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TITLE: Long Kiss Goodnight Many things have happened since the events described in "Tomorrow Can Wait". Hong Myung-Bo was voted in third place for the Golden Ball, thus making him the Bronze Ball winner. The South Korean team received their medals of honor from the president, along with their erstwhile-disputed cash bonuses and the disbanding of the national team. Hong Myung-Bo is certain to retire from international football, and definitely on a high note. He'll continue playing for his K-League team this season. On the flip side, the Ahn Jung-Hwan - Perugia situation has yet to be resolved. Reports as late as June 27 indicate that he HAS signed a new three-year - deal with Perugia, but the rumor mill is still spinning. July articles indicate that he hasn't agreed to return to Perugia, and is instead contemplating offers from other clubs. He doesn't have to worry about his income, though - as he's just signed a $825,000 endorsement deal with a cell phone company. Even after his outstanding World Cup performance, many people - myself included - still think that Ahn's popularity has more to do with his well-coiffured head than the winning goals that head produced. The disbanding of the national team, along with Hiddink's departure, marks an uncertain time for Korean football. I wonder what goes through the players' minds as they contemplate June 2002, all the joy and sadness and what might have been. Especially for a soon-to-retire veteran and a poster boy intent on breaking out of the ?more looks than talent? mould. Long story short = fic fodder galore. Recommended
music companion : If you're into the angsty-rock scene, I suggest "Everything"
by Lifehouse. A beautiful song about love and devotion, though rather
on the desperate side fits this story perfectly, I think.
Prior to this tournament, the media potrayed me as pretty boy Ahn, pretty boy "Terious", with his long hair and his magazine spreads, his beauty-queen wife and product endorsements. While I was still in Pusan, I read thousands of fan mail with their countless pledges of undying love and devotion, the little hearts drawn over my name on cute teddy-bear pattern stationery. I recorded video greetings for my website, posed for countless magazine covers and even took part in fashion shows. I basked in the spotlight - but I was painfully aware that all the attention I was getting probably had little to do with what I can do with a football. Let's face it - I was lauded back home as the first Korean to play in the Serie A, but I spent more time warming the bench than making my mark on international football. I promised myself before this World Cup that I would prove my worth to my country and my teammates, that pretty boy Terious isn't just here to flaunt his looks. There were people who doubted me - even the coach thought I was unfit and that I didn't deserve to be on the national team. I kept on trying, I trained and trained and worked so hard my body almost rebelled against my stubborn will. I wanted to prove that I wasn?t the overpaid and overrated primadonna some people said I was. Now, the World Cup is finally over. The team has been awarded and praised endlessly, and finally disbanded. And did I accomplish what I set out to do? I think so. Then why am I still so unhappy? This hotel in Seoul is the same one we stayed in after the semi-finals, and this is the last night the team will be staying in the same place. All those months, all that training and bonding and joking together's gone. Now I look at my reflection and wonder why my face seems so unsure. I hardly noticed Hong's approach until he was standing right behind me. Our eyes locked in the mirror, but neither of us said anything. My gaze wandered over him - damn, but he looked so good. He cut a handsome figure in that black suit, with the Maengho pinned proudly to his chest and gleaming as it reflected the light. His expression was so calm, yet his eyes were staring into mine so piercingly I thought my knees would buckle. Only a few days ago we were in Daegu, just recovering from our playoff loss, and he was the one feeling miserable. I comforted him?with my heart, my body, and soul. If anyone deserved to be proud of himself in this World Cup, it?s Hong Myung-Bo. I wasn?t going to let him sink into self-loathing for that one mistake. I remember as we stood on the stage at Gyeongbok palace, when President Kim pinned the Maengho onto his chest. I thought he deserved the Cheongnyung, really - after being in the sport for so long, and holding the team together the way he did. He's done so much more for this country than most of us. I felt so proud of him - he conducted himself on that stage as he did on the pitch, calm and full of composure, though I could tell that Hong, Hwang and the older players were fighting back tears, which made me want to cry also. By the time they announced him to the crowd as the Bronze Ball winner, I was ready to bawl. They cheered for him like crazy - a farewell gesture, for sure. I heard them chant his name in unison, those tens of thousands of people, and my eyes blurred. I?m so happy for him - and yet I?m not ready to let him go. I still need him. I need him to give me all the things that nobody else can give?not the media, not my friends or my family, or even my wife. As players, we share an intimate connection that nobody else understands. He's been through so much and has been doing this for so long that there's hardly anything he hasn?t experienced. And knowing that I?m the one he can share everything with, that I'm the one he confides in is utterly flattering. Eighteen months ago I couldn't even call him by his name, couldn?t even sit down to lunch with him at the same table. Guess it's just one more thing I have to thank the coach for. His arms reached around me so slowly I thought the world was grinding to a halt. And when he finally embraced me, held me tight across my waist and pulled me back against his body, it was all I can do not to melt right into him and cry like a baby. "Ahn?" he whispered, and I closed my eyes. The voice was soothing as always, working its magic with just one word. He calls me Ahn, and I can?t remember anyone else saying that part of my name with that much feeling, that much affection. I let my left hand wander over his, wanting to feel his flesh, when suddenly a clinking noise yanked me out of my comfort zone. My eyes flew open. Our rings. The only visible markers of our lives outside the pitch, and the markers that would forever seal our fates apart. If this was supposed to be some sort of divine sign, then God is playing one hell of a cruel joke on us. In that moment of awkward contact I felt Hong's body tensing, but he didn?t flinch. If he had, I could have just died. When this all started, it was easier to let go and lose ourselves. It was easier to pretend that he and I were the only two things that existed in this world, and then forget about it in the morning. It was easy for me to say that this is just temporary, just because we both needed each other's company. It was easy to think that we were both perfectly happy married men, and our being together was simply an extension of team camaraderie. Now, faced with the burden of having to let him go, I realized just how foolish my own words were. Nothing?-nothing is easy now. "Ahn?" he whispered again. "It?s okay." In an instant I spun around and flung my arms around him, pillowing my head against his shoulder. He held me so tight I thought my bones would break. Tearless, wordless, we held onto each other as time started to run out on us. Somehow, I felt more desperate than I did during the closing seconds of our match with Germany. Ultimately I realized that my mistake was my constant denial. I kept telling myself that everything will somehow work itself out in the end, the way they tended to do when I was a child. I don't think I ever stopped to think what would happen to our relationship once the tournament ended - maybe I never thought of it as a relationship at all. Hong's lips were busy, planting comforting kisses on my cheek, my forehead, my nose. He tilted my chin up to meet his gaze, and I instantly knew what he wanted. And I couldn?t disagree. If tomorrow begins my personal hell, tonight I want to ensure that I experience Heaven. One last time. We undressed ourselves silently, barely looking at each other. I wanted to slow things down, knowing that the sooner we start, the sooner we?d have to end it. Even without glancing his way I knew that he occasionally stopped to look at me - I could feel his eyes on my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine. He took me in his arms as I climbed onto the bed, welcoming me with a kiss. Every move, every touch, was imbued with tenderness I've never experienced since I've known him. He doesn't want to fuck?he wants to make love. And how can I object? I drank in his kiss as he maneuvered himself on top of me, pinning me onto the bed with his weight. That familiar feeling, the scent of the body that I'd grown so attached to all through the training camp and the tournament - I felt like my senses were heightened tenfold. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if I'll ever gather enough courage to tell Hae-Won about this. It would probably hurt her too much. She couldn't possibly understand and I don't expect her to. None of this meant that I didn't love her - I do. She didn?t have anything to do with this. I wish I could make her understand that this isn?t about her not being good enough for me, or not loving me the way I want her to. Somehow I knew that I wouldn?t be able to do that, so perhaps she?d be better off not knowing at all. My bitterness after the frustration of being Perugia's bench-warmer confounded with the criticism I received in the early days of the national team's training camp had made me a very frail, unsure man. This was something Hae-Won couldn't possibly relate to, and not for her lack of trying. But Hong could. It was as simple as that. And this time, I don't want to pretend. I don't want to lose myself in some fantasy where the world is not the way it is and we can stay together forever. I want to be aware, I want to be aware that every moment I share with him now will be the last, I want the pain to come now and not later. I don?t want the shock of waking up in the morning and having it all hit me in the face. "Ahn?" his hot breath tickled my ears, followed by the soft lapping sensation of his tongue against the skin of my neck. He's torturing me with his deliberate slowness, but it's the sort of torture I'd welcome any day. I latched my fingers onto the skin of his back, kneading the muscles there as his lips continued a long, winding trail down my chest, stopping to suck gently on one of my nipples. God, he knows me so well - he knows every curve of my body, how I like to be touched and how I react when he touches me just right... like now. His mouth continued its downward trail, past my navel and down to my groin. I knew what he intended to do, and shivered in anticipation. Sure enough, I felt his breath whispering at the tip of my erection, and a moment later - he swallowed me whole. The forthcoming scream died in my throat as a numbing sensation swept through me, curling my hands into fists that clutched tightly at the sheets beneath. I didn't want it to ever end, I didn?t want the moment to pass?but it must. He drove me wild with his mouth, his tongue, and somehow I managed to register the sensation of one of his fingers moving down my body and between my legs, teasing the puckered flesh of my entrance. I couldn't remember him ever doing this to me before... but I'm glad he decided to go for it. I felt his finger entering me, probing me as his mouth continued its ministrations. The finger slowly sank in, and with an expert's grace it hooked just slightly to press on my prostate. Squealing, I felt my limbs turn into jelly. Close to losing my mind, I bit my lip so hard my tongue tasted blood. I didn?t want to come just yet. I wanted to hold him, to drive him wild the same way he was doing to me. Weakly I reached with my hands to touch his face, caressing it and gently tugging it away from my trembling erection. He looked up at me, and I desperately wanted to tell him that I needed him now, that I needed him inside me. My jaws felt like they were made of lead and failed to form any coherent sentence, but he understood. Within seconds he had knelt over me with my legs swung over his hips, and as he bent down to kiss me I let my arms wrap around that firm body, willing him to go forth and take everything I had to offer. He tasted the blood on my lips and sucked on it harder, slowly pushing his hips in towards me. When he's on top of me... God, when he's inside me, I feel like this is what's meant to be. We fit together so perfectly, like lock and key The sensation of that pulsing, beating shaft pushing into me, stretching my entrance until I'm weak and sore, was a feeling I treasured above all else. Our joined bodies, our mingling sweat, no longer intent on shutting the rest of the world out but welcoming the anguish that was sure to follow. My rock, my salvation... my deepest, darkest secret. With each successive thrust he rammed me harder and harder, our lips locked in a frantic last dance, limbs grasping desperately, clinging onto every curve and slope as the seconds ticked and ticked and ticked. I felt my erection sliding between our bodies, the repeated friction with his muscled stomach bringing me closer and closer to oblivion. He let go of my lips to let his face hover over mine, beads of sweat dripping from his chin and down onto my neck. I felt like his eyes were drilling a hole straight into the core of my soul. So this is the moment of truth, then. Either we survive it or we both crumble and never recover to pick up the pieces. With so much at stake... our lives, our careers, our loved ones, I did the only thing there was left to do. "I love you," I whispered, the words croaking as a lump began to swell in my throat. He smiled - a sight I would never forget for the rest of my life. "I love you, too." Only seconds passed before I felt him coming inside of me, and the sensation of him filling me like that soon drove me over the edge. Moaning and whispering his name, I clung onto him, clung onto the strength of the words we'd just uttered, riding out the last remnants of our togetherness as the truth, all too quickly, settled in. It was over. And finally, I allowed myself to cry. Whether it was sadness or fear, I'll never be sure. He held me through it, the same way he had for the past eighteen months. He kept me in one piece the same way he kept the team in one piece, with the same calmness that had followed him through twelve long years in the international spotlight, through countless triumphs, defeats, and criticism. I knew that if I had just half his strength, I'd be okay. "Sleep, Ahn?" he said as he ran his fingers through my hair. "And don't worry. I won't be gone in the morning." Oh, but you will be, Hong. You will be. I will wake up with your arms around me, but no part of you will be mine any longer. That's the way it should be, and so be it. And this time, when you walk away, I know you won't look back. Please don't look back. If you do, I'll never forgive myself. -fin-
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