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Junho hates these events.
It's not proper to say so out loud, since they usually come with a title like 'Raising Cash for Kids' or 'Smile for Africa!' (originality must have been in low supply that day), but those titles mean nothing. Junho would have no problem if these charity balls were all about philanthropy and altruism, but the sad fact of the matter is, when celebrities are involved, it's really just about celebrities (who signs the biggest cheque, who poses for the most cameras, and who manages to seem the most poised even though they've been stuck wearing their most uncomfortable finery for hours). The underprivileged are just a great excuse to be seen in a good light.
Still, Junho figures, at least something's happening. Any small bit helps, whether it's in terms of raising money or awareness. He just hates all the showiness—hates that he has to stand in the corner and smile for another two hours before he can leave and not be reported in the papers as ungracious.
He reaches up and loosens his tie a little, but it doesn't really help. He'd feel suffocated in this place even if he was naked.
A woman he thinks he should recognise, dressed in what is probably the most absurd dress of the evening (not a accolade he's passed on lightly, she has a lot of competition), looks his way and waves coyly, and he nods back, trying not to look too interested. She's already talking to someone but she starts to edge closer to Junho and that's when he breaks. He slides away from the wall and darts through the crowd, trying to force his way through egos so enlarged by years of reinforcement it feels impossible, but then he spots the exit (memorised exactly in preparation for moments like this) and he slips out into the cool night air, away from those sucking desperately cigarettes, moving further back into the fancy garden. In daylight it's probably pretty, intricate brickwork contrasting with colourful flowers, but right now it's simply vacant and quiet and peaceful. Junho breathes deeply, loosening his shoulders like he would before a playing a point, blocking out his surroundings and focusing on breathing.
He's so caught up in trying to centre himself that he doesn't even notice the other guy until he's right in front of him, and then he's so startled that he stumbles back and would end up in the Olympic-sized fish pond, if not for the guy's quick reflexes and strong grip around his biceps. He freezes in place, half leaned back, and the guy does too, his fingers tightening, heat beginning to seep through Junho's expensive suit jacket.
"Uh," the guy says, "are you okay?"
The soft American-sounding English makes Junho realise he's still hanging precariously over the pond, and he reaches up to grab the guys elbows for balance as they slowly straighten up together. The force pulls Junho close to the guy's body and when he looks up they're way too close for two strangers.
"Thanks," Junho murmurs, his own English still heavily accented, even after so many years. He steps backwards, gently manoeuvring himself out of the guy's personal space.
"Just call me your knight in shining Armani," the guy says, smiling and straightening out the arms of his jacket. "Or whatever this suit is."
"Is that your official title?" Junho asks. He squints, wishing he could see more of the guy's face, but he's turned his back to the moon and all Junho can see is his profile, and sometimes the hint of a bushy eyebrow when he turns his head right. He sounds young though, and for once Junho finds himself wanting to know more about one of the guests at a celebrity event.
"Only during working hours. I'm Khun." He reaches out a hand and Junho responds automatically, trying to remember if he's ever heard the name.
"Junho."
Khun's grip is firm and warm, just like it had been on his biceps, and when Khun pulls away it's not to pluck and preen so Junho figures Khun doesn't recognise him either. (For all the fame he dreamed of when he was a kid, it's such a relief when that happens now.)
"Well I should go back," Khun says, gesturing to the main building a little awkwardly, and Junho nods.
"Okay. Thanks for... saving me," he finishes lamely, but Khun's mouth opens wide in a grin.
"Just try to avoid taking another dip." He turns away before spinning back again and this time his face is at just the right angle to be fully illuminated by the moon. His eyebrows are rather exemplary but he's otherwise very attractive, in a flower-boy kind of way.
Junho tries very hard not to like him just a little bit more.
"Unless you're a swimmer," Khun adds, and Junho has to take a few moments to remember what they're talking about.
"Wrong sport," he says, and at that Khun nods, waves, and heads back inside.
Junho watches him go, sidestepping so he can see Khun right up until he disappears through the doorway, and ends up with one leg knee-deep in the pond anyway.
+
Two weeks later Junho is knocked out in the first round of a major tournament after a frustrating tiebreaker played in forty degrees celsius, and it's when he's having his post-match ice bath that he sees it.
The connecting bathroom in his hotel has a really good view of the TV in the bedroom and he likes to leave it on sometimes because he finds the quiet hum of voices relaxing, no matter what language they're speaking. The last time he looked at the screen there was news on but now it seems to be halfway through a cooking programme (which Junho usually avoids, since they just remind him of all the food he wants but can't have) so he nearly blocks it out again but then there's a sudden side-on angle of the chef's face and—
Those eyebrows. Junho has seen them before.
The shot transitions to a front on view and the chef smiles for a brief moment, twisting something tiny in Junho's chest, before they head to an ad break and the logo of the show appears in the middle of the screen.
'Cooking with Khun'.
+
Taec comes in handy for a multitude of reasons. Taec is Junho's physiotherapist and Taec travels the circuit with him while he doesn't have a full-time coach, but Taec also has a life that isn't all tennis all the time, and he takes it upon himself to fill Junho in on any applicable pop culture. So when Junho wants to know about Khun, he doesn't even bother with the internet and instead goes straight to Taec.
"Khun's pretty much a household name, when people remember how to pronounce it," he says, rubbing at Junho's shoulder. "My sister has all his cookbooks. You said there was a twinge on your overheads, right?"
Junho nods, wincing as Taec digs his fingers right into his skin.
"The ladies love him," he continues. "He's hot and he can cook, he's like a dream come true."
"Shallow," Junho comments, but really he's just wondering if he's the last person in the world to know about this guy.
"Oh, and he hosted that fundraiser for Africa last year."
Junho sighs.
"Hurt there?" Taec asks, sounding concerned.
"No, it's not that. I'm fine."
"You're not. Be more careful with this shoulder, you've already had surgery. It could become permanent."
"I know, stop nagging." Junho stands up and carefully stretches out his arms, testing his shoulder—it feels as if God Himself has had his hands on it.
Taec grins knowingly. "Spirit fingers." He wiggles them and Junho feels it's only right that he should roll his eyes as he puts his wifebeater back on. "Hey," Taec says suddenly, "You should come out tonight with me and Wooyoungie. The restaurant's supposed to be really amazing, we only got a reservation once Wooyoung proved that it was really him on the cover of Men's Health."
"Why wasn't I already invited?" Junho asks mildly, not that he really cares (much). He's just stalling for time, trying to calculate if the energy spent getting ready, going out and then constantly looking over his shoulder will be worth it. "Was it a date?"
Taec laughs but suddenly becomes very interested in packing his bag. "No, it's because you're a bitch when you lose and Wooyoung has given up on you in disgust." He looks up again and frames his chin with his palms, blinking rapidly in a way he obviously thinks is cute. "Come on, Junho-yah. Pwease?"
Junho gapes at him in disgust.
Taec grins victoriously.
+
A few hours later, Junho has to admit that Taec was right—not that he'd ever tell him that. They have a table in the VIP section of the restaurant so no crazy fans or press are stalking them (unless you count the two girls who waited for Wooyoung while he was in the toilet, but they were harmless enough) and the food is absolutely, wonderfully delicious. Junho can't remember the last time he ate restaurant food this good and by the time dessert comes around, even if he allowed himself to consume sugar he wouldn't be able to fit it in.
Wooyoung declines as well but Taec decides to have something ice-creamy, probably just to taunt Wooyoung. When the waiter (Seulong, he'd insisted they address him, before assuring them that he'd cater to their every need) brings it to them, Taec makes a show of taking the first bite and Wooyoung pretends not to care.
"Is the owner in?" Taec asks through a full mouth, just as Seulong is motioning to leave.
Seulong tilts his head, eying Junho for a moment (which is a little creepy, but nothing he's not used to) before responding. "I'll let him know you wish to see him."
A few minutes later he's returning with someone in a bright red shirt in tow, but Seulong is freakishly tall so Junho can't see the man's face. And then Seulong shifts out of the way and Junho immediately thinks—of course. The realisation only grows stronger when Taec elbows him pointedly in the ribs.
"Hello," Khun says, bowing. "I'm Nichkhun Horvejkul. I hope you're enjoying your meal." He looks tired, his eyes don't have the sparkle they do on TV, but he's smiling anyway, leaning in to shake with Wooyoung, Taec and then— "Junho?" he says, looking confused (which admittedly is not the ideal reaction), but then his polite smile morphs into a wide grin that makes the tips of Junho's ears start to burn. "It's nice to see you," he says warmly.
Junho nods and forces himself not to pat down his hair over his ears. "You too. I didn't know this was your restaurant."
Khun's smile dims a little, but Junho has no time to read into it because Wooyoung clears his throat loudly. Junho and Khun look over simultaneously—Wooyoung has his best 'I'll humour you with this but it better be good' face on and Taec is just looking plain lecherous.
"So," Taec says, eying them meaningfully, "you two… know each other?"
"Not really," Junho says, at the same time Khun blurts, "A little."
Junho wonders when any encounter of his will ever not be awkward.
"We met at a fundraiser the other night," Khun hastily explains, but it's entirely the wrong thing to say because Wooyoung's unimpressed expression immediately morphs into a sadistic smirk.
"I see," Wooyoung says, looking Khun up and down. "So this is him, huh?"
"Sorry?" Khun frowns.
"Doesn't matter," Wooyoung says. He pushes Junho aside and forces Khun into his empty seat. "As long as you stay and tell us all about yourself."
Khun seems unperturbed. Junho wonders how long that will last.
+
It takes half an hour of Khun's life story (mixed-race parents, strict childhood, teenage years away from home where he learned to cook for himself, working his way up in the hospitality industry, developing his own brand) and Wooyoung's feigned interest and thinly-veiled insults until Taec finally takes pity on Junho and insists it's time for Wooyoung's deep-tissue massage. He drags him out with a not-so-subtle thumbs up to Junho, leaving Khun and Junho alone. Almost completely alone, Junho realises—a peek out of the VIP partition reveals that all of the other patrons have left too. Only Seulong and a few other wait staff are left in the restaurant, tidying up for the next day.
"We close early on Monday nights," Khun says, and Junho turns back to see him smiling softly in the candlelight. "So." He leans in, resting his chin on his palm. "Wooyoung was very protective of you."
Junho snorts. "Wooyoung can't decide whether he hates me or likes me. Two players the same age from the same country on the same tour, we're more like rivals than friends. If he wasn't more popular than me I'm pretty sure he'd never speak to me again."
"So there's nothing…" Khun looks down, fiddling with the cutlery. "Nothing romantic there?"
"Not with me and him," Junho says quickly. People have asked before. Even the overseas media have made illusions to it. "I have my suspicions about Taec and Woo. I never take that many clothes off for my treatments."
Khun laughs and Junho does too, because Khun's laugh is kind of like that. "You know, I've never seen a tennis game before."
"You're missing out on a lot," Junho tells him seriously. "Lots of sweating and grunting."
Khun's eyebrows raise. "How did I not know this? Okay, I'm definitely in."
Even though he probably should, Junho doesn't hesitate. They've both been flirting, and Khun's smiling and his eyes are back to sparkling, so he uses that as his rationale as he says, "Wooyoung and I are having a practice match tomorrow."
"Is that an invitation?"
"It's whatever you want it to be. I lost in the first round but we promised we'd help each other out so…" He looks up and Khun's face is closer than he remembers, but it's not like that's a bad thing. (Unless Junho has food in his teeth, or that blemish on his chin is acting up again, but he tries not to think like that.)
"Okay," Khun says softly. "In that case, I'll see you again tomorrow, Lee Junho."
+
He would never tell anyone, can barely even admit it to himself because of how traitorous it feels, but Junho's almost glad he's been knocked out of the tournament. Ever since he met Khun his focus has been off, and even when he's watching footage of his losing match to analyse his gameplay, something his first coach used to berate him for obsessing about, instead of criticizing that foot fault or where he went wrong with that serve placement, images of Khun keep invading his mind.
It's only worse after Khun calls him confirming some details and saying how much he's looking forward to the match, so bad that even Wooyoung picks up on it—although Junho trying to put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot in the locker room probably doesn't help.
"What's wrong with you?" Wooyoung asks bluntly. "You're even clumsier than usual."
"Thanks." Junho finally finishes tying his laces (three knots, undone and redone three times, one of his rituals since he started playing tennis) and jumps up, grabbing his racket bag. Maybe he can try to distract Wooyoung. "So, the number three seed next, huh? Got a plan of action?"
"Yeah, to win." He leads the way out and they're joined by way too many security guards, separating and flanking them as they make their way to the practice courts and making further conversation impossible.
Thankfully.
Junho checks his sponsor-provided watch—Khun should get here soon. He hopes he arrives after he and Wooyoung have warmed up, because Junho is notorious for screwing up right until the game starts (something about the headspace of the game, being in the zone really curbs his clumsiness) and Khun has already been witness to more than enough of his stupidity.
Fans react as they make their way to through the stadium, smiling or waving or giggling, and quite a few people follow them. There's small crowd gathered by the time they reach their designated court, and when Wooyoung turns and waves a bunch of girls start screaming. Junho rolls his eyes as he follows Wooyoung onto the court and they put down their things at the players' seats.
"Why does everyone like you so much," he complains.
"My charm," Wooyoung says, forming a heart with his arms. The crowd goes even wilder.
+
Khun arrives when Junho and Wooyoung have just started playing for real—or as real as possible when Wooyoung has an important game the next day. Junho only sees him because he's been keeping an eye out between points, and he's pleased to note that Khun looks great but inconspicuous, his Ray Bans and red hat (which Junho thinks might say 'Jesus' on it) hiding his face and making him seem like any old rabid tennis fan.
Considering his recent mental state Junho had wondered if he'd be able to concentrate for the game, but as it turns out having a supporter in the stands only works to his advantage. It's been a long time since he really played for someone, and since Wooyoung's holding back anyway he beats him according to their modified scoring system easily and efficiently. They meet again at their seats afterwards and Wooyoung pouts at him.
"Yah," he says, panting between gulps from his water bottle, "you can leave now, you're making me look bad."
"I would apologise but…" Junho looks Khun's way and Khun grins and gives a little wave. Wooyoung follows his gaze.
"Oh. He's here."
Junho shoves him. "Shut up."
"Taec looked into him. You know he used to play badminton? Badminton, Junho. That's like comparing a motorbike," he shakes his racket, "to a unicycle."
"Okay, I'm going. Have fun playing with yourself."
"I always do," Wooyoung says.
Junho ignores him and looks back in Khun's direction but he's not there. He frowns—he can't have left already, could he? He grabs his stuff and exits the court, and he only just has the time to wave off security before a hand wraps around his wrist and yanks him away, through the crowd, behind another court, around beside a building and into a tiny alcove. Junho is pushed into the wall but he's not worried (he's anything but worried) because he knows exactly who it is just from the warm, possessive grip.
Khun looks down at him with intense eyes, sunglasses hooked into his shirt pocket and hat turned sideways, and then all of a sudden they're kissing, Khun's hand cradling his face, Khun's mouth warm, Khun's tongue soft and Junho's stomach fluttering.
He's really sweaty but Khun doesn't seem to care, his hands wandering down Junho's body, under his t-shirt to graze over his stomach and then slipping down to his ass.
"This is… um..." Junho fumbles for words between kisses, because this is moving really fast and he might just need a moment to process things, "sudden."
"If I'd kissed you on the night of the fundraiser like I wanted to, that would've been sudden," Khun murmurs and Junho feels another little thrill to know the attraction was mutual. "This has been too long coming. Also that game was really hot," Khun admits, pulling away just enough to look into Junho's eyes.
"You're an idiot," Junho tells him, although there's no bite to it at all. "How did tennis turn you on?"
"I was prepared for the grunting." He nuzzles Junho's neck and scrapes his teeth over his jaw. "But when you kept bending over to hit Wooyoung's ball—"
"Receive his serve," Junho corrects automatically, only vaguely registering how much dirtier that sounds.
"—it was like..." He presses Junho further into the wall with his hips. "So hard to watch."
"Okay, it's not that I don't like what you're doing," Junho says, pushing Khun back, "but I really need to warm down and shower. And then I need food."
Khun unwillingly lets him go. "I can be involved in at least one of those things, right?"
+
No-one expects Wooyoung to beat the player ranked third in the world (not even, Junho suspects, Wooyoung himself), which is why it's such a shock when he does.
The interviewer in the delayed broadcast of his post-game interview mentions Junho and Wooyoung makes some witty remark, and Junho's just glad he's watching from the safety of his hotel room. Wooyoung's always been much better at the publicity stuff than him. Junho's English is slightly better than Wooyoung's and more than one poll has confirmed that he looks better in his shorts but in the end Wooyoung is the one to get the laughs, so Wooyoung is the one to get the fans.
Junho's only jealous sometimes. Okay maybe more than sometimes. But at least he doesn't have to do embarrassing things in public, like the victory dance Wooyoung is being asked to do right now.
The Real Wooyoung barges into his room just in time to catch himself shaking his ass at the crowd, and he groans and throws himself face-first onto Junho's bed.
"Turn it off," he pleads.
Junho keeps it on a few seconds longer, just because he can, before hitting standby on the remote.
"Congratulations," he tells Wooyoung.
Wooyoung grunts.
"Through to the fourth round, you're doing our great nation so proud."
Another grunt.
"Come on, where's your ssanti spirit now?"
Wooyoung props his head up on one hand and glares. "Stop pretending to encourage me. We both know you want me to lose."
"That wasn't encouragement," Junho says, ignoring the second part because he hates that Wooyoung always seems to be able to understand the ugliest parts of him, parts he wishes no-one, let alone his best rival-slash-friend, knew about. He jumps up and emulates a kamehameha, shouting, "This is encouragement!"
Wooyoung blinks. "If only you'd do things like that on camera... Why are you so happy anyway?"
Junho shrugs, grabbing his phone and trying to look busy. It's not that he's happier, per se, it's just… there's more to look forward to now. But he would rather eat a tennis ball than try to explain that to Wooyoung.
Not that it seems he has to, because Wooyoung suddenly says, "Ouh!" and Junho looks up in time to see his eyes take on an evil glint. "It's him, isn't it? The celebrity chef."
Junho tries very hard not to react.
"I thought you hated all that celebrity shit," Wooyoung continues. He collapses onto his back and stares at the ceiling. "Why are you suddenly buying into it?"
"I'm not!" Junho says. (Half true. He hasn't read a gossip magazine in years but only yesterday there was one with a feature on Khun and he somehow found himself buying every copy in the store.) "Khun's not like that." (All true. Junho's met numerous celebrities over the past few years, and there have only been a few who he's considered keeping in contact with, let alone entering into a relationship with. Assuming that's what this thing with Khun even is—they've only been out a few times and Junho's leaving again soon, so it's probably best not to use labels at all.) Junho sighs and lowers himself down next to Wooyoung. Their arms are touching and usually Wooyoung would pull away but he doesn't, so Junho doesn't either.
They stay in comfortable silence for a while, Junho comforted by Wooyoung's even breathing, before Wooyoung clears his throat.
"Just…" he says, sounding awkward, "just… be careful."
Junho grins. "You really do care."
"I'm usually in the hotel room next to yours, that's all. If you cry yourself to sleep every night it'll keep me awake."
"Right, got it." Another pause, before he adds, "He's teaching me to play badminton tonight, wanna come?"
Wooyoung rolls away and practically throws himself off the bed. "I take it back. I hope you die a long, painful death."
Junho laughs.
+
On Junho's last night in the country, he visits Khun at his apartment (well one of them, anyway). They're going to watch Wooyoung's fourth-round match together but beforehand Khun is going to cook, and really, who is Junho to turn him down.
Junho's as disguised as he can possibly be in the summer (bowler hat, aviators, popped collar) but he still feels very much on display as he hurries from the taxi to the door, pressing the buzzer three times and muttering "It's me" into the intercom. Khun finally lets him in and he uses the elevator ride to compose himself, settling his breathing with an exercise that was drummed into him ever since his passion changed from bowling to baseball to soccer to tennis as a child.
Truthfully, he feels a little ashamed for allowing himself to care so much about getting caught. Khun doesn't, and he'd told Junho so the day of the tennis match, but Khun has never really kept his sexuality a secret. He's never paraded it in front of cameras, but it's a generally-known fact that he's gay and it hasn't seemed to impact his career at all (not in the ways that matter, anyway).
Junho envies him. Only a few select people know his true sexuality. If he didn't think it would end in disaster he'd want all of the people he loves to know, he can stop living such a huge part of his life in secret, but that will never be an option for him. Both his immediate and extended family are pretty devoted Christians, and they think he is too. If they ever found out about his lifestyle they would be devastated.
Not only that but Koreans as a whole aren't particularly known for their acceptance of homosexuals, and Junho's quite certain he has no interest in finding out how the entire populace of his home country would react to finding out that one of their sporting heroes is gay.
In interviews he's often asked about a girlfriend but he usually just says that he's too busy (half true) or that he's not interested (all true, although not for the reasons the media might infer). Other than the occasional Wooyoung-related article, in the eyes of the public and his church-going family he's one of tennis's most eligible bachelors, and he'd much rather keep it that way.
He's calm by the time he reaches Khun's door, and when Khun opens it and pulls him inside for a kiss he responds eagerly, sliding a hand around Khun's shoulders and pressing their bodies together.
Khun grins against his mouth. "Hey," he says softly, stroking Junho's hair.
"Have you been chewing that disgusting strawberry gum again?" Junho replies, pulling a face, and Khun pouts just he knew he would, drawing away and slapping Junho on the ass.
"You suck," Khun says.
"Maybe later," Junho says, gliding past Khun and further into the modestly-furnished apartment, not giving him time to respond. "I need to use your bathroom."
He's lucky that he picks the right direction to walk in—and that he waits until he's out of Khun's line of sight before he trips on a rug and runs into a wall.
+
When he gets back is in the kitchen (oversized and gleaming and pristine, as you'd expect of a celebrity chef) Khun is fiddling with his Blackberry. Junho stands on his toes and peeks over Khun's shoulder and sees it's Twitter.
"What's the latest update?" he asks, only half-interested.
"Hmm," Khun hums, leaning back against Junho, "'Korean tennis-playing boyfriend promised me a blowjob tonight', exclamation mark, smiley face, 'sharing is caring', tilde."
Junho freezes.
Khun laughs. "Here, look." He holds his phone up over his shoulder, and sure enough it says, Teaching a friend how to cook tonight! = ] Sharing is caring~
Junho shoves at him and Khun turns around, frowning a little.
"Did you really think I'd…" He shakes his head. "Would it be so bad if…"
Junho's heart seizes up again, and even though Khun forces a smile Junho knows deep down that it's something they'll have to discuss in the future—if they have one.
And then he processes the entirety of Khun's tweet and realises—
"Wait, I have to cook?"
+
No matter how much Junho pleads, no matter how many kitchen-related horror stories he relates or ass-related promises he makes (although Khun almost caves by that point, Junho can tell), Khun is determined that they're going to cook together.
Somehow he even convinces Junho to go out shopping for ingredients with him (how Khun does all these things, Junho doesn't know, but something about Khun relaxes him, makes him let his guard down. It might have something to do with big pleading eyes and warm wet mouth but Junho refuses to lock anything in just yet). By the time they reach the supermarket car park though, Junho's doubts have returned at full force.
"This is crazy," Junho mutters, peering carefully out of the tinted window. There aren't many people around, thank God. "Anyone could see us."
"So?" Khun says. "We're friends. I'm hardly going to do this," he grabs Junho's neck and jerks him towards him, kissing him roughly, briefly, and then pulling back, "in there." He squeezes Junho's cheeks and gets out of the car. Junho waits a few moments before following him into the store, keeping his head down.
They make their way quickly through the aisles and Junho's so on edge that he doesn't even notice what Khun's buying until they get to the meat section.
"Which meat would be best for," Khun checks his handwritten list, "bul-go-gi?"
Junho blinks. "What? Bulgogi?"
"I thought maybe we could make something from your home," he admits, scratching his head sheepishly. "You must be missing it, right?"
In that one moment Junho feels all of his inhibitions fall away, and it takes all of his willpower to tamp down on his sudden urge to launch himself on Khun and kiss him just they did in the car, right in front of everyone.
Which is scary, because he never, ever thought he'd feel that way about Khun—never thought that within only three weeks of first meeting someone that he could be feeling and thinking the way he is.
Forget scary—it's terrifying, is what it is.
Khun puts his hand on Junho's shoulder, leaning in concernedly, and Junho shakes himself a little, knocking Khun's hand away.
"Try that," he blurts, pointing at some meat that looks vaguely adequate. Khun bends to look at it and that's when Junho registers the price tag. His eyes widen—he's won his fair share of small tournaments and he has a few endorsements back in Korea, but his earnings have hardly been enough to go wild on. "Yah wait, that's too expensive!"
"It's fine," Khun says. He pulls out a shiny black credit card and waves it in Junho's face. "Company card."
"Well in that case," Junho says, and takes charge of the rest of the shopping trip, his unsettling emotions left conveniently in aisle one.
+
Khun is the most patient teacher Junho's ever had.
His first coach liked to shout a lot and his second tended to forget that Junho had human limitations just like everybody else, not to mention his tutors, who were always unimpressed by his eagerness to get back on the court. Khun, however, is calm and gentle, even if his instruction is a little more… hands on than Junho suspects it needs to be. Maybe it helps, too, that they really are kind of working together—Khun's never made Korean food before and Junho's at least seen it done, which puts them on much more equal footing. Or so Junho likes to think.
The meat is prepared and set to marinate with little incident (Junho insists that he probably still would have been able to hold a racket without his little finger but Khun is not amused) and they're preparing the side dishes (bean sprouts and honeyed potatoes—Khun bought pre-packaged kimchi but carefully put it back away when Junho made his disgust clear) when Junho suddenly feels Khun's arms around his waist, palms smoothing up and over his stomach, Khun's chest pressing against his back.
"You're very grabby," Junho comments, wringing the last of the water out of the sprouts.
"You're very grabbable," Khun breathes into his ear, biting gently at his lobe.
Junho feigns his composure, grappling for something, anything to say. "I'm trying to cook."
"That's what's so hot."
Junho snorts and turns to him, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "Even my sprout-squeezing turns you on?"
Khun laughs. "It's your focus," he explains. His fingers pluck at the hem of Junho's red apron and Junho bats them away. "When you concentrate your lips puff out and you open your mouth really wide. Your mouth, Junho." He leans in again and Junho lets him, flattered and much more willing to cooperate, and just as their lips touch—the rice cooker clicks off.
Junho sighs, gently prodding Khun backwards. "I need to get that."
"No," Khun says stubbornly.
"I have to turn it off, I hate it if it stays on the keep warm setting. Please move?" He tries to look cute, which is a gamble because he doesn't do it very often, but it must work because Khun sighs and steps aside.
"You're a tease," he accuses.
Junho says nothing, but makes sure to brush against him with most of his body when he moves past.
+
The bulgogi tastes like nothing he's ever eaten before but Junho decides it's passable, and teaching Khun how to parcel meat in lettuce is worth it for the wide-eyed look of pleasure on his face.
Once they finish they leave their dishes out and make preparations for Wooyoung's game to start. Khun makes some popcorn in the microwave while Junho rearranges the couch to his liking, taking up most of the room and not caring.
"Your parents live in Thailand, right?" he calls, adjusting the pillow under his butt. "You should cook Thai for me next time."
Khun practically leaps into the room, a large grin on his face, still managing to keep a massive bowl steady. Junho envies his agility. "Next time? Already thinking about our future?"
"Thinking about food," he corrects lamely, rolling his eyes, even as it sinks in that—yeah, he had been, and he hadn't even known it. It had just felt… natural.
"Food is the way to a man's heart, or so they say." Khun lifts Junho's feet and slides under them before letting them drop back onto his thighs. "I like to think that a sincere soul works just as well."
"Ugh, you're so corny," Junho grumbles.
Khun says nothing, and they sit in comfortable silence for a few moments until Khun says, "Wait..." He points at the television. "Did Wooyoung just grab his—" he hesitates, before adding, almost primly, "underwear?"
Junho looks and sure enough Wooyoung is at his end of the court, practicing his serving. He snickers as Wooyoung does it again. "It's his pre-point ritual. Some people bounce the ball a lot, some people wear certain clothing, Wooyoung likes to adjust his… shorts. How have you only noticed it now?"
"I was too busy watching you last time."
Junho ignores him and unmutes the TV as Wooyoung's statistics flash onscreen, listening instead to the commentators' ramblings about Wooyoung's history and Wooyoung's promise and Wooyoung's chance of winning.
"He's not getting enough height on his serve," Junho murmurs, also noticing the way Wooyoung's fingers are clenched too tightly around his racket. "He's way too nervous."
"Not that you'd know it," Khun says.
Which may be true for the average audience, since Wooyoung has his well-practiced poker face on, but Junho doesn't even notice that anymore. He knows Wooyoung too well to take anything he does at face value.
"Do you think he can win?" Khun asks, once the footage shifts to Wooyoung's opponent.
"I don't know," Junho admits. "His groin was tight earlier but if he works through it then—" He stops as Khun makes a strange noise and finally looks over to find Khun staring at him, the flickering light of the TV casting shadows over his face where his eyebrows are drawn together. "What?"
Khun shakes his head, casually picking through the popcorn. "Are you that intimate with all of Wooyoung's injuries?" he asks, and Junho can tell he's trying very hard to seem indifferent.
"You really are an idiot," Junho says. Khun looks at him. He looks back. He grabs Khun's neck and Khun goes with the motion as he pulls him forwards, aiming for a kiss.
"Wait," Khun protests half-heartedly, "what about the game?"
"I'll watch the replay," Junho says. Their lips touch before Khun can respond, and the popcorn tips up and spills all over the floor.
+
Wooyoung wins, but really, Junho thinks, so does he.
+
Waking up the next morning is a very pleasant experience.
As Junho works his eyes open he begins to register how they're tangled together, Khun's legs between his and Khun's arm flung across his bare chest, Khun's face so close to his that he could count the hairs of his eyebrows.
Not that he would want to.
Still, it's nice. It's been a long time since Junho has woken up next to someone (other than Taec or Wooyoung, of course, but the groaning and complaining about hangovers has never been very romantic), and he'd forgotten just how different it is. How much warmer and cozier. How much harder to leave the bed.
He watches Khun for a few minutes, and it (embarrassingly) makes his stomach clench when Khun's eyes flutter open and he blinks before smiling at Junho.
"Good morning," Khun says sleepily, stretching his legs out. He yawns and moves his arm to rub at his eye before slinging it back over Junho's body, his fingers brushing gently over Junho's ribcage.
Junho shivers and wrinkles his nose. "That tickles."
"You think that's gonna make me stop?" Khun moves even closer, his fingertips tracing the curve of each rib, and Junho tries to bat his hands away but they both know Junho isn't going to win this one.
"Your breath is terrible," Junho complains, trying a different tactic, but that doesn't work either and Khun suddenly surges up and straddles Junho's chest, his palms pressing down between Junho's lungs.
"Quick, gotta save you from my breath!" he cries, pumping his hands gently, a terrible imitation of CPR.
Junho sputters out a laugh. "That's not how you do it! Yah!"
Khun grins widely and leans down and Junho stops laughing when he feels Khun's tongue drag over his lips.
They kiss for a long time, softly, quietly, slowing gradually to a stop, ending up on their backs and staring at the ceiling, Junho using Khun's bicep as a pillow. Junho wonders what Khun's thinking but he doesn't ask.
Maybe he's too scared of the answer.
"What's time's your flight?" Khun asks eventually, rolling over to face Junho and trailing his free hand up to rest on Junho's jaw.
"Four," Junho says. He doesn't miss the sly grin forming on Khun's face, but he pretends to. "You gonna miss me?"
Khun's expression immediately softens, and Junho doesn't know what do with the way Khun's grip on his face has suddenly turned into a caress. The look in Khun's big eyes doesn't help either, and Junho can only hold his gaze for a few moments before he takes it upon himself to change the atmosphere, rolling them over with him on top this time.
+
After Junho lands, he allows himself twenty-four hours to recover from his mild jetlag, and then plays three exhibition matches in the next three days. He wins them all. By a lot.
Because it's strange, but while he misses Khun (which is another thing altogether to fret over), he has exactly the same feeling he did when he beat Wooyoung and Khun was watching—like playing for someone makes him stronger. Like the knowledge that someone cares personally about his victories spurs him on and makes him try harder.
It's stupid, intellectually Junho knows that, but it feels… good. It feels really really good.
Wooyoung finally loses in his tournament but the prize money is probably more than either of them have ever won combined, and as well as all of the PR overseas Wooyoung will probably get a whole bunch of CF offers back home. Which Junho's only a little bitter about.
Still, Wooyoung is his friend and Wooyoung's worked really hard and Junho has to admit he really deserved his victories—even his losing match had been a battle, going to five sets and lasting over five hours.
Junho has just got off the phone with him (apparently he's flying out in a couple of days, once he's done all his duties for the press, and has informed Junho he expects a red carpet in his room) when he gets another phone call, this time from Khun.
He tries not to sound as pleased as he feels when he answers, appropriately teasing and only slightly mocking all through their pleasantries.
"So," Khun says, finally getting to the point, "I'll see you in an hour?"
Junho pauses. "You do understand we're on opposite sides of the world."
"Not since nine o'clock this morning," Khun says facetiously, like he knows how happy that will make Junho, and how annoyed Junho will get that he knows how happy that makes him, and how frustrated he'll subsequently feel at not being able to decide whether happiness or annoyance wins out.
"I hate you," Junho tells him.
"Is it okay if we make a quick visit to a good friend first?" Khun continues cheerfully. "He'll be at work but we haven't seen each other in ages and I want him to meet you."
How can Junho say no to that. "I really really hate you."
+
Khun's 'friend', as it turns out, just happens to be Chansung Hwang.
As in, Korean drama star Hwang Chansung turned Hollywood action hero Chansung Hwang.
And Chansung Hwang's 'work' just happens to be on a multi-million dollar film set.
Junho knows now why Khun was so vague on the phone.
It takes them a long time to get through security, a lot of ID checks and conversations over walkie-talkies, but once they're finally allowed on set Junho is amazed by what he sees.
He's watched behind-the-scenes documentaries before, who hasn't, but he never really expected there to be so many people. Everyone seems so focused, each individual fixated on completing their tiny role so that the huge production ball will keep rolling as smoothly as possible.
Junho stays as close to Khun as he can. Right now would be a horrible time for his uncoordination to kick in.
Eventually a busy assistant ushers them onto a huge set of a suburban American street, complete with road and house fronts and gardens and even letter boxes. Junho looks around with awe, because instead of sky there is green screen and a huge lighting grid and most of the 'houses' seem to consist only of the front wall.
The assistant tells them to stay put and Junho watches her navigate through the throng of busy people, over to a bunch of director's chairs in the corner. She leans down to whisper in a dark-haired man's ear, and Chansung immediately swivels around.
Khun waves and as soon as Chansung sees him, his eyes light up and he rushes over, throwing his arms around Khun in a hug that is definitely more than platonic. His hands rub over Khun's back and Khun's fingers run across Chansung's shoulders and up his neck, brushing through his hair, and they murmur greetings into each other's ears.
They embrace for a long time. Junho wonders if Khun even remembers he's there.
He clears his throat.
Khun slowly pulls away, grinning the widest Junho's ever seen him, and grabs Junho's sleeve, yanking him forward. "Say hello to Junho."
"So this is Junho," Chansung says, and smiles at him, his eyes curving up too. It's so genuine that Junho feels his petty jealousy dissolve in an instant. "Hello, how are you?" he says in Korean, and bows.
Junho hastily does the same, although his bow is a bit jerky—he hasn't had to do that in months.
"It's quite a coincidence that Khunnie found himself a Korean boyf…" He stops, and smiles again, gesturing between Junho and Khun. "Well, you know."
"I suppose so," Junho says. He's trying not to be awkward but speaking with an unfamiliar Korean person after so long is messing with his head. Should they use Korean or English? How polite is he supposed to be? He doesn't even know how old Chansung is. Will he want Junho to call him hyung?
Chansung must sense his discomfort because he smiles again and says, "Let's just use English until you teach Khunnie some more Korean, okay?"
Junho nods gratefully and Chansung turns back to Khun.
"It's really good to see you! I'm sorry I can't spend more time with you, after you came all this way…" He looks worried for a moment, biting his lip, and it's so unlike the confident, if slightly goofy Chansung that Junho is used to seeing on TV that he finds himself liking him even more. Damn him.
"It's fine Chansung," Khun assures him, wrapping his arm back around Chansung's shoulders, "I'll take whatever I can get of you." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully.
Chansung shares an amused look with Junho and then pushes Khun off. "Okay but I have present for you guys to make up for it okay? Wait one second." He jogs over to a table on the other side of the set and starts looking through a bag.
"So," Junho says, "you two used to date, huh?"
Khun immediately reddens. "What? Who… what?"
Junho rolls his eyes. "I don't care," he says firmly. "We both have pasts."
Khun finally looks at him, eyes softening, and he's about to say something when Chansung comes back over.
"Found them! Here," he passes an envelope to Junho, "Khun told me you were a fan."
Junho looks quizzically at Khun but Khun just shakes his head, so he flips the envelope open and starts pulling out two plastic packets. The first thing he sees is 'VIP PASS' and then he pulls the tickets out further and reads the words 'HARRY POTTER CONVENTION' and his mind immediately blanks.
He looks up at Chansung, both mouth and eyes far too wide, but he can't help it because he tried getting these tickets in three different ways and had given up any hope of ever going and now that he's been presented with such an amazing gift he's finding it a little hard to process.
"You're amazing," he breathes.
Khun and Chansung laugh.
"You didn't have to buy him off," Khun says.
"Yes he did," Junho snaps. He turns to Chansung but he doesn't really know how to accurately display his gratitude so he settles for bowing again, low, straightening up and saying simply, "Thank you."
They chat for a little while longer, Junho tucking the tickets carefully into his back pocket and patting it every so often to make sure they're still there, but before long Chansung is called over by the assistant director. He tells Junho and Khun to have a look around the set, laughing when Khun mentions not wanting to ruin anything and assuring them that it's sturdier than it looks.
The movie being filmed is the latest in an ever-growing series of action movies starring Chansung as the martial-arts hero, all of which Junho has seen multiple times and owns on DVD, and he finds himself quietly fanboying as he watches Chansung learning some fight choreography.
"Junho," Khun hisses, and Junho looks over to see him beckoning him over. He goes to him, eyes still on Chansung as he executes an amazing-looking triple-kick in the air, before forcing himself to pay attention to Khun. "This one really opens!" Khun gestures to a door of one of the houses lining the 'street' before tugging on the handle and opening it, turning back to beam at Junho.
Junho thinks it's a bit much to be excited about but he lets it go immediately and assumes the stance of a spy, bending his knees and bringing his left hand up into the shape of a gun. He presses himself flat against the wall beside the door. "Cover me," he instructs Khun.
Khun laughs and they play around for a bit, because although Khun spends most of his time being charming, sincere and mature, for some reason he's the best at bringing out Junho's playful side.
"Okay, quiet on set!" they hear a sudden voice announce, and Khun grabs his wrist and tugs him through the door into the house, closing it again behind them.
There's a little light coming in through the 'window', just enough after his eyes adjust to see Khun's face, but only because they're standing so close together, enough for Junho to feel Khun's breath on his cheek.
"This really feels covert now," Khun whispers, grinning again, and his mouth is so close Junho really doesn't think he can be blamed for pulling Khun into a kiss.
Khun pushes him against the door, palms landing flat against it, one each side of Junho's face, and presses their hips together. Junho feels like he's made of liquid fire, of lava, and he can't believe that Khun's doing this to him when there are multiple cameras only a few feet away—and then Khun suddenly pulls back.
Junho blinks, trying to reorient himself, and when he does he realises that Khun's looking at him exactly the same way as he was on the last morning they spent together, loaded with meaning enough to make Junho feel overwhelmingly nervous. He swallows. Khun's eyes follow the motion of his throat before trailing back up to his face.
"Khun—"
"I can play piano," Khun blurts.
Junho wonders where the hell that came from. "What?'
"Nothing, sorry. I just… really like you."
Khun's voice is soft and sincere. Junho doesn't know what to do, what to say, this isn't… it's not… So he takes the easy way out. He makes light of the conversation. "Me or my ass?"
There's a short moment of silence where Junho thinks Khun might be offended, but then, to Junho's relief, he says, "Do I have to choose?"
"Will I like your answer?" Junho asks but Khun doesn't respond, seeming to prefer sucking at Junho's neck instead, which, well—Junho's not going to complain.
"Come with me to my friend Junsu's charity ball," he urges quietly, his lips brushing over Junho's jaw before his tongue flicks at Junho's earlobe. "It's for a very good cause."
"Is it?" Junho asks disinterestedly, bringing up his thigh and pressing it into Khun's crotch.
Khun's breath hitches. "Yeah," he says, "HIV awareness."
Junho stops. His hands fall from Khun's body, his knee drops, and he leans away from Khun's mouth. "I can't do that," he says firmly.
Khun pulls back, looking confused. "Why? Why did you—what?"
"I know it's… I know. But I can't."
"Is this about being seen with me? Because I don't mean I buy you a corsage and we hold hands the whole night and make out over the fondue, I just want us to spend time together."
"It's not—I know that."
"Then what?" Khun tilts his head, then moves away even further, so no parts of them are touching. It hurts much more than Junho thinks it should. "Because it's for HIV?"
"I just… My family keeps track of my appearances. My mom boasts about me at church," he tries to explain. "It's stupid, but I really can't."
"But… it's just for charity," Khun says quietly, trying one last time, and Junho wants to appease him, he really does, but thoughts of his parents and his grandparents and even his sister and his niece assault him all at once and he knows it's impossible.
"I'm sorry."
Khun nods and looks down, scuffing his feet against the floor, and Junho knows that what has just happened is probably one of the most defining moments of their relationship.
Junho sighs. "Can we please just go back to your hotel?" he asks softly.
Khun gently takes his hand and leads the way.
+
They don't have sex. They sleep in Khun's bed, wrapped tightly around each other just like before, and in the morning Khun acts like everything is fine. He kisses Junho to wake him up, rolling them around and getting them tangled in the sheets. He's cheerful and chatty as he makes breakfast, he kisses Junho some more after they brush their teeth, and just when Junho is about to leave he yanks him back into the kitchen, pulling him close for an intimate handjob against the sink.
Junho's so relieved but he doesn't say it, he can't, instead hoping it'll come across in the things he does—including his reciprocal blowjob.
+
When Junho gets back to his hotel room it's to find Taec asleep on his stomach on top of the unmade covers, legs straight out and half off the bed, arms by his sides.
He looks ridiculous. Junho drops directly on top of him, making sure Taec feels the brunt of his body weight and bouncing up and down for extra measure.
"Geeeyoooh," Taec groans, arms thrashing. "Kwawwww."
"Good morning hyung," Junho says loudly.
"What is wrong with you," Taec croaks. "You never call me hyung."
"Why are you on my bed?" He bounces again.
"Because. Why weren't you in your bed?"
"Because."
"Which is code for Khun, am I right?" he leers, sounding way too awake already.
Junho ignores him and rolls off him, making sure to dig his knees and elbows in. Taec grunts in pain, flailing a hand out in a vague attempt at a slap, but Junho easily dodges him and begins to rifle through his suitcase for a change of clothes. Taec groans and hauls himself up the bed, grabbing Junho's MacBook Pro from the pillow and lifting the lid.
"Can you live for five minutes without the internet?" Junho snipes.
Taec hunches over to type something and then looks up expectantly, speaking in English. "Can you say 'she sells sea shells by the sea shore'?"
Junho hesitates. Taec grins triumphantly.
Junho pokes out his tongue and throws his dirty socks at him, moving into the bathroom. He turns on the shower, thinking about his schedule. He doesn't have much to do today, just some gym stuff and then a session with Taec, and maybe he should see Khun too? Or maybe not, Junho isn't sure, because Khun might be busy, and if they're going to the Harry Potter convention tomorrow then maybe he should do some extra training today and—
"Junho," Taec calls suddenly, and Junho's limbs lock up, because he knows that tone of voice. Carefully, he turns off the shower and pads back into the bedroom.
Taec looks up at him with wide eyes and pursed lips, and turns the laptop around on the bed.
Junho can read the news site's giant headline without having to move any closer. It takes him a moment to process what he's seeing but once he does he reaches immediately for the back of the lounge chair to steady himself, because he's either going to faint or cry. Or maybe that breakfast Khun so lovingly cooked for him is going to come right back up again.
'KHUN'S KINKY NEW CATCH!' the text screams, and as Taec clicks through a few more tabs, there's only more—'NICHKHUN TURNS UP THE HEAT', 'THE THAI'S NEW GUY' to name a few.
Each tabloid features the same thing: a story about Khun's latest lover, accompanied by a sequence of grainy images—Khun and Junho in front of Khun's apartment, Khun waiting with him for a cab and opening the door for him once it arrives, then Khun waving him off and heading back inside. They're completely innocent, of course, and they prove nothing, but that makes no difference to the media. (A part of Junho fathoms just how ironic it is that he and Khun have been on entire field trips before, kissing included, but they got caught when they weren't doing anything at all.)
The positive part of it all is that Junho's disguise seems to have held up—nowhere is he mentioned by name, despite each reporter having 'close sources' that know exactly who he is. To Junho, though, it's one hundred percent obvious it's him, no matter what the tabloids refer to him as.
"Junho?" Taec says quietly, and he shakes his head rapidly, not that it helps with his nausea.
"How would anyone even know I'm kinky," he says quietly, because he can't—what else can he say?
He's never felt quite so powerless before.
"I promise I didn't say anything," Taec murmurs, trying to cheer him up, and Junho punches him, because while their one time together had been very satisfying, it had also been the most vanilla experience in Junho's life.
+
It's a tense few hours as Junho stays huddled on his bed in his hotel room. He Googles himself compulsively every five minutes but there's nothing new, nothing anywhere that mentions his name in relation to Khun, but he can't help thinking that someone, somewhere, soon, is going to find out.
Someone always finds out.
He's just about to hit refresh on his search page for the fortieth time when suddenly the blankets he had covering his head are ripped away (and he only lets out a tiny scream of surprise). Light streams in and he squints, blinking up at his assailant to find—
"Wooyoung?" He frowns. "When did you get here?"
Wooyoung pulls the blankets all the way off the bed and dumps them on the floor. "A while ago. I called but it seems you've been busy ignoring them… and Khun's, if your eleven missed calls are anything to go by." He drops Junho's phone down on the bed and Junho edges away from it.
"I can't do it," Junho mutters. He pulls a pillow over his face in lieu of the blankets but Wooyoung takes that, too.
"This isn't even a scandal, Junho," Wooyoung says. "No-one knows it's you. And even if they did, it wouldn't end your career, not outside of Korea. You didn't do anything wrong."
"You should come out with me then, in a heroic display of solidarity."
Wooyoung snorts. "I'm not that desperate for attention, I'm the first ever Korean player to make it into a Grand Slam quarter final."
"That should be me," Junho says quietly, and with that statement comes a firm realisation that it's true. He could be winning, he should he winning, if only he was concentrating more on the right things.
He wishes he was as focused as Wooyoung, who's always working towards something, and who manages to keep his work and personal lives separate. He wishes that he hadn't allowed Khun to affect him so much, to get so deep under his skin that he'd taken so many risks and forgotten what the real world is like, that every action has a consequence. (He'd say he wishes that he'd never met Khun, but even now that would be a lie.)
Wooyoung frowns, opening his mouth to respond when Junho's phone starts to ring.
Junho stares at it in horror. "What if it's—"
"It's your mother," Wooyoung says, leaning over to push it closer.
"I'm never going to able to tell her the truth, am I?"
Wooyoung shrugs. "It's better for everyone this way." He nudges Junho's arm. "Answer it."
He picks it up. His mom's voice echoes through the speaker but instead of feeling better like he usually does, he just feels guilty.
+
Junho has never been more cowardly than when he tells Khun it's over.
His fingers are trembling as he forms a message on his English keyboard, and he has to go back and retype it when he sees he's spelled every word wrong, but eventually he manages it:
Let's take a break.
He hits send, waits for the notification that it's left his outbox, and then removes the battery of his phone.
He changes his number the next day.
+
From that point onwards, Junho's sole purpose in life goes back to playing tennis, and at first it's actually a relief to get back to a regular schedule. He can do this, this is what he's used to, everything he knows, and he throws himself back into training—eating, sleeping and breathing tennis.
The problem is that it doesn't feel as good as it used to. As a teenager, all he needed was tennis, it was everything. And he's used to winning, winning matches, winning the right attention, so he'd thought it would be better without Khun, without distractions, that it would go back to the way it was, but it's. It's.
It's hollow.
And he has no idea what to do with that.
If he doesn't have tennis, then what does he have? What's left? Tennis is his life, tennis is why he breathes, why he exists, and he has no idea what he's do without it, so while he's living it just the way he used to, before Khun, he's also completely miserable.
Of course Wooyoung picks up on it.
Their next practice game is tough, hard on both of them even as Taec shouts random encouragement and lewd comments from the sidelines, and Wooyoung eventually wins when Junho gets distracted by a tall man walking past in a red shirt.
When they meet at the net he can feel Wooyoung watching him. Junho purses his lips, stubbornly avoiding Wooyoung's gaze as they suck from their water bottles, but he's suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted, everything he'd been trying to forget and ignore weighing down on him all over again.
Wooyoung just waits for him, quiet and patient for once, and it's the need to fill the silence more than anything else that makes Junho open up.
"I just feel so—" he blurts, stopping because he has no idea how to explain. "Like… my heart is empty." He finally looks up, more vulnerable than he has ever let himself be in front of Wooyoung before.
Wooyoung takes his time, looking more uncomfortable by the second, before pulling a briefly distressed face and leaning in close to Junho. Junho inches in too. "When I play," Wooyoung says carefully, "I have a strategy, I have points to win and records to break. I want to win, I want to be the best. But not just for myself." Wooyoung holds his gaze, and Taec chooses that very moment to approach them.
"Who wants to get their drinks up tonight?" he says loudly, doing a terrible body wave, but Junho's not really paying attention to him, because the way Wooyoung's acting, the way he's suddenly gone tense and is very carefully not looking at Taec, that tells Junho more than he ever would have found out from Wooyoung himself.
"I didn't know you were so romantic."
"It's not romantic," Wooyoung snaps, eyes finally flitting over to Taec before settling back on Junho. "It's primal. Even animals provide for their families."
Taec frowns. "Did you just call me an animal?"
"I'm not going to a club," Wooyoung insists suddenly, pointedly changing the subject. He bends down to pick up his bag. "If we're going out it's karaoke."
Junho hesitates for a moment but chooses to let it go. He could do with a night out, too. "I'm not doing Heartbreaker with you this time," he says, leading the way off the court.
"Isn't it accurate though?" Wooyoung asks and Junho stops in his tracks, surprised by how much that hurts—not that he didn't know it before, but at least he can sugar coat it for himself a little. No-one would ever accuse Wooyoung of sugar coating anything.
Junho glares at Wooyoung's back before moving again, speeding up and pushing past him, making sure he manages to bump Wooyoung as much as possible.
"Low blow, Wooyoung-ah," he hears Taec say behind him. "And not the good kind."
+
Junho wakes up with horrible hangover. After several moments of blinking at the ceiling he still can't remember what he did the night before, but then there's movement on the bed next to him. Wooyoung and Taec are asleep next to him—Taec the furthest away, squashed into a tiny section of the bed since Wooyoung is spreadeagled in the centre, his arm slung over Taec's face—and now he can at least guess what happened.
He tries to roll away from them and go back to sleep but then he's facing the window and the sun streaming around the curtains is like torture to his eyeballs, so he forces himself to get up and go to the bathroom.
On the way back he checks his schedule and realises he's supposed to be at the gym.
He cringes. The last thing he wants to do is go and work out for two hours. But he promised himself he'd follow his new regime to the letter, and discipline and hard work are what it's all about, so he drags himself down to the gym and warms up a little before snagging a treadmill that's just been vacated by a scarily-muscled old man.
And then.
Like fate. Like destiny. Like someone is having a really good laugh at Junho's life, an episode of 'Cooking with Khun' starts up on his tiny television screen.
Junho nearly falls off the treadmill.
At first he debates turning it off (who would play a cooking show at a gym anyway!) but for some reason he decides to leave it on (his latent masochism kicking in again, probably), Khun's voice, strangely enough, soothing him and helping him find a rhythm much more quickly than usual.
Khun's making char kueh teow and Junho can't decide whether to concentrate on the delicious-looking food or Khun's hands (his perfect hands, hands that are expert at many more things than just cooking) and just when he thinks he's got his breathing regulated there's a close-up of Khun's face, and he smiles, and Junho suddenly misses him so much it feels like he's been punched in the chest.
He gives up on exercising, powering down the machine, and when Khun's face blinks out of existence it feels like a another physical blow.
Which is both absolutely stupid and utterly telling.
He thought he was doing fine without Khun, because he has tennis and his friends and that's all he ever needed before, but if he's really being truthful, it's obvious he's not.
He doesn't know when his old way of life stopped being enough but he does know he likes Khun much more than he ever intended to, more than he ever thought he could, and that maybe living without him isn't the path to fulfillment.
Maybe by running away from Khun he's just letting his fear dictate his life, not doing the noble thing.
Maybe he really, really screwed up, and what he really needs to do is grow up and own up to what he's really feeling.
Maybe everything will work out, or maybe it won't, but either way, as long as he's doing it with Khun, he doesn't think he'll care.
+
The charity ball is Taec's idea but Chansung, as the only one famous enough, is who gets them invited.
The banner on the wall reads 'Hommies Against HIV' (apparently it's written in Comic Sans, which Taec had complained about as soon as they walked in, but Junho's honestly just happier to see a more original, if slightly eccentric, title), and the host is a famous Korean musician, and apparently another friend of Khun's (Junho wonders if he's somehow managed to befriend every famous Korean person in the Western world).
Junho doesn't bother with mingling, instead moving directly into investigating the building—he's got one mission tonight, and it has nothing to do with networking.
Eventually he finds a small courtyard to the side of the building, unnoticed by the smokers and surprisingly well-lit, and he texts Taec with directions and Wooyoung with a question mark. Wooyoung responds first:
he's here~ ^0^ going now, so sleepy ㅠ
Junho shakes his head as he responds, although he supposes that Wooyoung simply turning up shows his support in itself.
Taec takes a little longer and Junho's waiting in the hallway near the exit trying to fix his cuffs when Taec finally arrives, depositing a bulging plastic bag at Junho's feet. "Homemade kimchi, as requested."
Junho stares at it. "I said enough for two people, not twenty."
"That is for two," Taec says, tilting his head like a puzzled animal.
Junho sighs. "Right." He fumbles with the cufflinks again before Taec moves closer and grabs his wrists, turning them over and carefully smoothing out his sleeves, fixing them in a matter of seconds.
"Spirit fingers," Taec says.
"T-Rex hands," Junho mutters.
Taec shoves at his shoulder and he goes flying, barely stopping himself before he slams into the wall, and Taec laughs but pulls him into a hug. "You ready?"
"No," Junho says.
Taec pulls back and grins widely. "Wooyoung's waiting," he says, and the familiar glint of his teeth actually works to soothe Junho's nerves a little. "Fighting!" He pumps his fist and disappears back around the corner.
It's eerily quiet with him gone. Junho can hear the muted sounds of music and clinking glasses but he suddenly feels terribly, horribly alone.
"Stop," he tells himself, and takes some calming breaths.
Everything will be okay, no matter what happens.
With that, he stoops to pick up the bag, hefting it into his arms. It's heavier than he thought, the corners of the plastic containers digging into him, and when he tries to open the door he realises he's gone about this completely the wrong way.
The containers shift in the bag, the top ones looking dangerously close to falling out, and Junho tries to shift his weight to compensate but he can feel himself losing grip on the slippery plastic completely, and everything is just about to tip all over the floor—
But suddenly he's not even holding the bag anymore, and not because he's dropped it. Someone has taken it from him and opened the door in one smooth movement, even holding the door open long enough for Junho to register what's happening and slip through.
"Thanks a lot," he says gratefully, turning to his saviour, only to reel back in surprise because it's Khun. "Oh! I mean… anyway. Um. Thanks."
Khun shrugs, putting the bag down on a wrought-iron patio chair. "It looked heavy."
There's a long, awkward silence.
Junho swallows nervously.
Khun's expression remains blank.
Junho waits.
So does Khun.
Junho's heart sinks. He was hoping, no matter how selfishly, that Khun wouldn't make this hard on him. He clears his throat.
"It's kimchi," he says, pointing to the bag. "Homemade. You should try it. I mean… if you. Want to."
Khun just keeps watching him, moving only to lean against the table behind him, and Junho finds his gaze drawn to Khun's long legs in his fitted suit, before his eyes snap back up to Khun's face.
"I miss you," he blurts, and usually he wouldn't admit that, but Khun's eyes soften (even though he tries to cover it up by frowning and crossing his arms) and that's enough for Junho. That's more than enough. He takes a chance and steps forward, stopping once Khun is within arm's reach. Khun doesn't move away. "I miss you and I'm sorry. I know I have a lot to make up for. I know this won't make everything better. But I want to be with you."
"What about your family?" Khun asks, so quietly, so hesitantly.
"I might not ever be able to be as public about it as I'd like, or even tell my mother but." He stops and slowly extends his hand out, watching the play of emotions on Khun's face, turning his palm up and hoping. "I'm not scared anymore."
"Junho," Khun starts, and stops again, seeming frustrated. "I don't… why?"
It's such a vague question but Khun looks so earnest, so vulnerable, and its implications are so clear—why now, why will things be different this time, why have you changed, why should I? And really, there's only one answer.
"Because," Junho says clearly, "I love you." And in those three words is—you're all I think about, you're who I want to come home to, you're who inspires me, you're who makes me want to be better.
Junho knows Khun understands when he finally smiles, a proper smile, an eye-sparkling smile, and presses his hand into Junho's, pulling him towards him. Junho thinks he might be going for a hug but he puts his hands on Khun's shoulders instead, changing the angle so his mouth ends up on Khun's, pressing closer and deeper with every second. Khun kisses back with fervour, his hands wandering as usual, stroking down Junho's side to settle on his ass right as Junho starts using his tongue.
When they pull away they're both ruffled with red ears, and Junho extricates himself from Khun's embrace long enough to pat down their hair.
"Let's get out of here," he says. "My hotel this time."
They leave together.
+
Junho is woken up by the text tone of his phone, and he groans, rolling away from Khun's warm body and flailing his hand over where he estimates the bedside table to be. When his fingertips brush over smooth plastic he picks it up and squints up at it, trying to get his eyes to focus on the too-bright screen.
It's from Taec, and it's a photo with the simple caption of:
top left ㅋㅋㅋ
When Junho opens the photo at first he doesn't understand what he's looking at, but eventually he recognises the corner of the banner from last night, and a few of the more famous celebrities that had attended posing in the centre. And then his eyes drift to the top left and he finally understands why Taec had felt compelled to send the image to him.
He and Khun are standing very close, heads bent together in what almost looks like a kiss, and if he zooms in enough he can even see their fingers gripping the handles of the bag of kimchi, Khun's hand carefully resting over his. They'd been hurrying through the room, on their way to get a cab, and neither of them had thought they'd be noticed by anyone let alone caught on camera, so they'd been a little reckless, but Junho is almost surprised to find how little he cares.
His finger hovers over the delete icon, but it's then that he realises that, other than the other paparazzi pictures (which don't even count), this photo is the first one he's ever had taken with Khun. So he saves it instead.
Sometimes media intrusion is useful after all.