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When the days are monotonous and loneliness creeps in with the night's shadows, he thinks of Myeong.
The military was about as bad as Seonho and his old classmates thought it would be back in high school. Just halfway through his time at university, he currently found himself months out of basic training and stationed at a base in Seoul, mere miles from where he temporarily put his studies on hold. He couldn't help feeling he had lucked out a little, knowing he could have otherwise been shipped out to Busan or Daegu for the next 20 months, or longer, like some of his friends.
Seonho sat on his bunk, breaking his perfect posture with sagging shoulders, and massaged the sore spot at the base of his neck. It had been a long week. His fingers brushed the close bristled hair of his military cut, now a bit longer than it was almost a month ago. He'd probably have to get it cut again soon before one of his superiors told him anything. Self-discipline was just part of what was expected of basic soldiers during their service.
Back in high school, most of his classmates would have bet money that he'd get assigned to some role in the public sector. Perhaps it had something to do with his position as their class president that made them see him above being some typical foot soldier, but truthfully, Seonho never cared about where he ended up as long as he completed his national duty. The handful of close friends he had, however, thought differently.
“Did you get your letter yet? The Marines would be crazy not to snatch you up,” one friend had told him quite cheekily, with a quick slap to his toned stomach and a teasing grin. “With that bod of yours, you'd fit right in.”
The comment back then made him sneer and smack his friend's hand away, but Seonho's eyes had still flickered toward the back of the classroom by reflex, landing on a flushed face staring off intently out the window.
Seonho's free hand slides across the top of his thigh and rests low against his abdomen, letting his fingers linger over the uniform belt. Something warm coils inside his chest.
Ah, Lee Myeong.
The last time he had seen the other boy was at their class graduation. Seonho was swamped by friends and classmates and students he'd barely spoken to wanting to talk to him at least once as soon as class was over. He remembered the small glance Myeong sent his way as Seonho wished their classmates well, the bouquet of calla lilies lying on his desk.
Impure thoughts raced through Seonho's mind then, the same ones that haunted him daily for days, weeks, months since that summer afternoon he escorted the other boy to the nurse's office. He remembered that last day in February was the last time he’d seen Myeong’s face.
And he remembered the ache that settled between his ribs when he went to retrieve his street shoes one final time as he prepared to go home, not from the bitter winter cold, but the bouquet of calla lilies resting atop his lonely sneakers.
That was years ago. Much had changed between then and now, but those delicate features popped into Seonho’s head whenever he had a moment's peace.
From what he could recall, Myeong had been accepted into a local university in Seoul, too. His poor condition spared him from mandatory service, but sometimes Seonho liked to imagine what it would have been like if he and Myeong served at the same base, perhaps even the same squad. The rigorous training and daily tasks would probably exhaust the other boy, that face flushed red and soft gasps escaping those thin lips until, maybe, he'd finally built up enough stamina…
Well, maybe it’s for the best that Seonho can get through his service without a constant distraction like Myeong in the flesh.
He glances around the bunker. Only a handful of men were around, either playing cards or chatting in small pairs. It was a holiday weekend, with many soldiers opting to go into the city for a day off or the visitor’s center to meet with family or loved ones. Seonho already knew his parents were going away to Jeju Island today when they came to visit him last weekend, so he was one of the few around who didn’t have any plans.
The tightness is still sitting inside his chest, concentrated like a wound-up spring. Seonho’s on his feet and out the door before he even knows it. He’s quietly grateful that he doesn't cross paths with any familiar faces as he continues to stalk across the grounds. He picks up the pace when he rounds a corner to a smaller building away from the mess hall.
The showers are quiet at this hour. They're easily neglected on Saturday nights like this when there's more stuff to do, but come Sunday these showers will be packed throughout the day, especially in the Seoul heat. The line of restroom stalls at the very back of the building are surprisingly neglected more often than not, despite the foot traffic that comes through here, but it's exactly why Seonho prefers this particular spot.
He goes for the third stall. Seonho leans back against the locked door, tilts his hips forward just enough to be comfortable and starts unbuckling his pants. The thick uniform material's weight helps them slide down just to the tops of his thighs with ease, and he hisses when he finally pulls himself free of his underwear, already on his way to being half hard.
Seonho sighs at the familiar heated weight resting in his palm. It's been a while since he's last had a private moment like this. He breathes steady—inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale—as he gives himself a slight squeeze and swipes his thumb over the leaking head.
His eyes slip close and his mind drifts off to an old memory.
Seonho has only ever had one sexual encounter with another man, right before he turned 20.
The guy sat next to him in their economics lecture hall at university. He had a slim physique and changed his hair color every month, everything from bleach blond to shocking fuchsia. It wasn't until one day during a boring presentation, when the room was dark, the only light came from the projector, and the guy asked Seonho to borrow a pen, that he was startled to see a pair of eyes a familiar shade of blue he'd only seen in his dreams.
In reality, that classmate looked like nothing more than a wannabe pop idol with his flashy appearance, something Seonho didn't care for, but in a moment of weakness, staring at the other man's pretty features, he felt an old yearning stir.
They didn't run into each other outside of class until a few weeks later at a bar party. Seonho nursed the same beer for half the night, feeling a light buzz when he made eye contact with someone watching him across the bar. A jolt of something akin to hope went through him for a split second, before he realized the person staring back was that classmate from econ. And with that, the ache returned.
Seonho abandoned his drink and escaped to the bathroom, hoping to clear his head. He wasn’t sure why he came out to these parties in the first place. They were always the same. He'd socialize for a bit, talk to girls he had no interest in pursuing and eventually find a spot he could keep to himself for a while until he could leave.
He was surprised when the door opened after him seconds later, but ignored it and kept his face down over the sink to splash cold water on his face.
"You sure like to stare a lot, huh?"
The words and smooth voice startled him, and Seonho made eye contact with his classmate in the bathroom mirror. The bathroom was quiet, totally empty except for the two of them.
"What?"
The guy laughed. Freshly dyed blue-grey hair fell into his eyes and he smiled with feigned innocence. He looked even paler under the fluorescent lights.
"You know exactly what I mean," he said. "I’ve seen you staring at me a lot in class. You're kind of obvious."
Seonho couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the embarrassment of being caught, or both, but his face burned. His hands gripped the edge of the sink.
The guy said nothing, simply staring at his reflection. He almost seemed bored, like he'd been in this situation more than once.
"It's just…” he tried to find the words. “You remind me of someone I know. Knew."
Silence fell over them. Seonho reached for a tissue, hoping to wipe the water and weird tension away and just forget this whole encounter, maybe start thinking about where he should sit in their class next week-
"Ah, I see. I know your type."
A hand caught Seonho's wrist, and he stared down at the delicate fingers encircling it.
"Duri."
He looked up. "Huh?"
The guy rolled his eyes. "Duri. That's my name." He squinted at Seonho's face, like he was doing a close-up study. "And here I thought you had a smart face as well."
Seonho suddenly found himself pulled inside a bathroom stall, sandwiched between Duri and the locked door.
"What are you doing?" he asked, surprised when his classmate leaned in closer. Seonho had the height between the two, but at this particular moment, he felt like he was going to be devoured on sight.
"You're so tense. You look like you could use some... company," Duri said, sinking to his knees with surprising ease given the lack of space allowed.
"I don't do this for just anyone, you know," he added, a hard edge to his voice that reminded Seonho of Myeong's sharp tongue. "And this stays between us. Consider this a friend helping out a friend."
They definitely weren't friends, he barely learned his name, but Seonho didn't have it in him to argue with Duri's face so close to his zipper.
One of those slim hands clung to his leg. Nails dug into his thigh. "Is it okay?" he asked, voice gone soft, and Seonho felt himself give in just this once.
"Yeah. Yeah, it's okay."
He closed his eyes the minute Duri swallowed him whole.
It was easy to pretend it was Myeong on his knees then, and it's easy to envision it now. It is Seonho's all-time favorite fantasy and the one he's relied on for months.
This version in his mind is both devilish and painfully tender. Myeong would look up at him through those long eyelashes, face flushed and mouth a sinful shiny pink. Those fingers that once caressed the stems of calla lilies would wrap around him with the same care.
"All for me?" he'd ask in an innocent tone, when he was really anything but, and the mere image alone makes Seonho grow harder.
"So eager, Seon-ah," he'd say between teasing licks and strokes. Those fingers would squeeze around the base of him for good measure and Seonho hisses at the sensation. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you," and would press a kiss against the side of the head, "just the way you like."
The heat in his gut spreads out like lava, heading south, crawling through his nerves, blood-stream, into every vein and cell. His right hand feels slick, but it's not enough. It hasn't been enough for years.
He raises his hand and spits into the palm.
Seonho sighs when he wraps his hand back around himself, relishing the feeling of wet heat as he resumes pumping his fist. It's nowhere close to Myeong's—that memory so seared into his brain it replays at will like a movie on film—but right now, it's all he has to get himself by.
His mind always runs wild every time he imagines Myeong in this intimate way. Seonho wonders how it would feel to be in his mouth, to feel his tongue, to feel his hands on him.
He wants to fuck Myeong's mouth. Wants to smother his coughs, wants Myeong to choke on him until he spits up all over him again while Seonho thrusts in his throat, until tears chase after the drool running down his neck.
What was once steady breathing turns into heavy panting. His hand begins to move frantically, getting lost in the pleasure of the fantasy and slick friction, and Seonho knows he's close.
"Myeo-...Myeong…" he groans, and Seonho unravels.
He wants to fuck Myeong, on his bed, on the couch, on the floor, in his bathtub, in his car, in the back of the university library, on the sandy beaches of Busan, in the sleepy hours of the morning, on his back, on his side, on his knees, in his lap, between his slim thighs, standing up, bent over the kitchen counter, any way he can make an absolute mess of him, take him apart with his hands and mouth alone and put him back together, become so entangled in each other they can't tell where Seonho ends and Myeong begins, suck the air from his lungs so he can breathe for them both, swallow his heart so it beats safely besides his own-
He wants Myeong.
It's then that the coil finally snaps.
Seonho shudders through his release, hips bucking and twitching on their own accord as he rides through the pleasurable high. There's a pleasant heat that lingers in his core while his lungs gasp for air and his heart continues to race.
The bathroom is still quiet as he slowly collects himself, gathers up the pieces and allows the calm to settle over him like a sweet embrace. He's grateful for the door holding him up because his bones feel like jelly.
After a few minutes pass and the wetness on his skin cools, he cleans himself up of whatever lingering mess that didn't make it into the bowl.
He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror as he washes up. A flush lingers on his ears and his eyes look bright and clear. A small smile graces his lips at the thought. He feels lighter and heavy all at once.
Seonho takes his time returning to his bunker, nowhere near as rushed as he was before walking across the base. Overhead, the sky is shifting into dusk, oranges and pinks beginning to bleed into a deeper blue.
There are less soldiers around now than before he left. He takes his place back on his bunk and lies down, stares up at the sky through the closest window. It's a deeper shade of blue now, but no matter how dark it gets around here, it's never enough to see the stars in Seoul.
Seonho is suddenly struck by the memory of being 18, riding on a bus to a class trip south to Gumi, with a sleeping head on his shoulder. The stars were beautiful out there, away from their sleepless city. He wonders if Myeong still thinks about them, too.
Tiredness washes over Seonho shortly after his head hits the pillow, and even though he'll probably regret it, his eyes slip shut.
And as he sleeps, he dreams of the stars on a bright, clear night, and what could be.