MY LOVE, MINE ALL MINE.

he knows he is being excessively petty, self-destructive even, lingering on a rivalry that was, in theory, squashed several months ago. perhaps it would have remained that way if the playing field had actually been levelled, if there had been a handshake and a reconciliation somewhere in public, where the world could agree the only beef they'd share from now on would be on a tabletop grill at a local barbecue spot. but between the billboards and the senior monitoring and the targeted ads and the comments on his social media posts, ren cannot escape siwoo, or his now validated superiority complex. and it only serves to make his already frayed nerves resemble exposed live wires even more.

"you wouldn't get it," he adds, not nearly with as much ire as he tries, and fails, to fabricate when addressing sarang directly, "everybody likes you."

it's such a bizarre, almost indescribable feeling, being in such close proximity with someone he once, potentially, loved and now, potentially, loathes. he is usually so keen on quashing his own fatalism, but now he leans into it, even when making eye contact with sarang still causes that odd fluttering feeling in his chest.

he orders the same soju cocktail, only because he can't be bothered to think of anything else or to be seen doing something as invested as reading the menu. and anyway, something sweet will make it easier to get drunker faster, and he can stop thinking so hard about all the things that make him miserable. he hasn't figured out how to tell his therapist about this newfound coping mechanism just yet. someday, maybe.

sarang fills the space between them with verbiage, like he's so good at. ren lets his words hang somewhere in the middle, suspended in a limbo between being heard and being ignored. it's all honeyed compliments and permanent flirtation, the usual recipe for disaster that he coaxes up so easily from within.

but then he utters what sounds like a genuine apology, which causes ren to look up from where he let his gaze fall on the edge of sarang's shoulder, a glint in his eyes clearing away the fugue state that clouded them a moment before. his scowl doesn't melt away, but there is something behind it other than annoyance now, a thoughtfulness as he contemplates the motive behind sarang's words.

"did you mean it when you said i'm not 'ready to be loved?'"

little do they know though, he's just as flawed as they are, and that level of ignorance will have him put on a pedestal regardless of his struggles or imperfections. it's a cruel cycle if you think about it, but all he can do now is hold his head high and rise above. that's part of why he's here with ren right now. aside from any ulterior motive to keep him around, sarang thinks it would be good for them to remain some level of friends. they have a lot they can learn from one another, even if their romantic chemistry isn't always in line.

it's then when his apology is met with a question, one that takes him a little by surprise, but also reveals information that he didn't have before. he remembers the night they broke up, but he was in such a rare state of emotional intensity that his usually composed verbiage was overtaken by comments meant to cause harm. hurt people hurt people, as they say. clearly, this comment has lived with ren ever since that night and sarang feels terrible for adding to the voices that spiral within his ex's head. he knows there's plenty of them, and that basically all of them are unkind.

the server shows up to place their drinks down and once they retreat, sarang poises himself to speak once more; grateful for the few extra seconds to gather his thoughts, as well as the first big gulp to help ease the tension. "first of all, i'm sorry that i said that. in that moment especially, i was lacking better judgment and felt hurt by you, so i wanted to hurt you in return." admitting it causes the hair on his nape to stand tall, but he shakes it off as best he can. "i wish i would've had the mind to tell you that i wish it was easier for you to receive love, to see yourself how i, and everyone who loves you, sees you, even if it goes against everything that you believe about yourself."

leean wasn't even paying attention, truthfully. not until he felt a nudge on his shoulder, making him raise a bit of a brow. he looks over, his face softening once he saw sarang sitting there. though, truthfully, he's a bit speechless seeing the other in person. he's gorgeous, he's beautiful, and he looks just like a model. he couldn't help but to have his breath taken away. though, his ears go red at the compliment given to him. "hi, pretty," he says, leaning in a bit closer to the other and smiling softly at him. though, he pulls away, lips staying in the soft smile. "i've got a thinking face, huh?" he asked.

leean finished up tightening the board, putting his tool away - just so he can focus on sarang now. his eyes going back to look at the beauty in front of himself; a beauty that aphrodite would seemingly be jealous of. he shook his head, "i've only been here a few minutes. i wanted to get here early, just so i can make sure everything was good to go," he says, before he's placing the board down upon the ground; his right foot settling on top of it. he smirks a bit, "your hair does look nice," leean says. "however, even if it was messy, i think it would still look really nice," he says. "i think, no matter what, you'd still be really beautiful," this time, his words a bit soft, a smirk glistening on his lips.

sure, he realizes that some, especially his female friends, may view his deep intrigue with the same-sex as something flawed. are men really that interesting? do they even deserve the attention? all that is up for debate, but sarang can't really help himself. they get his heart rate up in a way that drives him a little crazy, and that's precisely what happens when leean calls him pretty, then beautiful. it's a massive hit of dopamine, one that's more complicated than it seems, but he chooses to bask in its glow regardless—lapping up each word as if they're his lifeblood.

"well, i appreciate you taking the time to make sure everything is safe for me," he muses, grinning. "i genuinely don't think i'm going to be good at this, but doing it means i get to be close to you, so... it's worth a shot, in my opinion." his vulpine gaze dons an impish gleam, his knee bumping against leean's. "sure! we can give it a go. though, if i fall, you have to promise to catch me. i'd hate for my knees to get scraped..." any blemish on his skin would cause him to wilt. it's pathetic, but it's true.

he had made his way to the skateboard, riding his board along as he usually did. he wanted to make sure to get their earlier, just so he could be there for sarang. he almost was a bit surprised that sarang wanted to come to the skate park, truth be told; he wasn't entirely sure it was something the other would actually be in to. but, it was kind of cool - someone wanting to experience something like this that he enjoys. usually, it was just the people coming into the skate shop that he was really bonding over skating with. it never seemed to be the really pretty boys like sarang who were interested in giving it a shot.

truth be told, leean almost didn't think sarang was real at first; in some sort of way. seeing him on grindr, he thought for sure that it was a whole set up; someone was pretty as him matching with him and talking to him. there had to be loads of people throwing themselves all over sarang, right? guess he just got lucky; leean was always someone who seemingly had a bit of luck on his side, so he couldn't really complain all that much. yet, still, he didn't believe sarang was truly real until he started to get photos and the such - it was quite nice, really.

now, he won't lie, he would never choose to do this in his downtime. he's terrified of getting hurt and he's never truly been a fan of outdoor activities. that being said, there's a guy he met recently that he's really trying to impress, and it just so happens that he enjoys kick-pushing his way around the city. even if sarang ends up being bad at this, he knows that going forward with it will give him many opportunities to woo his date. if not with an unlocked proficiency for the skateboard, then definitely with his adorability and charm.

upon arrival, he spots leean immediately. their conversations have been fun on grindr, so all he can hope is that the chemistry will continue even in person. making a beeline toward him, he takes the seat beside him on the bench he's sitting on, then nudges him with his shoulder; the delicious notes of apricot and white musk from his cologne sweetening the air around them. "hi, you," his voice is a delicate singsong lilt. "your thinking-face is so cute."

it's like him to start off with an obvious compliment, but he couldn't help himself. he witnessed leean fixing up his board from afar, so the vision of the other's expression is fresh in his mind. "you haven't been waiting here for too long, have you? i was trying to make sure my hair looked extra good for you, so i'm sorry that i'm a little late..." he's beaming, curious as to how the rest of their afternoon is going to go.

@sarangbe

so far, in hangyeol's twenty minutes of acting experience, he had quickly learned acting, as a concept, wasn't so different from what he inherently brought to the table when he was expressing himself through dance. every routine was made infinitely better when the face, as well as the body, told the story of the movements it made, and when he put himself in the mood of the story he was telling. this acting thing, he'd discovered, was just that, but with words, instead of dance moves.

and improvisation, in this context, was just like improvising a dance. he would have to pick the mood, the story, himself, with no script or routine, and with a scene partner. they would have to work together to tell the story without any inkling of where it might go next: infinitely more difficult, but no less exciting. and fun.

they should have, however, known better than to pair hangyeol and sarang together for such an unpredictable task. they already lived each day alongside each other carefree and virtually untethered, despite the stringent expectations of their career trajectory. they fed off of each other's fun-loving energy, their creative minds and untapped chaotic positivity a recipe for some kind of entertainment. even if the only ones they were entertaining were each other.

pc bang. pc bang?? between the two of them, hangyeol couldn't think of any two people in the world who had spent less time in a pc bang. winging it felt like the biggest understatement possible for what they'd have to do next.

the fact of the matter is, in tv and film, especially in his country, he wouldn't stand much of a chance unless he sought out roles in 'BL' dramas, and while they sound titillating and fun in theory, they have a reputation for pigeonholing an actor's career into one specific lane, and torching other opportunities for them because people simply can't be normal about same-sex relationships here. it's sad, really, but there's not much he can do about it. at least not right now.

nevertheless, whenever sr media offers acting workshops, sarang makes sure to sign himself up for them; enjoying them more than any of the other types of instruction they offer him. this go around, he's paired with hangyeol, a 'bestie' of his that he loves so much, and he's excited to see what comes out of their work together. their closeness could be an asset to them and their chemistry, or it could be a deterrent. familiarity when it comes to things like this goes either way, at least from what he can tell, but when hangyeol dives into their scene, sarang empties his mind and stays present in the moment. he's 'locked in', as they say.

pretending as though he's lost in a pc game on a make-believe screen in front of him, he whines out loud when his shoulder is tapped and enacts how he'd imagine a gamer would after losing a final match, agitated and coping with too much adrenaline from the stress. "c'monnnnn, i was just about to nuke the boss!" sarang hollers, then stands from his seat; perturbed. "that was the longest winning streak i've had in weeks, but nooo, you just had to come up to me and ask for my computer!"

"as long as it's not one of those dives where everyone smokes inside," if he makes eye contact, it is cloudy and without feeling, virgo judgment and adolescent scorn painting dark browns the tragic gray of tombstones and fog, "i can't stand the smell."

sarang continues on as if oblivious to the facade of loathing ren is so meticulously painting over himself, a confident puppeteer indifferent to the fact that his sloppiest creation might be plotting his demise as he sleeps. even now, he is so powerful, and it makes the voice in ren's head shout pathetic at him even louder.

"that's assuming any of it is actually any good," he mutters in response about his own music, bitterness at his professional situation now battling for the forefront alongisde that which sarang's presence produces in him.

"for all i know, they'll sell it all to vybe and tell me to fuck off," he doesn't mean to be so candid with the very person he'd prefer to hide all of his vulnerabilities from, lest he find another golden opportunity to throw them back in his face when he decides ren is, once again, underperforming as a human being. but he hasn't had the chance to be so honest about his truest feelings about his music, about his worst fears and discarded aspirations. sure, being in sarang's presence for more than a few seconds is enough to turn his stomach with tumultuous emotion, but so is the thought of a certain vybe member getting his hands on one of ren's musical babies and making it his own.

and, after everything, sarang is bold enough to suggest ren assist him in a professional setting and critique his songs, as casually as proposing they discuss crypto over coffee or see the newest marvel movie or baseball.

that, plus the harshness that cigarettes have on the complexion and teeth, are the sole reasons he hasn't picked up the habit himself, even if it's felt a bit tempting due to the stress he's been put under. like many his age, he could just reach for a vape with a saccharine sweet flavor, bubblegum or cotton candy or apple sugar or whatever, but the negative health and beauty effects still creep up regardless of how the vapors are inhaled.

known for his visuals, he'd rather be safe than sorry. if he's cursed to waste his prettiest years in the dungeons of sr media, then he's dead-set on making sure they never, ever falter. come hell or high water, he will be the most beautiful man that roams those hallways, forever. "don't worry though, i wouldn't subject you to that. i know better."

the cool night air embraces them, but despite the spring chill that nips at his cheekbones and nose, there's a very obvious heat that's emanating from ren. it could just be the warmth of his body after being trapped in the studio for way too many hours, but sarang doesn't think that that's so. it feels different than that, than how it used to. this fire paired with the ferocity of ren's words tells him that what burns beneath the other's skin is anger, and maybe he's insane for this, but he finds it enticing; sexy. there's a danger to it that he's attracted to, even if it makes no sense for him to be. it's just how it is.

"ren, don't sell yourself so short," sarang begins, treading carefully. "i don't think i've ever heard anything bad from you. that, and isn't your music being heard a good thing? like, even if it's not you who releases it, people are going to love what you create." is giving ren a pep talk a good call right now? he doesn't know, but he hopes that his ex can tell that there's truth to his statements and that he's not just gassing him up for no reason whatsoever. either way, they arrive at the bar and make their way inside; grabbing a table in the corner away from the majority of the crowd.

sitting parallel to him allows sarang to get a better look at ren's face, even in the moody lighting. he can see how tired he is, how his brows seem permanently furrowed, and his jaw holds most of his tension. there's part of him that longs to cup his face and give him a kiss to soften him, like in the past, but he knows that type of affection won't settle his emotions. if anything, it'll cause them to surge, and not in a good way, so he distracts himself with their conversation, sighing.

"when have you ever been easy on me, ren?" he laughs, then playfully rolls his eyes. "i think back then my feelings would get so hurt because... well, because of rather obvious reasons. i really just wanted to impress you, but i was in no shape to actually do so."

if ren had still been stuck in the church his family had narrowly escaped, or if he had followed them to the one they called home now, or if they had all been born a few centuries earlier, sarang's end would have been imminent, on a flaming pyre lit by frightened, angry men in dark robes and starched collars. he recalls, against his own will, and with startling accuracy, what few passages he remembers from the crucible, tenth grade english class discussions of it tinted with the bias of growing up on the distant tip of the bible belt.

...i know how you clutched my back behind your house and sweated like a stallion whenever i came near...

how scandalous it had been then, read aloud among a throng of going-on-sixteens who still sat sheltered in their own respective bubbles. how familiar it felt now, as if sarang was actively speaking the words to him between every syllable he uttered aloud.

ren is still upset with him; he has clung to the quietly simmering anger that comes with heartbreak, an emotion that seems to well up inside him every time someone so much as mentions sarang (an unfortunate byproduct that lies therein, the fact that his name is love itself). but he can feel himself weakening to his pull already, to the known fact that sarang carefully curated his appearance for this moment, to the faint waft of his familiar fragrance, even from this minimally respectful distance. and under ire and resentment still sits desire, an undeniable longing he hasn't yet figured out how to shake.

it's true, he can't help the way his eyes flit down the modest length of sarang's form. his expression doesn't budge.

...i may think of you softly from time to time. but i’ll cut my hand before i ever reach for you again...

"fine," he concedes, almost icily, after a surreptitious glance down either end of the otherwise empty hallway. it is only one word, but he knows sarang will catch the layers behind it, the warnings, the only-because-if-something-happened-to-you-i'd-never-forgive-myselfs, the i-still-hate-yous, the i-miss-you-but-don't-let-it-go-to-your-heads.

...you loved me, john proctor, and whatever sin it is, you love me yet...

maybe it's selfish of him to continue making himself a presence in ren's life, a phantom sheathed in the shadows of his memory, only to reappear whenever ren is close to forgetting about him. sarang doesn't specifically time like that, but that seems to be the trend. it's like he has a sense for it, and out of fear of being eradicated from the caverns of his mind, he places himself right back into it—for better or for worse. it seems sinister. rather, it is sinister, depending who you ask, but in his own point-of-view, he just wonders if things will be different without alex around.

he and ren never had a lot of time to themselves during their tryst, and though sarang tried to push for more intimacy, they seldom fell into the same rhythm. he would slam on the gas pedal, and ren would pump the breaks; practicing restraint and responsibility as opposed to taking any risks. he won't lie, he found it excruciatingly boring at times, but there's a part of him that always knew that, if they had the time to really fall into step with each other, magic could be created.

ren always felt uncatchable. sarang knows why, to some degree, but it's made him curious about how things could have gone if they had more time alone. in a way, he hopes tonight will prove his theory to be accurate, but he's also trying not to get his hopes up too high. for all he knows, they could have a couple drinks, ren will remember the depth of his hatred, and then they'll never see each other again—becoming ghosts for real this time.

when ren accepts his invitation, albeit rather aggressively, sarang smiles; changing the expression on his 'stupid face' naturally. "i promise it'll be fun," he begins, reaching a hand out to grab onto ren's, but then stops himself; knowing that it would probably be too much too soon. "i don't wanna go to a club, per se, but i thought finding a shadowy bar we can find a corner table in would be nice. there's one not that far from here." he's become familiar with all of them after he started training. maybe a little too familiar, but he digresses.

pivoting on his feet, he begins to wander down the length of the empty hallway; ensuring that ren is still beside him along the way. "i see you're still devoting all your time to the studio. i feel like by the time either one of us debuts, you'll have, like, five albums put together with all of the music you write. maybe even more." sarang wonders if any of the songs ren's written are about him, but he doesn't ask. he knows his music is personal, and there's no way in hell he'll get any information about it now.

"believe it or not, i've been trying to get better at this whole music thing, too. it's more fun than i thought it'd be."