The soondae is magma-hot when the vendor hands it to them, and Kwanghee gawks as Jaewook daringly finishes his in two massive bites.

“What are you?”

Jaewook points to the stick in Kwanghee’s hand, chewing. “You gonna eat yours?”

“It seems I’ve lost my appetite.”

They walk along a major street, cars, buses, and bikes passing by in a cacophony of tires and engines and puffs of exhaust. Kwanghee keeps his gaze firmly at his feet, hands in his pockets. Every few steps, the click of Jaewook’s disposable camera breaks up the silence. Kwanghee doesn’t know where they’re going, and maybe it’s for the best—he can barely think.

His mind is a swirl of petal-pink blossoms and fallen leaves, lips parted in wonder and a soft exclamation of surprise.

Wow.

How can a man be so pretty among blossoms and leaves?

“You shouldn’t joke around like that.”

The words come out of Kwanghee’s mouth before he can think better of saying them. The regret is instant, curls his toes and churns his stomach. Jaewook glances at him and takes another bite of his skewer. Maybe he won’t know what Kwanghee is talking about.

“I wasn’t joking.”

Shit.

The crosswalk up ahead chirps when the green walking man flashes to red, stagnant. They halt at the curb, and a small crowd of students from other schools and white-collar workers wait with them. Kwanghee wants to continue the conversation, but there are too many open ears, too many strangers on their phones, and the digital age is a beast that lies in wait.

The denizens of the internet don’t discriminate against prey.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Jaewook asks. He takes another bite, eyes glued to Kwanghee’s face.

“We can talk later.”

“I want to talk now. Didn’t your mother teach you to respect your elders? I’m a year older than you—it’s rude to ignore a conversation you started.”

The onlookers glance their way, their eyes curious and their interest piqued.

“Gu Jaewook. Not. Now.”

“You know, if you aren’t interested in men you can just tell me. It’ll save me a lot of time.”

The red man flashes back to green—Kwanghee seizes Jaewook’s wrist and tugs him along, crossing the street at a furious pace. They leave the audience in their dust, but Kwanghee doesn’t stop there. He continues around the corner and behind a building, then twists down a narrow alley between a karaoke bar and a bakery. The noise from the busy road dims, the commuters out of sight. Back here, it’s just the two of them and a sliver of blue sky.

Kwanghee shoves his palms against Jaewook’s chest, forcing his back to the rough brick wall. “Are you fucking crazy? How could you say something like that out in the open!”

“First of all, ouch. Second, I don’t let others dictate how I live my life. Neither should you.” Jaewook holds up his wrist, where purple, finger-shaped bruises are beginning to bloom. “Third, ouch. You’re a beast—I have sensitive skin, next time try a little restraint.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Kwanghee demands. “Huh? You come after my little brother, beat him up and make him a shell of the man he is. You demand I help you with this contest when it’s clear you’ve never touched a camera a day in your life. And now you’re trying to mess with me?”

Kwanghee jabs his index finger into Jaewook’s chest.

“What’s your game?”

Jaewook catches Kwanghee’s hand—his skin is warm and soft, like new silk or a timid spring breeze. His wide face is close, so close, and why hadn’t Kwanghee noticed the color of his eyes before? Like molten bronze, intense and unavoidable. Jaewook towers over him, but his expression isn’t angry or intimidating.

It’s soft.

He laces their fingers.

“Why did you buy the soondae?”

What’s left of the second skewer lies on the cement at their feet. It can’t be finished, now. Kwanghee swallows, jaw tight, and Jaewook continues.

“I meant what I said.”

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you’re in earnest.”

“I’m not a liar, Kwanghee. You can call me a bastard and a bully, but never a liar.”

Kwanghee inhales. “I’m a man.”

“You haven’t heard of being gay?”

“I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I.” Jaewook shrugs. “I’m equal opportunity. I’m not interested in gender, I’m interested in the person behind the bits.”

“You should wash out that mouth.”

Jaewook’s fingers tighten around Kwanghee’s, and their noses are so close they could touch if he lifted himself to his toes… “Does I’m not gay also mean I’m not interested, for you? I have no interest in pursuing someone who doesn’t want to be pursued.”

“How the hell can you say you’re interested in me?” Kwanghee shakes his head, but can’t tear his eyes away from Jaewook’s face. “I’ve known you for two days.”

“Huh. I didn’t know there was an incubation period for attraction.”

“Now you’re attracted to me?”

Jaewook’s full lips split into his signature grin. “I can’t believe I have to spell this out for you. Kwanghee-yah, I think you’re really handsome, and you bought me soondae. I want to learn more about you. I want to know who you are.”

The lump in his throat is back, as is the tingling in his fingers and the thump thump thump of his heart against his ribs. There’s a tightness in his chest that compresses him, squeezes the air out of his lungs, and fuckfuckshit he can’t do this, he can’t he can’t—

Kwanghee tugs his hand from Jaewook’s grip. “You hurt Tae. Go fuck yourself.”

He turns to leave, and he doesn’t look back.