“Coffee? Or juice, since it’s late?”
“Yes.”
Coffee or juice? Even the simple answer made him tense. Some of the irritation he always felt around Do-young was because of this. He didn’t want to get entangled, didn’t want to be so aware of him. Every accidental touch, every lingering gaze made his breath catch. At first, he thought it was just annoyance, embarrassment over his clumsiness. But he realized it wasn’t. His temperature rose where Do-young touched him. His throat went dry under that steady gaze. He was a man, just like him. Was it admiration? No, that didn’t feel right. He didn’t want to be like Do-young. If not that, then…
Yiwoo furrowed his brows, lost in thought, then noticed the wet floor beneath him.
“Ah!”
He’d completely forgotten he was pouring juice. The cold liquid spilled over his feet. He felt a presence behind him. Startled, he turned to see Do-young standing there, as if he’d rushed over at the sound of Yiwoo’s exclamation.
“Are you okay?”
“Y-yeah… just spilled some juice.”
How had he moved so fast? He’d been sitting on the sofa just a moment ago. Yiwoo stumbled back, bumping into the table. Maybe all those incidents weren’t coincidences. The primary cause was always Yiwoo, but the secondary cause—Do-young’s presence—made it all feel intentional. Unless it was all in his head. But assuming Do-young had ulterior motives made everything fall into place. Had he been watching him, focusing on him? Was that why he’d rushed over the moment Yiwoo cried out? Why?
“……Do-young.”
Yiwoo hesitated before calling his name. But once he did, he didn’t know what to say. No evidence, not even certainty.
“N-no… never mind. Go sit down.”
As he cleaned up and poured a new glass, Yiwoo kept stealing glances at Do-young. Do-young sat on the sofa, making a few calls—probably about the lock repair. He hung up on unanswered calls and made inquiries, then ended with a simple “I understand.” Yiwoo approached and placed the juice on the table in front of Do-young. Holding his own glass, he hesitated. Do-young’s gaze met his, and without a word, he shifted to the side, leaving space on the sofa.
Standing there awkwardly, Yiwoo finally sat down next to Do-young, trying to act natural. He leaned toward the armrest to avoid contact and asked,
“They can’t come fix it?”
“No. Bad timing.”
Do-young even knew idioms. The clichéd phrase somehow sounded fresh coming from him, who Yiwoo had assumed only spoke in blunt, literal terms.
“Did you go to engineering school?”
“Yes.”
Just like that.
The conversation died. Do-young reached out toward Yiwoo. Yiwoo flinched as Do-young’s arm brushed past him to pick up the juice from the table. The brief contact made his heart race. Heat rose again, and he gulped down his juice in one go. The cool liquid soothed his flushed throat and settled his churning stomach. He licked his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness. A sudden gaze made him turn sharply—Do-young was watching him.
What? Why was he looking at him? Did he like him? Had he seen him lick his lips just now? What should he do? They were alone. Maybe this man…
“You must be really hungry.”
“Huh?”
“Earlier…”
Yiwoo remembered the loud growl from his stomach at 102’s door. Do-young hadn’t been looking at his lips. He sighed in relief—at least his wild thoughts hadn’t slipped out. He couldn’t imagine the fallout if they had.
Anyway, he was hungry. He needed to eat before his stomach growled again. The thought of pizza lingered. Should he suggest ordering some? As he glanced at Do-young, Do-young spoke first.
“Let’s order pizza.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you like it? You eat it every week.”
Yiwoo’s eyes widened in surprise. How did he know? Had they ever had a personal conversation like that? Unless… was he stalking him? Yiwoo shot up, and Do-young looked at him quizzically, as if he couldn’t understand. Yiwoo stumbled back, bumping into the table. Then he realized—Do-young lived next door. Of course he’d hear the pizza deliveries. Another baseless assumption. He was glad he hadn’t voiced it.
What was wrong with him? His mind seemed to be twisting everything about Do-young into misunderstandings. Maybe all those accidents were subconscious, because he was so aware of Do-young. Maybe the primary and secondary causes were all him. And he’d blamed Do-young. He’d assumed Do-young liked him. Maybe, deep down, he’d wanted Do-young to like him.
Yiwoo’s face burned as he looked down at Do-young. Blood rushed to his ears, and his stomach twisted with heat.
“You don’t like it?”
“N-no.”
I do. He swallowed the words back down. As Do-young called the pizza place, Yiwoo just stood there, staring. What should he do? He covered his mouth with his hand. How could this be? His teeth dug into his lower lip.
He liked him. This man. The annoying, taciturn neighbor… no, the reliable, quiet man with big hands and a warm embrace. Seodoyoung. And he was a man, just like Yiwoo.
“Pepperoni pizza okay?”
Do-young’s question snapped him back. Still covering his mouth, Yiwoo nodded. His face was probably bright red, so he couldn’t lower his hand. He backed away from Do-young and fled to the bathroom, slamming the door loudly. He winced at the noise, afraid Do-young would notice his strange state. But at least his feelings were still hidden. He didn’t know how this had happened. Had he unconsciously been drawn to Do-young all this time? He’d never liked a man before. In fact, he’d never felt this way about anyone…
He looked up at the mirror. A bright red man stared back, even his ears flushed. Had he been like this earlier? Do-young hadn’t said anything. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed, or maybe he’d noticed and pretended not to. Out of consideration.
What now? Yiwoo scowled at his reflection. Stupid. He’d never even dated properly. Why hadn’t he noticed sooner? That he was gay. That he was attracted to him.
His back slid down the bathroom door, and he sat on the cold tile floor, hugging his knees. The coolness seeped into his burning face. He sat there for a long time, trying to find an answer that wouldn’t come. Until Do-young knocked on the door.
“Yiwoo, the pizza’s here.”
Yiwoo’s head snapped up. The heat in his face hadn’t faded. His thoughts were still a mess. Now that he was aware, he didn’t know how to face Do-young.
“You’re in there, right?”
“……”
“Yiwoo? Is something wrong?”
After a long silence, Do-young’s voice grew serious outside the door. The vibrations of his knocking spread through Yiwoo’s back. Gulp. Yiwoo swallowed hard and stood up, but as he did, the unlocked door swung open, and he stumbled forward. Before he could scream, strong arms caught him.
“Hah, hah…”
Do-young held him tightly, making sure he didn’t fall. Yiwoo’s racing heart pounded against the broad hand supporting him. He reached up and clutched that warm hand, steadying himself. Only then did Do-young’s grip loosen. The loud thumping in his ears was unbearable. Yiwoo tried to pull away, to escape into the bathroom, but his legs gave out. He collapsed, and Do-young knelt beside him, checking on him.
“Are you hurt?”
Yiwoo finally looked up and saw an expression—Do-young’s brows were slightly furrowed in concern. Even that small change made his heart ache. He wanted to reach out to that face, yet he wanted to push it infinitely far away. Overwhelmed, he shoved Do-young. But instead of moving Do-young, Yiwoo himself was pushed back against the tiled wall. As Yiwoo retreated, Do-young leaned in closer.
“What’s wrong?”
Yiwoo’s mind spun wildly. There was nowhere left to retreat from that approaching face. Blood rushed back into his face, which had just begun to cool. Panic seized him in an instant, and his trembling lips blurted out words he should have swallowed back down.
“Because I like you.”
Before regret could even set in, Seo Do-young’s lips sealed Yiwoo’s mouth faster than he could react.
He couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Why did the touch on his lips and nose feel so electric, like a current running through him? Why did the lashes in his blurry vision seem so huge? Why did the hot, probing touch between his fingers feel so overwhelming? Yiwoo’s mind fogged, and his eyes fluttered shut as a cold, smooth sensation pressed firmly against the back of his hand. Only then did he realize—Do-young’s large hand had intertwined with his fingers and pinned them against the wall.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
