There’s nothing really to say about this piece. I wrote it on a whim, and it turned out surprisingly well.  It’s good to finally choke out something readable after so long.

I hate it when he doesn’t talk.

He talks nineteen to the dozen nonstop and nobody can get a word in edgewise once he’s started. You’d never know it to see him the first time around, like we all thought when we first met as trainees. You wouldn’t know it to see us now, but you have no idea how glad we were to see him start talking to us, especially when we moved into the same apartment, just the five of us.

And with five people squeezed into a little under a thousand square feet,you’d think that I’d like a little peace and quiet every now and then, just so I can hear myself think. A brief respite from the constant squabbling only five headstrong teenaged boys can engage in every day of living cheek to knee in a rigidly controlled environment, toiling through gruelling schedules and returning home dogtired to bicker over who gets the bathroom first, who ate the last piece of chocolate or who stole whose new garment – yeah, you’d think I’d appreciate a little silence.

You’d think that after so many years, the silences would have gotten easier, more comprehensible – like in all the movies and stories where they say silence isn’t really such a bad thing after all and it means so much more than any words could ever say. And when he’s going on about so much triviality, chattering endlessly about nothing at all while a dozen drummers are practising on my skull, you’d think I’d want him to stop for a moment.

But I hate it when he doesn’t talk.

It has nothing to do with what he says in his rambling, disjointed monologues. It’s what he’s not saying when he falls silent, that makes it hard for me to breathe, drives me completely and utterly over the edge into that place called insanity.

It’s the pain he’s bottling up inside, eating him inside out, while he’s sitting on the edge of the bathtub watching but not seeing the water run, instead of getting in and washing up.

I hear his guilt.

It’s the heat simmering slowly as he pounds chilli in the mortar with deliberate gravity, every descent of the pestle weighted with an anger that is as ice-cold as it is searing fire.

I hear his jealousy.

It’s the repetitive swiping of the rag across the table as he refuses to meet my eyes, even though the table is already gleaming like a mirror. When I stretch out a hand to catch his work-weary ones, he retracts them swiftly and turns his back on me to re-enter the kitchen, my utterances of his name falling on deaf ears.

I hear his obstinacy.

It’s the pendulous movement of him between bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, bedroombathroomkitchen, creases huddled close between his brows as he swipes my brow with a cool washcloth and changes the water when it gets warm, hardly seats himself on the chair beside my sickbed when he realises that he’s forgotten to get me a glass of water, and when he’s done that, he’s up and off again because he’s forgotten to turn the heat down low on the porridge he’s simmering on the stove.

I hear his worry.

It’s the silence that hangs around our bed like curtains draped over a four-poster on a warm night, heavy and stifling. I can feel him shifting around, having trouble finding a comfortable position in which to sleep, yet too proud to ask to curl up in my embrace. It’s so quiet that it even drowns the sound of my breathing out, and I strain to hear his thoughts over the unbearable quietude.

I hear his discomfort, yet I really hate it when he doesn’t talk.

I reach out and pull him into my arms to spoon close together, feel him tense up with the sudden motion, whisper urgently in his ear.

“Jae, I hate it when you don’t talk. Talk to me, baby, please? Say something, anything. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

A long moment ensues, and I can almost hear the struggle within him through his heartbeat.

Finally, “something. Anything.”

I close my eyes, even though he can’t see it, not sure whether to be more exasperated with his infuriating literal answer, or glad that he’s finally talking again.

A whisper, so soft I would have missed it, lost in a duet of heartbeats.

“You.”

开朗的夏天逝去了，你与我仿佛是在秋天里一个池塘上徘徊的一对蜻蜓。说止息了，但事实上，我们仍犹豫不决，你来我往得跳起一支无节奏的恰恰舞。

只望春天一旦再绿世，我俩都活泼地健在。

When the warm summer passes, you and I become a pair of dragonflies circling over a pond in fall. We both say it’s over, but nevertheless hesitate, my retreats in the face of your advances melding into a rhythmless cha-cha.

As autumn turns to winter, the cold locks the subterranean world of the pond under a sheet of ice. No longer do we join in the hubbub of the community – flying strains our frozen wings, and we are afraid that the blizzarding snow will crush our fragile selves. Instead, we can only hide as we await the arrival of spring.

We only hope that when spring returns to paint the earth luxuriantly green once more, we will both be fit to love again.

Rather weak toward the end, I thought… but I had an image I wanted to portray..

Jaejoong made an ‘O’ with his mouth as he breathed out, then watched as the whorls of smoke rose in perfectly concentric circles into the cool autumn air. Idly he wondered how much longer it would take for Yunho to turn the corner, furrow his brows, reach through the smoke rings and confiscate the cancer stick dangling between his fingers. Fondly, he pictured him grinding it underfoot while glaring a silent reprimand and denying him a ‘hello’ kiss in that all-too-familiar way.

Lifting a lanky leg onto his thigh, he slouched even further down against the discoloured wall. The cup of coffee on the table next to him had long since ceased to join him in misting up the java-charged cafe air. Instead, it busied itself allowing the creamer to sink to the bottom of the cup, then settling the main colloidal body of caffeine in atop it, before allowing the thin glaze of watery coffee to linger above the latter, while the tiny snatch of pale foam desperately tried to remain afloat in its thinning consistency.

He mused on the odds of Yunho being miffed enough, when he arrived, to simply pick up the coffee and down it without looking. A decidedly devious grin spread across his face as he looked forward to the leader’s reaction, envisioning what a good laugh he would have when Yunho swigged down the concoction and spat it out in disgust. That decided, he cheerfully dismissed the waiter’s offer to have the coffee warmed up.

As quickly as he had shooed the waiter away, however, he recalled the fellow to ask for some napkins. They’d come in handy once Yunho was done spitting it out, or he might get in a huff about having coffee stains flecking a favourite shirt… or worse, one of Changmin’s shirts. He shuddered as he recalled the fortnight-long laundry punishment he’d had to do as penance for the last clothing-related prank he’d pulled. Not even Yunho’s clout as the leader of the band had been able to save him from the youngest member’s wrath.

Leaning back against the cool wall, he brought the cigarette to his lips and prepared to inhale a breath.

Instead, it was knocked out of him by a strong hand landing heavily on his shoulder, and resting there. Startled, he looked up to see who it was. As soon as their eyes met, Jaejoong’s fell petulantly.

“What are you doing here?” he queried sullenly, eyeing the cigarette turning steadily into ash between his fingers. He pretended to be fascinated by the dying embers that flaked away from time to time, falling like so much grey snow onto the ground.

“I should be asking you that. Your sister told me you would be here. She told me you’ve been here everyday. What are you doing?” Yoochun answered, a stretch evident in his voice as he strained it to keep it calm and even.

To a stranger, Jaejoong would have appeared unmoved. To Yoochun, however, the tightness of his jaw, the faraway look in his eyes, the grim set of the cheek muscles… all pointed towards his desperate determination.

“Waiting.”

Yoochun rolled his eyes upwards and let out a sharp ‘pfft’ of a breath at the answer.

“Let’s go, hyung, let’s just go home now, alright?”

“No can do,” Jaejoong stared resolutely ahead instead of at Yoochun. “He’ll think I stood him up.”

Yoochun winced at the reference. Gulping down a huge swallow of air, he inwardly implored all the supernatural powers known to mankind to help him.

“He won’t be coming, hyung, let’s go.” Yoochun repeated the last words emphatically, and shaking Jaejoong’s shoulder.

“He will, just wait,” insisted Jaejoong, trying to pry open the younger boy’s fingers.

“He won’t, hyung! He’s not coming, how many times do you need me to say it? He won’t come today, or tomorrow, or even if you wait here for the rest of the century! He won’t come back no matter what you do!”

“Why don’t you just leave me alone,” Jaejoong snapped, shrugging Yoochun’s hand off his shoulder sharply. “It’s none of your business anyway.”

“None of my business?” spluttered Yoochun indignantly. “Yeah, I’m sure Yunho hyung would’ve wanted me to leave you well alone, and let you mope around like this for the rest of your life!”

“You don’t know what he would’ve wanted, so don’t pretend you do.” Jaejoong’s comeback was hard, gritted out through teeth that hardly saw the light of day even in a smile.

“And you do?” Yoochun’s voice rose even higher, his hands fisting to stop himself from trembling. “You know what, hyung, why not let’s you and me go and ask him. Ask Yunho hyung what he would’ve fucking wanted.”

With that, he laid a strong hand on Jaejoong’s arm in a bruising grip and yanked the surprised boy out of his seat, then proceeded to drag him towards his car not ten steps away. He paid no heed to the coffee cup having been knocked over in their scuffle, splashing to the floor. Instead, he concentrated on swatting the still-lit cigarette out of Jaejoong’s hand before thrusting the struggling singer none too gently into the passenger seat, shutting the door on his protests and locking it. Stepping round to the driver’s side, he got in and started the car without another word, pulling out of the parking space with an ear-piercing yelp that spoke volumes of his annoyance, at which Jaejoong fell silent and hung his head in a sulk.

The ride could hardly be more tense. Yoochun’s eyes were fixated on the asphalt as if it had wronged him grievously. Jaejoong was lost in deep thought, glowering darkly at his feet on the floor. After what seemed to be a lifetime, the car came to a halt with a short, sharp screech, lurching like it was going to be sick.

Yoochun snatched the key from the ignition, got out and went round to the passenger side door. Flinging it open, he reached in and grabbed the bowed figure inside by the collar and dragged him out of the vehicle and down the gravel path, not caring that he stumbled and tried to pull away.

He stalked along the path with long strides, not once letting up his knuckle-whitening grip on the other’s shirt until they reached their destination. Releasing his hold on the bony shoulders of the elder boy, he shoved him roughly to the ground so that his knees collided painfully with the sharp stones on the ground.

“He’s here, dammit! He’s here! He’s been here all along, Jae! Why can’t you just open your eyes and see it, open your heart and fucking accept it?” screamed the younger, falling onto his knees beside Jaejoong and shaking his shoulders agitatedly.

“He’s gone, hyung… he’s gone…” Yoochun’s voice trailed off from the angry yelling, into a keening wail that subsided soon enough into a more subdued grief. Jaejoong hardly noticed Yoochun crumpling into his chest, racked by an avalanche of sobs that ordinarily, would have buried every thought except the one that called on him to comfort his best friend.

Jae hadn’t – couldn’t – hear a single word that Yoochun had flung at him. Eyes focused slowly on the white marble slab that stood before him, its stark simplicity giving it a stature that was almost grand, so much like the person who supposedly lay beneath it. Hie mentally traced the lines carved into it, not leaving even the tiny serifs at the edge of each letter untouched in his mind. His hands, moments before raining a hail of fists against his captor, now sank to allow his fingers to seek solace in the embrace of fallen leaves.

A parched, wrinkled leaf clung to the edge of the small monument, and Jaejoong absently reached out to brush it away. As soon as his fingers contacted the cold marble, his painstakingly constructed defences fell away.

Uncertainly, his lips formed words that voiced themselves in whispers. “Yunnie… is it… really you, under there? You wouldn’t really, would you? You wouldn’t really do this to me… you promised me you’d meet me there…”

His fingers pressed into the sharp, unyielding edge of the stone, willing himself to feel pain, so that he could know it was real, that everything was real. A painful lump welled up in his throat, a lump that he couldn’t swallow no matter how hard he tried. His eyelids fluttered, almost too quickly to be perceptible, eyes glimmering with an unnatural brightness.

“You said you’d definitely be there, you said to wait for you, no matter how long it took, you’d be there…” he choked up, tears stinging the corners of his eyes now. Wiping them away furiously, he struggled to control his emotions, chin held aloft at a defiant angle.

“I waited, Yunnie…” His shoulders slumped, the weight of his grief full on the hands that ground into the gravel, fisting around leaves and stones.

“How much longer, Yunnie… how much longer do I have to wait? Was it all a lie? I believed you when you said you were going to be there, even if it… if it killed you…”

Yoochun’s weeping rose in volume at that, but he never even noticed how his fists clenched around his jacket lapels even harder than before.

The tears were falling now, like rain. He didn’t even try to brush them away – it didn’t matter now. Nothing did.

He whispered in a voice that was raw, splintered, burning with hurt, “I’m still waiting, Yunnie… I’m still waiting… Come back, Yunnie… come back…”

Every beat of his battered heart hurt like it was going to burst, making it hard to breathe. If this was heartbreak, he’d rather his heart had literally split in two, to spare him from the excruciating agony. He crumbled visibly, listing sideways like a rag doll as the pain crashed like waves, unrelentingly, over his body.

Yoochun wrapped his arms tightly around his best friend’s defeated body, trying his best to shoulder the crushing grief for the both of them, knowing that his best friend felt the loss so much more keenly than anyone of them could ever fathom.

“He’s not coming back, hyung… he’s not…” The words were bitter on his tongue even as he breathed them, like a noxious fume, into Jae’s ear.

“No…”

The lone word emanated from Jae’s mouth in a low moan, an entire universe housed within its emptiness. He clung to Yoochun, unable to hold himself upright anymore, while Yoochun desperately held onto him. Like two drowning swimmers entwined together, they knelt on the gravel, falling leaves spiralling around them in a hauntingly silent swansong before they met their end on the ground.

Micky Yoochun on Happy Together Friends

Micky Yoochun’s Dangyunhaji segment on Xman (vs. Lee So Young)

“Pangapda chingu-ya! ^π”

His mellow voice ripens the bloom that has taken root in my cheeks, even as his eyes search my face. His hand reaches quickly for the one I proffer as I recite the lie I am expected to, “Pangapda…chingu-ya…” My voice betrays me in the way the words ‘chingu-ya’ roll off my tongue in a hurry, as if aware of the discomfort the hypocrisy caused me.

The warmth of his palm envelops my own cold hand, and instantly I am reminded of that blue coat so many autumns ago… and the heady scent of him teases my senses as he leans forward to bestow an unconfident embrace.

After the charade of a reunion meal is over and everyone has bid their goodbyes, he asks if I would like to accompany him on a walk down memory lane. Curiosity piqued, I acquiesce, and we make our way by cab down to my old house at 67. He not only remembers the house number… he seems to have no trouble directing the driver to turn at the right side streets to get there, past unremembered pathways that lead to places I no longer recall.

Quietly I remark, “Yoochun-ah, you have a good memory.”

“Only for some things,” he replies, equally softly, a fond twinkle in one eye. He turns to pay the cabby the fare, then alights behind me into the familiar neighbourhood.

“It hasn’t changed one bit,” he whispers, more to himself than to me. We share a companionable minute in silence, doubtlessly marking out the physical changes in his mind, as I am.

“Go’un-ah! Look!”

I turn to see him a little way down a narrow alley examining a cracked concrete wall pockmarked with paint stains, ball marks and shoeprints. I hasten to his side, my eyes adjusting in the fading daylight to squint at what he is pointing at – a crude heart no taller than my thumb, scratched into the grimy surface, enclosing his name and mine in an innocent scrawl.

“It’s still here!” he crows triumphantly, face aglow. “I made it one of the days when I was waiting for you to come back.”

“You always were a little vandal,” I cluck disapprovingly. “Such a troublemaker.”

“Ah, but you liked me that way, didn’t you?” he chuckles, a smug expression on his face as he eyeballs me sideways.

“Did not.”

“That’s not what you said just now!” he sputters, recalling how I mentioned during the recording that I had detested him for being mischievous in grade two, but liked him in grades four and five.

“Oh come on, all the girls liked you…” I repeat my taunt from earlier. “You had a fanclub… no, scratch that, you HAVE a fanclub that’s freaking gone international – imagine what would have happened to me if I’d said anything to the contrary.”

“But you did miss me when I was gone, didn’t you?” His face is a priceless blend of sincerity and self-doubt.

“Ah… molla*…” I turn a fraction and step a small distance away, twisting a lock of hair round my finger and feigning a clueless expression.

“You said it yourself! Just now!” His voice drops dangerously low as he strives to contain his righteous indignance. “You said you were sad not to see me again after the winter holidays. Was it all a lie?”

Still with my back to him, I refuse to relent. “Well… I would have appeared rather heartless if I said I wasn’t sad on national TV, wouldn’t I?”

“Yah, Jung Go’un!” he grits out menacingly.

“Yah, Park Yoochun…” I retort boredly, making a show of inspecting my manicure.

“YAH! JUNG GO’UN!” He spins me around unceremoniously and pins me roughly to the wall in the quiet alley.

“Ow!” My voice returns in a gasp from having the wind knocked out of me. “Yah, Park Yoochun, the gentlemanliness during the recording was all just a show?”

“No – I’m usually like that. Unless someone owes me something.” His deep brown eyes glint with a grim determination, larger than life as his bleached bangs tickle my brow.

“Owes you something?” I echo, uncertain but unwilling to back down. His arms are a prison of taut flesh on both sides of me, locking me securely in place.

“Ten years ago, I asked you this. I’m going to ask you only once more. Can I have my kiss… now?” he purrs in a low voice in my ear, sending delicious shivers down the length of my spine.

“Took you long enough to come back for it,” is my breathy answer right before he leans down and claims it forcefully.

When we finally break for breath, he looks at me through eyes narrowed with passion.

“Go’un-ah… say my name again… just once.”

“Why?” I question the absurd demand.

“Just say it,” he pauses expectantly. Met with the same obstinacy that denied him a kiss a decade ago, he finally decides to elaborate, “I just like how you call me Park Yoochun, instead of Micky Yoochun. I like that I’m still just plain old Park Yoochun to you, that you don’t care that I’m Micky Yoochun of Dongbangshinki.”

“I do.”

“You do?” The surprise that jerks his eyes wide is genuine.

“Neo-neun neomu inki-itdaguyo… na-neun inki-eui namja-reul ancho-ahyo.^#”

“Go’un-ah…” he sparkles like a fizzy drink about to pop, obviously trying to restrain his mirth. “I-geo inki-neun… museun! ^¥”

Unable to hold back any longer, he breaks into a fit of giggles, and his adorably goofy grin ensures that I follow suit soon after. Swatting him lightly on the forehead, I warn, “I know that wasn’t original! It doesn’t even belong to you!”

“Dangyunhaji!^†” he clasps his fist in imitation of the actual gameshow he was on. “But you do.”

He throws his arms around me, and catches my lips in another scorching kiss.

After ten long years, my Park Yoochun is back. I sigh thankfully as I give myself over to the exquisite sensation. Rekindled, his passion envelops my entire body like flames fanned by the winds of time, and I can’t help but add silently, and he’s all grown up. Rawr.

Explanation of Korean terms:

^π Pangapda chingu-ya!: Nice to meet you, friend!
* molla: don’t know
^# Neo-neun neomu inki-itdaguyo… na-neun inki-eui namja-reul ancho-ahyo: You’re so popular… I don’t like popular boys
^¥ I-geo inki-neun… museun!: This popularity… whatever!
^† Dangyunhaji!: means ‘of course’ and is also the name of a verbal game in Xman.

The colour of the little dots on the page before me, pretty swirls of dots that don’t seem to form any of the patterns Mum said they were supposed to, no matter how I looked at them.

The colour of the gorgeous dress that MiRi poured herself into for our first date at that restaurant whose name I’ve forgotten.

The colour of the stoplight he had no excuse not to see at midday.

The colour of the pool that formed under MiRi, which I confused with oil until I connected it to the colour staining her dress from the gashes on her legs.

The colour of the roses I’ve just laid on the cool stone slab with MiRi’s name cut deep into it.

They call it Red.

Please link back to this site and leave a comment if you’re taking it for any reason, thank you.  

There’s nothing romantic in the way each protrusion of our bodies plugs the airy spaces and passageways in each other’s. Nothing about the way sticky liquids smudge from clammy skin to sweaty suggests utopia. The carpet burn from rubbing thigh on thigh in no way the sensual pleasure of pain you read about in stories, and the resistance at the entrance – realistic. The searing blunt knife three inches in diameter, plowing over and over into the open wound situated in a place I could never hope to see without help, my helpless screams of murder a blue haze in front of my eyes. The desperate struggle of limbs thrashing, grabbing, kneading each other, the rough humping and grinding down and dirty as I tear out his hair and claw raw the skin on his back in time to the unearthly deathchoir of tormented souls …

But I’ll be damned if I ever let him stop.

The clock must have made a full revolution… or two, by the time we pant our way to the finish line, each to his own; not each other, only the thought of our own personal gratification foremost in our hazy minds. The hour hand lolls drunkenly, seeking support from the harsh, black printed ’4′ while the minute hand hovers awkwardly above, unsure whether or not to help.

Drawing quick, shallow breaths he rolls away, detaching his sticky skin from mine like the stranger he is. Only not so strange anymore – he knows me inside out like some people could never hope to know me. A wry smile ghosts across my lips like a phantom unbidden.

From under heavy lids, he watches me. I sense the question before he opens his mouth to ask it.

“Wae?” escapes his lips, a hint of his not-quite-caught breath dragging on the coattails of the word.

I shake my head, the devil in me taking care to let the heavy black silk of my hair brush my cheekbones in that you-know-you-wanna-touch-it manner. It works – he reaches out to touch my cheek, ohsogently. The man he was before is gone, lost in that kitten of a touch. I shrug vaguely, turning my face to dislodge the fingers that have probably touched a hundred other faces before mine, from the spot that has been touched by a hundred other fingers before his.

I toss the sheets aside nonchalantly, and light up a cigarette, drawing on the sweet smoky scent to fill that void that lingers on somewhere inside. Watching him over the glowing end of that stick, smoke screening my eyes as I turn them back on him.

Propped against the wall in the dim light he does look somewhat Grecian, I concede. The strong jaw, the sharp nose, the kind of thick hair that lends itself so well to being wrapped around my knuckles as it muffles my moans… it’s his kind eyes that’s his undoing. I lean back, turn away – it’s not like I’ll ever see this face again.

As I prepare to flick the butt out of the window, I hear shuffling behind me – him gathering his clothes, preparing to go. Wordlessly, he hoists each article of clothing over the living marble I’d desecrated a while ago, reclaiming it – not that it was ever really mine.

I wait expectantly for the door to open and close, my cue to move away from the window to avoid the foolish needlessness of goodbye waves.

Instead, “Supper?”

His voice is loud in the quiet room, jarring my thoughts. It’s low, but not as low as I’d thought – ah, but sex acts like a ton of gravelly bricks on one’s voice. Greater than the surprise of hearing his voice, though, is the word he utters.

Mutely I swivel my body to eye him warily. He smiles, the innocence of babes spilling from his eyes and dripping onto his lips. I tilt my head to contemplate him languidly, feeling every inch a cat fixated on a threat, every muscle tensed to bolt.

“Jae?” He purses his lips worriedly, forming my name for only the third time since I met him at the club.

A glacier cracks somewhere in the icy Arctic, breaking away from the main floe to join the mad rush suddenly loud in my veins, pushing a wave of feeling to hop, skip and overtake the backwash of reason receding off the breakwater of my brain.

Twisting my brows together in perplexity, I slowly ask, for the first time in a long long time, “What did you say your name was?”

The reply is ready, forgiving, hopeful.

“Yunho.”

Inspired by the title, though not the content, of a fic I saw on jaeho_detox. No lemons, this time, I promise.

I watched him flick the shaver to dispel the excess water and bring it to his jaw, the water droplets flecking the expanse of his broad shoulders and back flowing into tiny rivulets down his spine as he moved. He shifted his face from side to side, brows knit in concentration as he stroked the stubble away, allowing me an unhindered view of his profile from various angles as he tilted to reach the areas he couldn’t see so well. Like in all the photoshoots I had watched him, whether he was alone or with the rest of us, I ached to touch his face… but swallowed the desire like a lump in my throat as I forced my eyes down to the fluffy towel in my hands.

“Yunho-ah… here.”

I draped it across his wet shoulders as he smiled a silent ‘thank you’ at my reflection, which nodded in return before turning and moving out of the frame.

His slumbering face was half hidden by the bill of his baseball cap, arms crossed but left cheek resting on his shoulder as he dozed. I didn’t need to see them to know how his eyelashes formed gentle crescent moons floating just a hair’s breadth above the skin of his cheek. In spite of the watermarks obscuring my view, I could glimpse just the tiniest corner of the teeth he’d had fixed just the year before through the barely parted lips – the ones I would trade an eternity in heaven to have the slightest taste of – until he stirred and raised his head, looking blearily out the window. Watching him turn to his right to look at Yoochun, seeing more than hearing him say “Chun-ah, wake up, we’re here. Chun…” and eliciting nothing but a grunt from Yoochun, who I knew without looking was sandwiched between Changmin and Yunho in the backseat.

I turned reluctantly to open the glove compartment and fish out a fresh parking coupon. “Min-ah, what’s the date today?” I glanced back as far as I could over my right shoulder to the magnae of our little ‘family’ seated behind designated driver du jour Junsu, feeling the kick of sneaker-clad feet into the back of my chair as Yunho opened the door and got out, with Yoochun grumbling groggily as he followed his lead. I felt the thud of the door closing loud on my left ear.

“14th, umma,” replied Changmin cheekily, opening the door on his own side and getting out.

Choosing to ignore his use of the nickname he, Yoochun and Junsu had taken to calling me by, I reached over and placed the punched parking coupon on the dashboard on the driver’s side before exiting the car myself.

“Hyung ah – hurry up, we’re going to be late,” nagged Junsu as he loitered on the other side of the vehicle, waiting to lock the car before we followed the rest into the building.

“Yeah, I’m done,” I slammed the front passenger door shut, surreptitiously reached for the side mirror and wiped the watermarks on it away with my sleeve before trailing into the building behind the four younger boys.

I looked down at my fingers resting idly on the ivory keys of the large grand piano before returning my gaze to the glossy black inside of its raised lid. Once again feasting my eyes on the slanted image of him, cutting a sharp figure in the tailored black suit and leaning casually on the far side of the piano I sat at. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and fidgeted with the sleeve of the jacket before assuming a contemplative look for the cameras.

He never did like all this formal attire, however good they made him look. The only thing that he really liked about the entire idea of celebrity, the only reason he even put up with everything else, was the dancing. He lived to dance, and how he danced…

“Cut!” The PD yelled. “Jaejoong, you were supposed to start playing the piano when the music started. Don’t dream, let’s get this wrapped up quickly.”

Hastily turning to make a small bow, I called out “Sorry!” to the crew, embarrassed by my own distraction.

“You okay?” Yunho bent to peer worriedly at me under the piano lid, the image I’d been watching growing larger in proportion as he came closer to it.

I met his eyes and flashed him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little spaced out.”

“Right. Hang in there, we’ll be done really soon,” he smiled encouragingly before straightening back up again, tugging at the hem of his jacket as he did so.

I nodded, and put my head down to avoid getting distracted all over again.

I stared out of the cafe window, not watching the people passing by on the street outside who were oblivious to the fact that Dong Bang Shin Ki was separated from them by nothing but a sheet of heavily tinted plate glass, but him unconsciously toying with the cap that rested in his hands now, no longer on his head, head bent closely together with Junsu’s studying the menu laid flat on the table in front of them.

Watching how his face lit up with a genuine smile as he reclaimed the menu from Yoochun who had snatched it rudely from them, then swatted him over the head with the cap for retorting sassily.

Watching him lift his face up in cinematic slow motion, his lips forming my nickname, “Boojae!”, forcing me to turn away from the window and meet the earnestness in his eyes with the inquiry in mine.

“What’re you having? We’re here for lunch, not to ogle the pretty chicks outside, Boojae.”

“Ah, of course not, Yoochun’s dumbness is contagious – don’t catch it.” I smiled, revelling in the deep guffaw that he let out, while Yoochun whined, “Hey, I’m not dumb alright,” to no one in particular.

“I’ll just have…” I looked down at the dog-eared menu open in my hands, and read out the first thing I laid my eyes on, “katsudon,” I finished, closing the menu and replacing it on the table because what I really wanted wasn’t even on it.

A drop of sweat dripped from his sideburn as he repeated the step he had been preoccupied with perfecting for the past ten minutes.

The same intense, driven look that had attracted me when I’d first seen him, all those years ago, practising by himself in one of the practice rooms at the SM academy. I’d stood there, looking through the narrow cut-out in the orange-painted door, transfixed by the vision of determination clad in a white t-shirt and blue track pants, a white sweatband cinching his right wrist. I could clearly see the tshirt clinging to his back, a testament to how hard he’d been working until he paused to swipe a bead of sweat from his forehead, unwittingly inviting me to join him in staring at the face in the mirror. The one he saw every single day. The one I wanted to feel against my palm.

Until manager hyung reached around me and turned the knob, demanding “Jae Joong, don’t just stand there, go in and meet Yunho, he’s going to be in the same band as you. The others should be here any minute now.” Manager hyung propelled me unceremoniously into the room to come face to face with the boy who spun around, away from the wall of silvered glass, to lock eyes with me.

A loud heartbeat.

“Hi, I’m Yunho.” The warm smile that broke across that already familiar face reached into the pit of my stomach, scooped up all the apprehension that had been residing therein up to that moment, and flung it far, far away.

As it did to my nostalgia even now, as he caught me watching him in the mirror and smiled self-consciously, knowing I’d caught him once again behaving like the perfectionist he refused to admit that he was.

I looked up from soaping the dishes in the sink as he sauntered into the kitchen behind me, picked a mug up from the few clustered on the counter and opened the refrigerator door, propping it open with his hip. There was just something inexplicable about the way he moved, a powerful, almost feline grace that was evident even as he bent down and reached into the fridge to retrieve a carton of milk and pour some into the cup he held in his other hand.

Replacing the milk carton, he moved out of the way and let the refrigerator door slam to, then stood at the kitchen counter and raised the cup to his lips. A lump rose in my throat that I swallowed, mirroring him involuntarily as his Adam’s apple bobbed in the outline of his throat, allowing the creamy white liquid passage down his throat. He tilted his head back as the cup emptied, giving me a good view of the smooth skin on his throat. A glint at the base of his neck that was independent of the lights from the cityscape winking in through the window and poking little pinpoints of light down the length of his body caught my eye. I couldn’t resist letting my lips curl up ever so slightly at noticing what it was – the silver cross pendant had been my gift to him on his twentieth birthday.

He licked the resulting milk moustache off his upper lip, exhibiting a tantalising teaser of a tongue as it flicked out and disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. Finished with his drink, he came up behind me, oblivious to the fact that I was watching him even as he approached. He set the mug down beside the sink, and I shifted my attention from the kitchen window to him.

“Boojae-ah… thanks for dinner. The jjigae was really good, like always.” He was always so polite, even though I cooked them all dinner every other day.

“Instead of paying me lip service only, maybe you should actualise the gratitude,” I eyed him slyly as a thought came into my head.

“Like how?” he asked, obviously nonplussed.

“Let’s see… you could start by taking over the dishwashing?” I gestured at the soapy dishes in the sink.

“With pleasure,” he chortled. “C’mon, I’ll do those.”

I rinsed the suds off my hands and moved aside to give him room to take over the dishwashing.

“What, are you going to stand here and supervise me?”

“Yes,” I raised an eyebrow. “Make sure you don’t skive and that each and every dish is nothing short of sparkling clean.”

He shook his head in mock resignation, but mirth materialised on his face. “Always the slave driver. And you all complain I’m the perfectionist?”

He picked each dish up in turn and ran a large hand over them, checking quickly for the invisible rice specks that so often clung stubbornly to dishes. His short, neatly trimmed fingernails scratched at those he did find, before giving them a final rinse and placing them on the drying rack just above our heads. I studied him in the companionable silence that reigned, punctuated only by the occasional clink of his ring on a dish, or the ceramic ‘clock’ sound that the dishes made when knocked together. The sleeveless white tee he wore accentuated the ripple of his defined biceps and triceps as they moved each dish from the sink to the rack, while a trickle of water started its way up his forearm, inching its way from wrist to elbow as he repeatedly raised his arm to put away dishes.

Snapping out of my reverie, I reached for a dry dishcloth and swiped it away, prompting him to look down at my sudden action.

“Don’t want you dripping water all over the kitchen floor,” I covered up just how much I’d wanted to touch him.

“Okay, slave master…” He rinsed his hands off and took the dishcloth from me, dabbing his hands dry. “All done… you know what, we don’t always get to come home so early… how about let’s you and me grab a couple of beers, go up to the rooftop and just chill out?”

“Sounds good to me,” I didn’t have to lie about that one.

Turning my face to the wind, I leaned against the parapet, a can of beer in my hand, relishing the coolness that nipped through my hair.

“Boojae,” Yunho’s voice rasped deliciously closely to my ear.

Afraid that he would move away if I turned, I chose to reply with a simple “Hm?”

“Open your eyes, Boojae, look at how many stars there are tonight.” His breath on my ear was warm against the coolness of the breeze, the warmth of his body agonisingly close on my back.

I raised my eyes to the dark heavens. “It looks like someone covered the sky up with a big black cloth, and poked little holes all over it,” I couldn’t help but voice the random thought that popped into my head.

“You always think of the cutest things, Boojae.”

I smiled self-consciously at his comment, lowering my head. I caught sight of us reflected in a window of the apartment block opposite, silhouetted against the night sky. It looked for all the world like I was leaning against him, and God knew how much I wished that was true…

“Boojae…” Yunho gently grasped my shoulder and turned me around. “Look at me.”

I looked him full in the face, disconcertingly close. I only hoped he wouldn’t notice how my heart pounded in my chest as I did so.

“Boojae… stop looking at those reflections…” I dropped my eyes as a blush scorched its way into my cheeks. “I know you do, I’ve seen you, always staring at reflections.”

Warm fingertips came up under my chin and tipped my face back up. “I said, look at me Boojae. Look me right in the eyes.”

I raised my eyes to his, afraid of what I might find in them. Anger, perhaps? Ridicule?

Instead, I found something completely unexpected. “This, is the only reflection you ever need to look at from now on, Boo…”

For the first time, I found, staring back at me from the inky darkness of his pupils… me.

Sad to say, was not feeling extremely inspired… nevertheless, I have finished it.

Time became a clear pond in winter – looking through the glassy surface distorted the reality that lay suspended within.

“Uhnje…” Mina could only bring herself to utter these words.

“Nuna, mianhaeyo… since… long enough.” To want you even more than I ever have before, he wanted to add. Biting his lower lip, he decided against it.

A warm glow illuminated her face as she pulled the rug up to her chin and lowered her eyes, burning in the shame she felt at appearing so wanton in front of her dearest dongsaeng. She could feel her tears swiftly rising, threatening to overwhelm the dam of her self-control any moment, and before she could blink it away, a single clear pearl slipped out of the unguarded corner of her eye, wending its way slowly down the curve of her cheek.

Donghae’s heart felt like it was fracturing as he witnessed the silent descent of that solitary jewel. He swallowed hard and reached a gentle hand out to softly cup her cheek, smudging the emblem of her shame away with his thumb as he whispered, “Nuna… uljima… waeyo?”

“I’m… such a slut…” she muttered, barely audibly, her head hanging low with the weight of the guilt that crushed her soul out of the blue. The devil worked in mysterious ways – that much was true. He could make hell look, sound, smell, feel and even taste like heaven… and once he had successfully snared your soul, he would cast you back into the sulphurous depths of fiery hell to burn in shame forever as she did now.

“Nuna, don’t say that!” Donghae pressed a finger firmly to her lips.

“How can you still call me nuna, when you just saw…” Mina couldn’t look her dongsaeng in the eye. “How can you still have any respect for me now?”

“Don’t say such things, nuna, you’re still my nuna… you’ll always be my nuna…” Donghae reached around her and pulled her close to him to emphasise his reassurance.

“Donghae… you’re the best dongsaeng anyone could ever ask for… you’re a good man… the girl who marries you is a lucky one…” Mina whispered into his chest.

“You really think so?” Donghae whispered in her hair. “Will you be the lucky one?”

“Donghae, don’t say such childish things anymore… we’re not kids anymore.” Mina chastised him half-heartedly. “And I don’t think any man, however good, or maybe especially the good ones, would want to marry me after seeing what you just saw.”

“No, I’m not being childish, I’m serious.” He brought her face up to look him full in his earnest eyes. “Even when I was five, I was being serious. You are the one I’ve always wanted to marry, Mina nuna… I used to think it was a childish fancy too, but it’s been so many years and it just hasn’t changed… not even today, not especially today. I don’t know about other men, but today hasn’t changed a thing for me…”

“Donghae…” Mina’s eyes shot a million burning questions at Donghae, searching for the answers in the unwavering gaze, her face mirrored in his dark irises.

Emboldened by her uncertainty, reckless in wanting to smooth the furrows from her brow, Donghae voiced what he’d been feeling all along. “Nuna, I don’t feel repulsed by what I saw… if anything, you opened my eyes today… you make me want to…” He leaned down to press his lips gently to hers to let them convey his meaning by action what they could not through speech. His heartbeat picked up pace as she kissed back, her lips puckering to match the contours of his own… he’d waited for so long for this moment, and yet… all this time, he didn’t know why he had waited so long, it felt so good… so right…

Mina let him take her lips in a soft kiss, every bit as gentle as she had ever imagined he would be… Images flashed through her mind like scenes from a movie as she closed her eyes and permitted his tongue entrance beyond her lips…

Donghae at four years old brandishing an outlandishly large lollipop as he poked his head shyly around the door and called “Mina nuna, neo-ege seon-mul isseoyo!”…

Donghae at five years old standing proudly atop the slide in the playground as he pecked her on the cheek mischievously and announced solemnly to all the other neighbours’ children that he was going to marry Mina nuna when he grew up, just like they did on TV…

Donghae at six years old insisting that they had to hold hands while walking home because she was his girlfriend and his whole class knew that…

Donghae at eight years old leaning against the school gates twirling a wildflower between his fingers and waiting patiently for her to finish school so they could walk home together…

Donghae at ten years old getting punched by a boy from her class because he’d tried to stand up for her when she got bullied…

Donghae at twelve years old showing her his newest dance moves from whatever MV he’d been watching on television, boasting how he’d become an international star one day and Mina nuna could become rich selling people things he’d signed…

Donghae at fourteen years old receiving his middle school graduation certificate and beaming for the parents’ cameras, secretly whispering to her that the best part about this whole graduation thing was that Mina nuna had baked him a delicious cake that he couldn’t wait to eat…

Donghae at fifteen years old hugging her and wiping away her tears before he boarded the coach to Seoul to pursue his dream, making pinky promises to work hard so she would be able to get a job in Seoul after college, while he would work hard to become famous and wait for her in Seoul…

Donghae at nineteen years old, looking like she had never seen him before as he waited with his hands in his pockets at the Seoul bus terminal, while she recognised him instantly in spite of his having a hoodie pulled down over his face as far as it would go…

Donghae at twenty-one years old, taking a risk by meeting her incognito at a Starbucks near her office, eyes hidden by shades but smiling nonetheless as he wrapped his arms full of muscles that she didn’t remember around her in a hug…

…that she now understood meant so much more than a nuna-dongsaeng kind of love… encircling her as he held her tight in a comfortingly secure embrace, still locked in a passionate kiss that neither wanted to be the first to break, lips sealing the bond that had grown up around them without either of them being aware of it, tongues probing into one another’s souls seeking a taste of the heaven that they hadn’t realised they could find with each other… until now.

And like mortals who had tasted heaven, they wanted more… more of the bliss that came with each thrust of the tongue, each sweet flick against the palates of their mouths, their hands drifting down each other’s backs like seeking missiles that honed in on bare skin and hot flesh…

The rug around Mina’s shoulders fell open, a silent invitation for Donghae’s hands to glide down the alabaster smoothness of Mina’s shoulders to stroke her back as he supported her, using a hand to hoist himself onto the table that she lay on as she reached her arms around his waist, a thrill shooting up through her fingers as she scuba-ed under his tshirt and brushed past defined oblique muscles, honed from dancing non-stop for hours, to the small of his back, pulling him closer to her as she continued to lose herself in his kiss…

Breathing heavier now from the intensity of the kiss, Donghae’s eyes could hardly remain open, yet he wanted to scrutinise her every reaction to his caresses, starting from how her breath seemed to catch in her throat as he traced her collarbone down to the curvature of her breasts over her heaving chest, feeling her heartbeat racing under his palm as he revelled in the paradoxically soft firmness of her full breast in his palm, his fingertips teasing the darkening nubs as they answered eagerly to his touch. He could feel her breathing grow uneven, her mouth seeking his with greater urgency than earlier as she clutched his back under his shirt, her slender fingers a wicked pleasure that made him want to take his shirt off to relieve himself of the heat building up under it… except that they were moving further down, hooking into the belt loops of his jeans and tugging at them, inching their way round to his belt buckle and undoing it so that the ache in his jeans intensified despite the welcome release of pressure around his waist. All this while, he could feel her back arching upwards under his palm, her breast pressing into his other hand as she leaned into him and he into her, each questing for a closer, deeper, fuller acknowledgment of this love that had been buried until now.

He leaned further over her, letting the table support more and more of her weight that he had heretofore been holding up, freeing a hand to stroke the hair away from her face as he released her from the kiss, both coming up for ragged gasps of air, drawing breath through their ravished lips as if they’d just surfaced from underwater. Her thumbs were still hooked in the band of his boxers despite having dragged his fly undone, and he took the opportunity to help her remove them, chucking them off the table in a heap as he hoisted himself onto the wood surface. Nuzzling into the crook between her shoulder and neck, Donghae began to lightly kiss his way down her neck, trailing down to her collarbone, then to her chest, making his way through the valley formed by her breasts, down her tummy to her navel… tracing the delicately-formed indentation with a light swish of his tongue as he wended his way further down to where her thighs met, inhaling the musky scent of her moistening sex as she shuddered in anticipation, feeling his breath warm on her skin, one hand holding her slight waist as the other slid down to her silky thigh. Bracing herself for contact, Mina twined one hand in his thick hair, the other gripping his toned shoulder for support, luxuriating in the rippling of his deltoid muscle as he shifted his weight to get comfortable…

And then, stars burst behind her eyelids as she felt Donghae s l o w l y but surely lick her where she was most sensitive to touch, sending her hurtling into a place that was at once pitch-dark and supernova-bright. As if oblivious to her sudden disorientation, he continued to drive her further over the edge by tonguing her harder, flicking the swollen nodule with deliberate movements that sent her body jerking as if in sync to the beat of his own internal metronome. He kept up the exquisite torture, snaking an arm under Mina’s body to keep her from squirming out of his teasing tongue’s reach, alternately blowing, sucking and licking while using his body to pin her legs down so that she would not kick him in her inability to control her reactions. Her body writhed of its own accord, in a quandary as to whether to give itself over to release or to wriggle free from the unworldly torture she was receiving at his hands. Her agonised cries rose and fell as he brought her to peaks of pleasure and let her descend them slowly, only to mercilessly toss her back up the slopes of her ecstasy without ever quite allowing her to reach the pinnacle, while her moans were music to his ears as he devoted his attention to that little rosebud in sweet bloom in front of him, its petals dewy with his ministrations as well as her own nectar.

Finally he could bear it no longer, the temptation radiating from that open flower proved too much for him to resist any longer, and he pulled himself up on top of her, one arm supporting himself, the other twisted into her hair, watching her with eyes that were barely able to focus as he positioned himself in front of the entrance.

“Mina,” he exhaled breathlessly, “i-je, neon… naekkoya… araso?”

Unable to speak, she merely nodded against the hard surface of the table, her acquiescence quickly underscored by a cry that issued from the very back of her throat as he sheathed himself in her as far as she could take him, the velvet curtains leading to the deepest recesses of her chamber parting silently as they made way for him to stretch her passageway out once more. It took all of his self-control not to succumb to the temptation to release himself right at that moment as her walls hugged him like a snugly-fitting glove, pushing down on him from all sides as her body adjusted to his length and girth.

He clasped her to himself, feeling the length of her entire body molding to his own as he groaned softly into her hair, calling out her name over and over. His mind clouded over with just one need, guiding him to rhythmically move inside of her, thrusting harder with each stroke in and out of the intimate space that he wanted so badly to claim for his own, once and for all, spurred on by her whimpering right in his ear, each plunge he took marked by an accent in the melodic movement of her cries, quickly rising to a crescendo, Donghae pistoning harder and faster in the physical manifestation of an allegro as they both made up for all the time they had lost looking away from each other, each never realising all this time that they had always been right beside the other, a palpable frisson of tension building up in the air between them as they sought one another’s lips once again, each tasting, feasting, devouring the other like never before… until Mina broke the kiss by throwing her head back with a prolonged fortissimo of his name, announcing her climax as the velvet curtains swathed themselves forcefully around Donghae, contracting vigorously and sending him into a split second of cardiac arrest as he hovered just at the edge for the longest millisecond ever before crashing back into reality with a mighty shudder, squeezing his eyes shut as he curled his body around the Aphroditic form that was arching into his, his weight full on her as he momentarily lost all strength in his limbs. The heated fallout of his orgasm spurted within her, jetting forcefully right into her innermost wall and giving her yet another reason to climax all over again, shivering deliciously against the wall of muscles bunching in his chest as he enfolded her in an embrace that shut out the rest of the world, cocooning her in a rainbow-dappled fantasia until she could breathe again.

Cradling her ever so gently, afraid to have hurt her by hugging her overzealously, Donghae’s senses returned sufficiently to realise that his aim was achieved… she was his now, entirely his. Panting with his exertion, he kissed her chastely on the lips and let himself rest beside her, slipping out of her slowly as her body relaxed and adjusted to his retreat.

“Mina…” he whispered in her tousled tresses, “saranghae…” A certain serenity overwhelmed him as he uttered the words, at peace with finally being able to say what he had always bottled up before.

Her eyes fluttered open for a second, blinking slowly in a testament to her exhaustion. “Donghae-ya… komawo… na-ddo… saranghae…” A smile was retained in her glowing features as her eyelids fell shut once more, and he couldn’t resist stroking her cheek with the back of his index finger, returning her smile even though she couldn’t actually see it.

They stayed thus, linked in an embrace with her head resting on his shoulder for a while longer, before Donghae decided that they probably wouldn’t remain undetected for much longer. Rousing himself, he dressed himself and cast one last longing look at Mina before retrieving her discarded clothing from the floor and dressing her sleeping form as best as he could, seeing as her sleepy self was being less than cooperative.

“Mina…” he coaxed, “alright, now… let me just zip up the skirt, alright?” She merely mumbled an unintelligible reply, and turned over to let him reach the zipper on the back. He smiled at her barely-conscious compliance, then scooped her up in his arms.

As he laid her gently on the large couch, he heard voices coming back into the room. He positioned her comfortably on the couch, propping her head up with a cushion while he tucked another under her arm. Seating himself on the edge of the couch, he caressed her cheek once more before his hyungs came into sight around the bookcase at the other end of the room.

“Jaejoong hyung,” he greeted the one who first came into view, holding a glass in each hand. “Yurobbongie…” he grinned as Yunho followed his love into the room, also bearing two glasses.

“Aie…” they set the glasses down on the scene of their earlier trysts before coming over to give their dongsaeng a hug each, every one of them smelling faintly musky in their rumpled clothes, a telltale sign of their preceding activities.

“You must have really tired her out, poor dear…” Jaejoong remarked, giving Yunho a knowing smile. Donghae reddened visibly, a hand on his neck as he looked down at his feet.

“No need to look so shy… we’re not deaf.” Yunho smirked at his dongsaeng’s discomfort.

“Mworago?” Donghae half-protested.

“Ahem… let’s just say… you must be one helluva good to make her scream your name so loud we heard it from the pantry?” Jaejoong could hardly stop himself from giggling as he elbowed a grinning Yunho, who interjected, “Even Jae isn’t so loud…” Jaejoong’s eyes grew large as he swatted Yunho, “Yah, yah! Me? What about you? You’re not exactly quiet yourself! Who are you to compare?”

Even as he smiled at his hyungs’ affectionate bickering, Donghae couldn’t stifle a yawn – early mornings coupled with long shoots and mind-blowing sex meant all he really wanted to do now was go to sleep…

“Hyung ah…” he reclaimed both Jaejoong and Yunho’s attention. “I think I’ll just carry her to the car and take her home… I’ll bring her back to finish the interview some other day, if that’s alright with you… and next time I’ll be here from start to finish.”

“Dorobbong-ah… You don’t trust us anymore eh…” Yunho teased.

“Anieyo… keundae, things are different now…” Donghae sheepishly explained.

“Araso… keureum, you’re not staying for dinner?” Jaejoong looked somewhat disappointed that Donghae wouldn’t be doing justice to the food he cooked, but gave an ‘ah’ of understanding when Yunho nudged him and nodded towards Mina’s sleeping form.

“Keurae, keurae…” Yunho smiled brightly, “she can drop by anytime, and you know you’re always welcome.”

“Hyung, komawoyo… keureomyeon, naneun jib-e kago-itda… ” His hyungs bestowed goodbye hugs on Donghae once more, and Jaejoong patted his back as he said in his ear, “She’s a good girl, take care of her well…”

“Yaksoke.” Donghae promised, a lifetime of memories and hope for the future encompassed in those three little words.

“Dorobbong-ah, I’ll get the bags, you just carry Mina. Jae… get her bag.” Yunho pre-empted Donghae, who gratefully turned his full attention to gathering Mina’s slumbering form into his arms.

“Eodi-ga…” she mumbled semi-intelligibly, adjusting her head to fall more comfortably against Donghae’s shoulder.

“We’re going home… my Mina.”

A pair of contented sighs rose from the lovebirds, prompting another pair of sighs from the self-designated bellboys.

“Ahh~” exclaimed Jae, much to Yunho’s amusement, “Sarang-ieyo..! Sarang-i manse!”