It isn’t as easy to make a clean break from Jaewook and Kwanghee thought it would be, and upon even simple observation, the reasons are obvious.

First, and perhaps most pressing, they’re partners for the photography contest. The harmony of Tae’s high school life hangs in the balance, and he’ll only remain undisturbed as long as Kwanghee holds up his end of the bargain.

Second, and the most disturbing, part of Kwanghee is drawn to Jaewook. Jaewook is as mysterious as he is enigmatic—there’s no rhyme or reason for what he does, nor why he does it. As far as Kwanghee can tell, there’s nothing about Tae that would attract bullies. He’s friendly, gets along well with others, and is never pretentious. Jaewook is the total opposite.

Third, and the most frustrating, Jaewook refuses to leave Kwanghee alone.

“Good morning,” Jaewook greets, hand raised over his head.

Kwanghee sweeps into his classroom and shuts the door.

“What flavor is that?” Jaewook asks during lunch, pointing to the half-eaten bun in Kwanghee’s hand.

Kwanghee gets up from his desk, throws the bun in the trash, and escapes down the hall.

“I’ll be waiting for you in club after school,” Jaewook tells him later as Kwanghee leaves the men’s restroom.

And, isn’t that fantastic. He’d forgotten about club. “Don’t come,” Kwanghee blurts, spinning on his heel to face him.

“Huh?”

“Don’t come. Tae—he can barely breathe in the same room as you. You scare him.”

Jaewook scratches the back of his neck. “But we have a deal. The contest?”

“I know, I—fuck.” Kwanghee paces close, glancing both ways down the empty hall. “Listen, I’ll still help you enter the contest. I’ll help you, okay? But I don’t want you anywhere near Tae.”

Jaewook withdraws the disposable camera from his uniform slacks, holds it up. “All I need is a few good shots and some pointers. You’re supposed to be good at this, right?”

He’s got Kwanghee cornered, and Kwanghee knows it. “Look, there’s a good location south of there, outside the city. It’s a day’s bus ride away, but the scenery can’t be beaten, and I promise you’ll get all the shots you could ever want there. I’ll take you there, and I’ll show you a few things, but when we get back, we’re done. Okay? I don’t want you in Tae's life, and I don't want you in mine.”

Jaewook’s lips melt into a grin. "That depends on you. How you feel after the weekend."

"Trust me. Nothing will change."

“It must be pretty. This place you're taking me to.”

Kwanghee lets out a breath, and it drags from his lungs, reluctant and shallow, like dragging a knife down rough fabric. “I promise it is. Do you have a tent?”

“A one-person tent.”

“Me too. Bring it, okay? There’s nowhere to stay out there. I’ll meet you at the station on Friday afternoon.”

Jaewook salutes. “I’ll be there.”

“Gu Jaewook,” Kwanghee calls as Jaewook leaves, “don’t forget your camera.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

--- --- ---

There’s an odd sort of skipping, a strange arrhythmia in Kwanghee’s chest as the week draws to a close. His mind has been everywhere and nowhere at once, stuck on arbitrary things, slipping from the important moments.

Jaewook has made a habit of passing through the third-floor corridor in his spare time, catching Kwanghee’s eye through the glass separating the classroom from the hallway. Tae continues to improve in spirits, but is more jumpy, skittish. Kwanghee hates Jaewook for it—but he hates himself most of all.

He cannot control the deepest parts of his dreams, when the truth comes out of hiding, dragged into the light—twisted, ugly truth. The truth has long, thin fingers that wrap around his skin like a blanket; wide, strong shoulders that shield him from garish, grisly words; eyes like liquescent bronze, fastened on him, chills racing up his spine.

Truth is, Kwanghee has dreams that Jaewook pins him to a wall with his hips and his hands, breath ghosting over his lips. Truth is, he wants more of it, even when he thinks of what it means to society, to the country, to the world.

To Tae.

The fucking truth is, this is fascination like he’s never felt it before—an irresistible, magnetic pull. Attraction.

Kwanghee has never despised himself more.

“Hyung?”

Kwanghee’s eyes snap open.

It’s well past midnight. His vision hasn’t adjusted to the dark, and he clenches his teeth as the last traces of Jaewook’s fingertips on his chest evaporate into the space above their heads. In fact, the dream-touch is replaced by something real, something solid—it’s Tae, climbing into Kwanghee’s bed and slipping under the covers.

Kwanghee opens his arms out of habit and welcomes his brother into them, Tae falling naturally to his side. He has no idea what time it is, head still muddied by the ghost of Gu Jaewook. Kwanghee licks his lips, throat as dry as a desert.

“...Tae?”

“Sorry,” Tae mumbles against his skin, and Kwanghee’s clavicle rumbles. “I know we’re too old to do this anymore. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. What’s wrong?”

“Had a nightmare. Can’t sleep. Always sleep better next to you.”

Kwanghee sleeps better next to Tae, too. He wraps his arms around Tae, drawing him close. “It’s okay, Taehee-yah. Your hyung is here.”

“Promise you won’t tell the kids at school we do this sometimes?”

“Idiot,” Kwanghee murmurs, falling back into dreams. “Why would I do that?”

Tae says something else—it’s something urgent, something important—

Kwanghee is asleep before he can hear it.