“Are we there yet?” Lila’s voice floated from the backseat, her tone a mix of annoyance and intrigue. She was the third wheel—the perpetual plus-one to Enlai and Yuhok’s duo for a year now. And this sudden escapade post the convention was tiring.
She believed he was a character straight out of a forgotten cursed book—a librarian who’d accidentally wandered into reality from his world of dead fiction. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose like two curious birds, and his cardigan had more elbow patches than a geometry textbook.
The way he would always find out the exact thing Enlai wanted, reached Enlai the moment he would remember him, Lila suspected Yuhok had a secret portal hidden behind the reference section—a wormhole to a dimension where overdue fines were paid in heights and overdue souls found solace in forgotten fear of creepers.
He was too perfect to be, real?
“Almost! Jeju Island, here we come!” Yuhok declared, his enthusiasm contagious.
Glancing down at the GPS screen, Enlai saw the bright blue line squinting like a drunken centipede over the map. Yuhok, in the driver’s seat, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his knuckles tapping out a Morse code of impatience.
The asphalt stretched in front of them like a ribbon of charcoal, flowing between verdant hills and whispering secrets to the tires. Enlai observed the route appear, a graceful blend of curves and straightaways. Every turn revealed something new, like a secret town, a long-forgotten waterfall, or maybe a roadside stand with tangerines the size of sunsets.
Enlai leaned against the car window, his breath fogging the glass. He had taken the passenger princess seat, like always. Outside, the world blurred—a watercolour painting in motion. The road stretched like an old friend’s hand, leading him toward Jeju Island, toward Yuhok, toward a future he hadn’t dared imagine until now.
Life, he mused, was a series of crossroads. Choices stacked like cards in a cosmic deck. And Yuhok? Yuhok was the wild card—the one that made the game unpredictable, exhilarating. His laughter was a compass, pointing Enlai toward uncharted territories.
To be very clear, he never expected his life to be cakewalk; a best friend like Lila, a mom who didn’t mind his sexuality and a man who loved him for who he was. It was a dream.
His eyes kept themselves locked onto his boyfriend and he could almost feel a nervous energy make its way to his core.
Yuhok, oblivious to Enlai’s silent soliloquy, hummed along to the radio. He caressed the gas pedal like it was a fragile butterfly. Smooth acceleration, as if the car were a delicate soufflé rising in the oven. No sudden jolts—just a gentle glide into the traffic stream.
“Our future abode awaits—a house so fabulous it makes unicorns weep rainbows.”
Lila rolled her eyes. “Unicorns don’t weep rainbows, Yuhok. They’re mythical creatures, not emotional meteorologists.”
“Details, details,” he waved her off. "But I can't believe we're finally going to see the house," Yuhok exclaimed, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Don't get your hopes up too high, Yuhok. Remember, we have to consider Enlai's opinion too," she grumbled, giving Enlai a knowing look.
Enlai chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Oh, believe me, I will make my opinions heard," he said with a smirk, squeezing Yuhok's hand affectionately.
“Oh my God! Nasty people, shoo!”
Yuhok couldn't help but tease Lila, "Come on, Lila, you should be happy! We're going to see our dream house!"
Lila spat, "Dream house? More like a nightmare waiting to happen with you two."
Enlai grinned from the driver's seat, "Oh, don't mind her, Yuhok. She's just jealous she's not getting a room with a view."
Yuhok shot back, "I'm sure she'll find a nice spot under a bridge to call her own,” and didn’t wait for another insult as her turned to his boyfriend.
“Lai, what’s our budget for this dream house? A gazillion won?”
Enlai was the calm centre of their chaotic hurricane. He chuckled. “More like a sensible gazillion minus a few zeros. But who needs zeros when you’ve got cherry blossoms and a secret garden?”
Lila snorted, “Secret garden? Is it guarded by giants with attitude problems?” She muttered eyeing the tall giant in the driving seat.
“Nah,” Yuhok said, winking at Enlai. “It’s guarded by WiFi passwords that lead to parallel dimensions.”
“And eternal life,” Enlai added, grinning. “Because nothing says ‘forever’ like a well-maintained garden and a stable WiFi connection.”
As they drove, the sea whispered secrets, and the road stretched like a lazy cat. Lila stared out the window, contemplating life, love, and whether she’d remembered to turn off the oven.
“You know,” she said, “you two, you’re like a cosmic sitcom. The odd couple meets ‘Property Brothers’ meets ‘Red, white and Royal blue.’”
“And you’re the snarky narrator,” Yuhok replied. “Always ready with a witty comment.”
“Guilty as charged,” Lila said. “But seriously, what’s the WiFi password to eternal life? Asking for a friend.”
“CherryBlossomDreams,” Yuhok deadpanned.
“And the secret garden?” Lila pressed.
“EternalLife123,” Enlai chimed in.
…
“That’s a fuckin’ penthouse you dick!”
Enlai shrugged off a screaming Lila as he stepped onto the polished marble floor, his footsteps swallowed by the vastness of the space. The entrance was a grand affair—a pair of ancient wooden doors adorned with intricate carvings. As he pushed them open, the scent of salt and pine enveloped him, a promise of stories yet untold.
He won’t lie if he said that Yuhok’s excitement had drawn his imagination a sweet two-story typical Japanese house. But this was nowhere near his thoughts.
The foyer was a symphony of light and shadow. French windows framed the panoramic view—the cerulean expanse of the East China Sea stretching toward infinity. The sun, a golden coin, dipped below the horizon, casting hues of coral and lavender across the room. A crystal chandelier hung like a frozen waterfall, refracting the dying light into a thousand constellations.
From the corner of his eyes Enlai had found the broker, a sprightly figure with a penchant for hyperbole, who swept into the penthouse like a gust of wind. His suit was tailored to perfection, and his smile—well, it could sell sand to a desert. He had caught Yuhok, trying to impress his already bestowed heart. He looked a lawyer more than a broker.
“I’ve been selling real estate since the days when dinosaurs roamed the MLS listings. But this place? Oh, it’s special. It’s like finding a treasure in your backyard—unlikely, but utterly delightful.”
Yuhok raised an eyebrow. “Treasure? Is that a selling point?”
“Absolutely!” Mr. Hwangbo said, adjusting his spectacles. “This penthouse is rarer than a politician’s honest apology.”
Enlai’s gaze swept across the open-plan living area. Plush sofas in oceanic blues and sandy neutrals invited him to sink into their embrace. The walls were adorned with abstract paintings—swirls of azure and emerald, capturing the ebb and flow of the tides. A grand piano stood near the window, its ivory keys waiting for melodies to be born.
“Yuhok,” Enlai said, nudging his boyfriend, “this place is like our love story on steroids. I mean, look at that chandelier!”
“Do you like it?” Yuhok asked.
“I guess?” Enlai replied. “But where’s the room for your books? We need a library, stat!”
“We have one, Mr. Han,” the broker chimed in.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves cradled leather-bound tomes—a treasure trove of wisdom and escape. It was magical. Enlai stood there, eyes wide and eyebrows practically reaching for the chandelier. Yuhok leaned in nudging his boyfriend playfully.
Imaginations ran wild as Enlai envisioned the two of them nestled together, engrossed in the timeless words of Kafka and Neruda, their shared laughter harmonising with the surroundings. The fireplace crackling along with the hum, enveloping them in warmth and casting dancing shadows around the room.
Beyond the windows, the moon painted silver pathways on the tranquil water, setting the scene for the beginning of a new chapter in their lives together.
“Look, the moon’s up!”
Enlai muttered, walking up to the window. He broke his trance, eyes heavy, not
just from lack of sleep but from the thoughts that churned within. They were
loud, those thoughts and those didn’t feel good. He had always been the
practical one, the one who calculated risks and weighed pros and cons. And now,
as he looked out at the moon, he wondered if this house was worth it.
For the sake of the fancy happiness was it even worth the amount of money this would cost? “It’s too much,” he said, almost to himself.
“Please, give us a minute,” Yuhok requested, and Mr. Hwangbo nodded, leaving them alone. Outside, Lila’s laughter floated through the air, a stark contrast to the heaviness inside.
“Lai?” Yuhok’s voice was soft, filled with understanding. He had guessed what Enlai was thinking.
“No. Don’t even try,” Enlai said firmly. “We’re not taking a loan, and we’re certainly not selling your family heirloom ring. We can’t afford it, Yuhok.”
“But Lai, you—” Yuhok’s protest hung in the air.
“I know I wanted a house like this for us,” Enlai continued, his voice breaking. “All that soju made me dream big. But reality has a way of sobering us up. We need to be practical. Please, baby, Yuhok, listen to me.”
“I just got my father’s will. He’s gone, and he had nobody
but me as his ward. So, all his money, the funds, and this house—it’s mine now.
Ours, rather.”
The words hit Enlai like a boulder crashing through his chest. He didn’t know
what to say anymore. Silence seemed like the only acceptable response. His eyes
searched Yuhok’s face, seeking answers in the lines etched by grief and
inheritance.
“Is this your childhood home, baby?” Enlai finally asked. “We can sell it, donate everything. We don’t have to take it, you know?”
“It belongs to mom. She chose it for me when I was five.” His eyes held something far from anything discernible. It was probably the first time Enlai had witnessed nothingness in them.
Yuhok had always been different. His laughter was like the tinkling of wind chimes, and his eyes held secrets that Enlai couldn’t decipher. The first time he met Yuhok, all he could see was a man; charming, happy and full of life. But those were mere facades. And what his eyes held now were the truth.
The rain had been relentless that evening, a symphony of droplets against the tin roof. Enlai and Yuhok, their laughter still echoing from the hotteok stand, sought refuge in the little shop. The air smelled of wet earth and anticipation.
And then, as if scripted by fate, they glanced out of the window. There, on the narrow street below, stood a couple—a man and another man—holding hands. Their parents flanked them, faces radiant with joy. No judgment, no hesitation—just acceptance.
The rain blurred the scene, turning it into a watercolour of love. The couple’s smiles were contagious, their happiness infectious.
Yuhok, usually veiled in mystery, had leaned closer to the window. His eyes widened, as if absorbing every detail—the way the men’s fingers intertwined, the whispered words of affirmation.
His confession had whispered like a prayer that night, shattering the silence. “I am gay,” he had admitted, voice swallowed by thunder. “Lai, I can’t change it. It’s who I am.” His vulnerability flowed like rainwater through cracks, seeking solace.
Enlai listened, heart aching. But it wasn’t Yuhok’s admission that wounded him; it was the aftermath—the echoes of denial and abuse.
Enlai’s heart clenched, a fist around memories he wished he could erase. The day he had discovered Yuhok’s back—the canvas of pain etched into skin—had been a revelation. Scars, dried and healed, yet eternally painful. His father’s calloused hands had become weapons, branding him as a pariah.
Yuhok bore the bruises till date—both visible and hidden. His back bore the scars of rejection. Dried and healed, yet eternally painful. The whip’s memory lingered, etching lines deeper than skin. Each mark told a story—a son’s defiance, a father’s rage.
Unintentionally Enlai’s fingertips caressed the old stitch scar on Yuhok’s forehead, so softly as if it was still fresh, bleeding.
The air was heavy with unspoken words, a silent understanding passing between them. Enlai stood closer to Yuhok, hands cupping his face with all the love.
“What do you want baby?”
"I want to let go, Lai," Yuhok said softly, his voice tinged with both longing and reluctance. "But this place... it's all I have left of her."
The house, like an old friend, held both solace and ache. Enlai reached for Yuhok’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “Then we keep it,” he said. “Not as a burden, but as a bridge—a connection to love, loss, and the echoes of your past. But just the happy ones.”
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