Close your eyes and tell me what you see
The two of us and nothing and between
And run away with me

Say goodbye to all the tears you've cried
And all the pain that you could never hide
And run away with me

I can make you believe it's worth it
Don't be afraid to be free, 'cause noone's perfect
I'll always be there by your side

'Cause I'm here for you
Yes I'm here for you

"Run Away" - BBMak

Nam-Il was silent throughout their long walk back to the parking lots, digging his hands into the pockets of his borrowed trousers as the night's chill began to set in, and Hong didn't ask-he'd get the story when Nam-Il was ready to tell him.

In the parking lots they got inside Nam-Il's Rio and Hong put the key in the ignition but did not turn it on just yet.

"I still need to talk to some people here...probably tomorrow." he said. "If you want, I can drive you back to Gwangnyang now and take a bus back here."

"No...I'll stay here with you." Nam-Il said.

"We have to find a place to sleep for tonight, though..." Hong sighed. "All the hotels are probably full- booked, and unless you want to sleep in this car-any ideas?"

Nam-Il chewed his bottom lip for a while, thinking about it. "I don't know...I don't have any-wait, come to think of it..."

"What?"

Nam-Il opened the glove compartment and raked his hand through the clutter of objects within it, pulling out a jingle of assorted keys attached to a large ring. Hong saw it and rolled his eyes.

"You keep all your keys in the car like that?"

"I'm a slob. So sue me." Nam-Il smirked. "Let me see...house keys, spare car keys, locker keys, I don't know what the heck this one is, and...ah, here it is."

He pulled one key loose from the ring, brandishing it proudly.

"And where does that one lead us?" Hong asked.

"A nice big house just on the outskirts of this city, Captain. Chong-Gug's house."

Hong managed a wide-eyed stare. "He gave you the keys to his house?"

"A spare one, actually. He gave a key to his parents, also. I don't know why he gave this one to me...showed up at my apartment the morning of his departure and just gave it, said that if I ever need a place to stay in Busan I should use it."

"Strange." Hong muttered. "I thought he'd give it to...I don't know, Chun-Soo, maybe."

"That's what I thought, too." Nam-Il said. "So...should we go there?"

"Jus tell me where to drive." Hong said as he started the engine.

When Tae-Young finally got to the door of Young-Pyo's room it was hours over the time when he first promised he'd be there-hours that had been spent, for the most part, mulling over his guilt and the sudden urge to throw himself off the roof of this building. Part of him wished Hong had, actually, hit him, give him some pain to distract himself from what he felt inside.

It clawed, it burned-it showed Nam-Il's face over and over, imagined in parts, real in others, crying, fearful...betrayed. He didn't know which images were from his memory and which were simply his mind playing tricks on him, but did it matter? It happened-it really happened, and he remembered the bruise and the fearful way Nam-Il looked at him the morning after, huddled within his own blankets, a forced laughter as Tae-Young joked about how he must have jacked himself off in his drunked stupor.

It happened.

And when Young-Pyo opened the door, it was all Tae-Young could do not to run away.

"There you are!" Young-Pyo said. "I was starting to worry about you..."

He was pulled in, the door shut behind him, and then Young-Pyo was looking up at him, full of expectation. He wanted nothing more than to just reach out and hold him, but his entire body felt unworthy, tainted-he didn't want to hold him with arms that had held another down, so forcibly, kiss him with lips that had licked the fear off Nam-Il's neck, touch that pretty face with the same hand that had dealt Nam-Il those bruises.

"Tae-Young...is something wrong?"

He didn't answer. His hand reached up, trembling, and lightly touched Young-Pyo's face, fingertips just skimming over the smooth flesh, wanting it so much and yet fearing it so much more, afraid of what he might do, afraid of what he's done before and might do again. He didn't dare to look into the younger man's eyes-he was too scared.

He could sense Young-Pyo's confusion, the way his body shifted haltingly into Tae-Young's personal space, expecting to be taken into an embrace any time but why hasn't that happened, the featherlight touch of Tae- Young's hand on his face not enough, barely enough to satisfy his curiousity.

He was twenty-five, small and beautiful and blossoming, playing like he's never played before in his life, lacking perhaps only confidence and that elusive bit of luck that would carry him onto greatness. Nam-Il was twenty-five also, talented and mischievous and brilliant in his own special way, playing hard and dirty and picking up yellows here and there and refusing to give up, rough and rugged, but underneath Tae-Young's hands he'd felt so slight, so vulnerable.

Young-Pyo had large eyes, beautifully dark and long-lashed, and as he tilted his face up to meet Tae-Young he could not help but gaze into them, see the questions brimming underneath a layer of rich chocolate brown, pupils dilating, see the questions and the concern and the affection, and the trust.

The trust.

Tae-Young shut his eyes and forced his hand to return to his side, unable to go on. He couldn't fool himself out of that knowledge, no matter how hard he tried.

--Can we go home now? Please?--

--Just one more, Nam-Il. One more drink and then we can go home.--

--That's what you said in the last bar, too...--

--Hey, come on...don't be such a baby. One more and we go home. Trust me.--

Trust me. How easily he'd uttered those words, expecting nothing but the younger man's obedience, and it was given, Nam-Il helping his slumped and drunken body out of the bar stool not one, perhaps more like five glasses later, and all Tae-Young could think of was why he had to be injured at that time, just when they were marking a glorious win against Croatia, the captain's armband given over to that inexperienced child, what was his name.

He moved to sit on one of the beds-the very same bed where he'd slept last night, slept with Young-Pyo in his arms, so safe, so protected, breathing in rhythm, leaning against his chest, warm and soft and beautiful.

Young-Pyo was speaking to him, but he could not hear the words. The voice grew concerned the more he failed to reply, but his voice had given up on him. He wasn't even sure he wanted to be here-no, correction, he wanted to be here more than anything but he really, really shouldn't. He should be locked up somewhere in a dark little hole and being poked with sticks through bars in the window.

He felt Young-Pyo moving to sit beside him, body so closely pressed against his own, arms going around his shoulders, and how he wanted to just reach over and do the same, pull that slender frame into his arms and suck the living breath out of those lips but there were voices screaming inside him-stop it, let him go, you have no right, no right at all.

"What's wrong?"

Everything was. Tae-Young continuing on his blissful ignorance, unaware, at how Nam-Il fought hard and struggled and repressed everything, how he fought to act normal even when they were in close proximity, how he'd managed, after many months later, to simply say to himself-really, it didn't happen.

And how quickly everything was brought back, Tae-Young standing over him, grabbing him and slamming him against the wall, gripping his face in his hands, glowering at him, and the boy had looked up at him in mortal fear and cowered back against the wall, begging to be released.

He let him go. Last night, Tae-Young let him go. Last year, he didn't.

"Tae-Young, please talk to me..." Young-Pyo said. "You're scaring me."

He was scaring him-the last thing he wanted to do was scare him, and yet here he was, doing it. Tae-Young got off the bed sank down in front of it, on his knees, his head finding a resting place on top of Young-Pyo's lap, the only place it seemed sensible for him to go, and he reached for both of the little midfielder's hands and held them tightly, his chest knotted in pain.

"I'm sorry..." he said, not sure who he was really saying it to, Nam-Il or Young-Pyo or Hong or whoever else may be listening, rows of ghostly figures somewhere high up looking down on him and shaking their heads, thinking-what have you done, Kim Tae-Young, what have you done?

"Why? Sorry for what?" Young-Pyo asked, but Tae-Young didn't answer. He wanted to cry but he knew he shoudn't-he had no right to. He'd only sink lower than where he already was. Nam-Il had cried, he'd cried silently and was so cruelly ignored and Tae-Young remembered the pearly tears that traveled down his face, anguished sobs muffled by his...

He shook his head vehemently, willing the image out of his mind. It was Nam-Il's face everywhere he looked, even when he closed his eyes, sad and hurt and betrayed. Why, Tae-Young, why. Why did you do it? I trusted you, I thought you were my friend, why did you hurt me? Why? What did I do wrong?

The little hands managed to pry themselves loose from his own, and then he felt them on his head, fingers running along his hair, gently moving under his chin to tilt his face up. He looked up and thought he was seeing an angel- whether it represented death or damnation or redemption, he did not know.

"Tell me..." the voice said, as gentle as anything Tae-Young ever heard. "Please tell me..."

He looked, he looked and tried to memorize that expression on Young-Pyo's face, because he knew for sure that after all is said and done, he will never see it again.

"Tell me..."

Surrendering to fate, he gathered the breath inside his lungs and searched through every inch within himself for the courage to speak.

And then he told him.

Chong-Gug's house was for the most part empty-all of its valuables had been taken to Holland with him and he left behind only the barest essentials. The garage was also empty, obviously Hyundai had followed up on their promise and shipped their gift car to Rotterdam for Chong-Gug's use.

They only made use of the ground floor of the house-Chong-Gug had a guest bedroom with an adjacent bathroom there, a spacious room furnished with two single beds, a table and chair, a television set and a couch near the window.

"Comfy..." Hong commented as he set his bag on one of the beds.

"Not exactly a luxury hotel, of course...but we'll make do." Nam-Il said.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

"Good. Because I'm betting there's no food in the kitchen and we'll have to go out again if you want to eat."

"I'm just tired. I'm gonna go to the bathroom and then sleep."

"Go first, then." Hong said as he searched through his bag. "I bought some spare clothes with me. Do you want to change?"

Nam-Il shook his head. "No..."

The boy disappeared through the door leading to the bathroom and left Hong alone in the bedroom, staring after him, before resigning himself to his own fatigue and bending down to remove his shoes.

When he came down to the lobby, everything looked perfectly fine-Nam-Il and Uke were talking, they seemed to be on good terms, and that last gesture when Uke asked to have his necklace back ought to serve as a good omen for things to come. And yet Nam-Il's body language and quietness throughout their journey here told Hong that matters were still to be resolved, and his heart was still heavy.

Nam-Il had a long hard road in front of him-Hong knew that much. In a matter of days, the K-League season would resume, and Nam-Il would have no choice but be in near-constant contact with Kim Tae-Young, with whatever implications. There was a part of him that regretted the sheer anger with which he'd handled his conversation with Tae-Young-he'd barely managed to control himself. All he could think of was Nam-Il, appearing in the middle of the night in front of his door, soaked and bloody and sick, writhing

No doubt Tae-Young would be having a few nightmares of his own, now that he'd come to realize what he'd done. And Hong had left him, just like that, warning him not to go anywhere near Nam-Il. He doubted Tae-Young would try to come between Nam-Il and Uke, or to stand in his way of resolving his problems, but Tae-Young would most certainly feel the urge to approach Nam-Il, to talk to him.

Hong knew he'd already done what he came here for-at least where Nam-Il was concerned. The boy was on his own now, and he had no right to interfere in whatever he chose to do about his situation with Tae-Young. If he asked for Hong's advice, he would give it to him, but he could not extend it any further than that.

Nam-Il returned from the bathroom looking clean but very tired, and he got on the bed without saying anything further. Hong watched him slowly peel off his trousers and cast them over the side, leaving him in his shirt and boxers and curling up on the mattress, falling asleep almost instantly.

Sighing, he stood up and reached for the blanket that lay untouched and folded at the foot of Nam-Il's bed, spreading it, covering the younger man's body up to his shoulders. Quietly, he went out of the room and closed the door behind him, walking towards the darkened living room and sitting down on the couch.

The house was clean-Nam-Il mentioned something about one of Chong-Gug's relatives coming here every few weeks to dust up the place. Hong took out his cell phone and called home, talking to his wife and telling her that he was going to stay here another day.

Sumi then put the children on the phone-they had both been staying up late just so they could talk to daddy when he called, and Hong listened to their light-voiced chatter and smiled and saw them in his head, telling them over and over how much daddy loved them. He assured his wife that everything was fine, that Nam-Il was okay, that he would be coming home perhaps tomorrow night, after the closing ceremonies.

When the conversation was over he walked back towards the guest bedroom and opened it slowly, looking inside to check on Nam-Il. He was on the bed, but his sleep had become fitful, his body twitching every few seconds, eyelids fluttering and the blankets a tussled mess around him. Alarmed, and worried that he was having another nightmare, Hong quickly sat down on his bed and began shaking him awake.

"Nam-Il! Nam-Il...wake up, wake up!"

The boy's eyes fluttered open, dilated heavenwards for a moment as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings, and then his gaze turned towards Hong, who was looking at him full of concern.

"Another nightmare?" he asked gently.

"No..." Nam-Il shook his head. "Just...images, really. Flashes. This is what happens when I've had a very long day-or when I'm really tired. It's like today's events just keep repeating over and over..."

"Yeah, it's been a very long day." Hong agreed.

"My head hurts."

"You still have a bit of that fever..." Hong pressed the back of his palm against Nam-Il's forehead. "Above anything, you need to sleep."

"And I want to, believe me..." Nam-Il sighed. "It's just that my brain won't rest, and things just pop into my thoughts..."

Hong watched as he rubbed his eyes wearily, brushing back stray hairs from his face. In the soft light of the bedside lamp Nam-Il looked very pale, his breathing a little uneasy.

"Nam-Il..."

"What?"

"Do you think you'd sleep better if I were here?" he asked.

Nam-Il contemplated this for a while, then smiled weakly and nodded. "I think so..."

"Okay, then. Move over..." Hong said as he drew back the blankets, Nam-Il shifting to one side of the mattress to give him room.

The single bed was barely enough to hold the both of them, but they managed. Hong pressed his chest against the younger man's back and pulled up the blankets over them, his one arm going around Nam-Il protectively. He could still feel the heat of illness there, but at least, he thought, the boy had gotten some measure of peace.

"Hey, Captain..." Nam-Il muttered weakly.

"What?"

"In case I forgot to tell you last time...thanks."

Hong smiled and dragged his nose through the mass of short blonde hair. "You didn't forget. But always nice to know my efforts are appreciated."

"I told him everything."

"Who-Uke?"

"Yeah. I told him everything...more than I originally wanted to, but he sort of pushed me to it."

"And what did you say?"

"At first I thought I'd just say I was sorry, and explain whatever had to be explained. But he was having none of it."

"Why?"

"He wanted the truth..." Nam-Il said, his voice thinning with drowsiness. "So I told him the truth. I told him that I want him back."

Hong sighed and leaned in closer, his nose hovering just above the younger man's ear. "And what did he tell you?"

"That he needs some time."

"Then give him time." Hong said. "You know it's not easy for him..."

"I know..." Nam-Il whispered. "And I know I should be happy with how things went...I mean, he asked for his koru back and all-I should be glad. And yet...I'm not."

"You're just tired." Hong said.

"I'm confused." Nam-Il said. "No answers. Don't even know what the questions are."

"We all feel that way at some point..." Hong assured him, whispering gently against his ear. "Now go to sleep. You need it."

"Did you...talk to Tae-Young?"

Hong knew this question was coming-had hoped that Nam-Il would put it off until the next morning at least, when he wasn't quite so bone-weary and ready to hear it, but now he can't evade it.

"I did."

"And..." Nam-Il's voice trailed off, as if too afraid to continue.

Hong held his breath, trying to figure out the best way to put it. In the end, he settled for simply saying: "He knows now. And he remembers."

First there was a lull of silence, and then Nam-Il's body shifted a little uncomfortably, squirming on the bed. Hong held him a little tighter and rubbed his stomach assuringly, feeling the younger man's heartbeat pick up its pace.

"It's okay, Nam-Il..."

"He remembers?" the weak voice asked.

"Not at first, but eventually it came back to him." Hong said. "Don't worry-if there's anyone he's upset with right now, it's himself."

"What am I going to do, Captain? With him, I mean..."

Hong felt torn within himself. Instinct wanted him to just take Nam-Il in, shield him from any further pain, protect him, stop Tae-Young from ever coming near him again in this lifetime or the next, but the thought died almost as soon as it appeared. Unlike his own sons, whom he'd sworn to protect with his life, Nam-Il wasn't a child-most importantly, Nam-Il wasn't his.

"You two need to talk..." he said, the words uttered almost regretfully. "It all depends on you now, Nam-Il. You're the one who has to-I mean, you're the only one who can forgive him."

He heard a long, sustained breath being released from the boy's chest. "I don't know...I mean, I want to forgive him but I don't know if I'll be able to."

"Don't think about that right now." Hong said firmly. "It can wait."

"No, it can't." Nam-Il shook his head ruefully. "And you know it. We start training again Thursday, and I have to be...I'm his training partner."

"Give yourself time. You're not ready."

"I never will be, Captain..." Nam-Il craned his neck slightly to look at him. "But it's gotta be done, right?"

"Nam-Il...I wish it didn't have to happen." Hong said, his tone remorseful. "If I'd known..."

"You couldn't have." Nam-Il shook his head.

"No, listen." Hong said. "It didn't matter who the captain was on that day-as a senior player, I should've looked after the younger ones. As the regular captain, I was still responsible for the team. I should've noticed..."

"Captain..."

"Twenty-three of us went, and only twenty-one came back. I should've known. I've known him for years, I know what he's like when he's in that sort of mood. I could've stopped him-at least, stopped him from taking you with him..."

"Oh, shut up!" Nam-Il snapped loudly, twisting his neck around to look at Hong right in his eyes. "You had no part in it. I'm not going to let you take any of the blame."

"Nam-Il..."

"There's already enough people here running around with the burden of the world on their shoulders, Captain. I'm telling you, no room for extras. Get the hell out."

There was fury burning in the younger man's eyes-genuine and spirited, and Hong knew this was an argument he had no hope of winning. Sighing, he leaned down and kissed Nam-Il's forehead, as he'd done the night before, gentle and affectionate.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. "I was just...it kills me, you know-seeing you like this."

"And it kills me." Nam-Il said. "I gotta pick myself up somewhere. I'm tired of playing the hapless victim."

Hong frowned at him, shaking his head. "You never were."

"Sure felt like it at one point, though." Nam-Il muttered. "And I hate it. It's gotta stop. First chance I get, I have to sort this one out. Granted, I'm gonna be scared shitless-might wet myself whenever he comes within three feet of me...but I've got to fight it."

Strength. He heard strength in that voice-newborn, alive and kicking. With the arm he had draped around Nam-Il, Hong reached for one of the boy's hands and squeezed it tightly. "I believe in you..."

"Thank you..." Nam-Il squeezed him back. "By the way, now I know why Tae-Young was in the village yesterday. He was visiting someone, too."

"Really?" Hong arched his eyebrows. "Who?"

"Young-Pyo." Nam-Il said.

Hong could barely contain his surprise. "Young-Pyo? He came to see Young-Pyo?"

Nam-Il nodded. "Yeah. And I guess he was about to do the same thing tonight, you know-when we met him in that hallway."

"I see..." Hong said.

"Captain..." Nam-Il's voice wavered, as if he'd just realized something. "Do you think he'd tell...you know, about me-do you think he'd tell Young-Pyo?"

"And if he did?"

Nam-Il's eyes closed briefly before opening again. Hong could tell that the last thing he wanted was anyone else knowing about what had happened between him and Tae-Young. But given the state Tae-Young was in when he left him, Hong doubted he would be able to keep that secret-especially from Young-Pyo, if what Nam-Il just said about the two of them was true.

"What do you think Young-Pyo would do?" Nam-Il said.

"I don't know." Hong said. "That's between the two of them. Now please, go to sleep. You need your rest."

"Okay..." Nam-Il relented. "Hmmm...do I get breakfast in bed, too?"

Laughing, Hong cuffed Nam-Il's cheek lightly. "Smartass."

"Good night, Captain."

"Good night."

The boy drifted off to sleep just moments afterwards, peacefully this time, and Hong lay awake for long moments with his eyes staring into a distant point, stray blonde hairs tickling at his face.

If he closed his eyes and let his memories carry him, it would be easy to imagine another bed, another young man's body, enclosed in his embrace just like this. Slightly shorter, not as lanky, the hair not made out of spiky blonde strands but a billowing mass of jet-black curls, scented like morning's dew. Star-bright eyes that looked up at him and that pretty, roman nose and the burnt carmine lips...so beautiful.

He was beautiful in the sense that the mountains of Kyongju were beautiful, the emerald valleys were beautiful, sunset rays caught in the waterfalls of Cheju were beautiful-sort of grand and majestic and what? Unattainable.

Hong sighed deeply and willed himself to go to sleep-some memories were just not meant to be revisited, no matter how beautiful and precious they may be.

Silence. No screaming and cursing or lashing out with limbs or words-just silence.

Tae-Young did not dare to look up. His hands were still held tight, and the grip had not slackened one bit. If anything, he expected it to tighten well beyond human strength and crush his bones right out-that seemed fitting.

Tense and anxious, waiting for the judgement to be delivered, thinking to himself that this was it, this may very well be the end, and my God, Young-Pyo...why am I still here? Why hasn't he ended up flat on his ass out in the corridor with his nose as bloody as Nam-Il's was last night?

Slowly, he told his body to move-prying his hands loose from the younger man's and getting back on his feet, legs shaking terribly. Young-Pyo's gaze followed him, his every small gesture as he stood there in front of him, little by little backing away.

"I shouldn't be here..." he whispered lowly.

The eyes were on him-not smoldering with rage, as he'd expected, but he dreaded the way they looked at him nevertheless. Large and unbelieving, at one part, narrow and scrutinizing at the other, and perhaps slowly thinking to himself-I'm in one room with a maniac, slept in his arms last night, and oh dear...what have I gotten myself into?

"I'm sorry, Young-Pyo..." he said, then he began to walk towards the door.

"Wait!" The voice called after him, and when he turned around Young-Pyo was off the bed and at his side, hands clutching at his arm. "Don't go..."

Tae-Young shook his head. "Didn't you hear what I just told you? I can't be here. I don't want to...I don't..."

"You're not going to hurt me." Young-Pyo said. "I know you won't."

"That's what Nam-Il thought, too..." Tae-Young said bitterly. "It was the last thing he'd expect to happen, and yet..."

"You were drunk."

"That's not an excuse!" Tae-Young said. "I chose to drink myself silly, I chose to take him with me-choices made while I was pretty sober, by the way."

"I'm not making excuses for you!" Young-Pyo said, his tone a little offended, and yes-the eyes are smoldering now, and Tae-Young welcomed the sight, an odd sense of validation for his own guilt.

"I can't stay here, Young-Pyo...I can't." he said. "Not when I've...not after what I did."

"Tae-Young..."

"I don't know why I did it, okay? I don't know what came over me, or what devil possessed me to...I don't even remember much of it, but God-it happened, Young-Pyo." he said through gritted teeth. "It happened, and I woke up totally oblivous to it all, and he just..."

"He didn't tell you, did he?"

"How could he? If he'd told me, I'd just assume he was lying and lose all respect I had, or I'd become so enraged I'd report him to the officials and he'd be kicked out of the national team, and God knows what else..." Tae-Young shook his head.

Young-Pyo was still holding his arms. "I can't...I can't believe you did something like that."

"Well, I did." Tae-Young said. "If you don't want anything more to do with me, I understand-because I'm really pissed at myself, too."

"No, wait." Young-Pyo stopped him when he was about to go for the door again. "Don't go...stay here."

"I can't, Young-Pyo." Tae-Young. "Can't you understand it? I can't be with you-there's just no guarantees."

Young-Pyo regarded him with an angered look. "Guarantees? You want guarantees in this life? Why don't you ask the people who 'guaranteed' before this tournament that we were going to win gold?"

Tae-Young knew he'd hit the wrong mark now. "Young-Pyo, I didn't mean..."

The younger man showed great force by taking Tae-Young's face in his and forcing him to look straight into his eyes-his fiery, piercing eyes. "You walk out that door right now...and that means you're running away from it."

"I'm not trying to run away from anything!" Tae-Young denied. "I'm trying to...to..."

"To what? Save me? Protect me? Protect me from you-from what you're afraid you might do?"

Weakly, he nodded. "Yes..."

"Damnit, will you please take a damn good look at me now?!" Young-Pyo said sharply. "I don't need to be protected-least of all from you. I'm not a child!"

Tae-Young swallowed bitterly and muttered: "Neither was he..."

"You're afraid. This is what it's all about. It's not about me, is it?"

"No. Not about you. Never about you."

"Then it's all because of your fear." Young-Pyo's hands on his face became firmer. "I'm asking you, please face that fear."

"Young-Pyo..." Tae-Young looked at him and wondered, just where did all this come from, this clarity of mind, from one who not so long ago had been distraught out of his mind-much like he was now, only he was far worse.

"I can't..." Young-Pyo stopped to compose himself. "I can't forgive you for what you did to him. Only he can do that."

"I know..." Tae-Young. "I have no intention of running from that."

"Then don't run from me." Young-Pyo said. "Stay here."

"Young-Pyo, I..."

"I know you won't hurt me." the younger man said to him, the voice assuring. "I believe in it. And I want you to believe in it, too."

Tae-Young blinked back the resurgent tears at the corners of his eyes. "I would never hurt you-I never wanted to hurt anyone, and I certainly never meant to hurt him. I don't know how I could've...done something like that." he said.

"And I know you won't do it again." Young-Pyo said. "I'm only asking you, please stay here. Don't run from it. Don't run from me. We don't have to...you know, do anything, but I want you to stay here."

"Young-Pyo..."

The face lost some of its harsh expression, assuming its gentle outlook, and the little hands let go of his face and he felt two arms going around his waist, embracing him tightly, a head resting on his shoulder.

"Stay here..." the voice too became soft. "...please."

Finding the courage to do what he'd wanted to do all night long, Tae-Young let his arms go around the younger man's body, embracing him, gently at first but tighter as Young-Pyo encouraged him, trying to quell the guilt, the sense of doubt, and the fear-the fear.

He didn't want to hurt Young-Pyo. He'd rather kill himself. He knew that much. But hadn't he felt the same thing about Nam-Il, too? His friend. No grudge, no resentment, no hidden agendas between the two. They were friends. Tae-Young had never, ever thought it possible that he'd done something like that, even given Nam-Il's peculiar behavior several days following that night. The idea never even crossed his mind, and his first reaction to Hong had been to tell him that Nam-Il was lying.

He would've reacted the same way if Nam-Il had told him that the morning after-and the boy's world would have collapsed upon itself. He had no choice.

Here, he thought, he was being presented with a choice-a chance. And it wasn't Nam-Il, it was Young-Pyo. Young-Pyo, beautiful and all-trusting for whatever reasons, holding him tight and asking him to stay.

He took the little midfielder's face in his hands and leaned down to kiss him, just briefly, tasting the same sweetness he'd tasted this morning and last night, and Young-Pyo responded, opening up, his arms still encircled around Tae-Young's waist.

"How do you do it?" Tae-Young asked when the kiss ended, breath hovering just above Young-Pyo's face. "How do you put up with me-knowing what I've done?"

"I don't 'put up' with anything." Young-Pyo said. "I just don't want you to run from it."

"I'm not running," Tae-Young assured him. "I know I've got to...sort this one out. Talk to him. Tell him I'm sorry-God knows it's not enough but it's the least I can do."

"Yeah, you should do that..." Young-Pyo agreed.

He backed away from Tae-Young, slowly, taking his hands with him, and moved towards the bed. Tae-Young followed hesitantly, watching as Young-Pyo crawled slowly on to the mattress, then reached out to him. "Come here..."

"Young-Pyo..."

"Come here." Young-Pyo repeated. "It's okay."

Relenting, Tae-Young took off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, then kicked off his socks and shoes and got on the bed, a little clumsily, fearing that if he gave it another moment of thought he'd lose his courage-and his mind.

On the bed Young-Pyo pulled him in, bringing their bodies into close contact as he lay down, never breaking eye contact with him. Tae-Young followed his movements, doing what had seemed so natural the previous night, and now so fucking difficult-and his arms took in the slender frame of the midfielder into his embrace, settling his body down beside him.

"It's okay..." he heard the words being whispered gently, those fingers again running through his hair. "Nothing's going to happen."

And how, just how, are you so sure of that, Young-Pyo?

He was afraid, most of all, of closing his eyes and going to sleep. Afraid of what might happen in his sleep, in his lower consciousness, the nonsensical but very real fear of an evil side of him waking up sometime during the night and doing something terrible, and of course it was a silly thought-so fucking silly, but Tae-Young couldn't shake it off and it made him all the more disillusioned with himself.

Nam-Il's body bruised by his hands, his trust shattered-and all this time Tae-Young had no indication, no clue. He felt like something was crawling under his skin that he wasn't aware of and it made him scared as hell.

Young-Pyo's delicate fingers on his face, tracing the contours of his cheekbone, and he wanted to say something, but what-and the finger moved to his lips to silence him. And the eyes...the eyes, big and beautiful and warm, and a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"It's okay..." he repeated for the umpteenth time, and Tae-Young wanted to believe. He so wanted to believe.

They eased into slumber holding onto each other, Young-Pyo nestling himself into Tae-Young's embrace as the older man struggled with his inner demons, his arms going around the midfielder's body but was the gesture imbued with his genuine affection-and he knew he had plenty of it-or was it just surface, he wasn't sure.

He closed his eyes, trying to sleep, trying not to let the ghosts of last year come and haunt him-he would deal with them later. Tried not to let the image of a boy's gaunt face, teary-eyed and fearful, tried not to hear the muffled sobs in his ears.

Later, he told himself. Later.

In a perfect world, Ji-Sung thought, he would not be having this conversation. But the world wasn't perfect-it was far from it, and so here he was late night with his bags packed and ready, speaking over the phone to the man that, God forbid, might still be with him now, had he not gone on his reckless whim.

"It's not like I'm asking-you know, for anything from you. It's just that...I'd rather tell you myself than have you hear it from someone else."

Across the line, Yoo Sang-Chul replied. "Or make my own assumptions."

"Yes, that too."

"And what are you going to do now, Ji-Sung?"

"I'm going back to Japan first thing tomorrow morning. I have to apologize to Uke first, I know-that is if he's willing to talk to me."

There was a long sigh from the other end. "Nam-Il and Uke. Nam-Il and Uke...who would've thought?"

"Stranger things have happened." Ji-Sung remarked. "You and I, for example."

There was a short laughter. "Yes, you and I. Imagine that."

Ji-Sung breathed deeply, recalling images from memory, Sang-Chul in all his kindness, showering him with praise and gentle affection, being there for him even with his busy schedule, so attentive, so caring, giving all that which he craved.

"He was right. He was right the first time-he can't give me what I need."

"Though that's not all there is to it, is it?" the other voice asked tentatively.

No, of course not. Sang-Chul had given him all he needed and then some, and that wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to stop Ji-Sung from chasing after shadows, trying to satisfy his curiosity and look where it's gotten him now-in deep shit.

"He doesn't love me."

"And he loves Uke."

"Yes, he loves Uke." Ji-Sung said. "He said it, more or less, very convincingly. Imagine that-Kim Nam-Il, speaking of love and being sure of it."

"And you thought you'd seen it all." Sang-Chul chuckled lightly.

"People change." Ji-Sung said.

"Yes, Ji-Sung. They do."

"So...I'm just hoping that you don't-you know, blame him for anything. I came here, I knew the risks, I screwed up, now I gotta do what I can to fix it before I leave."

"I'm not going to blame him for anything." Sang-Chul promised. "But tell me this, Ji-Sung...were you hurt?"

Hurt? Oh hell yes, hurt like a thousand daggers stabbing through him hearing that voice say that he's in love with Uke. Uke, not him. Uke, not him. Memories of Incheon fading into darkness, along with last night, and it was his pride that was hurt more than anything else, and the guilt of knowing just how much misery he'd caused, what his coming here had brought for the others.

"I was...though a large part of it is of my own doing."

He didn't tell Sang-Chul about Young-Pyo, about the way the other man had looked at him so angrily and told him that he'd done them no good coming here-leaving unsaid the obvious fact that he thought Ji-Sung shouldn't have come back here at all.

"And are you okay?"

No, he wasn't. More than anything the needs come back to the surface-the need to be held and comforted and pampered and whatnot but screw you, Ji-Sung-why don't you suck it up and be a man for once in a while.

"I am."

"Then I've got nothing to worry about."

"I'm sorry." Ji-Sung said. "I wish...it could've ended differently-for us, I mean."

"I know." Sang-Chul said. "But you can't make yourself love me."

"No more than I can make him love me..." Ji-Sung agreed. "Thank you. It's been nice talking to you again."

"No problem." Sang-Chul said. "Safe journey-and good luck with Kyoto."

"Good luck to you too-with Ulsan. Back to the old grounds, I suppose?"

"Well, yes. I don't know if I'll be able to do much, though. We're bottom of the table and there's only a few matches left..."

"I think you'll do very well." Ji-Sung said. "You have Chun-Soo, don't you?"

"Yeah, and I hear he's done well in the Games. But before this he was, how do you say it, erratic? And if I hear his teammates correctly, a bit selfish. He either can't cross, or he doesn't want to."

"Bullshit." Ji-Sung said. "He can cross-he's done it time and time again here. He can cross-but we just couldn't score of them. I missed a lot of them. So did Dong-Gook."

Across the line he heard a sarcastic little snort. "Dong-Gook...that guy can't score even in a brothel."

Ji-Sung laughed, mock-derisively and feeling a bit guilty about it but what the heck-he needed this sort of talk to lift his mood so just leave it at that. "I heard that one, too."

"I hear he's going to the military..." Sang-Chul said. "Pity the guys who end up in the same stick with him at the firing range."

"Sang-Chul, stop it." Ji-Sung could barely control his laughter. "Let's not kick a man while he's down, okay?"

"I was trying to cheer you up."

"And you have." Ji-Sung said. "You've always known how to."

"I'd gladly do it again, if anytime you need it."

Ji-Sung closed his eyes and thought-well, maybe the world isn't that far from perfect if there were people like Sang-Chul in it. "Thank you."

"You take good care of yourself, okay?"

"Okay. Bye now."

"Bye."

The line went dead and Ji-Sung turned off his cell phone, glancing at the clock and counting down the hours until his early morning flight was scheduled to leave. Outside his window everything was quiet, the bustle of activity that had so coloured the Athlete's Village now reduced to the lazy drone of maintenance machinery, a few guards walking the night shift and not much else.

He sat down at the table and chair at the corner of his room and looked at the blank piece of paper and pen he'd laid there, hours before. He still didn't know what, exactly, he should say that could convey his message but he knew he just had to write something, something that would partially ease him of his guilt.

Slowly, Ji-Sung picked up the pen and started writing.

On to Part 25