. they both are. the silence returns without grace, suspended in the tenebrous space between them. uncanny, when their car rides together used to be marked with laughter and jests. “i was the one who didn’t deserve you.” still don’t. perhaps it is futile, perhaps there is no absconding the ruination, the gasoline-soaked bridge he set ablaze. “but we were happy once, weren’t we?” the query stumbles from the edge of his craven lips, merely a murmur, the nostalgia too heavy for his chest to bear. “i made you happy, once.” no longer a question, but an utterance of grief over what was lost, over what ceased to be. “i’ll do anything to get us there again — if you let me.”

the cleft of his heart, as tucked in the stupor, is propagated with the plagues. negative thoughts that only clatter in the confines, cranial pressures that are derived not from the sloshing residues of the substance. sure, uriel isn’t one to indulge in the way the world sinks its talons into his flesh, their decadent incisors in his jugular… in which downing the bacardi by the shots almost normative in nature. no, uriel could’ve had that life, alongside the myriad of privileges, but he chose this. still, for once the ricocheting headache a reminder that he’s not stripped free from the inebriated state. he’s a heavyweight, system diluting the influence in a pace so rapid, he barely reaches this threshold, let alone past it. self-control another religiously exercised practice in his current life, parading as the novice employee, he didn’t plan for the ache to rule over his head. the turning cogs now a paradox of broken gears, he truly wonders if he will have the restraints.

stitches his mouth close… or so is the plan. the suture undone at the seams, he wonders just how long he can swallow this heartbreak, letting it metastasise within. this is no carcinogenic state anymore, the stage long gone, past. he should have resigned to the fate of simply… letting someone like pak seojung go. engorged by the infatuation, he was too deep, too lost. in those eyes, those lips. open-mouthed kisses that scorched his tongue, leaving the aftertaste of the gasoline, setting him aflame. he bloomed poppies, droplets of red that was so bright, vermillion-tinted floor as he laughed so freely, for once believing that it was alright for once. to be this blissed, blessed. what was that if not illusory, cursory distraction? life did not, does not serve him in any manners wanted, the coveting chest soon anchored on the sternum with the guilt. he should be ashamed. he should be that, at the very least.

he cannot claim this heartache when seojung was never his to begin with.

possessive, obsessive. both fickle. both ample. it doesn’t matter what uriel has been telling himself, these synagogues of broken monologues as pastured by the sleepless hours, the nights growing weary— that, seojung doesn’t need to know. he is pathetic, truly. capillaries of thoughts that only entangle themselves with each other, tessellated in the formative so peculiar… uriel has sworn to himself he would not fall so effortlessly again, but it did not ask for consent prior. he just did, at the end of the day, plunge headfirst into this captivating freefall. no parachute, safety net an option he was never equipped with. always so bare, stripped off even the skin. vulnerable as always… what a fool. he wants to scoff at himself after he spits the pang of bitterness that clambered up his throat, now the bile leaving the lapse between his own reverberated voice, and seojung’s next words.

silence does not linger, carrying its echoes alongside itself as it disembarks. seojung’s words are less bullets, more kevlar. somehow uriel doesn’t have to unhinge himself from reality again just to detach from the pain, for this time, it does not unfold that way. almost surreal, with the promises that pool. the space between them does not feel as hollow anymore, and uriel doesn’t have to compel himself to look away from the street ahead, gaze relocated at the only man that once filled the void. and it is easy, uriel knows, for him to want to believe in those. the dulcet trickle, of course, but he wonders if it is easy, for seojung to enunciate these words behind the absence of gritted teeth. and here’s to end the conflagration in the crux of uriel’s ribcage. in which the telltale promises, as siphoned from what he can infer from seojung’s tonality notwithstanding uriel’s very own throbbing head with the alcohol threatening to lead him asleep… in which those telltale promises grip uriel so hard since he wants them to be true so badly.

he blinks. once, twice, trying to clear the blur that frames seojung’s face. there’s the sincerity which moves uriel’s heart. can he trust this? can he hurt twice? he doesn’t know the inclination anymore, for the conflicts come so… natural. it is justified after those weeks, after that sight. he was played for a fool, wasn’t he? we were happy once, weren’t we? say amen to that, albeit quiet. i’ll do anything to get us there again. and uriel finds himself wandering to some crooks he should not have touched. he closes his eyes, squeezing them shut for the time being to try and be rational. he cannot let his heart rule again. is this a surrender, and if so, whose side is losing? maybe it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter, for it is no longer a game. he pinches the furrow between his brows as he leans an elbow, trying to clear his mind. sure, there were pitiful scenarios entertained in his mind prior, but this? he swallows. “were we?” he asks truthfully, not to hurt. not to maim. his tone might not have conveyed it well, edging closer to vexation almost. he sighs, then. “would another chance be enough, or would you need a third?”

and so, in the light of the last morning, mourning. in which the scent of gasoline is enough to light him aflame. in which the sight of kerosene is enough to watch him alight.

in this compendium of love, loss, anything that seojung synthesizes becomes the verses of uriel’s bible. the genesis finds itself in the crooked spine of his own, as it always begins with the way seojung’s fingers tiptoe on the notches, counting the bumps and the beads, the viscera of thoughts a poltergeist against uriel’s mind. the stratified ends of their gilded tears no longer streak their numbed cheeks, the protruding bones a reminder that once, uriel was made of inflicted bruises. thus, they’re back again, reminding themselves that sometimes, when uriel’s back collides against the windowpanes so hard the glasses rattle, they are not the cruelties they were born as. monstrosity is inherent, that much uriel knows, but love is everything that rests in the silts of uriel’s mouth, lathering him with words he does not know how to say sometimes. within the conjugated hours of the nights, this knowledge haunts uriel, coalescing with the structure of these syntaxes. rounded up to nada, he wonders if the white asterisks imposing each term for this love to coexist with reality will actually forgive any of them with penitentiary prayers, albeit forlorn.

farewell caresses. seojung dreams in the cradle of the sheets, reminding uriel that if he can shoulder all the sins, he will.

and so, he does.

he loves seojung in too many facets he cannot decipher. these binary codes tide into the thoughts with too many sclerae to see, perspectives abound. in uriel’s linearity, nevertheless, there is only one way to put an end to the means. the underbellies of the nails, as crusted with fading vermillion as derived from the bodies of men, are now claimed. it is a singularity. the tale as inscribed on the yellowing parchments always spells out the residue of visceral responses towards anything, everything when it pertains to love: sacrifice. there is no love without it. there is no loss without it. for it, uriel takes it upon himself to close the chapter, its vignettes a synagogue towards the soot of the burnt remains. he has incinerated all the bridges down to ashes, all in the name of the boy with the taste of rust against his tongue. one of them has to live, for to love means to starve, sometimes. tonight, he is to starve himself off life.

he knows that the love, eventually, might fade. a futile death, it seems to say, but he is to inscribe on his own epitaph, for if he cannot live on his own terms, at least he can die on his own terms. and he can love on his own terms. this is the way his affection will stroke seojung’s axed seas, its tides unfurling, undulating. he loves seojung in ways so selfish, selfless, the juxtaposed contrast pernicious in its elegiac glory. the sigh of fate is of this beholder’s verdict, however, and for that, uriel knows better than to live in regrets. he trusts that he will live in seojung’s heart, coruscating in the depth of seojung’s mind and soul every now and then, perhaps, even when seojung ought to move on. there’s no life in laments. uriel is a mere corpse in the landfill of these godless men’s warfare, the pile of skeletal intents charred with smokes rising to the filament’s ire. bruised red skies, as accentuated with the reminiscence of ashes: that is how uriel wishes to be remembered.

sixth draft. seojung is fast asleep, still, the prescribed dose as peppered in the dinner potent.

he is weary. the sixth still starts with the ellipses of the things remain unsaid. this would otherwise be a closed-casket ceremony, uriel knows, so he’d rather have himself not interred. spread his remains, he says in this, and the epistolary rumination annexes itself in uriel. captive teeth, exhumed hands. in colder days, he wishes that his unfinished letters as attached to the spots where seojung usually kisses him will keep seojung warmer at the slightest. this cremated love will become more ethereal, for eternity is never present in the aperture of a pessimist. uriel is one. this is no guillotine, not even a garrotte. the fixated forfeiture is almost like a ritual, a life for a life. to afford the liberty, to afford the survival. uriel knows it might be unfair, but has life ever been as such?

the tears that fall ricochet. it does not hurt as much as the thought of losing seojung; he is not the one to live with it. he knows it will pain seojung to the verge, but it is through this that he can gift seojung with a life worth living, untethered to trepidation so corporeal they lose touch with reality. life since the affliction is never a life truly free. as he scribbles that onto the slightly crumpled piece of paper, the creases reminding him that none of these will be facile regardless of this act.

but this is the very least that he can afford for seojung. the love, the life; they are to choose. understands this: there will be anguish within the bereavement, but time will heal. seojung will heal. he pleads another apology, the tremble of his hand smudging the ink a tad. doesn’t know how to grovel for forgiveness, doesn’t know how to ensure this forgiveness. at the end of the day, uriel will not be alive to see the proclivity towards its absence.

he will not come out of it alive, he knows. an hour, thirty-two minutes, and three seconds left in the countdown. a suicide mission carried out, he knows this detonation is not going to let the agents walk out alive, let alone unscathed. still, even in the wake of the probability, uriel smiles. this is the price he’s willing to pay. he steals one last kiss, lingering as it may come, on the crown of seojung’s head. another on the forehead. his bare thumb caressing the chapped lips, he wonders if seojung will heed his advice, the epiphanies sunken within the pages almost risible as uriel goes against each one of them to ensure seojung’s safety.

“i love you,” he eventually croaks, seated on the floor next to the bed. his gears hung heavy against his frame, he knows better than to relent to his own fears. death is never kind.

lets the streaks cascade once more as he rakes his fingers through seojung’s hair, the syncopated heartbeats of his almost too serene for someone leading himself towards his own demise.

he resumes the last letter, none of which contain greetings and endings. chopped words, stilted thoughts. he is never the type to leave words scrivened, but he did not think the message recorded on his phone would be enough. this, he believes, will be the last, the closure. says, “so live, they don’t have anything against you anymore. live for the both of us because i can’t.”

and he closes his eyes, taking a deep inhale prior to picking himself off the ground.

his lover’s reaction shouldn’t be something unanticipated, the lechery they keep hidden from the world unfolding within the darkened expanse of their abode, away from crowds and with curtains tightly shut. seduction is part of the job and he has lost count of the times when he is equally enchanted by uriel’s hypnotic presence on stage — especially on nights where deux’s stylists decide uriel looks the most ravishing when he is barely covered with undersized tops. unfortunately for him, seojung is not as adept of an actor, not quite as capable in the art of camouflaging his attraction, so he often has to force himself to focus on something else instead, whether it is a mindless conversation with his bandmates or fiddling with a button on his own shirt. of course, it is often an implausible task to stop his gaze from fixating on uriel when he exudes such natural magnetism on stage even just from the most delicate of motions, something that seojung can only dream of achieving himself — not that he never attempts to learn from uriel, though the act itself often ends in him getting distracted against his own feeble will.

seojung’s smirk deepens as he hears uriel’s response, the lover’s voice drenched in desires too palpable to be overlooked. having been in a relationship for so many years, he can read the man better than anyone else and right now, it is clear what uriel craves from him. “you’re the one who should consider yourself fortunate, when you’ve got this scrumptious man all to yourself.” seojung hums, quoting uriel’s flattery, a laugh from the conceited statement soon evades him. “i don’t think you hate me as much as the fact that you couldn’t have me right there.” his eyebrow quirks from uriel’s tempting offer, feigning surprise as he closes the distance between and lowers himself to sit next to uriel. “what made you so fond of it?” he inquires curiously, turning his head so their gazes meet at the eye-level, his arm is perched on uriel’s shoulders while his fingers caress the skin over his lover’s arm in slow, languid movements. “was it the belt, the gloves… or that v-neck shirt? you’ll have to specify, love. might even offer a private dance if i’m in the mood for it.”

in the comfort of these confines, in which the walls are the only ones listening to their moans, uriel exploits the only privacy they can afford. the idle wait soothed him by a sliver only, as the image of seojung on that very stage, with such sultry gazes directed, redirected at deux’s spot, specifically uriel’s… well, fuck, aren’t they always the type to outdo each other in terms of arousing them in public? sadistic, masochistic. but truly, now that he is liberated from those suffocating apertures, stripped away from the attention as stolen by the lenses, he’s here to savor his lover. all his. the covets must be so vehement with seojung, just like it is with uriel, but alas, for the fans, they’re not the ones to have their hands on these two. glorified as they may come, sans the glitz donned as the veils, uriel loves seojung in ways he can no longer decimate. he loves seojung in all his entirety; he loves seojung even in their enmity. years and years to claim, and years and years to come. this just comes with fate, fortune: the fact that seojung can look this way, salivating even when fatigue lines both of them. in flame, in soot, uriel loves him all the same, wants him all the same.

while seojung is used to feigning composure with his assemblage of masks and guises, even on days where he feels like no one but an imposter ill-suited for the stature he didn’t earn himself, he cannot conceal the grimace from uriel’s harsh remark. he knows by now that he deserves every trace of spite uriel may harbour towards him. this is the heart he broke, the very eyes he lied to. not directly, per se, but white lies maim just the same, as is palpable in the darkened sorrows in uriel’s hues. these are the eyes that used to look at seojung with so much fondness he doesn’t know how to fathom it, the hands that now itch to push seojung away used to want nothing more than to hold him close, closer. seojung has come to terms with the fact that he has missed his chance to ever have anything that come remotely close. still, to have the usually mild-mannered man lash out on him like this makes him aware of just how deep the gashes are, how severe the wound manifested by mistrust and there may be no… way of gaining that back again, no way for his words to hold any resemblance of gravity when he is naught but a liar in his lover’s eyes.

still, seojung is relieved when uriel agrees to his suggestion. even if it may be brief, even if it is just uriel’s way to buy time to unleash his buried wrath towards the person who wronged him. the walk to his car is familiar yet strange the same time. it is how everything started, just ordinary interactions between two people who share the same workplace. this was the lie that he repeated himself, too, that what he felt for uriel wasn’t what his heart suggested, but he could only deny himself so long before the feelings became too tangible, demanding to be taken with solemnity. “just a few more moments.” the desperation in uriel’s voice is unmissable, but seojung is already tense enough as it is, the sight of another drunken colleague staggering out to make sense of this with an imagination running wild is not going to succour. seojung waits until they are some blocks away from the lounge and for a moment, wonders if anyone realises the host is now gone. but for the most part, his mind is full with anxious thoughts on this, the conversation long overdue, one that he has been anticipating and dreading at the same time. what if it is his last chance? what if he fucks up? what if he gives his best and it’s still not enough? what happens after? 

the car is eventually parked outside a sequestered park, undisturbed by anyone in this ungodly hour except for the occasional, dashing squirrels chasing in the dark. the night air is still, quiet except for the sounds of a waning engine and his own violent, hammering heart. he tears his fingers off the driving wheel and only realises then how tight his grip was, wonders if uriel noticed but that doesn’t matter. his throat is parched now, all the words that he planned ahead seem to have evaded him now that the right time has come. “we broke up.” he announces but his eyes have drifted to his own hands, his fingers now an entwined, fidgeting mess. he wants to get it out of the way first, without the unneeded complications that may loom within uriel’s mind. the ruin that was his former relationship needs not to be disclosed in detail. it doesn’t matter if he wasn’t in love, doesn’t exonerate what he has done to the man whose heart he lured into sacrificing. he doesn’t want to hold onto the same mouthful of excuses anymore, he has created enough carnage to remain the same heedless fool he once was.

“i want to say that i’m sorry.” he begins, his gaze forced back to meet uriel’s after a deep, overwrought breath. “you didn’t deserve to find out like that and you certainly don’t deserve the weeks long silence. i shouldn’t have… let things develop the way they did but i never expected them to.” didn’t expect to be enraptured by uriel’s smile on the very first day, didn’t expect to fall for the man with the airy laughter, who’s different from him in so many ways but not in the ways that matter. something undefinable happened between the timid glances and midnight conversations that flow with such tranquillising ease, something that he hasn’t been able to pinpoint or refrain from thinking about. he knows that uriel should have been told about the truth sooner, the guilt weighs down on him but he is resolute on not letting it silence him. this is his last chance to be honest, even if the one listening may not find his words credible anymore. “the truth is i felt something when i’m with you — something that i’ve never felt before and maybe it doesn’t matter anymore but i just want you to know that it’s real for me too.”

the calloused looks on a lover has not dissipated. in the quietest seams of the night, he believes that there’s a clash of white. it is almost blinding, the aftertaste. against his palate is the reminiscent of haste: even if it was a nightmare, he’d be streaked with the ache regardless. how he carried himself away in shatters, the percolated, siphoned feelings a weight on his sternum. he was too many feet under, asunder. there’s nothing to salvage his remnants upon the knowledge kept… had he been aware of this lover’s syntax in this world where two lips coalesced in more than mere desires that never waned, he’d save himself the precocious heartbreaks. isn’t one to indulge in the ideas of infidelity, the stratum of this bloodied love a matter of lies. he’s not here for someone’s lover’s dispute. tell himself, once again, that he isn’t one to sabotage. perhaps, just perhaps, he harbored too much trust in seojung so fast, so hard. the fall was effortless, he’s stitched with laments now. resenting seojung is the only way to cope with this, seething. but was seojung deliberate? or was seojung simply abated?

the weeks that permeated in silence almost a sign of love and loss. uriel is all too aware, the residue of his last beloved still tainting his mind with plethora thoughts of farewell. with seojung, he expected none if not an iota of feelings, never intending the direct plunge into the open-mouthed precipice. past it, uriel severed his neck, his guts spilled on the floor with the rest of his fractured pieces. fragments that wilt, he is a house of cards, half-built when seojung simply took the liberty to cradle him in another collapse. so say surrender, as eradicated. say surrender, as attenuated. the slivers of his emotions now crushed, he refuses to deal with the damage. after all, hasn’t the exact same thing occurred upon the announced, renounced end? he was to shoulder the burden of his own pain, as always, the men leaving fingerprints in the marrows another flask of evidence to imbibe. inebriated, still. slurs his words based on the syllables of hurt. even during times like these, uriel still wear his heart on his sleeve, vulnerable. what a foolish, fragile spine.

there’s no accentuated love for this. he did not, does not glorify being the subject within a man’s infidelity. at the crux of it, nonetheless. pak seojung came with an asterisk: terms applied. it was one of them — one that uriel failed to see. how… risible. of course, someone like seojung would have another already. in the core of this chrysalis, threatening to rupture as its membranes cannot contain the falsified intents anymore, lies the belligerence of emotions that uriel does not know how to contain. in the radio silence, the static deafens him to the fact that this tacit ignominy will always haunt him. this quietude is almost verbatim in all its void; he’d rather be in the company of it rather than seojung’s, for he’s certain that he cannot bear another ounce of shame, palpitating against his rapidly pulsing cadence. he likes, no… he loves seojung, perhaps, the infatuation waning into something else entirely as they spent more time together. otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so distraught, would he? thus, his sitting in the car, the pleas from seojung almost a concern forgotten since his headache is simply too potent, just how he likes it. he sees, however, the gnawing teeth of agony rimming the ends of seojung’s frame. he doesn’t care, isn’t supposed to. but goodness, what is his ache now if not amplified?

in this vortex of the spinning, he is reminded of a man with a soft kiss, too honest, too sincere. half-stirring, though, he notices how tense seojung is. still, to form a thought is still a challenge at this rate. he succumbs to the slivers of sleep as he tries listening to seojung. it’s not like he needs to tell seojung the route towards his place, his apartment a memory that perhaps perforates both minds. lingering is the faltering kiss that was meant to be short-lived. words are not succinct with them, however, and during the passing days, uriel does wish the same could apply to this. their love, too, as intended, except for the truth that seojung is a pair of lips borrowed. not his. never his. he counts the flashing lights emanated from the passing cars, like beads. when seojung starts speaking, however, he is tugged towards the gravity of the words. they broke up… right. uriel tries to gauge if it’s lined with sorrow to no avail. fuck, he’s too drunk for this. but seojung isn’t done, he isn’t quite done with the conversation that should last five minutes. and there seojung is, asking for forgiveness, not quite grovelling but this suffices. uriel wanted to hear it, at the very least, and the rest can remain buried in the backyard, the supposed chance of love a skeleton for this landfill.

shakes his head, this time. he should not have coveted what cannot be his to start with. just a plaything… but a game should not have warranted a breakup, especially in a binding commitment for so long. seojung should have sounded broken, but he isn’t. when the valve of confessions eventually pour into the axed silence between them, uriel looks at seojung in a blatant disbelief. no, it doesn’t justify the cheating. yes, it doesn’t restrain the rapture. he veers the gaze, from seojung to the road ahead, the sight almost opaque with the blur. distorted from the substance sloshing in his system, he’s doused with selfish intents. this, though, the truth… it’s pyrophonic in nature, disruptive. there is a ghost of a smile that only lingers in his head, not reaching his lips. he sinks into the confession that would otherwise tether the blush on his cheeks, but he is not the one laughing now. compelling himself to contemplate this straight is more than just a task, but it’s still accomplished regardless. the penitence isn’t his to deliver, but he is so… obstinate with his greed that he latches onto seojung with his hungry teeth. suicism, as it turns out, is a vice he indulges in. almost anticlimactic for a jung uriel, but sure. “it does matter,” he manages eventually, his throat tasting like kerosene. “but i’ve been wondering if that matters enough… in…” he cringes, forgetting the trail of words that supposedly follow. “wondering if that matters enough for you in the end. if it means… enough? enough for you to not do the same to me the way you did to her.”

despite the inconveniences and distress that occasionally plague his line of vocation, seojung relishes his time on stage on nights like this. here he is the subject adored, sought after by the earnest eyes both in the audience seats and beyond the cameras. passion projects such as this, that elicit an previously undisclosed side from the now seasoned performer, are among his favourites. he does not need to be told how much the fans will appreciate the gesture. of course, he notices deux’s presence among the enamoured assemblage, and as usual, his eyes drift, as if on autopilot, to catch uriel’s curious ones almost too easily, too fondly. but the night is long and there are too many spectators watching, so seojung keeps the decadent smile on his lips, his focus almost impeccable as he aims for the best performance to dazzle and entice.

the performance itself seems to have passed in few exhilarating seconds, though it feels like hours til the entire recording is over and after that, the brief fan meeting scheduled for the group. seojung is naught but tired bones when he returns to the quietude of the apartment, his makeup removed in haste and with it the leather gloves he sported on stage, the fabrics suffocating as the night drags on. the lights are already on, illuminating the space he calls home, indicating that he is not alone. in response to the sweet, familiar voice of the beloved, he calls back with a smile as his gaze traces the source, mouth parting slightly when he notices uriel’s aroused state. “well, that’s part of the job.” seojung answers, a lewd smirk unfolding onto his lips as he beholds his lover in his undraped glory. seojung’s gaze is slow, curious as it takes in the spectacle, his once tired eyes now glistening with intrigue. his feet leads him closer to the divan in their living room and on it his favourite sight, his lover eager just for him. “ ⁠— so i take it that my greatest fan’s successfully seduced?” his eyes drift downwards then, his head tilting with mirth. “then i consider my mission tonight’s accomplished.”

the scintillating gazes often worn by the captive audience tend to be none but a form of norms for the both of them — and to survive in the industry, he is to conform with the ability to suppress himself. sometimes discomfort becomes another typical nights for him, his being away from seojung becoming the impediments that often ends with the nights cultured in simply… looking at the lover from the screen of his phone. it’s become nothing but a way of reprieve at times, the ability to access seojung’s presence anywhere, no suspicions attached even if someone is to peek into his privacy. the fact that the night evaporated with that performance within that outfit, though… it was a test, if he were to be honest. pressing his lips together to compose himself from preventing the arousal from emerging on his countenance was definitely an actor’s work. thank goodness that he is one, and an exquisite one at that.

the crest of tonight’s performance is inevitably genesis’, the highlight of the cover of the girl group’s song almost too... sensuous, even for uriel. it is almost risqué, and while uriel has withstood a myriad of predicaments when it comes down to this kind of situation, sometimes he merely cannot pretend that it doesn’t happen. on-stage, seojung has too many eyes on him, with just how lewd the dance moves are, laden with the implications that uriel aren’t willing to entertain. this is fan service, sure. uriel has done that before, but tonight, the stylists aren’t truly toying around with their job. seojung glistens, as always, among the rest of them; knows he’s biased, but uriel doesn’t really have the patience to truly wait until the show is over. there’s a smirk that threatens to form, but he reigns it in until the event ends. 

in this reality, their bodies are caskets of lies. in which their stomaches are full of the pieces torn, their beasts chewed up. the monstrous teeth clatter at this pit of their full venters, reminding them that they feasted on the flesh of the cruelties. otherwise, they would not live. otherwise, they would not sleep. even in the deepest crooks of their nightmare, terrorised jaunts define them in manners uriel cannot forget. and this: this is how they remain alive albeit halved, they remain afloat albeit anchored. to the ends that describe themselves as the overture of undulating waves, coming and crushing in the violent emotions. wonders, sometimes, how they still breathe in a way so humane, so mundane, even when uriel reminds himself from time to time that they are no longer those. adjectives, semantics. in these metaphors, the men devour the wolves. not to survive, but to revive. themselves, all good men know how to embrace that part of themselves in the mirrors, acknowledging the demons in their siphoned imageries to ensure that no, there’s no defying, denying when it comes down to the grotesquerie… it was not by choice, doesn’t mean it can be falsified when they are this deep into the culture.

so, they’re espoused to this, their bared canines another circumstance worth noting. the way they sink their hunger into the forked tongue of life, the cuspids referred to the duality of facets led… they cannot pretend that they haven’t become the abominations the society detests. but that, that is kept behind their polished façades, the smiles not meant to disclose their sharpened teeth. in the face of the common façades, they are nothing if not lost and found, to the point where uriel’s father is coloured in the anxiety upon asking where he was. his father was content with the fallacies of thoughts, the ‘experiencing the world’ an excuse that appa is so willing to taste, for he cannot bear the thought of failing the late wife again. and for that, uriel despises himself, these brittle bones inflicting wounds not just in him but also in the hearts of his beloved. alas, he’s a changed man, no longer the boy overgrowing his skin. at least he’s not alone tonight. at least he’s not… without seojung again. for that, he can only be grateful.

and this is the night when they’re turning themselves inside out, the anomalies scorching their bodies with marks. brandishing nothing but their abnormal systems, seojung becomes the other half of the frequent pairing they’re in, their dynamics in battles worth noting. it is a slaughterhouse, and as they perform the massacres, there’s nothing like decapitating their own necks. this is a two-way guillotine. nobody comes out unscathed out of the crime scene. but then… but then, as they dive deeper into this, forgetting the taste of the surface, there is less and less humanity to lose anyway. with each deduction is the law of diminishing return. what they have isn’t much to start with, now. they cannot lose what they do not have. so, he doesn’t even flinch as he bends the bullets, turning them against the assailants with none but sheer willpower. his mutation reaches a peak that he wouldn’t have foreseen years ago, the way it’s exploited now. and for the beloved, he fights. seojung is the most effective blackmail material, his life dependent on uriel’s performances on the field, and he’s pretty much certain it occurs vice versa, too. how risible, all the powers he has in the world, pushed to the limits — and yet, he cannot protect the one that he loves the most.

frustration sometimes escalates, and tonight, it manifests in the form of desire. their entrance into the house via the balcony, surreptitious as always, wakes no one. no sound. the quietude is almost disconcerting, but he isn’t one to clatter his teeth in the fears of silence. in fact, silence is welcomed as they enter the abode. his bedroom is shaded by the dark, dimly lit from the measures of moonlit skies, but he doesn’t immediately get to turn the lights on. instead, the ravishing thirst causes him to tug at seojung’s arm before seojung can enter the room further, and clad in all-black, seojung doesn’t have to show skin to fuel uriel’s wants. there’s nothing to quench this but by trapping his lover against the wall between his arms, and in the company of the hollowed touch, he stares into seojung’s eyes, their masks revealing none but those. it is reminiscent of the day when seojung came to end the life uriel thought he would lead, forever altering his fate. he cannot blame seojung for that, when in fact it still gives him seojung in his rarity, in his entirety. in spite of the ache from their own monstrous machineries, they’re here, together. so uriel savours it, his impatience shown as he doesn’t bother taking anything off.

“of course i care, i — “ but that is not the question. uriel asks why he cares, the inducement of his precipitous display of concern. perspicuous, considering seojung has remained silent for the past two weeks. so unusual for someone who radiates exuberance, who often chimes in conversations with zealousness in his voice. why does seojung care? and why now? seojung is aware that there is a discrepancy between what he feels for uriel, what he holds still, and uriel’s perception of it. it is seojung’s own liability, for failing uriel’s trust when he’d let seojung in with open palms. if seojung has a smidgen of shame left in him, he should let uriel slip from the grasp of his pernicious desires, to set him free. but seojung knows, in the depths of his ruimination, that he will not be able to forgive himself for letting go. of the love he yearns for, a love that has never touched him before uriel’s ingress into his life. seojung did not know that his heart can grow so tender from adoration, his hands so mellow from all this hope. even if it means having his final fragment of pride crushed, seojung knows that he wants to know, without a hint of incertitude, if there is anything left to salvage between them.

the affliction in uriel’s eyes maims him and the guilt returns to gnaw at the marrows of his bones, the flesh of his heart. seojung knows that this must seem like a ruthless game to uriel and he does not blame uriel for the grim conjecture. after all, seojung has never attempted to elucidate, for he had nothing to divulge before he mustered enough courage to bite the bullet. and now, with hitched breaths and anxious hands, seojung has to do it again. to prove that he is more than the reckless fool he was before, with only a mouthful of white lies and sugarcoated artifices, hands that did not deserve to be entrusted nor kissed. but here, surrounded by curious ears that can easily indulge in the revelations between the estranged lovers, is unsuited for a confrontation of this nature. it is too perilous, the repercussions too dire to be endured. power beckons attention, wanted or not, and many would love to hear about the corrupt deviance of pak seojung, the anticipated heir to the influential conglomerate. beneath the enchanting smiles and congeal conversations exchanged in soirées and festivities, few will hesitate to sabotage if the act itself warrants a hefty sum from ravenous journalists foraging for the next exposé. “can we take this somewhere else, please? i really think we should talk. five more minutes and i’ll be gone from your life forever.” it takes efforts to still the quiver, to brush aside the murmur that tells him this is naught but a grave mistake, a bedevilled chapter that should be forsaken for good. but he does not want this to end, whatever it is they still have between them. yes, seojung deserves to be deserted but if he’s given the chance — he’ll do anything to mend this. 

he knows now after the separation, how crippling is the dearth of his lover. but this is what always happens in this great vaudeville called life, isn’t it? to be crushed by the gravity of what he held only when the link is severed. still, he wants to hold onto the last sliver of hope, that they can fasten what was torn asunder, that he is not too late. what else does he have left to lose now, anyway? he is already ruptured, his ribs pulverised by the absence of the beloved. even under the faint glow of florescent, seojung can see the tears uriel is attempting to conceal, the sorrow in the eyes once brimming with adulation. he cannot help but wonder how many nights were wasted on him, on mourning the loss of someone so undeserving. perhaps uriel wants nothing more to do with seojung, the sweetness of remembrances vanquished by the bitterness from the sight of seojung entwined with someone else. “but i understand if you don’t want to talk… in that case — just let me make sure you get home safe, please. it’s my duty, even just as the employer.”

uriel is typically one to circumvent, the concept of facing his issues dead in the eye almost too foreign. after all, he’s not meant for that as of yet. life is this predicament which seams come undone late, his ideas of resolving altercations of the mind is found in how nimble he can run. again, jung uriel is just a mere mortal riddled with the unkempt thoughts of scampering for a living, even when in fact he is far from that. the vérité of this risibly documents the way he scavenges not only for means but also for love. there’s no adjusticated shape of this pernicious exchange as spoken between pak seojung and himself. at the end of the day, they should have remained strangers. didn’t uriel learn enough? he’s not meant for this. for love. feelings are just inconveniences crafted out of the way he tessellates his reveries with a man that he thought would do the same. nursing the headache, though, uriel would like to consider himself a heavyweight… but even so, he knows that he’s gone past the threshold regardless how high. for that, when seojung blurts out that he cares, uriel is tempted to laugh again, but he bites his lower lip.

prevention measures necessary. he’s never learned how to play this game of two—unlike pak seojung—but he knows he’s learned enough how to play this game of one. self-defense as veneered with latent, laden lies. this is why he tends to steer away from this direction, for intoxication might render him swayed, mouth spilling the viscera of thoughts without much of a wait. still, the heartbreak can get so much, too much for him to stomach without having the inflicted pain diluted at the very least. brimmed with these, torn with these, uriel feels like his chest is a casket for the shreds that were once forming a heart. but isn’t this the same? his breakup memory tormented him on a good basis. but this? simply exquisite. someone like seojung, who can win the affection and attention of plenty, would not have touched someone like uriel, whose starvation can only be quenched with fabricated truth. a hopeless romantic, isn’t he? he knew it’d become his downfall one day. today is that one day.

at that, he imbibes the self-pity. of course i care, while it does sound convincing, uriel isn’t about that life of being that gullible again. he doesn’t want to lather himself in the weight of this wanting, only to douse himself in the ache again. enough carnage, he’s been faulting himself for the ease within this fall, rupturing his every being. he is nothing but a collection of fractures, now, otherwise he would not have been this inebriated. and to see seojung again, the conversation adrift for uriel. no, he refuses—he refuses to fall again in ways that sear so deeply the gashes take years to even heal. not like he’s not already a casket of scar tissues. … and somewhere else, huh? uriel knows there’s a definite yes readied to leap towards the forefront of his mind, mouth. but does he really want it, when the confirmed case of seojung’s infidelity a silhouette of truth already? he’s not about that life, being the precipice to end another’s relationship. wills the blurred sight away, nevertheless, because this might proffer him with that clarity. “five minutes,” he concurs, nodding. gone from his life forever? even the thought pains uriel, but he’s not going to relent to the feelings. vulnerability is still a mantle too heavy that he insists on donning still.