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October 2018
The late-autumn sun dipped low over Harvard’s athletic fields, turning everything gold. Luke sat stiffly on the bleachers, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, a knot twisting itself deeper into his stomach every passing second.
Eli slurped his iced coffee like they weren’t sitting on the edge of an emotional grenade. Nate, bless him, kept rubbing circles on Eli’s back but shot Luke the occasional worried look.
“Breathe,” Eli said finally. “Christ, you look like you’re about to vomit on my shoes.”
Luke scowled. “I’m not going to vomit.”
“You absolutely are,” Eli said cheerfully. “But that’s okay. I brought gum.”
Luke dropped his head into his hands. “This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Why did I think I was ready to see Gabe? Or watch him and Young play together? They haven’t been… them in months.”
Nate leaned forward on his elbows. “It’s been ages since the fight. Things settle. People settle.”
Luke gave him a tight look. “Has Gabe settled? Has Young? What if—what if seeing me pisses Gabe off again? Or what if Gabe and Young ignore each other the whole time? They used to be, like… unstoppable on the field.”
Eli nudged him with his knee. “And maybe they will be again. People can compartmentalise, Luke.”
Luke shot him a sceptical look. “Gabe?”
“Okay,” Eli admitted, “maybe Gabe can’t. But Young still can. He’s crazy talented and also wildly stubborn. If anyone can force them to work together, it’s him.”
That did make Luke smile, just a little. Youngjae, brute-forcing harmony through pure willpower? Yeah, very on-brand.
Luke exhaled shakily and stared at the field. Students were wandering in, the chatter growing louder, the bleachers filling with red and white scarves. Any minute now, the team would burst out from the tunnel.
Any minute now, Luke would see Young.
And Gabe.
His heart pounded.
“Hey,” Eli said gently, placing a hand on his best friend knee. “just try and chill out. If anything goes sideways, you’re got me and Nate. You’re here to support your boyfriend. That’s what matters.”
Nate nodded. “And whatever’s going on between Gabe and Young, let them deal with it. You’re not responsible for holding them together.”
Luke swallowed hard, staring at the tunnel. He knew Eli was right. He knew none of this was technically his burden. But when he thought of Gabe’s anger… and Young’s sadness… and the way their friendship had shattered because of his new relationship…he couldn’t help feeling caught directly between them.
A loud cheer suddenly erupted from the crowd. A wave of students rose to their feet. The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers. “WELCOME TO THE FIELD…THE HARVARD CRIMSON!”
Luke’s breath caught in his throat as crimson jerseys sprinted out of the tunnel one by one, helmets under their arms. And there, looking as ridiculously hot as ever, was Youngjae. And right behind him…Gabe. Luke’s heart slammed against his ribs.
“See?” Eli whispered, squeezing his knee. “Whatever happens… you’ll survive.”
Luke wasn’t sure but he hoped Eli was right.
The whistle eventually blew and the teams surged into motion. The rhythm of the match settled quickly—Harvard’s midfield controlling possession, quick passes, sharp cuts, clean footwork.
But even from high in the bleachers, Luke saw it instantly. Gabe wasn’t looking at Young. Not once. Not when Young called for the ball. Not when Young sprinted up the sideline in perfect position. Not even when Young was wide open and practically waving his stick like a beacon.
Luke’s stomach twisted. “Tell me I’m imagining it,” he muttered.
“You’re not,” Eli said grimly.
Nate winced harder with every missed opportunity the team took. “Gabe’s freezing him out.”
Luke swallowed hard. “They never play like this.”
The statement felt too small for the truth of it.
Gabe and Young had always been a pair on the field. Both of them were sharp, synchronised, and practically telepathic. A pass from one was already caught by the other. A glance was enough for them to shift defensive lines, crash a flank, steal a goal.
But now?
It was like watching a machine with a rusted cog.
Young darted up the left wing, perfectly timed run. Gabe glanced and saw him, then deliberately turned and passed to someone else.
Luke’s breath hitched. “He saw him.”
Eli groaned. “God, Gabe. Seriously?”
It kept happening.
Every coordinated play crumbled the moment the ball got near them. If Young offered support, Gabe repositioned away. If Young tried to switch sides, Gabe drifted the opposite direction. Their spacing was wrong. Their timing was wrong. Their trust was broken. And Luke could see it in Young’s face which was barely visible from this distance. He could see the unmistakable annoyance in his posture. He wasn’t sulking, but he was adjusting and compensating, trying to keep the game afloat without pushing too hard. It hurt. It fucking hurt to watch.
“They’re ruining the dynamic,” Nate murmured.
“They’re ruining themselves,” Luke whispered back.
A cluster of students erupted as Harvard scored, but Luke could barely cheer. His eyes stayed locked on Young, who jogged back to position, jaw tight and eyes forward. He wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t retaliating. He was playing around a hole in the field where Gabe used to be.
And Gabe? He looked almost angry every time Young got near him, like passing to him would burn him.
Luke’s throat tightened. “This is all my fault.”
“No,” Eli said instantly. “Nope. Don’t start that.”
“It is,” Luke insisted quietly. “If I hadn’t—”
Eli grabbed his sleeve. “Gabe is a grown man. Young is a grown man. Their fallout is on them. Not you.”
Luke didn’t know if he believed that. Not when the cold distance between the two men he loved most was playing out on a field for hundreds to see. Not when Young kept glancing up just once or twice toward the stands, like he was checking to see if Luke was still there. Luke’s heart clenched.
“Please,” he whispered under his breath, though he didn’t know who he was pleading with. Gabe? Young? God? Himself? “Please… don’t let this break everything.”
Harvard took the win with a clean final goal, the crowd erupting into noise so loud Luke felt it in his ribs. Students began pouring onto the turf almost immediately, a red-and-white tide flooding the field.
Luke hesitated only a second before hurrying down the bleachers with Eli and Nate. His heart hammered as they stepped onto the grass, half excitement for Young’s victory and half dread twisting like a knot in his stomach.
Youngjae spotted him first. Even from a few metres away, Luke saw the shift in his expression—the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth, the relief, the warmth—but it was muted. Dimmed. Weighted by whatever the hell had just happened on the field. Luke stepped into his arms anyway.
Young hugged him, but the tension was unmistakable. His shoulders were tight. His breath unsteady. His stick still dangling awkwardly from one hand like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
“You were amazing,” Luke murmured into his chest.
Young swallowed hard. “Thanks.”
It wasn’t the usual playful cockiness. No grin. No teasing comment about whether Luke had been staring at him the whole game. Just a quiet, tired gratitude that made Luke’s heart ache.
Eli and Nate bounded over, deliberately loud and dramatic, clearly trying to break the tension.
“Bro!” Eli shouted, clapping Young way too hard on the back. “You demolished number seventeen! I saw you practically send him flying!”
Young snorted weakly, the closest thing to a real smile he’d had since the whistle. “He, uh… tripped.”
“Oh please,” Nate chimed in, “you body-checked him with your aura alone.”
Luke managed a small laugh, grateful for them. They were giving Young space without asking anything of him. Without mentioning Gabe. Without giving Luke those sympathetic little glances that said they’d noticed everything too.
Still, Luke’s eyes kept scanning the field.
He didn’t see Gabe.
Not in the cluster of players hugging. Not among the students taking group photos. Not near the benches or the goalposts. He’d vanished and Luke’s stomach sank.
Eli followed his gaze, then gently nudged him. “He probably went to cool off. Let him breathe.”
Luke nodded wordlessly.
“Anyway,” Eli said, clapping his hands together and swinging the mood upward, “important question…are there any parties tonight? Preferably one where people won’t chuck us out for being part of another college, but honestly, I’ll take anything.”
Young huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if the sudden attention grounded him. “Uh… yeah. There’s usually a post-game thing.”
Nate wiggled his eyebrows. “Lacrosse boys know how to party.”
Young gave a small, unimpressed snort. “They mostly know how to get noise complaints.”
“Perfect,” Eli grinned. “So that’s a yes?”
Young glanced at Luke just for a heartbeat, asking without words whether he wanted to go, whether Luke was okay, whether the night wasn’t already too heavy. Luke nodded.
A soft breath of relief left Young’s lips. “Yeah,” he said finally. “There’s a party. I’ll take you guys.”
But even as he said it, Luke felt Young’s hand brushing his, fingertips ghosting against his knuckles before pulling away just as quickly. Still careful. Still tense. Still hurting.
And Gabe was still nowhere to be found.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The house was already pulsing with bass by the time they arrived, windows fogged, laughter spilling onto the front lawn. Inside, it was the usual Harvard lacrosse chaos—boys yelling over each other, shirts half off, someone funnel-chugging beer in the kitchen, half a dozen people chanting his name like feral animals.
Eli and Nate fit right in.
Luke… did not.
He pressed closer to Young almost instinctively, brushing shoulders each time a player barrelled past shouting, “LET’S GOOOO HARVARD!” Young stayed beside him like a quiet anchor, letting his hand brush Luke’s back in a small, grounding way.
“Jesus,” Luke muttered as someone did a flying leap onto the sofa. “Do they… always act like this?”
“Sadly,” Young sighed. “This is them toned down. They won, remember.”
“God help us if you lose, then.”
Young cracked a smirk. “If we lose, they cry.”
Luke snorted.
A tall boy brushed past them, bumping Young’s shoulder, but instead of doing the usual bro-shove, he slowed and offered Young a soft grin. “Hey,” he said warmly, “congrats. You played insane tonight.”
Young’s expression softened into something Luke had never seen him use with anyone except him—a quiet, genuine warmth. “Thanks, Ryan.”
Luke froze.
Ryan?
Ryan?
RYAN?!
Young’s ex. The ex he’d gotten with as soon as he had started his first year at college. The ex he’d fooled around with again when Luke had been with Noah. The ex Luke had spent far too many nights overthinking about.
Ryan gave Luke a polite smile before disappearing back into the crowd. Luke felt himself stiffen, trying to pretend he wasn’t suddenly burning with jealousy. His jaw clenched, breath catching in a way he hoped no one noticed.
Young noticed. Of course he did. A slow, amused grin crept across his face. He leaned in, speaking just loud enough for Luke to hear over the noise. “You’re jealous,” he said, sounding absolutely delighted.
“I’m not,” Luke lied immediately.
“You are,” Young teased, bumping Luke’s hip with his own. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”
“I wasn’t—It’s just…I didn’t know he was here,” Luke muttered, staring very intently at a very uninteresting wall.
Young’s grin softened. “He’s just an ex, Luke.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better? I didn’t know he was fucking gorgeous,” Luke grumbled.
“Yeah, it’s supposed to make you feel better,” Young said simply, slipping his hand into Luke’s, “because he’s an ex… and you’re not.”
Luke’s stomach flipped. Heat rushed up his neck. And when he finally risked a glance at Youngjae, he found the older boy smirking shamelessly, eyes fixed on him like he’d just uncovered Luke’s favourite insecurity and was lovingly cradling it in his hands.
“Shut up,” Luke muttered under his breath, flustered beyond saving.
Young laughed—bright, real, and impossible not to love. “Never,” he said.
The room got loud again and Young must have noticed Luke’s rising panic, because his hand slid to Luke’s waist. His thumb stroked the hem of Luke’s shirt, and Luke felt his whole chest warm.
A few lacrosse guys noticed.
One of them whistled.
Another cheered, “Hell yeah, Young! Get it!”
Someone else yelled, “Holy smoke show!”
Luke wanted to die. His face burned so hot he was certain Boston could see it from space. “No. Nope,” he muttered, tearing himself out of Young’s hand. “Absolutely not. I’m getting a drink.”
Young looked startled, then amused, like he already knew this was Luke’s fight-or-flight response to being perceived. “Want me to come with—?”
“No!” Luke squeaked. “Stay. Socialise. Be hot. I’m leaving.”
Young laughed, fond as hell. “Hurry back.”
Luke absolutely had no intention to hurry back. He practically sprinted toward the kitchen.
But the moment he stepped inside, his blood ran cold. Because there, leaning over the counter, pouring himself a drink like the world wasn’t caving in, was Gabe.
Gabe.
Alone.
With a bottle of vodka.
The room suddenly felt too small, too silent compared to the roar of the party behind him. Gabe didn’t look up at first. He just twisted the bottle cap back on with the kind of slow, brittle movements that meant he was already halfway down a dark tunnel in his own head.
Luke swallowed hard.
“Gabe?”
His brother’s head lifted and the expression that met him wasn’t anger. It wasn’t hatred. It was exhaustion. A deep, bone-deep sadness that made Luke’s chest squeeze painfully. “Oh,” Gabe said quietly. “Hey. Should have known I would have run into you eventually.”
Luke stood frozen in the doorway, suddenly wishing desperately that he hadn’t come in here alone. He cleared his throat, forcing his legs to move him further into the kitchen. “Uh… nice game today.”
Gabe gave a soft huff that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Silence stretched between them, thick and awkward. Luke watched the way Gabe’s fingers tapped the rim of his cup and his stomach twisted.
“You, um… played really well,” Luke tried again. “Your dodges looked cleaner. Coach must be happy.”
Gabe shrugged, eyes fixed on the countertop. “We won. That’s all that matters.”
Luke nodded slowly. “Yeah. Winning’s cool.”
Gabe snorted, still not looking at him. “You always had terrible small talk.”
Luke tried to smile. “I’m out of practice. My…my brother hasn’t been talking to me much lately.” He didn’t mean for it to come out so soft. So hurt.
Gabe’s shoulders tensed, just barely. He still wouldn’t look at Luke. “Don’t start,” he muttered.
“I’m not,” Luke said carefully. “I just… wanted to congratulate you. That’s all.”
Another beat of silence.
Luke shifted from foot to foot, rubbing his palm against his jeans. “I, um… didn’t see you after the match. I wanted to say hi.”
“You were busy,” Gabe said flatly.
Luke blinked. “Busy?”
Gabe finally looked up, and the bitterness in his eyes made Luke’s breath catch. “Yeah,” Gabe said flatly. “Hugging your boyfriend.”
Luke’s mouth opened. Closed. “Gabe…”
“Whatever,” Gabe sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not doing this right now. Not here. Not while I’m—” He stopped himself. “Just drop it.”
Luke stepped closer despite the warning. “I don’t want us to be like this,” he whispered.
Gabe looked away sharp and fast, like the words physically hit him. “Yeah, well… things change, Luke.”
Luke swallowed. “They don’t have to.”
“Don’t make this harder,” Gabe muttered. “Please.”
Luke’s voice trembled. “I’m trying to talk to you.”
“And I’m trying to avoid talking to you,” Gabe shot back, though his voice cracked at the end. He exhaled shakily, gripping his cup like it kept him grounded. “Just… go back to your boyfriend. You’re happier with him. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Luke said, heart in his throat.
Gabe laughed under his breath. It was a small, hollow sound. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Luke swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice, trying not to let the sting behind his eyes spill over. “Look, please,” he said, stepping closer. “Just talk to me. We can fix this. Think about Mom and Dad—”
“Don’t,” Gabe cut in sharply. “Do not bring them into this.”
Luke froze.
Gabe let out a bitter laugh. “They don’t need to hear about this. They hear enough of your shit already.”
Luke’s stomach twisted. “What does that mean?”
“I mean,” Gabe snapped, “your trans shit. All of it. Every meltdown, every scare, every appointment, every time you cried in your room. They dropped everything for you. Every. Single. Time.”
Luke flinched as if struck.
Gabe didn’t stop. “Meanwhile I was always just… there. Put on hold. Pushed aside until it was convenient to remember I existed. You were sad? Whole house shut down. You were anxious? They bent over backwards. You needed attention? You got it.” His voice cracked with something frustrated and aching. “And I didn’t. I never did.”
Luke’s mouth fell open. “Gabe… that’s not fair. That’s not even slightly true.”
“Isn’t it?” Gabe barked out a humourless laugh. “That’s how it felt. My whole life, Luke. Mom and Dad orbit around you. I learned to step back. I learned to deal with things alone. Because you…” He shook his head, looking exhausted. “You take up all the space without even realising it.”
Luke felt the words like knives, each one slicing a little deeper. His chest tightened painfully as he tried to breathe. “Gabe, I never meant—”
“And then,” Gabe continued, voice breaking despite the hardness in it, “you had to take the one thing I had left. The one thing that was actually mine that I didn’t have to share with you.”
Luke blinked through the burn of tears. He stood frozen, chest tight, throat closing around the words he needed to say but couldn’t form. Gabe’s confession still rang in his ears—raw, jagged, soaked in years of unspoken hurt. Luke opened his mouth to respond, to apologise, to explain that he felt like he lived in the shadows sometimes too, when their parents would flaunt Gabe’s lacrosse success in his face. But voices echoed down the hallway.
“Luke?” Eli’s familiar call.
“Hey, there you are,” Nate added, sounding cheerfully tipsy.
And then Youngjae’s quieter tone, laced with obvious concern. “Luke? What’s going on?”
The three of them appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, laughter fading instantly when they took in the scene: Luke pale and trembling beside the counter, Gabe rigid with a death grip on the bottle, the air thick with tension.
Eli’s smile vanished. “Oh, Gabe. Hi.”
Gabe said nothing./?”
Eli’s eyes sliced over to Luke. “You okay?”
Luke couldn’t speak. His lips moved, but nothing came out.
“What happened?” Eli asked.
Gabe muttered, “Nothing. We were just talking.”
Young’s eyes darted between them, sharp and worried. “You look like you’re about to pass out,” he said quietly to Luke, stepping forward instinctively, only to halt when Gabe shifted, blocking him without touching, the tension crackling between them.
Nate, unusually perceptive in that moment, tugged Eli back by the sleeve. “Leave it. Let them breathe,” he whispered.
But Eli’s gaze flicked again to Luke’s face. “Luke? You okay?”
Luke tried again to respond, but the only sound that escaped was a heartbreakingly small, “No.”
That single word, barely audible, wiped the colour from Youngjae’s face. He stepped forward despite Gabe’s presence, gently placing a hand on Luke’s back, grounding him. Luke didn’t even flinch, he just leaned into it. That, apparently, was the final crack in Gabe’s composure.
His jaw twitched. His eyes darkened. “Of course,” Gabe muttered under his breath. “Of course he comes running.”
Young bristled but kept his voice low. “I’m here because he looks like he’s about to collapse, Gabe. That’s it.”
Eli, sensing the storm brewing, stepped between them. “Hey, hey, hey. Come on, guys… maybe we can just… not kill each other in a frat kitchen?”
Nate nodded quickly. “Yeah, let’s chill.”
But Gabe wasn’t listening.
And Luke couldn’t move.
His world had narrowed to the echo of Gabe’s confession and the weight of Young’s palm against his back—one burning with hurt, the other with comfort—and he stood there, trembling between them, realising that this was the moment everything could fall apart completely.
Gabe’s glare was locked on Youngjae, electric and poisonous.
Young straightened, jaw tense. “If you’ve got something to say, say it to me. Don’t take it out on him.”
“Oh, trust me,” Gabe snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve got plenty to say to you.”
Luke’s breath caught. “Gabe, stop.”
“You knew what he meant to me,” Gabe snapped, voice cracking on the edge of fury. “And you still—”
“Still what?” Young threw back. “Still fell for him? Still loved him? I didn’t plan that, Gabe. You think this was some kind of game?”
Gabe shoved him. Hard.
Young stumbled back into the counter.
“Hey!” Luke cried, but his voice was swallowed by the sudden eruption of movement around them.
Young pushed off the counter, eyes blazing. “Don’t touch me.”
“You touched something that wasn’t yours,” Gabe hissed.
“That’s not your call!”
The shove Young gave back wasn’t as hard, but it was enough. Gabe lunged. They collided, all fists, shoulders and fury, crashing into the table, sending cups flying. The racket echoed through the house like gunshots. Luke screamed both their names, tears spilling, but neither heard him anymore.
Jocks burst into the kitchen, the ones still sober enough to react fast.
“Break it up!”
“Dude, what the hell?!”
“Get them apart!”
Two large players grabbed Gabe by the arms and hauled him back as he strained forward like a wild animal. Another two pinned Youngjae against the counter, holding him in place even as he fought to push past.
“Let me go!” Gabe roared.
“Stop!” Luke sobbed, voice cracking. “Please stop!”
Young’s chest was heaving, his hair dishevelled, his lip split. “Get him out of here,” he gasped, trying to look past the guys holding him. “Luke. Luke, I’m fine, just—just go—”
Eli stepped forward, eyes huge with horror. “Luke, come on.”
Luke was shaking uncontrollably.
“Come on,” Eli said, grabbing Luke’s arm. “We’re getting you out of here.”
“But Youngjae is—”
“Luke,” Nate said firmly, gripping his other arm, “you cannot be here right now.”
The party music had cut off. Voices were rising—shouting, swearing, a crowd forming around the fight. Gabe was still yelling even as three boys dragged him toward the back door. Young was shouting back, swearing and angry.
Luke twisted, trying to look back but li pulled him harder. Nate steadied him. The front door loomed, blurry through his tears.
“We have to go,” Eli insisted. “Right. Now.”
And Luke, whose heart split down the middle, let them lead him out into the cold Boston night while inside the house, everything he loved was breaking apart.
⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
Just past midnight, Youngjae slipped into his dorm room with a shaky exhale, already bracing himself for emptiness—an empty bed, an empty room with no roommate, and an empty night spent replaying every horrible second of that fight.
But instead, his eyes landed on Luke.
He was curled on top of Young’s bed, his legs pulled to his chest, his (Young’s) hoodie sleeves swallowed by his fists and his eyes red and swollen. God. He was waiting.
Young froze in the doorway. “Luke…?”
Luke looked up, breath catching at the sight of him—his split lip, the angry bruise forming along his cheekbone, the clenched tension in his shoulders. Then Luke sprang to his feet and practically launched himself across the room. Young caught him instantly, arms wrapping tight around him, lifting him off the ground for a second with the force of it. Luke buried his face in Young’s neck and finally let out a trembling breath he’d been holding since the party.
Young held him even tighter. “Baby… fuck, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
Luke shook his head against his shoulder. “No, no. I’m fine. I’m…are you okay?”
Young let out a wet laugh, one hand curling into Luke’s hair, the other gripping his waist like he was terrified Luke might disappear. “I’m alright. I promise.”
Luke pulled back just enough to see the damage. His fingers hovered near Young’s jaw, then brushed carefully along the new bruise. His lip quivered. “I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve—”
“No.” Young’s voice was firm, leaving no room for blame. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Not one thing.”
Luke’s eyes filled again. “He hates me.”
Young’s expression crumpled. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just lost. And angry. And jealous.”
Luke swallowed hard. “He beat the shit out of you. Again.”
“Yeah,” Young murmured, brushing Luke’s cheek with his thumb. “But I let him. I wasn’t going to hit your brother, Luke. Ever.”
“Still…” Luke’s voice cracked. “Still, you didn’t deserve that.”
Young leaned his forehead to Luke’s, breathing him in like oxygen. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Luke whispered.
“For scaring you. For letting it get that bad. For—” his voice broke quietly “—for not being stronger for you.”
A tear slipped down Luke’s cheek. He didn’t realise until that moment how badly he was shaking. Young noticed immediately and eased them both down onto the bed, Luke still half in his lap, pressed close, like Young couldn’t bear to let go.
Luke clutched the front of Young’s hoodie. “I don’t want to lose you.”
Young’s eyes softened painfully. “What? You won’t.”
“What if you realise this isn’t worth it?” Luke asked. “What if you decide that being Gabe’s best friend is more important than being my boyfriend? What if you decide that—”
“That’s not going to happen,” Young cut in. “Ever. No offence to your brother, but he doesn’t make me feel like you do. Sure, I miss him. I miss him a lot. But the feeling I get with you? Nothing will ever compare. I would never for a second regret this.”
“You sure?” Luke asked timidly.
“I’m sure,” Young replied. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Luke’s breath hitched and Young leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth, each one gentle and slow.
“I’m so sorry,” Young whispered again. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Luke finally broke, quietly but fully, and leaned into Young’s chest as the adrenaline drained out of him. Young held him through every trembling breath, stroking the back of his head, murmuring soft reassurances in Korean and English alike.
Young eventually shifted slightly, one hand cupping the back of Luke’s neck as if he were something precious. His voice dropped into something soft, vulnerable, almost trembling. “Luke…” He swallowed. “I want to make love to you.”
Luke’s breath caught so sharply it almost hurt. Heat climbed up his neck, rushing all the way to the tips of his ears. He stared at Young, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked and utterly undone. “You… you do?” Luke whispered.
Young brushed his thumb along Luke’s jaw, slow and reverent, like he’d been waiting a very long time to say it. “I do. Not just because of what happened tonight. Not because I’m worked up. But because I love you, and I want to show you that.” He leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to Luke’s lips. “Only if you want it too. Only if it feels right.”
Luke’s heart flipped so violently he almost laughed. “I mean, yeah. Yeah, I want to… I—” His voice cracked with emotion. “Yes. I want to. I really, really do. But maybe don’t call it that.”
“What? Love making?” Young cracked a small smile. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but we’re not fifty years old.”
“I really do hope we’re still making love at fifty years old,” Young said in a serious voice.
Luke playfully smacked his chest.
A look of pure relief and affection washed over Young’s face. He rested their foreheads together, exhaling shakily. “Come here,” he murmured, guiding Luke gently back onto the pillows as though he were something fragile and cherished. He kissed him again slowly, as if they had all the time in the world.
Luke melted into it, into him, into the warmth of being wanted so tenderly. He felt loved. Completely. Fully. Safely.
Young’s voice brushed his ear, low and earnest. “Okay. So…we’ll go slow. We’ll talk the whole time. If you get nervous or overwhelmed, we stop. No questions asked.”
Luke nodded against his mouth. “Okay.”
Young smiled, brushing Luke’s fringe off his forehead, eyes shining with something both fierce and gentle. “Good. Because I’ve been wanting this for a very long time.”
Luke’s blush deepened, but his hands slid into Young’s hair, pulling him closer with surprising confidence. “Then love me,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Uh, just a quick question…”
“Yeah?” Luke blinked up at him.
“Um, i’ve kinda been doing my own research as best as I can,” Young started to say. “About like, ya know…and uh, I just wanted to ask what you’d be comfortable with. Like, where do I…”
Luke’s cheeks burned hot. Young’s uncertainty and his gentleness made something warm bloom in Luke’s chest. “Oh…” Luke exhaled, suddenly very aware of every inch of his own body, every scar, every place he still felt shy about. “Um. Right. That.”
Young’s eyes widened, like he already feared he’d said the wrong thing. “We don’t have to do anything. Seriously. We can just kiss. Or cuddle. Or sleep. I don’t—”
“No, no,” Luke cut in quickly, shaking his head. “I want to. I really do. I just… I should explain.”
Young nodded, quiet, patient, waiting.
Luke swallowed hard. “I—I still have, um… everything. Like, the female anatomy. Down there.” His voice wobbled but he pressed on. “And it’s okay. It is. I’m okay with you touching me. Just… please don’t look. At all. I don’t want that.”
Young’s expression softened into something unbearably tender. He reached up, brushing Luke’s jaw with the back of his knuckles. “Hey,” he murmured, “thank you for telling me. And I promise I won’t look. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Luke felt his chest loosen, breath catching with relief.
“And,” Young added gently, “you don’t ever have to be embarrassed about your body with me. Ever. But if not looking makes you feel safer and more in control, then that’s exactly what we’ll do.”
Luke let out a tiny, shaky breath. “Okay.”
Young tilted his forehead against Luke’s. “Tell me what you like. Tell me what not to do. You’re in charge here.”
Luke huffed a nervous laugh. “God, don’t say that. You know I’m terrible at being in charge.”
Young grinned softly. “Not tonight you’re not.”
Luke’s blush deepened, but his voice steadied. “Okay then. Just… keep the lights low. Keep your eyes on me, not…not down there. And as long as you’re touching me and talking to me… I’ll be fine. More than fine.”
Young’s hand slid to Luke’s waist. “Got it,” he whispered. “Eyes on you. Always.”
Luke’s heart somersaulted. He tugged Young closer, breath mingling with his. “Good,” he whispered back. “Because I want you. Like this.”
And with that, he kissed Young slowly and full of a trembling sort of certainty that made Young melt right into him as the night deepened around them.
Luke had imagined this moment a hundred different ways, usually in vague flashes or impossible fantasies. But nothing prepared him for the real thing… for the way Young looked at him. Not hungry. Not impatient. Just soft. Warm. Steady.
Luke lay back against the pillows, Young hovering above him, his weight carefully supported so as not to crush him. The room was dim, lit only by the small lamp on Young’s desk, and even that felt too bright for Luke’s liking. He tugged at the hem of Young’s shirt timidly.
“Can you turn it down a bit?” he mumbled.
Young didn’t hesitate. The room fell into a gentler half-darkness, shadows stroking the walls. Luke felt a small rush of gratitude he didn’t know how to voice.
He was nervous. God, he was terrified. Not of Young (never of Young) but of being seen. He decided to take his shirt off because he was actually proud of his new chest. Clearly Young liked it too because he never stopped kissing it.
But still, Luke mind buzzed with fears he didn’t dare say aloud: What if he thinks I’m disappointing? What if he sees something I hate and realises he doesn’t actually want me? What if he likes the idea of me more than the reality?
His body felt unfamiliar. Even after top surgery, even after all the progress, he still had parts of himself he struggled to accept. Parts he didn’t want anyone to touch without warning. Parts he didn’t want anyone to look at at all.
“Hey,” Young whispered, breaking him from his spiralling thoughts. “Look at me. Just me.”
Luke did look at him, and the tension in his shoulders loosened a fraction.
“You don’t have to be perfect tonight,” Young said softly. “You just have to be here. With me.”
Luke swallowed hard and whispered, “I’m scared you won’t… like me.”
Young’s thumb brushed his cheek, tender. “I already do. More than you know.”
When they finally moved past kissing, it was clumsy in places. Hesitant. Luke sometimes froze and needed a moment; sometimes he guided Young’s hands; sometimes he flinched and whispered, “not there,” and Young backed off immediately.
But it was also warm. Safe. Full of whispered reassurances and soft laughter when something awkward happened, which somehow made Luke feel even closer to him.
Luke’s insecurities didn’t magically disappear. He still hid certain parts of himself, still trembled when Young touched him too close to where he felt wrong. But Young never pushed, never questioned, never made him feel less. And when Luke finally relaxed into it, Young held him like he was something precious, something to be cherished and cared for.
Afterwards, Luke lay curled against Young’s chest, still flushed and trembling. Young stroked his hair and whispered, “You did so well,” and Luke felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with feeling seen…not for his body, but for his heart.
“Was it okay?” Luke asked quietly.
“It was perfect,” Young murmured into his hair. “It was so fucking good because it was with you.”
Luke closed his eyes.
God, he was so in love.
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