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TITLE : Gentlemen's Agreement
11 - Miss You
I miss you,
I miss being overwhelmed by you I miss you, I miss
talking all night long with you Can't keep my hands
from shaking So I wait and I wait
and I run myself in the same old circles "Best I'll Ever Be" - Sister Hazel Nam-Il struggled to keep himself awake, stifling a yawn with his hand and earning another stern look from Uke, who was sitting beside them. The entire team was in the main briefing room, watching a tape of Uruguay playing against Argentina in a recent friendly-Coelho was of the mind that watching tapes of the two countries' performances in the World Cup would be useless, since neither country performed to its best quality. They were a good team, both of them. Typically South American-quick passing, a lot of flair, a lot of dancing around the ball and flashes of individual brilliance. At this point there was no confirmation who would be on the teams, whether or not either country would be bringing their top stars into Seoul. Nam-Il didn't know much about Uruguay's stars-he knew Forlan and Recoba, but that's about it. Argentina had much more well-known faces, but right now their most immediate concern was with Uruguay. The past two days had been pretty much business as usual-especially to those who didn't know what was going on under the surface. Those who did kept it quiet, and so far things had been pretty civil. There was a certain tension in the air everytime Uke and Young-Pyo were in the same room, and there were always people checking to see if one or the other would do something drastic, but other than that it had been uneventful, which Nam-Il was grateful for. Seol had come back from his wedding, to a torrent of hugs and congratulations, and that would mean Young-Pyo would have to find another room to sleep in. Unless, of course, Seol knew what was going on and decided to let Young-Pyo stay, but even then three in a room would be stretching the space a bit. Uke and Tae-Young were holding up quite well. Both had been uncharacteristically quiet, but they were functional and did not lose focus. Nam-Il had to admire Tae-Young for how he was able to keep his personal emotions out of the way. While he was anxious to have his best friend talk to him about it, Nam-Il knew he had to give the older man time to sort things out in his own head before speaking to anybody, even to him. Despite it all, in training he'd been very focused, very determined. He had a sense of duty, that much Nam-Il could conclude. Thirty-three years of ups and downs had given him the resolution to stay on his feet, despite how things were conspiring to knock him down. With Choi Jin-Cheul becoming even more injury-prone as age began to eat away at him, Tae-Young had taken on the responsibility of shoring up the defense with the other, less experienced players. He was always giving tips and advice to them, and they in turn paid great attention and respect to him. Uke was also keeping his focus, and becoming even more attached to Nam-Il the past few days. He'd barely let Nam-Il out of his sights, and used every moment they could have away from the others to be with him. Nam-Il didn't know whether or not that was a good or bad sign, but his mind was already searching for ideas as to how he was going to give Uke that vacation he said he needed so much. Coelho was speaking again, fingering his moustache as he pointed to a diagram of the training pitch, superimposed on the image from the match they were watching, the players frozen as the recording was paused. An interpreter was standing by to translate his every word, and Nam-Il forced himself to listen. In the seat in front of him, Choi Sung-Kuk stifled a yawn of his own and sagged further down his chair. Nam-Il smiled. Apparently, he wasn't the only who'd had a bit too much for dinner and was bogged down with drowsiness. Sung-Kuk's head slumped sideways, coming to rest on Chun-Soo's shoulder. But instead of shrugging him off like others probably would, Chun-Soo just swung his arm around Sung-Kuk's shoulders and gave him a light squeeze. These two had grown closer with each passing day, Nam-Il observed. And that was probably the reason why Yoo Sang-Chul seemd to grow more irritable with each passing day, as well. While Nam-Il knew Chun-Soo had never considered romantic involvement to be part of his 'deal' or whatever with Sang-Chul, it wasn't hard to imagine Sang-Chul feeling neglected by his usually ever-present fucktoy. Sung-Kuk had evidently worked himself into a significant position with Chun-Soo, and Sang-Chul didn't seem to like it. The players nodded and murmured their affirmation. Not long after that the briefing was dismissed, and the players began filtering out of the conference room, some returning to their dorms, some going to the entertainment center to play games or whatever before going to bed. "I'm turning in early." Tae-Young said as he rose. "You can stay with Uke." Nam-Il nodded and watched the older man walk out of the room. He'd been doing that for several days now, going to bed early and refusing companionship. While he was quick to explain that he needed some time alone and it had nothing to do with any negative feelings he had towards Uke, Nam-Il, or both of them together, Nam-Il was still concerned. "Tae-Uk, a moment of your time?" "Yes, sir." Nam-Il flicked his head in the direction of the voice and saw that Kim Ho was now approaching Uke to talk to him, and Nam-Il decided he should linger. Besides, the assistant coach didn't look like he was talking of private matters. "You know Young-Pyo's wedding is coming up in just two days." Uke tensed up, but didn't let it show on his face. "Yes, sir." "I know, sir." Nam-Il held his breath, fearing how Uke would react to this. The little striker's body language showed uncertainty, and his eyes darted briefly to where Nam-Il stood. "Would..wouldn't that mean losing a day of training for me, sir?" he asked. "Thank..thank you, sir." Uke struggled to say. "I..I guess so, sir." Uke said. "Can I..you know, can I take somebody with me?" Kim Ho smiled. "Well, if you have a date or a girlfriend, we can arrange pickup for her. As long as she's in the Seoul area or the surrounding cities.." "No, I mean somebody from the team." Uke said. The assistant coach frowned slightly. "Who would you want to go with you?" "I'll go with him, sir." Nam-Il said before he could stop himself. Kim Ho eyed him confusedly. Nam-Il could feel the assistant coach's eyes scrutinizing him. He felt vulnerable under that stare, but he couldn't afford to flinch. If Kim Ho decided his sudden interest in Young-Pyo's wedding was strange, then he couldn't afford to give the coaching staff any more food for thought as to why he was suddenly offering himself up to be Uke's companion at Young-Pyo's wedding. "Thank you, sir." The two of them said in unison. The assistant coach then left the room, leaving the two of them staring after him long after the door was closed behind him. Uke slumped back against him, trembling. "I can't do it.." "Uke.." "I can't do it!" Uke repeated shrilly. "I can't." "You have to do it." Nam-Il said firmly. "I'll be right there with you. I promise." "What if I can't hold up? What if I'm not strong enough?" "You are strong enough, and you know it." "Can't I just call in sick or something?" Uke shook his head. "I hate pretending.." Uke's expression softened, but he still looked doubtful. "You must do this, Uke.." Nam-Il said gently. "For me. For all of us." Uke sighed and slumped forward, his head landing on Nam-Il's shoulder. "This is so fucked up. I'm tired of it." Nam-Il held him tightly, rubbing his back. "I know."
In the quiet confines of the dormitory room assigned to Park Ji-Sung and Seol Ki-Hyeon, three men convened to discuss their matters, well away from the others. One was now a married man, the other two would soon follow in his path.
Young-Pyo looked back and forth between his two companions, studying the look on their faces. He was the oldest among the three-certainly not the wisest, but at times like these age no longer mattered to him. All he wanted was to have people around him who understood what he was going through, who could offer him words of advice or encouragement. "We believe you, friend." Seol said.
Chong-Gug winced slightly, but Seol merely stared at him in silence. Not that he expected them to understand. Though they were his close friends, they were unfamiliar with the nature of his relationship with Tae-Young. They knew, of course, but Young-Pyo had never had the time or space to confide in them. They were always separated, Seol in Belgium, Chong-Gug in Rotterdam, and Young-Pyo had learned to confide in Ji-Sung during those times. But Ji-Sung couldn't possibly relate to what he was going through, no matter how he tried. These two could. "How'd you finally decided to get married?" he asked Seol after a long silence. Seol shrugged. "At first it seemed like a no-brainer. I love her, she loves me, not to mention we have a baby. It was the sensible thing to do." Chong-Gug folded his arms. "The responsible thing to do." Seol nodded. "I had plenty of doubts along the way, though. There were times when we were just screaming at each other over the smallest of things..Mijie was tired from taking care of the baby and not having me around to help, I was tired from training, having a crappy season and fending off the press about my transfer rumors.." he opened his hands in a gesture. "..there were times I wondered if we could actually do this. Stick together and stay that way for the rest of our lives." Young-Pyo contemplated this. He and Bo-Yoon had never gotten into a fight, but it was all because he'd barely been with her long enough for problems to arise, for true natures to come to the surface. Thinking of that and everything else he didn't know about her, it wasn't hard to see where Seol's doubts had come from.
"You had something to hold on to." Young-Pyo said quietly. "Don't you?" Seol asked. "There was nothing I could be sure about, either." Seol said. Young-Pyo smiled at him. "You had your son. You were sure about your love for him, your responsibility. That was enough." Chong-Gug unfolded his arms and stood up from the only chair in the room to join Young-Pyo on the bed he'd been sleeping on for the past two nights. He gave Young-Pyo an arm around the shoulder and a reassuring embrace. "You have dreams and hopes. That is also enough." Young-Pyo sighed. "I hope so.." Young-Pyo nodded his head. His commitment to his marriage had not suffered at all through these difficult days. In fact, his estrangement from Uke and Tae-Young had given him a lot of time and space to himself, which he used mostly to think and pray. Pray. That was what took up most of his spare time. Even Ji-Sung, normally inquisitive and curious, had left him very much alone these past two days, sensing that Young-Pyo needed time with himself. Chong-Gug nodded slowly. Seol said nothing. "So what are you going to do?" Seol asked. Chong-Gug patted his shoulders. Young-Pyo blinked back the tears that were trying to escape his eyes, then forced a smile onto his lips. "Now, let's get back to what we came here to talk about, shall we?" he said. "Right. Our honeymoon plans." Chong-Gug said. Seol smiled. "Well, I've looked through the list of island resorts in the Cheju area.."
Slowly, hesitantly, Yoo Sang-Chul traced one finger along the line of scarred flesh in front of him, imagining for a moment that he would hear a moan, a gasp, a reaction. But none came, firmly grounding him into the reality of who he was with. "He has one just like this.." Sang-Chul muttered. Park Ji-Sung tilted his head to one side. "Chun-Soo?"
Chun-Soo had a thing about his scar, a footnote in the strange history of erogenous zones, and maybe the surgeon's hand slipped sometime during the surgery and the nerve endings became reattached to his penis instead, Sang-Chul couldn't really be sure but he knew that whenever he touched that scar, Chun-Soo went wild. Kyoto. What memories just a simple name brought to him. He remembered smoky midnight bars in the downtown district, Ji-Sung looking around and giggling in a manner somewhere between amusement and anxiety, a hundred or so men, more or less gay, paired up and grouped or shamelessly complementing each other's physical traits. That was Japan, so close and yet so far ahead, so free and easy. It wasn't like that in Korea, where men of their kind were for the most part closeted and unhappy, playing normal by day before donning a disguise at night to go to secret meetings arranged down in Itaewon, constantly looking over their shoulders. Or the rich husbands who dutifully go to work and pay for the missus' credit cards, then sneak off to some shady bar to drink soju and look for company from other men, the neglected wives drowning themselves in their shopping bags, clueless. He'd had a taste of that comparative freedom in Japan, where outrageous fashions and carefree attitudes coexist, more or less peacefully, with the cultural values and prim-and-properness that was not merely a facade or a pretense but very real, and people put on a different face with each city block they pass, an unspoken rule of adjusting to your surroundings. He was touching Ji-Sung's scar now, still ridged and fresh and he could see the individual stitches going in and out of his skin, another marker in the life of this young man, another setback and another leap forward. Ji-Sung was the kind of person who could not be contained by his own body. He was bouncy and limitless, always striding forward, looking onward, fast-growing in every sense of the word, he was taller than Sang-Chul last remembered him and there were only faint traces of the child he took with him, the underaged child and the heady rush of commiting some sort of social crime, the child who laughed nervously and hid under his arms as a dozen or so men danced around them, kissing and groping. "Sang-Chul.." "Hmmm..?" "Are we here just to talk, or do you want to fuck, too?" He laughed, his hand traveling further up Ji-Sung's thigh and fondling him lightly, a stirring sensation down in his groin that reminded him of what he'd missed. "Did you read my mind?" He'd come across Ji-Sung shortly after the evening briefing, having resigned himself to another night alone, seeing Chun-Soo walk off with Sung-Kuk hanging drowsily off his arm, and there was Ji-Sung sitting in the recreation area, mindlessly thumbing through month-old magazines as the younger players, the kid group that Ji-Sung was somehow no longer part of, made good use of the entertainment facilities, answering e-mails and chatting with girlfriends, playing the arcade games and foosball. Sang-Chul had sat down with him and struck up a conversation, even bringing him a cup of tea, and soon he rediscovered the pleasure that was Park Ji-Sung, so easy to talk to, sharing memories of their past history, both together and apart. And there was no bitterness between them, some nervous tension perhaps but it was soon gone, and Sang-Chul took a mental step back to look at this man and realize just how much he'd grown. He told Ji-Sung about Chun-Soo, of course. It seemed only right, the willful sharing of information between former lovers, the formality of 'hi, how have you been, how's life, who've you been fucking' and all that. Ji-Sung was unbothered by the revelation, nor did he look surprised. Sang-Chul didn't elaborate on all the saucy details, of course, but someone like Ji-Sung would not have a hard time figuring it out. "You're holding back." Ji-Sung said. "You never used to do that." Another laughter, this time slightly mocking. "Since when did Yoo Sang-Chul ever need a reason to screw around?" Sang-Chul snorted and brought his hand even higher, coming to rest on the delicate curve of Ji-Sung's pelvic bone, feeling him through the fabric of his shorts. He didn't excite Sang-Chul quite the way Chun-Soo could, the mental stimulation that came from looking at him alone, but there was a sense of truthfulness there, honesty, and Ji-Sung was just presenting himself as he was, no frills and no pretense. Of course, Chun-Soo had all been about putting on a good show, about entertaining Sang-Chul's every desire and giving him whatever he wanted. With Chun-Soo, it was a game. And Sang-Chul was the one who'd specifically instructed Chun-Soo to perform and perform well, making each move tailor-made to his pleasure, the body made for fucking and the lips that could suck cock like nobody else in the world. Chun-Soo was as good and professional as they come. The problem, of course, was when Sang-Chul started wanting something beyond professionalism and polished peformance. When he started wanting something real, something not practiced or deliberately portrayed. And of course Chun-Soo couldn't give him that, because that was not what their deal was about. Sang-Chul had just about gone through every trick in the book with him. He'd kissed and cajoled, goaded and taunted, caressed and fondled, bound and gagged, whipped, spanked and fucked his way through Chun-Soo's body, but never through his heart. --This is off limits. This you leave alone.-- He'd agreed to that rule so readily back then, even thinking of it as the seal of security that would prevent their involvement from becoming laden with bitterness or hard feelings. He liked that rule. He thought it would keep them safe. Chun-Soo wanted sex, Sang-Chul wanted a fucktoy. He wanted something he could play with, dress up, toy around with, fool around with, something unbinding and free, a body that would submit to his every command. He got what he wanted. It was perfect. Until, of course, he wanted something more than a fucktoy. But even that aspect had been gone ever since they came back to Paju, and he could've, perhaps, used more force or a bit of coercion, nothing Chun-Soo would really object to, and get his fucktoy back for a night or two. The fact that he hadn't done so, told him that he'd stopped wanting Chun-Soo for the sake of sex alone. "What's in it for you, Ji-Sung?" he asked. "Why do you want this?" Ji-Sung didn't reply immediately. His hand came over Sang-Chul's and boldy pulled it towards the center of his groin, letting it rest over the bulge in his shorts. Sang-Chul's fingers reacted almost subconsciously, beginning a slow rhythmic massage that had Ji-Sung throwing his head back and smiling. "That." he said. "I haven't forgotten how good you are." Sang-Chul smiled back and slid his other hand up Ji-Sung's right leg, slipping it inside his shorts. "You haven't gotten any action in Eindhoven?" Sang-Chul's hands nearly stopped moving. "You peeked in on Mateja Kezman?" Ji-Sung shrugged nonchalantly. "Mind you, he's very fond of prancing around the dressing room half-naked. Okay, so he's married, a father, with a second baby on the way, but he has a cute butt. A *very* cute butt." "But you did nothing?" Ji-Sung shook his head. "Nope. It was a feast for the eyes, nothing more." Sang-Chul moved his hand up to Ji-Sung's stomach, feeling the firm muscles of the younger man's abdomen. "So you want this because you've been missing it, too." "Not because you're being charitable towards lonely old me." Ji-Sung snorted. "No. Wouldn't dream of shattering your ego, or your vanity." Sang-Chul frowned at him. "You think I'm vain?" The young man gave him a coquettish little smile and took Sang-Chul's chin in his hand. "Sang-Chul, you are as vain as Doo-Ri is energetic. And that's putting it mildly. The fact that you don't realize it makes it even more obvious." The captain twisted his lips, but said nothing. "Oh, don't pout. Your lips aren't made for pouting.." Ji-Sung said. "Then what is it made for?" Smiling, Ji-Sung leaned in and kissed him, just very softly, on his lips. "Does that give you a clue?" Sang-Chul licked his lips, tasting the tender moistness Ji-Sung had left, and smiled deviously at his former lover. "So I guess I'm vain and horny, and you're.." "Just plain horny." Ji-Sung supplied. "I see." "I didn't say that." Sang-Chul looked at him and nodded. "I know." Ji-Sung inched closer towards him and placed his arms around Sang-Chul's neck. "Let's help each other out, shall we? Let's have fun, get dirty or whatever the heck it is that we do, and then let's sleep and kiss goodbye in the morning. No awkward feelings, no weird looks at the breakfast table. That much I can give you." Sang-Chul reached out with his tongue and licked the underside of Ji-Sung's chin. "Then what *can't* you give me, Ji-Sung?" The younger man smiled against his cheek. "I can't give you what you really, really want deep in your heart..I'm not him, anyway." Sang-Chul felt two long-fingered hands stroking down his back. "But I can take your mind off it, even if only for a night." And how strange to hear those words coming from Ji-Sung, but then Sang-Chul reminded himself that Ji-Sung was right, that he was no longer the child he used to be, and it was about time people stopped mentally placing him at the kids' table with the glasses of milk and the little girls with bows in their hair. He was twenty-two now, in body and in mind, perhaps older in mind, and unlike back then, he was very sure of what he wanted. Ji-Sung nodded quietly.
June 5th 2003 Young-Pyo was gone as early as lunchtime. He left most of his belongings in Paju, carrying only a small luggage to see him through the night and tomorrow, his big day. He got into a KFA car and was driven away, looking over his shoulder just as the high summer sun blazed picture-pretty highlights onto the training greens, wondering what his teammates were having for lunch and what exercises they would be doing for afternoon training. Ji-Sung hadn't returned to his room last night and Young-Pyo shared the room with Seol this time, talking late into the night long after Chong-Gug had left. He had his own history with Seol, that was why. Seol remembered, of course, remembered that night in Daejeon where all the world semed theirs to conquer, and theirs had been a happy, buddy-type fuck, devoid of commitment or responsibilities, it was celebratory and nice but it wasn't deep, it doesn't come back to haunt you in your dreams. Seol spoke little, he was stoic and a little aloof and tired from his own whirlwind days but he was happy. Young-Pyo watched him rolling the golden wedding band about his finger and he was happy. The car drove past Seoul and to one of the surrounding urban sprawls now known as the city of Anyang, his birthplace and the city his club Cheetahs called home. He reached the home of his bride just in time for the lavish dinner party his soon-to-be in-laws had organized, and both families were there in their numbers, and his ailing father had a merry spark in his eyes Young-Pyo had not seen for a long time and that was one more check mark on the mental chart he carried with him, one more justification for his actions. They moved chairs and sofas into the living room and had one last meeting, the whole family, the bride and groom and their brothers and sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, the caterers and dressmakers and the makeup women who have to be there at dawn tomorrow and people from the church and the priest, the couple's parents sitting proudly as the quiet chaos around them unfolded, and of course everything was going to go exactly as planned because they always do. They showed him a sketch of what the wedding hall was going to look like, they showed him diagrams about where the dressing rooms were, the entrance and where he was supposed to stand and where Bo-Yoon was going to enter, on her father's arm, all ivory gold and glory, and he felt a giddy sort of anticipation peppered with nerves, saying what am I supposed to do. Get up at dawn, take a bath, go to the place, get dressed, get made up, make sure his parents were ready and seated and meet the priest for some last encouraging words, then take his place in front of the dais and wait for his bride to come walking down the aisle. It was the everyman fantasy, he thought, and how strange it was that his family was here to see him off to a new life, a married life, something they would've presumed he'd been dreaming of but he hadn't, in fact. They sat down for dinner and the food was tasty and fancy because it was a taste-test for tomorrow, the caterers standing by with faces of expertly masked tension, because God forbid the fish was undercooked or the broth too salty and all that. But the food was great, if unfamiliar, and Young-Pyo checked the menu for tomorrow's banquet, not the large reception buffet for the guests but the more private dinner for the family and select invited, and he felt his eyes bulging across lines of untranslated French. "I'm astounded." he whispered to his bride, who sat next to him. "Don't be." "Am I even supposed to know what this is?" She smiled that smile of hers, sort of tender but also playful. "It sounds fancy, but then you discover it's nothing but chicken or beef cooked this way or that and the sauce made of everyday ingredients." "Right." "Presentation," she said. "That's what it is." It wasn't until much later that he finally got time to be alone with her, out on the garden on a wrought-iron bench and wouldn't it be the perfect moment if the stars were twinkling above them, but this is Seoul, get it, and you don't get stars in the sky unless you're very very lucky. "You look happy.." he said as he took one of her hands in his. "Shouldn't I be?"
She was a smart woman, sort of unremarkable in physical features but beautiful in her own, small-stature way. Young-Pyo felt her weight against his body and welcomed it, his arm going around her shoulder.
He nodded. "That's right." He ran his fingers through her long black hair and sighed. "But I do love you, and I want you to know that. Perhaps not as much as I ought to, but it's love just the same." She smiled, invisible to him but a feeling he could detect, somewhere against his chest. "I don't care what we choose to call it. I'm happy now." "Why?" Young-Pyo wrinkled his nose. "I'm glad I wasn't the one making decisions." "Which wasn't the case, when I first proposed." She nodded truthfully. "I understood everything. Sense of duty, devotion to parents. There was nothing wrong with that. I didn't felt like I was cheating myself out of my dreams. I was, as you put it, content." She looked up at him, amusement in her eyes. "I want what you dream of too, Bo-Yoon." "And you'll get it, love. I promise." She kissed him then, and both returned to silence, surrendered themselves to it, because it was one of the moments when you realize that it's better to let things go with the flow of time, the ticking of the seconds, unhindered by words, and Young-Pyo felt the summer night breeze against his face and closed his eyes. He felt even more full of determination here than he did last night, talking to Seol and Chong-Gug. Seeing Bo-Yoon as he arrived here had filled him with a sense of relief, all the pent-up frustrations and tensed muscles suddenly coming loose, and with her he'd felt at peace, at home, even more so than the last time he'd seen her. She asked about his lips and he said Cha Doo-Ri had been over-enthusiastic once again during physical training, and of course she believed him. Doo-Ri was the one who'd injured Young-Pyo so badly during one of their training sessions prior to the World Cup that Young-Pyo had to sit out the first two matches before finally getting blood on his hands with Portugal. He made a mental apology to his teammate as she touched his bruised lip and said, why can't they pair you up with someone else. He realized that there was nowhere for him to look but forward now. There was no point in looking over his shoulders and thinking what if, what if, because there was nothing to look back at. All his other relationships gone to pot, the two men he loved most in this world turning their backs on him, and knowing they had every reason to, made him feel like there was no point in looking back. Look ahead, look forward. Think about days to come and not days past, think about waking up every morning to a loving presence beside you and later, a baby in your arms, your own flesh and blood, and isn't it what most people want and dream of. With Tae-Young he rarely looked into the future. He didn't want to, because he knew what he would see there and feared it. He feared the future he saw without Tae-Young in it, absent and nameless, and once he thought it was because they were what they were-two men in love couldn't possibly have a future. But it wasn't that. He saw Nam-Il and Uke and could picture them going years together, perhaps even a lifetime, if they chose to fight for it. And fight they would, Young-Pyo was sure. Maybe he could've fought for Tae-Young, maybe he could've held on to him, a little stronger, a little harder, but he chose not to. He'd decided somewhere along the way that Tae-Young was not in his future because the older man hadn't allowed himself to be in it. Haunted by his past, frightened by his future. That was Tae-Young, at his worst. At his best he was a loving, gentle person, so full of caring and with so much love to give, attentive and affectionate and everything else anyone could ever dream of in a man, and Young-Pyo loved him for all those things but was ultimately driven away by his perpetual self-loathing. "There's this feeling I have.." Bo-Yoon said against his chest. "Yes?" "What?" He sighed heavily and held her a little tighter against him. "You're right. I'll have to tell you someday." "You are sure of this?" She tensed up slightly. "And you don't want to tell me now?" "But you'll tell me." "I will. Someday." "Someday," she repeated faintly.
June 6th 2003 It took a lot of coaxing to get Uke out of bed that morning, and even more to get him into the bath and later, into his clothes. Nam-Il rummaged through Uke's closet and picked out an outfit while the little striker was in the bathroom, laying down a light blue shirt along with his black trousers and suit, even setting out his socks and shoes for him. Uke came out of the bathroom looking fresh but subdued, and he didn't say a word as he put his clothes on. "You think we should be wearing ties?" Nam-Il said as he put on his dark gray suit. Uke shook his head as he sat down on his bed to put on his socks. "It's hot enough as it is..I don't want to suffocate myself." "Okay, then." "Nam-Il.." "Yes?" "How long do we have to be there?" Nam-Il straightened his shoulder pads and looked at his reflection in the mirror. "You mean after the ceremony?" Uke nodded. Uke looked away and shook his head. "The food better be good. I want to be rewarded for this ordeal." Nam-Il approached him and knelt down in front of him, taking the two pale hands resting against the satiny fabric of his trousers, lacing their fingers together. The little striker's head drooped slightly, those baby-beautiful eyes falling shut under heavy lids. "If you let go of me for just one second while we're there.." "I'm dead. I know." Nam-Il said. "Do we have to leave now?" "I think so." Nam-Il reached out with one hand and corrected the position of Uke's koru necklace, that shimmery spiral of renewal, letting it dangle just at the centre of the opening in his shirt. "Right..let's go."
There was a patch in the thick brush fencing the training pitches of Paju, a place uncovered where you could see straight through the chain link fence, onto the road, and that was where Tae-Young saw it, the dark blue sedan speeding away down the road, and he knew it had to be them. He muttered a quiet prayer under his breath, above all things praying that Uke would hold up, because God knows how difficult this was for him, the pretend-friends trying to hide their animosity under smiles and handshakes, and Tae-Young could only hope Nam-Il would be strong for Uke's sake. Oddly enough there was a part of him that wanted to go with them, he wanted to see it with his own eyes, hear the vows being uttered and say to himself, that's it, that's all. He was counting the minutes even now, and who knows what he would be doing at the exact moment Young-Pyo made that step, saying "I do" just as Tae-Young was off kicking a ball somewhere or picking the grass out of his cleats. He didn't want to be there but he wanted to know, he wanted to feel the moment ticking by. He wanted to know at what point in time would Young-Pyo become finally separated from him, forever, bound to his promise to Heaven and Earth and to that woman, Jang Bo-Yoon was her name. After today it will be all over. He realized he'd been dreading this day as much as he'd been expecting it, like let's just get it done and over with, let's leave the pain behind and forget about it. If he's gone, he's gone. Make it final. Make it happen so I can't possibly entertain notions of what might have been. Make it happen, release me. He'd lived these few days in various stages of emotional shutdown, devoting himself to training and to getting these damn kids to understand that they weren't going to become the new Hong Myung-Bo overnight. It was hard work, it was tiring and grueling but it took his mind off his troubles, it stopped him from taking pity on himself because he was sick of it now, it gave him strength when he could find none within himself. And the car sped by and he couldn't see them but knew they were there and said his quick prayer, please God let them go through this, as the saying goes, without incident.
They arrived just as the congregation was settling in for the ceremony, perfectly timed, and Nam-Il was glad for it because it meant there would be no time for the photographers and reporters to swarm them, at least not before the ceremony, and they arrived right on time and everybody was just settling into their seats and the attendants were getting ready to close the doors. The wedding hall was built like an ampitheater, a stage in the center with the seats arranged in semi-circular platforms, rising in levels as it extended to the back of the room. Nam-Il picked two seats in the row the furthest back, smiling as a little girl handed them the ribbon-tied booklets containing today's service and hymns, and Uke took a deep breath as he sat down, his eyes scanning the room warily. The press were there in strong numbers but they were concentrated near the stage, television cameras and photographers and family members wielding digital cameras and camera phones, and Nam-Il saw Young-Pyo's parents, his mother clad in traditional Korean garb in red and gold and his father looking frail but happy, and there was an excited buzz in the air and people were looking at their watches, and organizers in black suits with headphones bustled about, making last minute checks. And Uke breaking his silence to say, "They're like a secret army, those people." The stage was decorated lavishly, with the dais at the center and an arch made of white roses and ribbons, and the background was swathed in ivory and silvery pink fabric, and there were small pillars with flower decorations on top of them, lining the stage and the entrance and the red carpet. The flowers were everywhere, in fact, white roses and jasmine and the scent wafted all the way up to where they sat, unnoticed for the moment, and Uke seemed like he wanted to disappear into his seat altogether. He reached over and squeezed Uke's hand, and the return gesture was weak but it was a response, he had to make sure every second of every minute that Uke would hold up. Here, where there were so many eyes that would be watching them, scrutinizing their every move, where risk of exposure was so high, he knew they had to be extra careful and stay in control, they had to think about every step and every gesture, but at least for now he could hold Uke's hand and feel safe about it. At the first note of the organ they rose, except this wasn't the wedding march just yet but the opening hymn, where the priest and his entourage would enter the room and Nam-Il half-jumped to his feet to keep up with everybody, Uke following suit beside him. The priest came in and just as you think this is going to be just another one of those weddings, mundane except for those involved, the overhead lights darkened and the stage is awash in red and yellow spotlights, centering on the robed figures slowly proceeding. And the organ wasn't an organ at all but a man equipped with a two-tier keyboard, with a professional swagger about him as he played, and the notes were crisp and accompanied by strings and other orchestra elements-programmed, of course, but it still gave the whole thing an aura of grandeur. Forget Sunday church and the dusty old organ and the bespectacled woman with flowered skirts playing the same tunes week in and week out. The priest opened the service with Latin verses and then there was another fanfare from the keyboard, the groom entering the hall from a side entrance, flanked by two of his closest cousins, and he was a definite eye-catcher in his suit of gold, and in the spotlight Nam-Il could see nervous tension on his face, though as he passed the front seats where his parents were he gave them a little smile. "Did he say anything about wearing gold?" Uke whispered. Nam-Il shook his head. And of course it was a bit of a shocker but Nam-Il had to admit it suited the occasion, because Young-Pyo was a small man and black could've swallowed him whole, and what a bold statement in that color, and as he strode confidently towards the dais Nam-Il could see that this was not the Lee Young-Pyo of three nights ago, listless and lethargic. He seemed very sure of himself, unhindered by doubt, and Nam-Il decided that was a good thing. If Young-Pyo was going to do this, it had better be for real. He was now standing right in front of the dais, bowing respectfully towards the priest as his escorts faded gracefully into the background. The announcer went into a brief recitation of Young-Pyo's life, from childhood to teenage years to his footballing career, and the even shorter history of his romance with Jang Bo-Yoon. If you can call it 'romance', that is. Then Young-Pyo did a slight turn, facing the long roll of red carpet that run through the central axis of the hall, cutting the seats into two sections, all the way to the main doors of the hall. Within seconds the keyboardist had started playing again, and this time it was that revered wedding march, and everyone rose and craned their necks slightly in anticipation of the sight of the bride. Sitting at the back Nam-Il and Uke could only glimpse at the top of her as she walked, escorted by her father dressed in classic black, the long white veil that covered her hair held back by a small tiara, her hands holding a bouquet of white flowers, the long train of her pearly-white dress sweeping the carpet, and the room fell into a hush. Then the cameras kicked in and the bride's face was all over the large projector screens mounted on either side of the stage, and she was looking straight forward, straight at the man who would soon be her husband. She wasn't remarkably pretty, that Nam-Il had to admit, but she had a kind-eyed look and a very warm smile, and right now she looked absolutely radiant as she looked upon Young-Pyo, and one of the cameras zoomed in on his face and it was clear that the feeling was mutual. She did a slow march up the red carpet, taking her time, the bridesmaids trailing in her wake, picking up her train and making sure it didn't tangle, but Nam-Il was no longer paying attention to her, his eyes were fixed on Young-Pyo instead. The groom looked transfixed, as if beholding something beautiful for the very first time, and Nam-Il could see from the slight trembling of his white-gloved hands that the emotion was genuine. There was a sharp gasp of breath from beside him and Nam-Il reflexively reached out a hand and found Uke's, trembling in a manner not unlike Young-Pyo, and the little striker squeezed his fingers a little harder than he normally would, demanding his attention. Nam-Il took his eyes off the procession to check on his lover's condition and saw that Uke had his gaze firmly fixed on Young-Pyo, on his face projected onto the big screen, and the expression on his face that of a man seeing something he had not expected to see. "Uke..you all right?" he whispered. Uke nodded. "Don't let go of my hand.." he said weakly. And Nam-Il didn't, as the bride made her slow walk up the aisle towards the altar, under an arch of jasmine and roses, he didn't let go of Uke's hand and felt the little striker shuddering even more violently, he could swear, when Young-Pyo finally took his bride's hand and gazed into her eyes, and that moment shared between them both was theirs and theirs alone, and Uke nearly collapsed into his seat when they were finally allowed to sit down again. Nam-Il kept a firm hold of Uke's hand the whole time, through the sermon and the blessings, and the next time he dared to look Uke was holding back tears now, he could see it clearly in the glassiness of those small eyes, and down on the front row people were starting to pull out the Kleenex because here comes the big moment, and when Young-Pyo and his bride turned to face each other under the arch, a perfect Kodak moment under the golden spotlight, a single tear rolled free of Uke's left eye. "Uke.." "I'm fine." The little striker said. "I want to listen to this." And they did, in silence, they listened to Young-Pyo speaking his vows with a solemn, controlled voice, his eyes never leaving that of his beaming bride, and one white-gloved hand slipping a wedding band onto another, and then it was her turn, her voice slightly trembling as she said her vows and held his hand, and returned the gesture, and the cameras all zoomed in on their joined hands, the precious moment of two souls joining in an eternal bond, that was the ring, the symbolism, a circle neverending. They held the ceremonial cup of sacrament wine to each other's lips and both drank, just a little, and as the cups were handed back to the helpful attendants Nam-Il held his breath and perhaps everybody else did, too, and the couple turned to face the congregation and the priest held up his hands and said, in a voice loud enough to carry to the back of the room even without the microphone clipped to his robes, I pronounce you man and wife. Then the kiss, small and fleeting but poignant all the same, and at the moment they kissed every tension in the air was released and they now stood, man and wife, Lee Young-Pyo and Jang Bo-Yoon, displaying their happy, smiling faces to the world. And there was applause and the keyboardist began playing again, and everybody rose to their feet to honor the newlyweds, and Nam-Il had to haul Uke up to his feet because he was crying now, he was crying in earnest and made no effort to hide it, and Nam-Il slipped an arm around his waist and held him tightly, as down there Young-Pyo and his new wife stepped down from the dais and walked towards their parents, bowing to them first before enveloping them in hugs, and Young-Pyo's mother was crying, too. Flashbulbs were lighting up the hall a million times a minute, everyone wanted to capture this moment, and it would be all over the afternoon papers and the evening news and perhaps even the hourly newsflash on television, and they sang one last hymn, a happy and festive one, as the newlyweds slowly walked down the aisle, smiles all around, the congregation following behind them, the photographers rushing past the attendants who were just about to open the doors. Everybody around them was getting up and leaving, because the reception was taking place in another room downstairs, but Nam-Il and Uke lingered, keeping a low profile, staying in the shadows, and as the last of the remaning guests began filtering out of the spacious wedding hall, leaving behind technicians frantically rolling up trailing cables, Nam-Il made Uke sit down again settled in beside him. "What's wrong, Uke?" The little striker wiped tears away from his eyes. "I almost don't want to say it." "Say it, please." Nam-Il said. "That's what I'm here for." Nam-Il nodded. "I know what you mean." "He wouldn't do that, Uke.." Nam-Il said. "Uke.." And even in this sort of state his voice still carried the firmness that told Nam-Il that any attempt to make Uke change his mind would get him nowhere. "Nam-Il.." "Yes?" "This..this is going to happen to us too, isn't it?" Nam-Il felt a lump rising up his throat. The question had long been coming, he knew it ever since the day Young-Pyo's invitation arrived in the mail. He'd been trying to answer it in his head, thinking about what to say but then decided no, let's not go that route because Uke hated exercised answers, he hated fanciful words that were carefully constructed, he wanted raw truth, painful truth, even in this matter, especially in this matter. Uke glanced up at the ceiling. "I remember what you told me..you know, when we got back together after.." he paused as some painful memory overtook him. "You said you couldn't promise me anything. You said there were no guarantees." Nam-Il nodded. "Uke, I'm not going to leave you just like that." "Uke, please.." Nam-Il's gaze took in the now-empty hall, took in the sight of the altar and the arch of flowers and the dais now being dismantled, a dozen workers in uniforms moving about with machine precision, because tomorrow, tonight, or in the next few hours, even, is another couple and another wedding, how fast one memory is erased before another is written. Nam-Il shook his head. That can't possibly happen. He couldn't picture himself ever, ever wanting to be let go, and what's more, he couldn't picture himself without Uke. This was the self-fulfilling prophecy of Young-Pyo's excuse way back when, of course, when he didn't want Uke to know because it would scare him. Well, the logic was faulty from the start and Nam-Il wondered why didn't see right through it then, he should have, and one way or another Uke found out and the result was here and now, and he was scared just as Young-Pyo feared he would be. "What?" Uke stared at him silently. Uke looked like he was about to start crying again. "Nam-Il.." "That's what I want, too." the little striker said weakly. Uke studied his face and then touched it, skimmed it with the bare fingertips of his left hand, pale and slightly shaking. "That's right." Uke closed his eyes for a long, long moment, willing his breathing back to normal before he opened them again, and they were glassy but crystal clear. "Let's make a deal, you and I." "I'm listening." "Got it." Nam-Il said. He hadn't gotten over this thing with Young-Pyo, Nam-Il could tell. He was all jumbled up inside, torn between wanting to feel happy for Young-Pyo and the sense of relief that it was all said and done now, and the anger he felt at being betrayed and feeling sorry for Tae-Young, somewhere back in Paju, in his self-isolation. "I should've smuggled myself to Holland while you were there." Uke said. "Why?" Uke did a little snort, as if to say well here's a ridiculous idea but let's hear it. "I could've asked you, coerced you, threatened you at gunpoint to marry me there." Nam-Il laughed, a little unchecked, but they were so far up the seats nobody cared. "Except it isn't rice." They both laughed in spite of themselves, they laughed because it was something worth laughing about and let's celebrate the fact that we can still make jokes at times like these. Uke leaned in, pressed their foreheads close together. "Let's do the rounds and go home, Nam-Il..let's do what we came here to do and then get out." Nam-Il nodded, and together they rose off the seats, as discreetly as possible, and left the ampitheater to find the reception hall one floor below.
It was half past ten and the sun was hot over Paju, and Song Chong-Gug was holding a water bottle against his lips, ready to drain its contents into his parched throat, when a hand came over his shoulder and held him, firmly. He lowered the bottle and turned around and there was Kim Tae-Young, sweaty and somber, and he had this look in his eyes that communicated something they both knew but he'd rather not speak of, at least not explicitly, and Chong-Gug knew what it was instantly. "You think it's done by now?" the older man asked. The young Feyenoord player checked the numbers on his watch again, and did a slight backwards count. And he shouldn't be surprised that Tae-Young came to him for this question, of course, he knew the details and he knew the issues. Ceremony started at nine-thirty. Plus all the frills and accessories, one hour at the most. "Yes..it's done." Chong-Gug replied. "Thank you." And Tae-Young was gone again, as if the brief encounter had not happened at all, ten or so seconds barely lapsed, and Chong-Gug stared after his back wondering if he should feel sorry for the man or if that would be an insult to everything Tae-Young had been living for, the strength he was showing.
The guests did a double-take when Nam-Il and Uke entered. The photographers were still busy with the couple, who was in the process of cutting the cake, but several reporters were all over Nam-Il instantly, because they were following the wants and wishes of the fickle public and last they checked Kim Nam-Il was still on top of the popularity polls. But the guests, the guests who probably didn't have a clue who they were or how football was played, they had their eyes on Uke. And why not? He was a vision even with his small frame, and perhaps they reminded him of Young-Pyo because they were very similar, physically, and Uke was working his charm around the room because he was counting on the young women to come seeking his autograph or phone number, and why not, it all added to the facade of this being two of Young-Pyo's teammates, representing the others, and they kept a safe distance from each other as they had exercised. Nam-Il spoke with the reporters using words he'd previously chosen, about wishing Young-Pyo all the best and how happy everyone else in the team was for him, but out of the corner of his eyes he could see Uke stealing the show, this beautiful young man in his black suit and light blue shirt buttoned up to his chest, a shimmering pendant hanging around his neck and he felt a sense of pride that he'd picked out those clothes. Look but don't touch, ladies..this one's mine. Slowly they worked their way through the crowd towards where the bride and groom stood flanked by their parents, except Young-Pyo's father who remained seated as the line of well-wishers shook their hands one by one. Young-Pyo saw them coming, and Nam-Il made a brief eye contact in which he tried to communicate with eyes and body language, with a nod of his head, that everything was all right. He had to know they were the ones coming, even if only by phone through some official in Paju. Young-Pyo's mother remembered Uke, of course, and he bowed to his parents and got a warm hug from her, and Nam-Il trailed closely behind, never letting Uke out of his sight but always wary of showing too much proximity, and when they walked over to the couple themselves Uke bowed to Jang Bo-Yoon, sort of big-sisterly respect, and he shook Young-Pyo's hand and patted his back and then turned away, the smile on his face a fixed one but it would pass. Nam-Il embraced Young-Pyo with all sincerity, taking time to whisper in his ear: "It's okay" before pulling back, and then shaking hands with his bride and the bride's parents, and then he was beckoned by a beehive of photographer's lenses and he smiled that well-trained smile of his, the public smile, and he looked for signs of Uke, who was waiting for him near the buffet table. "Wasn't so hard, was it?" "Whoosh." Nam-Il repeated. "It's okay, we've gotten through it just fine." "Did I pass?" "They wouldn't even blink." "Good." Uke looked around the buffet table. "Let's eat now." They ate and mingled and did small talk, a KFA official here, an Anyang player there, a little girl who wanted her picture taken with Nam-Il and a small boy, one of Young-Pyo's nephews Uke said, son of a cousin twice removed, who brought over his Chunnam jersey and wanted Nam-Il to sign it, and how remarkable was that, a boy with a Chunnam jersey all the way here in Seoul. It was a familiar routine for him now, and they did the rounds and talked with the press and signed the autographs and took pictures. Nam-Il and Uke moved about the crowd with ease, and they stayed close together but not together in the sense of the word, holding a dish in one hand or commenting on the dessert or occasionally saying something in each other's ear but nobody would find anything about their conduct out of the ordinary. And Nam-Il tried to shake off the sense of deja vu and he remembered it, suddenly, he remembered the last time he was seen in public with Uke like this. It was at BooPyung, their high school though they never even met each other in it because of the disparity in years between them, and this was just after the World Cup in the whirlwind of sudden fame, one party and fan greeting after another, and Nam-Il had been partied from his kindergarten all the way up to high school because every institution he'd ever set foot on wanted their connection to him known-heck, the hospital where he was born would probably want his endorsement, too. And he was there with his old headmaster and teachers and the current BooPyung students and they were naming a pavilion after him, and Uke was there too, looking out of place among the suits in his casual t-shirt and jeans, like hey we found him on the road just before the party and why not put him in, he went to school here too, and didn't he play for ten minutes in the World Cup? But Uke didn't mind. He loved it. He loved chiding and teasing Nam-Il about his discomfort in the whole setting. They drank champagne on that day, too. And they ate cake. They cut the cake together, even, it was a multi-tiered cake frosted in white and decorated with sugar-buttered fruits. And then they all went home, Uke and Nam-Il going in separate cars to meet up later, in Nam-Il's place, and Uke said to him in bed that night, as they ate the leftover cake they brought with them, what do you think the headmaster would say if he knew we were screwing each other? They had cake here, too. Except that it was a gargantuan thing, a massive thing in six or seven levels, all sugar pearls and ribbons and small figurines under an archway with candy-coated bells, so much decoration and detail that you half-expect it to be styrofoam. Uke loved the food. In Paju they were well-fed but the meals were often lacking in variety and here they had a dozen things they'd never seen before, odd names from odd places and did you know they had pancakes from Lebanon? Nam-Il tried a bit of everything and loved every bit of everything. "Huh?" Uke looked puzzled. "Plastic container." "Why?" Nam-Il jerked his thumb back towards the dessert table. "That fruitcake just about sent me to Heaven. I'm not leaving without taking some back with me." Uke laughed, sort of chidingly. "What is it with you, me, and cake?" "I'm preserving our tradition." Nam-Il said deadpan. And there was a catering lady who was more than happy to start handing out styrofoam containers-they only had styrofoam and not plastic, pre-prepared it would seem, because God knows they'd hate to have mountains of leftovers when the party was done because where does it all go after that, and Nam-Il took large slices of the fruitcake and brought some food for their driver, an entire meal inside a box, and when they finally left hardly anyone saw them leaving. The driver chatted them up for a brief period at the start of the trip back home to Paju, he wanted to know what had happened and who was there and how was the party, and he was delighted with the food of course. Then they entered the highway and everyone fell silent, and Nam-Il and Uke sat in the back staring out of their respective windows, and it was early afternoon with the sun blazing. "Yes, Tae-Uk?" "I'm a little sleepy, hyung.." "Well, just come over here then. We have about an hour or so left." So Uke laid his body down across the back seat, his head coming to rest on Nam-Il's lap, and Nam-Il made a quick check on the driver and the man didn't seem to even care what was going on back there. Good. Save from view, seated right behind the driver, Nam-Il stroked Uke's hair with one hand while the other casually rested along the car window, and as he moved down the little striker's face Uke caught his fingers with his mouth, sucking them into his mouth one by one, and Nam-Il felt that familiar stirring in his groin because damn it, Uke knew how to turn him on with even the slightest of gestures. He wanted to shake his head and tell him no, not now, for God's sake we're in a car and there's a driver in front of us, but Uke gave him a wink from down there and his little fingers began undoing Nam-Il's fly-he didn't even bother with the belt, he yanked Nam-Il's zipper down and pressed his mouth through the opening and Nam-Il's other hand tightened over the upholstery because oh my, here it comes. Uke put two fingers through Nam-Il's opened fly and teased down his underwear and sure enough, out came his living pulsing thing, already hard because the heady rush of danger had made it swell just that much quicker, and before Nam-Il could think of anything else Uke had pulled his cock right out of his pants and began sucking on it hungrily. Screw the fruitcake, he seemed to be saying. This is *my* dessert. Nam-Il forced himself to look straight ahead, not down, because God forbid the driver would suddenly decide to strike up conversation again, and of course he couldn't see what Uke was doing and what parts of Uke he could see were still and unmoving, because the little striker was a master at being discreet, but Nam-Il forced his face into a bland, expression-less state and looked straight ahead. Uke was sucking him slowly, deliberately, at times looking like he was ready to fall asleep with the throbbing cock still in his mouth, his eyes shut tight and his hands falling back across his chest-this was strictly a mouth thing now, no added assistance. And Nam-Il felt blood rushing through his veins as Uke wriggled a little, going deeper on him, and he felt Uke's nose rustling through his pubic hair. He was glad he wasn't the one driving, that much he could say. Uke did this little trick with his tongue, he moved it in circles and Nam-Il's dick moved with it, carried by it, and the little stiker's palate closed down on him, making it all tight and incredibly hot, and Nam-Il swallowed a large lump into his throat and forced himself to look out of the window. When he felt he was about to come he placed one hand at the back of Uke's neck and pulled him back slightly, not wanting him to choke. Uke's lips clamped around the head of his cock and teased him, worked him to his orgasm and then he came, sending thick spurts of fluid into his lover's mouth and Uke swallowed everything, he convulsed his throat and took everything and sucked Nam-Il dry. Nam-Il closed his eyes, seeing the colors explode behind his lids, and when he opened them again there was that post-orgasmic humming in his ears, and down there Uke was tucking his penis back inside his pants, zipping up his trousers and even tidying up his clothes afterwards, and he looked up and gave Nam-Il a little wink, then he closed his eyes and just like that, he went to sleep. Nam-Il leaned back on the seat, his other hand reaching for Uke's and finding it, gripping it hard enough to make his knuckles turn white. He stared down and saw his lover's face, the delicate lines of his features, a face even the straightest of men would call beautiful, and Nam-Il realized once again just what a damn lucky bastard, to borrow Chun-Soo's phrasing, he really was. Mine, he thought. Mine, mine, mine. And he'll stay mine until the cruel hands of fate decide otherwise. I don't give a fuck when. Until then, he's mine.
Kim Tae-Young lay on his bed, awake, staring upwards as the afternoon sunlight played flowing shadows across the ceiling. He had no intention of napping this afternoon-he'd been sleeping a lot more during the nights and decided to cut down on his nap time. An active player over thirty needed to be very conscious of everything going on in his body. He talked to his body every day, measuring its strengths and weaknesses, consulting a strained muscle here or a sore ligament there. He realized he'd been doing it a lot more these last few days, well not a whole lot more as in quantitatively but a whole lot more consciously, he was putting his mind at a machine level, going about his daily routine, his daily training, his daily meals, everything calculated, measured, well-planned and thought about, meticulously analyzed. Because this was his approach to his game, and the game was more important now than it had ever been. It was more important now because every other thing that was important in his life was suddenly no longer there. He liked the game, especially one at this level. It allowed him to lose himself in preparation, and being a defender made it all that more systematic, because in the old days trainers would drill the system into the players' heads, like defenders aren't supposed to surrender to impulse and self-glorification, they're supposed to hold their line and stop anybody breaching the line. If the line's breached, you're dead. And didn't coaches have the liberty of beating up players those days? He got beat up a lot. So did the likes of Hong, Hwang-Sae, Jin-Cheul and Sang-Chul. They all got beat up and took it, of course, took it because they understood it as part of the discipline. He was used to hard discipline. That's what made his two years in the army seem to go by like a breeze. He was a young man then, young and healthy, not too tall or muscular but very powerful, and when he finished with the army he got back into the fold of things and grew his hair long, he had a mullet if you can believe it, that follicle nightmare. There was a knock on the door, and a soft voice calling his name. "Come in.." he said, just loud enough to carry outside. The door opened and Nam-Il and Uke walked in, the little one looking spectacular even in clothes that were so ordinary, and Tae-Young realized it was the shirt, the light blue shirt peeking from within his satiny black collars, open at the chest, and he smiled as they entered the room, Nam-Il closing the door behind him. "You're back.." "We are." Uke sat down at the chair. "Uke, you look absolutely gorgeous." "Thank you." Uke smiled before turning towards Nam-Il. "Tell him." "What?" Nam-Il said. "You want to say it yourself, don't you? Tell him." Nam-Il sat down at the other bed, his hand holding a styrofoam container. "I picked his clothes for him." Tae-Young smiled. "We brought you cake." "Not the wedding cake?" Tae-Young frowned slightly.
Tae-Young smiled and opened the container. The fruitcake had a chocolate base, and within the layers were bits of dried fruit and on top was a layer of what looked like buttercream icing, and then whipped cream and slices of oranges, strawberries and cherries for garnish. He used his finger to spoon a bit of whipped cream and a strawberry and put them in his mouth. "This is good." he said as he licked his fingers clean. "So..how was it?" "How was what?" "The wedding. How was it?" Uke and Nam-Il looked at each other, as if realizing that they'd entered that part of the conversation now.
"And ribbons." Nam-Il added. "And ribbons." "Did he look happy?" Another pause, but it was Uke who spoke first this time. "Yes, he looked happy. Very happy." "Good. I'm glad." "Tae-Young.." "Yeah.." "They look happy?" "Uh-huh." Tae-Young breathed in and released it, slowly, and whether they realized it or not the other two followed suit. "So I guess it's done." he finally said. "Listen to me, I talk like a businessman." They didn't say anything. "I'll be okay." he said after a long, awkward pause. "Are you sure?" He held up a hand and nodded. "Well, the way the world works you can't really be sure of anything, can you? But I'll be fine." "You like the cake?" "I love the cake, Uke. Thank you." The little striker got off his chair and approached Tae-Young, a little hesitantly, before sitting down beside him. Tae-Young tried not to lose himself in those eyes, beautiful as they were, small but mesmerizing. "It's still not time, is it?" "Time for what, Uke?" "For you to start talking to us." "I am talking to you." Tae-Young looked at Nam-Il, but the other man simply lifted his hands, like leave me out, buddy, this is Uke being Uke. "Then..I guess you're right." Tae-Young said finally. "It's not time." "When will it be, then?" "Dear God, I don't know." he shook his head. And I miss Young-Pyo, Nam-Il. I miss holding him in my arms and talking to him, listening to his voice in the quiet hours of the night, nights that seemed endless but ended all too soon even though. "I know." Tae-Young said. "When I'm ready, I will talk. I promise." "Don't wall us off." Uke said. "It pisses me." "Uke, come on.." Nam-Il said warningly. "But this is distance." "Temporary, necessary distance." "But it's temporary." "I guarantee you that." Uke seemed satisfied. He smiled and kissed Tae-Young's cheek, then got off the bed and for a moment stared at the styrofoam container sitting on the desk. "Put that in a fridge if you want to eat it later." "I will." Nam-Il stood up also, but he looked reluctant, he wanted to linger even as Uke went for the door, that wide-eyed doubt on his face, but Tae-Young waved him in the door's direction, whispering. "Go with him, I'll be fine." Nam-Il did, of course, he wasn't about to argue, but Tae-Young could detect the hurt in his eyes. Hurt because he thought maybe he and Tae-Young shared somehing special, something that would allow them to talk about things Tae-Young couldn't talk about when Uke was present, and of course they had something special but Tae-Young didn't want it right now. More than that, he wanted Nam-Il to be with Uke. He wanted them to be together and to stay together, out of his sight but an assuring vibe in his heart. They left, and once again he was alone, and the sunlight was becoming redder, more intense now as it began to sink. Tae-Young sat in the silence, watching the shadows on the ceiling. So Young-Pyo was happy. So his parents were happy. So the wedding had been a happy occasion and the food was good and all that. He did feel relieved. Perhaps not as relieved as he'd hoped to be, but still. Tae-Young rose off his bed and went towards the desk, searching through the books and magazines until he found the one he was looking for. It was an old paperback book, its pages growing yellow and brownish at the edges, reading material you carry with you for odd moments in the toilet or waiting for an airplane, a time-killing piece with little significance. And the book wasn't significant to him, he barely remembered the storyline, even, but what he kept in it was what made it significant. Tucked into the pages between a vivid description of a married couple's argument and a not so vivid one of a car going down the freeway was a picture, a picture of him and Young-Pyo together, the only picture they'd ever taken together, and this was in Seoraksan, he remembered, the second time they went up there. Nobody put pictures like these in frames and displayed it for the world to see because even a fool could look at the picture and see that this wasn't just two men taking a picture on a trip somewhere, two friends embracing in the good spirits of being in the nature. This was him and Young-Pyo, and they took a picture using Tae-Young's camera with an automatic function and a time-setter, placed on a tripod, and they took it in the clearing in the footpath behind his cabin, the same clearing where they'd first said their love for each other about a month or two before. There was Young-Pyo, beautiful and smiling, wearing a blue puffa jacket and a scarf because it was winter the time this was taken, and Tae-Young behind him, similarly bundled up but it didn't detract from their proximity, their intimacy. Tae-Young had his arms around Young-Pyo's waist and their eyes were to the lens but Tae-Young had his neck slightly craned, his lips pausing at a half-kiss on Young-Pyo's right cheek. He passed a finger over Young-Pyo's face in the picture, and felt something bubbling inside his chest, feelings repressed for days and aching to get to the surface. Young-Pyo smiling at him, forever preserved, unchanged, the Young-Pyo in his memory that he loved. "Because I want you to be happy even if it kills me."
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